



Produced by David Widger





THE WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE

IN FIVE VOLUMES

VOLUME FOUR

The Raven Edition


Contents:

     The Devil in the Belfry
     Lionizing
     X-ing a Paragraph
     Metzengerstein
     The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether
     The Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq.
     How to Write a Blackwood article
     A Predicament
     Mystification
     Diddling
     The Angel of the Odd
     Mellonia Tauta
     The Duc de l'Omlette
     The Oblong Box
     Loss of Breath
     The Man That Was Used Up
     The Business Man
     The Landscape Garden
     Maelzel's Chess-Player
     The Power of Words
     The Colloquy of Monas and Una
     The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion
     Shadow.--A Parable





THE DEVIL IN THE BELFRY

     What o'clock is it?--_Old Saying_.

EVERYBODY knows, in a general way, that the finest place in the world
is--or, alas, was--the Dutch borough of Vondervotteimittiss. Yet as
it lies some distance from any of the main roads, being in a somewhat
out-of-the-way situation, there are perhaps very few of my readers
who have ever paid it a visit. For the benefit of those who have not,
therefore, it will be only proper that I should enter into some account
of it. And this is indeed the more necessary, as with the hope of
enlisting public sympathy in behalf of the inhabitants, I design here
to give a history of the calamitous events which have so lately occurred
within its limits. No one who knows me will doubt that the duty thus
self-imposed will be executed to the best of my ability, with all
that rigid impartiality, all that cautious examination into facts, and
diligent collation of authorities, which should ever distinguish him who
aspires to the title of historian.

By the united aid of medals, manuscripts, and inscriptions, I am enabled
to say, positively, that the borough of Vondervotteimittiss has existed,
from its origin, in precisely the same condition which it at present
preserves. Of the date of this origin, however, I grieve that I can only
speak with that species of indefinite definiteness which mathematicians
are, at times, forced to put up with in certain algebraic formulae.
The date, I may thus say, in regard to the remoteness of its antiquity,
cannot be less than any assignable quantity whatsoever.

Touching the derivation of the name Vondervotteimittiss, I confess
myself, with sorrow, equally at fault. Among a multitude of opinions
upon this delicate point--some acute, some learned, some sufficiently
the reverse--I am able to select nothing which ought to be considered
satisfactory. Perhaps the idea of Grogswigg--nearly coincident with
that of Kroutaplenttey--is to be cautiously preferred.--It
runs:--"Vondervotteimittis--Vonder, lege Donder--Votteimittis, quasi
und Bleitziz--Bleitziz obsol:--pro Blitzen." This derivative, to say
the truth, is still countenanced by some traces of the electric fluid
evident on the summit of the steeple of the House of the Town-Council. I
do not choose, however, to commit myself on a theme of such importance,
and must refer the reader desirous of information to the "Oratiunculae
de Rebus Praeter-Veteris," of Dundergutz. See, also, Blunderbuzzard
"De Derivationibus," pp. 27 to 5010, Folio, Gothic edit., Red and Black
character, Catch-word and No Cypher; wherein consult, also, marginal
notes in the autograph of Stuffundpuff, with the Sub-Commentaries of
Gruntundguzzell.

Notwithstanding the obscurity which thus envelops the date of the
foundation of Vondervotteimittis, and the derivation of its name, there
can be no doubt, as I said before, that it has always existed as we find
it at this epoch. The oldest man in the borough can remember not the
slightest difference in the appearance of any portion of it; and,
indeed, the very suggestion of such a possibility is considered an
insult. The site of the village is in a perfectly circular valley, about
a quarter of a mile in circumference, and entirely surrounded by gentle
hills, over whose summit the people have never yet ventured to pass. For
this they assign the very good reason that they do not believe there is
anything at all on the other side.

Round the skirts of the valley (which is quite level, and paved
throughout with flat tiles), extends a continuous row of sixty little
houses. These, having their backs on the hills, must look, of course, to
the centre of the plain, which is just sixty yards from the front door
of each dwelling. Every house has a small garden before it, with a
circular path, a sun-dial, and twenty-four cabbages. The buildings
themselves are so precisely alike, that one can in no manner be
distinguished from the other. Owing to the vast antiquity, the style
of architecture is somewhat odd, but it is not for that reason the less
strikingly picturesque. They are fashioned of hard-burned little bricks,
red, with black ends, so that the walls look like a chess-board upon a
great scale. The gables are turned to the front, and there are cornices,
as big as all the rest of the house, over the eaves and over the main
doors. The windows are narrow and deep, with very tiny panes and a great
deal of sash. On the roof is a vast quantity of tiles with long curly
ears. The woodwork, throughout, is of a dark hue and there is much
carving about it, with but a trifling variety of pattern for, time out
of mind, the carvers of Vondervotteimittiss have never been able to
carve more than two objects--a time-piece and a cabbage. But these they
do exceedingly well, and intersperse them, with singular ingenuity,
wherever they find room for the chisel.

The dwellings are as much alike inside as out, and the furniture is all
upon one plan. The floors are of square tiles, the chairs and tables
of black-looking wood with thin crooked legs and puppy feet. The
mantelpieces are wide and high, and have not only time-pieces and
cabbages sculptured over the front, but a real time-piece, which makes
a prodigious ticking, on the top in the middle, with a flower-pot
containing a cabbage standing on each extremity by way of outrider.
Between each cabbage and the time-piece, again, is a little China man
having a large stomach with a great round hole in it, through which is
seen the dial-plate of a watch.

The fireplaces are large and deep, with fierce crooked-looking
fire-dogs. There is constantly a rousing fire, and a huge pot over it,
full of sauer-<DW62> and pork, to which the good woman of the house is
always busy in attending. She is a little fat old lady, with blue eyes
and a red face, and wears a huge cap like a sugar-loaf, ornamented
with purple and yellow ribbons. Her dress is of orange-
linsey-woolsey, made very full behind and very short in the waist--and
indeed very short in other respects, not reaching below the middle of
her leg. This is somewhat thick, and so are her ankles, but she has
a fine pair of green stockings to cover them. Her shoes--of pink
leather--are fastened each with a bunch of yellow ribbons puckered up
in the shape of a cabbage. In her left hand she has a little heavy Dutch
watch; in her right she wields a ladle for the sauerkraut and pork. By
her side there stands a fat tabby cat, with a gilt toy-repeater tied to
its tail, which "the boys" have there fastened by way of a quiz.

The boys themselves are, all three of them, in the garden attending the
pig. They are each two feet in height. They have three-cornered
cocked hats, purple waistcoats reaching down to their thighs, buckskin
knee-breeches, red stockings, heavy shoes with big silver buckles, long
surtout coats with large buttons of mother-of-pearl. Each, too, has a
pipe in his mouth, and a little dumpy watch in his right hand. He
takes a puff and a look, and then a look and a puff. The pig--which is
corpulent and lazy--is occupied now in picking up the stray leaves that
fall from the cabbages, and now in giving a kick behind at the gilt
repeater, which the urchins have also tied to his tail in order to make
him look as handsome as the cat.

Right at the front door, in a high-backed leather-bottomed armed chair,
with crooked legs and puppy feet like the tables, is seated the old man
of the house himself. He is an exceedingly puffy little old gentleman,
with big circular eyes and a huge double chin. His dress resembles that
of the boys--and I need say nothing farther about it. All the difference
is, that his pipe is somewhat bigger than theirs and he can make a
greater smoke. Like them, he has a watch, but he carries his watch in
his pocket. To say the truth, he has something of more importance than a
watch to attend to--and what that is, I shall presently explain. He sits
with his right leg upon his left knee, wears a grave countenance, and
always keeps one of his eyes, at least, resolutely bent upon a certain
remarkable object in the centre of the plain.

This object is situated in the steeple of the House of the Town Council.
The Town Council are all very little, round, oily, intelligent men, with
big saucer eyes and fat double chins, and have their coats much longer
and their shoe-buckles much bigger than the ordinary inhabitants of
Vondervotteimittiss. Since my sojourn in the borough, they have had
several special meetings, and have adopted these three important
resolutions:

"That it is wrong to alter the good old course of things:"

"That there is nothing tolerable out of Vondervotteimittiss:" and--

"That we will stick by our clocks and our cabbages."

Above the session-room of the Council is the steeple, and in the steeple
is the belfry, where exists, and has existed time out of mind, the
pride and wonder of the village--the great clock of the borough of
Vondervotteimittiss. And this is the object to which the eyes of the old
gentlemen are turned who sit in the leather-bottomed arm-chairs.

The great clock has seven faces--one in each of the seven sides of the
steeple--so that it can be readily seen from all quarters. Its faces are
large and white, and its hands heavy and black. There is a belfry-man
whose sole duty is to attend to it; but this duty is the most perfect
of sinecures--for the clock of Vondervotteimittis was never yet known to
have anything the matter with it. Until lately, the bare supposition
of such a thing was considered heretical. From the remotest period of
antiquity to which the archives have reference, the hours have been
regularly struck by the big bell. And, indeed the case was just the same
with all the other clocks and watches in the borough. Never was such a
place for keeping the true time. When the large clapper thought proper
to say "Twelve o'clock!" all its obedient followers opened their throats
simultaneously, and responded like a very echo. In short, the good
burghers were fond of their sauer-<DW62>, but then they were proud of
their clocks.

All people who hold sinecure offices are held in more or less respect,
and as the belfry--man of Vondervotteimittiss has the most perfect of
sinecures, he is the most perfectly respected of any man in the world.
He is the chief dignitary of the borough, and the very pigs look up to
him with a sentiment of reverence. His coat-tail is very far
longer--his pipe, his shoe--buckles, his eyes, and his stomach, very far
bigger--than those of any other old gentleman in the village; and as to
his chin, it is not only double, but triple.

I have thus painted the happy estate of Vondervotteimittiss: alas, that
so fair a picture should ever experience a reverse!

There has been long a saying among the wisest inhabitants, that "no good
can come from over the hills"; and it really seemed that the words had
in them something of the spirit of prophecy. It wanted five minutes
of noon, on the day before yesterday, when there appeared a very
odd-looking object on the summit of the ridge of the eastward. Such an
occurrence, of course, attracted universal attention, and every little
old gentleman who sat in a leather-bottomed arm-chair turned one of his
eyes with a stare of dismay upon the phenomenon, still keeping the other
upon the clock in the steeple.

By the time that it wanted only three minutes to noon, the droll object
in question was perceived to be a very diminutive foreign-looking young
man. He descended the hills at a great rate, so that every body had soon
a good look at him. He was really the most finicky little personage that
had ever been seen in Vondervotteimittiss. His countenance was of a dark
snuff-color, and he had a long hooked nose, pea eyes, a wide mouth, and
an excellent set of teeth, which latter he seemed anxious of displaying,
as he was grinning from ear to ear. What with mustachios and whiskers,
there was none of the rest of his face to be seen. His head was
uncovered, and his hair neatly done up in papillotes. His dress was
a tight-fitting swallow-tailed black coat (from one of whose pockets
dangled a vast length of white handkerchief), black kerseymere
knee-breeches, black stockings, and stumpy-looking pumps, with huge
bunches of black satin ribbon for bows. Under one arm he carried a huge
chapeau-de-bras, and under the other a fiddle nearly five times as big
as himself. In his left hand was a gold snuff-box, from which, as he
capered down the hill, cutting all manner of fantastic steps, he
took snuff incessantly with an air of the greatest possible
self-satisfaction. God bless me!--here was a sight for the honest
burghers of Vondervotteimittiss!

To speak plainly, the fellow had, in spite of his grinning, an audacious
and sinister kind of face; and as he curvetted right into the village,
the old stumpy appearance of his pumps excited no little suspicion; and
many a burgher who beheld him that day would have given a trifle for a
peep beneath the white cambric handkerchief which hung so obtrusively
from the pocket of his swallow-tailed coat. But what mainly occasioned a
righteous indignation was, that the scoundrelly popinjay, while he cut a
fandango here, and a whirligig there, did not seem to have the remotest
idea in the world of such a thing as keeping time in his steps.

The good people of the borough had scarcely a chance, however, to get
their eyes thoroughly open, when, just as it wanted half a minute of
noon, the rascal bounced, as I say, right into the midst of them; gave
a chassez here, and a balancez there; and then, after a pirouette and
a pas-de-zephyr, pigeon-winged himself right up into the belfry of the
House of the Town Council, where the wonder-stricken belfry-man sat
smoking in a state of dignity and dismay. But the little chap seized him
at once by the nose; gave it a swing and a pull; clapped the big chapeau
de-bras upon his head; knocked it down over his eyes and mouth; and
then, lifting up the big fiddle, beat him with it so long and so
soundly, that what with the belfry-man being so fat, and the fiddle
being so hollow, you would have sworn that there was a regiment of
double-bass drummers all beating the devil's tattoo up in the belfry of
the steeple of Vondervotteimittiss.

There is no knowing to what desperate act of vengeance this unprincipled
attack might have aroused the inhabitants, but for the important fact
that it now wanted only half a second of noon. The bell was about to
strike, and it was a matter of absolute and pre-eminent necessity that
every body should look well at his watch. It was evident, however, that
just at this moment the fellow in the steeple was doing something that
he had no business to do with the clock. But as it now began to strike,
nobody had any time to attend to his manoeuvres, for they had all to
count the strokes of the bell as it sounded.

"One!" said the clock.

"Von!" echoed every little old gentleman in every leather-bottomed
arm-chair in Vondervotteimittiss. "Von!" said his watch also; "von!"
said the watch of his vrow; and "von!" said the watches of the boys, and
the little gilt repeaters on the tails of the cat and pig.

"Two!" continued the big bell; and

"Doo!" repeated all the repeaters.

"Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!" said the bell.

"Dree! Vour! Fibe! Sax! Seben! Aight! Noin! Den!" answered the others.

"Eleven!" said the big one.

"Eleben!" assented the little ones.

"Twelve!" said the bell.

"Dvelf!" they replied perfectly satisfied, and dropping their voices.

"Und dvelf it is!" said all the little old gentlemen, putting up their
watches. But the big bell had not done with them yet.

"Thirteen!" said he.

"Der Teufel!" gasped the little old gentlemen, turning pale, dropping
their pipes, and putting down all their right legs from over their left
knees.

"Der Teufel!" groaned they, "Dirteen! Dirteen!!--Mein Gott, it is
Dirteen o'clock!!"

Why attempt to describe the terrible scene which ensued? All
Vondervotteimittiss flew at once into a lamentable state of uproar.

"Vot is cum'd to mein pelly?" roared all the boys--"I've been ongry for
dis hour!"

"Vot is com'd to mein <DW62>?" screamed all the vrows, "It has been done
to rags for this hour!"

"Vot is cum'd to mein pipe?" swore all the little old gentlemen, "Donder
and Blitzen; it has been smoked out for dis hour!"--and they filled them
up again in a great rage, and sinking back in their arm-chairs, puffed
away so fast and so fiercely that the whole valley was immediately
filled with impenetrable smoke.

Meantime the cabbages all turned very red in the face, and it seemed as
if old Nick himself had taken possession of every thing in the shape of
a timepiece. The clocks carved upon the furniture took to dancing as
if bewitched, while those upon the mantel-pieces could scarcely contain
themselves for fury, and kept such a continual striking of thirteen, and
such a frisking and wriggling of their pendulums as was really horrible
to see. But, worse than all, neither the cats nor the pigs could put
up any longer with the behavior of the little repeaters tied to their
tails, and resented it by scampering all over the place, scratching and
poking, and squeaking and screeching, and caterwauling and squalling,
and flying into the faces, and running under the petticoats of the
people, and creating altogether the most abominable din and confusion
which it is possible for a reasonable person to conceive. And to make
matters still more distressing, the rascally little scape-grace in the
steeple was evidently exerting himself to the utmost. Every now and then
one might catch a glimpse of the scoundrel through the smoke. There he
sat in the belfry upon the belfry-man, who was lying flat upon his back.
In his teeth the villain held the bell-rope, which he kept jerking about
with his head, raising such a clatter that my ears ring again even to
think of it. On his lap lay the big fiddle, at which he was scraping,
out of all time and tune, with both hands, making a great show, the
nincompoop! of playing "Judy O'Flannagan and Paddy O'Rafferty."

Affairs being thus miserably situated, I left the place in disgust, and
now appeal for aid to all lovers of correct time and fine <DW62>. Let
us proceed in a body to the borough, and restore the ancient order of
things in Vondervotteimittiss by ejecting that little fellow from the
steeple.




LIONIZING

     -------- all people went
     Upon their ten toes in wild wonderment.

           --_Bishop Hall's Satires_.

I am--that is to say I was--a great man; but I am neither the author of
Junius nor the man in the mask; for my name, I believe, is Robert Jones,
and I was born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge.

The first action of my life was the taking hold of my nose with both
hands. My mother saw this and called me a genius: my father wept for joy
and presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I mastered before I
was breeched.

I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon came to understand
that, provided a man had a nose sufficiently conspicuous he might, by
merely following it, arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was not
confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my proboscis a couple
of pulls and swallowed a half dozen of drams.

When I came of age my father asked me, one day, If I would step with him
into his study.

"My son," said he, when we were seated, "what is the chief end of your
existence?"

"My father," I answered, "it is the study of Nosology."

"And what, Robert," he inquired, "is Nosology?"

"Sir," I said, "it is the Science of Noses."

"And can you tell me," he demanded, "what is the meaning of a nose?"

"A nose, my father;" I replied, greatly softened, "has been variously
defined by about a thousand different authors." [Here I pulled out my
watch.] "It is now noon or thereabouts--we shall have time enough to
get through with them all before midnight. To commence then:--The
nose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance--that bump--that
excrescence--that--"

"Will do, Robert," interrupted the good old gentleman. "I am
thunderstruck at the extent of your information--I am positively--upon
my soul." [Here he closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his heart.]
"Come here!" [Here he took me by the arm.] "Your education may now
be considered as finished--it is high time you should scuffle for
yourself--and you cannot do a better thing than merely follow your
nose--so--so--so--" [Here he kicked me down stairs and out of the
door]--"so get out of my house, and God bless you!"

As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered this accident
rather fortunate than otherwise. I resolved to be guided by the paternal
advice. I determined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull or two upon the
spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology forthwith.

All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar.

"Wonderful genius!" said the Quarterly.

"Superb physiologist!" said the Westminster.

"Clever fellow!" said the Foreign.

"Fine writer!" said the Edinburgh.

"Profound thinker!" said the Dublin.

"Great man!" said Bentley.

"Divine soul!" said Fraser.

"One of us!" said Blackwood.

"Who can he be?" said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.

"What can he be?" said big Miss Bas-Bleu.

"Where can he be?" said little Miss Bas-Bleu.--But I paid these people
no attention whatever--I just stepped into the shop of an artist.

The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the Marquis
of So-and-So was holding the Duchess' poodle; the Earl of This-and-That
was flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-Not was
leaning upon the back of her chair.

I approached the artist and turned up my nose.

"Oh, beautiful!" sighed her Grace.

"Oh my!" lisped the Marquis.

"Oh, shocking!" groaned the Earl.

"Oh, abominable!" growled his Royal Highness.

"What will you take for it?" asked the artist.

"For his nose!" shouted her Grace.

"A thousand pounds," said I, sitting down.

"A thousand pounds?" inquired the artist, musingly.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"Beautiful!" said he, entranced.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"Do you warrant it?" he asked, turning the nose to the light.

"I do," said I, blowing it well.

"Is it quite original?" he inquired; touching it with reverence.

"Humph!" said I, twisting it to one side.

"Has no copy been taken?" he demanded, surveying it through a
microscope.

"None," said I, turning it up.

"Admirable!" he ejaculated, thrown quite off his guard by the beauty of
the manoeuvre.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he.

"Precisely," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he.

"Just so," said I.

"You shall have them," said he. "What a piece of virtu!" So he drew me
a check upon the spot, and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged rooms
in Jermyn street, and sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition of the
"Nosology," with a portrait of the proboscis.--That sad little rake, the
Prince of Wales, invited me to dinner.

We were all lions and recherches.

There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Porphyry, Iamblicus, Plotinus,
Proclus, Hierocles, Maximus Tyrius, and Syrianus.

There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted Turgot, Price, Priestly,
Condorcet, De Stael, and the "Ambitious Student in Ill Health."

There was Sir Positive Paradox. He observed that all fools were
philosophers, and that all philosophers were fools.

There was AEstheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity, and atoms; bi-part
and pre-existent soul; affinity and discord; primitive intelligence and
homoeomeria.

There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Eusebius and Arianus; heresy
and the Council of Nice; Puseyism and consubstantialism; Homousios and
Homouioisios.

There was Fricassee from the Rocher de Cancale. He mentioned Muriton of
red tongue; cauliflowers with veloute sauce; veal a la St. Menehoult;
marinade a la St. Florentin; and orange jellies en mosaeiques.

There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour and Markbruennen; upon
Mousseux and Chambertin; upon Richbourg and St. George; upon Haubrion,
Leonville, and Medoc; upon Barac and Preignac; upon Grave, upon
Sauterne, upon Lafitte, and upon St. Peray. He shook his head at Clos de
Vougeot, and told, with his eyes shut, the difference between Sherry and
Amontillado.

There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He discoursed of Cimabue,
Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argostino--of the gloom of Caravaggio, of the
amenity of Albano, of the colors of Titian, of the frows of Rubens, and
of the waggeries of Jan Steen.

There was the President of the Fum-Fudge University. He was of opinion
that the moon was called Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt, Dian in
Rome, and Artemis in Greece. There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. He
could not help thinking that the angels were horses, cocks, and bulls;
that somebody in the sixth heaven had seventy thousand heads; and that
the earth was supported by a sky-blue cow with an incalculable number of
green horns.

There was Delphinus Polyglott. He told us what had become of the
eighty-three lost tragedies of AEschylus; of the fifty-four orations of
Isaeus; of the three hundred and ninety-one speeches of Lysias; of the
hundred and eighty treatises of Theophrastus; of the eighth book of the
conic sections of Apollonius; of Pindar's hymns and dithyrambics; and of
the five and forty tragedies of Homer Junior.

There was Ferdinand Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He informed us all about
internal fires and tertiary formations; about aeeriforms, fluidiforms,
and solidiforms; about quartz and marl; about schist and schorl; about
gypsum and trap; about talc and calc; about blende and horn-blende;
about mica-slate and pudding-stone; about cyanite and lepidolite; about
hematite and tremolite; about antimony and calcedony; about manganese
and whatever you please.

There was myself. I spoke of myself;--of myself, of myself, of
myself;--of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up my
nose, and I spoke of myself.

"Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince.

"Superb!" said his guests:--and next morning her Grace of Bless-my-Soul
paid me a visit.

"Will you go to Almack's, pretty creature?" she said, tapping me under
the chin.

"Upon honor," said I.

"Nose and all?" she asked.

"As I live," I replied.

"Here then is a card, my life. Shall I say you will be there?"

"Dear Duchess, with all my heart."

"Pshaw, no!--but with all your nose?"

"Every bit of it, my love," said I: so I gave it a twist or two, and
found myself at Almack's. The rooms were crowded to suffocation.

"He is coming!" said somebody on the staircase.

"He is coming!" said somebody farther up.

"He is coming!" said somebody farther still.

"He is come!" exclaimed the Duchess. "He is come, the little
love!"--and, seizing me firmly by both hands, she kissed me thrice upon
the nose. A marked sensation immediately ensued.

"Diavolo!" cried Count Capricornutti.

"Dios guarda!" muttered Don Stiletto.

"Mille tonnerres!" ejaculated the Prince de Grenouille.

"Tousand teufel!" growled the Elector of Bluddennuff.

It was not to be borne. I grew angry. I turned short upon Bluddennuff.

"Sir!" said I to him, "you are a baboon."

"Sir," he replied, after a pause, "Donner und Blitzen!"

This was all that could be desired. We exchanged cards. At Chalk-Farm,
the next morning, I shot off his nose--and then called upon my friends.

"Bete!" said the first.

"Fool!" said the second.

"Dolt!" said the third.

"Ass!" said the fourth.

"Ninny!" said the fifth.

"Noodle!" said the sixth.

"Be off!" said the seventh.

At all this I felt mortified, and so called upon my father.

"Father," I asked, "what is the chief end of my existence?"

"My son," he replied, "it is still the study of Nosology; but in hitting
the Elector upon the nose you have overshot your mark. You have a fine
nose, it is true; but then Bluddennuff has none. You are damned, and
he has become the hero of the day. I grant you that in Fum-Fudge the
greatness of a lion is in proportion to the size of his proboscis--but,
good heavens! there is no competing with a lion who has no proboscis at
all."




X-ING A PARAGRAPH

AS it is well known that the 'wise men' came 'from the East,' and as
Mr. Touch-and-go Bullet-head came from the East, it follows that Mr.
Bullet-head was a wise man; and if collateral proof of the matter be
needed, here we have it--Mr. B. was an editor. Irascibility was his sole
foible, for in fact the obstinacy of which men accused him was anything
but his foible, since he justly considered it his forte. It was his
strong point--his virtue; and it would have required all the logic of a
Brownson to convince him that it was 'anything else.'

I have shown that Touch-and-go Bullet-head was a wise man; and the only
occasion on which he did not prove infallible, was when, abandoning that
legitimate home for all wise men, the East, he migrated to the city of
Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, or some place of a similar title, out
West.

I must do him the justice to say, however, that when he made up his
mind finally to settle in that town, it was under the impression that
no newspaper, and consequently no editor, existed in that particular
section of the country. In establishing 'The Tea-Pot' he expected to
have the field all to himself. I feel confident he never would have
dreamed of taking up his residence in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis
had he been aware that, in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, there lived a
gentleman named John Smith (if I rightly remember), who for many
years had there quietly grown fat in editing and publishing the
'Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis Gazette.' It was solely, therefore, on
account of having been misinformed, that Mr. Bullet-head found himself
in Alex-suppose we call it Nopolis, 'for short'--but, as he did find
himself there, he determined to keep up his character for obst--for
firmness, and remain. So remain he did; and he did more; he unpacked his
press, type, etc., etc., rented an office exactly opposite to that of
the 'Gazette,' and, on the third morning after his arrival, issued
the first number of 'The Alexan'--that is to say, of 'The Nopolis
Tea-Pot'--as nearly as I can recollect, this was the name of the new
paper.

The leading article, I must admit, was brilliant--not to say severe. It
was especially bitter about things in general--and as for the editor
of 'The Gazette,' he was torn all to pieces in particular. Some of
Bullethead's remarks were really so fiery that I have always, since that
time, been forced to look upon John Smith, who is still alive, in the
light of a salamander. I cannot pretend to give all the 'Tea-Pot's'
paragraphs verbatim, but one of them runs thus:

'Oh, yes!--Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! The editor over the way is a
genius--O, my! Oh, goodness, gracious!--what is this world coming to?
Oh, tempora! Oh, Moses!'

A philippic at once so caustic and so classical, alighted like a
bombshell among the hitherto peaceful citizens of Nopolis. Groups of
excited individuals gathered at the corners of the streets. Every one
awaited, with heartfelt anxiety, the reply of the dignified Smith. Next
morning it appeared as follows:

'We quote from "The Tea-Pot" of yesterday the subjoined paragraph: "Oh,
yes! Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! Oh, my! Oh, goodness! Oh, tempora!
Oh, Moses!" Why, the fellow is all O! That accounts for his reasoning
in a circle, and explains why there is neither beginning nor end to him,
nor to anything he says. We really do not believe the vagabond can write
a word that hasn't an O in it. Wonder if this O-ing is a habit of his?
By-the-by, he came away from Down-East in a great hurry. Wonder if he
O's as much there as he does here? "O! it is pitiful."'

The indignation of Mr. Bullet-head at these scandalous insinuations, I
shall not attempt to describe. On the eel-skinning principle, however,
he did not seem to be so much incensed at the attack upon his integrity
as one might have imagined. It was the sneer at his style that drove him
to desperation. What!--he Touch-and-go Bullet-head!--not able to write
a word without an O in it! He would soon let the jackanapes see that he
was mistaken. Yes! he would let him see how much he was mistaken, the
puppy! He, Touch-and-go Bullet-head, of Frogpondium, would let Mr. John
Smith perceive that he, Bullet-head, could indite, if it so pleased
him, a whole paragraph--aye! a whole article--in which that contemptible
vowel should not once--not even once--make its appearance. But no;--that
would be yielding a point to the said John Smith. He, Bullet-head, would
make no alteration in his style, to suit the caprices of any Mr. Smith
in Christendom. Perish so vile a thought! The O forever; He would
persist in the O. He would be as O-wy as O-wy could be.

Burning with the chivalry of this determination, the great Touch-and-go,
in the next 'Tea-Pot,' came out merely with this simple but resolute
paragraph, in reference to this unhappy affair:

'The editor of the "Tea-Pot" has the honor of advising the editor of the
"Gazette" that he (the "Tea-Pot") will take an opportunity in tomorrow
morning's paper, of convincing him (the "Gazette") that he (the
"Tea-Pot") both can and will be his own master, as regards style; he
(the "Tea-Pot") intending to show him (the "Gazette") the supreme,
and indeed the withering contempt with which the criticism of him (the
"Gazette") inspires the independent bosom of him (the "TeaPot") by
composing for the especial gratification (?) of him (the "Gazette")
a leading article, of some extent, in which the beautiful vowel--the
emblem of Eternity--yet so offensive to the hyper-exquisite delicacy
of him (the "Gazette") shall most certainly not be avoided by his (the
"Gazette's") most obedient, humble servant, the "Tea-Pot." "So much for
Buckingham!"'

In fulfilment of the awful threat thus darkly intimated rather than
decidedly enunciated, the great Bullet-head, turning a deaf ear to all
entreaties for 'copy,' and simply requesting his foreman to 'go to the
d----l,' when he (the foreman) assured him (the 'Tea-Pot'!) that it was
high time to 'go to press': turning a deaf ear to everything, I say, the
great Bullet-head sat up until day-break, consuming the midnight oil,
and absorbed in the composition of the really unparalleled paragraph,
which follows:--

'So ho, John! how now? Told you so, you know. Don't crow, another time,
before you're out of the woods! Does your mother know you're out? Oh,
no, no!--so go home at once, now, John, to your odious old woods of
Concord! Go home to your woods, old owl--go! You won't! Oh, poh, poh,
don't do so! You've got to go, you know! So go at once, and don't go
slow, for nobody owns you here, you know! Oh! John, John, if you don't
go you're no <DW25>--no! You're only a fowl, an owl, a cow, a sow,--a
doll, a poll; a poor, old, good-for-nothing-to-nobody, log, dog, hog, or
frog, come out of a Concord bog. Cool, now--cool! Do be cool, you fool!
None of your crowing, old cock! Don't frown so--don't! Don't hollo, nor
howl nor growl, nor bow-wow-wow! Good Lord, John, how you do look! Told
you so, you know--but stop rolling your goose of an old poll about so,
and go and drown your sorrows in a bowl!'

Exhausted, very naturally, by so stupendous an effort, the great
Touch-and-go could attend to nothing farther that night. Firmly,
composedly, yet with an air of conscious power, he handed his MS. to
the devil in waiting, and then, walking leisurely home, retired, with
ineffable dignity to bed.

Meantime the devil, to whom the copy was entrusted, ran up stairs to his
'case,' in an unutterable hurry, and forthwith made a commencement at
'setting' the MS. 'up.'

In the first place, of course,--as the opening word was 'So,'--he made a
plunge into the capital S hole and came out in triumph with a capital S.
Elated by this success, he immediately threw himself upon the little-o
box with a blindfold impetuosity--but who shall describe his horror when
his fingers came up without the anticipated letter in their clutch? who
shall paint his astonishment and rage at perceiving, as he rubbed his
knuckles, that he had been only thumping them to no purpose, against the
bottom of an empty box. Not a single little-o was in the little-o hole;
and, glancing fearfully at the capital-O partition, he found that to his
extreme terror, in a precisely similar predicament. Awe--stricken, his
first impulse was to rush to the foreman.

'Sir!' said he, gasping for breath, 'I can't never set up nothing
without no o's.'

'What do you mean by that?' growled the foreman, who was in a very ill
humor at being kept so late.

'Why, sir, there beant an o in the office, neither a big un nor a little
un!'

'What--what the d-l has become of all that were in the case?'

'I don't know, sir,' said the boy, 'but one of them ere "G'zette" devils
is bin prowling 'bout here all night, and I spect he's gone and cabbaged
'em every one.'

'Dod rot him! I haven't a doubt of it,' replied the foreman, getting
purple with rage 'but I tell you what you do, Bob, that's a good
boy--you go over the first chance you get and hook every one of their
i's and (d----n them!) their izzards.'

'Jist so,' replied Bob, with a wink and a frown--'I'll be into 'em, I'll
let 'em know a thing or two; but in de meantime, that ere paragrab? Mus
go in to-night, you know--else there'll be the d-l to pay, and-'

'And not a bit of pitch hot,' interrupted the foreman, with a deep sigh,
and an emphasis on the 'bit.' 'Is it a long paragraph, Bob?'

'Shouldn't call it a wery long paragrab,' said Bob.

'Ah, well, then! do the best you can with it! We must get to press,'
said the foreman, who was over head and ears in work; 'just stick in
some other letter for o; nobody's going to read the fellow's trash
anyhow.'

'Wery well,' replied Bob, 'here goes it!' and off he hurried to his
case, muttering as he went: 'Considdeble vell, them ere expressions,
perticcler for a man as doesn't swar. So I's to gouge out all their
eyes, eh? and d-n all their gizzards! Vell! this here's the chap as is
just able for to do it.' The fact is that although Bob was but twelve
years old and four feet high, he was equal to any amount of fight, in a
small way.

The exigency here described is by no means of rare occurrence in
printing-offices; and I cannot tell how to account for it, but the fact
is indisputable, that when the exigency does occur, it almost always
happens that x is adopted as a substitute for the letter deficient. The
true reason, perhaps, is that x is rather the most superabundant letter
in the cases, or at least was so in the old times--long enough to render
the substitution in question an habitual thing with printers. As
for Bob, he would have considered it heretical to employ any other
character, in a case of this kind, than the x to which he had been
accustomed.

'I shell have to x this ere paragrab,' said he to himself, as he read it
over in astonishment, 'but it's jest about the awfulest o-wy paragrab I
ever did see': so x it he did, unflinchingly, and to press it went x-ed.

Next morning the population of Nopolis were taken all aback by reading
in 'The Tea-Pot,' the following extraordinary leader:

'Sx hx, Jxhn! hxw nxw? Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw. Dxn't crxw, anxther time,
befxre yxu're xut xf the wxxds! Dxes yxur mxther knxw yxu're xut? Xh,
nx, nx!--sx gx hxme at xnce, nxw, Jxhn, tx yxur xdixus xld wxxds xf
Cxncxrd! Gx hxme tx yxur wxxds, xld xwl,--gx! Yxu wxn't? Xh, pxh, pxh,
Jxhn, dxn't dx sx! Yxu've gxt tx gx, yxu knxw, sx gx at xnce, and dxn't
gx slxw; fxr nxbxdy xwns yxu here, yxu knxw. Xh, Jxhn, Jxhn, Jxhn, if
yxu dxn't gx yxu're nx hxmx--nx! Yxu're xnly a fxwl, an xwl; a cxw, a
sxw; a dxll, a pxll; a pxxr xld gxxd-fxr-nxthing-tx-nxbxdy, lxg, dxg,
hxg, xr frxg, cxme xut xf a Cxncxrd bxg. Cxxl, nxw--cxxl! Dx be cxxl,
yxu fxxl! Nxne xf yxur crxwing, xld cxck! Dxn't frxwn sx--dxn't! Dxn't
hxllx, nxr hxwl, nxr grxwl, nxr bxw-wxw-wxw! Gxxd Lxrd, Jxhn, hxw yxu dx
lxxk! Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw,--but stxp rxlling yxur gxxse xf an xld pxll
abxut sx, and gx and drxwn yxur sxrrxws in a bxwl!'

The uproar occasioned by this mystical and cabalistical article, is not
to be conceived. The first definite idea entertained by the populace
was, that some diabolical treason lay concealed in the hieroglyphics;
and there was a general rush to Bullet-head's residence, for the purpose
of riding him on a rail; but that gentleman was nowhere to be found. He
had vanished, no one could tell how; and not even the ghost of him has
ever been seen since.

Unable to discover its legitimate object, the popular fury at length
subsided; leaving behind it, by way of sediment, quite a medley of
opinion about this unhappy affair.

One gentleman thought the whole an X-ellent joke.

Another said that, indeed, Bullet-head had shown much X-uberance of
fancy.

A third admitted him X-entric, but no more.

A fourth could only suppose it the Yankee's design to X-press, in a
general way, his X-asperation.

'Say, rather, to set an X-ample to posterity,' suggested a fifth.

That Bullet-head had been driven to an extremity, was clear to all; and
in fact, since that editor could not be found, there was some talk about
lynching the other one.

The more common conclusion, however, was that the affair was, simply,
X-traordinary and in-X-plicable. Even the town mathematician confessed
that he could make nothing of so dark a problem. X, every. body knew,
was an unknown quantity; but in this case (as he properly observed),
there was an unknown quantity of X.

The opinion of Bob, the devil (who kept dark about his having 'X-ed the
paragrab'), did not meet with so much attention as I think it deserved,
although it was very openly and very fearlessly expressed. He said that,
for his part, he had no doubt about the matter at all, that it was a
clear case, that Mr. Bullet-head 'never could be persuaded fur to drink
like other folks, but vas continually a-svigging o' that ere blessed XXX
ale, and as a naiteral consekvence, it just puffed him up savage, and
made him X (cross) in the X-treme.'




METZENGERSTEIN

     Pestis eram vivus--moriens tua mors ero.

                --_Martin Luther_

HORROR and fatality have been stalking abroad in all ages. Why then give
a date to this story I have to tell? Let it suffice to say, that at the
period of which I speak, there existed, in the interior of Hungary, a
settled although hidden belief in the doctrines of the Metempsychosis.
Of the doctrines themselves--that is, of their falsity, or of their
probability--I say nothing. I assert, however, that much of our
incredulity--as La Bruyere says of all our unhappiness--"_vient de ne
pouvoir etre seuls_." {*1}

But there are some points in the Hungarian superstition which were fast
verging to absurdity. They--the Hungarians--differed very essentially
from their Eastern authorities. For example, "_The soul_," said the
former--I give the words of an acute and intelligent Parisian--"_ne
demeure qu'un seul fois dans un corps sensible: au reste--un cheval,
un chien, un homme meme, n'est que la ressemblance peu tangible de ces
animaux._"

The families of Berlifitzing and Metzengerstein had been at variance
for centuries. Never before were two houses so illustrious, mutually
embittered by hostility so deadly. The origin of this enmity seems to
be found in the words of an ancient prophecy--"A lofty name shall have
a fearful fall when, as the rider over his horse, the mortality of
Metzengerstein shall triumph over the immortality of Berlifitzing."

To be sure the words themselves had little or no meaning. But more
trivial causes have given rise--and that no long while ago--to
consequences equally eventful. Besides, the estates, which were
contiguous, had long exercised a rival influence in the affairs of a
busy government. Moreover, near neighbors are seldom friends; and the
inhabitants of the Castle Berlifitzing might look, from their lofty
buttresses, into the very windows of the palace Metzengerstein. Least of
all had the more than feudal magnificence, thus discovered, a tendency
to allay the irritable feelings of the less ancient and less wealthy
Berlifitzings. What wonder then, that the words, however silly, of that
prediction, should have succeeded in setting and keeping at variance
two families already predisposed to quarrel by every instigation
of hereditary jealousy? The prophecy seemed to imply--if it implied
anything--a final triumph on the part of the already more powerful
house; and was of course remembered with the more bitter animosity by
the weaker and less influential.

Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although loftily descended, was, at the
epoch of this narrative, an infirm and doting old man, remarkable for
nothing but an inordinate and inveterate personal antipathy to the
family of his rival, and so passionate a love of horses, and of hunting,
that neither bodily infirmity, great age, nor mental incapacity,
prevented his daily participation in the dangers of the chase.

Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet of age.
His father, the Minister G--, died young. His mother, the Lady Mary,
followed him quickly after. Frederick was, at that time, in his
fifteenth year. In a city, fifteen years are no long period--a child
may be still a child in his third lustrum: but in a wilderness--in so
magnificent a wilderness as that old principality, fifteen years have a
far deeper meaning.

From some peculiar circumstances attending the administration of
his father, the young Baron, at the decease of the former, entered
immediately upon his vast possessions. Such estates were seldom held
before by a nobleman of Hungary. His castles were without number. The
chief in point of splendor and extent was the "Chateau Metzengerstein."
The boundary line of his dominions was never clearly defined; but his
principal park embraced a circuit of fifty miles.

Upon the succession of a proprietor so young, with a character so well
known, to a fortune so unparalleled, little speculation was afloat in
regard to his probable course of conduct. And, indeed, for the space
of three days, the behavior of the heir out-heroded Herod, and fairly
surpassed the expectations of his most enthusiastic admirers. Shameful
debaucheries--flagrant treacheries--unheard-of atrocities--gave his
trembling vassals quickly to understand that no servile submission on
their part--no punctilios of conscience on his own--were thenceforward
to prove any security against the remorseless fangs of a petty Caligula.
On the night of the fourth day, the stables of the castle Berlifitzing
were discovered to be on fire; and the unanimous opinion of the
neighborhood added the crime of the incendiary to the already hideous
list of the Baron's misdemeanors and enormities.

But during the tumult occasioned by this occurrence, the young nobleman
himself sat apparently buried in meditation, in a vast and desolate
upper apartment of the family palace of Metzengerstein. The rich
although faded tapestry hangings which swung gloomily upon the walls,
represented the shadowy and majestic forms of a thousand illustrious
ancestors. _Here_, rich-ermined priests, and pontifical dignitaries,
familiarly seated with the autocrat and the sovereign, put a veto on
the wishes of a temporal king, or restrained with the fiat of papal
supremacy the rebellious sceptre of the Arch-enemy. _There_, the dark,
tall statures of the Princes Metzengerstein--their muscular war-coursers
plunging over the carcasses of fallen foes--startled the steadiest
nerves with their vigorous expression; and _here_, again, the voluptuous
and swan-like figures of the dames of days gone by, floated away in the
mazes of an unreal dance to the strains of imaginary melody.

But as the Baron listened, or affected to listen, to the gradually
increasing uproar in the stables of Berlifitzing--or perhaps pondered
upon some more novel, some more decided act of audacity--his eyes became
unwittingly rivetted to the figure of an enormous, and unnaturally
 horse, represented in the tapestry as belonging to a Saracen
ancestor of the family of his rival. The horse itself, in the foreground
of the design, stood motionless and statue-like--while farther back, its
discomfited rider perished by the dagger of a Metzengerstein.

On Frederick's lip arose a fiendish expression, as he became aware of
the direction which his glance had, without his consciousness, assumed.
Yet he did not remove it. On the contrary, he could by no means account
for the overwhelming anxiety which appeared falling like a pall upon
his senses. It was with difficulty that he reconciled his dreamy and
incoherent feelings with the certainty of being awake. The longer he
gazed the more absorbing became the spell--the more impossible did it
appear that he could ever withdraw his glance from the fascination of
that tapestry. But the tumult without becoming suddenly more violent,
with a compulsory exertion he diverted his attention to the glare of
ruddy light thrown full by the flaming stables upon the windows of the
apartment.

The action, however, was but momentary, his gaze returned mechanically
to the wall. To his extreme horror and astonishment, the head of the
gigantic steed had, in the meantime, altered its position. The neck of
the animal, before arched, as if in compassion, over the prostrate body
of its lord, was now extended, at full length, in the direction of
the Baron. The eyes, before invisible, now wore an energetic and human
expression, while they gleamed with a fiery and unusual red; and the
distended lips of the apparently enraged horse left in full view his
gigantic and disgusting teeth.

Stupified with terror, the young nobleman tottered to the door. As he
threw it open, a flash of red light, streaming far into the chamber,
flung his shadow with a clear outline against the quivering tapestry,
and he shuddered to perceive that shadow--as he staggered awhile upon
the threshold--assuming the exact position, and precisely filling up
the contour, of the relentless and triumphant murderer of the Saracen
Berlifitzing.

To lighten the depression of his spirits, the Baron hurried into the
open air. At the principal gate of the palace he encountered three
equerries. With much difficulty, and at the imminent peril of their
lives, they were restraining the convulsive plunges of a gigantic and
fiery- horse.

"Whose horse? Where did you get him?" demanded the youth, in a
querulous and husky tone of voice, as he became instantly aware that the
mysterious steed in the tapestried chamber was the very counterpart of
the furious animal before his eyes.

"He is your own property, sire," replied one of the equerries, "at least
he is claimed by no other owner. We caught him flying, all smoking and
foaming with rage, from the burning stables of the Castle Berlifitzing.
Supposing him to have belonged to the old Count's stud of foreign
horses, we led him back as an estray. But the grooms there disclaim any
title to the creature; which is strange, since he bears evident marks of
having made a narrow escape from the flames.

"The letters W. V. B. are also branded very distinctly on his forehead,"
interrupted a second equerry, "I supposed them, of course, to be the
initials of Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing--but all at the castle are positive
in denying any knowledge of the horse."

"Extremely singular!" said the young Baron, with a musing air, and
apparently unconscious of the meaning of his words. "He is, as you say,
a remarkable horse--a prodigious horse! although, as you very justly
observe, of a suspicious and untractable character, let him be mine,
however," he added, after a pause, "perhaps a rider like Frederick
of Metzengerstein, may tame even the devil from the stables of
Berlifitzing."

"You are mistaken, my lord; the horse, as I think we mentioned, is _not_
from the stables of the Count. If such had been the case, we know our
duty better than to bring him into the presence of a noble of your
family."

"True!" observed the Baron, dryly, and at that instant a page of
the bedchamber came from the palace with a heightened color, and a
precipitate step. He whispered into his master's ear an account of the
sudden disappearance of a small portion of the tapestry, in an apartment
which he designated; entering, at the same time, into particulars of a
minute and circumstantial character; but from the low tone of voice in
which these latter were communicated, nothing escaped to gratify the
excited curiosity of the equerries.

The young Frederick, during the conference, seemed agitated by a
variety of emotions. He soon, however, recovered his composure, and an
expression of determined malignancy settled upon his countenance, as
he gave peremptory orders that a certain chamber should be immediately
locked up, and the key placed in his own possession.

"Have you heard of the unhappy death of the old hunter Berlifitzing?"
said one of his vassals to the Baron, as, after the departure of the
page, the huge steed which that nobleman had adopted as his own, plunged
and curvetted, with redoubled fury, down the long avenue which extended
from the chateau to the stables of Metzengerstein.

"No!" said the Baron, turning abruptly toward the speaker, "dead! say
you?"

"It is indeed true, my lord; and, to a noble of your name, will be, I
imagine, no unwelcome intelligence."

A rapid smile shot over the countenance of the listener. "How died he?"

"In his rash exertions to rescue a favorite portion of his hunting stud,
he has himself perished miserably in the flames."

