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diff --git a/21816-h/21816-h.htm b/21816-h/21816-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c39aa73 --- /dev/null +++ b/21816-h/21816-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13786 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Confidence-Man, by Herman Melville</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + + body {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify;} + h1,h2 {text-align:center; clear: both;} + div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + hr {width: 65%; margin:2em auto 2em auto; clear:both;} + ins.corr {text-decoration:none; border-bottom:thin dotted gray;} + p {text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em;} + p.noin {text-indent:0;} + table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td {text-align:left;} + .b {font-weight:bold;} + .bbox {border:solid 1px; padding:0.5em; margin-top:2em;} + .c {text-align: center;} + .lc {text-transform:lowercase;} + .mt2 {margin-top:2em;} + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .sf75 {font-size:75%;} + .sf50 {font-size:50%;} + .sf30 {font-size:30%;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Confidence-Man, by Herman Melville</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Confidence-Man</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Herman Melville</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 12, 2007 [eBook #21816]<br /> +[Most recently updated: May 28, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: LN Yaddanapudi and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONFIDENCE-MAN ***</div> + +<h1><span class='sf50'>THE</span><br /><br /> +CONFIDENCE-MAN:<br /><br /> + +<span class='sf75'>HIS MASQUERADE.</span><br /><br /> + +<span class='sf30'>BY</span><br /> + +<span class='sf50'>HERMAN MELVILLE,</span><br /> +<span class='sf30'>AUTHOR OF “PIAZZA TALES,” “OMOO,” “TYPEE,” ETC., ETC.</span></h1> + +<p class='b c noin'>NEW YORK:<br /> +DIX, EDWARDS & CO., 321 BROADWAY<br /> +1857.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class='c mt2 noin'>Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1857, by<br /> +HERMAN MELVILLE,<br /> +In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the<br /> +Southern District of New York.</p> + +<p class='c mt2 noin'>MILLER & HOLMAN,<br /> +Printers and Stereotypers, N. Y.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A mute goes aboard a boat on the Mississippi.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Showing that many men have many minds.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In which a variety of characters appear.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Renewal of old acquaintance.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The man with the weed makes it an even question whether he be a great sage<br /> +or a great simpleton.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>At the outset of which certain passengers prove deaf to the call of charity.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A gentleman with gold sleeve-buttons.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A charitable lady.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Two business men transact a little business.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In the cabin.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Only a page or so.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The story of the unfortunate man, from which may be gathered whether or no<br /> +he has been justly so entitled.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The man with the traveling-cap evinces much humanity, and in a way which<br /> +would seem to show him to be one of the most logical of optimists.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Worth the consideration of those to whom it may prove worth considering.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>An old miser, upon suitable representations, is prevailed upon to venture an<br /> +investment.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A sick man, after some impatience, is induced to become a patient.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Towards the end of which the Herb-Doctor proves himself a forgiver of injuries.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Inquest into the true character of the Herb-Doctor.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A soldier of fortune.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Reappearance of one who may be remembered.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A hard case.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In the polite spirit of the Tusculan disputations.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In which the powerful effect of natural scenery is evinced in the case of the +Missourian, who, in view of the region round about Cairo, has a return of +his chilly fit.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A philanthropist undertakes to convert a misanthrope, but does not get beyond<br /> +confuting him.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The Cosmopolitan makes an acquaintance.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Containing the metaphysics of Indian-hating, according to the views of one<br /> +evidently not so prepossessed as Rousseau in favor of savages.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Some account of a man of questionable morality, but who, nevertheless, would<br /> +seem entitled to the esteem of that eminent English moralist who said he<br /> +liked a good hater.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Moot points touching the late Colonel John Moredock.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The boon companions.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Opening with a poetical eulogy of the Press, and continuing with talk inspired<br /> +by the same.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>A metamorphosis more surprising than any in Ovid.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Showing that the age of music and magicians is not yet over.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Which may pass for whatever it may prove to be worth.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In which the Cosmopolitan tells the story of the gentleman-madman.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In which the Cosmopolitan strikingly evinces the artlessness of his nature.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In which the Cosmopolitan is accosted by a mystic, whereupon ensues pretty +much such talk as might be expected.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The mystical master introduces the practical disciple.