Since the creation of the Univarse, I guess it’s the greatest invention, arter man.  Now this is what I call “cyphering” arter human natur, while figures are cyphering arter “the assistant.”  These two sorts of cyphering make idecation—­and you may depend on’t Squire, there is nothing like folks cyphering, if they want to “go ahead.”

No.  VIII

The Preacher that Wandered from His Text.

I guess, said the Clockmaker, we know more of Nova Scotia than the Blue Noses themselves do.  The Yankees see further ahead than most folks; they can een a most see round t’other side of a thing; indeed some on them have hurt their eyes by it, and sometimes I think that’s the reason such a sight of them wear spectacles.  The first I ever heerd tell of Cumberland was from Mr. Everett of Congress; he know’d as much about it as if he had lived here all his days, and may be a little grain more.  He is a splendid man that—­we class him No. 1, letter A. One night I chanced to go into General Peep’s tavern at Boston, and who should I see there but the great Mr. Everett, a studying over a map of the Province of Nova-Scotia.  Why it aint possible! said I—­if that aint Professor Everett, as I am alive! why how do you do, Professor?  Pretty well, I give you thanks, said he; how be you? but I aint no longer Professor; I gin that up, and also the trade of Preaching, and took to politics.  You don’t say so, said I; why what on airth is the cause o’ that?  Why, says he, look here, Mr. Slick.  What is the use of reading the Proverbs of Solomon to our free and enlightened citizens, that are every mite and mortal as wise as he was?  That are man undertook to say there was nothing new under the sun.  I guess he’d think he spoke a little too fast, if he was to see our steam boats, rail-roads, and India rubber shoes—­three inventions worth more nor all he knew put in a heap together.  Well, I don’t know, said I, but somehow or another, I guess you’d have found preaching the best speculation in the long run; them are Unitarians pay better than Uncle Sam (we call, said the Clockmaker, the American public Uncle Sam, as you call the British John Bull.)

That remark seemed to grig him a little; he felt oneasy like, and walked twice across the room, fifty fathoms deep in thought:  at last he said, which way are you from, Mr. Slick, this hitch?  Why, says I, I’ve been away up south a speculating in nutmegs.  I hope, says the Professor, they were a good article, the real right down genuine thing.  No mistake, says I,—­no mistake, Professor:  they were all prime, first chop, but why did you ax that are question?  Why, says he, that eternal scoundrel, that Captain John Allspice of Nahant, he used to trade to Charleston, and he carried a cargo once there of fifty barrels of nutmegs:  well, he put half a bushel of good ones into each eend of the barrel, and the rest he filled up with wooden ones, so like