"I-n-d-e-e-d-!" ejaculated the Baron, as if slowly and deliberately
impressed with the truth of some exciting idea.

"Indeed;" repeated the vassal.

"Shocking!" said the youth, calmly, and turned quietly into the chateau.

From this date a marked alteration took place in the outward demeanor
of the dissolute young Baron Frederick Von Metzengerstein. Indeed, his
behavior disappointed every expectation, and proved little in accordance
with the views of many a manoeuvering mamma; while his habits and
manner, still less than formerly, offered any thing congenial with
those of the neighboring aristocracy. He was never to be seen beyond
the limits of his own domain, and, in this wide and social world, was
utterly companionless--unless, indeed, that unnatural, impetuous, and
fiery- horse, which he henceforward continually bestrode, had any
mysterious right to the title of his friend.

Numerous invitations on the part of the neighborhood for a long time,
however, periodically came in. "Will the Baron honor our festivals
with his presence?" "Will the Baron join us in a hunting of the
boar?"--"Metzengerstein does not hunt;" "Metzengerstein will not
attend," were the haughty and laconic answers.

These repeated insults were not to be endured by an imperious nobility.
Such invitations became less cordial--less frequent--in time they ceased
altogether. The widow of the unfortunate Count Berlifitzing was even
heard to express a hope "that the Baron might be at home when he did not
wish to be at home, since he disdained the company of his equals; and
ride when he did not wish to ride, since he preferred the society of a
horse." This to be sure was a very silly explosion of hereditary pique;
and merely proved how singularly unmeaning our sayings are apt to
become, when we desire to be unusually energetic.

The charitable, nevertheless, attributed the alteration in the conduct
of the young nobleman to the natural sorrow of a son for the untimely
loss of his parents--forgetting, however, his atrocious and reckless
behavior during the short period immediately succeeding that
bereavement. Some there were, indeed, who suggested a too haughty
idea of self-consequence and dignity. Others again (among them may be
mentioned the family physician) did not hesitate in speaking of morbid
melancholy, and hereditary ill-health; while dark hints, of a more
equivocal nature, were current among the multitude.

Indeed, the Baron's perverse attachment to his lately-acquired
charger--an attachment which seemed to attain new strength from every
fresh example of the animal's ferocious and demon-like propensities--at
length became, in the eyes of all reasonable men, a hideous and
unnatural fervor. In the glare of noon--at the dead hour of night--in
sickness or in health--in calm or in tempest--the young Metzengerstein
seemed rivetted to the saddle of that colossal horse, whose intractable
audacities so well accorded with his own spirit.

There were circumstances, moreover, which coupled with late events, gave
an unearthly and portentous character to the mania of the rider, and to
the capabilities of the steed. The space passed over in a single leap
had been accurately measured, and was found to exceed, by an astounding
difference, the wildest expectations of the most imaginative. The Baron,
besides, had no particular _name_ for the animal, although all the rest
in his collection were distinguished by characteristic appellations. His
stable, too, was appointed at a distance from the rest; and with regard
to grooming and other necessary offices, none but the owner in person
had ventured to officiate, or even to enter the enclosure of that
particular stall. It was also to be observed, that although the three
grooms, who had caught the steed as he fled from the conflagration
at Berlifitzing, had succeeded in arresting his course, by means of a
chain-bridle and noose--yet no one of the three could with any certainty
affirm that he had, during that dangerous struggle, or at any period
thereafter, actually placed his hand upon the body of the beast.
Instances of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor of a noble and
high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of exciting
unreasonable attention--especially among men who, daily trained to the
labors of the chase, might appear well acquainted with the sagacity of
a horse--but there were certain circumstances which intruded themselves
per force upon the most skeptical and phlegmatic; and it is said there
were times when the animal caused the gaping crowd who stood around to
recoil in horror from the deep and impressive meaning of his terrible
stamp--times when the young Metzengerstein turned pale and shrunk away
from the rapid and searching expression of his earnest and human-looking
eye.

Among all the retinue of the Baron, however, none were found to doubt
the ardor of that extraordinary affection which existed on the part of
the young nobleman for the fiery qualities of his horse; at least, none
but an insignificant and misshapen little page, whose deformities
were in everybody's way, and whose opinions were of the least possible
importance. He--if his ideas are worth mentioning at all--had the
effrontery to assert that his master never vaulted into the saddle
without an unaccountable and almost imperceptible shudder, and that,
upon his return from every long-continued and habitual ride, an
expression of triumphant malignity distorted every muscle in his
countenance.

One tempestuous night, Metzengerstein, awaking from a heavy slumber,
descended like a maniac from his chamber, and, mounting in hot haste,
bounded away into the mazes of the forest. An occurrence so common
attracted no particular attention, but his return was looked for with
intense anxiety on the part of his domestics, when, after some hours'
absence, the stupendous and magnificent battlements of the Chateau
Metzengerstein, were discovered crackling and rocking to their
very foundation, under the influence of a dense and livid mass of
ungovernable fire.

As the flames, when first seen, had already made so terrible a progress
that all efforts to save any portion of the building were evidently
futile, the astonished neighborhood stood idly around in silent
and pathetic wonder. But a new and fearful object soon rivetted the
attention of the multitude, and proved how much more intense is the
excitement wrought in the feelings of a crowd by the contemplation of
human agony, than that brought about by the most appalling spectacles of
inanimate matter.

Up the long avenue of aged oaks which led from the forest to the main
entrance of the Chateau Metzengerstein, a steed, bearing an unbonneted
and disordered rider, was seen leaping with an impetuosity which
outstripped the very Demon of the Tempest.

The career of the horseman was indisputably, on his own part,
uncontrollable. The agony of his countenance, the convulsive struggle
of his frame, gave evidence of superhuman exertion: but no sound, save
a solitary shriek, escaped from his lacerated lips, which were bitten
through and through in the intensity of terror. One instant, and the
clattering of hoofs resounded sharply and shrilly above the roaring of
the flames and the shrieking of the winds--another, and, clearing at a
single plunge the gate-way and the moat, the steed bounded far up the
tottering staircases of the palace, and, with its rider, disappeared
amid the whirlwind of chaotic fire.

The fury of the tempest immediately died away, and a dead calm sullenly
succeeded. A white flame still enveloped the building like a shroud,
and, streaming far away into the quiet atmosphere, shot forth a glare
of preternatural light; while a cloud of smoke settled heavily over the
battlements in the distinct colossal figure of--_a horse_.




THE SYSTEM OF DOCTOR TARR AND PROFESSOR FETHER

DURING the autumn of 18--, while on a tour through the extreme southern
provinces of France, my route led me within a few miles of a certain
Maison de Sante or private mad-house, about which I had heard much in
Paris from my medical friends. As I had never visited a place of the
kind, I thought the opportunity too good to be lost; and so proposed
to my travelling companion (a gentleman with whom I had made casual
acquaintance a few days before) that we should turn aside, for an hour
or so, and look through the establishment. To this he objected--pleading
haste in the first place, and, in the second, a very usual horror at the
sight of a lunatic. He begged me, however, not to let any mere courtesy
towards himself interfere with the gratification of my curiosity, and
said that he would ride on leisurely, so that I might overtake him
during the day, or, at all events, during the next. As he bade me
good-bye, I bethought me that there might be some difficulty in
obtaining access to the premises, and mentioned my fears on this
point. He replied that, in fact, unless I had personal knowledge of the
superintendent, Monsieur Maillard, or some credential in the way of
a letter, a difficulty might be found to exist, as the regulations of
these private mad-houses were more rigid than the public hospital laws.
For himself, he added, he had, some years since, made the acquaintance
of Maillard, and would so far assist me as to ride up to the door and
introduce me; although his feelings on the subject of lunacy would not
permit of his entering the house.

I thanked him, and, turning from the main road, we entered a grass-grown
by-path, which, in half an hour, nearly lost itself in a dense forest,
clothing the base of a mountain. Through this dank and gloomy wood we
rode some two miles, when the Maison de Sante came in view. It was a
fantastic chateau, much dilapidated, and indeed scarcely tenantable
through age and neglect. Its aspect inspired me with absolute dread,
and, checking my horse, I half resolved to turn back. I soon, however,
grew ashamed of my weakness, and proceeded.

As we rode up to the gate-way, I perceived it slightly open, and the
visage of a man peering through. In an instant afterward, this man came
forth, accosted my companion by name, shook him cordially by the hand,
and begged him to alight. It was Monsieur Maillard himself. He was
a portly, fine-looking gentleman of the old school, with a polished
manner, and a certain air of gravity, dignity, and authority which was
very impressive.

My friend, having presented me, mentioned my desire to inspect the
establishment, and received Monsieur Maillard's assurance that he would
show me all attention, now took leave, and I saw him no more.

When he had gone, the superintendent ushered me into a small and
exceedingly neat parlor, containing, among other indications of refined
taste, many books, drawings, pots of flowers, and musical instruments.
A cheerful fire blazed upon the hearth. At a piano, singing an aria
from Bellini, sat a young and very beautiful woman, who, at my entrance,
paused in her song, and received me with graceful courtesy. Her voice
was low, and her whole manner subdued. I thought, too, that I perceived
the traces of sorrow in her countenance, which was excessively, although
to my taste, not unpleasingly, pale. She was attired in deep mourning,
and excited in my bosom a feeling of mingled respect, interest, and
admiration.

I had heard, at Paris, that the institution of Monsieur Maillard was
managed upon what is vulgarly termed the "system of soothing"--that
all punishments were avoided--that even confinement was seldom resorted
to--that the patients, while secretly watched, were left much apparent
liberty, and that most of them were permitted to roam about the house
and grounds in the ordinary apparel of persons in right mind.

Keeping these impressions in view, I was cautious in what I said before
the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane; and, in fact,
there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes which half led
me to imagine she was not. I confined my remarks, therefore, to general
topics, and to such as I thought would not be displeasing or exciting
even to a lunatic. She replied in a perfectly rational manner to all
that I said; and even her original observations were marked with the
soundest good sense, but a long acquaintance with the metaphysics of
mania, had taught me to put no faith in such evidence of sanity, and I
continued to practise, throughout the interview, the caution with which
I commenced it.

Presently a smart footman in livery brought in a tray with fruit, wine,
and other refreshments, of which I partook, the lady soon afterward
leaving the room. As she departed I turned my eyes in an inquiring
manner toward my host.

"No," he said, "oh, no--a member of my family--my niece, and a most
accomplished woman."

"I beg a thousand pardons for the suspicion," I replied, "but of course
you will know how to excuse me. The excellent administration of
your affairs here is well understood in Paris, and I thought it just
possible, you know--

"Yes, yes--say no more--or rather it is myself who should thank you for
the commendable prudence you have displayed. We seldom find so much of
forethought in young men; and, more than once, some unhappy contre-temps
has occurred in consequence of thoughtlessness on the part of our
visitors. While my former system was in operation, and my patients were
permitted the privilege of roaming to and fro at will, they were often
aroused to a dangerous frenzy by injudicious persons who called to
inspect the house. Hence I was obliged to enforce a rigid system
of exclusion; and none obtained access to the premises upon whose
discretion I could not rely."

"While your former system was in operation!" I said, repeating his
words--"do I understand you, then, to say that the 'soothing system' of
which I have heard so much is no longer in force?"

"It is now," he replied, "several weeks since we have concluded to
renounce it forever."

"Indeed! you astonish me!"

"We found it, sir," he said, with a sigh, "absolutely necessary to
return to the old usages. The danger of the soothing system was, at
all times, appalling; and its advantages have been much overrated. I
believe, sir, that in this house it has been given a fair trial, if ever
in any. We did every thing that rational humanity could suggest. I am
sorry that you could not have paid us a visit at an earlier period, that
you might have judged for yourself. But I presume you are conversant
with the soothing practice--with its details."

"Not altogether. What I have heard has been at third or fourth hand."

"I may state the system, then, in general terms, as one in which the
patients were menages-humored. We contradicted no fancies which entered
the brains of the mad. On the contrary, we not only indulged but
encouraged them; and many of our most permanent cures have been thus
effected. There is no argument which so touches the feeble reason of the
madman as the argumentum ad absurdum. We have had men, for example, who
fancied themselves chickens. The cure was, to insist upon the thing as a
fact--to accuse the patient of stupidity in not sufficiently perceiving
it to be a fact--and thus to refuse him any other diet for a week than
that which properly appertains to a chicken. In this manner a little
corn and gravel were made to perform wonders."

"But was this species of acquiescence all?"

"By no means. We put much faith in amusements of a simple kind, such as
music, dancing, gymnastic exercises generally, cards, certain classes of
books, and so forth. We affected to treat each individual as if for some
ordinary physical disorder, and the word 'lunacy' was never employed.
A great point was to set each lunatic to guard the actions of all the
others. To repose confidence in the understanding or discretion of a
madman, is to gain him body and soul. In this way we were enabled to
dispense with an expensive body of keepers."

"And you had no punishments of any kind?"

"None."

"And you never confined your patients?"

"Very rarely. Now and then, the malady of some individual growing to
a crisis, or taking a sudden turn of fury, we conveyed him to a secret
cell, lest his disorder should infect the rest, and there kept him until
we could dismiss him to his friends--for with the raging maniac we have
nothing to do. He is usually removed to the public hospitals."

"And you have now changed all this--and you think for the better?"

"Decidedly. The system had its disadvantages, and even its dangers.
It is now, happily, exploded throughout all the Maisons de Sante of
France."

"I am very much surprised," I said, "at what you tell me; for I made
sure that, at this moment, no other method of treatment for mania
existed in any portion of the country."

"You are young yet, my friend," replied my host, "but the time will
arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in
the world, without trusting to the gossip of others. Believe nothing you
hear, and only one-half that you see. Now about our Maisons de Sante, it
is clear that some ignoramus has misled you. After dinner, however, when
you have sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of your ride, I will be
happy to take you over the house, and introduce to you a system which,
in my opinion, and in that of every one who has witnessed its operation,
is incomparably the most effectual as yet devised."

"Your own?" I inquired--"one of your own invention?"

"I am proud," he replied, "to acknowledge that it is--at least in some
measure."

In this manner I conversed with Monsieur Maillard for an hour or two,
during which he showed me the gardens and conservatories of the place.

"I cannot let you see my patients," he said, "just at present. To a
sensitive mind there is always more or less of the shocking in such
exhibitions; and I do not wish to spoil your appetite for dinner. We
will dine. I can give you some veal a la Menehoult, with cauliflowers in
veloute sauce--after that a glass of Clos de Vougeot--then your nerves
will be sufficiently steadied."

At six, dinner was announced; and my host conducted me into a
large salle a manger, where a very numerous company were
assembled--twenty-five or thirty in all. They were, apparently, people
of rank-certainly of high breeding--although their habiliments, I
thought, were extravagantly rich, partaking somewhat too much of
the ostentatious finery of the vielle cour. I noticed that at least
two-thirds of these guests were ladies; and some of the latter were by
no means accoutred in what a Parisian would consider good taste at the
present day. Many females, for example, whose age could not have been
less than seventy were bedecked with a profusion of jewelry, such
as rings, bracelets, and earrings, and wore their bosoms and arms
shamefully bare. I observed, too, that very few of the dresses were well
made--or, at least, that very few of them fitted the wearers. In looking
about, I discovered the interesting girl to whom Monsieur Maillard had
presented me in the little parlor; but my surprise was great to see her
wearing a hoop and farthingale, with high-heeled shoes, and a dirty
cap of Brussels lace, so much too large for her that it gave her face a
ridiculously diminutive expression. When I had first seen her, she was
attired, most becomingly, in deep mourning. There was an air of oddity,
in short, about the dress of the whole party, which, at first, caused me
to recur to my original idea of the "soothing system," and to fancy that
Monsieur Maillard had been willing to deceive me until after dinner,
that I might experience no uncomfortable feelings during the repast,
at finding myself dining with lunatics; but I remembered having been
informed, in Paris, that the southern provincialists were a peculiarly
eccentric people, with a vast number of antiquated notions; and
then, too, upon conversing with several members of the company, my
apprehensions were immediately and fully dispelled.

The dining-room itself, although perhaps sufficiently comfortable and of
good dimensions, had nothing too much of elegance about it. For example,
the floor was uncarpeted; in France, however, a carpet is frequently
dispensed with. The windows, too, were without curtains; the shutters,
being shut, were securely fastened with iron bars, applied diagonally,
after the fashion of our ordinary shop-shutters. The apartment, I
observed, formed, in itself, a wing of the chateau, and thus the windows
were on three sides of the parallelogram, the door being at the other.
There were no less than ten windows in all.

The table was superbly set out. It was loaded with plate, and more than
loaded with delicacies. The profusion was absolutely barbaric. There
were meats enough to have feasted the Anakim. Never, in all my life, had
I witnessed so lavish, so wasteful an expenditure of the good things of
life. There seemed very little taste, however, in the arrangements;
and my eyes, accustomed to quiet lights, were sadly offended by the
prodigious glare of a multitude of wax candles, which, in silver
candelabra, were deposited upon the table, and all about the room,
wherever it was possible to find a place. There were several active
servants in attendance; and, upon a large table, at the farther end of
the apartment, were seated seven or eight people with fiddles, fifes,
trombones, and a drum. These fellows annoyed me very much, at intervals,
during the repast, by an infinite variety of noises, which were intended
for music, and which appeared to afford much entertainment to all
present, with the exception of myself.

Upon the whole, I could not help thinking that there was much of the
bizarre about every thing I saw--but then the world is made up of
all kinds of persons, with all modes of thought, and all sorts of
conventional customs. I had travelled, too, so much, as to be quite an
adept at the nil admirari; so I took my seat very coolly at the right
hand of my host, and, having an excellent appetite, did justice to the
good cheer set before me.

The conversation, in the meantime, was spirited and general. The ladies,
as usual, talked a great deal. I soon found that nearly all the company
were well educated; and my host was a world of good-humored anecdote
in himself. He seemed quite willing to speak of his position as
superintendent of a Maison de Sante; and, indeed, the topic of lunacy
was, much to my surprise, a favorite one with all present. A great
many amusing stories were told, having reference to the whims of the
patients.

"We had a fellow here once," said a fat little gentleman, who sat at my
right,--"a fellow that fancied himself a tea-pot; and by the way, is it
not especially singular how often this particular crotchet has entered
the brain of the lunatic? There is scarcely an insane asylum in France
which cannot supply a human tea-pot. Our gentleman was a Britannia--ware
tea-pot, and was careful to polish himself every morning with buckskin
and whiting."

"And then," said a tall man just opposite, "we had here, not long ago,
a person who had taken it into his head that he was a donkey--which
allegorically speaking, you will say, was quite true. He was a
troublesome patient; and we had much ado to keep him within bounds. For
a long time he would eat nothing but thistles; but of this idea we
soon cured him by insisting upon his eating nothing else. Then he was
perpetually kicking out his heels-so-so-"

"Mr. De Kock! I will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted
an old lady, who sat next to the speaker. "Please keep your feet
to yourself! You have spoiled my brocade! Is it necessary, pray, to
illustrate a remark in so practical a style? Our friend here can surely
comprehend you without all this. Upon my word, you are nearly as great
a donkey as the poor unfortunate imagined himself. Your acting is very
natural, as I live."

"Mille pardons! Ma'm'selle!" replied Monsieur De Kock, thus
addressed--"a thousand pardons! I had no intention of offending.
Ma'm'selle Laplace--Monsieur De Kock will do himself the honor of taking
wine with you."

Here Monsieur De Kock bowed low, kissed his hand with much ceremony, and
took wine with Ma'm'selle Laplace.

"Allow me, mon ami," now said Monsieur Maillard, addressing myself,
"allow me to send you a morsel of this veal a la St. Menhoult--you will
find it particularly fine."

At this instant three sturdy waiters had just succeeded in depositing
safely upon the table an enormous dish, or trencher, containing what
I supposed to be the "monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen
ademptum." A closer scrutiny assured me, however, that it was only a
small calf roasted whole, and set upon its knees, with an apple in its
mouth, as is the English fashion of dressing a hare.

"Thank you, no," I replied; "to say the truth, I am not particularly
partial to veal a la St.--what is it?--for I do not find that it
altogether agrees with me. I will change my plate, however, and try some
of the rabbit."

There were several side-dishes on the table, containing what appeared
to be the ordinary French rabbit--a very delicious morceau, which I can
recommend.

"Pierre," cried the host, "change this gentleman's plate, and give him a
side-piece of this rabbit au-chat."

"This what?" said I.

"This rabbit au-chat."

"Why, thank you--upon second thoughts, no. I will just help myself to
some of the ham."

There is no knowing what one eats, thought I to myself, at the tables
of these people of the province. I will have none of their rabbit
au-chat--and, for the matter of that, none of their cat-au-rabbit
either.

"And then," said a cadaverous looking personage, near the foot of the
table, taking up the thread of the conversation where it had been broken
off,--"and then, among other oddities, we had a patient, once upon a
time, who very pertinaciously maintained himself to be a Cordova cheese,
and went about, with a knife in his hand, soliciting his friends to try
a small slice from the middle of his leg."

"He was a great fool, beyond doubt," interposed some one, "but not to be
compared with a certain individual whom we all know, with the exception
of this strange gentleman. I mean the man who took himself for a
bottle of champagne, and always went off with a pop and a fizz, in this
fashion."

Here the speaker, very rudely, as I thought, put his right thumb in his
left cheek, withdrew it with a sound resembling the popping of a cork,
and then, by a dexterous movement of the tongue upon the teeth, created
a sharp hissing and fizzing, which lasted for several minutes, in
imitation of the frothing of champagne. This behavior, I saw plainly,
was not very pleasing to Monsieur Maillard; but that gentleman said
nothing, and the conversation was resumed by a very lean little man in a
big wig.

"And then there was an ignoramus," said he, "who mistook himself for a
frog, which, by the way, he resembled in no little degree. I wish you
could have seen him, sir,"--here the speaker addressed myself--"it would
have done your heart good to see the natural airs that he put on. Sir,
if that man was not a frog, I can only observe that it is a pity he was
not. His croak thus--o-o-o-o-gh--o-o-o-o-gh! was the finest note in the
world--B flat; and when he put his elbows upon the table thus--after
taking a glass or two of wine--and distended his mouth, thus, and rolled
up his eyes, thus, and winked them with excessive rapidity, thus, why
then, sir, I take it upon myself to say, positively, that you would have
been lost in admiration of the genius of the man."

"I have no doubt of it," I said.

"And then," said somebody else, "then there was Petit Gaillard, who
thought himself a pinch of snuff, and was truly distressed because he
could not take himself between his own finger and thumb."

"And then there was Jules Desoulieres, who was a very singular genius,
indeed, and went mad with the idea that he was a pumpkin. He persecuted
the cook to make him up into pies--a thing which the cook indignantly
refused to do. For my part, I am by no means sure that a pumpkin pie a
la Desoulieres would not have been very capital eating indeed!"

"You astonish me!" said I; and I looked inquisitively at Monsieur
Maillard.

"Ha! ha! ha!" said that gentleman--"he! he! he!--hi! hi! hi!--ho! ho!
ho!--hu! hu! hu! hu!--very good indeed! You must not be astonished, mon
ami; our friend here is a wit--a drole--you must not understand him to
the letter."

"And then," said some other one of the party,--"then there was Bouffon
Le Grand--another extraordinary personage in his way. He grew deranged
through love, and fancied himself possessed of two heads. One of
these he maintained to be the head of Cicero; the other he imagined a
composite one, being Demosthenes' from the top of the forehead to
the mouth, and Lord Brougham's from the mouth to the chin. It is not
impossible that he was wrong; but he would have convinced you of his
being in the right; for he was a man of great eloquence. He had an
absolute passion for oratory, and could not refrain from display. For
example, he used to leap upon the dinner-table thus, and--and-"

Here a friend, at the side of the speaker, put a hand upon his shoulder
and whispered a few words in his ear, upon which he ceased talking with
great suddenness, and sank back within his chair.

"And then," said the friend who had whispered, "there was Boullard, the
tee-totum. I call him the tee-totum because, in fact, he was seized
with the droll but not altogether irrational crotchet, that he had been
converted into a tee-totum. You would have roared with laughter to
see him spin. He would turn round upon one heel by the hour, in this
manner--so--"

Here the friend whom he had just interrupted by a whisper, performed an
exactly similar office for himself.

"But then," cried the old lady, at the top of her voice, "your Monsieur
Boullard was a madman, and a very silly madman at best; for who, allow
me to ask you, ever heard of a human tee-totum? The thing is absurd.
Madame Joyeuse was a more sensible person, as you know. She had a
crotchet, but it was instinct with common sense, and gave pleasure
to all who had the honor of her acquaintance. She found, upon mature
deliberation, that, by some accident, she had been turned into a
chicken-cock; but, as such, she behaved with propriety. She flapped
her wings with prodigious effect--so--so--and, as for her crow, it
was delicious!

Cock-a-doodle-doo!--cock-a-doodle-doo!--cock-a-doodle-de-doo
dooo-do-o-o-o-o-o-o!"

"Madame Joyeuse, I will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted
our host, very angrily. "You can either conduct yourself as a lady
should do, or you can quit the table forthwith-take your choice."

The lady (whom I was much astonished to hear addressed as Madame
Joyeuse, after the description of Madame Joyeuse she had just given)
blushed up to the eyebrows, and seemed exceedingly abashed at the
reproof. She hung down her head, and said not a syllable in reply. But
another and younger lady resumed the theme. It was my beautiful girl of
the little parlor.

"Oh, Madame Joyeuse was a fool!" she exclaimed, "but there was really
much sound sense, after all, in the opinion of Eugenie Salsafette. She
was a very beautiful and painfully modest young lady, who thought the
ordinary mode of habiliment indecent, and wished to dress herself,
always, by getting outside instead of inside of her clothes. It is a
thing very easily done, after all. You have only to do so--and then
so--so--so--and then so--so--so--and then so--so--and then--

"Mon dieu! Ma'm'selle Salsafette!" here cried a dozen voices at once.
"What are you about?--forbear!--that is sufficient!--we see, very
plainly, how it is done!--hold! hold!" and several persons were already
leaping from their seats to withhold Ma'm'selle Salsafette from putting
herself upon a par with the Medicean Venus, when the point was very
effectually and suddenly accomplished by a series of loud screams, or
yells, from some portion of the main body of the chateau.

My nerves were very much affected, indeed, by these yells; but the rest
of the company I really pitied. I never saw any set of reasonable people
so thoroughly frightened in my life. They all grew as pale as so many
corpses, and, shrinking within their seats, sat quivering and gibbering
with terror, and listening for a repetition of the sound. It came
again--louder and seemingly nearer--and then a third time very loud, and
then a fourth time with a vigor evidently diminished. At this apparent
dying away of the noise, the spirits of the company were immediately
regained, and all was life and anecdote as before. I now ventured to
inquire the cause of the disturbance.

"A mere bagtelle," said Monsieur Maillard. "We are used to these things,
and care really very little about them. The lunatics, every now and
then, get up a howl in concert; one starting another, as is sometimes
the case with a bevy of dogs at night. It occasionally happens, however,
that the concerto yells are succeeded by a simultaneous effort
at breaking loose, when, of course, some little danger is to be
apprehended."

"And how many have you in charge?"

"At present we have not more than ten, altogether."

"Principally females, I presume?"

"Oh, no--every one of them men, and stout fellows, too, I can tell you."

"Indeed! I have always understood that the majority of lunatics were of
the gentler sex."

"It is generally so, but not always. Some time ago, there were about
twenty-seven patients here; and, of that number, no less than eighteen
were women; but, lately, matters have changed very much, as you see."

"Yes--have changed very much, as you see," here interrupted the
gentleman who had broken the shins of Ma'm'selle Laplace.

"Yes--have changed very much, as you see!" chimed in the whole company
at once.

"Hold your tongues, every one of you!" said my host, in a great rage.
Whereupon the whole company maintained a dead silence for nearly a
minute. As for one lady, she obeyed Monsieur Maillard to the letter,
and thrusting out her tongue, which was an excessively long one, held it
very resignedly, with both hands, until the end of the entertainment.

"And this gentlewoman," said I, to Monsieur Maillard, bending over and
addressing him in a whisper--"this good lady who has just spoken,
and who gives us the cock-a-doodle-de-doo--she, I presume, is
harmless--quite harmless, eh?"

"Harmless!" ejaculated he, in unfeigned surprise, "why--why, what can
you mean?"

"Only slightly touched?" said I, touching my head. "I take it for
granted that she is not particularly not dangerously affected, eh?"

"Mon dieu! what is it you imagine? This lady, my particular old friend
Madame Joyeuse, is as absolutely sane as myself. She has her little
eccentricities, to be sure--but then, you know, all old women--all very
old women--are more or less eccentric!"

"To be sure," said I,--"to be sure--and then the rest of these ladies
and gentlemen-"

"Are my friends and keepers," interupted Monsieur Maillard, drawing
himself up with hauteur,--"my very good friends and assistants."

"What! all of them?" I asked,--"the women and all?"

"Assuredly," he said,--"we could not do at all without the women; they
are the best lunatic nurses in the world; they have a way of their own,
you know; their bright eyes have a marvellous effect;--something like
the fascination of the snake, you know."

"To be sure," said I,--"to be sure! They behave a little odd, eh?--they
are a little queer, eh?--don't you think so?"

"Odd!--queer!--why, do you really think so? We are not very prudish, to
be sure, here in the South--do pretty much as we please--enjoy life, and
all that sort of thing, you know-"

"To be sure," said I,--"to be sure."

"And then, perhaps, this Clos de Vougeot is a little heady, you know--a
little strong--you understand, eh?"

"To be sure," said I,--"to be sure. By the bye, Monsieur, did I
understand you to say that the system you have adopted, in place of the
celebrated soothing system, was one of very rigorous severity?"

"By no means. Our confinement is necessarily close; but the
treatment--the medical treatment, I mean--is rather agreeable to the
patients than otherwise."

"And the new system is one of your own invention?"

"Not altogether. Some portions of it are referable to Professor Tarr, of
whom you have, necessarily, heard; and, again, there are modifications
in my plan which I am happy to acknowledge as belonging of right to the
celebrated Fether, with whom, if I mistake not, you have the honor of an
intimate acquaintance."

"I am quite ashamed to confess," I replied, "that I have never even
heard the names of either gentleman before."

"Good heavens!" ejaculated my host, drawing back his chair abruptly,
and uplifting his hands. "I surely do not hear you aright! You did not
intend to say, eh? that you had never heard either of the learned Doctor
Tarr, or of the celebrated Professor Fether?"

"I am forced to acknowledge my ignorance," I replied; "but the truth
should be held inviolate above all things. Nevertheless, I feel humbled
to the dust, not to be acquainted with the works of these, no doubt,
extraordinary men. I will seek out their writings forthwith, and peruse
them with deliberate care. Monsieur Maillard, you have really--I must
confess it--you have really--made me ashamed of myself!"

And this was the fact.

"Say no more, my good young friend," he said kindly, pressing my
hand,--"join me now in a glass of Sauterne."

We drank. The company followed our example without stint. They
chatted--they jested--they laughed--they perpetrated a thousand
absurdities--the fiddles shrieked--the drum row-de-dowed--the trombones
bellowed like so many brazen bulls of Phalaris--and the whole scene,
growing gradually worse and worse, as the wines gained the ascendancy,
became at length a sort of pandemonium in petto. In the meantime,
Monsieur Maillard and myself, with some bottles of Sauterne and Vougeot
between us, continued our conversation at the top of the voice. A word
spoken in an ordinary key stood no more chance of being heard than the
voice of a fish from the bottom of Niagara Falls.

"And, sir," said I, screaming in his ear, "you mentioned something
before dinner about the danger incurred in the old system of soothing.
How is that?"

"Yes," he replied, "there was, occasionally, very great danger indeed.
There is no accounting for the caprices of madmen; and, in my opinion
as well as in that of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, it is never safe to
permit them to run at large unattended. A lunatic may be 'soothed,'
as it is called, for a time, but, in the end, he is very apt to become
obstreperous. His cunning, too, is proverbial and great. If he has a
project in view, he conceals his design with a marvellous wisdom;
and the dexterity with which he counterfeits sanity, presents, to the
metaphysician, one of the most singular problems in the study of mind.
When a madman appears thoroughly sane, indeed, it is high time to put
him in a straitjacket."

"But the danger, my dear sir, of which you were speaking, in your own
experience--during your control of this house--have you had practical
reason to think liberty hazardous in the case of a lunatic?"

"Here?--in my own experience?--why, I may say, yes. For example:--no
very long while ago, a singular circumstance occurred in this very
house. The 'soothing system,' you know, was then in operation, and the
patients were at large. They behaved remarkably well-especially so, any
one of sense might have known that some devilish scheme was brewing from
that particular fact, that the fellows behaved so remarkably well. And,
sure enough, one fine morning the keepers found themselves pinioned hand
and foot, and thrown into the cells, where they were attended, as if
they were the lunatics, by the lunatics themselves, who had usurped the
offices of the keepers."

"You don't tell me so! I never heard of any thing so absurd in my life!"

"Fact--it all came to pass by means of a stupid fellow--a lunatic--who,
by some means, had taken it into his head that he had invented a
better system of government than any ever heard of before--of lunatic
government, I mean. He wished to give his invention a trial, I suppose,
and so he persuaded the rest of the patients to join him in a conspiracy
for the overthrow of the reigning powers."

"And he really succeeded?"

"No doubt of it. The keepers and kept were soon made to exchange places.
Not that exactly either--for the madmen had been free, but the keepers
were shut up in cells forthwith, and treated, I am sorry to say, in a
very cavalier manner."

"But I presume a counter-revolution was soon effected. This condition
of things could not have long existed. The country people in the
neighborhood-visitors coming to see the establishment--would have given
the alarm."

"There you are out. The head rebel was too cunning for that. He
admitted no visitors at all--with the exception, one day, of a very
stupid-looking young gentleman of whom he had no reason to be afraid. He
let him in to see the place--just by way of variety,--to have a little
fun with him. As soon as he had gammoned him sufficiently, he let him
out, and sent him about his business."

"And how long, then, did the madmen reign?"

"Oh, a very long time, indeed--a month certainly--how much longer I
can't precisely say. In the meantime, the lunatics had a jolly season of
it--that you may swear. They doffed their own shabby clothes, and made
free with the family wardrobe and jewels. The cellars of the chateau
were well stocked with wine; and these madmen are just the devils that
know how to drink it. They lived well, I can tell you."

"And the treatment--what was the particular species of treatment which
the leader of the rebels put into operation?"

"Why, as for that, a madman is not necessarily a fool, as I have already
observed; and it is my honest opinion that his treatment was a much
better treatment than that which it superseded. It was a very capital
system indeed--simple--neat--no trouble at all--in fact it was delicious
it was."

Here my host's observations were cut short by another series of yells,
of the same character as those which had previously disconcerted
us. This time, however, they seemed to proceed from persons rapidly
approaching.

"Gracious heavens!" I ejaculated--"the lunatics have most undoubtedly
broken loose."

"I very much fear it is so," replied Monsieur Maillard, now becoming
excessively pale. He had scarcely finished the sentence, before loud
shouts and imprecations were heard beneath the windows; and, immediately
afterward, it became evident that some persons outside were endeavoring
to gain entrance into the room. The door was beaten with what appeared
to be a sledge-hammer, and the shutters were wrenched and shaken with
prodigious violence.

A scene of the most terrible confusion ensued. Monsieur Maillard, to
my excessive astonishment threw himself under the side-board. I had
expected more resolution at his hands. The members of the orchestra,
who, for the last fifteen minutes, had been seemingly too much
intoxicated to do duty, now sprang all at once to their feet and to
their instruments, and, scrambling upon their table, broke out, with one
accord, into, "Yankee Doodle," which they performed, if not exactly
in tune, at least with an energy superhuman, during the whole of the
uproar.

Meantime, upon the main dining-table, among the bottles and glasses,
leaped the gentleman who, with such difficulty, had been restrained from
leaping there before. As soon as he fairly settled himself, he commenced
an oration, which, no doubt, was a very capital one, if it could
only have been heard. At the same moment, the man with the teetotum
predilection, set himself to spinning around the apartment, with immense
energy, and with arms outstretched at right angles with his body; so
that he had all the air of a tee-totum in fact, and knocked everybody
down that happened to get in his way. And now, too, hearing an
incredible popping and fizzing of champagne, I discovered at length,
that it proceeded from the person who performed the bottle of that
delicate drink during dinner. And then, again, the frog-man croaked
away as if the salvation of his soul depended upon every note that he
uttered. And, in the midst of all this, the continuous braying of a
donkey arose over all. As for my old friend, Madame Joyeuse, I really
could have wept for the poor lady, she appeared so terribly perplexed.
All she did, however, was to stand up in a corner, by the
fireplace, and sing out incessantly at the top of her voice,
"Cock-a-doodle-de-dooooooh!"

And now came the climax--the catastrophe of the drama. As no resistance,
beyond whooping and yelling and cock-a-doodling, was offered to the
encroachments of the party without, the ten windows were very speedily,
and almost simultaneously, broken in. But I shall never forget the
emotions of wonder and horror with which I gazed, when, leaping
through these windows, and down among us pele-mele, fighting, stamping,
scratching, and howling, there rushed a perfect army of what I took to
be Chimpanzees, Ourang-Outangs, or big black baboons of the Cape of Good
Hope.

I received a terrible beating--after which I rolled under a sofa and
lay still. After lying there some fifteen minutes, during which time I
listened with all my ears to what was going on in the room, I came to
same satisfactory denouement of this tragedy. Monsieur Maillard, it
appeared, in giving me the account of the lunatic who had excited his
fellows to rebellion, had been merely relating his own exploits.
This gentleman had, indeed, some two or three years before, been the
superintendent of the establishment, but grew crazy himself, and so
became a patient. This fact was unknown to the travelling companion
who introduced me. The keepers, ten in number, having been suddenly
overpowered, were first well tarred, then--carefully feathered, and then
shut up in underground cells. They had been so imprisoned for more than
a month, during which period Monsieur Maillard had generously allowed
them not only the tar and feathers (which constituted his "system"), but
some bread and abundance of water. The latter was pumped on them daily.
At length, one escaping through a sewer, gave freedom to all the rest.

The "soothing system," with important modifications, has been resumed at
the chateau; yet I cannot help agreeing with Monsieur Maillard, that
his own "treatment" was a very capital one of its kind. As he justly
observed, it was "simple--neat--and gave no trouble at all--not the
least."

I have only to add that, although I have searched every library in
Europe for the works of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, I have, up to
the present day, utterly failed in my endeavors at procuring an edition.




HOW TO WRITE A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE.

      "In the name of the Prophet--figs!!"

      Cry of the Turkish fig-peddler.

I PRESUME everybody has heard of me. My name is the Signora Psyche
Zenobia. This I know to be a fact. Nobody but my enemies ever calls me
Suky Snobbs. I have been assured that Suky is but a vulgar corruption
of Psyche, which is good Greek, and means "the soul" (that's me, I'm
all soul) and sometimes "a butterfly," which latter meaning undoubtedly
alludes to my appearance in my new crimson satin dress, with the
sky-blue Arabian mantelet, and the trimmings of green agraffas, and the
seven flounces of orange- auriculas. As for Snobbs--any person
who should look at me would be instantly aware that my name wasn't
Snobbs. Miss Tabitha Turnip propagated that report through sheer envy.
Tabitha Turnip indeed! Oh the little wretch! But what can we expect from
a turnip? Wonder if she remembers the old adage about "blood out of a
turnip," &c.? [Mem. put her in mind of it the first opportunity.] [Mem.
again--pull her nose.] Where was I? Ah! I have been assured that Snobbs
is a mere corruption of Zenobia, and that Zenobia was a queen--(So am
I. Dr. Moneypenny always calls me the Queen of the Hearts)--and that
Zenobia, as well as Psyche, is good Greek, and that my father was "a
Greek," and that consequently I have a right to our patronymic, which is
Zenobia and not by any means Snobbs. Nobody but Tabitha Turnip calls me
Suky Snobbs. I am the Signora Psyche Zenobia.

As I said before, everybody has heard of me. I am that very Signora
Psyche Zenobia, so justly celebrated as corresponding secretary to the
"Philadelphia, Regular, Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles, Lettres,
Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association, To, Civilize,
Humanity." Dr. Moneypenny made the title for us, and says he chose it
because it sounded big like an empty rum-puncheon. (A vulgar man that
sometimes--but he's deep.) We all sign the initials of the society after
our names, in the fashion of the R. S. A., Royal Society of Arts--the
S. D. U. K., Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, &c, &c. Dr.
Moneypenny says that S. stands for stale, and that D. U. K. spells duck,
(but it don't,) that S. D. U. K. stands for Stale Duck and not for Lord
Brougham's society--but then Dr. Moneypenny is such a queer man that I
am never sure when he is telling me the truth. At any rate we always
add to our names the initials P. R. E. T. T. Y. B. L. U. E. B. A. T. C.
H.--that is to say, Philadelphia, Regular, Exchange, Tea, Total, Young,
Belles, Lettres, Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association,
To, Civilize, Humanity--one letter for each word, which is a decided
improvement upon Lord Brougham. Dr. Moneypenny will have it that our
initials give our true character--but for my life I can't see what he
means.

Notwithstanding the good offices of the Doctor, and the strenuous
exertions of the association to get itself into notice, it met with no
very great success until I joined it. The truth is, the members indulged
in too flippant a tone of discussion. The papers read every Saturday
evening were characterized less by depth than buffoonery. They were
all whipped syllabub. There was no investigation of first causes, first
principles. There was no investigation of any thing at all. There was
no attention paid to that great point, the "fitness of things." In
short there was no fine writing like this. It was all low--very! No
profundity, no reading, no metaphysics--nothing which the learned call
spirituality, and which the unlearned choose to stigmatize as cant. [Dr.
M. says I ought to spell "cant" with a capital K--but I know better.]

When I joined the society it was my endeavor to introduce a better
style of thinking and writing, and all the world knows how well I have
succeeded. We get up as good papers now in the P. R. E. T. T. Y. B.
L. U. E. B. A. T. C. H. as any to be found even in Blackwood. I say,
Blackwood, because I have been assured that the finest writing,
upon every subject, is to be discovered in the pages of that justly
celebrated Magazine. We now take it for our model upon all themes, and
are getting into rapid notice accordingly. And, after all, it's not so
very difficult a matter to compose an article of the genuine Blackwood
stamp, if one only goes properly about it. Of course I don't speak of
the political articles. Everybody knows how they are managed, since Dr.
Moneypenny explained it. Mr. Blackwood has a pair of tailor's-shears,
and three apprentices who stand by him for orders. One hands him the
"Times," another the "Examiner" and a third a "Culley's New Compendium
of Slang-Whang." Mr. B. merely cuts out and intersperses. It is soon
done--nothing but "Examiner," "Slang-Whang," and "Times"--then "Times,"
"Slang-Whang," and "Examiner"--and then "Times," "Examiner," and
"Slang-Whang."

But the chief merit of the Magazine lies in its miscellaneous articles;
and the best of these come under the head of what Dr. Moneypenny calls
the bizarreries (whatever that may mean) and what everybody else calls
the intensities. This is a species of writing which I have long known
how to appreciate, although it is only since my late visit to Mr.
Blackwood (deputed by the society) that I have been made aware of the
exact method of composition. This method is very simple, but not so much
so as the politics. Upon my calling at Mr. B.'s, and making known to him
the wishes of the society, he received me with great civility, took me
into his study, and gave me a clear explanation of the whole process.

"My dear madam," said he, evidently struck with my majestic appearance,
for I had on the crimson satin, with the green agraffas, and
orange- auriclas. "My dear madam," said he, "sit down. The matter
stands thus: In the first place your writer of intensities must have
very black ink, and a very big pen, with a very blunt nib. And, mark
me, Miss Psyche Zenobia!" he continued, after a pause, with the
most expressive energy and solemnity of manner, "mark me!--that
pen--must--never be mended! Herein, madam, lies the secret, the soul, of
intensity. I assume upon myself to say, that no individual, of however
great genius ever wrote with a good pen--understand me,--a good article.
You may take, it for granted, that when manuscript can be read it is
never worth reading. This is a leading principle in our faith, to which
if you cannot readily assent, our conference is at an end."

He paused. But, of course, as I had no wish to put an end to the
conference, I assented to a proposition so very obvious, and one,
too, of whose truth I had all along been sufficiently aware. He seemed
pleased, and went on with his instructions.

"It may appear invidious in me, Miss Psyche Zenobia, to refer you to any
article, or set of articles, in the way of model or study, yet perhaps
I may as well call your attention to a few cases. Let me see. There
was 'The Dead Alive,' a capital thing!--the record of a gentleman's
sensations when entombed before the breath was out of his body--full of
tastes, terror, sentiment, metaphysics, and erudition. You would have
sworn that the writer had been born and brought up in a coffin. Then
we had the 'Confessions of an Opium-eater'--fine, very fine!--glorious
imagination--deep philosophy acute speculation--plenty of fire and fury,
and a good spicing of the decidedly unintelligible. That was a nice bit
of flummery, and went down the throats of the people delightfully.
They would have it that Coleridge wrote the paper--but not so. It was
composed by my pet baboon, Juniper, over a rummer of Hollands and water,
'hot, without sugar.'" [This I could scarcely have believed had it been
anybody but Mr. Blackwood, who assured me of it.] "Then there was 'The
Involuntary Experimentalist,' all about a gentleman who got baked in an
oven, and came out alive and well, although certainly done to a turn.
And then there was 'The Diary of a Late Physician,' where the merit lay
in good rant, and indifferent Greek--both of them taking things with
the public. And then there was 'The Man in the Bell,' a paper by-the-by,
Miss Zenobia, which I cannot sufficiently recommend to your attention.
It is the history of a young person who goes to sleep under the clapper
of a church bell, and is awakened by its tolling for a funeral. The
sound drives him mad, and, accordingly, pulling out his tablets, he
gives a record of his sensations. Sensations are the great things after
all. Should you ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your
sensations--they will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet. If you
wish to write forcibly, Miss Zenobia, pay minute attention to the
sensations."

"That I certainly will, Mr. Blackwood," said I.

"Good!" he replied. "I see you are a pupil after my own heart. But I
must put you au fait to the details necessary in composing what may be
denominated a genuine Blackwood article of the sensation stamp--the
kind which you will understand me to say I consider the best for all
purposes.

"The first thing requisite is to get yourself into such a scrape as no
one ever got into before. The oven, for instance,--that was a good
hit. But if you have no oven or big bell, at hand, and if you cannot
conveniently tumble out of a balloon, or be swallowed up in an
earthquake, or get stuck fast in a chimney, you will have to be
contented with simply imagining some similar misadventure. I should
prefer, however, that you have the actual fact to bear you out. Nothing
so well assists the fancy, as an experimental knowledge of the matter
in hand. 'Truth is strange,' you know, 'stranger than fiction'--besides
being more to the purpose."

Here I assured him I had an excellent pair of garters, and would go and
hang myself forthwith.