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The disciple unbends, and consents to act a social part.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The hypothetical friends.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In which the story of China Aster is, at second-hand, told by one who, while not<br /> +disapproving the moral, disclaims the spirit of the style.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Ending with a rupture of the hypothesis.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Upon the heel of the last scene, the Cosmopolitan enters the barber’s shop, a<br /> +benediction on his lips.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>Very charming.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>In which the last three words of the last chapter are made the text of the discourse,<br /> +which will be sure of receiving more or less attention from those<br /> +readers who do not skip it.</span></p> + +<p class='c noin'><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV.</a><br /> +<span class='sf75'>The Cosmopolitan increases in seriousness.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE CONFIDENCE-MAN:<br /> +HIS MASQUERADE.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A MUTE GOES ABOARD A BOAT ON THE MISSISSIPPI.</span></h2> + +<p>At sunrise on a first of April, there appeared, suddenly +as Manco Capac at the lake Titicaca, a man in +cream-colors, at the water-side in the city of St. Louis.</p> + +<p>His cheek was fair, his chin downy, his hair flaxen, +his hat a white fur one, with a long fleecy nap. He +had neither trunk, valise, carpet-bag, nor parcel. No +porter followed him. He was unaccompanied by +friends. From the shrugged shoulders, titters, whispers, +wonderings of the crowd, it was plain that he +was, in the extremest sense of the word, a stranger.</p> + +<p>In the same moment with his advent, he stepped +aboard the favorite steamer Fidèle, on the point of +starting for New Orleans. Stared at, but unsaluted, +with the air of one neither courting nor shunning +regard, but evenly pursuing the path of duty, lead it +through solitudes or cities, he held on his way along +the lower deck until he chanced to come to a placard +nigh the captain’s office, offering a reward for the +capture of a mysterious impostor, supposed to have +recently arrived from the East; quite an original +genius in his vocation, as would appear, though wherein +his originality consisted was not clearly given; but +what purported to be a careful description of his person +followed.</p> + +<p>As if it had been a theatre-bill, crowds were gathered +about the announcement, and among them certain +chevaliers, whose eyes, it was plain, were on the capitals, +or, at least, earnestly seeking sight of them from +behind intervening coats; but as for their fingers, they +were enveloped in some myth; though, during a chance +interval, one of these chevaliers somewhat showed his +hand in purchasing from another chevalier, ex-officio a +peddler of money-belts, one of his popular safe-guards, +while another peddler, who was still another versatile +chevalier, hawked, in the thick of the throng, the lives +of Measan, the bandit of Ohio, Murrel, the pirate of +the Mississippi, and the brothers Harpe, the Thugs +of the Green River country, in Kentucky—creatures, +with others of the sort, one and all exterminated at the +time, and for the most part, like the hunted generations +of wolves in the same regions, leaving comparatively +few successors; which would seem cause for unalloyed +gratulation, and is such to all except those who think +that in new countries, where the wolves are killed off, +the foxes increase.</p> + +<p>Pausing at this spot, the stranger so far succeeded +in threading his way, as at last to plant himself just +beside the placard, when, producing a small slate and +tracing some words upon if, he held it up before him +on a level with the placard, so that they who read the +one might read the other. The words were these:—</p> + +<p class='c sf75'>“Charity thinketh no evil.”</p> + +<p>As, in gaining his place, some little perseverance, not +to say persistence, of a mildly inoffensive sort, had been +unavoidable, it was not with the best relish that the +crowd regarded his apparent intrusion; and upon a +more attentive survey, perceiving no badge of authority +about him, but rather something quite the contrary—he +being of an aspect so singularly innocent; +an aspect too, which they took to be somehow inappropriate +to the time and place, and inclining to the +notion that his writing was of much the same sort: in +short, taking him for some strange kind of simpleton, +harmless enough, would he keep to himself, but not +wholly unobnoxious as an intruder—they made no +scruple to jostle him aside; while one, less kind than +the rest, or more of a wag, by an unobserved stroke, +dexterously flattened down his fleecy hat upon his +head. Without readjusting it, the stranger quietly +turned, and writing anew upon the slate, again held +it up:—</p> + +<p class='c sf75'>“Charity suffereth long, and is kind.”</p> + +<p>Illy pleased with his pertinacity, as they thought it, +the crowd a second time thrust him aside, and not +without epithets and some buffets, all of which were +unresented. But, as if at last despairing of so difficult +an adventure, wherein one, apparently a non-resistant, +sought to impose his presence upon fighting characters, +the stranger now moved slowly away, yet not before +altering his writing to this:—</p> + +<p class='c sf75'>“Charity endureth all things.”</p> + +<p>Shield-like bearing his slate before him, amid stares +and jeers he moved slowly up and down, at his turning +points again changing his inscription to—</p> + +<p class='c sf75'>“Charity believeth all things.”</p> + +<p class='noin'>and then—</p> + +<p class='c sf75'>“Charity never faileth.”</p> + +<p>The word charity, as originally traced, remained +throughout uneffaced, not unlike the left-hand numeral +of a printed date, otherwise left for convenience in +blank.</p> + +<p>To some observers, the singularity, if not lunacy, of +the stranger was heightened by his muteness, and, perhaps +also, by the contrast to his proceedings afforded in +the actions—quite in the wonted and sensible order of +things—of the barber of the boat, whose quarters, +under a smoking-saloon, and over against a bar-room, +was next door but two to the captain’s office. As if +the long, wide, covered deck, hereabouts built up on +both sides with shop-like windowed spaces, were some +Constantinople arcade or bazaar, where more than one +trade is plied, this river barber, aproned and slippered, +but rather crusty-looking for the moment, it may be +from being newly out of bed, was throwing open his +premises for the day, and suitably arranging the exterior. +With business-like dispatch, having rattled down +his shutters, and at a palm-tree angle set out in the +iron fixture his little ornamental pole, and this without +overmuch tenderness for the elbows and toes of the +crowd, he concluded his operations by bidding people +stand still more aside, when, jumping on a stool, he +hung over his door, on the customary nail, a gaudy sort +of illuminated pasteboard sign, skillfully executed by +himself, gilt with the likeness of a razor elbowed in +readiness to shave, and also, for the public benefit, with +two words not unfrequently seen ashore gracing other +shops besides barbers’:—</p> + +<p class='c smcap sf75'>“No trust.”