I met a man this mornin, said the Clock Maker, from Halifax, a real conceited lookin critter as you een a most ever seed, all shines and didos.  He looked as if he had picked up his airs, arter some officer of the regilars had worn ’em out and cast ’em off.  They sot on him like second hand clothes, as if they had’nt been made for him and did’nt exactly fit.  He looked fine, but awkward, like a captain of militia, when he gets his uniform on, to play sodger; a thinkin himself mighty handSUM, and that all the world is a lookin at him.  He marched up and down afore the street door like a peacock, as large as life and twice as natural; he had a riding whip in his hand and every now and then struck it agin his thigh, as much as to say, aint that a splendid leg for a boot, now?  Wont I astonish the Amherst folks, that’s all? thinks I you are a pretty blade, aint you?  I’d like to fit a Yankee handle on to you, that’s a fact.  When I came up, he held up his head near about as high as a Shot factory, and stood with his fists on his hips, and eyed me from head to foot, as a shakin quaker does a town lady:  as much as to say what a queer critter you be, that’s toggery I never seed afore, you’re some carnal minded maiden, that’s sartain.  Well, says he to me, with the air of a man that chucks a cent into a beggar’s hat, “a fine day this, Sir;” do you actilly think so, said I? and I gave it the real Connecticut drawl.  Why, said he, quite short, if I did’nt think so, I would’nt say so.  Well, says I, I don’t know, but if I did think so, I guess I would’nt say so; why not? says he—­because, I expect, says I, any fool could see that as well as me; and then I stared at him, as much as to say, now if you like that are swap, I am ready to trade with you agin as soon as you like.  Well he turned right round on his heel and walked off, a whistlin Yankee Doodle to himself.  He looked jist like a man that finds whistlin a plaguy sight easier than thinkin.  Presently, I heard him ax the groom who that are Yankee lookin feller was.  That, said the groom, why, I guess its Mr. Slick.  Sho!! said he, how you talk.  What, Slick the Clockmaker, why it ant possible; I wish I had a known that are afore, I declare, for I have a great curiosity to see him, folks say he is an amazin clever feller that, and he turned and stared, as if it was old Hickory himself.  Then he walked round and about like a pig, round the fence of a potatoe field, a watchin for a chance to cut in; so, thinks I, I’ll jist give him something to talk about, when he gets back to the city, I’ll fix a Yankee handle on to him in no time.  How’s times to Halifax, Sir, said I—­better, says he, much better, business is done on a surer bottom than it was, and things look bright agin; so does a candle, says I, jist afore it goes out; it burns up ever so high and then sinks right down, and leaves nothin behind but grease, and an everlastin bad smell.  I guess they don’t know how to feed their lamp, and it can’t burn long on nothin.  No, Sir,