"Good!" he replied, "do so;--although hanging is somewhat hacknied.
Perhaps you might do better. Take a dose of Brandreth's pills, and then
give us your sensations. However, my instructions will apply equally
well to any variety of misadventure, and in your way home you may easily
get knocked in the head, or run over by an omnibus, or bitten by a mad
dog, or drowned in a gutter. But to proceed.

"Having determined upon your subject, you must next consider the tone,
or manner, of your narration. There is the tone didactic, the tone
enthusiastic, the tone natural--all common--place enough. But then there
is the tone laconic, or curt, which has lately come much into use. It
consists in short sentences. Somehow thus: Can't be too brief. Can't be
too snappish. Always a full stop. And never a paragraph.

"Then there is the tone elevated, diffusive, and interjectional. Some
of our best novelists patronize this tone. The words must be all in a
whirl, like a humming-top, and make a noise very similar, which answers
remarkably well instead of meaning. This is the best of all possible
styles where the writer is in too great a hurry to think.

"The tone metaphysical is also a good one. If you know any big words
this is your chance for them. Talk of the Ionic and Eleatic schools--of
Archytas, Gorgias, and Alcmaeon. Say something about objectivity and
subjectivity. Be sure and abuse a man named Locke. Turn up your nose at
things in general, and when you let slip any thing a little too absurd,
you need not be at the trouble of scratching it out, but just add
a footnote and say that you are indebted for the above profound
observation to the 'Kritik der reinem Vernunft,' or to the 'Metaphysithe
Anfongsgrunde der Noturwissenchaft.' This would look erudite
and--and--and frank.

"There are various other tones of equal celebrity, but I shall mention
only two more--the tone transcendental and the tone heterogeneous. In
the former the merit consists in seeing into the nature of affairs a
very great deal farther than anybody else. This second sight is very
efficient when properly managed. A little reading of the 'Dial' will
carry you a great way. Eschew, in this case, big words; get them as
small as possible, and write them upside down. Look over Channing's
poems and quote what he says about a 'fat little man with a delusive
show of Can.' Put in something about the Supernal Oneness. Don't say
a syllable about the Infernal Twoness. Above all, study innuendo. Hint
everything--assert nothing. If you feel inclined to say 'bread and
butter,' do not by any means say it outright. You may say any thing
and every thing approaching to 'bread and butter.' You may hint at
buck-wheat cake, or you may even go so far as to insinuate oat-meal
porridge, but if bread and butter be your real meaning, be cautious, my
dear Miss Psyche, not on any account to say 'bread and butter!'"

I assured him that I should never say it again as long as I lived. He
kissed me and continued:

"As for the tone heterogeneous, it is merely a judicious mixture,
in equal proportions, of all the other tones in the world, and
is consequently made up of every thing deep, great, odd, piquant,
pertinent, and pretty.

"Let us suppose now you have determined upon your incidents and tone.
The most important portion--in fact, the soul of the whole business,
is yet to be attended to--I allude to the filling up. It is not to be
supposed that a lady, or gentleman either, has been leading the life of
a book worm. And yet above all things it is necessary that your article
have an air of erudition, or at least afford evidence of extensive
general reading. Now I'll put you in the way of accomplishing this
point. See here!" (pulling down some three or four ordinary-looking
volumes, and opening them at random). "By casting your eye down almost
any page of any book in the world, you will be able to perceive at once
a host of little scraps of either learning or bel-espritism, which are
the very thing for the spicing of a Blackwood article. You might as well
note down a few while I read them to you. I shall make two divisions:
first, Piquant Facts for the Manufacture of Similes, and, second,
Piquant Expressions to be introduced as occasion may require. Write
now!"--and I wrote as he dictated.

"PIQUANT FACTS FOR SIMILES. 'There were originally but three
Muses--Melete, Mneme, Aoede--meditation, memory, and singing.' You may
make a good deal of that little fact if properly worked. You see it is
not generally known, and looks recherche. You must be careful and give
the thing with a downright improviso air.

"Again. 'The river Alpheus passed beneath the sea, and emerged without
injury to the purity of its waters.' Rather stale that, to be sure, but,
if properly dressed and dished up, will look quite as fresh as ever.

"Here is something better. 'The Persian Iris appears to some persons
to possess a sweet and very powerful perfume, while to others it is
perfectly scentless.' Fine that, and very delicate! Turn it about
a little, and it will do wonders. We'll have some thing else in the
botanical line. There's nothing goes down so well, especially with the
help of a little Latin. Write!

"'The Epidendrum Flos Aeris, of Java, bears a very beautiful flower, and
will live when pulled up by the roots. The natives suspend it by a cord
from the ceiling, and enjoy its fragrance for years.' That's capital!
That will do for the similes. Now for the Piquant Expressions.

"PIQUANT EXPRESSIONS. 'The Venerable Chinese novel Ju-Kiao-Li.' Good! By
introducing these few words with dexterity you will evince your intimate
acquaintance with the language and literature of the Chinese. With the
aid of this you may either get along without either Arabic, or Sanscrit,
or Chickasaw. There is no passing muster, however, without Spanish,
Italian, German, Latin, and Greek. I must look you out a little specimen
of each. Any scrap will answer, because you must depend upon your own
ingenuity to make it fit into your article. Now write!

"'Aussi tendre que Zaire'--as tender as Zaire-French. Alludes to the
frequent repetition of the phrase, la tendre Zaire, in the French
tragedy of that name. Properly introduced, will show not only your
knowledge of the language, but your general reading and wit. You can
say, for instance, that the chicken you were eating (write an article
about being choked to death by a chicken-bone) was not altogether aussi
tendre que Zaire. Write!

     'Van muerte tan escondida,
        Que no te sienta venir,
     Porque el plazer del morir,
        No mestorne a dar la vida.'

"That's Spanish--from Miguel de Cervantes. 'Come quickly, O death! but
be sure and don't let me see you coming, lest the pleasure I shall feel
at your appearance should unfortunately bring me back again to life.'
This you may slip in quite a propos when you are struggling in the last
agonies with the chicken-bone. Write!

_'Il pover 'huomo che non se'n era accorto, Andava combattendo, e era
morto.'_

"That's Italian, you perceive--from Ariosto. It means that a great hero,
in the heat of combat, not perceiving that he had been fairly killed,
continued to fight valiantly, dead as he was. The application of this
to your own case is obvious--for I trust, Miss Psyche, that you will
not neglect to kick for at least an hour and a half after you have been
choked to death by that chicken-bone. Please to write!

_'Und sterb'ich doch, no sterb'ich denn_

_Durch sie--durch sie!'_

"That's German--from Schiller. 'And if I die, at least I die--for
thee--for thee!' Here it is clear that you are apostrophizing the cause
of your disaster, the chicken. Indeed what gentleman (or lady either) of
sense, wouldn't die, I should like to know, for a well fattened capon of
the right Molucca breed, stuffed with capers and mushrooms, and served
up in a salad-bowl, with orange-jellies en mosaiques. Write! (You can
get them that way at Tortoni's)--Write, if you please!

"Here is a nice little Latin phrase, and rare too, (one can't be too
recherche or brief in one's Latin, it's getting so common--ignoratio
elenchi. He has committed an ignoratio elenchi--that is to say, he has
understood the words of your proposition, but not the idea. The man was
a fool, you see. Some poor fellow whom you address while choking with
that chicken-bone, and who therefore didn't precisely understand what
you were talking about. Throw the ignoratio elenchi in his teeth, and,
at once, you have him annihilated. If he dares to reply, you can tell
him from Lucan (here it is) that speeches are mere anemonae verborum,
anemone words. The anemone, with great brilliancy, has no smell. Or,
if he begins to bluster, you may be down upon him with insomnia Jovis,
reveries of Jupiter--a phrase which Silius Italicus (see here!) applies
to thoughts pompous and inflated. This will be sure and cut him to the
heart. He can do nothing but roll over and die. Will you be kind enough
to write?

"In Greek we must have some thing pretty--from Demosthenes, for example.
[Greek phrase]

[Anerh o pheugoen kai palin makesetai] There is a tolerably good
translation of it in Hudibras

        'For he that flies may fight again,
     Which he can never do that's slain.'

"In a Blackwood article nothing makes so fine a show as your Greek. The
very letters have an air of profundity about them. Only observe, madam,
the astute look of that Epsilon! That Phi ought certainly to be a
bishop! Was ever there a smarter fellow than that Omicron? Just
twig that Tau! In short, there is nothing like Greek for a genuine
sensation-paper. In the present case your application is the most
obvious thing in the world. Rap out the sentence, with a huge oath, and
by way of ultimatum at the good-for-nothing dunder-headed villain who
couldn't understand your plain English in relation to the chicken-bone.
He'll take the hint and be off, you may depend upon it."

These were all the instructions Mr. B. could afford me upon the topic
in question, but I felt they would be entirely sufficient. I was, at
length, able to write a genuine Blackwood article, and determined to do
it forthwith. In taking leave of me, Mr. B. made a proposition for the
purchase of the paper when written; but as he could offer me only fifty
guineas a sheet, I thought it better to let our society have it, than
sacrifice it for so paltry a sum. Notwithstanding this niggardly spirit,
however, the gentleman showed his consideration for me in all other
respects, and indeed treated me with the greatest civility. His parting
words made a deep impression upon my heart, and I hope I shall always
remember them with gratitude.

"My dear Miss Zenobia," he said, while the tears stood in his eyes, "is
there anything else I can do to promote the success of your laudable
undertaking? Let me reflect! It is just possible that you may not be
able, so soon as convenient, to--to--get yourself drowned, or--choked
with a chicken-bone, or--or hung,--or--bitten by a--but stay! Now I
think me of it, there are a couple of very excellent bull-dogs in the
yard--fine fellows, I assure you--savage, and all that--indeed just the
thing for your money--they'll have you eaten up, auricula and all, in
less than five minutes (here's my watch!)--and then only think of the
sensations! Here! I say--Tom!--Peter!--Dick, you villain!--let out
those"--but as I was really in a great hurry, and had not another
moment to spare, I was reluctantly forced to expedite my departure, and
accordingly took leave at once--somewhat more abruptly, I admit, than
strict courtesy would have otherwise allowed.

It was my primary object upon quitting Mr. Blackwood, to get into some
immediate difficulty, pursuant to his advice, and with this view I spent
the greater part of the day in wandering about Edinburgh, seeking
for desperate adventures--adventures adequate to the intensity of my
feelings, and adapted to the vast character of the article I intended to
write. In this excursion I was attended by one <DW64>--servant,
Pompey, and my little lap-dog Diana, whom I had brought with me from
Philadelphia. It was not, however, until late in the afternoon that
I fully succeeded in my arduous undertaking. An important event
then happened of which the following Blackwood article, in the tone
heterogeneous, is the substance and result.




A PREDICAMENT

     What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus?

                 --COMUS.

IT was a quiet and still afternoon when I strolled forth in the goodly
city of Edina. The confusion and bustle in the streets were terrible.
Men were talking. Women were screaming. Children were choking. Pigs were
whistling. Carts they rattled. Bulls they bellowed. Cows they lowed.
Horses they neighed. Cats they caterwauled. Dogs they danced. Danced!
Could it then be possible? Danced! Alas, thought I, my dancing days are
over! Thus it is ever. What a host of gloomy recollections will ever and
anon be awakened in the mind of genius and imaginative contemplation,
especially of a genius doomed to the everlasting and eternal, and
continual, and, as one might say, the--continued--yes, the continued and
continuous, bitter, harassing, disturbing, and, if I may be allowed the
expression, the very disturbing influence of the serene, and godlike,
and heavenly, and exalted, and elevated, and purifying effect of what
may be rightly termed the most enviable, the most truly enviable--nay!
the most benignly beautiful, the most deliciously ethereal, and, as it
were, the most pretty (if I may use so bold an expression) thing
(pardon me, gentle reader!) in the world--but I am always led away by
my feelings. In such a mind, I repeat, what a host of recollections are
stirred up by a trifle! The dogs danced! I--I could not! They frisked--I
wept. They capered--I sobbed aloud. Touching circumstances! which cannot
fail to bring to the recollection of the classical reader that exquisite
passage in relation to the fitness of things, which is to be found in
the commencement of the third volume of that admirable and venerable
Chinese novel the Jo-Go-Slow.

In my solitary walk through, the city I had two humble but faithful
companions. Diana, my poodle! sweetest of creatures! She had a quantity
of hair over her one eye, and a blue ribband tied fashionably around her
neck. Diana was not more than five inches in height, but her head was
somewhat bigger than her body, and her tail being cut off exceedingly
close, gave an air of injured innocence to the interesting animal which
rendered her a favorite with all.

And Pompey, my <DW64>!--sweet Pompey! how shall I ever forget thee? I
had taken Pompey's arm. He was three feet in height (I like to be
particular) and about seventy, or perhaps eighty, years of age. He had
bow-legs and was corpulent. His mouth should not be called small, nor
his ears short. His teeth, however, were like pearl, and his large full
eyes were deliciously white. Nature had endowed him with no neck, and
had placed his ankles (as usual with that race) in the middle of the
upper portion of the feet. He was clad with a striking simplicity. His
sole garments were a stock of nine inches in height, and a nearly--new
drab overcoat which had formerly been in the service of the tall,
stately, and illustrious Dr. Moneypenny. It was a good overcoat. It was
well cut. It was well made. The coat was nearly new. Pompey held it up
out of the dirt with both hands.

There were three persons in our party, and two of them have already been
the subject of remark. There was a third--that person was myself. I
am the Signora Psyche Zenobia. I am not Suky Snobbs. My appearance is
commanding. On the memorable occasion of which I speak I was habited in
a crimson satin dress, with a sky-blue Arabian mantelet. And the dress
had trimmings of green agraffas, and seven graceful flounces of the
orange- auricula. I thus formed the third of the party. There was
the poodle. There was Pompey. There was myself. We were three. Thus
it is said there were originally but three Furies--Melty, Nimmy, and
Hetty--Meditation, Memory, and Fiddling.

Leaning upon the arm of the gallant Pompey, and attended at a
respectable distance by Diana, I proceeded down one of the populous
and very pleasant streets of the now deserted Edina. On a sudden, there
presented itself to view a church--a Gothic cathedral--vast, venerable,
and with a tall steeple, which towered into the sky. What madness
now possessed me? Why did I rush upon my fate? I was seized with an
uncontrollable desire to ascend the giddy pinnacle, and then survey the
immense extent of the city. The door of the cathedral stood invitingly
open. My destiny prevailed. I entered the ominous archway. Where then
was my guardian angel?--if indeed such angels there be. If! Distressing
monosyllable! what world of mystery, and meaning, and doubt, and
uncertainty is there involved in thy two letters! I entered the ominous
archway! I entered; and, without injury to my orange- auriculas,
I passed beneath the portal, and emerged within the vestibule. Thus
it is said the immense river Alfred passed, unscathed, and unwetted,
beneath the sea.

I thought the staircase would never have an end. Round! Yes, they went
round and up, and round and up and round and up, until I could not help
surmising, with the sagacious Pompey, upon whose supporting arm I leaned
in all the confidence of early affection--I could not help surmising
that the upper end of the continuous spiral ladder had been
accidentally, or perhaps designedly, removed. I paused for breath; and,
in the meantime, an accident occurred of too momentous a nature in
a moral, and also in a metaphysical point of view, to be passed over
without notice. It appeared to me--indeed I was quite confident of the
fact--I could not be mistaken--no! I had, for some moments, carefully
and anxiously observed the motions of my Diana--I say that I could not
be mistaken--Diana smelt a rat! At once I called Pompey's attention to
the subject, and he--he agreed with me. There was then no longer any
reasonable room for doubt. The rat had been smelled--and by Diana.
Heavens! shall I ever forget the intense excitement of the moment? Alas!
what is the boasted intellect of man? The rat!--it was there--that is to
say, it was somewhere. Diana smelled the rat. I--I could not! Thus it is
said the Prussian Isis has, for some persons, a sweet and very powerful
perfume, while to others it is perfectly scentless.

The staircase had been surmounted, and there were now only three or
four more upward steps intervening between us and the summit. We still
ascended, and now only one step remained. One step! One little, little
step! Upon one such little step in the great staircase of human life how
vast a sum of human happiness or misery depends! I thought of myself,
then of Pompey, and then of the mysterious and inexplicable destiny
which surrounded us. I thought of Pompey!--alas, I thought of love! I
thought of my many false steps which have been taken, and may be taken
again. I resolved to be more cautious, more reserved. I abandoned the
arm of Pompey, and, without his assistance, surmounted the one remaining
step, and gained the chamber of the belfry. I was followed immediately
afterward by my poodle. Pompey alone remained behind. I stood at the
head of the staircase, and encouraged him to ascend. He stretched forth
to me his hand, and unfortunately in so doing was forced to abandon
his firm hold upon the overcoat. Will the gods never cease their
persecution? The overcoat is dropped, and, with one of his feet, Pompey
stepped upon the long and trailing skirt of the overcoat. He stumbled
and fell--this consequence was inevitable. He fell forward, and, with
his accursed head, striking me full in the--in the breast, precipitated
me headlong, together with himself, upon the hard, filthy, and
detestable floor of the belfry. But my revenge was sure, sudden, and
complete. Seizing him furiously by the wool with both hands, I tore out
a vast quantity of black, and crisp, and curling material, and tossed it
from me with every manifestation of disdain. It fell among the ropes of
the belfry and remained. Pompey arose, and said no word. But he regarded
me piteously with his large eyes and--sighed. Ye Gods--that sigh! It
sunk into my heart. And the hair--the wool! Could I have reached that
wool I would have bathed it with my tears, in testimony of regret. But
alas! it was now far beyond my grasp. As it dangled among the cordage
of the bell, I fancied it alive. I fancied that it stood on end with
indignation. Thus the happy-dandy Flos Aeris of Java bears, it is said,
a beautiful flower, which will live when pulled up by the roots. The
natives suspend it by a cord from the ceiling and enjoy its fragrance
for years.

Our quarrel was now made up, and we looked about the room for an
aperture through which to survey the city of Edina. Windows there were
none. The sole light admitted into the gloomy chamber proceeded from
a square opening, about a foot in diameter, at a height of about seven
feet from the floor. Yet what will the energy of true genius not effect?
I resolved to clamber up to this hole. A vast quantity of wheels,
pinions, and other cabalistic--looking machinery stood opposite the
hole, close to it; and through the hole there passed an iron rod from
the machinery. Between the wheels and the wall where the hole lay there
was barely room for my body--yet I was desperate, and determined to
persevere. I called Pompey to my side.

"You perceive that aperture, Pompey. I wish to look through it. You will
stand here just beneath the hole--so. Now, hold out one of your hands,
Pompey, and let me step upon it--thus. Now, the other hand, Pompey, and
with its aid I will get upon your shoulders."

He did every thing I wished, and I found, upon getting up, that I could
easily pass my head and neck through the aperture. The prospect was
sublime. Nothing could be more magnificent. I merely paused a moment to
bid Diana behave herself, and assure Pompey that I would be considerate
and bear as lightly as possible upon his shoulders. I told him I would
be tender of his feelings--ossi tender que beefsteak. Having done this
justice to my faithful friend, I gave myself up with great zest and
enthusiasm to the enjoyment of the scene which so obligingly spread
itself out before my eyes.

Upon this subject, however, I shall forbear to dilate. I will not
describe the city of Edinburgh. Every one has been to the city of
Edinburgh. Every one has been to Edinburgh--the classic Edina. I will
confine myself to the momentous details of my own lamentable adventure.
Having, in some measure, satisfied my curiosity in regard to the extent,
situation, and general appearance of the city, I had leisure to survey
the church in which I was, and the delicate architecture of the steeple.
I observed that the aperture through which I had thrust my head was an
opening in the dial-plate of a gigantic clock, and must have appeared,
from the street, as a large key-hole, such as we see in the face of
the French watches. No doubt the true object was to admit the arm of
an attendant, to adjust, when necessary, the hands of the clock from
within. I observed also, with surprise, the immense size of these hands,
the longest of which could not have been less than ten feet in length,
and, where broadest, eight or nine inches in breadth. They were of solid
steel apparently, and their edges appeared to be sharp. Having noticed
these particulars, and some others, I again turned my eyes upon the
glorious prospect below, and soon became absorbed in contemplation.

From this, after some minutes, I was aroused by the voice of Pompey, who
declared that he could stand it no longer, and requested that I would be
so kind as to come down. This was unreasonable, and I told him so in a
speech of some length. He replied, but with an evident misunderstanding
of my ideas upon the subject. I accordingly grew angry, and told him
in plain words, that he was a fool, that he had committed an ignoramus
e-clench-eye, that his notions were mere insommary Bovis, and his
words little better than an ennemywerrybor'em. With this he appeared
satisfied, and I resumed my contemplations.

It might have been half an hour after this altercation when, as I was
deeply absorbed in the heavenly scenery beneath me, I was startled by
something very cold which pressed with a gentle pressure on the back of
my neck. It is needless to say that I felt inexpressibly alarmed. I knew
that Pompey was beneath my feet, and that Diana was sitting, according
to my explicit directions, upon her hind legs, in the farthest corner of
the room. What could it be? Alas! I but too soon discovered. Turning
my head gently to one side, I perceived, to my extreme horror, that the
huge, glittering, scimetar-like minute-hand of the clock had, in the
course of its hourly revolution, descended upon my neck. There was, I
knew, not a second to be lost. I pulled back at once--but it was too
late. There was no chance of forcing my head through the mouth of that
terrible trap in which it was so fairly caught, and which grew narrower
and narrower with a rapidity too horrible to be conceived. The agony of
that moment is not to be imagined. I threw up my hands and endeavored,
with all my strength, to force upward the ponderous iron bar. I might as
well have tried to lift the cathedral itself. Down, down, down it came,
closer and yet closer. I screamed to Pompey for aid; but he said that
I had hurt his feelings by calling him 'an ignorant old squint-eye:' I
yelled to Diana; but she only said 'bow-wow-wow,' and that I had told
her 'on no account to stir from the corner.' Thus I had no relief to
expect from my associates.

Meantime the ponderous and terrific Scythe of Time (for I now discovered
the literal import of that classical phrase) had not stopped, nor was
it likely to stop, in its career. Down and still down, it came. It had
already buried its sharp edge a full inch in my flesh, and my
sensations grew indistinct and confused. At one time I fancied myself
in Philadelphia with the stately Dr. Moneypenny, at another in the back
parlor of Mr. Blackwood receiving his invaluable instructions. And then
again the sweet recollection of better and earlier times came over me,
and I thought of that happy period when the world was not all a desert,
and Pompey not altogether cruel.

The ticking of the machinery amused me. Amused me, I say, for my
sensations now bordered upon perfect happiness, and the most trifling
circumstances afforded me pleasure. The eternal click-clak, click-clak,
click-clak of the clock was the most melodious of music in my ears, and
occasionally even put me in mind of the graceful sermonic harangues of
Dr. Ollapod. Then there were the great figures upon the dial-plate--how
intelligent how intellectual, they all looked! And presently they took
to dancing the Mazurka, and I think it was the figure V. who performed
the most to my satisfaction. She was evidently a lady of breeding. None
of your swaggerers, and nothing at all indelicate in her motions. She
did the pirouette to admiration--whirling round upon her apex. I made an
endeavor to hand her a chair, for I saw that she appeared fatigued
with her exertions--and it was not until then that I fully perceived my
lamentable situation. Lamentable indeed! The bar had buried itself two
inches in my neck. I was aroused to a sense of exquisite pain. I prayed
for death, and, in the agony of the moment, could not help repeating
those exquisite verses of the poet Miguel De Cervantes:

     Vanny Buren, tan escondida

     Query no te senty venny

     Pork and pleasure, delly morry

     Nommy, torny, darry, widdy!

But now a new horror presented itself, and one indeed sufficient to
startle the strongest nerves. My eyes, from the cruel pressure of
the machine, were absolutely starting from their sockets. While I was
thinking how I should possibly manage without them, one actually tumbled
out of my head, and, rolling down the steep side of the steeple, lodged
in the rain gutter which ran along the eaves of the main building. The
loss of the eye was not so much as the insolent air of independence and
contempt with which it regarded me after it was out. There it lay in the
gutter just under my nose, and the airs it gave itself would have been
ridiculous had they not been disgusting. Such a winking and blinking
were never before seen. This behavior on the part of my eye in the
gutter was not only irritating on account of its manifest insolence and
shameful ingratitude, but was also exceedingly inconvenient on account
of the sympathy which always exists between two eyes of the same head,
however far apart. I was forced, in a manner, to wink and to blink,
whether I would or not, in exact concert with the scoundrelly thing
that lay just under my nose. I was presently relieved, however, by the
dropping out of the other eye. In falling it took the same direction
(possibly a concerted plot) as its fellow. Both rolled out of the gutter
together, and in truth I was very glad to get rid of them.

The bar was now four inches and a half deep in my neck, and there was
only a little bit of skin to cut through. My sensations were those
of entire happiness, for I felt that in a few minutes, at farthest,
I should be relieved from my disagreeable situation. And in this
expectation I was not at all deceived. At twenty-five minutes past
five in the afternoon, precisely, the huge minute-hand had proceeded
sufficiently far on its terrible revolution to sever the small remainder
of my neck. I was not sorry to see the head which had occasioned me so
much embarrassment at length make a final separation from my body.
It first rolled down the side of the steeple, then lodge, for a few
seconds, in the gutter, and then made its way, with a plunge, into the
middle of the street.

I will candidly confess that my feelings were now of the most
singular--nay, of the most mysterious, the most perplexing and
incomprehensible character. My senses were here and there at one and the
same moment. With my head I imagined, at one time, that I, the head,
was the real Signora Psyche Zenobia--at another I felt convinced that
myself, the body, was the proper identity. To clear my ideas on this
topic I felt in my pocket for my snuff-box, but, upon getting it, and
endeavoring to apply a pinch of its grateful contents in the ordinary
manner, I became immediately aware of my peculiar deficiency, and
threw the box at once down to my head. It took a pinch with great
satisfaction, and smiled me an acknowledgement in return. Shortly
afterward it made me a speech, which I could hear but indistinctly
without ears. I gathered enough, however, to know that it was astonished
at my wishing to remain alive under such circumstances. In the
concluding sentences it quoted the noble words of Ariosto--

     Il pover hommy che non sera corty

And have a combat tenty erry morty; thus comparing me to the hero who,
in the heat of the combat, not perceiving that he was dead, continued to
contest the battle with inextinguishable valor. There was nothing now
to prevent my getting down from my elevation, and I did so. What it was
that Pompey saw so very peculiar in my appearance I have never yet been
able to find out. The fellow opened his mouth from ear to ear, and shut
his two eyes as if he were endeavoring to crack nuts between the lids.
Finally, throwing off his overcoat, he made one spring for the staircase
and disappeared. I hurled after the scoundrel these vehement words of
Demosthenes--

Andrew O'Phlegethon, you really make haste to fly, and then turned to
the darling of my heart, to the one-eyed! the shaggy-haired Diana. Alas!
what a horrible vision affronted my eyes? Was that a rat I saw skulking
into his hole? Are these the picked bones of the little angel who has
been cruelly devoured by the monster? Ye gods! and what do I behold--is
that the departed spirit, the shade, the ghost, of my beloved puppy,
which I perceive sitting with a grace so melancholy, in the corner?
Hearken! for she speaks, and, heavens! it is in the German of Schiller--

      "Unt stubby duk, so stubby dun
       Duk she! duk she!"

      Alas! and are not her words too true?

      "And if I died, at least I died
       For thee--for thee."

Sweet creature! she too has sacrificed herself in my behalf. Dogless,
niggerless, headless, what now remains for the unhappy Signora Psyche
Zenobia? Alas--nothing! I have done.




MYSTIFICATION

     Slid, if these be your "passados" and "montantes," I'll have
     none o' them.

     --NED KNOWLES.

THE BARON RITZNER VON JUNG was a noble Hungarian family, every member
of which (at least as far back into antiquity as any certain records
extend) was more or less remarkable for talent of some description--the
majority for that species of grotesquerie in conception of which Tieck,
a scion of the house, has given a vivid, although by no means the most
vivid exemplifications. My acquaintance with Ritzner commenced at the
magnificent Chateau Jung, into which a train of droll adventures, not
to be made public, threw a place in his regard, and here, with somewhat
more difficulty, a partial insight into his mental conformation. In
later days this insight grew more clear, as the intimacy which had at
first permitted it became more close; and when, after three years of the
character of the Baron Ritzner von Jung.

I remember the buzz of curiosity which his advent excited within the
college precincts on the night of the twenty-fifth of June. I remember
still more distinctly, that while he was pronounced by all parties at
first sight "the most remarkable man in the world," no person made any
attempt at accounting for his opinion. That he was unique appeared
so undeniable, that it was deemed impertinent to inquire wherein the
uniquity consisted. But, letting this matter pass for the present, I
will merely observe that, from the first moment of his setting foot
within the limits of the university, he began to exercise over the
habits, manners, persons, purses, and propensities of the whole
community which surrounded him, an influence the most extensive and
despotic, yet at the same time the most indefinite and altogether
unaccountable. Thus the brief period of his residence at the university
forms an era in its annals, and is characterized by all classes
of people appertaining to it or its dependencies as "that very
extraordinary epoch forming the domination of the Baron Ritzner von
Jung." then of no particular age, by which I mean that it was impossible
to form a guess respecting his age by any data personally afforded. He
might have been fifteen or fifty, and was twenty-one years and seven
months. He was by no means a handsome man--perhaps the reverse. The
contour of his face was somewhat angular and harsh. His forehead was
lofty and very fair; his nose a snub; his eyes large, heavy, glassy,
and meaningless. About the mouth there was more to be observed. The lips
were gently protruded, and rested the one upon the other, after such a
fashion that it is impossible to conceive any, even the most complex,
combination of human features, conveying so entirely, and so singly, the
idea of unmitigated gravity, solemnity and repose.

It will be perceived, no doubt, from what I have already said, that the
Baron was one of those human anomalies now and then to be found, who
make the science of mystification the study and the business of their
lives. For this science a peculiar turn of mind gave him instinctively
the cue, while his physical appearance afforded him unusual facilities
for carrying his prospects into effect. I quaintly termed the domination
of the Baron Ritzner von Jung, ever rightly entered into the mystery
which overshadowed his character. I truly think that no person at the
university, with the exception of myself, ever suspected him to be
capable of a joke, verbal or practical:--the old bull-dog at
the garden-gate would sooner have been accused,--the ghost of
Heraclitus,--or the wig of the Emeritus Professor of Theology. This,
too, when it was evident that the most egregious and unpardonable of all
conceivable tricks, whimsicalities and buffooneries were brought about,
if not directly by him, at least plainly through his intermediate agency
or connivance. The beauty, if I may so call it, of his art mystifique,
lay in that consummate ability (resulting from an almost intuitive
knowledge of human nature, and a most wonderful self-possession,) by
means of which he never failed to make it appear that the drolleries he
was occupied in bringing to a point, arose partly in spite, and
partly in consequence of the laudable efforts he was making for their
prevention, and for the preservation of the good order and dignity of
Alma Mater. The deep, the poignant, the overwhelming mortification,
which upon each such failure of his praise worthy endeavors, would
suffuse every lineament of his countenance, left not the slightest room
for doubt of his sincerity in the bosoms of even his most skeptical
companions. The adroitness, too, was no less worthy of observation by
which he contrived to shift the sense of the grotesque from the creator
to the created--from his own person to the absurdities to which he had
given rise. In no instance before that of which I speak, have I
known the habitual mystific escape the natural consequence of his
manoevres--an attachment of the ludicrous to his own character and
person. Continually enveloped in an atmosphere of whim, my friend
appeared to live only for the severities of society; and not even his
own household have for a moment associated other ideas than those of
the rigid and august with the memory of the Baron Ritzner von Jung, the
demon of the dolce far niente lay like an incubus upon the university.
Nothing, at least, was done beyond eating and drinking and making merry.
The apartments of the students were converted into so many pot-houses,
and there was no pot-house of them all more famous or more frequented
than that of the Baron. Our carousals here were many, and boisterous,
and long, and never unfruitful of events.

Upon one occasion we had protracted our sitting until nearly daybreak,
and an unusual quantity of wine had been drunk. The company consisted of
seven or eight individuals besides the Baron and myself. Most of these
were young men of wealth, of high connection, of great family pride, and
all alive with an exaggerated sense of honor. They abounded in the most
ultra German opinions respecting the duello. To these Quixotic notions
some recent Parisian publications, backed by three or four desperate and
fatal conversation, during the greater part of the night, had run wild
upon the all--engrossing topic of the times. The Baron, who had been
unusually silent and abstracted in the earlier portion of the evening,
at length seemed to be aroused from his apathy, took a leading part in
the discourse, and dwelt upon the benefits, and more especially upon the
beauties, of the received code of etiquette in passages of arms with
an ardor, an eloquence, an impressiveness, and an affectionateness
of manner, which elicited the warmest enthusiasm from his hearers in
general, and absolutely staggered even myself, who well knew him to be
at heart a ridiculer of those very points for which he contended, and
especially to hold the entire fanfaronade of duelling etiquette in the
sovereign contempt which it deserves.

Looking around me during a pause in the Baron's discourse (of which my
readers may gather some faint idea when I say that it bore resemblance
to the fervid, chanting, monotonous, yet musical sermonic manner of
Coleridge), I perceived symptoms of even more than the general interest
in the countenance of one of the party. This gentleman, whom I shall
call Hermann, was an original in every respect--except, perhaps, in the
single particular that he was a very great fool. He contrived to bear,
however, among a particular set at the university, a reputation for deep
metaphysical thinking, and, I believe, for some logical talent. As a
duellist he had acquired who had fallen at his hands; but they were
many. He was a man of courage undoubtedly. But it was upon his minute
acquaintance with the etiquette of the duello, and the nicety of his
sense of honor, that he most especially prided himself. These things
were a hobby which he rode to the death. To Ritzner, ever upon the
lookout for the grotesque, his peculiarities had for a long time past
afforded food for mystification. Of this, however, I was not aware;
although, in the present instance, I saw clearly that something of a
whimsical nature was upon the tapis with my friend, and that Hermann was
its especial object.

As the former proceeded in his discourse, or rather monologue I
perceived the excitement of the latter momently increasing. At length
he spoke; offering some objection to a point insisted upon by R., and
giving his reasons in detail. To these the Baron replied at length
(still maintaining his exaggerated tone of sentiment) and concluding, in
what I thought very bad taste, with a sarcasm and a sneer. The hobby
of Hermann now took the bit in his teeth. This I could discern by
the studied hair-splitting farrago of his rejoinder. His last words I
distinctly remember. "Your opinions, allow me to say, Baron von Jung,
although in the main correct, are, in many nice points, discreditable
to yourself and to the university of which you are a member. In a few
respects they are even unworthy of serious refutation. I would say more
than this, sir, were it not for the fear of giving you offence (here the
speaker smiled blandly), I would say, sir, that your opinions are not
the opinions to be expected from a gentleman."

As Hermann completed this equivocal sentence, all eyes were turned upon
the Baron. He became pale, then excessively red; then, dropping his
pocket-handkerchief, stooped to recover it, when I caught a glimpse of
his countenance, while it could be seen by no one else at the table.
It was radiant with the quizzical expression which was its natural
character, but which I had never seen it assume except when we were
alone together, and when he unbent himself freely. In an instant
afterward he stood erect, confronting Hermann; and so total an
alteration of countenance in so short a period I certainly never saw
before. For a moment I even fancied that I had misconceived him, and
that he was in sober earnest. He appeared to be stifling with passion,
and his face was cadaverously white. For a short time he remained
silent, apparently striving to master his emotion. Having at length
seemingly succeeded, he reached a decanter which stood near him, saying
as he held it firmly clenched "The language you have thought proper to
employ, Mynheer Hermann, in addressing yourself to me, is objectionable
in so many particulars, that I have neither temper nor time for
specification. That my opinions, however, are not the opinions to be
expected from a gentleman, is an observation so directly offensive as to
allow me but one line of conduct. Some courtesy, nevertheless, is due
to the presence of this company, and to yourself, at this moment, as
my guest. You will pardon me, therefore, if, upon this consideration, I
deviate slightly from the general usage among gentlemen in similar cases
of personal affront. You will forgive me for the moderate tax I shall
make upon your imagination, and endeavor to consider, for an instant,
the reflection of your person in yonder mirror as the living Mynheer
Hermann himself. This being done, there will be no difficulty whatever.
I shall discharge this decanter of wine at your image in yonder mirror,
and thus fulfil all the spirit, if not the exact letter, of resentment
for your insult, while the necessity of physical violence to your real
person will be obviated."

With these words he hurled the decanter, full of wine, against the
mirror which hung directly opposite Hermann; striking the reflection of
his person with great precision, and of course shattering the glass into
fragments. The whole company at once started to their feet, and, with
the exception of myself and Ritzner, took their departure. As Hermann
went out, the Baron whispered me that I should follow him and make an
offer of my services. To this I agreed; not knowing precisely what to
make of so ridiculous a piece of business.

The duellist accepted my aid with his stiff and ultra recherche air,
and, taking my arm, led me to his apartment. I could hardly forbear
laughing in his face while he proceeded to discuss, with the profoundest
gravity, what he termed "the refinedly peculiar character" of the insult
he had received. After a tiresome harangue in his ordinary style, he
took down from his book shelves a number of musty volumes on the subject
of the duello, and entertained me for a long time with their contents;
reading aloud, and commenting earnestly as he read. I can just remember
the titles of some of the works. There were the "Ordonnance of Philip le
Bel on Single Combat"; the "Theatre of Honor," by Favyn, and a treatise
"On the Permission of Duels," by Andiguier. He displayed, also, with
much pomposity, Brantome's "Memoirs of Duels,"--published at Cologne,
1666, in the types of Elzevir--a precious and unique vellum-paper
volume, with a fine margin, and bound by Derome. But he requested my
attention particularly, and with an air of mysterious sagacity, to a
thick octavo, written in barbarous Latin by one Hedelin, a Frenchman,
and having the quaint title, "Duelli Lex Scripta, et non; aliterque."
From this he read me one of the drollest chapters in the world
concerning "Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per se,"
about half of which, he averred, was strictly applicable to his own
"refinedly peculiar" case, although not one syllable of the whole matter
could I understand for the life of me. Having finished the chapter, he
closed the book, and demanded what I thought necessary to be done.
I replied that I had entire confidence in his superior delicacy of
feeling, and would abide by what he proposed. With this answer he seemed
flattered, and sat down to write a note to the Baron. It ran thus:

Sir,--My friend, M. P.-, will hand you this note. I find it incumbent
upon me to request, at your earliest convenience, an explanation of this
evening's occurrences at your chambers. In the event of your declining
this request, Mr. P. will be happy to arrange, with any friend whom you
may appoint, the steps preliminary to a meeting.

With sentiments of perfect respect,

Your most humble servant,

JOHANN HERMAN.

To the Baron Ritzner von Jung,

Not knowing what better to do, I called upon Ritzner with this epistle.
He bowed as I presented it; then, with a grave countenance, motioned
me to a seat. Having perused the cartel, he wrote the following reply,
which I carried to Hermann.

SIR,--Through our common friend, Mr. P., I have received your note of
this evening. Upon due reflection I frankly admit the propriety of
the explanation you suggest. This being admitted, I still find great
difficulty, (owing to the refinedly peculiar nature of our disagreement,
and of the personal affront offered on my part,) in so wording what I
have to say by way of apology, as to meet all the minute exigencies, and
all the variable shadows, of the case. I have great reliance, however,
on that extreme delicacy of discrimination, in matters appertaining
to the rules of etiquette, for which you have been so long and so
pre-eminently distinguished. With perfect certainty, therefore, of being
comprehended, I beg leave, in lieu of offering any sentiments of my own,
to refer you to the opinions of Sieur Hedelin, as set forth in the
ninth paragraph of the chapter of "Injuriae per applicationem, per
constructionem, et per se," in his "Duelli Lex scripta, et non;
aliterque." The nicety of your discernment in all the matters here
treated, will be sufficient, I am assured, to convince you that the mere
circumstance of me referring you to this admirable passage, ought to
satisfy your request, as a man of honor, for explanation.

With sentiments of profound respect,

Your most obedient servant,

VON JUNG.

The Herr Johann Hermann

Hermann commenced the perusal of this epistle with a scowl,
which, however, was converted into a smile of the most ludicrous
self-complacency as he came to the rigmarole about Injuriae per
applicationem, per constructionem, et per se. Having finished reading,
he begged me, with the blandest of all possible smiles, to be seated,
while he made reference to the treatise in question. Turning to the
passage specified, he read it with great care to himself, then closed
the book, and desired me, in my character of confidential acquaintance,
to express to the Baron von Jung his exalted sense of his chivalrous
behavior, and, in that of second, to assure him that the explanation
offered was of the fullest, the most honorable, and the most
unequivocally satisfactory nature.

Somewhat amazed at all this, I made my retreat to the Baron. He seemed
to receive Hermann's amicable letter as a matter of course, and after a
few words of general conversation, went to an inner room and brought
out the everlasting treatise "Duelli Lex scripta, et non; aliterque." He
handed me the volume and asked me to look over some portion of it. I did
so, but to little purpose, not being able to gather the least particle
of meaning. He then took the book himself, and read me a chapter aloud.
To my surprise, what he read proved to be a most horribly absurd account
of a duel between two baboons. He now explained the mystery; showing
that the volume, as it appeared prima facie, was written upon the plan
of the nonsense verses of Du Bartas; that is to say, the language was
ingeniously framed so as to present to the ear all the outward signs of
intelligibility, and even of profundity, while in fact not a shadow of
meaning existed. The key to the whole was found in leaving out every
second and third word alternately, when there appeared a series of
ludicrous quizzes upon a single combat as practised in modern times.

The Baron afterwards informed me that he had purposely thrown the
treatise in Hermann's way two or three weeks before the adventure, and
that he was satisfied, from the general tenor of his conversation, that
he had studied it with the deepest attention, and firmly believed it to
be a work of unusual merit. Upon this hint he proceeded. Hermann would
have died a thousand deaths rather than acknowledge his inability to
understand anything and everything in the universe that had ever been
written about the duello.

                                   Littleton Barry.




DIDDLING

CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE EXACT SCIENCES.

      Hey, diddle diddle
      The cat and the fiddle

SINCE the world began there have been two Jeremys. The one wrote a
Jeremiad about usury, and was called Jeremy Bentham. He has been much
admired by Mr. John Neal, and was a great man in a small way. The other
gave name to the most important of the Exact Sciences, and was a great
man in a great way--I may say, indeed, in the very greatest of ways.

Diddling--or the abstract idea conveyed by the verb to diddle--is
sufficiently well understood. Yet the fact, the deed, the thing
diddling, is somewhat difficult to define. We may get, however, at a
tolerably distinct conception of the matter in hand, by defining--not
the thing, diddling, in itself--but man, as an animal that diddles. Had
Plato but hit upon this, he would have been spared the affront of the
picked chicken.

Very pertinently it was demanded of Plato, why a picked chicken, which
was clearly "a biped without feathers," was not, according to his own
definition, a man? But I am not to be bothered by any similar query. Man
is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man.
It will take an entire hen-coop of picked chickens to get over that.

What constitutes the essence, the nare, the principle of diddling is, in
fact, peculiar to the class of creatures that wear coats and pantaloons.
A crow thieves; a fox cheats; a weasel outwits; a man diddles. To diddle
is his destiny. "Man was made to mourn," says the poet. But not so:--he
was made to diddle. This is his aim--his object--his end. And for this
reason when a man's diddled we say he's "done."

Diddling, rightly considered, is a compound, of which the ingredients
are minuteness, interest, perseverance, ingenuity, audacity,
nonchalance, originality, impertinence, and grin.

Minuteness:--Your diddler is minute. His operations are upon a small
scale. His business is retail, for cash, or approved paper at sight.
Should he ever be tempted into magnificent speculation, he then,
at once, loses his distinctive features, and becomes what we term
"financier." This latter word conveys the diddling idea in every respect
except that of magnitude. A diddler may thus be regarded as a banker in
petto--a "financial operation," as a diddle at Brobdignag. The one is to
the other, as Homer to "Flaccus"--as a Mastodon to a mouse--as the tail
of a comet to that of a pig.

Interest:--Your diddler is guided by self-interest. He scorns to
diddle for the mere sake of the diddle. He has an object in view--his
pocket--and yours. He regards always the main chance. He looks to Number
One. You are Number Two, and must look to yourself.

Perseverance:--Your diddler perseveres. He is not readily discouraged.
Should even the banks break, he cares nothing about it. He steadily
pursues his end, and 'Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto,'
so he never lets go of his game.

Ingenuity:--Your diddler is ingenious. He has constructiveness large. He
understands plot. He invents and circumvents. Were he not Alexander he
would be Diogenes. Were he not a diddler, he would be a maker of patent
rat-traps or an angler for trout.

Audacity:--Your diddler is audacious.--He is a bold man. He carries
the war into Africa. He conquers all by assault. He would not fear the
daggers of Frey Herren. With a little more prudence Dick Turpin would
have made a good diddler; with a trifle less blarney, Daniel O'Connell;
with a pound or two more brains Charles the Twelfth.

Nonchalance:--Your diddler is nonchalant. He is not at all nervous. He
never had any nerves. He is never seduced into a flurry. He is never
put out--unless put out of doors. He is cool--cool as a cucumber. He
is calm--"calm as a smile from Lady Bury." He is easy--easy as an old
glove, or the damsels of ancient Baiae.

Originality:--Your diddler is original--conscientiously so. His thoughts
are his own. He would scorn to employ those of another. A stale trick is
his aversion. He would return a purse, I am sure, upon discovering that
he had obtained it by an unoriginal diddle.

Impertinence.--Your diddler is impertinent. He swaggers. He sets his
arms a-kimbo. He thrusts his hands in his trowsers' pockets. He sneers
in your face. He treads on your corns. He eats your dinner, he drinks
your wine, he borrows your money, he pulls your nose, he kicks your
poodle, and he kisses your wife.

Grin:--Your true diddler winds up all with a grin. But this nobody sees
but himself. He grins when his daily work is done--when his allotted
labors are accomplished--at night in his own closet, and altogether
for his own private entertainment. He goes home. He locks his door. He
divests himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle. He gets into
bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done, and your diddler
grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of course. I reason a
priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without a grin.

The origin of the diddle is referrable to the infancy of the Human Race.
Perhaps the first diddler was Adam. At all events, we can trace the
science back to a very remote period of antiquity. The moderns, however,
have brought it to a perfection never dreamed of by our thick-headed
progenitors. Without pausing to speak of the "old saws," therefore,
I shall content myself with a compendious account of some of the more
"modern instances."

A very good diddle is this. A housekeeper in want of a sofa, for
instance, is seen to go in and out of several cabinet warehouses.
At length she arrives at one offering an excellent variety. She is
accosted, and invited to enter, by a polite and voluble individual at
the door. She finds a sofa well adapted to her views, and upon inquiring
the price, is surprised and delighted to hear a sum named at least
twenty per cent. lower than her expectations. She hastens to make the
purchase, gets a bill and receipt, leaves her address, with a request
that the article be sent home as speedily as possible, and retires amid
a profusion of bows from the shopkeeper. The night arrives and no sofa.
A servant is sent to make inquiry about the delay. The whole transaction
is denied. No sofa has been sold--no money received--except by the
diddler, who played shop-keeper for the nonce.