</p> + +<p>An inscription which, though in a sense not less intrusive +than the contrasted ones of the stranger, did +not, as it seemed, provoke any corresponding derision +or surprise, much less indignation; and still less, to all +appearances, did it gain for the inscriber the repute of +being a simpleton.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, he with the slate continued moving +slowly up and down, not without causing some stares +to change into jeers, and some jeers into pushes, and +some pushes into punches; when suddenly, in one of +his turns, he was hailed from behind by two porters +carrying a large trunk; but as the summons, though +loud, was without effect, they accidentally or otherwise +swung their burden against him, nearly overthrowing +him; when, by a quick start, a peculiar inarticulate +moan, and a pathetic telegraphing of his fingers, he +involuntarily betrayed that he was not alone dumb, +but also deaf.</p> + +<p>Presently, as if not wholly unaffected by his reception +thus far, he went forward, seating himself in a +retired spot on the forecastle, nigh the foot of a ladder +there leading to a deck above, up and down which ladder +some of the boatmen, in discharge of their duties, +were occasionally going.</p> + +<p>From his betaking himself to this humble quarter, +it was evident that, as a deck-passenger, the stranger, +simple though he seemed, was not entirely ignorant of +his place, though his taking a deck-passage might have +been partly for convenience; as, from his having no +luggage, it was probable that his destination was one +of the small wayside landings within a few hours’ sail. +But, though he might not have a long way to go, yet he +seemed already to have come from a very long distance.</p> + +<p>Though neither soiled nor slovenly, his cream-colored +suit had a tossed look, almost linty, as if, traveling +night and day from some far country beyond the prairies, +he had long been without the solace of a bed. +His aspect was at once gentle and jaded, and, from the +moment of seating himself, increasing in tired abstraction +and dreaminess. Gradually overtaken by slumber, +his flaxen head drooped, his whole lamb-like figure +relaxed, and, half reclining against the ladder’s foot, lay +motionless, as some sugar-snow in March, which, softly +stealing down over night, with its white placidity startles +the brown farmer peering out from his threshold at +daybreak.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>SHOWING THAT MANY MEN HAVE MANY MINDS.</span></h2> + +<p>“Odd fish!”</p> + +<p>“Poor fellow!”</p> + +<p>“Who can he be?”</p> + +<p>“Casper Hauser.”</p> + +<p>“Bless my soul!”</p> + +<p>“Uncommon countenance.”</p> + +<p>“Green prophet from Utah.”</p> + +<p>“Humbug!”</p> + +<p>“Singular innocence.”</p> + +<p>“Means something.”</p> + +<p>“Spirit-rapper.”</p> + +<p>“Moon-calf.”</p> + +<p>“Piteous.”</p> + +<p>“Trying to enlist interest.”</p> + +<p>“Beware of him.”</p> + +<p>“Fast asleep here, and, doubtless, pick-pockets on +board.”</p> + +<p>“Kind of daylight Endymion.”</p> + +<p>“Escaped convict, worn out with dodging.”</p> + +<p>“Jacob dreaming at Luz.”</p> + +<p>Such the epitaphic comments, conflictingly spoken or +thought, of a miscellaneous company, who, assembled +on the overlooking, cross-wise balcony at the forward +end of the upper deck near by, had not witnessed preceding +occurrences.</p> + +<p>Meantime, like some enchanted man in his grave, +happily oblivious of all gossip, whether chiseled or +chatted, the deaf and dumb stranger still tranquilly +slept, while now the boat started on her voyage.</p> + +<p>The great ship-canal of Ving-King-Ching, in the +Flowery Kingdom, seems the Mississippi in parts, +where, amply flowing between low, vine-tangled +banks, flat as tow-paths, it bears the huge toppling +steamers, bedizened and lacquered within like imperial +junks.</p> + +<p>Pierced along its great white bulk with two tiers of +small embrasure-like windows, well above the waterline, +the Fiddle, though, might at distance have been +taken by strangers for some whitewashed fort on a +floating isle.</p> + +<p>Merchants on ’change seem the passengers that buzz +on her decks, while, from quarters unseen, comes a murmur +as of bees in the comb. Fine promenades, domed +saloons, long galleries, sunny balconies, confidential +passages, bridal chambers, state-rooms plenty as pigeon-holes, +and out-of-the-way retreats like secret drawers +in an escritoire, present like facilities for publicity or +privacy. Auctioneer or coiner, with equal ease, might +somewhere here drive his trade.</p> + +<p>Though her voyage of twelve hundred miles extends +from apple to orange, from clime to clime, yet, like +any small ferry-boat, to right and left, at every landing, +the huge Fidèle still receives additional passengers in +exchange for those that disembark; so that, though +always full of strangers, she continually, in some degree, +adds to, or replaces them with strangers still +more strange; like Rio Janeiro fountain, fed from the +Cocovarde mountains, which is ever overflowing with +strange waters, but never with the same strange particles +in every part.</p> + +<p>Though hitherto, as has been seen, the man in +cream-colors had by no means passed unobserved, yet +by stealing into retirement, and there going asleep +and continuing so, he seemed to have courted oblivion, +a boon not often withheld from so humble an applicant +as he. Those staring crowds on the shore were now +left far behind, seen dimly clustering like swallows on +eaves; while the passengers’ attention was soon drawn +away to the rapidly shooting high bluffs and shot-towers +on the Missouri shore, or the bluff-looking Missourians +and towering Kentuckians among the throngs on the +decks.</p> + +<p>By-and-by—two or three random stoppages having +been made, and the last transient memory of the slumberer +vanished, and he himself, not unlikely, waked up +and landed ere now—the crowd, as is usual, began in +all parts to break up from a concourse into various +clusters or squads, which in some cases disintegrated +again into quartettes, trios, and couples, or even solitaires; +involuntarily submitting to that natural law +which ordains dissolution equally to the mass, as in +time to the member.