' So he went good humouredly to
work and pleaded them all.
"This lazy fellow, Pugnose," continued the Clockmaker; "that keeps
this inn, is going to sell off and go to the States; he says he has
to work too hard here; that the markets are dull, and the winter too
long; and he guesses he can live easier there; I guess he'll find his
mistake afore he has been there long. Why, our country ain't to be
compared to this on no account whatever; our country never made us
to be the great nation we are, but we made the country. How on airth
could we, if we were all like old Pugnose, as lazy, as ugly, make
that cold thin soil of New England produce what it does? Why, sir,
the land between Boston and Salem would starve a flock of geese; and
yet look at Salem; it has more cash than would buy Nova Scotia from
the King. We rise early, live frugally, and work late; what we get
we take care of. To all this we add enterprise and intelligence--a
feller who finds work too hard here, had better not go to the States.
I met an Irishman, one Pat Lannigan, last week, who had just returned
from the States. 'Why,' says I, 'Pat, what on airth brought you
back?' 'Bad luck to them,' says Pat, 'if I warn't properly bit. "What
do you get a day in Nova Scotia?" says Judge Beler to me. "Four
shillings, your Lordship," says I. "There are no Lords here," says
he, "we are all free.
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