Our cabinet warehouses are left entirely unattended, and thus afford
every facility for a trick of this kind. Visiters enter, look at
furniture, and depart unheeded and unseen. Should any one wish to
purchase, or to inquire the price of an article, a bell is at hand, and
this is considered amply sufficient.

Again, quite a respectable diddle is this. A well-dressed individual
enters a shop, makes a purchase to the value of a dollar; finds, much to
his vexation, that he has left his pocket-book in another coat pocket;
and so says to the shopkeeper--

"My dear sir, never mind; just oblige me, will you, by sending the
bundle home? But stay! I really believe that I have nothing less than
a five dollar bill, even there. However, you can send four dollars in
change with the bundle, you know."

"Very good, sir," replies the shop-keeper, who entertains, at once, a
lofty opinion of the high-mindedness of his customer. "I know fellows,"
he says to himself, "who would just have put the goods under their arm,
and walked off with a promise to call and pay the dollar as they came by
in the afternoon."

A boy is sent with the parcel and change. On the route, quite
accidentally, he is met by the purchaser, who exclaims:

"Ah! This is my bundle, I see--I thought you had been home with it,
long ago. Well, go on! My wife, Mrs. Trotter, will give you the five
dollars--I left instructions with her to that effect. The change you
might as well give to me--I shall want some silver for the Post Office.
Very good! One, two, is this a good quarter?--three, four--quite right!
Say to Mrs. Trotter that you met me, and be sure now and do not loiter
on the way."

The boy doesn't loiter at all--but he is a very long time in getting
back from his errand--for no lady of the precise name of Mrs. Trotter
is to be discovered. He consoles himself, however, that he has not been
such a fool as to leave the goods without the money, and re-entering his
shop with a self-satisfied air, feels sensibly hurt and indignant when
his master asks him what has become of the change.

A very simple diddle, indeed, is this. The captain of a ship, which
is about to sail, is presented by an official looking person with an
unusually moderate bill of city charges. Glad to get off so easily,
and confused by a hundred duties pressing upon him all at once, he
discharges the claim forthwith. In about fifteen minutes, another and
less reasonable bill is handed him by one who soon makes it evident that
the first collector was a diddler, and the original collection a diddle.

And here, too, is a somewhat similar thing. A steamboat is casting loose
from the wharf. A traveller, portmanteau in hand, is discovered running
toward the wharf, at full speed. Suddenly, he makes a dead halt, stoops,
and picks up something from the ground in a very agitated manner. It is
a pocket-book, and--"Has any gentleman lost a pocketbook?" he cries.
No one can say that he has exactly lost a pocket-book; but a great
excitement ensues, when the treasure trove is found to be of value. The
boat, however, must not be detained.

"Time and tide wait for no man," says the captain.

"For God's sake, stay only a few minutes," says the finder of the
book--"the true claimant will presently appear."

"Can't wait!" replies the man in authority; "cast off there, d'ye hear?"

"What am I to do?" asks the finder, in great tribulation. "I am about
to leave the country for some years, and I cannot conscientiously retain
this large amount in my possession. I beg your pardon, sir," [here he
addresses a gentleman on shore,] "but you have the air of an honest
man. Will you confer upon me the favor of taking charge of this
pocket-book--I know I can trust you--and of advertising it? The notes,
you see, amount to a very considerable sum. The owner will, no doubt,
insist upon rewarding you for your trouble--

"Me!--no, you!--it was you who found the book."

"Well, if you must have it so--I will take a small reward--just to
satisfy your scruples. Let me see--why these notes are all
hundreds--bless my soul! a hundred is too much to take--fifty would
be quite enough, I am sure--

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

"But then I have no change for a hundred, and upon the whole, you had
better--

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

"Never mind!" cries the gentleman on shore, who has been examining
his own pocket-book for the last minute or so--"never mind! I can fix
it--here is a fifty on the Bank of North America--throw the book."

And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty with marked
reluctance, and throws the gentleman the book, as desired, while the
steamboat fumes and fizzes on her way. In about half an hour after her
departure, the "large amount" is seen to be a "counterfeit presentment,"
and the whole thing a capital diddle.

A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or something similar, is to
be held at a certain spot which is accessible only by means of a free
bridge. A diddler stations himself upon this bridge, respectfully
informs all passers by of the new county law, which establishes a toll
of one cent for foot passengers, two for horses and donkeys, and so
forth, and so forth. Some grumble but all submit, and the diddler goes
home a wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well earned. This
taking a toll from a great crowd of people is an excessively troublesome
thing.

A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the diddler's promises to
pay, filled up and signed in due form, upon the ordinary blanks printed
in red ink. The diddler purchases one or two dozen of these blanks, and
every day dips one of them in his soup, makes his dog jump for it,
and finally gives it to him as a bonne bouche. The note arriving at
maturity, the diddler, with the diddler's dog, calls upon the friend,
and the promise to pay is made the topic of discussion. The friend
produces it from his escritoire, and is in the act of reaching it to the
diddler, when up jumps the diddler's dog and devours it forthwith.
The diddler is not only surprised but vexed and incensed at the absurd
behavior of his dog, and expresses his entire readiness to cancel the
obligation at any moment when the evidence of the obligation shall be
forthcoming.

A very mean diddle is this. A lady is insulted in the street by a
diddler's accomplice. The diddler himself flies to her assistance, and,
giving his friend a comfortable thrashing, insists upon attending the
lady to her own door. He bows, with his hand upon his heart, and most
respectfully bids her adieu. She entreats him, as her deliverer, to walk
in and be introduced to her big brother and her papa. With a sigh, he
declines to do so. "Is there no way, then, sir," she murmurs, "in which
I may be permitted to testify my gratitude?"

"Why, yes, madam, there is. Will you be kind enough to lend me a couple
of shillings?"

In the first excitement of the moment the lady decides upon fainting
outright. Upon second thought, however, she opens her purse-strings and
delivers the specie. Now this, I say, is a diddle minute--for one entire
moiety of the sum borrowed has to be paid to the gentleman who had the
trouble of performing the insult, and who had then to stand still and be
thrashed for performing it.

Rather a small but still a scientific diddle is this. The diddler
approaches the bar of a tavern, and demands a couple of twists of
tobacco. These are handed to him, when, having slightly examined them,
he says:

"I don't much like this tobacco. Here, take it back, and give me a glass
of brandy and water in its place." The brandy and water is furnished and
imbibed, and the diddler makes his way to the door. But the voice of the
tavern-keeper arrests him.

"I believe, sir, you have forgotten to pay for your brandy and water."

"Pay for my brandy and water!--didn't I give you the tobacco for the
brandy and water? What more would you have?"

"But, sir, if you please, I don't remember that you paid me for the
tobacco."

"What do you mean by that, you scoundrel?--Didn't I give you back your
tobacco? Isn't that your tobacco lying there? Do you expect me to pay
for what I did not take?"

"But, sir," says the publican, now rather at a loss what to say, "but
sir-"

"But me no buts, sir," interrupts the diddler, apparently in very high
dudgeon, and slamming the door after him, as he makes his escape.--"But
me no buts, sir, and none of your tricks upon travellers."

Here again is a very clever diddle, of which the simplicity is not its
least recommendation. A purse, or pocket-book, being really lost,
the loser inserts in one of the daily papers of a large city a fully
descriptive advertisement.

Whereupon our diddler copies the facts of this advertisement, with a
change of heading, of general phraseology and address. The original,
for instance, is long, and verbose, is headed "A Pocket-Book Lost!" and
requires the treasure, when found, to be left at No. 1 Tom Street. The
copy is brief, and being headed with "Lost" only, indicates No. 2 Dick,
or No. 3 Harry Street, as the locality at which the owner may be seen.
Moreover, it is inserted in at least five or six of the daily papers
of the day, while in point of time, it makes its appearance only a few
hours after the original. Should it be read by the loser of the purse,
he would hardly suspect it to have any reference to his own misfortune.
But, of course, the chances are five or six to one, that the finder will
repair to the address given by the diddler, rather than to that pointed
out by the rightful proprietor. The former pays the reward, pockets the
treasure and decamps.

Quite an analogous diddle is this. A lady of ton has dropped, some where
in the street, a diamond ring of very unusual value. For its recovery,
she offers some forty or fifty dollars reward--giving, in her
advertisement, a very minute description of the gem, and of its
settings, and declaring that, on its restoration at No. so and so, in
such and such Avenue, the reward would be paid instanter, without a
single question being asked. During the lady's absence from home, a day
or two afterwards, a ring is heard at the door of No. so and so, in such
and such Avenue; a servant appears; the lady of the house is asked for
and is declared to be out, at which astounding information, the visitor
expresses the most poignant regret. His business is of importance and
concerns the lady herself. In fact, he had the good fortune to find her
diamond ring. But perhaps it would be as well that he should call again.
"By no means!" says the servant; and "By no means!" says the lady's
sister and the lady's sister-in-law, who are summoned forthwith. The
ring is clamorously identified, the reward is paid, and the finder
nearly thrust out of doors. The lady returns and expresses some little
dissatisfaction with her sister and sister-in-law, because they happen
to have paid forty or fifty dollars for a fac-simile of her diamond
ring--a fac-simile made out of real pinch-beck and unquestionable paste.

But as there is really no end to diddling, so there would be none to
this essay, were I even to hint at half the variations, or inflections,
of which this science is susceptible. I must bring this paper, perforce,
to a conclusion, and this I cannot do better than by a summary notice
of a very decent, but rather elaborate diddle, of which our own city was
made the theatre, not very long ago, and which was subsequently repeated
with success, in other still more verdant localities of the Union.
A middle-aged gentleman arrives in town from parts unknown. He is
remarkably precise, cautious, staid, and deliberate in his demeanor. His
dress is scrupulously neat, but plain, unostentatious. He wears a
white cravat, an ample waistcoat, made with an eye to comfort alone;
thick-soled cosy-looking shoes, and pantaloons without straps. He has
the whole air, in fact, of your well-to-do, sober-sided, exact, and
respectable "man of business," Par excellence--one of the stern and
outwardly hard, internally soft, sort of people that we see in the crack
high comedies--fellows whose words are so many bonds, and who are noted
for giving away guineas, in charity, with the one hand, while, in the
way of mere bargain, they exact the uttermost fraction of a farthing
with the other.

He makes much ado before he can get suited with a boarding house. He
dislikes children. He has been accustomed to quiet. His habits are
methodical--and then he would prefer getting into a private and
respectable small family, piously inclined. Terms, however, are no
object--only he must insist upon settling his bill on the first of every
month, (it is now the second) and begs his landlady, when he finally
obtains one to his mind, not on any account to forget his instructions
upon this point--but to send in a bill, and receipt, precisely at ten
o'clock, on the first day of every month, and under no circumstances to
put it off to the second.

These arrangements made, our man of business rents an office in a
reputable rather than a fashionable quarter of the town. There is
nothing he more despises than pretense. "Where there is much show,"
he says, "there is seldom any thing very solid behind"--an observation
which so profoundly impresses his landlady's fancy, that she makes a
pencil memorandum of it forthwith, in her great family Bible, on the
broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.

The next step is to advertise, after some such fashion as this, in the
principal business six-pennies of the city--the pennies are eschewed as
not "respectable"--and as demanding payment for all advertisements in
advance. Our man of business holds it as a point of his faith that work
should never be paid for until done.

"WANTED--The advertisers, being about to commence extensive business
operations in this city, will require the services of three or four
intelligent and competent clerks, to whom a liberal salary will be
paid. The very best recommendations, not so much for capacity, as for
integrity, will be expected. Indeed, as the duties to be performed
involve high responsibilities, and large amounts of money must
necessarily pass through the hands of those engaged, it is deemed
advisable to demand a deposit of fifty dollars from each clerk employed.
No person need apply, therefore, who is not prepared to leave this sum
in the possession of the advertisers, and who cannot furnish the most
satisfactory testimonials of morality. Young gentlemen piously inclined
will be preferred. Application should be made between the hours of ten
and eleven A. M., and four and five P. M., of Messrs.

"Bogs, Hogs Logs, Frogs & Co.,

"No. 110 Dog Street"

By the thirty-first day of the month, this advertisement has brought to
the office of Messrs. Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs, and Company, some fifteen
or twenty young gentlemen piously inclined. But our man of business is
in no hurry to conclude a contract with any--no man of business is ever
precipitate--and it is not until the most rigid catechism in respect to
the piety of each young gentleman's inclination, that his services
are engaged and his fifty dollars receipted for, just by way of proper
precaution, on the part of the respectable firm of Bogs, Hogs, Logs,
Frogs, and Company. On the morning of the first day of the next month,
the landlady does not present her bill, according to promise--a piece of
neglect for which the comfortable head of the house ending in ogs would
no doubt have chided her severely, could he have been prevailed upon to
remain in town a day or two for that purpose.

As it is, the constables have had a sad time of it, running hither and
thither, and all they can do is to declare the man of business most
emphatically, a "hen knee high"--by which some persons imagine them to
imply that, in fact, he is n. e. i.--by which again the very classical
phrase non est inventus, is supposed to be understood. In the meantime
the young gentlemen, one and all, are somewhat less piously inclined
than before, while the landlady purchases a shilling's worth of the
Indian rubber, and very carefully obliterates the pencil memorandum that
some fool has made in her great family Bible, on the broad margin of the
Proverbs of Solomon.




THE ANGEL OF THE ODD

AN EXTRAVAGANZA.

IT was a chilly November afternoon. I had just consummated an unusually
hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic _truffe_ formed not the least
important item, and was sitting alone in the dining-room, with my feet
upon the fender, and at my elbow a small table which I had rolled up
to the fire, and upon which were some apologies for dessert, with some
miscellaneous bottles of wine, spirit and _liqueur_. In the morning I
had been reading Glover's "Leonidas," Wilkie's "Epigoniad," Lamartine's
"Pilgrimage," Barlow's "Columbiad," Tuckermann's "Sicily," and
Griswold's "Curiosities"; I am willing to confess, therefore, that I now
felt a little stupid. I made effort to arouse myself by aid of frequent
Lafitte, and, all failing, I betook myself to a stray newspaper in
despair. Having carefully perused the column of "houses to let," and
the column of "dogs lost," and then the two columns of "wives and
apprentices runaway," I attacked with great resolution the editorial
matter, and, reading it from beginning to end without understanding a
syllable, conceived the possibility of its being Chinese, and so re-read
it from the end to the beginning, but with no more satisfactory result.
I was about throwing away, in disgust,

     "This folio of four pages, happy work
     Which not even critics criticise,"

when I felt my attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which
follows:

"The avenues to death are numerous and strange. A London paper mentions
the decease of a person from a singular cause. He was playing at 'puff
the dart,' which is played with a long needle inserted in some worsted,
and blown at a target through a tin tube. He placed the needle at the
wrong end of the tube, and drawing his breath strongly to puff the dart
forward with force, drew the needle into his throat. It entered the
lungs, and in a few days killed him."

Upon seeing this I fell into a great rage, without exactly knowing
why. "This thing," I exclaimed, "is a contemptible falsehood--a poor
hoax--the lees of the invention of some pitiable penny-a-liner--of some
wretched concoctor of accidents in Cocaigne. These fellows, knowing
the extravagant gullibility of the age, set their wits to work in the
imagination of improbable possibilities---of odd accidents, as they
term them; but to a reflecting intellect (like mine," I added, in
parenthesis, putting my forefinger unconsciously to the side of my
nose,) "to a contemplative understanding such as I myself possess, it
seems evident at once that the marvelous increase of late in these 'odd
accidents' is by far the oddest accident of all. For my own part,
I intend to believe nothing henceforward that has anything of the
'singular' about it."

"Mein Gott, den, vat a vool you bees for dat!" replied one of the most
remarkable voices I ever heard. At first I took it for a rumbling in my
ears--such as a man sometimes experiences when getting very drunk--but,
upon second thought, I considered the sound as more nearly resembling
that which proceeds from an empty barrel beaten with a big stick; and,
in fact, this I should have concluded it to be, but for the articulation
of the syllables and words. I am by no means naturally nervous, and the
very few glasses of Lafitte which I had sipped served to embolden me no
little, so that I felt nothing of trepidation, but merely uplifted my
eyes with a leisurely movement, and looked carefully around the room for
the intruder. I could not, however, perceive any one at all.

"Humph!" resumed the voice, as I continued my survey, "you mus pe so
dronk as de pig, den, for not zee me as I zit here at your zide."

Hereupon I bethought me of looking immediately before my nose, and
there, sure enough, confronting me at the table sat a personage
nondescript, although not altogether indescribable. His body was a
wine-pipe, or a rum-puncheon, or something of that character, and had a
truly Falstaffian air. In its nether extremity were inserted two kegs,
which seemed to answer all the purposes of legs. For arms there dangled
from the upper portion of the carcass two tolerably long bottles,
with the necks outward for hands. All the head that I saw the monster
possessed of was one of those Hessian canteens which resemble a large
snuff-box with a hole in the middle of the lid. This canteen (with a
funnel on its top, like a cavalier cap slouched over the eyes) was set
on edge upon the puncheon, with the hole toward myself; and through
this hole, which seemed puckered up like the mouth of a very precise old
maid, the creature was emitting certain rumbling and grumbling noises
which he evidently intended for intelligible talk.

"I zay," said he, "you mos pe dronk as de pig, vor zit dare and not zee
me zit ere; and I zay, doo, you mos pe pigger vool as de goose, vor to
dispelief vat iz print in de print. 'Tiz de troof---dat it iz--eberry
vord ob it."

"Who are you, pray?" said I, with much dignity, although somewhat
puzzled; "how did you get here? and what is it you are talking about?"

"Az vor ow I com'd ere," replied the figure, "dat iz none of your
pizzness; and as vor vat I be talking apout, I be talk apout vat I tink
proper; and as vor who I be, vy dat is de very ting I com'd here for to
let you zee for yourzelf."

"You are a drunken vagabond," said I, "and I shall ring the bell and
order my footman to kick you into the street."

"He! he! he!" said the fellow, "hu! hu! hu! dat you can't do."

"Can't do!" said I, "what do you mean?--I can't do what?"

"Ring de pell;" he replied, attempting a grin with his little villanous
mouth.

Upon this I made an effort to get up, in order to put my threat
into execution; but the ruffian just reached across the table very
deliberately, and hitting me a tap on the forehead with the neck of one
of the long bottles, knocked me back into the arm-chair from which I had
half arisen. I was utterly astounded; and, for a moment, was quite at a
loss what to do. In the meantime, he continued his talk.

"You zee," said he, "it iz te bess vor zit still; and now you shall know
who I pe. Look at me! zee! I am te _Angel ov te Odd_."

"And odd enough, too," I ventured to reply; "but I was always under the
impression that an angel had wings."

"Te wing!" he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing? Mein
Gott! do you take me vor a shicken?"

"No--oh no!" I replied, much alarmed, "you are no chicken--certainly
not."

"Well, den, zit still and pehabe yourself, or I'll rap you again mid me
vist. It iz te shicken ab te wing, und te owl ab te wing, und te imp ab
te wing, und te head-teuffel ab te wing. Te angel ab _not_ te wing, and
I am te _Angel ov te Odd_."

"And your business with me at present is--is"--

"My pizzness!" ejaculated the thing, "vy vat a low bred buppy you mos pe
vor to ask a gentleman und an angel apout his pizziness!"

This language was rather more than I could bear, even from an angel; so,
plucking up courage, I seized a salt-cellar which lay within reach, and
hurled it at the head of the intruder. Either he dodged, however, or
my aim was inaccurate; for all I accomplished was the demolition of the
crystal which protected the dial of the clock upon the mantel-piece. As
for the Angel, he evinced his sense of my assault by giving me two or
three hard consecutive raps upon the forehead as before. These reduced
me at once to submission, and I am almost ashamed to confess that either
through pain or vexation, there came a few tears into my eyes.

"Mein Gott!" said the Angel of the Odd, apparently much softened at my
distress; "mein Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry zorry. You
mos not trink it so strong--you mos put te water in te wine. Here, trink
dis, like a goot veller, und don't gry now--don't!"

Hereupon the Angel of the Odd replenished my goblet (which was about a
third full of Port) with a colorless fluid that he poured from one of
his hand bottles. I observed that these bottles had labels about their
necks, and that these labels were inscribed "Kirschenwasser."

The considerate kindness of the Angel mollified me in no little measure;
and, aided by the water with which he diluted my Port more than once, I
at length regained sufficient temper to listen to his very extraordinary
discourse. I cannot pretend to recount all that he told me, but I
gleaned from what he said that he was the genius who presided over the
_contretemps_ of mankind, and whose business it was to bring about the
_odd accidents_ which are continually astonishing the skeptic. Once or
twice, upon my venturing to express my total incredulity in respect
to his pretensions, he grew very angry indeed, so that at length I
considered it the wiser policy to say nothing at all, and let him have
his own way. He talked on, therefore, at great length, while I merely
leaned back in my chair with my eyes shut, and amused myself with
munching raisins and filliping the stems about the room. But, by-and-by,
the Angel suddenly construed this behavior of mine into contempt. He
arose in a terrible passion, slouched his funnel down over his eyes,
swore a vast oath, uttered a threat of some character which I did
not precisely comprehend, and finally made me a low bow and departed,
wishing me, in the language of the archbishop in Gil-Blas, "_beaucoup de
bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens_."

His departure afforded me relief. The _very_ few glasses of Lafitte that
I had sipped had the effect of rendering me drowsy, and I felt inclined
to take a nap of some fifteen or twenty minutes, as is my custom after
dinner. At six I had an appointment of consequence, which it was
quite indispensable that I should keep. The policy of insurance for
my dwelling house had expired the day before; and, some dispute having
arisen, it was agreed that, at six, I should meet the board of directors
of the company and settle the terms of a renewal. Glancing upward at the
clock on the mantel-piece, (for I felt too drowsy to take out my watch),
I had the pleasure to find that I had still twenty-five minutes to
spare. It was half past five; I could easily walk to the insurance
office in five minutes; and my usual siestas had never been known
to exceed five and twenty. I felt sufficiently safe, therefore, and
composed myself to my slumbers forthwith.

Having completed them to my satisfaction, I again looked toward the
time-piece and was half inclined to believe in the possibility of odd
accidents when I found that, instead of my ordinary fifteen or twenty
minutes, I had been dozing only three; for it still wanted seven and
twenty of the appointed hour. I betook myself again to my nap, and at
length a second time awoke, when, to my utter amazement, it _still_
wanted twenty-seven minutes of six. I jumped up to examine the clock,
and found that it had ceased running. My watch informed me that it was
half past seven; and, of course, having slept two hours, I was too late
for my appointment. "It will make no difference," I said: "I can call at
the office in the morning and apologize; in the meantime what can be the
matter with the clock?" Upon examining it I discovered that one of
the raisin stems which I had been filliping about the room during the
discourse of the Angel of the Odd, had flown through the fractured
crystal, and lodging, singularly enough, in the key-hole, with an end
projecting outward, had thus arrested the revolution of the minute hand.

"Ah!" said I, "I see how it is. This thing speaks for itself. A natural
accident, such as _will_ happen now and then!"

I gave the matter no further consideration, and at my usual hour retired
to bed. Here, having placed a candle upon a reading stand at the
bed head, and having made an attempt to peruse some pages of the
"Omnipresence of the Deity," I unfortunately fell asleep in less than
twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was.

My dreams were terrifically disturbed by visions of the Angel of
the Odd. Methought he stood at the foot of the couch, drew aside the
curtains, and, in the hollow, detestable tones of a rum puncheon,
menaced me with the bitterest vengeance for the contempt with which
I had treated him. He concluded a long harangue by taking off his
funnel-cap, inserting the tube into my gullet, and thus deluging me with
an ocean of Kirschenwaesser, which he poured, in a continuous flood,
from one of the long necked bottles that stood him instead of an arm. My
agony was at length insufferable, and I awoke just in time to perceive
that a rat had ran off with the lighted candle from the stand, but _not_
in season to prevent his making his escape with it through the hole.
Very soon, a strong suffocating odor assailed my nostrils; the house, I
clearly perceived, was on fire. In a few minutes the blaze broke forth
with violence, and in an incredibly brief period the entire building was
wrapped in flames. All egress from my chamber, except through a window,
was cut off. The crowd, however, quickly procured and raised a long
ladder. By means of this I was descending rapidly, and in apparent
safety, when a huge hog, about whose rotund stomach, and indeed about
whose whole air and physiognomy, there was something which reminded me
of the Angel of the Odd,--when this hog, I say, which hitherto had been
quietly slumbering in the mud, took it suddenly into his head that
his left shoulder needed scratching, and could find no more convenient
rubbing-post than that afforded by the foot of the ladder. In an instant
I was precipitated and had the misfortune to fracture my arm.

This accident, with the loss of my insurance, and with the more serious
loss of my hair, the whole of which had been singed off by the fire,
predisposed me to serious impressions, so that, finally, I made up my
mind to take a wife. There was a rich widow disconsolate for the loss of
her seventh husband, and to her wounded spirit I offered the balm of my
vows. She yielded a reluctant consent to my prayers. I knelt at her feet
in gratitude and adoration. She blushed and bowed her luxuriant tresses
into close contact with those supplied me, temporarily, by Grandjean. I
know not how the entanglement took place, but so it was. I arose with
a shining pate, wigless; she in disdain and wrath, half buried in alien
hair. Thus ended my hopes of the widow by an accident which could not
have been anticipated, to be sure, but which the natural sequence of
events had brought about.

Without despairing, however, I undertook the siege of a less implacable
heart. The fates were again propitious for a brief period; but again a
trivial incident interfered. Meeting my betrothed in an avenue thronged
with the _elite_ of the city, I was hastening to greet her with one of
my best considered bows, when a small particle of some foreign matter,
lodging in the corner of my eye, rendered me, for the moment, completely
blind. Before I could recover my sight, the lady of my love had
disappeared--irreparably affronted at what she chose to consider
my premeditated rudeness in passing her by ungreeted. While I stood
bewildered at the suddenness of this accident, (which might have
happened, nevertheless, to any one under the sun), and while I still
continued incapable of sight, I was accosted by the Angel of the Odd,
who proffered me his aid with a civility which I had no reason to
expect. He examined my disordered eye with much gentleness and skill,
informed me that I had a drop in it, and (whatever a "drop" was) took it
out, and afforded me relief.

I now considered it high time to die, (since fortune had so determined
to persecute me,) and accordingly made my way to the nearest river.
Here, divesting myself of my clothes, (for there is no reason why we
cannot die as we were born), I threw myself headlong into the current;
the sole witness of my fate being a solitary crow that had been seduced
into the eating of brandy-saturated corn, and so had staggered away from
his fellows. No sooner had I entered the water than this bird took it
into its head to fly away with the most indispensable portion of my
apparel. Postponing, therefore, for the present, my suicidal design,
I just slipped my nether extremities into the sleeves of my coat, and
betook myself to a pursuit of the felon with all the nimbleness which
the case required and its circumstances would admit. But my evil destiny
attended me still. As I ran at full speed, with my nose up in the
atmosphere, and intent only upon the purloiner of my property, I
suddenly perceived that my feet rested no longer upon _terra-firma_;
the fact is, I had thrown myself over a precipice, and should inevitably
have been dashed to pieces but for my good fortune in grasping the end
of a long guide-rope, which depended from a passing balloon.

As soon as I sufficiently recovered my senses to comprehend the terrific
predicament in which I stood or rather hung, I exerted all the power of
my lungs to make that predicament known to the aeronaut overhead. But for
a long time I exerted myself in vain. Either the fool could not, or
the villain would not perceive me. Meantime the machine rapidly soared,
while my strength even more rapidly failed. I was soon upon the point of
resigning myself to my fate, and dropping quietly into the sea, when
my spirits were suddenly revived by hearing a hollow voice from above,
which seemed to be lazily humming an opera air. Looking up, I perceived
the Angel of the Odd. He was leaning with his arms folded, over the rim
of the car; and with a pipe in his mouth, at which he puffed leisurely,
seemed to be upon excellent terms with himself and the universe. I was
too much exhausted to speak, so I merely regarded him with an imploring
air.

For several minutes, although he looked me full in the face, he said
nothing. At length removing carefully his meerschaum from the right to
the left corner of his mouth, he condescended to speak.

"Who pe you," he asked, "und what der teuffel you pe do dare?"

To this piece of impudence, cruelty and affectation, I could reply only
by ejaculating the monosyllable "Help!"

"Elp!" echoed the ruffian--"not I. Dare iz te pottle--elp yourself, und
pe tam'd!"

With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwasser which,
dropping precisely upon the crown of my head, caused me to imagine that
my brains were entirely knocked out. Impressed with this idea, I was
about to relinquish my hold and give up the ghost with a good grace,
when I was arrested by the cry of the Angel, who bade me hold on.

"Old on!" he said; "don't pe in te urry--don't. Will you pe take de
odder pottle, or ave you pe got zober yet and come to your zenzes?"

I made haste, hereupon, to nod my head twice--once in the negative,
meaning thereby that I would prefer not taking the other bottle at
present--and once in the affirmative, intending thus to imply that I
_was_ sober and _had_ positively come to my senses. By these means I
somewhat softened the Angel.

"Und you pelief, ten," he inquired, "at te last? You pelief, ten, in te
possibilty of te odd?"

I again nodded my head in assent.

"Und you ave pelief in _me_, te Angel of te Odd?"

I nodded again.

"Und you acknowledge tat you pe te blind dronk and te vool?"

I nodded once more.

"Put your right hand into your left hand preeches pocket, ten, in token
ov your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd."

This thing, for very obvious reasons, I found it quite impossible to
do. In the first place, my left arm had been broken in my fall from the
ladder, and, therefore, had I let go my hold with the right hand, I must
have let go altogether. In the second place, I could have no breeches
until I came across the crow. I was therefore obliged, much to my
regret, to shake my head in the negative--intending thus to give the
Angel to understand that I found it inconvenient, just at that moment,
to comply with his very reasonable demand! No sooner, however, had I
ceased shaking my head than--

"Go to der teuffel, ten!" roared the Angel of the Odd.

In pronouncing these words, he drew a sharp knife across the guide-rope
by which I was suspended, and as we then happened to be precisely over
my own house, (which, during my peregrinations, had been handsomely
rebuilt,) it so occurred that I tumbled headlong down the ample chimney
and alit upon the dining-room hearth.

Upon coming to my senses, (for the fall had very thoroughly stunned me,)
I found it about four o'clock in the morning. I lay outstretched where
I had fallen from the balloon. My head grovelled in the ashes of an
extinguished fire, while my feet reposed upon the wreck of a small
table, overthrown, and amid the fragments of a miscellaneous dessert,
intermingled with a newspaper, some broken glass and shattered bottles,
and an empty jug of the Schiedam Kirschenwasser. Thus revenged himself
the Angel of the Odd.


[Mabbott states that Griswold "obviously had a revised form" for use
in the 1856 volume of Poe's works. Mabbott does not substantiate
this claim, but it is surely not unreasonable. An editor, and even
typographical errors, may have produced nearly all of the very minor
changes made in this version. (Indeed, two very necessary words
were clearly dropped by accident.) An editor might have corrected
"Wickliffe's 'Epigoniad'" to "Wilkie's 'Epigoniad'," but is unlikely
to have added "Tuckerman's 'Sicily'" to the list of books read by the
narrator. Griswold was not above forgery (in Poe's letters) when it
suited his purpose, but would have too little to gain by such an effort
in this instance.]




MELLONTA TAUTA

TO THE EDITORS OF THE LADY'S BOOK:

I have the honor of sending you, for your magazine, an article which
I hope you will be able to comprehend rather more distinctly than I
do myself. It is a translation, by my friend, Martin Van Buren Mavis,
(sometimes called the "Poughkeepsie Seer") of an odd-looking MS. which I
found, about a year ago, tightly corked up in a jug floating in the Mare
Tenebrarum--a sea well described by the Nubian geographer, but seldom
visited now-a-days, except for the transcendentalists and divers for
crotchets.

Truly yours,

EDGAR A. POE

  {this paragraph not in the volume--ED}

ON BOARD BALLOON "SKYLARK"

April, 1, 2848

NOW, my dear friend--now, for your sins, you are to suffer the
infliction of a long gossiping letter. I tell you distinctly that I am
going to punish you for all your impertinences by being as tedious, as
discursive, as incoherent and as unsatisfactory as possible. Besides,
here I am, cooped up in a dirty balloon, with some one or two hundred of
the canaille, all bound on a pleasure excursion, (what a funny idea some
people have of pleasure!) and I have no prospect of touching terra firma
for a month at least. Nobody to talk to. Nothing to do. When one has
nothing to do, then is the time to correspond with ones friends. You
perceive, then, why it is that I write you this letter--it is on account
of my ennui and your sins.

Get ready your spectacles and make up your mind to be annoyed. I mean to
write at you every day during this odious voyage.

Heigho! when will any Invention visit the human pericranium? Are we
forever to be doomed to the thousand inconveniences of the balloon?
Will nobody contrive a more expeditious mode of progress? The jog-trot
movement, to my thinking, is little less than positive torture. Upon my
word we have not made more than a hundred miles the hour since leaving
home! The very birds beat us--at least some of them. I assure you that
I do not exaggerate at all. Our motion, no doubt, seems slower than it
actually is--this on account of our having no objects about us by which
to estimate our velocity, and on account of our going with the wind. To
be sure, whenever we meet a balloon we have a chance of perceiving our
rate, and then, I admit, things do not appear so very bad. Accustomed as
I am to this mode of travelling, I cannot get over a kind of giddiness
whenever a balloon passes us in a current directly overhead. It always
seems to me like an immense bird of prey about to pounce upon us and
carry us off in its claws. One went over us this morning about sunrise,
and so nearly overhead that its drag-rope actually brushed the network
suspending our car, and caused us very serious apprehension. Our captain
said that if the material of the bag had been the trumpery varnished
"silk" of five hundred or a thousand years ago, we should inevitably
have been damaged. This silk, as he explained it to me, was a fabric
composed of the entrails of a species of earth-worm. The worm
was carefully fed on mulberries--kind of fruit resembling a
water-melon--and, when sufficiently fat, was crushed in a mill. The
paste thus arising was called papyrus in its primary state, and went
through a variety of processes until it finally became "silk." Singular
to relate, it was once much admired as an article of female dress!
Balloons were also very generally constructed from it. A better kind of
material, it appears, was subsequently found in the down surrounding
the seed-vessels of a plant vulgarly called euphorbium, and at that time
botanically termed milk-weed. This latter kind of silk was designated as
silk-buckingham, on account of its superior durability, and was usually
prepared for use by being varnished with a solution of gum caoutchouc--a
substance which in some respects must have resembled the gutta percha
now in common use. This caoutchouc was occasionally called Indian rubber
or rubber of twist, and was no doubt one of the numerous fungi. Never
tell me again that I am not at heart an antiquarian.

Talking of drag-ropes--our own, it seems, has this moment knocked a man
overboard from one of the small magnetic propellers that swarm in ocean
below us--a boat of about six thousand tons, and, from all accounts,
shamefully crowded. These diminutive barques should be prohibited from
carrying more than a definite number of passengers. The man, of course,
was not permitted to get on board again, and was soon out of sight, he
and his life-preserver. I rejoice, my dear friend, that we live in an
age so enlightened that no such a thing as an individual is supposed
to exist. It is the mass for which the true Humanity cares. By-the-by,
talking of Humanity, do you know that our immortal Wiggins is not so
original in his views of the Social Condition and so forth, as his
contemporaries are inclined to suppose? Pundit assures me that the same
ideas were put nearly in the same way, about a thousand years ago, by
an Irish philosopher called Furrier, on account of his keeping a retail
shop for cat peltries and other furs. Pundit knows, you know; there can
be no mistake about it. How very wonderfully do we see verified every
day, the profound observation of the Hindoo Aries Tottle (as quoted by
Pundit)--"Thus must we say that, not once or twice, or a few times,
but with almost infinite repetitions, the same opinions come round in a
circle among men."

April 2.--Spoke to-day the magnetic cutter in charge of the middle
section of floating telegraph wires. I learn that when this species of
telegraph was first put into operation by Horse, it was considered quite
impossible to convey the wires over sea, but now we are at a loss
to comprehend where the difficulty lay! So wags the world. Tempora
mutantur--excuse me for quoting the Etruscan. What would we do
without the Atalantic telegraph? (Pundit says Atlantic was the ancient
adjective.) We lay to a few minutes to ask the cutter some questions,
and learned, among other glorious news, that civil war is raging in
Africa, while the plague is doing its good work beautifully both
in Yurope and Ayesher. Is it not truly remarkable that, before the
magnificent light shed upon philosophy by Humanity, the world was
accustomed to regard War and Pestilence as calamities? Do you know that
prayers were actually offered up in the ancient temples to the end that
these evils (!) might not be visited upon mankind? Is it not really
difficult to comprehend upon what principle of interest our forefathers
acted? Were they so blind as not to perceive that the destruction of a
myriad of individuals is only so much positive advantage to the mass!

April 3.--It is really a very fine amusement to ascend the rope-ladder
leading to the summit of the balloon-bag, and thence survey the
surrounding world. From the car below you know the prospect is not so
comprehensive--you can see little vertically. But seated here (where I
write this) in the luxuriously-cushioned open piazza of the summit, one
can see everything that is going on in all directions. Just now there
is quite a crowd of balloons in sight, and they present a very animated
appearance, while the air is resonant with the hum of so many millions
of human voices. I have heard it asserted that when Yellow or (Pundit
will have it) Violet, who is supposed to have been the first aeronaut,
maintained the practicability of traversing the atmosphere in all
directions, by merely ascending or descending until a favorable current
was attained, he was scarcely hearkened to at all by his contemporaries,
who looked upon him as merely an ingenious sort of madman, because the
philosophers (?) of the day declared the thing impossible. Really now it
does seem to me quite unaccountable how any thing so obviously feasible
could have escaped the sagacity of the ancient savans. But in all ages
the great obstacles to advancement in Art have been opposed by the
so-called men of science. To be sure, our men of science are not quite
so bigoted as those of old:--oh, I have something so queer to tell you
on this topic. Do you know that it is not more than a thousand years ago
since the metaphysicians consented to relieve the people of the singular
fancy that there existed but two possible roads for the attainment of
Truth! Believe it if you can! It appears that long, long ago, in the
night of Time, there lived a Turkish philosopher (or Hindoo possibly)
called Aries Tottle. This person introduced, or at all events propagated
what was termed the deductive or a priori mode of investigation. He
started with what he maintained to be axioms or "self-evident truths,"
and thence proceeded "logically" to results. His greatest disciples were
one Neuclid, and one Cant. Well, Aries Tottle flourished supreme until
advent of one Hog, surnamed the "Ettrick Shepherd," who preached
an entirely different system, which he called the a posteriori or
inductive. His plan referred altogether to Sensation. He proceeded by
observing, analyzing, and classifying facts-instantiae naturae, as they
were affectedly called--into general laws. Aries Tottle's mode, in a
word, was based on noumena; Hog's on phenomena. Well, so great was
the admiration excited by this latter system that, at its first
introduction, Aries Tottle fell into disrepute; but finally he recovered
ground and was permitted to divide the realm of Truth with his more
modern rival. The savans now maintained the Aristotelian and Baconian
roads were the sole possible avenues to knowledge. "Baconian," you
must know, was an adjective invented as equivalent to Hog-ian and more
euphonious and dignified.

Now, my dear friend, I do assure you, most positively, that I represent
this matter fairly, on the soundest authority and you can easily
understand how a notion so absurd on its very face must have operated
to <DW44> the progress of all true knowledge--which makes its advances
almost invariably by intuitive bounds. The ancient idea confined
investigations to crawling; and for hundreds of years so great was the
infatuation about Hog especially, that a virtual end was put to all
thinking, properly so called. No man dared utter a truth to which he
felt himself indebted to his Soul alone. It mattered not whether the
truth was even demonstrably a truth, for the bullet-headed savans of the
time regarded only the road by which he had attained it. They would not
even look at the end. "Let us see the means," they cried, "the means!"
If, upon investigation of the means, it was found to come under neither
the category Aries (that is to say Ram) nor under the category Hog, why
then the savans went no farther, but pronounced the "theorist" a fool,
and would have nothing to do with him or his truth.

Now, it cannot be maintained, even, that by the crawling system the
greatest amount of truth would be attained in any long series of ages,
for the repression of imagination was an evil not to be compensated for
by any superior certainty in the ancient modes of investigation.
The error of these Jurmains, these Vrinch, these Inglitch, and these
Amriccans (the latter, by the way, were our own immediate progenitors),
was an error quite analogous with that of the wiseacre who fancies that
he must necessarily see an object the better the more closely he holds
it to his eyes. These people blinded themselves by details. When they
proceeded Hoggishly, their "facts" were by no means always facts--a
matter of little consequence had it not been for assuming that they
were facts and must be facts because they appeared to be such. When they
proceeded on the path of the Ram, their course was scarcely as straight
as a ram's horn, for they never had an axiom which was an axiom at all.
They must have been very blind not to see this, even in their own day;
for even in their own day many of the long "established" axioms had been
rejected. For example--"Ex nihilo nihil fit"; "a body cannot act where
it is not"; "there cannot exist antipodes"; "darkness cannot come out
of light"--all these, and a dozen other similar propositions, formerly
admitted without hesitation as axioms, were, even at the period of which
I speak, seen to be untenable. How absurd in these people, then, to
persist in putting faith in "axioms" as immutable bases of Truth!
But even out of the mouths of their soundest reasoners it is easy to
demonstrate the futility, the impalpability of their axioms in general.
Who was the soundest of their logicians? Let me see! I will go and ask
Pundit and be back in a minute.... Ah, here we have it! Here is a book
written nearly a thousand years ago and lately translated from the
Inglitch--which, by the way, appears to have been the rudiment of the
Amriccan. Pundit says it is decidedly the cleverest ancient work on its
topic, Logic. The author (who was much thought of in his day) was one
Miller, or Mill; and we find it recorded of him, as a point of some
importance, that he had a mill-horse called Bentham. But let us glance
at the treatise!

Ah!--"Ability or inability to conceive," says Mr. Mill, very properly,
"is in no case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth." What
modern in his senses would ever think of disputing this truism? The
only wonder with us must be, how it happened that Mr. Mill conceived it
necessary even to hint at any thing so obvious. So far good--but let
us turn over another paper. What have we here?--"Contradictories cannot
both be true--that is, cannot co-exist in nature." Here Mr. Mill means,
for example, that a tree must be either a tree or not a tree--that it
cannot be at the same time a tree and not a tree. Very well; but I ask
him why. His reply is this--and never pretends to be any thing else than
this--"Because it is impossible to conceive that contradictories can
both be true." But this is no answer at all, by his own showing, for has
he not just admitted as a truism that "ability or inability to conceive
is in no case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth."

Now I do not complain of these ancients so much because their logic
is, by their own showing, utterly baseless, worthless and fantastic
altogether, as because of their pompous and imbecile proscription of all
other roads of Truth, of all other means for its attainment than the
two preposterous paths--the one of creeping and the one of crawling--to
which they have dared to confine the Soul that loves nothing so well as
to soar.

By the by, my dear friend, do you not think it would have puzzled these
ancient dogmaticians to have determined by which of their two roads it
was that the most important and most sublime of all their truths was,
in effect, attained? I mean the truth of Gravitation. Newton owed it to
Kepler. Kepler admitted that his three laws were guessed at--these
three laws of all laws which led the great Inglitch mathematician to his
principle, the basis of all physical principle--to go behind which we
must enter the Kingdom of Metaphysics. Kepler guessed--that is to say
imagined. He was essentially a "theorist"--that word now of so much
sanctity, formerly an epithet of contempt. Would it not have puzzled
these old moles too, to have explained by which of the two "roads" a
cryptographist unriddles a cryptograph of more than usual secrecy, or
by which of the two roads Champollion directed mankind to those enduring
and almost innumerable truths which resulted from his deciphering the
Hieroglyphics.

One word more on this topic and I will be done boring you. Is it not
passing strange that, with their eternal prattling about roads to Truth,
these bigoted people missed what we now so clearly perceive to be the
great highway--that of Consistency? Does it not seem singular how they
should have failed to deduce from the works of God the vital fact that
a perfect consistency must be an absolute truth! How plain has been our
progress since the late announcement of this proposition! Investigation
has been taken out of the hands of the ground-moles and given, as a
task, to the true and only true thinkers, the men of ardent imagination.
These latter theorize. Can you not fancy the shout of scorn with which
my words would be received by our progenitors were it possible for them
to be now looking over my shoulder? These men, I say, theorize; and
their theories are simply corrected, reduced, systematized--cleared,
little by little, of their dross of inconsistency--until, finally, a
perfect consistency stands apparent which even the most stolid admit,
because it is a consistency, to be an absolute and an unquestionable
truth.

April 4.--The new gas is doing wonders, in conjunction with the new
improvement with gutta percha. How very safe, commodious, manageable,
and in every respect convenient are our modern balloons! Here is an
immense one approaching us at the rate of at least a hundred and fifty
miles an hour. It seems to be crowded with people--perhaps there are
three or four hundred passengers--and yet it soars to an elevation of
nearly a mile, looking down upon poor us with sovereign contempt. Still
a hundred or even two hundred miles an hour is slow travelling after
all. Do you remember our flight on the railroad across the Kanadaw
continent?--fully three hundred miles the hour--that was travelling.
Nothing to be seen though--nothing to be done but flirt, feast and dance
in the magnificent saloons. Do you remember what an odd sensation was
experienced when, by chance, we caught a glimpse of external objects
while the cars were in full flight? Every thing seemed unique--in one
mass. For my part, I cannot say but that I preferred the travelling by
the slow train of a hundred miles the hour. Here we were permitted
to have glass windows--even to have them open--and something like a
distinct view of the country was attainable.... Pundit says that the
route for the great Kanadaw railroad must have been in some measure
marked out about nine hundred years ago! In fact, he goes so far as
to assert that actual traces of a road are still discernible--traces
referable to a period quite as remote as that mentioned. The track, it
appears was double only; ours, you know, has twelve paths; and three or
four new ones are in preparation. The ancient rails were very slight,
and placed so close together as to be, according to modern notions,
quite frivolous, if not dangerous in the extreme. The present width of
track--fifty feet--is considered, indeed, scarcely secure enough. For
my part, I make no doubt that a track of some sort must have existed in
very remote times, as Pundit asserts; for nothing can be clearer, to
my mind, than that, at some period--not less than seven centuries ago,
certainly--the Northern and Southern Kanadaw continents were united;
the Kanawdians, then, would have been driven, by necessity, to a great
railroad across the continent.