</p> + +<p>As among Chaucer’s Canterbury pilgrims, or those +oriental ones crossing the Red Sea towards Mecca in +the festival month, there was no lack of variety. Natives +of all sorts, and foreigners; men of business and +men of pleasure; parlor men and backwoodsmen; +farm-hunters and fame-hunters; heiress-hunters, gold-hunters, +buffalo-hunters, bee-hunters, happiness-hunters, +truth-hunters, and still keener hunters after all +these hunters. Fine ladies in slippers, and moccasined +squaws; Northern speculators and Eastern philosophers; +English, Irish, German, Scotch, Danes; Santa +Fé traders in striped blankets, and Broadway bucks in +cravats of cloth of gold; fine-looking Kentucky boatmen, +and Japanese-looking Mississippi cotton-planters; +Quakers in full drab, and United States soldiers in full +regimentals; slaves, black, mulatto, quadroon; modish +young Spanish Creoles, and old-fashioned French Jews; +Mormons and Papists Dives and Lazarus; jesters and +mourners, teetotalers and convivialists, deacons and +blacklegs; hard-shell Baptists and clay-eaters; grinning +negroes, and Sioux chiefs solemn as high-priests. +In short, a piebald parliament, an Anacharsis Cloots +congress of all kinds of that multiform pilgrim species, +man.</p> + +<p>As pine, beech, birch, ash, hackmatack, hemlock, +spruce, bass-wood, maple, interweave their foliage in +the natural wood, so these mortals blended +their varieties of visage and garb. A Tartar-like picturesqueness; +a sort of pagan abandonment and assurance. +Here reigned the dashing and all-fusing spirit +of the West, whose type is the Mississippi itself, which, +uniting the streams of the most distant and opposite +zones, pours them along, helter-skelter, in one cosmopolitan +and confident tide.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN WHICH A VARIETY OF CHARACTERS APPEAR.</span></h2> + +<p>In the forward part of the boat, not the least attractive +object, for a time, was a grotesque negro cripple, in +tow-cloth attire and an old coal-sifter of a tamborine +in his hand, who, owing to something wrong about his +legs, was, in effect, cut down to the stature of a Newfoundland +dog; his knotted black fleece and good-natured, +honest black face rubbing against the upper +part of people’s thighs as he made shift to shuffle about, +making music, such as it was, and raising a smile even +from the gravest. It was curious to see him, out of his +very deformity, indigence, and houselessness, so cheerily +endured, raising mirth in some of that crowd, whose +own purses, hearths, hearts, all their possessions, sound +limbs included, could not make gay.</p> + +<p>“What is your name, old boy?” said a purple-faced +drover, putting his large purple hand on the cripple’s +bushy wool, as if it were the curled forehead of a black +steer.</p> + +<p>“Der Black Guinea dey calls me, sar.”</p> + +<p>“And who is your master, Guinea?”</p> + +<p>“Oh sar, I am der dog widout massa.”</p> + +<p>“A free dog, eh? Well, on your account, I’m sorry +for that, Guinea. Dogs without masters fare hard.”</p> + +<p>“So dey do, sar; so dey do. But you see, sar, dese +here legs? What ge’mman want to own dese here +legs?”</p> + +<p>“But where do you live?”</p> + +<p>“All ’long shore, sar; dough now. I’se going to +see brodder at der landing; but chiefly I libs in dey +city.”</p> + +<p>“St. Louis, ah? Where do you sleep there of +nights?”</p> + +<p>“On der floor of der good baker’s oven, sar.”</p> + +<p>“In an oven? whose, pray? What baker, I should +like to know, bakes such black bread in his oven, +alongside of his nice white rolls, too. Who is that +too charitable baker, pray?”</p> + +<p>“Dar he be,” with a broad grin lifting his tambourine +high over his head.</p> + +<p>“The sun is the baker, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes sar, in der city dat good baker warms der stones +for dis ole darkie when he sleeps out on der pabements +o’ nights.”</p> + +<p>“But that must be in the summer only, old boy. +How about winter, when the cold Cossacks come +clattering and jingling? How about winter, old +boy?”</p> + +<p>“Den dis poor old darkie shakes werry bad, I tell +you, sar. Oh sar, oh! don’t speak ob der winter,” he +added, with a reminiscent shiver, shuffling off into the +thickest of the crowd, like a half-frozen black sheep +nudging itself a cozy berth in the heart of the white +flock.</p> + +<p>Thus far not very many pennies had been given him, +and, used at last to his strange looks, the less polite passengers +of those in that part of the boat began to get +their fill of him as a curious object; when suddenly the +negro more than revived their first interest by an expedient +which, whether by chance or design, was a singular +temptation at once to <i>diversion</i> and charity, though, +even more than his crippled limbs, it put him on a +canine footing. In short, as in appearance he seemed +a dog, so now, in a merry way, like a dog he began to +be treated. Still shuffling among the crowd, now and +then he would pause, throwing back his head and, +opening his mouth like an elephant for tossed apples +at a menagerie; when, making a space before him, people +would have a bout at a strange sort of pitch-penny +game, the cripple’s mouth being at once target and +purse, and he hailing each expertly-caught copper with +a cracked bravura from his tambourine. To be the subject +of alms-giving is trying, and to feel in duty bound +to appear cheerfully grateful under the trial, must be +still more so; but whatever his secret emotions, he +swallowed them, while still retaining each copper this +side the œsophagus. And nearly always he grinned, +and only once or twice did he wince, which was when +certain coins, tossed by more playful almoners, came +inconveniently nigh to his teeth, an accident whose +unwelcomeness was not unedged by the circumstance +that the pennies thus thrown proved buttons.</p> + +<p>While this game of charity was yet at its height, a +limping, gimlet-eyed, sour-faced person—it may be +some discharged custom-house officer, who, suddenly +stripped of convenient means of support, had concluded +to be avenged on government and humanity +by making himself miserable for life, either by hating +or suspecting everything and everybody—this shallow +unfortunate, after sundry sorry observations of the negro, +began to croak out something about his deformity +being a sham, got up for financial purposes, which immediately +threw a damp upon the frolic benignities of +the pitch-penny players.</p> + +<p>But that these suspicions came from one who himself +on a wooden leg went halt, this did not appear to +strike anybody present. That cripples, above all men +should be companionable, or, at least, refrain from picking +a fellow-limper to pieces, in short, should have a +little sympathy in common misfortune, seemed not to +occur to the company.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the negro’s countenance, before marked +with even more than patient good-nature, drooped +into a heavy-hearted expression, full of the most +painful distress. So far abased beneath its proper +physical level, that Newfoundland-dog face turned in +passively hopeless appeal, as if instinct told it that the +right or the wrong might not have overmuch to do +with whatever wayward mood superior intelligences +might yield to.</p> + +<p>But instinct, though knowing, is yet a teacher set +below reason, which itself says, in the grave words of +Lysander in the comedy, after Puck has made a sage of +him with his spell:—</p> + +<p class='c sf75'>“The will of man is by his reason swayed.”</p> + +<p class='noin'>So that, suddenly change as people may, in their dispositions, +it is not always waywardness, but improved +judgment, which, as in Lysander’s case, or the present, +operates with them.</p> + +<p>Yes, they began to scrutinize the negro curiously +enough; when, emboldened by this evidence of the +efficacy of his words, the wooden-legged man hobbled +up to the negro, and, with the air of a beadle, would, +to prove his alleged imposture on the spot, have stripped +him and then driven him away, but was prevented +by the crowd’s clamor, now taking part with the poor +fellow, against one who had just before turned nearly +all minds the other way. So he with the wooden leg +was forced to retire; when the rest, finding themselves +left sole judges in the case, could not resist the opportunity +of acting the part: not because it is a human +weakness to take pleasure in sitting in judgment upon +one in a box, as surely this unfortunate negro now +was, but that it strangely sharpens human perceptions, +when, instead of standing by and having their +fellow-feelings touched by the sight of an alleged culprit +severely handled by some one justiciary, a crowd +suddenly come to be all justiciaries in the same case +themselves; as in Arkansas once, a man proved guilty, +by law, of murder, but whose condemnation was deemed +unjust by the people, so that they rescued him to try +him themselves; whereupon, they, as it turned out, +found him even guiltier than the court had done, and +forthwith proceeded to execution; so that the gallows +presented the truly warning spectacle of a man hanged +by his friends.</p> + +<p>But not to such extremities, or anything like them, +did the present crowd come; they, for the time, being +content with putting the negro fairly and discreetly to +the question; among other things, asking him, had he +any documentary proof, any plain paper about him, +attesting that his case was not a spurious one.</p> + +<p>“No, no, dis poor ole darkie haint none o’ dem waloable +papers,” he wailed.</p> + +<p>“But is there not some one who can speak a good +word for you?” here said a person newly arrived from +another part of the boat, a young Episcopal clergyman, +in a long, straight-bodied black coat; small in stature, +but manly; with a clear face and blue eye; innocence, +tenderness, and good sense triumvirate in his air.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, oh yes, ge’mmen,” he eagerly answered, +as if his memory, before suddenly frozen up by cold +charity, as suddenly thawed back into fluidity at the +first kindly word. “Oh yes, oh yes, dar is aboard here +a werry nice, good ge’mman wid a weed, and a ge’mman +in a gray coat and white tie, what knows all about me; +and a ge’mman wid a big book, too; and a yarb-doctor; +and a ge’mman in a yaller west; and a ge’mman wid a +brass plate; and a ge’mman in a wiolet robe; and a +ge’mman as is a sodjer; and ever so many good, kind, +honest ge’mmen more aboard what knows me and will +speak for me, God bress ’em; yes, and what knows me +as well as dis poor old darkie knows hisself, God bress +him! Oh, find ’em, find ’em,” he earnestly added, “and +let ’em come quick, and show you all, ge’mmen, dat dis +poor ole darkie is werry well wordy of all you kind +ge’mmen’s kind confidence.”</p> + +<p>“But how are we to find all these people in this +great crowd?” was the question of a bystander, umbrella +in hand; a middle-aged person, a country merchant +apparently, whose natural good-feeling had been +made at least cautious by the unnatural ill-feeling of +the discharged custom-house officer.</p> + +<p>“Where are we to find them?” half-rebukefully +echoed the young Episcopal clergymen. “I will go +find one to begin with,” he quickly added, and, with +kind haste suiting the action to the word, away he +went.</p> + +<p>“Wild goose chase!” croaked he with the wooden +leg, now again drawing nigh. “Don’t believe there’s +a soul of them aboard. Did ever beggar have such +heaps of fine friends? He can walk fast enough when +he tries, a good deal faster than I; but he can lie yet +faster. He’s some white operator, betwisted and +painted up for a decoy. He and his friends are all +humbugs.”</p> + +<p>“Have you no charity, friend?” here in self-subdued +tones, singularly contrasted with his unsubdued person, +said a Methodist minister, advancing; a tall, muscular, +martial-looking man, a Tennessean by birth, who in the +Mexican war had been volunteer chaplain to a volunteer +rifle-regiment.</p> + +<p>“Charity is one thing, and truth is another,” rejoined +he with the wooden leg: “he’s a rascal, I say.”</p> + +<p>“But why not, friend, put as charitable a construction +as one can upon the poor fellow?” said the soldierlike +Methodist, with increased difficulty maintaining a +pacific demeanor towards one whose own asperity +seemed so little to entitle him to it: “he looks honest, +don’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Looks are one thing, and facts are another,” snapped +out the other perversely; “and as to your constructions, +what construction can you put upon a rascal, but +that a rascal he is?”</p> + +<p>“Be not such a Canada thistle,” urged the Methodist, +with something less of patience than before. “Charity, +man, charity.”</p> + +<p>“To where it belongs with your charity! to heaven +with it!” again snapped out the other, diabolically; +“here on earth, true charity dotes, and false charity +plots. Who betrays a fool with a kiss, the charitable +fool has the charity to believe is in love with him, +and the charitable knave on the stand gives charitable +testimony for his comrade in the box.”</p> + +<p>“Surely, friend,” returned the noble Methodist, with +much ado restraining his still waxing indignation—“surely, +to say the least, you forget yourself. Apply +it home,” he continued, with exterior calmness tremulous +with inkept emotion. “Suppose, now, I should +exercise no charity in judging your own character by +the words which have fallen from you; what sort of +vile, pitiless man do you think I would take you for?”