April 5.--I am almost devoured by ennui. Pundit is the only conversible
person on board; and he, poor soul! can speak of nothing but
antiquities. He has been occupied all the day in the attempt to convince
me that the ancient Amriccans governed themselves!--did ever
anybody hear of such an absurdity?--that they existed in a sort of
every-man-for-himself confederacy, after the fashion of the "prairie
dogs" that we read of in fable. He says that they started with
the queerest idea conceivable, viz: that all men are born free and
equal--this in the very teeth of the laws of gradation so visibly
impressed upon all things both in the moral and physical universe.
Every man "voted," as they called it--that is to say meddled with public
affairs--until at length, it was discovered that what is everybody's
business is nobody's, and that the "Republic" (so the absurd thing was
called) was without a government at all. It is related, however,
that the first circumstance which disturbed, very particularly, the
self-complacency of the philosophers who constructed this "Republic,"
was the startling discovery that universal suffrage gave opportunity for
fraudulent schemes, by means of which any desired number of votes might
at any time be polled, without the possibility of prevention or even
detection, by any party which should be merely villainous enough not
to be ashamed of the fraud. A little reflection upon this discovery
sufficed to render evident the consequences, which were that rascality
must predominate--in a word, that a republican government could never
be any thing but a rascally one. While the philosophers, however, were
busied in blushing at their stupidity in not having foreseen these
inevitable evils, and intent upon the invention of new theories, the
matter was put to an abrupt issue by a fellow of the name of Mob,
who took every thing into his own hands and set up a despotism, in
comparison with which those of the fabulous Zeros and Hellofagabaluses
were respectable and delectable. This Mob (a foreigner, by-the-by), is
said to have been the most odious of all men that ever encumbered the
earth. He was a giant in stature--insolent, rapacious, filthy, had the
gall of a bullock with the heart of a hyena and the brains of a peacock.
He died, at length, by dint of his own energies, which exhausted him.
Nevertheless, he had his uses, as every thing has, however vile,
and taught mankind a lesson which to this day it is in no danger of
forgetting--never to run directly contrary to the natural analogies. As
for Republicanism, no analogy could be found for it upon the face of
the earth--unless we except the case of the "prairie dogs," an exception
which seems to demonstrate, if anything, that democracy is a very
admirable form of government--for dogs.

April 6.--Last night had a fine view of Alpha Lyrae, whose disk, through
our captain's spy-glass, subtends an angle of half a degree, looking
very much as our sun does to the naked eye on a misty day. Alpha Lyrae,
although so very much larger than our sun, by the by, resembles
him closely as regards its spots, its atmosphere, and in many other
particulars. It is only within the last century, Pundit tells me, that
the binary relation existing between these two orbs began even to be
suspected. The evident motion of our system in the heavens was (strange
to say!) referred to an orbit about a prodigious star in the centre of
the galaxy. About this star, or at all events about a centre of gravity
common to all the globes of the Milky Way and supposed to be near
Alcyone in the Pleiades, every one of these globes was declared to be
revolving, our own performing the circuit in a period of 117,000,000 of
years! We, with our present lights, our vast telescopic improvements,
and so forth, of course find it difficult to comprehend the ground of an
idea such as this. Its first propagator was one Mudler. He was led,
we must presume, to this wild hypothesis by mere analogy in the first
instance; but, this being the case, he should have at least adhered to
analogy in its development. A great central orb was, in fact, suggested;
so far Mudler was consistent. This central orb, however, dynamically,
should have been greater than all its surrounding orbs taken together.
The question might then have been asked--"Why do we not see it?"--we,
especially, who occupy the mid region of the cluster--the very locality
near which, at least, must be situated this inconceivable central sun.
The astronomer, perhaps, at this point, took refuge in the suggestion
of non-luminosity; and here analogy was suddenly let fall. But even
admitting the central orb non-luminous, how did he manage to explain its
failure to be rendered visible by the incalculable host of glorious suns
glaring in all directions about it? No doubt what he finally maintained
was merely a centre of gravity common to all the revolving orbs--but
here again analogy must have been let fall. Our system revolves, it is
true, about a common centre of gravity, but it does this in connection
with and in consequence of a material sun whose mass more than
counterbalances the rest of the system. The mathematical circle is a
curve composed of an infinity of straight lines; but this idea of the
circle--this idea of it which, in regard to all earthly geometry, we
consider as merely the mathematical, in contradistinction from the
practical, idea--is, in sober fact, the practical conception which alone
we have any right to entertain in respect to those Titanic circles with
which we have to deal, at least in fancy, when we suppose our system,
with its fellows, revolving about a point in the centre of the galaxy.
Let the most vigorous of human imaginations but attempt to take a single
step toward the comprehension of a circuit so unutterable! I would
scarcely be paradoxical to say that a flash of lightning itself,
travelling forever upon the circumference of this inconceivable circle,
would still forever be travelling in a straight line. That the path of
our sun along such a circumference--that the direction of our system in
such an orbit--would, to any human perception, deviate in the slightest
degree from a straight line even in a million of years, is a proposition
not to be entertained; and yet these ancient astronomers were absolutely
cajoled, it appears, into believing that a decisive curvature had become
apparent during the brief period of their astronomical history--during
the mere point--during the utter nothingness of two or three thousand
years! How incomprehensible, that considerations such as this did not
at once indicate to them the true state of affairs--that of the binary
revolution of our sun and Alpha Lyrae around a common centre of gravity!

April 7.--Continued last night our astronomical amusements. Had a fine
view of the five Neptunian asteroids, and watched with much interest the
putting up of a huge impost on a couple of lintels in the new temple
at Daphnis in the moon. It was amusing to think that creatures so
diminutive as the lunarians, and bearing so little resemblance to
humanity, yet evinced a mechanical ingenuity so much superior to our
own. One finds it difficult, too, to conceive the vast masses which
these people handle so easily, to be as light as our own reason tells us
they actually are.

April 8.--Eureka! Pundit is in his glory. A balloon from Kanadaw spoke
us to-day and threw on board several late papers; they contain some
exceedingly curious information relative to Kanawdian or rather Amriccan
antiquities. You know, I presume, that laborers have for some months
been employed in preparing the ground for a new fountain at Paradise,
the Emperor's principal pleasure garden. Paradise, it appears, has been,
literally speaking, an island time out of mind--that is to say, its
northern boundary was always (as far back as any record extends) a
rivulet, or rather a very narrow arm of the sea. This arm was gradually
widened until it attained its present breadth--a mile. The whole length
of the island is nine miles; the breadth varies materially. The entire
area (so Pundit says) was, about eight hundred years ago, densely packed
with houses, some of them twenty stories high; land (for some most
unaccountable reason) being considered as especially precious just in
this vicinity. The disastrous earthquake, however, of the year 2050, so
totally uprooted and overwhelmed the town (for it was almost too large
to be called a village) that the most indefatigable of our antiquarians
have never yet been able to obtain from the site any sufficient data (in
the shape of coins, medals or inscriptions) wherewith to build up even
the ghost of a theory concerning the manners, customs, &c., &c., &c.,
of the aboriginal inhabitants. Nearly all that we have hitherto known of
them is, that they were a portion of the Knickerbocker tribe of savages
infesting the continent at its first discovery by Recorder Riker, a
knight of the Golden Fleece. They were by no means uncivilized, however,
but cultivated various arts and even sciences after a fashion of their
own. It is related of them that they were acute in many respects, but
were oddly afflicted with monomania for building what, in the ancient
Amriccan, was denominated "churches"--a kind of pagoda instituted for
the worship of two idols that went by the names of Wealth and Fashion.
In the end, it is said, the island became, nine tenths of it,
church. The women, too, it appears, were oddly deformed by a natural
protuberance of the region just below the small of the back--although,
most unaccountably, this deformity was looked upon altogether in the
light of a beauty. One or two pictures of these singular women have
in fact, been miraculously preserved. They look very odd, very--like
something between a turkey-cock and a dromedary.

Well, these few details are nearly all that have descended to us
respecting the ancient Knickerbockers. It seems, however, that while
digging in the centre of the emperors garden, (which, you know, covers
the whole island), some of the workmen unearthed a cubical and evidently
chiseled block of granite, weighing several hundred pounds. It was in
good preservation, having received, apparently, little injury from the
convulsion which entombed it. On one of its surfaces was a marble slab
with (only think of it!) an inscription--a legible inscription. Pundit
is in ecstacies. Upon detaching the slab, a cavity appeared, containing
a leaden box filled with various coins, a long scroll of names, several
documents which appear to resemble newspapers, with other matters of
intense interest to the antiquarian! There can be no doubt that
all these are genuine Amriccan relics belonging to the tribe called
Knickerbocker. The papers thrown on board our balloon are filled with
fac-similes of the coins, MSS., typography, &c., &c. I copy for your
amusement the Knickerbocker inscription on the marble slab:--

          This Corner Stone of a Monument to

                  The Memory of

                GEORGE WASHINGTON

          Was Laid With Appropriate Ceremonies

                    on the

             19th Day of October, 1847

          The anniversary of the surrender of

                 Lord Cornwallis

          to General Washington at Yorktown

                 A. D. 1781

            Under the Auspices of the

          Washington Monument Association of

                the city of New York

This, as I give it, is a verbatim translation done by Pundit himself, so
there can be no mistake about it. From the few words thus preserved, we
glean several important items of knowledge, not the least interesting of
which is the fact that a thousand years ago actual monuments had fallen
into disuse--as was all very proper--the people contenting themselves,
as we do now, with a mere indication of the design to erect a monument
at some future time; a corner-stone being cautiously laid by itself
"solitary and alone" (excuse me for quoting the great American poet
Benton!), as a guarantee of the magnanimous intention. We ascertain,
too, very distinctly, from this admirable inscription, the how as well
as the where and the what, of the great surrender in question. As to the
where, it was Yorktown (wherever that was), and as to the what, it
was General Cornwallis (no doubt some wealthy dealer in corn). He was
surrendered. The inscription commemorates the surrender of--what? why,
"of Lord Cornwallis." The only question is what could the savages
wish him surrendered for. But when we remember that these savages were
undoubtedly cannibals, we are led to the conclusion that they intended
him for sausage. As to the how of the surrender, no language can be
more explicit. Lord Cornwallis was surrendered (for sausage) "under the
auspices of the Washington Monument Association"--no doubt a charitable
institution for the depositing of corner-stones.--But, Heaven bless me!
what is the matter? Ah, I see--the balloon has collapsed, and we shall
have a tumble into the sea. I have, therefore, only time enough to add
that, from a hasty inspection of the fac-similes of newspapers, &c.,
&c., I find that the great men in those days among the Amriccans, were
one John, a smith, and one Zacchary, a tailor.

Good-bye, until I see you again. Whether you ever get this letter or
not is point of little importance, as I write altogether for my own
amusement. I shall cork the MS. up in a bottle, however, and throw it
into the sea.

Yours everlastingly,

       PUNDITA.




THE DUC DE L'OMELETTE.

     And stepped at once into a cooler clime.--Cowper

KEATS fell by a criticism. Who was it died of "The Andromache"? {*1}
Ignoble souls!--De L'Omelette perished of an ortolan. L'histoire en est
breve. Assist me, Spirit of Apicius!

A golden cage bore the little winged wanderer, enamored, melting,
indolent, to the Chaussee D'Antin, from its home in far Peru. From its
queenly possessor La Bellissima, to the Duc De L'Omelette, six peers of
the empire conveyed the happy bird.

That night the Duc was to sup alone. In the privacy of his bureau he
reclined languidly on that ottoman for which he sacrificed his loyalty
in outbidding his king--the notorious ottoman of Cadet.

He buries his face in the pillow. The clock strikes! Unable to restrain
his feelings, his Grace swallows an olive. At this moment the door
gently opens to the sound of soft music, and lo! the most delicate of
birds is before the most enamored of men! But what inexpressible dismay
now overshadows the countenance of the Duc?--"Horreur!--chien!
Baptiste!--l'oiseau! ah, bon Dieu! cet oiseau modeste que tu as
deshabille de ses plumes, et que tu as servi sans papier!" It is
superfluous to say more:--the Duc expired in a paroxysm of disgust.

"Ha! ha! ha!" said his Grace on the third day after his decease.

"He! he! he!" replied the Devil faintly, drawing himself up with an air
of hauteur.

"Why, surely you are not serious," retorted De L'Omelette. "I have
sinned--c'est vrai--but, my good sir, consider!--you have no actual
intention of putting such--such barbarous threats into execution."

"No what?" said his majesty--"come, sir, strip!"

"Strip, indeed! very pretty i' faith! no, sir, I shall not strip. Who
are you, pray, that I, Duc De L'Omelette, Prince de Foie-Gras, just come
of age, author of the 'Mazurkiad,' and Member of the Academy, should
divest myself at your bidding of the sweetest pantaloons ever made by
Bourdon, the daintiest robe-de-chambre ever put together by Rombert--to
say nothing of the taking my hair out of paper--not to mention the
trouble I should have in drawing off my gloves?"

"Who am I?--ah, true! I am Baal-Zebub, Prince of the Fly. I took thee,
just now, from a rose-wood coffin inlaid with ivory. Thou wast curiously
scented, and labelled as per invoice. Belial sent thee,--my Inspector of
Cemeteries. The pantaloons, which thou sayest were made by Bourdon, are
an excellent pair of linen drawers, and thy robe-de-chambre is a shroud
of no scanty dimensions."

"Sir!" replied the Duc, "I am not to be insulted with impunity!--Sir! I
shall take the earliest opportunity of avenging this insult!--Sir! you
shall hear from me! in the meantime au revoir!"--and the Duc was bowing
himself out of the Satanic presence, when he was interrupted and brought
back by a gentleman in waiting. Hereupon his Grace rubbed his eyes,
yawned, shrugged his shoulders, reflected. Having become satisfied of
his identity, he took a bird's eye view of his whereabouts.

The apartment was superb. Even De L'Omelette pronounced it bien comme il
faut. It was not its length nor its breadth,--but its height--ah,
that was appalling!--There was no ceiling--certainly none--but a dense
whirling mass of fiery- clouds. His Grace's brain reeled as
he glanced upward. From above, hung a chain of an unknown blood-red
metal--its upper end lost, like the city of Boston, parmi les nues.
From its nether extremity swung a large cresset. The Duc knew it to be
a ruby; but from it there poured a light so intense, so still,
so terrible, Persia never worshipped such--Gheber never imagined
such--Mussulman never dreamed of such when, drugged with opium, he has
tottered to a bed of poppies, his back to the flowers, and his face to
the God Apollo. The Duc muttered a slight oath, decidedly approbatory.

The corners of the room were rounded into niches. Three of these were
filled with statues of gigantic proportions. Their beauty was Grecian,
their deformity Egyptian, their tout ensemble French. In the fourth
niche the statue was veiled; it was not colossal. But then there was a
taper ankle, a sandalled foot. De L'Omelette pressed his hand upon his
heart, closed his eyes, raised them, and caught his Satanic Majesty--in
a blush.

But the paintings!--Kupris! Astarte! Astoreth!--a thousand and the same!
And Rafaelle has beheld them! Yes, Rafaelle has been here, for did he
not paint the--? and was he not consequently damned? The paintings--the
paintings! O luxury! O love!--who, gazing on those forbidden beauties,
shall have eyes for the dainty devices of the golden frames that
besprinkled, like stars, the hyacinth and the porphyry walls?

But the Duc's heart is fainting within him. He is not, however, as you
suppose, dizzy with magnificence, nor drunk with the ecstatic breath
of those innumerable censers. C'est vrai que de toutes ces choses il
a pense beaucoup--mais! The Duc De L'Omelette is terror-stricken; for,
through the lurid vista which a single uncurtained window is affording,
lo! gleams the most ghastly of all fires!

Le pauvre Duc! He could not help imagining that the glorious, the
voluptuous, the never-dying melodies which pervaded that hall, as they
passed filtered and transmuted through the alchemy of the enchanted
window-panes, were the wailings and the howlings of the hopeless and
the damned! And there, too!--there!--upon the ottoman!--who could he
be?--he, the petitmaitre--no, the Deity--who sat as if carved in marble,
et qui sourit, with his pale countenance, si amerement?

Mais il faut agir--that is to say, a Frenchman never faints outright.
Besides, his Grace hated a scene--De L'Omelette is himself again. There
were some foils upon a table--some points also. The Duc s'echapper. He
measures two points, and, with a grace inimitable, offers his Majesty
the choice. Horreur! his Majesty does not fence!

Mais il joue!--how happy a thought!--but his Grace had always an
excellent memory. He had dipped in the "Diable" of Abbe Gualtier.
Therein it is said "que le Diable n'ose pas refuser un jeu d'ecarte."

But the chances--the chances! True--desperate: but scarcely more
desperate than the Duc. Besides, was he not in the secret?--had he not
skimmed over Pere Le Brun?--was he not a member of the Club Vingt-un?
"Si je perds," said he, "je serai deux fois perdu--I shall be doubly
dammed--voila tout! (Here his Grace shrugged his shoulders.) Si je
gagne, je reviendrai a mes ortolans--que les cartes soient preparees!"

His Grace was all care, all attention--his Majesty all confidence. A
spectator would have thought of Francis and Charles. His Grace thought
of his game. His Majesty did not think; he shuffled. The Duc cut.

The cards were dealt. The trump is turned--it is--it is--the king!
No--it was the queen. His Majesty cursed her masculine habiliments. De
L'Omelette placed his hand upon his heart.

They play. The Duc counts. The hand is out. His Majesty counts heavily,
smiles, and is taking wine. The Duc slips a card.

"C'est a vous a faire," said his Majesty, cutting. His Grace bowed,
dealt, and arose from the table en presentant le Roi.

His Majesty looked chagrined.

Had Alexander not been Alexander, he would have been Diogenes; and
the Duc assured his antagonist in taking leave, "que s'il n'eut ete De
L'Omelette il n'aurait point d'objection d'etre le Diable."




THE OBLONG BOX.

SOME years ago, I engaged passage from Charleston, S. C, to the city of
New York, in the fine packet-ship "Independence," Captain Hardy. We were
to sail on the fifteenth of the month (June), weather permitting; and
on the fourteenth, I went on board to arrange some matters in my
state-room.

I found that we were to have a great many passengers, including a
more than usual number of ladies. On the list were several of my
acquaintances, and among other names, I was rejoiced to see that of Mr.
Cornelius Wyatt, a young artist, for whom I entertained feelings of
warm friendship. He had been with me a fellow-student at C-- University,
where we were very much together. He had the ordinary temperament of
genius, and was a compound of misanthropy, sensibility, and enthusiasm.
To these qualities he united the warmest and truest heart which ever
beat in a human bosom.

I observed that his name was carded upon three state-rooms; and, upon
again referring to the list of passengers, I found that he had engaged
passage for himself, wife, and two sisters--his own. The state-rooms
were sufficiently roomy, and each had two berths, one above the
other. These berths, to be sure, were so exceedingly narrow as to be
insufficient for more than one person; still, I could not comprehend why
there were three state-rooms for these four persons. I was, just at that
epoch, in one of those moody frames of mind which make a man abnormally
inquisitive about trifles: and I confess, with shame, that I busied
myself in a variety of ill-bred and preposterous conjectures about this
matter of the supernumerary state-room. It was no business of mine,
to be sure, but with none the less pertinacity did I occupy myself in
attempts to resolve the enigma. At last I reached a conclusion which
wrought in me great wonder why I had not arrived at it before. "It is
a servant of course," I said; "what a fool I am, not sooner to have
thought of so obvious a solution!" And then I again repaired to the
list--but here I saw distinctly that no servant was to come with the
party, although, in fact, it had been the original design to bring
one--for the words "and servant" had been first written and
then overscored. "Oh, extra baggage, to be sure," I now said to
myself--"something he wishes not to be put in the hold--something to
be kept under his own eye--ah, I have it--a painting or so--and this is
what he has been bargaining about with Nicolino, the Italian Jew." This
idea satisfied me, and I dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.

Wyatt's two sisters I knew very well, and most amiable and clever girls
they were. His wife he had newly married, and I had never yet seen her.
He had often talked about her in my presence, however, and in his usual
style of enthusiasm. He described her as of surpassing beauty, wit,
and accomplishment. I was, therefore, quite anxious to make her
acquaintance.

On the day in which I visited the ship (the fourteenth), Wyatt and party
were also to visit it--so the captain informed me--and I waited on board
an hour longer than I had designed, in hope of being presented to the
bride, but then an apology came. "Mrs. W. was a little indisposed, and
would decline coming on board until to-morrow, at the hour of sailing."

The morrow having arrived, I was going from my hotel to the wharf, when
Captain Hardy met me and said that, "owing to circumstances" (a stupid
but convenient phrase), "he rather thought the 'Independence' would not
sail for a day or two, and that when all was ready, he would send up and
let me know." This I thought strange, for there was a stiff southerly
breeze; but as "the circumstances" were not forthcoming, although I
pumped for them with much perseverance, I had nothing to do but to
return home and digest my impatience at leisure.

I did not receive the expected message from the captain for nearly a
week. It came at length, however, and I immediately went on board. The
ship was crowded with passengers, and every thing was in the bustle
attendant upon making sail. Wyatt's party arrived in about ten minutes
after myself. There were the two sisters, the bride, and the artist--the
latter in one of his customary fits of moody misanthropy. I was too well
used to these, however, to pay them any special attention. He did not
even introduce me to his wife--this courtesy devolving, per force, upon
his sister Marian--a very sweet and intelligent girl, who, in a few
hurried words, made us acquainted.

Mrs. Wyatt had been closely veiled; and when she raised her veil, in
acknowledging my bow, I confess that I was very profoundly astonished. I
should have been much more so, however, had not long experience
advised me not to trust, with too implicit a reliance, the enthusiastic
descriptions of my friend, the artist, when indulging in comments upon
the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the theme, I well knew with
what facility he soared into the regions of the purely ideal.

The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as a decidedly
plain-looking woman. If not positively ugly, she was not, I think, very
far from it. She was dressed, however, in exquisite taste--and then
I had no doubt that she had captivated my friend's heart by the more
enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She said very few words, and
passed at once into her state-room with Mr. W.

My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was no servant--that was a
settled point. I looked, therefore, for the extra baggage. After some
delay, a cart arrived at the wharf, with an oblong pine box, which was
every thing that seemed to be expected. Immediately upon its arrival we
made sail, and in a short time were safely over the bar and standing out
to sea.

The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was about six feet in
length by two and a half in breadth; I observed it attentively, and like
to be precise. Now this shape was peculiar; and no sooner had I seen
it, than I took credit to myself for the accuracy of my guessing. I had
reached the conclusion, it will be remembered, that the extra baggage
of my friend, the artist, would prove to be pictures, or at least a
picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks in conference with
Nicolino:--and now here was a box, which, from its shape, could possibly
contain nothing in the world but a copy of Leonardo's "Last Supper;"
and a copy of this very "Last Supper," done by Rubini the younger,
at Florence, I had known, for some time, to be in the possession of
Nicolino. This point, therefore, I considered as sufficiently settled. I
chuckled excessively when I thought of my acumen. It was the first time
I had ever known Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets;
but here he evidently intended to steal a march upon me, and smuggle
a fine picture to New York, under my very nose; expecting me to know
nothing of the matter. I resolved to quiz him well, now and hereafter.

One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did not go into the
extra state-room. It was deposited in Wyatt's own; and there, too, it
remained, occupying very nearly the whole of the floor--no doubt to
the exceeding discomfort of the artist and his wife;--this the more
especially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in sprawling
capitals, emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to my fancy, a peculiarly
disgusting odor. On the lid were painted the words--"Mrs. Adelaide
Curtis, Albany, New York. Charge of Cornelius Wyatt, Esq. This side up.
To be handled with care."

Now, I was aware that Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, of Albany, was the
artist's wife's mother,--but then I looked upon the whole address as
a mystification, intended especially for myself. I made up my mind, of
course, that the box and contents would never get farther north than the
studio of my misanthropic friend, in Chambers Street, New York.

For the first three or four days we had fine weather, although the wind
was dead ahead; having chopped round to the northward, immediately upon
our losing sight of the coast. The passengers were, consequently, in
high spirits and disposed to be social. I must except, however, Wyatt
and his sisters, who behaved stiffly, and, I could not help thinking,
uncourteously to the rest of the party. Wyatt's conduct I did not so
much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond his usual habit--in fact he was
morose--but in him I was prepared for eccentricity. For the sisters,
however, I could make no excuse. They secluded themselves in their
staterooms during the greater part of the passage, and absolutely
refused, although I repeatedly urged them, to hold communication with
any person on board.

Mrs. Wyatt herself was far more agreeable. That is to say, she was
chatty; and to be chatty is no slight recommendation at sea. She became
excessively intimate with most of the ladies; and, to my profound
astonishment, evinced no equivocal disposition to coquet with the men.
She amused us all very much. I say "amused"--and scarcely know how to
explain myself. The truth is, I soon found that Mrs. W. was far oftener
laughed at than with. The gentlemen said little about her; but the
ladies, in a little while, pronounced her "a good-hearted thing, rather
indifferent looking, totally uneducated, and decidedly vulgar." The
great wonder was, how Wyatt had been entrapped into such a match. Wealth
was the general solution--but this I knew to be no solution at all;
for Wyatt had told me that she neither brought him a dollar nor had any
expectations from any source whatever. "He had married," he said, "for
love, and for love only; and his bride was far more than worthy of his
love." When I thought of these expressions, on the part of my friend, I
confess that I felt indescribably puzzled. Could it be possible that he
was taking leave of his senses? What else could I think? He, so refined,
so intellectual, so fastidious, with so exquisite a perception of the
faulty, and so keen an appreciation of the beautiful! To be sure, the
lady seemed especially fond of him--particularly so in his absence--when
she made herself ridiculous by frequent quotations of what had been
said by her "beloved husband, Mr. Wyatt." The word "husband" seemed
forever--to use one of her own delicate expressions--forever "on the tip
of her tongue." In the meantime, it was observed by all on board, that
he avoided her in the most pointed manner, and, for the most part, shut
himself up alone in his state-room, where, in fact, he might have been
said to live altogether, leaving his wife at full liberty to amuse
herself as she thought best, in the public society of the main cabin.

My conclusion, from what I saw and heard, was, that, the artist, by some
unaccountable freak of fate, or perhaps in some fit of enthusiastic
and fanciful passion, had been induced to unite himself with a person
altogether beneath him, and that the natural result, entire and speedy
disgust, had ensued. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart--but
could not, for that reason, quite forgive his incommunicativeness in the
matter of the "Last Supper." For this I resolved to have my revenge.

One day he came upon deck, and, taking his arm as had been my wont, I
sauntered with him backward and forward. His gloom, however (which
I considered quite natural under the circumstances), seemed entirely
unabated. He said little, and that moodily, and with evident effort. I
ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening attempt at a smile. Poor
fellow!--as I thought of his wife, I wondered that he could have heart
to put on even the semblance of mirth. I determined to commence a series
of covert insinuations, or innuendoes, about the oblong box--just to let
him perceive, gradually, that I was not altogether the butt, or victim,
of his little bit of pleasant mystification. My first observation was
by way of opening a masked battery. I said something about the "peculiar
shape of that box-," and, as I spoke the words, I smiled knowingly,
winked, and touched him gently with my forefinger in the ribs.

The manner in which Wyatt received this harmless pleasantry convinced
me, at once, that he was mad. At first he stared at me as if he found
it impossible to comprehend the witticism of my remark; but as its point
seemed slowly to make its way into his brain, his eyes, in the same
proportion, seemed protruding from their sockets. Then he grew very
red--then hideously pale--then, as if highly amused with what I
had insinuated, he began a loud and boisterous laugh, which, to my
astonishment, he kept up, with gradually increasing vigor, for ten
minutes or more. In conclusion, he fell flat and heavily upon the deck.
When I ran to uplift him, to all appearance he was dead.

I called assistance, and, with much difficulty, we brought him to
himself. Upon reviving he spoke incoherently for some time. At length we
bled him and put him to bed. The next morning he was quite recovered,
so far as regarded his mere bodily health. Of his mind I say nothing, of
course. I avoided him during the rest of the passage, by advice of the
captain, who seemed to coincide with me altogether in my views of his
insanity, but cautioned me to say nothing on this head to any person on
board.

Several circumstances occurred immediately after this fit of Wyatt
which contributed to heighten the curiosity with which I was already
possessed. Among other things, this: I had been nervous--drank too much
strong green tea, and slept ill at night--in fact, for two nights I
could not be properly said to sleep at all. Now, my state-room opened
into the main cabin, or dining-room, as did those of all the single
men on board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the after-cabin, which was
separated from the main one by a slight sliding door, never locked even
at night. As we were almost constantly on a wind, and the breeze was
not a little stiff, the ship heeled to leeward very considerably; and
whenever her starboard side was to leeward, the sliding door between the
cabins slid open, and so remained, nobody taking the trouble to get
up and shut it. But my berth was in such a position, that when my own
state-room door was open, as well as the sliding door in question (and
my own door was always open on account of the heat,) I could see into
the after-cabin quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too,
where were situated the state-rooms of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two
nights (not consecutive) while I lay awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about
eleven o'clock upon each night, steal cautiously from the state-room
of Mr. W., and enter the extra room, where she remained until daybreak,
when she was called by her husband and went back. That they were
virtually separated was clear. They had separate apartments--no doubt in
contemplation of a more permanent divorce; and here, after all I thought
was the mystery of the extra state-room.

There was another circumstance, too, which interested me much.
During the two wakeful nights in question, and immediately after the
disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the extra state-room, I was attracted
by certain singular cautious, subdued noises in that of her husband.
After listening to them for some time, with thoughtful attention, I at
length succeeded perfectly in translating their import. They were sounds
occasioned by the artist in prying open the oblong box, by means of a
chisel and mallet--the latter being apparently muffled, or deadened, by
some soft woollen or cotton substance in which its head was enveloped.

In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the precise moment when he
fairly disengaged the lid--also, that I could determine when he removed
it altogether, and when he deposited it upon the lower berth in his
room; this latter point I knew, for example, by certain slight taps
which the lid made in striking against the wooden edges of the berth, as
he endeavored to lay it down very gently--there being no room for it on
the floor. After this there was a dead stillness, and I heard nothing
more, upon either occasion, until nearly daybreak; unless, perhaps, I
may mention a low sobbing, or murmuring sound, so very much suppressed
as to be nearly inaudible--if, indeed, the whole of this latter noise
were not rather produced by my own imagination. I say it seemed to
resemble sobbing or sighing--but, of course, it could not have been
either. I rather think it was a ringing in my own ears. Mr. Wyatt, no
doubt, according to custom, was merely giving the rein to one of his
hobbies--indulging in one of his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had
opened his oblong box, in order to feast his eyes on the pictorial
treasure within. There was nothing in this, however, to make him sob.
I repeat, therefore, that it must have been simply a freak of my own
fancy, distempered by good Captain Hardy's green tea. Just before dawn,
on each of the two nights of which I speak, I distinctly heard Mr. Wyatt
replace the lid upon the oblong box, and force the nails into their old
places by means of the muffled mallet. Having done this, he issued from
his state-room, fully dressed, and proceeded to call Mrs. W. from hers.

We had been at sea seven days, and were now off Cape Hatteras, when
there came a tremendously heavy blow from the southwest. We were, in a
measure, prepared for it, however, as the weather had been holding out
threats for some time. Every thing was made snug, alow and aloft; and
as the wind steadily freshened, we lay to, at length, under spanker and
foretopsail, both double-reefed.

In this trim we rode safely enough for forty-eight hours--the ship
proving herself an excellent sea-boat in many respects, and shipping no
water of any consequence. At the end of this period, however, the gale
had freshened into a hurricane, and our after--sail split into ribbons,
bringing us so much in the trough of the water that we shipped several
prodigious seas, one immediately after the other. By this accident we
lost three men overboard with the caboose, and nearly the whole of the
larboard bulwarks. Scarcely had we recovered our senses, before the
foretopsail went into shreds, when we got up a storm stay--sail and with
this did pretty well for some hours, the ship heading the sea much more
steadily than before.

The gale still held on, however, and we saw no signs of its abating.
The rigging was found to be ill-fitted, and greatly strained; and on the
third day of the blow, about five in the afternoon, our mizzen-mast, in
a heavy lurch to windward, went by the board. For an hour or more, we
tried in vain to get rid of it, on account of the prodigious rolling
of the ship; and, before we had succeeded, the carpenter came aft and
announced four feet of water in the hold. To add to our dilemma, we
found the pumps choked and nearly useless.

All was now confusion and despair--but an effort was made to lighten the
ship by throwing overboard as much of her cargo as could be reached,
and by cutting away the two masts that remained. This we at last
accomplished--but we were still unable to do any thing at the pumps;
and, in the meantime, the leak gained on us very fast.

At sundown, the gale had sensibly diminished in violence, and as the sea
went down with it, we still entertained faint hopes of saving ourselves
in the boats. At eight P. M., the clouds broke away to windward, and we
had the advantage of a full moon--a piece of good fortune which served
wonderfully to cheer our drooping spirits.

After incredible labor we succeeded, at length, in getting the longboat
over the side without material accident, and into this we crowded
the whole of the crew and most of the passengers. This party made off
immediately, and, after undergoing much suffering, finally arrived, in
safety, at Ocracoke Inlet, on the third day after the wreck.

Fourteen passengers, with the captain, remained on board, resolving
to trust their fortunes to the jolly-boat at the stern. We lowered it
without difficulty, although it was only by a miracle that we prevented
it from swamping as it touched the water. It contained, when afloat, the
captain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and party, a Mexican officer, wife, four
children, and myself, with a <DW64> valet.

We had no room, of course, for any thing except a few positively
necessary instruments, some provisions, and the clothes upon our backs.
No one had thought of even attempting to save any thing more. What must
have been the astonishment of all, then, when having proceeded a few
fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt stood up in the stern-sheets, and
coolly demanded of Captain Hardy that the boat should be put back for
the purpose of taking in his oblong box!

"Sit down, Mr. Wyatt," replied the captain, somewhat sternly, "you will
capsize us if you do not sit quite still. Our gunwhale is almost in the
water now."

"The box!" vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still standing--"the box, I say!
Captain Hardy, you cannot, you will not refuse me. Its weight will
be but a trifle--it is nothing--mere nothing. By the mother who bore
you--for the love of Heaven--by your hope of salvation, I implore you to
put back for the box!"

The captain, for a moment, seemed touched by the earnest appeal of the
artist, but he regained his stern composure, and merely said:

"Mr. Wyatt, you are mad. I cannot listen to you. Sit down, I say, or you
will swamp the boat. Stay--hold him--seize him!--he is about to spring
overboard! There--I knew it--he is over!"

As the captain said this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact, sprang from the boat, and,
as we were yet in the lee of the wreck, succeeded, by almost superhuman
exertion, in getting hold of a rope which hung from the fore-chains. In
another moment he was on board, and rushing frantically down into the
cabin.

In the meantime, we had been swept astern of the ship, and being quite
out of her lee, were at the mercy of the tremendous sea which was still
running. We made a determined effort to put back, but our little boat
was like a feather in the breath of the tempest. We saw at a glance that
the doom of the unfortunate artist was sealed.

As our distance from the wreck rapidly increased, the madman (for
as such only could we regard him) was seen to emerge from the
companion--way, up which by dint of strength that appeared gigantic,
he dragged, bodily, the oblong box. While we gazed in the extremity of
astonishment, he passed, rapidly, several turns of a three-inch rope,
first around the box and then around his body. In another instant
both body and box were in the sea--disappearing suddenly, at once and
forever.

We lingered awhile sadly upon our oars, with our eyes riveted upon the
spot. At length we pulled away. The silence remained unbroken for an
hour. Finally, I hazarded a remark.

"Did you observe, captain, how suddenly they sank? Was not that an
exceedingly singular thing? I confess that I entertained some feeble
hope of his final deliverance, when I saw him lash himself to the box,
and commit himself to the sea."

"They sank as a matter of course," replied the captain, "and that like a
shot. They will soon rise again, however--but not till the salt melts."

"The salt!" I ejaculated.

"Hush!" said the captain, pointing to the wife and sisters of the
deceased. "We must talk of these things at some more appropriate time."

We suffered much, and made a narrow escape, but fortune befriended us,
as well as our mates in the long-boat. We landed, in fine, more dead
than alive, after four days of intense distress, upon the beach opposite
Roanoke Island. We remained here a week, were not ill-treated by the
wreckers, and at length obtained a passage to New York.

About a month after the loss of the "Independence," I happened to meet
Captain Hardy in Broadway. Our conversation turned, naturally, upon the
disaster, and especially upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I thus learned
the following particulars.

The artist had engaged passage for himself, wife, two sisters and a
servant. His wife was, indeed, as she had been represented, a most
lovely, and most accomplished woman. On the morning of the fourteenth
of June (the day in which I first visited the ship), the lady suddenly
sickened and died. The young husband was frantic with grief--but
circumstances imperatively forbade the deferring his voyage to New York.
It was necessary to take to her mother the corpse of his adored wife,
and, on the other hand, the universal prejudice which would prevent his
doing so openly was well known. Nine-tenths of the passengers would have
abandoned the ship rather than take passage with a dead body.

In this dilemma, Captain Hardy arranged that the corpse, being first
partially embalmed, and packed, with a large quantity of salt, in a
box of suitable dimensions, should be conveyed on board as merchandise.
Nothing was to be said of the lady's decease; and, as it was well
understood that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage for his wife, it became
necessary that some person should personate her during the voyage.
This the deceased lady's-maid was easily prevailed on to do. The extra
state-room, originally engaged for this girl during her mistress' life,
was now merely retained. In this state-room the pseudo-wife, slept, of
course, every night. In the daytime she performed, to the best of her
ability, the part of her mistress--whose person, it had been carefully
ascertained, was unknown to any of the passengers on board.

My own mistake arose, naturally enough, through too careless, too
inquisitive, and too impulsive a temperament. But of late, it is a rare
thing that I sleep soundly at night. There is a countenance which haunts
me, turn as I will. There is an hysterical laugh which will forever ring
within my ears.




LOSS OF BREATH

     O Breathe not, etc.      --Moore's Melodies

THE MOST notorious ill-fortune must in the end yield to the untiring
courage of philosophy--as the most stubborn city to the ceaseless
vigilance of an enemy. Shalmanezer, as we have it in holy writings,
lay three years before Samaria; yet it fell. Sardanapalus--see
Diodorus--maintained himself seven in Nineveh; but to no purpose. Troy
expired at the close of the second lustrum; and Azoth, as Aristaeus
declares upon his honour as a gentleman, opened at last her gates
to Psammetichus, after having barred them for the fifth part of a
century....

"Thou wretch!--thou vixen!--thou shrew!" said I to my wife on
the morning after our wedding; "thou witch!--thou hag!--thou
whippersnapper--thou sink of iniquity!--thou fiery-faced quintessence of
all that is abominable!--thou--thou-" here standing upon tiptoe,
seizing her by the throat, and placing my mouth close to her ear, I was
preparing to launch forth a new and more decided epithet of opprobrium,
which should not fail, if ejaculated, to convince her of her
insignificance, when to my extreme horror and astonishment I discovered
that I had lost my breath.

The phrases "I am out of breath," "I have lost my breath," etc., are
often enough repeated in common conversation; but it had never occurred
to me that the terrible accident of which I speak could bona fide and
actually happen! Imagine--that is if you have a fanciful turn--imagine,
I say, my wonder--my consternation--my despair!

There is a good genius, however, which has never entirely deserted me.
In my most ungovernable moods I still retain a sense of propriety, et le
chemin des passions me conduit--as Lord Edouard in the "Julie" says it
did him--a la philosophie veritable.

Although I could not at first precisely ascertain to what degree the
occurrence had affected me, I determined at all events to conceal the
matter from my wife, until further experience should discover to me
the extent of this my unheard of calamity. Altering my countenance,
therefore, in a moment, from its bepuffed and distorted appearance, to
an expression of arch and coquettish benignity, I gave my lady a pat on
the one cheek, and a kiss on the other, and without saying one syllable
(Furies! I could not), left her astonished at my drollery, as I
pirouetted out of the room in a Pas de Zephyr.

Behold me then safely ensconced in my private boudoir, a fearful
instance of the ill consequences attending upon irascibility--alive,
with the qualifications of the dead--dead, with the propensities of
the living--an anomaly on the face of the earth--being very calm, yet
breathless.

Yes! breathless. I am serious in asserting that my breath was entirely
gone. I could not have stirred with it a feather if my life had been at
issue, or sullied even the delicacy of a mirror. Hard fate!--yet there
was some alleviation to the first overwhelming paroxysm of my sorrow. I
found, upon trial, that the powers of utterance which, upon my inability
to proceed in the conversation with my wife, I then concluded to be
totally destroyed, were in fact only partially impeded, and I discovered
that had I, at that interesting crisis, dropped my voice to a singularly
deep guttural, I might still have continued to her the communication of
my sentiments; this pitch of voice (the guttural) depending, I find, not
upon the current of the breath, but upon a certain spasmodic action of
the muscles of the throat.

Throwing myself upon a chair, I remained for some time absorbed in
meditation. My reflections, be sure, were of no consolatory kind. A
thousand vague and lachrymatory fancies took possession of my soul--and
even the idea of suicide flitted across my brain; but it is a trait in
the perversity of human nature to reject the obvious and the ready, for
the far-distant and equivocal. Thus I shuddered at self-murder as the
most decided of atrocities while the tabby cat purred strenuously upon
the rug, and the very water dog wheezed assiduously under the table,
each taking to itself much merit for the strength of its lungs, and all
obviously done in derision of my own pulmonary incapacity.

Oppressed with a tumult of vague hopes and fears, I at length heard the
footsteps of my wife descending the staircase. Being now assured of
her absence, I returned with a palpitating heart to the scene of my
disaster.

Carefully locking the door on the inside, I commenced a vigorous search.
It was possible, I thought, that, concealed in some obscure corner, or
lurking in some closet or drawer, might be found the lost object of my
inquiry. It might have a vapory--it might even have a tangible form.
Most philosophers, upon many points of philosophy, are still very
unphilosophical. William Godwin, however, says in his "Mandeville," that
"invisible things are the only realities," and this, all will allow, is
a case in point. I would have the judicious reader pause before accusing
such asseverations of an undue quantum of absurdity. Anaxagoras, it
will be remembered, maintained that snow is black, and this I have since
found to be the case.

Long and earnestly did I continue the investigation: but the
contemptible reward of my industry and perseverance proved to be only
a set of false teeth, two pair of hips, an eye, and a bundle of
billets-doux from Mr. Windenough to my wife. I might as well here
observe that this confirmation of my lady's partiality for Mr. W.
occasioned me little uneasiness. That Mrs. Lackobreath should admire
anything so dissimilar to myself was a natural and necessary evil. I am,
it is well known, of a robust and corpulent appearance, and at the
same time somewhat diminutive in stature. What wonder, then, that the
lath-like tenuity of my acquaintance, and his altitude, which has grown
into a proverb, should have met with all due estimation in the eyes of
Mrs. Lackobreath. But to return.

My exertions, as I have before said, proved fruitless. Closet after
closet--drawer after drawer--corner after corner--were scrutinized to
no purpose. At one time, however, I thought myself sure of my prize,
having, in rummaging a dressing-case, accidentally demolished a bottle
of Grandjean's Oil of Archangels--which, as an agreeable perfume, I here
take the liberty of recommending.

With a heavy heart I returned to my boudoir--there to ponder upon some
method of eluding my wife's penetration, until I could make arrangements
prior to my leaving the country, for to this I had already made up
my mind. In a foreign climate, being unknown, I might, with some
probability of success, endeavor to conceal my unhappy calamity--a
calamity calculated, even more than beggary, to estrange the affections
of the multitude, and to draw down upon the wretch the well-merited
indignation of the virtuous and the happy. I was not long in hesitation.
Being naturally quick, I committed to memory the entire tragedy of
"Metamora." I had the good fortune to recollect that in the accentuation
of this drama, or at least of such portion of it as is allotted to
the hero, the tones of voice in which I found myself deficient were
altogether unnecessary, and the deep guttural was expected to reign
monotonously throughout.

I practised for some time by the borders of a well frequented
marsh;--herein, however, having no reference to a similar proceeding of
Demosthenes, but from a design peculiarly and conscientiously my own.
Thus armed at all points, I determined to make my wife believe that I
was suddenly smitten with a passion for the stage. In this, I succeeded
to a miracle; and to every question or suggestion found myself at
liberty to reply in my most frog-like and sepulchral tones with some
passage from the tragedy--any portion of which, as I soon took great
pleasure in observing, would apply equally well to any particular
subject. It is not to be supposed, however, that in the delivery of
such passages I was found at all deficient in the looking asquint--the
showing my teeth--the working my knees--the shuffling my feet--or in
any of those unmentionable graces which are now justly considered
the characteristics of a popular performer. To be sure they spoke of
confining me in a strait-jacket--but, good God! they never suspected me
of having lost my breath.

Having at length put my affairs in order, I took my seat very early one
morning in the mail stage for--, giving it to be understood, among
my acquaintances, that business of the last importance required my
immediate personal attendance in that city.

The coach was crammed to repletion; but in the uncertain twilight the
features of my companions could not be distinguished. Without making
any effectual resistance, I suffered myself to be placed between two
gentlemen of colossal dimensions; while a third, of a size larger,
requesting pardon for the liberty he was about to take, threw himself
upon my body at full length, and falling asleep in an instant, drowned
all my guttural ejaculations for relief, in a snore which would have put
to blush the roarings of the bull of Phalaris. Happily the state of my
respiratory faculties rendered suffocation an accident entirely out of
the question.

As, however, the day broke more distinctly in our approach to the
outskirts of the city, my tormentor, arising and adjusting his
shirt-collar, thanked me in a very friendly manner for my civility.
Seeing that I remained motionless (all my limbs were dislocated and my
head twisted on one side), his apprehensions began to be excited; and
arousing the rest of the passengers, he communicated, in a very decided
manner, his opinion that a dead man had been palmed upon them during the
night for a living and responsible fellow-traveller; here giving me
a thump on the right eye, by way of demonstrating the truth of his
suggestion.

Hereupon all, one after another (there were nine in company), believed
it their duty to pull me by the ear. A young practising physician, too,
having applied a pocket-mirror to my mouth, and found me without breath,
the assertion of my persecutor was pronounced a true bill; and the whole
party expressed a determination to endure tamely no such impositions for
the future, and to proceed no farther with any such carcasses for the
present.

I was here, accordingly, thrown out at the sign of the "Crow" (by which
tavern the coach happened to be passing), without meeting with any
farther accident than the breaking of both my arms, under the left hind
wheel of the vehicle. I must besides do the driver the justice to state
that he did not forget to throw after me the largest of my trunks,
which, unfortunately falling on my head, fractured my skull in a manner
at once interesting and extraordinary.

The landlord of the "Crow," who is a hospitable man, finding that my
trunk contained sufficient to indemnify him for any little trouble
he might take in my behalf, sent forthwith for a surgeon of his
acquaintance, and delivered me to his care with a bill and receipt for
ten dollars.

The purchaser took me to his apartments and commenced operations
immediately. Having cut off my ears, however, he discovered signs of
animation. He now rang the bell, and sent for a neighboring apothecary
with whom to consult in the emergency. In case of his suspicions with
regard to my existence proving ultimately correct, he, in the meantime,
made an incision in my stomach, and removed several of my viscera for
private dissection.

The apothecary had an idea that I was actually dead. This idea I
endeavored to confute, kicking and plunging with all my might, and
making the most furious contortions--for the operations of the surgeon
had, in a measure, restored me to the possession of my faculties.
All, however, was attributed to the effects of a new galvanic battery,
wherewith the apothecary, who is really a man of information, performed
several curious experiments, in which, from my personal share in their
fulfillment, I could not help feeling deeply interested. It was a course
of mortification to me, nevertheless, that although I made several
attempts at conversation, my powers of speech were so entirely in
abeyance, that I could not even open my mouth; much less, then, make
reply to some ingenious but fanciful theories of which, under other
circumstances, my minute acquaintance with the Hippocratian pathology
would have afforded me a ready confutation.

Not being able to arrive at a conclusion, the practitioners remanded me
for farther examination. I was taken up into a garret; and the surgeon's
lady having accommodated me with drawers and stockings, the
surgeon himself fastened my hands, and tied up my jaws with a
pocket-handkerchief--then bolted the door on the outside as he hurried
to his dinner, leaving me alone to silence and to meditation.

I now discovered to my extreme delight that I could have spoken had not
my mouth been tied up with the pocket-handkerchief. Consoling myself
with this reflection, I was mentally repeating some passages of the
"Omnipresence of the Deity," as is my custom before resigning myself to
sleep, when two cats, of a greedy and vituperative turn, entering at a
hole in the wall, leaped up with a flourish a la Catalani, and alighting
opposite one another on my visage, betook themselves to indecorous
contention for the paltry consideration of my nose.

But, as the loss of his ears proved the means of elevating to the throne
of Cyrus, the Magian or Mige-Gush of Persia, and as the cutting off his
nose gave Zopyrus possession of Babylon, so the loss of a few ounces of
my countenance proved the salvation of my body. Aroused by the pain, and
burning with indignation, I burst, at a single effort, the fastenings
and the bandage. Stalking across the room I cast a glance of contempt at
the belligerents, and throwing open the sash to their extreme horror and
disappointment, precipitated myself, very dexterously, from the window.
this moment passing from the city jail to the scaffold erected for his
execution in the suburbs. His extreme infirmity and long continued
ill health had obtained him the privilege of remaining unmanacled; and
habited in his gallows costume--one very similar to my own,--he lay at
full length in the bottom of the hangman's cart (which happened to be
under the windows of the surgeon at the moment of my precipitation)
without any other guard than the driver, who was asleep, and two
recruits of the sixth infantry, who were drunk.

As ill-luck would have it, I alit upon my feet within the vehicle.
immediately, he bolted out behind, and turning down an alley, was out of
sight in the twinkling of an eye. The recruits, aroused by the bustle,
could not exactly comprehend the merits of the transaction. Seeing,
however, a man, the precise counterpart of the felon, standing
upright in the cart before their eyes, they were of (so they expressed
themselves,) and, having communicated this opinion to one another, they
took each a dram, and then knocked me down with the butt-ends of their
muskets.

It was not long ere we arrived at the place of destination. Of course
nothing could be said in my defence. Hanging was my inevitable fate. I
resigned myself thereto with a feeling half stupid, half acrimonious.
Being little of a cynic, I had all the sentiments of a dog. The hangman,
however, adjusted the noose about my neck. The drop fell.

I forbear to depict my sensations upon the gallows; although here,
undoubtedly, I could speak to the point, and it is a topic upon which
nothing has been well said. In fact, to write upon such a theme it is
necessary to have been hanged. Every author should confine himself to
matters of experience. Thus Mark Antony composed a treatise upon getting
drunk.

I may just mention, however, that die I did not. My body was, but I
had no breath to be, suspended; and but for the knot under my left ear
(which had the feel of a military stock) I dare say that I should have
experienced very little inconvenience. As for the jerk given to my neck
upon the falling of the drop, it merely proved a corrective to the twist
afforded me by the fat gentleman in the coach.

For good reasons, however, I did my best to give the crowd the worth of
their trouble. My convulsions were said to be extraordinary. My spasms
it would have been difficult to beat. The populace encored. Several
gentlemen swooned; and a multitude of ladies were carried home in
hysterics. Pinxit availed himself of the opportunity to retouch, from
a sketch taken upon the spot, his admirable painting of the "Marsyas
flayed alive."

When I had afforded sufficient amusement, it was thought proper to
remove my body from the gallows;--this the more especially as the real
culprit had in the meantime been retaken and recognized, a fact which I
was so unlucky as not to know.

Much sympathy was, of course, exercised in my behalf, and as no one made
claim to my corpse, it was ordered that I should be interred in a public
vault.

Here, after due interval, I was deposited. The sexton departed, and I
was left alone. A line of Marston's "Malcontent"--

Death's a good fellow and keeps open house--struck me at that moment as
a palpable lie.

I knocked off, however, the lid of my coffin, and stepped out. The place
was dreadfully dreary and damp, and I became troubled with ennui. By way
of amusement, I felt my way among the numerous coffins ranged in order
around. I lifted them down, one by one, and breaking open their lids,
busied myself in speculations about the mortality within.

"This," I soliloquized, tumbling over a carcass, puffy, bloated,
and rotund--"this has been, no doubt, in every sense of the word, an
unhappy--an unfortunate man. It has been his terrible lot not to walk
but to waddle--to pass through life not like a human being, but like an
elephant--not like a man, but like a rhinoceros.

"His attempts at getting on have been mere abortions, and his
circumgyratory proceedings a palpable failure. Taking a step forward, it
has been his misfortune to take two toward the right, and three toward
the left. His studies have been confined to the poetry of Crabbe. He can
have no idea of the wonder of a pirouette. To him a pas de papillon has
been an abstract conception. He has never ascended the summit of a hill.
He has never viewed from any steeple the glories of a metropolis. Heat
has been his mortal enemy. In the dog-days his days have been the
days of a dog. Therein, he has dreamed of flames and suffocation--of
mountains upon mountains--of Pelion upon Ossa. He was short of
breath--to say all in a word, he was short of breath. He thought it
extravagant to play upon wind instruments. He was the inventor of
self-moving fans, wind-sails, and ventilators. He patronized Du Pont the
bellows-maker, and he died miserably in attempting to smoke a cigar. His
was a case in which I feel a deep interest--a lot in which I sincerely
sympathize.

"But here,"--said I--"here"--and I dragged spitefully from its
receptacle a gaunt, tall and peculiar-looking form, whose remarkable
appearance struck me with a sense of unwelcome familiarity--"here is a
wretch entitled to no earthly commiseration." Thus saying, in order
to obtain a more distinct view of my subject, I applied my thumb and
forefinger to its nose, and causing it to assume a sitting position upon
the ground, held it thus, at the length of my arm, while I continued my
soliloquy.

"Entitled," I repeated, "to no earthly commiseration. Who indeed would
think of compassioning a shadow? Besides, has he not had his full
share of the blessings of mortality? He was the originator of tall
monuments--shot-towers--lightning-rods--Lombardy poplars. His treatise
upon "Shades and Shadows" has immortalized him. He edited with
distinguished ability the last edition of "South on the Bones." He
went early to college and studied pneumatics. He then came home, talked
eternally, and played upon the French-horn. He patronized the bagpipes.
Captain Barclay, who walked against Time, would not walk against him.
Windham and Allbreath were his favorite writers,--his favorite artist,
Phiz. He died gloriously while inhaling gas--levique flatu corrupitur,
like the fama pudicitae in Hieronymus. {*1} He was indubitably a"--

"How can you?--how--can--you?"--interrupted the object of my
animadversions, gasping for breath, and tearing off, with a desperate
exertion, the bandage around its jaws--"how can you, Mr. Lackobreath, be
so infernally cruel as to pinch me in that manner by the nose? Did you
not see how they had fastened up my mouth--and you must know--if you
know any thing--how vast a superfluity of breath I have to dispose of!
If you do not know, however, sit down and you shall see. In my situation
it is really a great relief to be able to open ones mouth--to be able to
expatiate--to be able to communicate with a person like yourself, who do
not think yourself called upon at every period to interrupt the thread
of a gentleman's discourse. Interruptions are annoying and should
undoubtedly be abolished--don't you think so?--no reply, I beg you,--one
person is enough to be speaking at a time.--I shall be done by and
by, and then you may begin.--How the devil sir, did you get into this
place?--not a word I beseech you--been here some time myself--terrible
accident!--heard of it, I suppose?--awful calamity!--walking under
your windows--some short while ago--about the time you were
stage-struck--horrible occurrence!--heard of "catching one's breath,"
eh?--hold your tongue I tell you!--I caught somebody elses!--had always
too much of my own--met Blab at the corner of the street--wouldn't give
me a chance for a word--couldn't get in a syllable edgeways--attacked,
consequently, with epilepsis--Blab made his escape--damn all
fools!--they took me up for dead, and put me in this place--pretty
doings all of them!--heard all you said about me--every word a
lie--horrible!--wonderful--outrageous!--hideous!--incomprehensible!--et
cetera--et cetera--et cetera--et cetera-"

It is impossible to conceive my astonishment at so unexpected a
discourse, or the joy with which I became gradually convinced that the
breath so fortunately caught by the gentleman (whom I soon recognized as
my neighbor Windenough) was, in fact, the identical expiration
mislaid by myself in the conversation with my wife. Time, place, and
circumstances rendered it a matter beyond question. I did not at
least during the long period in which the inventor of Lombardy poplars
continued to favor me with his explanations.

In this respect I was actuated by that habitual prudence which has ever
been my predominating trait. I reflected that many difficulties might
still lie in the path of my preservation which only extreme exertion on
my part would be able to surmount. Many persons, I considered, are prone
to estimate commodities in their possession--however valueless to the
then proprietor--however troublesome, or distressing--in direct ratio
with the advantages to be derived by others from their attainment, or by
themselves from their abandonment. Might not this be the case with Mr.
Windenough? In displaying anxiety for the breath of which he was at
present so willing to get rid, might I not lay myself open to the
exactions of his avarice? There are scoundrels in this world,
I remembered with a sigh, who will not scruple to take unfair
opportunities with even a next door neighbor, and (this remark is from
Epictetus) it is precisely at that time when men are most anxious to
throw off the burden of their own calamities that they feel the least
desirous of relieving them in others.

Upon considerations similar to these, and still retaining my grasp upon
the nose of Mr. W., I accordingly thought proper to model my reply.

"Monster!" I began in a tone of the deepest indignation--"monster
and double-winded idiot!--dost thou, whom for thine iniquities it has
pleased heaven to accurse with a two-fold respimtion--dost thou, I
say, presume to address me in the familiar language of an old
acquaintance?--'I lie,' forsooth! and 'hold my tongue,' to be
sure!--pretty conversation indeed, to a gentleman with a single
breath!--all this, too, when I have it in my power to relieve the
calamity under which thou dost so justly suffer--to curtail the
superfluities of thine unhappy respiration."

Like Brutus, I paused for a reply--with which, like a tornado, Mr.
Windenough immediately overwhelmed me. Protestation followed upon
protestation, and apology upon apology. There were no terms with which
he was unwilling to comply, and there were none of which I failed to
take the fullest advantage.

Preliminaries being at length arranged, my acquaintance delivered me
the respiration; for which (having carefully examined it) I gave him
afterward a receipt.

I am aware that by many I shall be held to blame for speaking in a
manner so cursory, of a transaction so impalpable. It will be thought
that I should have entered more minutely, into the details of an
occurrence by which--and this is very true--much new light might be
thrown upon a highly interesting branch of physical philosophy.

To all this I am sorry that I cannot reply. A hint is the only answer
which I am permitted to make. There were circumstances--but I think
it much safer upon consideration to say as little as possible about an
affair so delicate--so delicate, I repeat, and at the time involving the
interests of a third party whose sulphurous resentment I have not the
least desire, at this moment, of incurring.

We were not long after this necessary arrangement in effecting an
escape from the dungeons of the sepulchre. The united strength of our
resuscitated voices was soon sufficiently apparent. Scissors, the
Whig editor, republished a treatise upon "the nature and origin
of subterranean noises." A reply--rejoinder--confutation--and
justification--followed in the columns of a Democratic Gazette. It was
not until the opening of the vault to decide the controversy, that the
appearance of Mr. Windenough and myself proved both parties to have been
decidedly in the wrong.

I cannot conclude these details of some very singular passages in a
life at all times sufficiently eventful, without again recalling to the
attention of the reader the merits of that indiscriminate philosophy
which is a sure and ready shield against those shafts of calamity which
can neither be seen, felt nor fully understood. It was in the spirit of
this wisdom that, among the ancient Hebrews, it was believed the gates
of Heaven would be inevitably opened to that sinner, or saint, who, with
good lungs and implicit confidence, should vociferate the word "Amen!"
It was in the spirit of this wisdom that, when a great plague raged
at Athens, and every means had been in vain attempted for its
removal, Epimenides, as Laertius relates, in his second book, of that
philosopher, advised the erection of a shrine and temple "to the proper
God."

LYTTLETON BARRY.




THE MAN THAT WAS USED UP.

A TALE OF THE LATE BUGABOO AND KICKAPOO CAMPAIGN.

     _Pleurez, pleurez, mes yeux, et fondez vous en eau!_

     _La moitie; de ma vie a mis l' autre au tombeau._

      CORNEILLE.

I CANNOT just now remember when or where I first made the acquaintance
of that truly fine-looking fellow, Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.
C. Smith. Some one _did_ introduce me to the gentleman, I am sure--at
some public meeting, I know very well--held about something of great
importance, no doubt--at some place or other, I feel convinced,--whose
name I have unaccountably forgotten. The truth is--that the introduction
was attended, upon my part, with a degree of anxious embarrassment which
operated to prevent any definite impressions of either time or place. I
am constitutionally nervous--this, with me, is a family failing, and I
can't help it. In especial, the slightest appearance of mystery--of any
point I cannot exactly comprehend--puts me at once into a pitiable state
of agitation.

There was something, as it were, remarkable--yes, _remarkable_, although
this is but a feeble term to express my full meaning--about the entire
individuality of the personage in question. He was, perhaps, six feet
in height, and of a presence singularly commanding. There was an _air
distingue_ pervading the whole man, which spoke of high breeding, and
hinted at high birth. Upon this topic--the topic of Smith's personal
appearance--I have a kind of melancholy satisfaction in being minute.
His head of hair would have done honor to a Brutus;--nothing could be
more richly flowing, or possess a brighter gloss. It was of a jetty
black;--which was also the color, or more properly the no color of
his unimaginable whiskers. You perceive I cannot speak of these latter
without enthusiasm; it is not too much to say that they were the
handsomest pair of whiskers under the sun. At all events, they
encircled, and at times partially overshadowed, a mouth utterly
unequalled. Here were the most entirely even, and the most brilliantly
white of all conceivable teeth. From between them, upon every proper
occasion, issued a voice of surpassing clearness, melody, and strength.
In the matter of eyes, also, my acquaintance was pre-eminently endowed.
Either one of such a pair was worth a couple of the ordinary ocular
organs. They were of a deep hazel, exceedingly large and lustrous; and
there was perceptible about them, ever and anon, just that amount of
interesting obliquity which gives pregnancy to expression.

The bust of the General was unquestionably the finest bust I ever
saw. For your life you could not have found a fault with its wonderful
proportion. This rare peculiarity set off to great advantage a pair of
shoulders which would have called up a blush of conscious inferiority
into the countenance of the marble Apollo. I have a passion for fine
shoulders, and may say that I never beheld them in perfection before.
The arms altogether were admirably modelled. Nor were the lower limbs
less superb. These were, indeed, the _ne plus ultra_ of good legs. Every
connoisseur in such matters admitted the legs to be good. There was
neither too much flesh, nor too little,--neither rudeness nor fragility.
I could not imagine a more graceful curve than that of the _os femoris_,
and there was just that due gentle prominence in the rear of the
_fibula_ which goes to the conformation of a properly proportioned calf.
I wish to God my young and talented friend Chiponchipino, the sculptor,
had but seen the legs of Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith.

But although men so absolutely fine-looking are neither as plenty as
reasons or blackberries, still I could not bring myself to believe that
_the remarkable_ something to which I alluded just now,--that the odd
air of _je ne sais quoi_ which hung about my new acquaintance,--lay
altogether, or indeed at all, in the supreme excellence of his bodily
endowments. Perhaps it might be traced to the _manner_;--yet here again
I could not pretend to be positive. There _was_ a primness, not to
say stiffness, in his carriage--a degree of measured, and, if I may
so express it, of rectangular precision, attending his every movement,
which, observed in a more diminutive figure, would have had the least
little savor in the world, of affectation, pomposity or constraint, but
which noticed in a gentleman of his undoubted dimensions, was readily
placed to the account of reserve, _hauteur_--of a commendable sense, in
short, of what is due to the dignity of colossal proportion.

The kind friend who presented me to General Smith whispered in my ear
some few words of comment upon the man. He was a _remarkable_ man--a
_very_ remarkable man--indeed one of the _most_ remarkable men of the
age. He was an especial favorite, too, with the ladies--chiefly on
account of his high reputation for courage.

"In _that_ point he is unrivalled--indeed he is a perfect desperado--a
down-right fire-eater, and no mistake," said my friend, here dropping
his voice excessively low, and thrilling me with the mystery of his
tone.

"A downright fire-eater, and _no_ mistake. Showed _that_, I should say,
to some purpose, in the late tremendous swamp-fight away down South,
with the Bugaboo and Kickapoo Indians." [Here my friend opened his
eyes to some extent.] "Bless my soul!--blood and thunder, and all
that!--_prodigies_ of valor!--heard of him of course?--you know he's the
man"--

"Man alive, how _do_ you do? why, how _are_ ye? _very_ glad to see ye,
indeed!" here interrupted the General himself, seizing my companion by
the hand as he drew near, and bowing stiffly, but profoundly, as I was
presented. I then thought, (and I think so still,) that I never heard
a clearer nor a stronger voice, nor beheld a finer set of teeth: but I
_must_ say that I was sorry for the interruption just at that moment,
as, owing to the whispers and insinuations aforesaid, my interest had
been greatly excited in the hero of the Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign.

However, the delightfully luminous conversation of Brevet Brigadier
General John A. B. C. Smith soon completely dissipated this chagrin. My
friend leaving us immediately, we had quite a long _tete-a-tete_, and
I was not only pleased but _really_--instructed. I never heard a more
fluent talker, or a man of greater general information. With becoming
modesty, he forebore, nevertheless, to touch upon the theme I had just
then most at heart--I mean the mysterious circumstances attending the
Bugaboo war--and, on my own part, what I conceive to be a proper sense
of delicacy forbade me to broach the subject; although, in truth, I was
exceedingly tempted to do so. I perceived, too, that the gallant soldier
preferred topics of philosophical interest, and that he delighted,
especially, in commenting upon the rapid march of mechanical invention.
Indeed, lead him where I would, this was a point to which he invariably
came back.

"There is nothing at all like it," he would say; "we are a
wonderful people, and live in a wonderful age. Parachutes and
rail-roads--man-traps and spring-guns! Our steam-boats are upon every
sea, and the Nassau balloon packet is about to run regular trips (fare
either way only twenty pounds sterling) between London and Timbuctoo.
And who shall calculate the immense influence upon social life--upon
arts--upon commerce--upon literature--which will be the immediate result
of the great principles of electro magnetics! Nor, is this all, let me
assure you! There is really no end to the march of invention. The most
wonderful--the most ingenious--and let me add, Mr.--Mr.--Thompson, I
believe, is your name--let me add, I say, the most _useful_--the most
truly _useful_ mechanical contrivances, are daily springing up
like mushrooms, if I may so express myself, or, more figuratively,
like--ah--grasshoppers--like grasshoppers, Mr. Thompson--about us and
ah--ah--ah--around us!"

Thompson, to be sure, is not my name; but it is needless to say that
I left General Smith with a heightened interest in the man, with an
exalted opinion of his conversational powers, and a deep sense of
the valuable privileges we enjoy in living in this age of mechanical
invention. My curiosity, however, had not been altogether satisfied,
and I resolved to prosecute immediate inquiry among my acquaintances
touching the Brevet Brigadier General himself, and particularly
respecting the tremendous events _quorum pars magna fuit_, during the
Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign.

The first opportunity which presented itself, and which (_horresco
referens_) I did not in the least scruple to seize, occurred at
the Church of the Reverend Doctor Drummummupp, where I found myself
established, one Sunday, just at sermon time, not only in the pew, but
by the side, of that worthy and communicative little friend of mine,
Miss Tabitha T. Thus seated, I congratulated myself, and with much
reason, upon the very flattering state of affairs. If any person knew
anything about Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith, that
person, it was clear to me, was Miss Tabitha T. We telegraphed a few
signals, and then commenced, _soto voce_, a brisk _tete-a-tete_.

"Smith!" said she, in reply to my very earnest inquiry; "Smith!--why,
not General John A. B. C.? Bless me, I thought you _knew_ all about
_him!_ This is a wonderfully inventive age! Horrid affair that!--a
bloody set of wretches, those Kickapoos!--fought like a hero--prodigies
of valor--immortal renown. Smith!--Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.
C.! why, you know he's the man"--

"Man," here broke in Doctor Drummummupp, at the top of his voice, and
with a thump that came near knocking the pulpit about our ears; "man
that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live; he cometh up and
is cut down like a flower!" I started to the extremity of the pew, and
perceived by the animated looks of the divine, that the wrath which had
nearly proved fatal to the pulpit had been excited by the whispers of
the lady and myself. There was no help for it; so I submitted with a
good grace, and listened, in all the martyrdom of dignified silence, to
the balance of that very capital discourse.

Next evening found me a somewhat late visitor at the Rantipole theatre,
where I felt sure of satisfying my curiosity at once, by merely stepping
into the box of those exquisite specimens of affability and omniscience,
the Misses Arabella and Miranda Cognoscenti. That fine tragedian,
Climax, was doing Iago to a very crowded house, and I experienced some
little difficulty in making my wishes understood; especially, as our box
was next the slips, and completely overlooked the stage.

"Smith?" said Miss Arabella, as she at length comprehended the purport
of my query; "Smith?--why, not General John A. B. C.?"

"Smith?" inquired Miranda, musingly. "God bless me, did you ever behold
a finer figure?"

"Never, madam, but _do_ tell me"--

"Or so inimitable grace?"

"Never, upon my word!--But pray inform me"--

"Or so just an appreciation of stage effect?"

"Madam!"

"Or a more delicate sense of the true beauties of Shakespeare? Be so
good as to look at that leg!"

"The devil!" and I turned again to her sister.

"Smith?" said she, "why, not General John A. B. C.? Horrid affair that,
wasn't it?--great wretches, those Bugaboos--savage and so on--but we
live in a wonderfully inventive age!--Smith!--O yes! great man!--perfect
desperado--immortal renown--prodigies of valor! _Never heard!_" [This
was given in a scream.] "Bless my soul! why, he's the man"--

                         "-----mandragora
     Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world
     Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
     Which thou owd'st yesterday!"

here roared our Climax just in my ear, and shaking his fist in my face
all the time, in a way that I _couldn't_ stand, and I _wouldn't_. I left
the Misses Cognoscenti immediately, went behind the scenes forthwith,
and gave the beggarly scoundrel such a thrashing as I trust he will
remember to the day of his death.

At the _soiree_ of the lovely widow, Mrs. Kathleen O'Trump, I
was confident that I should meet with no similar disappointment.
Accordingly, I was no sooner seated at the card-table, with my pretty
hostess for a _vis-a-vis_, than I propounded those questions the
solution of which had become a matter so essential to my peace.

"Smith?" said my partner, "why, not General John A. B. C.? Horrid
affair that, wasn't it?--diamonds, did you say?--terrible wretches those
Kickapoos!--we are playing _whist_, if you please, Mr. Tattle--however,
this is the age of invention, most certainly _the_ age, one
may say--_the_ age _par excellence_--speak French?--oh, quite a
hero--perfect desperado!--_no hearts_, Mr. Tattle? I don't believe
it!--immortal renown and all that!--prodigies of valor! _Never
heard!!_--why, bless me, he's the man"--

"Mann?--_Captain_ Mann?" here screamed some little feminine interloper
from the farthest corner of the room. "Are you talking about Captain
Mann and the duel?--oh, I _must_ hear--do tell--go on, Mrs. O'Trump!--do
now go on!" And go on Mrs. O'Trump did--all about a certain Captain
Mann, who was either shot or hung, or should have been both shot and
hung. Yes! Mrs. O'Trump, she went on, and I--I went off. There was no
chance of hearing anything farther that evening in regard to Brevet
Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith.

Still I consoled myself with the reflection that the tide of ill luck
would not run against me forever, and so determined to make a bold
push for information at the rout of that bewitching little angel, the
graceful Mrs. Pirouette.

"Smith?" said Mrs. P., as we twirled about together in a _pas de
zephyr_, "Smith?--why, not General John A. B. C.? Dreadful business that
of the Bugaboos, wasn't it?--dreadful creatures, those Indians!--_do_
turn out your toes! I really am ashamed of you--man of great courage,
poor fellow!--but this is a wonderful age for invention--O dear me,
I'm out of breath--quite a desperado--prodigies of valor--_never
heard!!_--can't believe it--I shall have to sit down and enlighten
you--Smith! why, he's the man"--

"Man-_Fred_, I tell you!" here bawled out Miss Bas-Bleu, as I led Mrs.
Pirouette to a seat. "Did ever anybody hear the like? It's Man-_Fred_,
I say, and not at all by any means Man-_Friday_." Here Miss Bas-Bleu
beckoned to me in a very peremptory manner; and I was obliged, will I
nill I, to leave Mrs. P. for the purpose of deciding a dispute touching
the title of a certain poetical drama of Lord Byron's. Although I
pronounced, with great promptness, that the true title was Man-_Friday_,
and not by any means Man-_Fred_, yet when I returned to seek Mrs.
Pirouette she was not to be discovered, and I made my retreat from the
house in a very bitter spirit of animosity against the whole race of the
Bas-Bleus.

Matters had now assumed a really serious aspect, and I resolved to call
at once upon my particular friend, Mr. Theodore Sinivate; for I knew
that here at least I should get something like definite information.

"Smith?" said he, in his well-known peculiar way of drawling out his
syllables; "Smith?--why, not General John A. B. C.? Savage affair that
with the Kickapo-o-o-os, wasn't it? Say! don't you think so?--perfect
despera-a-ado--great pity, 'pon my honor!--wonderfully inventive
age!--pro-o-odigies of valor! By the by, did you ever hear about Captain
Ma-a-a-a-n?"

"Captain Mann be d--d!" said I; "please to go on with your story."

"Hem!--oh well!--quite _la meme cho-o-ose_, as we say in France. Smith,
eh? Brigadier-General John A. B. C.? I say"--[here Mr. S. thought proper
to put his finger to the side of his nose]--"I say, you don't mean to
insinuate now, really and truly, and conscientiously, that you don't
know all about that affair of Smith's, as well as I do, eh? Smith? John
A-B-C.? Why, bless me, he's the ma-a-an"--

"_Mr_. Sinivate," said I, imploringly, "_is_ he the man in the mask?"

"No-o-o!" said he, looking wise, "nor the man in the mo-o-on."

This reply I considered a pointed and positive insult, and so left the
house at once in high dudgeon, with a firm resolve to call my friend,
Mr. Sinivate, to a speedy account for his ungentlemanly conduct and
ill-breeding.

In the meantime, however, I had no notion of being thwarted touching the
information I desired. There was one resource left me yet. I would go to
the fountain-head. I would call forthwith upon the General himself,
and demand, in explicit terms, a solution of this abominable piece of
mystery. Here, at least, there should be no chance for equivocation. I
would be plain, positive, peremptory--as short as pie-crust--as concise
as Tacitus or Montesquieu.

It was early when I called, and the General was dressing; but I pleaded
urgent business, and was shown at once into his bed-room by an old <DW64>
valet, who remained in attendance during my visit. As I entered the
chamber, I looked about, of course, for the occupant, but did not
immediately perceive him. There was a large and exceedingly odd-looking
bundle of something which lay close by my feet on the floor, and, as I
was not in the best humor in the world, I gave it a kick out of the way.

"Hem! ahem! rather civil that, I should say!" said the bundle, in one
of the smallest, and altogether the funniest little voices, between a
squeak and a whistle, that I ever heard in all the days of my existence.

"Ahem! rather civil that, I should observe."

I fairly shouted with terror, and made off, at a tangent, into the
farthest extremity of the room.

"God bless me! my dear fellow," here again whistled the bundle,
"what--what--what--why, what _is_ the matter? I really believe you don't
know me at all."

What _could_ I say to all this--what _could_ I? I staggered into an
arm-chair, and, with staring eyes and open mouth, awaited the solution
of the wonder.

"Strange you shouldn't know me though, isn't it?" presently re-squeaked
the nondescript, which I now perceived was performing, upon the floor,
some inexplicable evolution, very analogous to the drawing on of a
stocking. There was only a single leg, however, apparent.

"Strange you shouldn't know me, though, isn't it? Pompey, bring me that
leg!" Here Pompey handed the bundle, a very capital cork leg, already
dressed, which it screwed on in a trice; and then it stood up before my
eyes.

"And a bloody action it _was_," continued the thing, as if in a
soliloquy; "but then one mustn't fight with the Bugaboos and Kickapoos,
and think of coming off with a mere scratch. Pompey, I'll thank you now
for that arm. Thomas" [turning to me] "is decidedly the best hand at a
cork leg; but if you should ever want an arm, my dear fellow, you must
really let me recommend you to Bishop." Here Pompey screwed on an arm.

"We had rather hot work of it, that you may say. Now, you dog, slip
on my shoulders and bosom! Pettitt makes the best shoulders, but for a
bosom you will have to go to Ducrow."

"Bosom!" said I.

"Pompey, will you _never_ be ready with that wig? Scalping is a rough
process after all; but then you can procure such a capital scratch at De
L'Orme's."

"Scratch!"

"Now, you <DW65>, my teeth! For a _good_ set of these you had better go
to Parmly's at once; high prices, but excellent work. I swallowed some
very capital articles, though, when the big Bugaboo rammed me down with
the butt end of his rifle."

"Butt end! ram down!! my eye!!"

"O yes, by-the-by, my eye--here, Pompey, you scamp, screw it in ! Those
Kickapoos are not so very slow at a gouge; but he's a belied man, that
Dr. Williams, after all; you can't imagine how well I see with the eyes
of his make."

I now began very clearly to perceive that the object before me was
nothing more nor less than my new acquaintance, Brevet Brigadier General
John A. B. C. Smith. The manipulations of Pompey had made, I must
confess, a very striking difference in the appearance of the personal
man. The voice, however, still puzzled me no little; but even this
apparent mystery was speedily cleared up.

"Pompey, you black rascal," squeaked the General, "I really do believe
you would let me go out without my palate."

Hereupon, the <DW64>, grumbling out an apology, went up to his master,
opened his mouth with the knowing air of a horse-jockey, and adjusted
therein a somewhat singular-looking machine, in a very dexterous manner,
that I could not altogether comprehend. The alteration, however, in the
entire expression of the General's countenance was instantaneous and
surprising. When he again spoke, his voice had resumed all that rich
melody and strength which I had noticed upon our original introduction.

"D--n the vagabonds!" said he, in so clear a tone that I positively
started at the change, "D--n the vagabonds! they not only knocked in the
roof of my mouth, but took the trouble to cut off at least seven-eighths
of my tongue. There isn't Bonfanti's equal, however, in America, for
really good articles of this description. I can recommend you to him
with confidence," [here the General bowed,] "and assure you that I have
the greatest pleasure in so doing."

I acknowledged his kindness in my best manner, and took leave of him at
once, with a perfect understanding of the true state of affairs--with a
full comprehension of the mystery which had troubled me so long. It was
evident. It was a clear case. Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C.
Smith was the man--was _the man that was used up_.




THE BUSINESS MAN

     Method is the soul of business.--OLD SAYING.

I AM a business man. I am a methodical man. Method is the thing, after
all. But there are no people I more heartily despise than your eccentric
fools who prate about method without understanding it; attending
strictly to its letter, and violating its spirit. These fellows are
always doing the most out-of-the-way things in what they call an
orderly manner. Now here, I conceive, is a positive paradox. True method
appertains to the ordinary and the obvious alone, and cannot be applied
to the outre. What definite idea can a body attach to such expressions
as "methodical Jack o' Dandy," or "a systematical Will o' the Wisp"?

My notions upon this head might not have been so clear as they are, but
for a fortunate accident which happened to me when I was a very little
boy. A good-hearted old Irish nurse (whom I shall not forget in my will)
took me up one day by the heels, when I was making more noise than was
necessary, and swinging me round two or knocked my head into a cocked
hat against the bedpost. This, I say, decided my fate, and made my
fortune. A bump arose at once on my sinciput, and turned out to be as
pretty an organ of order as one shall see on a summer's day. Hence
that positive appetite for system and regularity which has made me the
distinguished man of business that I am.

If there is any thing on earth I hate, it is a genius. Your geniuses
are all arrant asses--the greater the genius the greater the ass--and to
this rule there is no exception whatever. Especially, you cannot make
a man of business out of a genius, any more than money out of a Jew, or
the best nutmegs out of pine-knots. The creatures are always going off
at a tangent into some fantastic employment, or ridiculous speculation,
entirely at variance with the "fitness of things," and having no
business whatever to be considered as a business at all. Thus you may
tell these characters immediately by the nature of their occupations. If
you ever perceive a man setting up as a merchant or a manufacturer,
or going into the cotton or tobacco trade, or any of those eccentric
pursuits; or getting to be a drygoods dealer, or soap-boiler, or
something of that kind; or pretending to be a lawyer, or a blacksmith,
or a physician--any thing out of the usual way--you may set him down at
once as a genius, and then, according to the rule-of-three, he's an ass.

Now I am not in any respect a genius, but a regular business man. My
Day-book and Ledger will evince this in a minute. They are well kept,
though I say it myself; and, in my general habits of accuracy and
punctuality, I am not to be beat by a clock. Moreover, my occupations
have been always made to chime in with the ordinary habitudes of my
fellowmen. Not that I feel the least indebted, upon this score, to my
exceedingly weak-minded parents, who, beyond doubt, would have made an
arrant genius of me at last, if my guardian angel had not come, in
good time, to the rescue. In biography the truth is every thing, and in
autobiography it is especially so--yet I scarcely hope to be believed
when I state, however solemnly, that my poor father put me, when I was
about fifteen years of age, into the counting-house of what be termed
"a respectable hardware and commission merchant doing a capital bit of
business!" A capital bit of fiddlestick! However, the consequence of
this folly was, that in two or three days, I had to be sent home to my
button-headed family in a high state of fever, and with a most violent
and dangerous pain in the sinciput, all around about my organ of order.
It was nearly a gone case with me then--just touch-and-go for six
weeks--the physicians giving me up and all that sort of thing. But,
although I suffered much, I was a thankful boy in the main. I was saved
from being a "respectable hardware and commission merchant, doing a
capital bit of business," and I felt grateful to the protuberance which
had been the means of my salvation, as well as to the kindhearted female
who had originally put these means within my reach.

The most of boys run away from home at ten or twelve years of age, but
I waited till I was sixteen. I don't know that I should have gone even
then, if I had not happened to hear my old mother talk about setting me
up on my own hook in the grocery way. The grocery way!--only think of
that! I resolved to be off forthwith, and try and establish myself in
some decent occupation, without dancing attendance any longer upon the
caprices of these eccentric old people, and running the risk of being
made a genius of in the end. In this project I succeeded perfectly well
at the first effort, and by the time I was fairly eighteen, found
myself doing an extensive and profitable business in the Tailor's
Walking-Advertisement line.

I was enabled to discharge the onerous duties of this profession, only
by that rigid adherence to system which formed the leading feature of
my mind. A scrupulous method characterized my actions as well as my
accounts. In my case it was method--not money--which made the man: at
least all of him that was not made by the tailor whom I served. At nine,
every morning, I called upon that individual for the clothes of the day.
Ten o'clock found me in some fashionable promenade or other place of
public amusement. The precise regularity with which I turned my handsome
person about, so as to bring successively into view every portion of
the suit upon my back, was the admiration of all the knowing men in
the trade. Noon never passed without my bringing home a customer to the
house of my employers, Messrs. Cut & Comeagain. I say this proudly,
but with tears in my eyes--for the firm proved themselves the basest
of ingrates. The little account, about which we quarreled and finally
parted, cannot, in any item, be thought overcharged, by gentlemen really
conversant with the nature of the business. Upon this point, however,
I feel a degree of proud satisfaction in permitting the reader to judge
for himself. My bill ran thus:

  Messrs. Cut & Comeagain, Merchant Tailors.
  To Peter Proffit, Walking Advertiser, Drs.
  JULY 10.--to promenade, as usual and customer brought home... $00
  25
  JULY 11.--To do do do 25
  JULY 12.--To one lie, second class; damaged black cloth sold for
  invisible green............................................... 25

  JULY 13.--To one lie, first class, extra quality and size;
  recommended milled satinet as broadcloth...................... 75

  JULY 20.--To purchasing bran new paper shirt collar or dickey, to
  set off gray Petersham..................................... 02

  AUG. 15.--To wearing double-padded bobtail frock, (thermometer 106
  in the shade)............................................. 25

  AUG. 16.--Standing on one leg three hours, to show off new-style
  strapped pants at 12 1/2 cents per leg per hour............. 37 1/2

  AUG. 17.--To promenade, as usual, and large customer brought (fat
  man)..................................................... 50

  AUG. 18.--To do do (medium size)................. 25

  AUG. 19.--To do do (small man and bad pay)....... 06

  TOTAL [sic] $2 95 1/2

The item chiefly disputed in this bill was the very moderate charge
of two pennies for the dickey. Upon my word of honor, this was not
an unreasonable price for that dickey. It was one of the cleanest and
prettiest little dickeys I ever saw; and I have good reason to believe
that it effected the sale of three Petershams. The elder partner of the
firm, however, would allow me only one penny of the charge, and took it
upon himself to show in what manner four of the same sized conveniences
could be got out of a sheet of foolscap. But it is needless to say
that I stood upon the principle of the thing. Business is business,
and should be done in a business way. There was no system whatever in
swindling me out of a penny--a clear fraud of fifty per cent--no
method in any respect. I left at once the employment of Messrs. Cut &
Comeagain, and set up in the Eye-Sore line by myself--one of the most
lucrative, respectable, and independent of the ordinary occupations.

My strict integrity, economy, and rigorous business habits, here again
came into play. I found myself driving a flourishing trade, and soon
became a marked man upon 'Change. The truth is, I never dabbled in
flashy matters, but jogged on in the good old sober routine of the
calling--a calling in which I should, no doubt, have remained to the
present hour, but for a little accident which happened to me in the
prosecution of one of the usual business operations of the profession.
Whenever a rich old hunks or prodigal heir or bankrupt corporation gets
into the notion of putting up a palace, there is no such thing in the
world as stopping either of them, and this every intelligent person
knows. The fact in question is indeed the basis of the Eye-Sore trade.
As soon, therefore, as a building-project is fairly afoot by one
of these parties, we merchants secure a nice corner of the lot in
contemplation, or a prime little situation just adjoining, or tight in
front. This done, we wait until the palace is half-way up, and then we
pay some tasty architect to run us up an ornamental mud hovel, right
against it; or a Down-East or Dutch Pagoda, or a pig-sty, or an
ingenious little bit of fancy work, either Esquimau, Kickapoo, or
Hottentot. Of course we can't afford to take these structures down under
a bonus of five hundred per cent upon the prime cost of our lot and
plaster. Can we? I ask the question. I ask it of business men. It would
be irrational to suppose that we can. And yet there was a rascally
corporation which asked me to do this very thing--this very thing! I did
not reply to their absurd proposition, of course; but I felt it a duty
to go that same night, and lamp-black the whole of their palace. For
this the unreasonable villains clapped me into jail; and the gentlemen
of the Eye-Sore trade could not well avoid cutting my connection when I
came out.

The Assault-and-Battery business, into which I was now forced to
adventure for a livelihood, was somewhat ill-adapted to the delicate
nature of my constitution; but I went to work in it with a good heart,
and found my account here, as heretofore, in those stern habits of
methodical accuracy which had been thumped into me by that delightful
old nurse--I would indeed be the basest of men not to remember her
well in my will. By observing, as I say, the strictest system in all my
dealings, and keeping a well-regulated set of books, I was enabled to
get over many serious difficulties, and, in the end, to establish myself
very decently in the profession. The truth is, that few individuals, in
any line, did a snugger little business than I. I will just copy a page
or so out of my Day-Book; and this will save me the necessity of blowing
my own trumpet--a contemptible practice of which no high-minded man will
be guilty. Now, the Day-Book is a thing that don't lie.

"Jan. 1.--New Year's Day. Met Snap in the street, groggy. Mem--he'll
do. Met Gruff shortly afterward, blind drunk. Mem--he'll answer, too.
Entered both gentlemen in my Ledger, and opened a running account with
each.

"Jan. 2.--Saw Snap at the Exchange, and went up and trod on his toe.
Doubled his fist and knocked me down. Good!--got up again. Some trifling
difficulty with Bag, my attorney. I want the damages at a thousand, but
he says that for so simple a knock down we can't lay them at more than
five hundred. Mem--must get rid of Bag--no system at all.

"Jan. 3--Went to the theatre, to look for Gruff. Saw him sitting in a
side box, in the second tier, between a fat lady and a lean one. Quizzed
the whole party through an opera-glass, till I saw the fat lady blush
and whisper to G. Went round, then, into the box, and put my nose within
reach of his hand. Wouldn't pull it--no go. Blew it, and tried again--no
go. Sat down then, and winked at the lean lady, when I had the high
satisfaction of finding him lift me up by the nape of the neck, and
fling me over into the pit. Neck dislocated, and right leg capitally
splintered. Went home in high glee, drank a bottle of champagne, and
booked the young man for five thousand. Bag says it'll do.

"Feb. 15--Compromised the case of Mr. Snap. Amount entered in
Journal--fifty cents--which see.

"Feb. 16.--Cast by that ruffian, Gruff, who made me a present of
five dollars. Costs of suit, four dollars and twenty-five cents. Nett
profit,--see Journal,--seventy-five cents."

Now, here is a clear gain, in a very brief period, of no less than one
dollar and twenty-five cents--this is in the mere cases of Snap and
Gruff; and I solemnly assure the reader that these extracts are taken at
random from my Day-Book.

It's an old saying, and a true one, however, that money is nothing in
comparison with health. I found the exactions of the profession somewhat
too much for my delicate state of body; and, discovering, at last, that
I was knocked all out of shape, so that I didn't know very well what
to make of the matter, and so that my friends, when they met me in the
street, couldn't tell that I was Peter Proffit at all, it occurred to me
that the best expedient I could adopt was to alter my line of business.
I turned my attention, therefore, to Mud-Dabbling, and continued it for
some years.

The worst of this occupation is, that too many people take a fancy to
it, and the competition is in consequence excessive. Every ignoramus of
a fellow who finds that he hasn't brains in sufficient quantity to
make his way as a walking advertiser, or an eye-sore prig, or a
salt-and-batter man, thinks, of course, that he'll answer very well as
a dabbler of mud. But there never was entertained a more erroneous idea
than that it requires no brains to mud-dabble. Especially, there is
nothing to be made in this way without method. I did only a retail
business myself, but my old habits of system carried me swimmingly
along. I selected my street-crossing, in the first place, with great
deliberation, and I never put down a broom in any part of the town but
that. I took care, too, to have a nice little puddle at hand, which I
could get at in a minute. By these means I got to be well known as a
man to be trusted; and this is one-half the battle, let me tell you, in
trade. Nobody ever failed to pitch me a copper, and got over my crossing
with a clean pair of pantaloons. And, as my business habits, in this
respect, were sufficiently understood, I never met with any attempt at
imposition. I wouldn't have put up with it, if I had. Never imposing
upon any one myself, I suffered no one to play the possum with me. The
frauds of the banks of course I couldn't help. Their suspension put
me to ruinous inconvenience. These, however, are not individuals, but
corporations; and corporations, it is very well known, have neither
bodies to be kicked nor souls to be damned.

I was making money at this business when, in an evil moment, I was
induced to merge it in the Cur-Spattering--a somewhat analogous, but, by
no means, so respectable a profession. My location, to be sure, was an
excellent one, being central, and I had capital blacking and brushes. My
little dog, too, was quite fat and up to all varieties of snuff. He
had been in the trade a long time, and, I may say, understood it. Our
general routine was this:--Pompey, having rolled himself well in
the mud, sat upon end at the shop door, until he observed a dandy
approaching in bright boots. He then proceeded to meet him, and gave the
Wellingtons a rub or two with his wool. Then the dandy swore very much,
and looked about for a boot-black. There I was, full in his view, with
blacking and brushes. It was only a minute's work, and then came a
sixpence. This did moderately well for a time;--in fact, I was not
avaricious, but my dog was. I allowed him a third of the profit, but he
was advised to insist upon half. This I couldn't stand--so we quarrelled
and parted.

I next tried my hand at the Organ-Grinding for a while, and may say that
I made out pretty well. It is a plain, straightforward business, and
requires no particular abilities. You can get a music-mill for a mere
song, and to put it in order, you have but to open the works, and give
them three or four smart raps with a hammer. In improves the tone of the
thing, for business purposes, more than you can imagine. This done, you
have only to stroll along, with the mill on your back, until you see
tanbark in the street, and a knocker wrapped up in buckskin. Then you
stop and grind; looking as if you meant to stop and grind till doomsday.
Presently a window opens, and somebody pitches you a sixpence, with a
request to "Hush up and go on," etc. I am aware that some grinders have
actually afforded to "go on" for this sum; but for my part, I found the
necessary outlay of capital too great to permit of my "going on" under a
shilling.

At this occupation I did a good deal; but, somehow, I was not quite
satisfied, and so finally abandoned it. The truth is, I labored under
the disadvantage of having no monkey--and American streets are so muddy,
and a Democratic rabble is so obstrusive, and so full of demnition
mischievous little boys.

I was now out of employment for some months, but at length succeeded, by
dint of great interest, in procuring a situation in the Sham-Post.
The duties, here, are simple, and not altogether unprofitable. For
example:--very early in the morning I had to make up my packet of sham
letters. Upon the inside of each of these I had to scrawl a few lines on
any subject which occurred to me as sufficiently mysterious--signing
all the epistles Tom Dobson, or Bobby Tompkins, or anything in that way.
Having folded and sealed all, and stamped them with sham postmarks--New
Orleans, Bengal, Botany Bay, or any other place a great way off--I set
out, forthwith, upon my daily route, as if in a very great hurry. I
always called at the big houses to deliver the letters, and receive
the postage. Nobody hesitates at paying for a letter--especially for a
double one--people are such fools--and it was no trouble to get round
a corner before there was time to open the epistles. The worst of
this profession was, that I had to walk so much and so fast; and
so frequently to vary my route. Besides, I had serious scruples of
conscience. I can't bear to hear innocent individuals abused--and the
way the whole town took to cursing Tom Dobson and Bobby Tompkins was
really awful to hear. I washed my hands of the matter in disgust.