</p> + +<p>“No doubt”—with a grin—“some such pitiless man +as has lost his piety in much the same way that the +jockey loses his honesty.”</p> + +<p>“And how is that, friend?” still conscientiously +holding back the old Adam in him, as if it were a +mastiff he had by the neck.</p> + +<p>“Never you mind how it is”—with a sneer; “but +all horses aint virtuous, no more than all men kind; +and come close to, and much dealt with, some things +are catching. When you find me a virtuous jockey, I +will find you a benevolent wise man.”</p> + +<p>“Some insinuation there.”</p> + +<p>“More fool you that are puzzled by it.”</p> + +<p>“Reprobate!” cried the other, his indignation now +at last almost boiling over; “godless reprobate! if +charity did not restrain me, I could call you by names +you deserve.”</p> + +<p>“Could you, indeed?” with an insolent sneer.</p> + +<p>“Yea, and teach you charity on the spot,” cried the +goaded Methodist, suddenly catching this exasperating +opponent by his shabby coat-collar, and shaking him +till his timber-toe clattered on the deck like a nine-pin. +“You took me for a non-combatant did you?—thought, +seedy coward that you are, that you could abuse a +Christian with impunity. You find your mistake”—with +another hearty shake.</p> + +<p>“Well said and better done, church militant!” cried +a voice.</p> + +<p>“The white cravat against the world!” cried another.</p> + +<p>“Bravo, bravo!” chorused many voices, with like +enthusiasm taking sides with the resolute champion.</p> + +<p>“You fools!” cried he with the wooden leg, writhing +himself loose and inflamedly turning upon the +throng; “you flock of fools, under this captain of fools, +in this ship of fools!”</p> + +<p>With which exclamations, followed by idle threats +against his admonisher, this condign victim to justice +hobbled away, as disdaining to hold further argument +with such a rabble. But his scorn was more than +repaid by the hisses that chased him, in which the +brave Methodist, satisfied with the rebuke already +administered, was, to omit still better reasons, too +magnanimous to join. All he said was, pointing towards +the departing recusant, “There he shambles off +on his one lone leg, emblematic of his one-sided view +of humanity.”</p> + +<p>“But trust your painted decoy,” retorted the other +from a distance, pointing back to the black cripple, +“and I have my revenge.”</p> + +<p>“But we aint agoing to trust him!” shouted back a +voice.</p> + +<p>“So much the better,” he jeered back. “Look +you,” he added, coming to a dead halt where he was; +“look you, I have been called a Canada thistle. Very +good. And a seedy one: still better. And the seedy +Canada thistle has been pretty well shaken among ye: +best of all. Dare say some seed has been shaken out; +and won’t it spring though? And when it does spring, +do you cut down the young thistles, and won’t they +spring the more? It’s encouraging and coaxing ’em. +Now, when with my thistles your farms shall be well +stocked, why then—you may abandon ’em!”</p> + +<p>“What does all that mean, now?” asked the country +merchant, staring.</p> + +<p>“Nothing; the foiled wolf’s parting howl,” said the +Methodist. “Spleen, much spleen, which is the rickety +child of his evil heart of unbelief: it has made him +mad. I suspect him for one naturally reprobate. Oh, +friends,” raising his arms as in the pulpit, “oh beloved, +how are we admonished by the melancholy spectacle of +this raver. Let us profit by the lesson; and is it not +this: that if, next to mistrusting Providence, there be +aught that man should pray against, it is against mistrusting +his fellow-man. I have been in mad-houses +full of tragic mopers, and seen there the end of suspicion: +the cynic, in the moody madness muttering in +the corner; for years a barren fixture there; head lopped +over, gnawing his own lip, vulture of himself; +while, by fits and starts, from the corner opposite came +the grimace of the idiot at him.”</p> + +<p>“What an example,” whispered one.</p> + +<p>“Might deter Timon,” was the response.</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh, good ge’mmen, have you no confidence in +dis poor ole darkie?” now wailed the returning negro, +who, during the late scene, had stumped apart in +alarm.</p> + +<p>“Confidence in you?” echoed he who had whispered, +with abruptly changed air turning short round; “that +remains to be seen.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you what it is, Ebony,” in similarly changed +tones said he who had responded to the whisperer, +“yonder churl,” pointing toward the wooden leg in +the distance, “is, no doubt, a churlish fellow enough, +and I would not wish to be like him; but that is no +reason why you may not be some sort of black Jeremy +Diddler.”</p> + +<p>“No confidence in dis poor ole darkie, den?”</p> + +<p>“Before giving you our confidence,” said a third, +“we will wait the report of the kind gentleman who +went in search of one of your friends who was to speak +for you.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely, in that case,” said a fourth, “we shall +wait here till Christmas. Shouldn’t wonder, did we not +see that kind gentleman again. After seeking awhile in +vain, he will conclude he has been made a fool of, and +so not return to us for pure shame. Fact is, I begin to +feel a little qualmish about the darkie myself. Something +queer about this darkie, depend upon it.”</p> + +<p>Once more the negro wailed, and turning in despair +from the last speaker, imploringly caught the Methodist +by the skirt of his coat. But a change had come over +that before impassioned intercessor. With an irresolute +and troubled air, he mutely eyed the suppliant; +against whom, somehow, by what seemed instinctive +influences, the distrusts first set on foot were now generally +reviving, and, if anything, with added severity.</p> + +<p>“No confidence in dis poor ole darkie,” yet again +wailed the negro, letting go the coat-skirts and turning +appealingly all round him.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my poor fellow <i>I</i> have confidence in you,” +now exclaimed the country merchant before named, +whom the negro’s appeal, coming so piteously on the +heel of pitilessness, seemed at last humanely to have +decided in his favor. “And here, here is some proof +of my trust,” with which, tucking his umbrella under +his arm, and diving down his hand into his pocket, he +fished forth a purse, and, accidentally, along with it, +his business card, which, unobserved, dropped to the +deck. “Here, here, my poor fellow,” he continued, +extending a half dollar.</p> + +<p>Not more grateful for the coin than the kindness, the +cripple’s face glowed like a polished copper saucepan, +and shuffling a pace nigher, with one upstretched hand +he received the alms, while, as unconsciously, his one +advanced leather stump covered the card.