My eighth and last speculation has been in the Cat-Growing way. I have
found that a most pleasant and lucrative business, and, really, no
trouble at all. The country, it is well known, has become infested with
cats--so much so of late, that a petition for relief, most numerously
and respectably signed, was brought before the Legislature at its
late memorable session. The Assembly, at this epoch, was unusually
well-informed, and, having passed many other wise and wholesome
enactments, it crowned all with the Cat-Act. In its original form, this
law offered a premium for cat-heads (fourpence a-piece), but the Senate
succeeded in amending the main clause, so as to substitute the word
"tails" for "heads." This amendment was so obviously proper, that the
House concurred in it nem. con.

As soon as the governor had signed the bill, I invested my whole estate
in the purchase of Toms and Tabbies. At first I could only afford to
feed them upon mice (which are cheap), but they fulfilled the scriptural
injunction at so marvellous a rate, that I at length considered it my
best policy to be liberal, and so indulged them in oysters and turtle.
Their tails, at a legislative price, now bring me in a good income; for
I have discovered a way, in which, by means of Macassar oil, I can force
three crops in a year. It delights me to find, too, that the animals
soon get accustomed to the thing, and would rather have the appendages
cut off than otherwise. I consider myself, therefore, a made man, and am
bargaining for a country seat on the Hudson.




THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN

     The garden like a lady fair was cut
     That lay as if she slumbered in delight,
     And to the open skies her eyes did shut;
     The azure fields of heaven were 'sembled right
     In a large round set with flow'rs of light:
     The flowers de luce and the round sparks of dew
     That hung upon their azure leaves, did show
     Like twinkling stars that sparkle in the ev'ning blue.
                  --GILES FLETCHER

NO MORE remarkable man ever lived than my friend, the young Ellison. He
was remarkable in the entire and continuous profusion of good gifts ever
lavished upon him by fortune. From his cradle to his grave, a gale of
the blandest prosperity bore him along. Nor do I use the word Prosperity
in its mere wordly or external sense. I mean it as synonymous with
happiness. The person of whom I speak, seemed born for the purpose
of foreshadowing the wild doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley, and
Condorcet--of exemplifying, by individual instance, what has been
deemed the mere chimera of the perfectionists. In the brief existence
of Ellison, I fancy, that I have seen refuted the dogma--that in
man's physical and spiritual nature, lies some hidden principle, the
antagonist of Bliss. An intimate and anxious examination of his career,
has taught me to understand that, in general, from the violation of a
few simple laws of Humanity, arises the Wretchedness of mankind; that,
as a species, we have in our possession the as yet unwrought elements
of Content,--and that even now, in the present blindness and darkness
of all idea on the great question of the Social Condition, it is not
impossible that Man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly
fortuitous conditions, may be happy.

With opinions such as these was my young friend fully imbued; and thus
is it especially worthy of observation that the uninterrupted enjoyment
which distinguished his life was in great part the result of preconcert.
It is, indeed evident, that with less of the instinctive philosophy
which, now and then, stands so well in the stead of experience, Mr.
Ellison would have found himself precipitated, by the very extraordinary
successes of his life, into the common vortex of Unhappiness which yawns
for those of preeminent endowments. But it is by no means my present
object to pen an essay on Happiness. The ideas of my friend may be
summed up in a few words. He admitted but four unvarying laws, or rather
elementary principles, of Bliss. That which he considered chief, was
(strange to say!) the simple and purely physical one of free exercise
in the open air. "The health," he said, "attainable by other means
than this is scarcely worth the name." He pointed to the tillers of the
earth--the only people who, as a class, are proverbially more happy than
others--and then he instanced the high ecstasies of the fox-hunter. His
second principle was the love of woman. His third was the contempt of
ambition. His fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held
that, other things being equal, the extent of happiness was proportioned
to the spirituality of this object.

I have said that Ellison was remarkable in the continuous profusion of
good gifts lavished upon him by Fortune. In personal grace and beauty
he exceeded all men. His intellect was of that order to which the
attainment of knowledge is less a labor than a necessity and an
intuition. His family was one of the most illustrious of the empire. His
bride was the loveliest and most devoted of women. His possessions had
been always ample; but, upon the attainment of his one and twentieth
year, it was discovered that one of those extraordinary freaks of Fate
had been played in his behalf which startle the whole social world amid
which they occur, and seldom fail radically to alter the entire moral
constitution of those who are their objects. It appears that about one
hundred years prior to Mr. Ellison's attainment of his majority,
there had died, in a remote province, one Mr. Seabright Ellison. This
gentlemen had amassed a princely fortune, and, having no very immediate
connexions, conceived the whim of suffering his wealth to accumulate
for a century after his decease. Minutely and sagaciously directing the
various modes of investment, he bequeathed the aggregate amount to the
nearest of blood, bearing the name Ellison, who should be alive at the
end of the hundred years. Many futile attempts had been made to set
aside this singular bequest; their ex post facto character rendered them
abortive; but the attention of a jealous government was aroused, and a
decree finally obtained, forbidding all similar accumulations. This act
did not prevent young Ellison, upon his twenty-first birth-day, from
entering into possession, as the heir of his ancestor, Seabright, of a
fortune of four hundred and fifty millions of dollars. {*1}

When it had become definitely known that such was the enormous wealth
inherited, there were, of course, many speculations as to the mode
of its disposal. The gigantic magnitude and the immediately available
nature of the sum, dazzled and bewildered all who thought upon the
topic. The possessor of any appreciable amount of money might have been
imagined to perform any one of a thousand things. With riches merely
surpassing those of any citizen, it would have been easy to suppose him
engaging to supreme excess in the fashionable extravagances of his time;
or busying himself with political intrigues; or aiming at ministerial
power, or purchasing increase of nobility, or devising gorgeous
architectural piles; or collecting large specimens of Virtu; or playing
the munificent patron of Letters and Art; or endowing and bestowing his
name upon extensive institutions of charity. But, for the inconceivable
wealth in the actual possession of the young heir, these objects and
all ordinary objects were felt to be inadequate. Recourse was had to
figures; and figures but sufficed to confound. It was seen, that even at
three per cent, the annual income of the inheritance amounted to no less
than thirteen millions and five hundred thousand dollars; which was
one million and one hundred and twenty-five thousand per month; or
thirty-six thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six per day, or one
thousand five hundred and forty-one per hour, or six and twenty dollars
for every minute that flew. Thus the usual track of supposition was
thoroughly broken up. Men knew not what to imagine. There were some who
even conceived that Mr. Ellison would divest himself forthwith of at
least two-thirds of his fortune as of utterly superfluous opulence;
enriching whole troops of his relatives by division of his
superabundance.

I was not surprised, however, to perceive that he had long made up his
mind upon a topic which had occasioned so much of discussion to his
friends. Nor was I greatly astonished at the nature of his decision. In
the widest and noblest sense, he was a poet. He comprehended, moreover,
the true character, the august aims, the supreme majesty and dignity
of the poetic sentiment. The proper gratification of the sentiment he
instinctively felt to lie in the creation of novel forms of Beauty. Some
peculiarities, either in his early education, or in the nature of his
intellect, had tinged with what is termed materialism the whole cast
of his ethical speculations; and it was this bias, perhaps, which
imperceptibly led him to perceive that the most advantageous, if not the
sole legitimate field for the exercise of the poetic sentiment, was to
be found in the creation of novel moods of purely physical loveliness.
Thus it happened that he became neither musician nor poet; if we use
this latter term in its every--day acceptation. Or it might have been
that he became neither the one nor the other, in pursuance of an idea
of his which I have already mentioned--the idea, that in the contempt of
ambition lay one of the essential principles of happiness on earth.
Is it not, indeed, possible that while a high order of genius is
necessarily ambitious, the highest is invariably above that which is
termed ambition? And may it not thus happen that many far greater than
Milton, have contentedly remained "mute and inglorious?" I believe
the world has never yet seen, and that, unless through some series of
accidents goading the noblest order of mind into distasteful exertion,
the world will never behold, that full extent of triumphant execution,
in the richer productions of Art, of which the human nature is
absolutely capable.

Mr. Ellison became neither musician nor poet; although no man lived
more profoundly enamored both of Music and the Muse. Under other
circumstances than those which invested him, it is not impossible that
he would have become a painter. The field of sculpture, although in
its nature rigidly poetical, was too limited in its extent and in its
consequences, to have occupied, at any time, much of his attention. And
I have now mentioned all the provinces in which even the most liberal
understanding of the poetic sentiment has declared this sentiment
capable of expatiating. I mean the most liberal public or recognized
conception of the idea involved in the phrase "poetic sentiment." But
Mr. Ellison imagined that the richest, and altogether the most natural
and most suitable province, had been blindly neglected. No definition
had spoken of the Landscape-Gardener, as of the poet; yet my friend
could not fail to perceive that the creation of the Landscape-Garden
offered to the true muse the most magnificent of opportunities.
Here was, indeed, the fairest field for the display of invention, or
imagination, in the endless combining of forms of novel Beauty; the
elements which should enter into combination being, at all times, and by
a vast superiority, the most glorious which the earth could afford.
In the multiform of the tree, and in the multicolor of the flower, he
recognized the most direct and the most energetic efforts of Nature
at physical loveliness. And in the direction or concentration of this
effort, or, still more properly, in its adaption to the eyes which were
to behold it upon earth, he perceived that he should be employing the
best means--laboring to the greatest advantage--in the fulfilment of his
destiny as Poet.

"Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth." In his
explanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much towards solving
what has always seemed to me an enigma. I mean the fact (which none but
the ignorant dispute,) that no such combinations of scenery exist in
Nature as the painter of genius has in his power to produce. No such
Paradises are to be found in reality as have glowed upon the canvass of
Claude. In the most enchanting of natural landscapes, there will always
be found a defect or an excess--many excesses and defects. While the
component parts may exceed, individually, the highest skill of the
artist, the arrangement of the parts will always be susceptible of
improvement. In short, no position can be attained, from which an
artistical eye, looking steadily, will not find matter of offence, in
what is technically termed the composition of a natural landscape.
And yet how unintelligible is this! In all other matters we are justly
instructed to regard Nature as supreme. With her details we shrink from
competition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or to
improve the proportions of the lily of the valley? The criticism which
says, of sculpture or of portraiture, that "Nature is to be exalted
rather than imitated," is in error. No pictorial or sculptural
combinations of points of human loveliness, do more than approach the
living and breathing human beauty as it gladdens our daily path. Byron,
who often erred, erred not in saying, I've seen more living beauty, ripe
and real, than all the nonsense of their stone ideal. In landscape alone
is the principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth here,
it is but the headlong spirit of generalization which has induced him to
pronounce it true throughout all the domains of Art. Having, I say,
felt its truth here. For the feeling is no affectation or chimera. The
mathematics afford no more absolute demonstrations, than the sentiment
of his Art yields to the artist. He not only believes, but positively
knows, that such and such apparently arbitrary arrangements of matter,
or form, constitute, and alone constitute, the true Beauty. Yet his
reasons have not yet been matured into expression. It remains for a more
profound analysis than the world has yet seen, fully to investigate and
express them. Nevertheless is he confirmed in his instinctive opinions,
by the concurrence of all his compeers. Let a composition be defective,
let an emendation be wrought in its mere arrangement of form; let this
emendation be submitted to every artist in the world; by each will its
necessity be admitted. And even far more than this, in remedy of the
defective composition, each insulated member of the fraternity will
suggest the identical emendation.

I repeat that in landscape arrangements, or collocations alone, is the
physical Nature susceptible of "exaltation" and that, therefore, her
susceptibility of improvement at this one point, was a mystery which,
hitherto I had been unable to solve. It was Mr. Ellison who first
suggested the idea that what we regarded as improvement or exaltation
of the natural beauty, was really such, as respected only the mortal
or human point of view; that each alteration or disturbance of the
primitive scenery might possibly effect a blemish in the picture, if we
could suppose this picture viewed at large from some remote point in the
heavens. "It is easily understood," says Mr. Ellison, "that what might
improve a closely scrutinized detail, might, at the same time, injure a
general and more distantly--observed effect." He spoke upon this topic
with warmth: regarding not so much its immediate or obvious importance,
(which is little,) as the character of the conclusions to which it
might lead, or of the collateral propositions which it might serve to
corroborate or sustain. There might be a class of beings, human once,
but now to humanity invisible, for whose scrutiny and for whose refined
appreciation of the beautiful, more especially than for our own, had
been set in order by God the great landscape-garden of the whole earth.

In the course of our discussion, my young friend took occasion to quote
some passages from a writer who has been supposed to have well treated
this theme.

"There are, properly," he writes, "but two styles of
landscape-gardening, the natural and the artificial. One seeks to
recall the original beauty of the country, by adapting its means to
the surrounding scenery; cultivating trees in harmony with the hills
or plain of the neighboring land; detecting and bringing into practice
those nice relations of size, proportion and color which, hid from the
common observer, are revealed everywhere to the experienced student of
nature. The result of the natural style of gardening, is seen rather
in the absence of all defects and incongruities--in the prevalence of a
beautiful harmony and order, than in the creation of any special wonders
or miracles. The artificial style has as many varieties as there are
different tastes to gratify. It has a certain general relation to
the various styles of building. There are the stately avenues and
retirements of Versailles; Italian terraces; and a various mixed old
English style, which bears some relation to the domestic Gothic or
English Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said against the
abuses of the artificial landscape-gardening, a mixture of pure art in a
garden scene, adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to the
eye, by the show of order and design, and partly moral. A terrace, with
an old moss-covered balustrade, calls up at once to the eye, the fair
forms that have passed there in other days. The slightest exhibition of
art is an evidence of care and human interest."

"From what I have already observed," said Mr. Ellison, "you will
understand that I reject the idea, here expressed, of 'recalling the
original beauty of the country.' The original beauty is never so great
as that which may be introduced. Of course, much depends upon the
selection of a spot with capabilities. What is said in respect to the
'detecting and bringing into practice those nice relations of size,
proportion and color,' is a mere vagueness of speech, which may mean
much, or little, or nothing, and which guides in no degree. That the
true 'result of the natural style of gardening is seen rather in the
absence of all defects and incongruities, than in the creation of any
special wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suited to the
grovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of the
man of genius. The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and appertains
to that hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate Addison
into apotheosis. In truth, while that merit which consists in the mere
avoiding demerit, appeals directly to the understanding, and can thus
be foreshadowed in Rule, the loftier merit, which breathes and flames
in invention or creation, can be apprehended solely in its results. Rule
applies but to the excellences of avoidance--to the virtues which deny
or refrain. Beyond these the critical art can but suggest. We may be
instructed to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain that we are told
how to conceive a 'Tempest,' an 'Inferno,' a 'Prometheus Bound,' a
'Nightingale,' such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' of
Shelley. But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished, and the capacity
for apprehension becomes universal. The sophists of the negative school,
who, through inability to create, have scoffed at creation, are now
found the loudest in applause. What, in its chrysalis condition of
principle, affronted their demure reason, never fails, in its maturity
of accomplishment, to extort admiration from their instinct of the
beautiful or of the sublime.

"Our author's observations on the artificial style of gardening,"
continued Mr. Ellison, "are less objectionable. 'A mixture of pure art
in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty.' This is just; and the
reference to the sense of human interest is equally so. I repeat that
the principle here expressed, is incontrovertible; but there may be
something even beyond it. There may be an object in full keeping with
the principle suggested--an object unattainable by the means ordinarily
in possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would lend a charm to
the landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that which a merely human
interest could bestow. The true poet possessed of very unusual pecuniary
resources, might possibly, while retaining the necessary idea of art
or interest or culture, so imbue his designs at once with extent and
novelty of Beauty, as to convey the sentiment of spiritual interference.
It will be seen that, in bringing about such result, he secures all the
advantages of interest or design, while relieving his work of all
the harshness and technicality of Art. In the most rugged of
wildernesses--in the most savage of the scenes of pure Nature--there
is apparent the art of a Creator; yet is this art apparent only to
reflection; in no respect has it the obvious force of a feeling. Now,
if we imagine this sense of the Almighty Design to be harmonized in a
measurable degree, if we suppose a landscape whose combined strangeness,
vastness, definitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the idea
of culture, or care, or superintendence, on the part of intelligences
superior yet akin to humanity--then the sentiment of interest is
preserved, while the Art is made to assume the air of an intermediate
or secondary Nature--a Nature which is not God, nor an emanation of God,
but which still is Nature, in the sense that it is the handiwork of the
angels that hover between man and God."

It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practical embodiment of
a vision such as this--in the free exercise in the open air, which
resulted from personal direction of his plans--in the continuous and
unceasing object which these plans afford--in the contempt of ambition
which it enabled him more to feel than to affect--and, lastly, it was in
the companionship and sympathy of a devoted wife, that Ellison thought
to find, and found, an exemption from the ordinary cares of Humanity,
with a far greater amount of positive happiness than ever glowed in the
rapt day-dreams of De Stael.




MAELZEL'S CHESS-PLAYER

PERHAPS no exhibition of the kind has ever elicited so general attention
as the Chess-Player of Maelzel. Wherever seen it has been an object of
intense curiosity, to all persons who think. Yet the question of its
_modus operandi is _still undetermined. Nothing has been written on this
topic which can be considered as decisive--and accordingly we find
every where men of mechanical genius, of great general acuteness, and
discriminative understanding, who make no scruple in pronouncing
the Automaton a _pure machine, _unconnected with human agency in its
movements, and consequently, beyond all comparison, the most astonishing
of the inventions of mankind. And such it would undoubtedly be, were
they right in their supposition. Assuming this hypothesis, it would be
grossly absurd to compare with the Chess-Player, any similar thing of
either modern or ancient days. Yet there have been many and wonderful
automata. In Brewster's Letters on Natural Magic, we have an account
of the most remarkable. Among these may be mentioned, as having beyond
doubt existed, firstly, the coach invented by M. Camus for the amusement
of Louis XIV when a child. A table, about four feet square, was
introduced, into the room appropriated for the exhibition. Upon this
table was placed a carriage, six inches in length, made of wood, and
drawn by two horses of the same material. One window being down, a lady
was seen on the back seat. A coachman held the reins on the box, and
a footman and page were in their places behind. M. Camus now touched
a spring; whereupon the coachman smacked his whip, and the horses
proceeded in a natural manner, along the edge of the table, drawing
after them the carriage. Having gone as far as possible in this
direction, a sudden turn was made to the left, and the vehicle was
driven at right angles to its former course, and still closely along
the edge of the table. In this way the coach proceeded until it arrived
opposite the chair of the young prince. It then stopped, the page
descended and opened the door, the lady alighted, and presented a
petition to her sovereign. She then re-entered. The page put up the
steps, closed the door, and resumed his station. The coachman whipped
his horses, and the carriage was driven back to its original position.

The magician of M. Maillardet is also worthy of notice. We copy the
following account of it from the _Letters _before mentioned of Dr. B.,
who derived his information principally from the Edinburgh Encyclopaedia.

"One of the most popular pieces of mechanism which we have seen, Is
the Magician constructed by M. Maillardet, for the purpose of answering
certain given questions. A figure, dressed like a magician, appears
seated at the bottom of a wall, holding a wand in one hand, and a book
in the other A number of questions, ready prepared, are inscribed on
oval medallions, and the spectator takes any of these he chooses and
to which he wishes an answer, and having placed it in a drawer ready to
receive it, the drawer shuts with a spring till the answer is returned.
The magician then arises from his seat, bows his head, describes circles
with his wand, and consulting the book as If in deep thought, he lifts
it towards his face. Having thus appeared to ponder over the proposed
question he raises his wand, and striking with it the wall above his
head, two folding doors fly open, and display an appropriate answer to
the question. The doors again close, the magician resumes his original
position, and the drawer opens to return the medallion. There are twenty
of these medallions, all containing different questions, to which the
magician returns the most suitable and striking answers. The medallions
are thin plates of brass, of an elliptical form, exactly resembling each
other. Some of the medallions have a question inscribed on each side,
both of which the magician answered in succession. If the drawer is shut
without a medallion being put into it, the magician rises, consults his
book, shakes his head, and resumes his seat. The folding doors remain
shut, and the drawer is returned empty. If two medallions are put into
the drawer together, an answer is returned only to the lower one. When
the machinery is wound up, the movements continue about an hour, during
which time about fifty questions may be answered. The inventor stated
that the means by which the different medallions acted upon the
machinery, so as to produce the proper answers to the questions which
they contained, were extremely simple."

The duck of Vaucanson was still more remarkable. It was _of _the size
of life, and so perfect an imitation of the living animal that all the
spectators were deceived. It executed, says Brewster, all the natural
movements and gestures, it ate and drank with avidity, performed all the
quick motions of the head and throat which are peculiar to the duck, and
like it muddled the water which it drank with its bill. It produced
also the sound of quacking in the most natural manner. In the anatomical
structure the artist exhibited the highest skill. Every bone in the
real duck had its representative In the automaton, and its wings were
anatomically exact. Every cavity, apophysis, and curvature was imitated,
and each bone executed its proper movements. When corn was thrown down
before it, the duck stretched out its neck to pick it up, swallowed, and
digested it. {*1}

But if these machines were ingenious, what shall we think of the
calculating machine of Mr. Babbage? What shall we think of an engine of
wood and metal which can not only compute astronomical and navigation
tables to any given extent, but render the exactitude of its operations
mathematically certain through its power of correcting its possible
errors? What shall we think of a machine which can not only accomplish
all this, but actually print off its elaborate results, when obtained,
without the slightest intervention of the intellect of man? It will,
perhaps, be said, in reply, that a machine such as we have described
is altogether above comparison with the Chess-Player of Maelzel. By no
means--it is altogether beneath it--that is to say provided we assume
(what should never for a moment be assumed) that the Chess-Player is a
_pure machine, _and performs its operations without any immediate human
agency. Arithmetical or algebraical calculations are, from their very
nature, fixed and determinate. Certain _data _being given, certain
results necessarily and inevitably follow. These results have dependence
upon nothing, and are influenced by nothing but the _data _originally
given. And the question to be solved proceeds, or should proceed, to
its final determination, by a succession of unerring steps liable to
no change, and subject to no modification. This being the case, we can
without difficulty conceive the _possibility _of so arranging a piece
of mechanism, that upon starting In accordance with the _data _of the
question to be solved, it should continue its movements regularly,
progressively, and undeviatingly towards the required solution, since
these movements, however complex, are never imagined to be otherwise
than finite and determinate. But the case is widely different with the
Chess-Player. With him there is no determinate progression. No one move
in chess necessarily follows upon any one other. From no particular
disposition of the men at one period of a game can we predicate their
disposition at a different period. Let us place the _first move _in
a game of chess, in juxta-position with the _data _of an algebraical
question, and their great difference will be immediately perceived. From
the latter--from the _data--_the second step of the question, dependent
thereupon, inevitably follows. It is modelled by the _data. _It must be
_thus _and not otherwise. But from the first move in the game of
chess no especial second move follows of necessity. In the algebraical
question, as it proceeds towards solution, the _certainty _of its
operations remains altogether unimpaired. The second step having been
a consequence of the _data, _the third step is equally a consequence of
the second, the fourth of the third, the fifth of the fourth, and so
on, _and not possibly otherwise, _to the end. But in proportion to the
progress made in a game of chess, is the _uncertainty _of each ensuing
move. A few moves having been made, _no _step is certain. Different
spectators of the game would advise different moves. All is then
dependent upon the variable judgment of the players. Now even granting
(what should not be granted) that the movements of the Automaton
Chess-Player were in themselves determinate, they would be necessarily
interrupted and disarranged by the indeterminate will of his antagonist.
There is then no analogy whatever between the operations of the
Chess-Player, and those of the calculating machine of Mr. Babbage, and
if we choose to call the former a _pure machine _we must be prepared
to admit that it is, beyond all comparison, the most wonderful of the
inventions of mankind. Its original projector, however, Baron Kempelen,
had no scruple in declaring it to be a "very ordinary piece of
mechanism--a _bagatelle _whose effects appeared so marvellous only from
the boldness of the conception, and the fortunate choice of the methods
adopted for promoting the illusion." But it is needless to dwell upon
this point. It is quite certain that the operations of the Automaton
are regulated by _mind, _and by nothing else. Indeed this matter is
susceptible of a mathematical demonstration, _a priori. _The only
question then is of the _manner _in which human agency is brought to
bear. Before entering upon this subject it would be as well to give a
brief history and description of the Chess-Player for the benefit of
such of our readers as may never have had an opportunity of witnessing
Mr. Maelzel's exhibition.

The Automaton Chess-Player was invented in 1769, by Baron Kempelen,
a nobleman of Presburg, in Hungary, who afterwards disposed of it,
together with the secret of its operations, to its present possessor.
{2*} Soon after its completion it was exhibited in Presburg, Paris,
Vienna, and other continental cities. In 1783 and 1784, it was taken to
London by Mr. Maelzel. Of late years it has visited the principal towns
in the United States. Wherever seen, the most intense curiosity was
excited by its appearance, and numerous have been the attempts, by men
of all classes, to fathom the mystery of its evolutions. The cut on
this page gives a tolerable representation of the figure as seen by the
citizens of Richmond a few weeks ago. The right arm, however, should lie
more at length upon the box, a chess-board should appear upon it, and
the cushion should not be seen while the pipe is held. Some immaterial
alterations have been made in the costume of the player since it
came into the possession of Maelzel--the plume, for example, was not
originally worn. {image of automaton}

At the hour appointed for exhibition, a curtain is withdrawn, or folding
doors are thrown open, and the machine rolled to within about twelve
feet of the nearest of the spectators, between whom and it (the machine)
a rope is stretched. A figure is seen habited as a Turk, and seated,
with its legs crossed, at a large box apparently of maple wood, which
serves it as a table. The exhibiter will, if requested, roll the machine
to any portion of the room, suffer it to remain altogether on any
designated spot, or even shift its location repeatedly during the
progress of a game. The bottom of the box is elevated considerably above
the floor by means of the castors or brazen rollers on which it moves,
a clear view of the surface immediately beneath the Automaton being
thus afforded to the spectators. The chair on which the figure sits
is affixed permanently to the box. On the top of this latter is a
chess-board, also permanently affixed. The right arm of the Chess-Player
is extended at full length before him, at right angles with his body,
and lying, in an apparently careless position, by the side of the board.
The back of the hand is upwards. The board itself is eighteen inches
square. The left arm of the figure is bent at the elbow, and in the left
hand is a pipe. A green drapery conceals the back of the Turk, and falls
partially over the front of both shoulders. To judge from the external
appearance of the box, it is divided into five compartments--three
cupboards of equal dimensions, and two drawers occupying that portion of
the chest lying beneath the cupboards. The foregoing observations apply
to the appearance of the Automaton upon its first introduction into the
presence of the spectators.

Maelzel now informs the company that he will disclose to their view
the mechanism of the machine. Taking from his pocket a bunch of keys he
unlocks with one of them, door marked ~ in the cut above, and throws the
cupboard fully open to the inspection of all present. Its whole interior
is apparently filled with wheels, pinions, levers, and other machinery,
crowded very closely together, so that the eye can penetrate but a
little distance into the mass. Leaving this door open to its full
extent, he goes now round to the back of the box, and raising the
drapery of the figure, opens another door situated precisely in the
rear of the one first opened. Holding a lighted candle at this door, and
shifting the position of the whole machine repeatedly at the same time,
a bright light is thrown entirely through the cupboard, which is now
clearly seen to be full, completely full, of machinery. The spectators
being satisfied of this fact, Maelzel closes the back door, locks it,
takes the key from the lock, lets fall the drapery of the figure, and
comes round to the front. The door marked I, it will be remembered, is
still open. The exhibiter now proceeds to open the drawer which lies
beneath the cupboards at the bottom of the box--for although there are
apparently two drawers, there is really only one--the two handles and
two key holes being intended merely for ornament. Having opened this
drawer to its full extent, a small cushion, and a set of chessmen, fixed
in a frame work made to support them perpendicularly, are discovered.
Leaving this drawer, as well as cupboard No. 1 open, Maelzel now unlocks
door No. 2, and door No. 3, which are discovered to be folding doors,
opening into one and the same compartment. To the right of this
compartment, however, (that is to say the spectators' right) a small
division, six inches wide, and filled with machinery, is partitioned
off. The main compartment itself (in speaking of that portion of the
box visible upon opening doors 2 and 3, we shall always call it the main
compartment) is lined with dark cloth and contains no machinery whatever
beyond two pieces of steel, quadrant-shaped, and situated one in each
of the rear top corners of the compartment. A small protuberance about
eight inches square, and also covered with dark cloth, lies on the floor
of the compartment near the rear corner on the spectators' left hand.
Leaving doors No. 2 and No. 3 open as well as the drawer, and door No.
I, the exhibiter now goes round to the back of the main compartment,
and, unlocking another door there, displays clearly all the interior of
the main compartment, by introducing a candle behind it and within it.
The whole box being thus apparently disclosed to the scrutiny of the
company, Maelzel, still leaving the doors and drawer open, rolls the
Automaton entirely round, and exposes the back of the Turk by lifting up
the drapery. A door about ten inches square is thrown open in the loins
of the figure, and a smaller one also in the left thigh. The interior of
the figure, as seen through these apertures, appears to be crowded with
machinery. In general, every spectator is now thoroughly satisfied of
having beheld and completely scrutinized, at one and the same time,
every individual portion of the Automaton, and the idea of any person
being concealed in the interior, during so complete an exhibition
of that interior, if ever entertained, is immediately dismissed as
preposterous in the extreme.

M. Maelzel, having rolled the machine back into its original position,
now informs the company that the Automaton will play a game of chess
with any one disposed to encounter him. This challenge being accepted,
a small table is prepared for the antagonist, and placed close by the
rope, but on the spectators' side of it, and so situated as not to
prevent the company from obtaining a full view of the Automaton. From a
drawer in this table is taken a set of chess-men, and Maelzel arranges
them generally, but not always, with his own hands, on the chess board,
which consists merely of the usual number of squares painted upon the
table. The antagonist having taken his seat, the exhibiter approaches
the drawer of the box, and takes therefrom the cushion, which, after
removing the pipe from the hand of the Automaton, he places under its
left arm as a support. Then taking also from the drawer the Automaton's
set of chess-men, he arranges them upon the chessboard before the
figure. He now proceeds to close the doors and to lock them--leaving the
bunch of keys in door No. 1. He also closes the drawer, and, finally,
winds up the machine, by applying a key to an aperture in the left end
(the spectators' left) of the box. The game now commences--the Automaton
taking the first move. The duration of the contest is usually limited
to half an hour, but if it be not finished at the expiration of this
period, and the antagonist still contend that he can beat the Automaton,
M. Maelzel has seldom any objection to continue it. Not to weary
the company, is the ostensible, and no doubt the real object of the
limitation. It Wits of course be understood that when a move is made at
his own table, by the antagonist, the corresponding move is made at
the box of the Automaton, by Maelzel himself, who then acts as the
representative of the antagonist. On the other hand, when the Turk
moves, the corresponding move is made at the table of the antagonist,
also by M. Maelzel, who then acts as the representative of the
Automaton. In this manner it is necessary that the exhibiter should
often pass from one table to the other. He also frequently goes in rear
of the figure to remove the chess-men which it has taken, and which it
deposits, when taken, on the box to the left (to its own left) of
the board. When the Automaton hesitates in relation to its move, the
exhibiter is occasionally seen to place himself very near its right
side, and to lay his hand, now and then, in a careless manner upon the
box. He has also a peculiar shuffle with his feet, calculated to induce
suspicion of collusion with the machine in minds which are more cunning
than sagacious. These peculiarities are, no doubt, mere mannerisms of
M. Maelzel, or, if he is aware of them at all, he puts them in practice
with a view of exciting in the spectators a false idea of the pure
mechanism in the Automaton.

The Turk plays with his left hand. All the movements of the arm are at
right angles. In this manner, the hand (which is gloved and bent in
a natural way,) being brought directly above the piece to be moved,
descends finally upon it, the fingers receiving it, in most cases,
without difficulty. Occasionally, however, when the piece is not
precisely in its proper situation, the Automaton fails in his attempt
at seizing it. When this occurs, no second effort is made, but the arm
continues its movement in the direction originally intended, precisely
as if the piece were in the fingers. Having thus designated the spot
whither the move should have been made, the arm returns to its cushion,
and Maelzel performs the evolution which the Automaton pointed out. At
every movement of the figure machinery is heard in motion. During the
progress of the game, the figure now and then rolls its eyes, as if
surveying the board, moves its head, and pronounces the word _echec
_(check) when necessary. {*3} If a false move be made by his antagonist,
he raps briskly on the box with the fingers of his right hand, shakes
his head roughly, and replacing the piece falsely moved, in its former
situation, assumes the next move himself. Upon beating the game, he
waves his head with an air of triumph, looks round complacently upon the
spectators, and drawing his left arm farther back than usual, suffers
his fingers alone to rest upon the cushion. In general, the Turk is
victorious--once or twice he has been beaten. The game being ended,
Maelzel will again if desired, exhibit the mechanism of the box, in the
same manner as before. The machine is then rolled back, and a curtain
hides it from the view of the company.

There have been many attempts at solving the mystery of the Automaton.
The most general opinion in relation to it, an opinion too not
unfrequently adopted by men who should have known better, was, as we
have before said, that no immediate human agency was employed--in other
words, that the machine was purely a machine and nothing else. Many,
however maintained that the exhibiter himself regulated the movements
of the figure by mechanical means operating through the feet of the
box. Others again, spoke confidently of a magnet. Of the first of these
opinions we shall say nothing at present more than we have already said.
In relation to the second it is only necessary to repeat what we have
before stated, that the machine is rolled about on castors, and will,
at the request of a spectator, be moved to and fro to any portion of the
room, even during the progress of a game. The supposition of the magnet
is also untenable--for if a magnet were the agent, any other magnet in
the pocket of a spectator would disarrange the entire mechanism. The
exhibiter, however, will suffer the most powerful loadstone to remain
even upon the box during the whole of the exhibition.

The first attempt at a written explanation of the secret, at least the
first attempt of which we ourselves have any knowledge, was made in
a large pamphlet printed at Paris in 1785. The author's hypothesis
amounted to this--that a dwarf actuated the machine. This dwarf he
supposed to conceal himself during the opening of the box by thrusting
his legs into two hollow cylinders, which were represented to be (but
which are not) among the machinery in the cupboard No. I, while his body
was out of the box entirely, and covered by the drapery of the Turk.
When the doors were shut, the dwarf was enabled to bring his body within
the box--the noise produced by some portion of the machinery allowing
him to do so unheard, and also to close the door by which he entered.
The interior of the automaton being then exhibited, and no person
discovered, the spectators, says the author of this pamphlet, are
satisfied that no one is within any portion of the machine. This whole
hypothesis was too obviously absurd to require comment, or refutation,
and accordingly we find that it attracted very little attention.

In 1789 a book was published at Dresden by M. I. F. Freyhere in which
another endeavor was made to unravel the mystery. Mr. Freyhere's book
was a pretty large one, and copiously illustrated by  engravings.
His supposition was that "a well-taught boy very thin and tall of his
age (sufficiently so that he could be concealed in a drawer almost
immediately under the chess-board") played the game of chess and
effected all the evolutions of the Automaton. This idea, although
even more silly than that of the Parisian author, met with a better
reception, and was in some measure believed to be the true solution of
the wonder, until the inventor put an end to the discussion by suffering
a close examination of the top of the box.

These bizarre attempts at explanation were followed by others equally
bizarre. Of late years however, an anonymous writer, by a course of
reasoning exceedingly unphilosophical, has contrived to blunder upon a
plausible solution--although we cannot consider it altogether the true
one. His Essay was first published in a Baltimore weekly paper, was
illustrated by cuts, and was entitled "An attempt to analyze the
Automaton Chess-Player of M. Maelzel." This Essay we suppose to have
been the original of the _pamphlet to _which Sir David Brewster alludes
in his letters on Natural Magic, and which he has no hesitation in
declaring a thorough and satisfactory explanation. The _results _of the
analysis are undoubtedly, in the main, just; but we can only account
for Brewster's pronouncing the Essay a thorough and satisfactory
explanation, by supposing him to have bestowed upon it a very cursory
and inattentive perusal. In the compendium of the Essay, made use of in
the Letters on Natural Magic, it is quite impossible to arrive at any
distinct conclusion in regard to the adequacy or inadequacy of the
analysis, on account of the gross misarrangement and deficiency of the
letters of reference employed. The same fault is to be found in the
"Attempt &c.," as we originally saw it. The solution consists in a
series of minute explanations, (accompanied by wood-cuts, the whole
occupying many pages) in which the object is to show the _possibility
_of _so shifting the partitions _of the box, as to allow a human being,
concealed in the interior, to move portions of his body from one part of
the box to another, during the exhibition of the mechanism--thus eluding
the scrutiny of the spectators. There can be no doubt, as we have before
observed, and as we will presently endeavor to show, that the principle,
or rather the result, of this solution is the true one. Some person is
concealed in the box during the whole time of exhibiting the interior.
We object, however, to the whole verbose description of the _manner _in
which the partitions are shifted, to accommodate the movements of the
person concealed. We object to it as a mere theory assumed in the
first place, and to which circumstances are afterwards made to adapt
themselves. It was not, and could not have been, arrived at by any
inductive reasoning. In whatever way the shifting is managed, it is of
course concealed at every step from observation. To show that certain
movements might possibly be effected in a certain way, is very far from
showing that they are actually so effected. There may be an infinity of
other methods by which the same results may be obtained. The probability
of the one assumed proving the correct one is then as unity to infinity.
But, in reality, this particular point, the shifting of the partitions,
is of no consequence whatever. It was altogether unnecessary to devote
seven or eight pages for the purpose of proving what no one in his
senses would deny--viz: that the wonderful mechanical genius of Baron
Kempelen could invent the necessary means for shutting a door or
slipping aside a pannel, with a human agent too at his service in actual
contact with the pannel or the door, and the whole operations carried
on, as the author of the Essay himself shows, and as we shall attempt to
show more fully hereafter, entirely out of reach of the observation of
the spectators.

In attempting ourselves an explanation of the Automaton, we will, in
the first place, endeavor to show how its operations are effected,
and afterwards describe, as briefly as possible, the nature of the
_observations _from which we have deduced our result.

It will be necessary for a proper understanding of the subject, that
we repeat here in a few words, the routine adopted by the exhibiter
in disclosing the interior of the box--a routine from which he _never
_deviates in any material particular. In the first place he opens the
door No. I. Leaving this open, he goes round to the rear of the box, and
opens a door precisely at the back of door No. I. To this back door he
holds a lighted candle. He then _closes the back door, _locks it, and,
coming round to the front, opens the drawer to its full extent. This
done, he opens the doors No. 2 and No. 3, (the folding doors) and
displays the interior of the main compartment. Leaving open the main
compartment, the drawer, and the front door of cupboard No. I, he
now goes to the rear again, and throws open the back door of the main
compartment. In shutting up the box no particular order is observed,
except that the folding doors are always closed before the drawer.

Now, let us suppose that when the machine is first rolled into the
presence of the spectators, a man is already within it. His body is
situated behind the dense machinery in cupboard No. T. (the rear portion
of which machinery is so contrived as to slip _en masse, _from the main
compartment to the cupboard No. I, as occasion may require,) and his
legs lie at full length in the main compartment. When Maelzel opens the
door No. I, the man within is not in any danger of discovery, for
the keenest eye cannot penetrate more than about two inches into the
darkness within. But the case is otherwise when the back door of the
cupboard No. I, is opened. A bright light then pervades the cupboard,
and the body of the man would be discovered if it were there. But it is
not. The putting the key in the lock of the back door was a signal on
hearing which the person concealed brought his body forward to an angle
as acute as possible--throwing it altogether, or nearly so, into the
main compartment. This, however, is a painful position, and cannot be
long maintained. Accordingly we find that Maelzel _closes the back door.
_This being done, there is no reason why the body of the man may not
resume its former situation--for the cupboard is again so dark as to
defy scrutiny. The drawer is now opened, and the legs of the person
within drop down behind it in the space it formerly occupied. {*4}
There is, consequently, now no longer any part of the man in the main
compartment--his body being behind the machinery in cupboard No. 1, and
his legs in the space occupied by the drawer. The exhibiter, therefore,
finds himself at liberty to display the main compartment. This
he does--opening both its back and front doors--and no person Is
discovered. The spectators are now satisfied that the whole of the box
is exposed to view--and exposed too, all portions of it at one and the
same time. But of course this is not the case. They neither see the
space behind the drawer, nor the interior of cupboard No. 1--the front
door of which latter the exhibiter virtually shuts in shutting its
back door. Maelzel, having now rolled the machine around, lifted up the
drapery of the Turk, opened the doors in his back and thigh, and shown
his trunk to be full of machinery, brings the whole back into its
original position, and closes the doors. The man within is now at
liberty to move about. He gets up into the body of the Turk just so
high as to bring his eyes above the level of the chess-board. It is
very probable that he seats himself upon the little square block or
protuberance which is seen in a corner of the main compartment when the
doors are open. In this position he sees the chess-board through the
bosom of the Turk which is of gauze. Bringing his right arm across his
breast he actuates the little machinery necessary to guide the left arm
and the fingers of the figure. This machinery is situated just beneath
the left shoulder of the Turk, and is consequently easily reached by
the right hand of the man concealed, if we suppose his right arm brought
across the breast. The motions of the head and eyes, and of the right
arm of the figure, as well as the sound _echec _are produced by other
mechanism in the interior, and actuated at will by the man within. The
whole of this mechanism--that is to say all the mechanism essential to
the machine--is most probably contained within the little cupboard
(of about six inches in breadth) partitioned off at the right (the
spectators' right) of the main compartment.

In this analysis of the operations of the Automaton, we have purposely
avoided any allusion to the manner in which the partitions are shifted,
and it will now be readily comprehended that this point is a matter
of no importance, since, by mechanism within the ability of any common
carpenter, it might be effected in an infinity of different ways, and
since we have shown that, however performed, it is performed out of
the view of the spectators. Our result is founded upon the following
_observations _taken during frequent visits to the exhibition of
Maelzel. {*5}

I. The moves of the Turk are not made at regular intervals of time, but
accommodate themselves to the moves of the antagonist--although
this point (of regularity) so important in all kinds of mechanical
contrivance, might have been readily brought about by limiting the time
allowed for the moves of the antagonist. For example, if this limit were
three minutes, the moves of the Automaton might be made at any given
intervals longer than three minutes. The fact then of irregularity,
when regularity might have been so easily attained, goes to prove that
regularity is unimportant to the action of the Automaton--in other
words, that the Automaton is not a _pure machine._

2. When the Automaton is about to move a piece, a distinct motion is
observable just beneath the left shoulder, and which motion agitates in
a slight degree, the drapery covering the front of the left shoulder.
This motion invariably precedes, by about two seconds, the movement of
the arm itself--and the arm never, in any instance, moves without this
preparatory motion in the shoulder. Now let the antagonist move a piece,
and let the corresponding move be made by Maelzel, as usual, upon the
board of the Automaton. Then let the antagonist narrowly watch the
Automaton, until he detect the preparatory motion in the shoulder.
Immediately upon detecting this motion, and before the arm itself begins
to move, let him withdraw his piece, as if perceiving an error in his
manoeuvre. It will then be seen that the movement of the arm, which,
in all other cases, immediately succeeds the motion in the shoulder, is
withheld--is not made--although Maelzel has not yet performed, on the
board of the Automaton, any move corresponding to the withdrawal of
the antagonist. In this case, that the Automaton was about to move is
evident--and that he did not move, was an effect plainly produced by the
withdrawal of the antagonist, and without any intervention of Maelzel.

This fact fully proves, 1--that the intervention of Maelzel, in
performing the moves of the antagonist on the board of the Automaton, is
not essential to the movements of the Automaton, 2--that its movements
are regulated by _mind--_by some person who sees the board of the
antagonist, 3--that its movements are not regulated by the mind of
Maelzel, whose back was turned towards the antagonist at the withdrawal
of his move.

3. The Automaton does not invariably win the game. Were the machine
a pure machine this would not be the case--it would always win. The
_principle _being discovered by which a machine can be made to _play _a
game of chess, an extension of the same principle would enable it to win
a game--a farther extension would enable it to win _all _games--that is,
to beat any possible game of an antagonist. A little consideration will
convince any one that the difficulty of making a machine beat all games,
Is not in the least degree greater, as regards the principle of the
operations necessary, than that of making it beat a single game. If
then we regard the Chess-Player as a machine, we must suppose, (what is
highly improbable,) that its inventor preferred leaving it incomplete to
perfecting it--a supposition rendered still more absurd, when we reflect
that the leaving it incomplete would afford an argument against the
possibility of its being a pure machine--the very argument we now
adduce.

4. When the situation of the game is difficult or complex, we never
perceive the Turk either shake his head or roll his eyes. It is only
when his next move is obvious, or when the game is so circumstanced
that to a man in the Automaton's place there would be no necessity
for reflection. Now these peculiar movements of the head and eyes
are movements customary with persons engaged in meditation, and the
ingenious Baron Kempelen would have adapted these movements (were the
machine a pure machine) to occasions proper for their display--that is,
to occasions of complexity. But the reverse is seen to be the case,
and this reverse applies precisely to our supposition of a man in the
interior. When engaged in meditation about the game he has no time to
think of setting in motion the mechanism of the Automaton by which are
moved the head and the eyes. When the game, however, is obvious, he has
time to look about him, and, accordingly, we see the head shake and the
eyes roll.

5. When the machine is rolled round to allow the spectators an
examination of the back of the Turk, and when his drapery is lifted up
and the doors in the trunk and thigh thrown open, the interior of
the trunk is seen to be crowded with machinery. In scrutinizing this
machinery while the Automaton was in motion, that is to say while the
whole machine was moving on the castors, it appeared to us that certain
portions of the mechanism changed their shape and position in a degree
too great to be accounted for by the simple laws of perspective; and
subsequent examinations convinced us that these undue alterations were
attributable to mirrors in the interior of the trunk. The introduction
of mirrors among the machinery could not have been intended to
influence, in any degree, the machinery itself. Their operation,
whatever that operation should prove to be, must necessarily have
reference to the eye of the spectator. We at once concluded that these
mirrors were so placed to multiply to the vision some few pieces of
machinery within the trunk so as to give it the appearance of being
crowded with mechanism. Now the direct inference from this is that the
machine is not a pure machine. For if it were, the inventor, so far from
wishing its mechanism to appear complex, and using deception for
the purpose of giving it this appearance, would have been especially
desirous of convincing those who witnessed his exhibition, of the
_simplicity _of the means by which results so wonderful were brought
about.

6. The external appearance, and, especially, the deportment of the Turk,
are, when we consider them as imitations of _life, _but very indifferent
imitations. The countenance evinces no ingenuity, and is surpassed, in
its resemblance to the human face, by the very commonest of wax-works.
The eyes roll unnaturally in the head, without any corresponding motions
of the lids or brows. The arm, particularly, performs its operations in
an exceedingly stiff, awkward, jerking, and rectangular manner. Now, all
this is the result either of inability in Maelzel to do better, or of
intentional neglect--accidental neglect being out of the question, when
we consider that the whole time of the ingenious proprietor is occupied
in the improvement of his machines. Most assuredly we must not refer
the unlife-like appearances to inability--for all the rest of Maelzel's
automata are evidence of his full ability to copy the motions
and peculiarities of life with the most wonderful exactitude. The
rope-dancers, for example, are inimitable. When the clown laughs, his
lips, his eyes, his eye-brows, and eyelids--indeed, all the features of
his countenance--are imbued with their appropriate expressions. In both
him and his companion, every gesture is so entirely easy, and free from
the semblance of artificiality, that, were it not for the diminutiveness
of their size, and the fact of their being passed from one spectator to
another previous to their exhibition on the rope, it would be difficult
to convince any assemblage of persons that these wooden automata were
not living creatures. We cannot, therefore, doubt Mr. Maelzel's ability,
and we must necessarily suppose that he intentionally suffered his Chess
Player to remain the same artificial and unnatural figure which Baron
Kempelen (no doubt also through design) originally made it. What this
design was it is not difficult to conceive. Were the Automaton life-like
in its motions, the spectator would be more apt to attribute its
operations to their true cause, (that is, to human agency within) than
he is now, when the awkward and rectangular manoeuvres convey the idea
of pure and unaided mechanism.

7. When, a short time previous to the commencement of the game, the
Automaton is wound up by the exhibiter as usual, an ear in any degree
accustomed to the sounds produced in winding up a system of machinery,
will not fail to discover, instantaneously, that the axis turned by the
key in the box of the Chess-Player, cannot possibly be connected with
either a weight, a spring, or any system of machinery whatever. The
inference here is the same as in our last observation. The winding up
is inessential to the operations of the Automaton, and is performed with
the design of exciting in the spectators the false idea of mechanism.

8. When the question is demanded explicitly of Maelzel--"Is the
Automaton a pure machine or not?" his reply is invariably the same--"I
will say nothing about it." Now the notoriety of the Automaton, and the
great curiosity it has every where excited, are owing more especially
to the prevalent opinion that it is a pure machine, than to any other
circumstance. Of course, then, it is the interest of the proprietor
to represent it as a pure machine. And what more obvious, and more
effectual method could there be of impressing the spectators with this
desired idea, than a positive and explicit declaration to that effect?
On the other hand, what more obvious and effectual method could there be
of exciting a disbelief in the Automaton's being a pure machine, than by
withholding such explicit declaration? For, people will naturally
reason thus,--It is Maelzel's interest to represent this thing a pure
machine--he refuses to do so, directly, in words, although he does not
scruple, and is evidently anxious to do so, indirectly by actions--were
it actually what he wishes to represent it by actions, he would gladly
avail himself of the more direct testimony of words--the inference is,
that a consciousness of its not being a pure machine, is the reason of
his silence--his actions cannot implicate him in a falsehood--his words
may.

9. When, in exhibiting the interior of the box, Maelzel has thrown open
the door No. I, and also the door immediately behind it, he holds a
lighted candle at the back door (as mentioned above) and moves the
entire machine to and fro with a view of convincing the company that the
cupboard No. 1 is entirely filled with machinery. When the machine is
thus moved about, it will be apparent to any careful observer, that
whereas that portion of the machinery near the front door No. 1, is
perfectly steady and unwavering, the portion farther within fluctuates,
in a very slight degree, with the movements of the machine. This
circumstance first aroused in us the suspicion that the more remote
portion of the machinery was so arranged as to be easily slipped, _en
masse, _from its position when occasion should require it. This occasion
we have already stated to occur when the man concealed within brings his
body into an erect position upon the closing of the back door.

10. Sir David Brewster states the figure of the Turk to be of the size
of life--but in fact it is far above the ordinary size. Nothing is more
easy than to err in our notions of magnitude. The body of the Automaton
is generally insulated, and, having no means of immediately comparing it
with any human form, we suffer ourselves to consider it as of ordinary
dimensions. This mistake may, however, be corrected by observing the
Chess-Player when, as is sometimes the case, the exhibiter approaches
it. Mr. Maelzel, to be sure, is not very tall, but upon drawing near the
machine, his head will be found at least eighteen inches below the head
of the Turk, although the latter, it will be remembered, is in a sitting
position.

11. The box behind which the Automaton is placed, is precisely three
feet six inches long, two feet four inches deep, and two feet six inches
high. These dimensions are fully sufficient for the accommodation of a
man very much above the common size--and the main compartment alone is
capable of holding any ordinary man in the position we have mentioned as
assumed by the person concealed. As these are facts, which any one who
doubts them may prove by actual calculation, we deem it unnecessary to
dwell upon them. We will only suggest that, although the top of the box
is apparently a board of about three inches in thickness, the spectator
may satisfy himself by stooping and looking up at it when the main
compartment is open, that it is in reality very thin. The height of the
drawer also will be misconceived by those who examine it in a cursory
manner. There is a space of about three inches between the top of the
drawer as seen from the exterior, and the bottom of the cupboard--a
space which must be included in the height of the drawer. These
contrivances to make the room within the box appear less than it
actually is, are referrible to a design on the part of the inventor, to
impress the company again with a false idea, viz. that no human being
can be accommodated within the box.

12. The interior of the main compartment is lined throughout with
_cloth. _This cloth we suppose to have a twofold object. A portion of
_it _may form, when tightly stretched, the only partitions which there
is any necessity for removing during the changes of the man's position,
viz: the partition between the rear of the main compartment and the rear
of the cupboard No. 1, and the partition between the main compartment,
and the space behind the drawer when open. If we imagine this to be the
case, the difficulty of shifting the partitions vanishes at once, if
indeed any such difficulty could be supposed under any circumstances to
exist. The second object of the cloth is to deaden and render indistinct
all sounds occasioned by the movements of the person within.

13. The antagonist (as we have before observed) is not suffered to play
at the board of the Automaton, but is seated at some distance from the
machine. The reason which, most probably, would be assigned for
this circumstance, if the question were demanded, is, that were the
antagonist otherwise situated, his person would intervene between the
machine and the spectators, and preclude the latter from a distinct
view. But this difficulty might be easily obviated, either by elevating
the seats of the company, or by turning the end of the box towards them
during the game. The true cause of the restriction is, perhaps, very
different. Were the antagonist seated in contact with the box, the
secret would be liable to discovery, by his detecting, with the aid of a
quick car, the breathings of the man concealed.

14. Although M. Maelzel, in disclosing the interior of the machine,
sometimes slightly deviates from the _routine _which we have pointed
out, yet _reeler in _any instance does he _so _deviate from it as to
interfere with our solution. For example, he has been known to open,
first of all, the drawer--but he never opens the main compartment
without first closing the back door of cupboard No. 1--he never opens
the main compartment without first pulling out the drawer--he never
shuts the drawer without first shutting the main compartment--he never
opens the back door of cupboard No. 1 while the main compartment is
open--and the game of chess is never commenced until the whole machine
is closed. Now if it were observed that _never, in any single instance,
_did M. Maelzel differ from the routine we have pointed out as necessary
to our solution, it would be one of the strongest possible arguments in
corroboration of it--but the argument becomes infinitely strengthened
if we duly consider the circumstance that he _does occasionally _deviate
from the routine but never does _so _deviate as to falsify the solution.

15. There are six candles on the board of the Automaton during
exhibition. The question naturally arises--"Why are so many employed,
when a single candle, or, at farthest, two, would have been amply
sufficient to afford the spectators a clear view of the board, in a
room otherwise so well lit up as the exhibition room always is--when,
moreover, if we suppose the machine a _pure machine, _there can be no
necessity for so much light, or indeed any light at all, to enable _it
_to perform its operations--and when, especially, only a single candle
is placed upon the table of the antagonist?" The first and most obvious
inference is, that so strong a light is requisite to enable the man
within to see through the transparent material (probably fine gauze)
of which the breast of the Turk is composed. But when we consider the
arrangement of the candles, another reason immediately presents itself.
There are six lights (as we have said before) in all. Three of these are
on each side of the figure. Those most remote from the spectators are
the longest--those in the middle are about two inches shorter--and those
nearest the company about two inches shorter still--and the candles on
one side differ in height from the candles respectively opposite on the
other, by a ratio different from two inches--that is to say, the longest
candle on one side is about three inches shorter than the longest candle
on the other, and so on. Thus it will be seen that no two of the candles
are of the same height, and thus also the difficulty of ascertaining
the _material _of the breast of the figure (against which the light is
especially directed) is greatly augmented by the dazzling effect of the
complicated crossings of the rays--crossings which are brought about by
placing the centres of radiation all upon different levels.

16. While the Chess-Player was in possession of Baron Kempelen, it was
more than once observed, first, that an Italian in the suite of the
Baron was never visible during the playing of a game at chess by the
Turk, and, secondly, that the Italian being taken seriously ill, the
exhibition was suspended until his recovery. This Italian professed a
_total _ignorance of the game of chess, although all others of the suite
played well. Similar observations have been made since the Automaton has
been purchased by Maelzel. There is a man, _Schlumberoer, _who attends
him wherever he goes, but who has no ostensible occupation other than
that of assisting in the packing and unpacking of the automata. This man
is about the medium size, and has a remarkable stoop in the shoulders.
Whether he professes to play chess or not, we are not informed. It
is quite certain, however, that he is never to be seen during the
exhibition of the Chess-Player, although frequently visible just before
and just after the exhibition. Moreover, some years ago Maelzel visited
Richmond with his automata, and exhibited them, we believe, in the house
now occupied by M. Bossieux as a Dancing Academy. _Schlumberg_er was
suddenly taken ill, and during his illness there was no exhibition of
the Chess-Player. These facts are well known to many of our citizens.
The reason assigned for the suspension of the Chess-Player's
performances, was _not _the illness of _Schlumberger. _The inferences
from all this we leave, without farther comment, to the reader.

17. The Turk plays with his _left_ arm. A circumstance so remarkable
cannot be accidental. Brewster takes no notice of it whatever beyond a
mere statement, we believe, that such is the fact. The early writers of
treatises on the Automaton, seem not to have observed the matter at all,
and have no reference to it. The author of the pamphlet alluded to by
Brewster, mentions it, but acknowledges his inability to account for it.
Yet it is obviously from such prominent discrepancies or incongruities
as this that deductions are to be made (if made at all) which shall lead
us to the truth.

The circumstance of the Automaton's playing with his left hand cannot
have connexion with the operations of the machine, considered merely as
such. Any mechanical arrangement which would cause the figure to move,
in any given manner, the left arm--could, if reversed, cause it to move,
in the same manner, the right. But these principles cannot be extended
to the human organization, wherein there is a marked and radical
difference in the construction, and, at all events, in the powers, of
the right and left arms. Reflecting upon this latter fact, we naturally
refer the incongruity noticeable in the Chess-Player to this peculiarity
in the human organization. If so, we must imagine some _reversion--_for
the Chess-Player plays precisely as a man _would not. _These ideas, once
entertained, are sufficient of themselves, to suggest the notion of a
man in the interior. A few more imperceptible steps lead us, finally,
to the result. The Automaton plays with his left arm, because under
no other circumstances could the man within play with his right--a
_desideratum _of course. Let us, for example, imagine the Automaton to
play with his right arm. To reach the machinery which moves the arm,
and which we have before explained to lie just beneath the shoulder, it
would be necessary for the man within either to use his right arm in an
exceedingly painful and awkward position, (viz. brought up close to
his body and tightly compressed between his body and the side of the
Automaton,) or else to use his left arm brought across his breast. In
neither case could he act with the requisite ease or precision. On the
contrary, the Automaton playing, as it actually does, with the left
arm, all difficulties vanish. The right arm of the man within is brought
across his breast, and his right fingers act, without any constraint,
upon the machinery in the shoulder of the figure.

We do not believe that any reasonable objections can be urged against
this solution of the Automaton Chess-Player.




THE POWER OF WORDS

OINOS. Pardon, Agathos, the weakness of a spirit new-fledged with
immortality!

AGATHOS. You have spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be
demanded. Not even here is knowledge thing of intuition. For wisdom, ask
of the angels freely, that it may be given!

OINOS. But in this existence, I dreamed that I should be at once
cognizant of all things, and thus at once be happy in being cognizant of
all.

AGATHOS. Ah, not in knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of
knowledge! In for ever knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know all
were the curse of a fiend.

OINOS. But does not The Most High know all?

AGATHOS. That (since he is The Most Happy) must be still the one thing
unknown even to Him.

OINOS. But, since we grow hourly in knowledge, must not at last all
things be known?

AGATHOS. Look down into the abysmal distances!--attempt to force the
gaze down the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly
through them thus--and thus--and thus! Even the spiritual vision, is
it not at all points arrested by the continuous golden walls of the
universe?--the walls of the myriads of the shining bodies that mere
number has appeared to blend into unity?

OINOS. I clearly perceive that the infinity of matter is no dream.

AGATHOS. There are no dreams in Aidenn--but it is here whispered that,
of this infinity of matter, the sole purpose is to afford infinite
springs, at which the soul may allay the thirst to know, which is for
ever unquenchable within it--since to quench it, would be to extinguish
the soul's self. Question me then, my Oinos, freely and without fear.
Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of the Pleiades, and
swoop outward from the throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion,
where, for <DW29>s and violets, and heart's--ease, are the beds of the
triplicate and triple--tinted suns.

OINOS. And now, Agathos, as we proceed, instruct me!--speak to me in
the earth's familiar tones. I understand not what you hinted to me, just
now, of the modes or of the method of what, during mortality, we were
accustomed to call Creation. Do you mean to say that the Creator is not
God?

AGATHOS. I mean to say that the Deity does not create.

OINOS. Explain.

AGATHOS. In the beginning only, he created. The seeming creatures which
are now, throughout the universe, so perpetually springing into being,
can only be considered as the mediate or indirect, not as the direct or
immediate results of the Divine creative power.

OINOS. Among men, my Agathos, this idea would be considered heretical in
the extreme.

AGATHOS. Among angels, my Oinos, it is seen to be simply true.

OINOS. I can comprehend you thus far--that certain operations of what we
term Nature, or the natural laws, will, under certain conditions, give
rise to that which has all the appearance of creation. Shortly before
the final overthrow of the earth, there were, I well remember, many very
successful experiments in what some philosophers were weak enough to
denominate the creation of animalculae.

AGATHOS. The cases of which you speak were, in fact, instances of the
secondary creation--and of the only species of creation which has ever
been, since the first word spoke into existence the first law.

OINOS. Are not the starry worlds that, from the abyss of nonentity,
burst hourly forth into the heavens--are not these stars, Agathos, the
immediate handiwork of the King?

AGATHOS. Let me endeavor, my Oinos, to lead you, step by step, to the
conception I intend. You are well aware that, as no thought can perish,
so no act is without infinite result. We moved our hands, for example,
when we were dwellers on the earth, and, in so doing, gave vibration
to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was indefinitely
extended, till it gave impulse to every particle of the earth's air,
which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one movement of
the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe well knew. They made
the special effects, indeed, wrought in the fluid by special impulses,
the subject of exact calculation--so that it became easy to determine in
what precise period an impulse of given extent would engirdle the orb,
and impress (for ever) every atom of the atmosphere circumambient.
Retrograding, they found no difficulty, from a given effect, under given
conditions, in determining the value of the original impulse. Now
the mathematicians who saw that the results of any given impulse were
absolutely endless--and who saw that a portion of these results were
accurately traceable through the agency of algebraic analysis--who saw,
too, the facility of the retrogradation--these men saw, at the same
time, that this species of analysis itself, had within itself a capacity
for indefinite progress--that there were no bounds conceivable to its
advancement and applicability, except within the intellect of him who
advanced or applied it. But at this point our mathematicians paused.

OINOS. And why, Agathos, should they have proceeded?

AGATHOS. Because there were some considerations of deep interest beyond.
It was deducible from what they knew, that to a being of infinite
understanding--one to whom the perfection of the algebraic analysis lay
unfolded--there could be no difficulty in tracing every impulse given
the air--and the ether through the air--to the remotest consequences at
any even infinitely remote epoch of time. It is indeed demonstrable
that every such impulse given the air, must, in the end, impress every
individual thing that exists within the universe;--and the being of
infinite understanding--the being whom we have imagined--might trace the
remote undulations of the impulse--trace them upward and onward in their
influences upon all particles of an matter--upward and onward for
ever in their modifications of old forms--or, in other words, in
their creation of new--until he found them reflected--unimpressive at
last--back from the throne of the Godhead. And not only could such
a thing do this, but at any epoch, should a given result be afforded
him--should one of these numberless comets, for example, be presented
to his inspection--he could have no difficulty in determining, by the
analytic retrogradation, to what original impulse it was due. This power
of retrogradation in its absolute fulness and perfection--this faculty
of referring at all epochs, all effects to all causes--is of course the
prerogative of the Deity alone--but in every variety of degree, short of
the absolute perfection, is the power itself exercised by the whole host
of the Angelic intelligences.

OINOS. But you speak merely of impulses upon the air.

AGATHOS. In speaking of the air, I referred only to the earth; but the
general proposition has reference to impulses upon the ether--which,
since it pervades, and alone pervades all space, is thus the great
medium of creation.

OINOS. Then all motion, of whatever nature, creates?

AGATHOS. It must: but a true philosophy has long taught that the source
of all motion is thought--and the source of all thought is--

OINOS. God.

AGATHOS. I have spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child of the fair Earth
which lately perished--of impulses upon the atmosphere of the Earth.

OINOS. You did.

AGATHOS. And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some
thought of the physical power of words? Is not every word an impulse on
the air?

OINOS. But why, Agathos, do you weep--and why, oh why do your wings
droop as we hover above this fair star--which is the greenest and yet
most terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its brilliant
flowers look like a fairy dream--but its fierce volcanoes like the
passions of a turbulent heart.

AGATHOS. They are!--they are! This wild star--it is now three centuries
since, with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my
beloved--I spoke it--with a few passionate sentences--into birth. Its
brilliant flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its
raging volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and unhallowed
of hearts.




THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA

     "These; things are in the future."

            Sophocles--Antig:

_ Una._ "Born again?"

_ Monos._ Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, "born again." These were
the words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting
the explanations of the priesthood, until Death himself resolved for me
the secret.

_Una._ Death!

_Monos._ How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my words! I observe, too,
a vacillation in your step--a joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are
confused and oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life Eternal. Yes,
it was of Death I spoke. And here how singularly sounds that word which
of old was wont to bring terror to all hearts--throwing a mildew upon
all pleasures!

_ Una._ Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all feasts! How often,
Monos, did we lose ourselves in speculations upon its nature! How
mysteriously did it act as a check to human bliss--saying unto it "thus
far, and no farther!" That earnest mutual love, my own Monos, which
burned within our bosoms how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling
happy in its first up-springing, that our happiness would strengthen
with its strength! Alas! as it grew, so grew in our hearts the dread of
that evil hour which was hurrying to separate us forever! Thus, in time,
it became painful to love. Hate would have been mercy then.

_ Monos._ Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una--mine, mine, forever
now!

_ Una._ But the memory of past sorrow--is it not present joy? I have
much to say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I burn to know
the incidents of your own passage through the dark Valley and Shadow.

_ Monos._ And when did the radiant Una ask anything of her Monos in
vain? I will be minute in relating all--but at what point shall the
weird narrative begin?

_Una._ At what point?

_Monos._ You have said.

_Una._ Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the
propensity of man to define the indefinable. I will not say, then,
commence with the moment of life's cessation--but commence with that
sad, sad instant when, the fever having abandoned you, you sank into a
breathless and motionless torpor, and I pressed down your pallid eyelids
with the passionate fingers of love.

_ Monos._ One word first, my Una, in regard to man's general condition
at this epoch. You will remember that one or two of the wise among
our forefathers--wise in fact, although not in the world's esteem--had
ventured to doubt the propriety of the term "improvement," as applied to
the progress of our civilization. There were periods in each of the five
or six centuries immediately preceding our dissolution, when arose some
vigorous intellect, boldly contending for those principles whose
truth appears now, to our disenfranchised reason, so utterly
obvious--principles which should have taught our race to submit to the
guidance of the natural laws, rather than attempt their control. At
long intervals some masterminds appeared, looking upon each advance in
practical science as a retro-gradation in the true utility. Occasionally
the poetic intellect--that intellect which we now feel to have been the
most exalted of all--since those truths which to us were of the most
enduring importance could only be reached by that analogy which speaks in
proof tones to the imagination alone and to the unaided reason bears no
weight--occasionally did this poetic intellect proceed a step farther
in the evolving of the vague idea of the philosophic, and find in the
mystic parable that tells of the tree of knowledge, and of its forbidden
fruit, death-producing, a distinct intimation that knowledge was not
meet for man in the infant condition of his soul. And these men--the
poets--living and perishing amid the scorn of the "utilitarians"--of
rough pedants, who arrogated to themselves a title which could have been
properly applied only to the scorned--these men, the poets, pondered
piningly, yet not unwisely, upon the ancient days when our wants were
not more simple than our enjoyments were keen--days when mirth was a
word unknown, so solemnly deep-toned was happiness--holy, august and
blissful days, when blue rivers ran undammed, between hills unhewn, into
far forest solitudes, primaeval, odorous, and unexplored.

Yet these noble exceptions from the general misrule served but to
strengthen it by opposition. Alas! we had fallen upon the most evil of
all our evil days. The great "movement"--that was the cant term--went
on: a diseased commotion, moral and physical. Art--the Arts--arose
supreme, and, once enthroned, cast chains upon the intellect which had
elevated them to power. Man, because he could not but acknowledge the
majesty of Nature, fell into childish exultation at his acquired and
still-increasing dominion over her elements. Even while he stalked a
God in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came over him. As might be
supposed from the origin of his disorder, he grew infected with system,
and with abstraction. He enwrapped himself in generalities. Among other
odd ideas, that of universal equality gained ground; and in the face of
analogy and of God--in despite of the loud warning voice of the laws
of gradation so visibly pervading all things in Earth an Heaven--wild
attempts at an omni-prevalent Democracy were made. Yet this evil sprang
necessarily from the leading evil, Knowledge. Man could not both know
and succumb. Meantime huge smoking cities arose, innumerable. Green
leaves shrank before the hot breath of furnaces. The fair face of
Nature was deformed as with the ravages of some loathsome disease. And
methinks, sweet Una, even our slumbering sense of the forced and of the
far-fetched might have arrested us here. But now it appears that we had
worked out our own destruction in the perversion of our taste, or rather
in the blind neglect of its culture in the schools. For, in truth,
it was at this crisis that taste alone--that faculty which, holding a
middle position between the pure intellect and the moral sense, could
never safely have been disregarded--it was now that taste alone could
have led us gently back to Beauty, to Nature, and to Life. But alas for
the pure contemplative spirit and majestic intuition of Plato! Alas
for the which he justly regarded as an all-sufficient education for the
soul! Alas for him and for it!--since both were most desperately needed
when both were most entirely forgotten or despised. {*1}

Pascal, a philosopher whom we both love, has said, how truly!--"que
tout notre raisonnement se reduit a ceder au sentiment;" and it is not
impossible that the sentiment of the natural, had time permitted it,
would have regained its old ascendancy over the harsh mathematical
reason of the schools. But this thing was not to be. Prematurely induced
by intemperance of knowledge the old age of the world drew on. This the
mass of mankind saw not, or, living lustily although unhappily, affected
not to see. But, for myself, the Earth's records had taught me to look
for widest ruin as the price of highest civilization. I had imbibed a
prescience of our Fate from comparison of China the simple and enduring,
with Assyria the architect, with Egypt the astrologer, with Nubia, more
crafty than either, the turbulent mother of all Arts. In history {*2}
of these regions I met with a ray from the Future. The individual
artificialities of the three latter were local diseases of the Earth,
and in their individual overthrows we had seen local remedies applied;
but for the infected world at large I could anticipate no regeneration
save in death. That man, as a race, should not become extinct, I saw
that he must be "born again."

And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we wrapped our spirits, daily,
in dreams. Now it was that, in twilight, we discoursed of the days to
come, when the Art-scarred surface of the Earth, having undergone that
purification {*3} which alone could efface its rectangular obscenities,
should clothe itself anew in the verdure and the mountain-<DW72>s and
the smiling waters of Paradise, and be rendered at length a fit
dwelling-place for man:--for man the Death purged--for man to whose now
exalted intellect there should be poison in knowledge no more--for the
redeemed, regenerated, blissful, and now immortal, but still for the
material, man.

_Una._ Well do I remember these conversations, dear Monos; but the epoch
of the fiery overthrow was not so near at hand as we believed, and as
the corruption you indicate did surely warrant us in believing. Men
lived; and died individually. You yourself sickened, and passed into the
grave; and thither your constant Una speedily followed you. And though
the century which has since elapsed, and whose conclusion brings us thus
together once more, tortured our slumbering senses with no impatience of
duration, yet, my Monos, it was a century still.

_Monos._ Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity. Unquestionably, it
was in the Earth's dotage that I died. Wearied at heart with anxieties
which had their origin in the general turmoil and decay, I succumbed
to the fierce fever. After some few days of pain, and many of dreamy
delirium replete with ecstasy, the manifestations of which you mistook
for pain, while I longed but was impotent to undeceive you--after some
days there came upon me, as you have said, a breathless and motionless
torpor; and this was termed Death by those who stood around me.

Words are vague things. My condition did not deprive me of sentience. It
appeared to me not greatly dissimilar to the extreme quiescence of him,
who, having slumbered long and profoundly, lying motionless and
fully prostrate in a midsummer noon, begins to steal slowly back into
consciousness, through the mere sufficiency of his sleep, and without
being awakened by external disturbances.

I breathed no longer. The pulses were still. The heart had ceased to
beat. Volition had not departed, but was powerless. The senses were
unusually active, although eccentrically so--assuming often each
other's functions at random. The taste and the smell were inextricably
confounded, and became one sentiment, abnormal and intense. The
rose-water with which your tenderness had moistened my lips to the last,
affected me with sweet fancies of flowers--fantastic flowers, far more
lovely than any of the old Earth, but whose prototypes we have here
blooming around us. The eyelids, transparent and bloodless, offered no
complete impediment to vision. As volition was in abeyance, the balls
could not roll in their sockets but all objects within the range of the
visual hemisphere were seen with more or less distinctness; the rays
which fell upon the external retina, or into the corner of the eye,
producing a more vivid effect than those which struck the front or
interior surface. Yet, in the former instance, this effect was so far
anomalous that I appreciated it only as sound--sound sweet or discordant
as the matters presenting themselves at my side were light or dark in
shade--curved or angular in outline. The hearing, at the same time,
although excited in degree, was not irregular in action--estimating real
sounds with an extravagance of precision, not less than of sensibility.
Touch had undergone a modification more peculiar. Its impressions were
tardily received, but pertinaciously retained, and resulted always in
the highest physical pleasure. Thus the pressure of your sweet fingers
upon my eyelids, at first only recognised through vision, at length,
long after their removal, filled my whole being with a sensual delight
immeasurable. I say with a sensual delight. All my perceptions were
purely sensual. The materials furnished the passive brain by the
senses were not in the least degree wrought into shape by the deceased
understanding. Of pain there was some little; of pleasure there was
much; but of moral pain or pleasure none at all. Thus your wild
sobs floated into my ear with all their mournful cadences, and were
appreciated in their every variation of sad tone; but they were soft
musical sounds and no more; they conveyed to the extinct reason no
intimation of the sorrows which gave them birth; while the large and
constant tears which fell upon my face, telling the bystanders of a
heart which broke, thrilled every fibre of my frame with ecstasy
alone. And this was in truth the Death of which these bystanders spoke
reverently, in low whispers--you, sweet Una, gaspingly, with loud cries.

They attired me for the coffin--three or four dark figures which flitted
busily to and fro. As these crossed the direct line of my vision they
affected me as forms; but upon passing to my side their images impressed
me with the idea of shrieks, groans, and other dismal expressions of
terror, of horror, or of wo. You alone, habited in a white robe, passed
in all directions musically about me.

The day waned; and, as its light faded away, I became possessed by a
vague uneasiness--an anxiety such as the sleeper feels when sad real
sounds fall continuously within his ear--low distant bell-tones, solemn,
at long but equal intervals, and mingling with melancholy dreams. Night
arrived; and with its shadows a heavy discomfort. It oppressed my limbs
with the oppression of some dull weight, and was palpable. There was
also a moaning sound, not unlike the distant reverberation of surf, but
more continuous, which, beginning with the first twilight, had grown in
strength with the darkness. Suddenly lights were brought into the
room, and this reverberation became forthwith interrupted into frequent
unequal bursts of the same sound, but less dreary and less distinct. The
ponderous oppression was in a great measure relieved; and, issuing from
the flame of each lamp, (for there were many,) there flowed unbrokenly
into my ears a strain of melodious monotone. And when now, dear Una,
approaching the bed upon which I lay outstretched, you sat gently by
my side, breathing odor from your sweet lips, and pressing them upon
my brow, there arose tremulously within my bosom, and mingling with
the merely physical sensations which circumstances had called forth, a
something akin to sentiment itself--a feeling that, half appreciating,
half responded to your earnest love and sorrow; but this feeling took
no root in the pulseless heart, and seemed indeed rather a shadow than a
reality, and faded quickly away, first into extreme quiescence, and then
into a purely sensual pleasure as before.

And now, from the wreck and the chaos of the usual senses, there
appeared to have arisen within me a sixth, all perfect. In its exercise
I found a wild delight--yet a delight still physical, inasmuch as the
understanding had in it no part. Motion in the animal frame had fully
ceased. No muscle quivered; no nerve thrilled; no artery throbbed. But
there seemed to have sprung up in the brain, that of which no words
could convey to the merely human intelligence even an indistinct
conception. Let me term it a mental pendulous pulsation. It was the
moral embodiment of man's abstract idea of Time. By the absolute
equalization of this movement--or of such as this--had the cycles of the
firmamental orbs themselves, been adjusted. By its aid I measured the
irregularities of the clock upon the mantel, and of the watches of the
attendants. Their tickings came sonorously to my ears. The slightest
deviations from the true proportion--and these deviations were
omni-praevalent--affected me just as violations of abstract truth were
wont, on earth, to affect the moral sense. Although no two of the
time-pieces in the chamber struck the individual seconds accurately
together, yet I had no difficulty in holding steadily in mind the
tones, and the respective momentary errors of each. And this--this keen,
perfect, self-existing sentiment of duration--this sentiment existing
(as man could not possibly have conceived it to exist) independently of
any succession of events--this idea--this sixth sense, upspringing from
the ashes of the rest, was the first obvious and certain step of the
intemporal soul upon the threshold of the temporal Eternity.

It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. All others had departed
from the chamber of Death. They had deposited me in the coffin. The
lamps burned flickeringly; for this I knew by the tremulousness of
the monotonous strains. But, suddenly these strains diminished in
distinctness and in volume. Finally they ceased. The perfume in my
nostrils died away. Forms affected my vision no longer. The oppression
of the Darkness uplifted itself from my bosom. A dull shock like that
of electricity pervaded my frame, and was followed by total loss of the
idea of contact. All of what man has termed sense was merged in the sole
consciousness of entity, and in the one abiding sentiment of duration.
The mortal body had been at length stricken with the hand of the deadly
Decay.

Yet had not all of sentience departed; for the consciousness and the
sentiment remaining supplied some of its functions by a lethargic
intuition. I appreciated the direful change now in operation upon the
flesh, and, as the dreamer is sometimes aware of the bodily presence of
one who leans over him, so, sweet Una, I still dully felt that you sat
by my side. So, too, when the noon of the second day came, I was not
unconscious of those movements which displaced you from my side, which
confined me within the coffin, which deposited me within the hearse,
which bore me to the grave, which lowered me within it, which heaped
heavily the mould upon me, and which thus left me, in blackness and
corruption, to my sad and solemn slumbers with the worm.

And here, in the prison-house which has few secrets to disclose, there
rolled away days and weeks and months; and the soul watched narrowly
each second as it flew, and, without effort, took record of its
flight--without effort and without object.

A year passed. The consciousness of being had grown hourly more
indistinct, and that of mere locality had, in great measure, usurped its
position. The idea of entity was becoming merged in that of place. The
narrow space immediately surrounding what had been the body, was now
growing to be the body itself. At length, as often happens to the
sleeper (by sleep and its world alone is Death imaged)--at length, as
sometimes happened on Earth to the deep slumberer, when some flitting
light half startled him into awaking, yet left him half enveloped in
dreams--so to me, in the strict embrace of the Shadow came that light
which alone might have had power to startle--the light of enduring Love.
Men toiled at the grave in which I lay darkling. They upthrew the damp
earth. Upon my mouldering bones there descended the coffin of Una.

And now again all was void. That nebulous light had been extinguished.
That feeble thrill had vibrated itself into quiescence. Many lustra had
supervened. Dust had returned to dust. The worm had food no more. The
sense of being had at length utterly departed, and there reigned in
its stead--instead of all things--dominant and perpetual--the autocrats
Place and Time. For that which was not--for that which had no form--for
that which had no thought--for that which had no sentience--for that
which was soulless, yet of which matter formed no portion--for all this
nothingness, yet for all this immortality, the grave was still a home,
and the corrosive hours, co-mates.




THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION

     I will bring fire to thee.

             _Euripides--Androm:_

EIROS.

Why do you call me Eiros?

CHARMION

So henceforward will you always be called. You must forget too, my
earthly name, and speak to me as Charmion.

EIROS.

This is indeed no dream!

CHARMION.

Dreams are with us no more;--but of these mysteries anon. I rejoice
to see you looking life-like and rational. The film of the shadow has
already passed from off your eyes. Be of heart and fear nothing. Your
allotted days of stupor have expired and, to-morrow, I will myself
induct you into the full joys and wonders of your novel existence.

EIROS.

True--I feel no stupor--none at all. The wild sickness and the terrible
darkness have left me, and I hear no longer that mad, rushing, horrible
sound, like the "voice of many waters." Yet my senses are bewildered,
Charmion, with the keenness of their perception of the new.

CHARMION.

A few days will remove all this;--but I fully understand you, and
feel for you. It is now ten earthly years since I underwent what you
undergo--yet the remembrance of it hangs by me still. You have now
suffered all of pain, however, which you will suffer in Aidenn.

EIROS.

In Aidenn?

CHARMION.

In Aidenn.

EIROS.

Oh God!--pity me, Charmion!--I am overburthened with the majesty of all
things--of the unknown now known--of the speculative Future merged in
the august and certain Present.

CHARMION.

Grapple not now with such thoughts. To-morrow we will speak of this.
Your mind wavers, and its agitation will find relief in the exercise of
simple memories. Look not around, nor forward--but back. I am burning
with anxiety to hear the details of that stupendous event which threw
you among us. Tell me of it. Let us converse of familiar things, in the
old familiar language of the world which has so fearfully perished.

EIROS.

Most fearfully, fearfully!--this is indeed no dream.

CHARMION.

Dreams are no more. Was I much mourned, my Eiros?

EIROS.

Mourned, Charmion?--oh deeply. To that last hour of all, there hung a
cloud of intense gloom and devout sorrow over your household.

CHARMION.

And that last hour--speak of it. Remember that, beyond the naked fact
of the catastrophe itself, I know nothing. When, coming out from among
mankind, I passed into Night through the Grave--at that period, if
I remember aright, the calamity which overwhelmed you was utterly
unanticipated. But, indeed, I knew little of the speculative philosophy
of the day.

EIROS.

The individual calamity was as you say entirely unanticipated; but
analogous misfortunes had been long a subject of discussion with
astronomers. I need scarce tell you, my friend, that, even when you
left us, men had agreed to understand those passages in the most holy
writings which speak of the final destruction of all things by fire,
as having reference to the orb of the earth alone. But in regard to the
immediate agency of the ruin, speculation had been at fault from that
epoch in astronomical knowledge in which the comets were divested of
the terrors of flame. The very moderate density of these bodies had been
well established. They had been observed to pass among the satellites
of Jupiter, without bringing about any sensible alteration either in the
masses or in the orbits of these secondary planets. We had long regarded
the wanderers as vapory creations of inconceivable tenuity, and as
altogether incapable of doing injury to our substantial globe, even in
the event of contact. But contact was not in any degree dreaded; for
the elements of all the comets were accurately known. That among them we
should look for the agency of the threatened fiery destruction had been
for many years considered an inadmissible idea. But wonders and wild
fancies had been, of late days, strangely rife among mankind; and,
although it was only with a few of the ignorant that actual apprehension
prevailed, upon the announcement by astronomers of a new comet, yet this
announcement was generally received with I know not what of agitation
and mistrust.

The elements of the strange orb were immediately calculated, and it was
at once conceded by all observers, that its path, at perihelion, would
bring it into very close proximity with the earth. There were two or
three astronomers, of secondary note, who resolutely maintained that a
contact was inevitable. I cannot very well express to you the effect of
this intelligence upon the people. For a few short days they would
not believe an assertion which their intellect so long employed among
worldly considerations could not in any manner grasp. But the truth of a
vitally important fact soon makes its way into the understanding of even
the most stolid. Finally, all men saw that astronomical knowledge
lied not, and they awaited the comet. Its approach was not, at first,
seemingly rapid; nor was its appearance of very unusual character. It
was of a dull red, and had little perceptible train. For seven or eight
days we saw no material increase in its apparent diameter, and but a
partial alteration in its color. Meantime, the ordinary affairs of
men were discarded and all interests absorbed in a growing discussion,
instituted by the philosophic, in respect to the cometary nature.
Even the grossly ignorant aroused their sluggish capacities to such
considerations. The learned now gave their intellect--their soul--to
no such points as the allaying of fear, or to the sustenance of loved
theory. They sought--they panted for right views. They groaned for
perfected knowledge. Truth arose in the purity of her strength and
exceeding majesty, and the wise bowed down and adored.

That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants would result
from the apprehended contact, was an opinion which hourly lost ground
among the wise; and the wise were now freely permitted to rule the
reason and the fancy of the crowd. It was demonstrated, that the density
of the comet's nucleus was far less than that of our rarest gas; and the
harmless passage of a similar visitor among the satellites of Jupiter
was a point strongly insisted upon, and which served greatly to allay
terror. Theologists with an earnestness fear-enkindled, dwelt upon the
biblical prophecies, and expounded them to the people with a directness
and simplicity of which no previous instance had been known. That the
final destruction of the earth must be brought about by the agency of
fire, was urged with a spirit that enforced every where conviction;
and that the comets were of no fiery nature (as all men now knew) was a
truth which relieved all, in a great measure, from the apprehension
of the great calamity foretold. It is noticeable that the popular
prejudices and vulgar errors in regard to pestilences and wars--errors
which were wont to prevail upon every appearance of a comet--were now
altogether unknown. As if by some sudden convulsive exertion, reason had
at once hurled superstition from her throne. The feeblest intellect had
derived vigor from excessive interest.

What minor evils might arise from the contact were points of elaborate
question. The learned spoke of slight geological disturbances, of
probable alterations in climate, and consequently in vegetation, of
possible magnetic and electric influences. Many held that no visible
or perceptible effect would in any manner be produced. While such
discussions were going on, their subject gradually approached, growing
larger in apparent diameter, and of a more brilliant lustre. Mankind
grew paler as it came. All human operations were suspended.

There was an epoch in the course of the general sentiment when the
comet had attained, at length, a size surpassing that of any previously
recorded visitation. The people now, dismissing any lingering hope that
the astronomers were wrong, experienced all the certainty of evil. The
chimerical aspect of their terror was gone. The hearts of the stoutest
of our race beat violently within their bosoms. A very few days
sufficed, however, to merge even such feelings in sentiments
more unendurable We could no longer apply to the strange orb any
accustomed thoughts. Its historical attributes had disappeared. It
oppressed us with a hideous novelty of emotion. We saw it not as an
astronomical phenomenon in the heavens, but as an incubus upon our
hearts, and a shadow upon our brains. It had taken, with inconceivable
rapidity, the character of a gigantic mantle of rare flame, extending
from horizon to horizon.

Yet a day, and men breathed with greater freedom. It was clear that we
were already within the influence of the comet; yet we lived. We even
felt an unusual elasticity of frame and vivacity of mind. The exceeding
tenuity of the object of our dread was apparent; for all heavenly
objects were plainly visible through it. Meantime, our vegetation
had perceptibly altered; and we gained faith, from this predicted
circumstance, in the foresight of the wise. A wild luxuriance of
foliage, utterly unknown before, burst out upon every vegetable thing.

Yet another day--and the evil was not altogether upon us. It was now
evident that its nucleus would first reach us. A wild change had come
over all men; and the first sense of pain was the wild signal for
general lamentation and horror. This first sense of pain lay in a
rigorous constriction of the breast and lungs, and an insufferable
dryness of the skin. It could not be denied that our atmosphere was
radically affected; the conformation of this atmosphere and the possible
modifications to which it might be subjected, were now the topics of
discussion. The result of investigation sent an electric thrill of the
intensest terror through the universal heart of man.

It had been long known that the air which encircled us was a compound of
oxygen and nitrogen gases, in the proportion of twenty-one measures
of oxygen, and seventy-nine of nitrogen in every one hundred of the
atmosphere. Oxygen, which was the principle of combustion, and the
vehicle of heat, was absolutely necessary to the support of animal life,
and was the most powerful and energetic agent in nature. Nitrogen, on
the contrary, was incapable of supporting either animal life or flame.
An unnatural excess of oxygen would result, it had been ascertained
in just such an elevation of the animal spirits as we had latterly
experienced. It was the pursuit, the extension of the idea, which had
engendered awe. What would be the result of a total extraction of the
nitrogen? A combustion irresistible, all-devouring, omni-prevalent,
immediate;--the entire fulfilment, in all their minute and terrible
details, of the fiery and horror-inspiring denunciations of the
prophecies of the Holy Book.

Why need I paint, Charmion, the now disenchained frenzy of mankind? That
tenuity in the comet which had previously inspired us with hope, was
now the source of the bitterness of despair. In its impalpable gaseous
character we clearly perceived the consummation of Fate. Meantime a day
again passed--bearing away with it the last shadow of Hope. We gasped
in the rapid modification of the air. The red blood bounded tumultuously
through its strict channels. A furious delirium possessed all men; and,
with arms rigidly outstretched towards the threatening heavens, they
trembled and shrieked aloud. But the nucleus of the destroyer was
now upon us;--even here in Aidenn, I shudder while I speak. Let me be
brief--brief as the ruin that overwhelmed. For a moment there was a wild
lurid light alone, visiting and penetrating all things. Then--let us
bow down Charmion, before the excessive majesty of the great God!--then,
there came a shouting and pervading sound, as if from the mouth itself
of HIM; while the whole incumbent mass of ether in which we existed,
burst at once into a species of intense flame, for whose surpassing
brilliancy and all-fervid heat even the angels in the high Heaven of
pure knowledge have no name. Thus ended all.




SHADOW--A PARABLE

     Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Shadow:

          --Psalm of David.

YE who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have long
since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange things
shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass
away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And, when seen, there will be
some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much
to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron.

The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than
terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies and
signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the black
wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those, nevertheless,
cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the heavens wore an aspect
of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among others, it was evident that
now had arrived the alternation of that seven hundred and ninety-fourth
year when, at the entrance of Aries, the planet Jupiter is conjoined
with the red ring of the terrible Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the
skies, if I mistake not greatly, made itself manifest, not only in
the physical orb of the earth, but in the souls, imaginations, and
meditations of mankind.

Over some flasks of the red Chian wine, within the walls of a noble
hall, in a dim city called Ptolemais, we sat, at night, a company of
seven. And to our chamber there was no entrance save by a lofty door of
brass: and the door was fashioned by the artisan Corinnos, and, being of
rare workmanship, was fastened from within. Black draperies, likewise,
in the gloomy room, shut out from our view the moon, the lurid stars,
and the peopleless streets--but the boding and the memory of Evil they
would not be so excluded. There were things around us and about of
which I can render no distinct account--things material
and spiritual--heaviness in the atmosphere--a sense of
suffocation--anxiety--and, above all, that terrible state of existence
which the nervous experience when the senses are keenly living and
awake, and meanwhile the powers of thought lie dormant. A dead weight
hung upon us. It hung upon our limbs--upon the household furniture--upon
the goblets from which we drank; and all things were depressed, and
borne down thereby--all things save only the flames of the seven lamps
which illumined our revel. Uprearing themselves in tall slender lines of
light, they thus remained burning all pallid and motionless; and in the
mirror which their lustre formed upon the round table of ebony at
which we sat, each of us there assembled beheld the pallor of his
own countenance, and the unquiet glare in the downcast eyes of his
companions. Yet we laughed and were merry in our proper way--which was
hysterical; and sang the songs of Anacreon--which are madness; and drank
deeply--although the purple wine reminded us of blood. For there was yet
another tenant of our chamber in the person of young Zoilus. Dead,
and at full length he lay, enshrouded; the genius and the demon of the
scene. Alas! he bore no portion in our mirth, save that his countenance,
distorted with the plague, and his eyes, in which Death had but half
extinguished the fire of the pestilence, seemed to take such interest in
our merriment as the dead may haply take in the merriment of those who
are to die. But although I, Oinos, felt that the eyes of the departed
were upon me, still I forced myself not to perceive the bitterness of
their expression, and gazing down steadily into the depths of the ebony
mirror, sang with a loud and sonorous voice the songs of the son of
Teios. But gradually my songs they ceased, and their echoes, rolling
afar off among the sable draperies of the chamber, became weak, and
undistinguishable, and so faded away. And lo! from among those sable
draperies where the sounds of the song departed, there came forth a dark
and undefined shadow--a shadow such as the moon, when low in heaven,
might fashion from the figure of a man: but it was the shadow neither
of man nor of God, nor of any familiar thing. And quivering awhile among
the draperies of the room, it at length rested in full view upon the
surface of the door of brass. But the shadow was vague, and formless,
and indefinite, and was the shadow neither of man nor of God--neither
God of Greece, nor God of Chaldaea, nor any Egyptian God. And the shadow
rested upon the brazen doorway, and under the arch of the entablature of
the door, and moved not, nor spoke any word, but there became stationary
and remained. And the door whereupon the shadow rested was, if I
remember aright, over against the feet of the young Zoilus enshrouded.
But we, the seven there assembled, having seen the shadow as it came out
from among the draperies, dared not steadily behold it, but cast down
our eyes, and gazed continually into the depths of the mirror of ebony.
And at length I, Oinos, speaking some low words, demanded of the shadow
its dwelling and its appellation. And the shadow answered, "I am SHADOW,
and my dwelling is near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those
dim plains of Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal."
And then did we, the seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand
trembling, and shuddering, and aghast, for the tones in the voice of
the shadow were not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of
beings, and, varying in their cadences from syllable to syllable fell
duskly upon our ears in the well-remembered and familiar accents of many
thousand departed friends.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, by Edgar Allan Poe

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