</p> + +<p>Done in despite of the general sentiment, the good +deed of the merchant was not, perhaps, without its +unwelcome return from the crowd, since that good deed +seemed somehow to convey to them a sort of reproach. +Still again, and more pertinaciously than ever, the cry +arose against the negro, and still again he wailed forth +his lament and appeal among other things, repeating +that the friends, of whom already he had partially run +off the list, would freely speak for him, would anybody +go find them.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you go find ’em yourself?” demanded a +gruff boatman.</p> + +<p>“How can I go find ’em myself? Dis poor ole +game-legged darkie’s friends must come to him. Oh, +whar, whar is dat good friend of dis darkie’s, dat good +man wid de weed?”</p> + +<p>At this point, a steward ringing a bell came along, +summoning all persons who had not got their tickets to +step to the captain’s office; an announcement which +speedily thinned the throng about the black cripple, +who himself soon forlornly stumped out of sight, +probably on much the same errand as the rest.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>RENEWAL OF OLD <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'ACQUANTANCE'.">ACQUAINTANCE</ins>.</span></h2> + +<p>“How do you do, Mr. Roberts?”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know me?”</p> + +<p>“No, certainly.”</p> + +<p>The crowd about the captain’s office, having in good +time melted away, the above encounter took place in +one of the side balconies astern, between a man in +mourning clean and respectable, but none of the glossiest, +a long weed on his hat, and the country-merchant before-mentioned, +whom, with the familiarity of an old +acquaintance, the former had accosted.</p> + +<p>“Is it possible, my dear sir,” resumed he with the +weed, “that you do not recall my countenance? why +yours I recall distinctly as if but half an hour, instead of +half an age, had passed since I saw you. Don’t you +recall me, now? Look harder.”</p> + +<p>“In my conscience—truly—I protest,” honestly +bewildered, “bless my soul, sir, I don’t know you—really, +really. But stay, stay,” he hurriedly added, not +without gratification, glancing up at the crape on the +stranger’s hat, “stay—yes—seems to me, though I have +not the pleasure of personally knowing you, yet I am +pretty sure I have at least <i>heard</i> of you, and recently +too, quite recently. A poor negro aboard here referred +to you, among others, for a character, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the cripple. Poor fellow. I know him well. +They found me. I have said all I could for him. I think +I abated their distrust. Would I could have been of +more substantial service. And apropos, sir,” he added, +“now that it strikes me, allow me to ask, whether the +circumstance of one man, however humble, referring for a +character to another man, however afflicted, does not +argue more or less of moral worth in the latter?”</p> + +<p>The good merchant looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>“Still you don’t recall my countenance?”</p> + +<p>“Still does truth compel me to say that I cannot, +despite my best efforts,” was the reluctantly-candid reply.</p> + +<p>“Can I be so changed? Look at me. Or is it I who +am mistaken?—Are you not, sir, Henry Roberts, forwarding +merchant, of Wheeling, Pennsylvania? Pray, +now, if you use the advertisement of business cards, +and happen to have one with you, just look at it, and see +whether you are not the man I take you for.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” a bit chafed, perhaps, “I hope I know myself.”</p> + +<p>“And yet self-knowledge is thought by some not so +easy. Who knows, my dear sir, but for a time you may +have taken yourself for somebody else? Stranger things +have happened.”</p> + +<p>The good merchant stared.</p> + +<p>“To come to particulars, my dear sir, I met you, now +some six years back, at Brade Brothers & Co’s office, I +think. I was traveling for a Philadelphia house. The +senior Brade introduced us, you remember; some business-chat +followed, then you forced me home with you +to a family tea, and a family time we had. Have you +forgotten about the urn, and what I said about Werter’s +Charlotte, and the bread and butter, and that capital +story you told of the large loaf. A hundred times since, +I have laughed over it. At least you must recall my +name—Ringman, John Ringman.”</p> + +<p>“Large loaf? Invited you to tea? Ringman? Ringman? +Ring? Ring?”</p> + +<p>“Ah sir,” sadly smiling, “don’t ring the changes that +way. I see you have a faithless memory, Mr. Roberts. +But trust in the faithfulness of mine.”</p> + +<p>“Well, to tell the truth, in some things my memory +aint of the very best,” was the honest rejoinder. “But +still,” he perplexedly added, “still I——”</p> + +<p>“Oh sir, suffice it that it is as I say. Doubt not that +we are all well acquainted.”</p> + +<p>“But—but I don’t like this going dead against my +own memory; I——”</p> + +<p>“But didn’t you admit, my dear sir, that in some +things this memory of yours is a little faithless? Now, +those who have faithless memories, should they not have +some little confidence in the less faithless memories of +others?”</p> + +<p>“But, of this friendly chat and tea, I have not the +slightest——”</p> + +<p>“I see, I see; quite erased from the tablet. Pray, +sir,” with a sudden illumination, “about six years back, +did it happen to you to receive any injury on the head? +Surprising effects have arisen from such a cause. Not +alone unconsciousness as to events for a greater or less +time immediately subsequent to the injury, but likewise—strange +to add—oblivion, entire and incurable, as to +events embracing a longer or shorter period immediately +preceding it; that is, when the mind at the time +was perfectly sensible of them, and fully competent also +to register them in the memory, and did in fact so do; +but all in vain, for all was afterwards bruised out by +the injury.”</p> + +<p>After the first start, the merchant listened with what +appeared more than ordinary interest. The other proceeded:</p> + +<p>“In my boyhood I was kicked by a horse, and lay +insensible for a long time. Upon recovering, what a +blank! No faintest trace in regard to how I had come +near the horse, or what horse it was, or where it was, or +that it was a horse at all that had brought me to that +pass. For the knowledge of those particulars I am indebted +solely to my friends, in whose statements, I need +not say, I place implicit reliance, since particulars of +some sort there must have been, and why should they +deceive me? You see sir, the mind is ductile, very +much so: but images, ductilely received into it, need a +certain time to harden and bake in their impressions, +otherwise such a casualty as I speak of will in an instant +obliterate them, as though they had never been. We +are but clay, sir, potter’s clay, as the good book says, +clay, feeble, and too-yielding clay. But I will not philosophize. +Tell me, was it your misfortune to receive +any concussion upon the brain about the period I speak +of? If so, I will with pleasure supply the void in your +memory by more minutely rehearsing the circumstances +of our acquaintance.”</p> + +<p>The growing interest betrayed by the merchant had +not relaxed as the other proceeded. After some hesitation, +indeed, something more than hesitation, he confessed +that, though he had never received any injury of +the sort named, yet, about the time in question, he had +in fact been taken with a brain fever, losing his mind +completely for a considerable interval. He was continuing, +when the stranger with much animation exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“There now, you see, I was not wholly mistaken. +That brain fever accounts for it all.”</p> + +<p>“Nay; but——”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, Mr. Roberts,” respectfully interrupting +him, “but time is short, and I have something private +and particular to say to you. Allow me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Roberts, good man, could but acquiesce, and the +two having silently walked to a less public spot, the manner +of the man with the weed suddenly assumed a seriousness +almost painful. What might be called a writhing +expression stole over him. He seemed struggling with +some disastrous necessity inkept. He made one or two +attempts to speak, but words seemed to choke him. +His companion stood in humane surprise, wondering +what was to come. At length, with an effort mastering +his feelings, in a tolerably composed tone he +spoke:</p> + +<p>“If I remember, you are a mason, Mr. Roberts?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes.”</p> + +<p>Averting himself a moment, as to recover from a return +of agitation, the stranger grasped the other’s hand; +“and would you not loan a brother a shilling if he +needed it?”</p> + +<p>The merchant started, apparently, almost as if to retreat.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Mr. Roberts, I trust you are not one of those +business men, who make a business of never having to +do with unfortunates. For God’s sake don’t leave me. +I have something on my heart—on my heart. Under +deplorable circumstances thrown among strangers, utter +strangers. I want a friend in whom I may confide. +Yours, Mr. Roberts, is almost the first known face I’ve +seen for many weeks.”</p> + +<p>It was so sudden an outburst; the interview offered +such a contrast to the scene around, that the merchant, +though not used to be very indiscreet, yet, being not +entirely inhumane, remained not entirely unmoved.</p> + +<p>The other, still tremulous, resumed:</p> + +<p>“I need not say, sir, how it cuts me to the soul, to +follow up a social salutation with such words as have +just been mine. I know that I jeopardize your good opinion. +But I can’t help it: necessity knows no law, and +heeds no risk. Sir, we are masons, one more step aside; +I will tell you my story.”</p> + +<p>In a low, half-suppressed tone, he began it. Judging +from his auditor’s expression, it seemed to be a tale of +singular interest, involving calamities against which no +integrity, no forethought, no energy, no genius, no piety, +could guard.</p> + +<p>At every disclosure, the hearer’s commiseration increased. +No sentimental pity. As the story went on, +he drew from his wallet a bank note, but after a while, +at some still more unhappy revelation, changed it for +another, probably of a somewhat larger amount; which, +when the story was concluded, with an air studiously +disclamatory of alms-giving, he put into the stranger’s +hands; who, on his side, with an air studiously disclamatory +of alms-taking, put it into his pocket.</p> + +<p>Assistance being received, the stranger’s manner assumed +a kind and degree of decorum which, under the +circumstances, seemed almost coldness. After some words, +not over ardent, and yet not exactly inappropriate, he +took leave, making a bow which had one knows not +what of a certain chastened independence about it; as +if misery, however burdensome, could not break down +self-respect, nor gratitude, however deep, humiliate a +gentleman.</p> + +<p>He was hardly yet out of sight, when he paused as if +thinking; then with hastened steps returning to the +merchant, “I am just reminded that the president, who +is also transfer-agent, of the Black Rapids Coal Company, +happens to be on board here, and, having been subpoenaed +as witness in a stock case on the docket in Kentucky, +has his transfer-book with him. A month since, +in a panic contrived by artful alarmists, some credulous +stock-holders sold out; but, to frustrate the aim of the +alarmists, the Company, previously advised of their +scheme, so managed it as to get into its own hands those +sacrificed shares, resolved that, since a spurious panic +must be, the panic-makers should be no gainers by it. +The Company, I hear, is now ready, but not anxious, to +redispose of those shares; and having obtained them at +their depressed value, will now sell them at par, though, +prior to the panic, they were held at a handsome figure +above. That the readiness of the Company to do this +is not generally known, is shown by the fact that the +stock still stands on the transfer-book in the Company’s +name, offering to one in funds a rare chance for investment. +For, the panic subsiding more and more every +day, it will daily be seen how it originated; confidence +will be more than restored; there will be a reaction; +from the stock’s descent its rise will be higher than from +no fall, the holders trusting themselves to fear no second +fate.”</p> + +<p>Having listened at first with curiosity, at last with +interest, the merchant replied to the effect, that some +time since, through friends concerned with it, he had +heard of the company, and heard well of it, but was ignorant +that there had latterly been fluctuations. He added +that he was no speculator; that hitherto he had avoided +having to do with stocks of any sort, but in the present +case he really felt something like being tempted. “Pray,” +in conclusion, “do you think that upon a pinch anything +could be transacted on board here with the transfer-agent? +Are you acquainted with him?”</p> + +<p>“Not personally. I but happened to hear that he +was a passenger. For the rest, though it might be +somewhat informal, the gentleman might not object to +doing a little business on board. Along the Mississippi, +you know, business is not so ceremonious as at the +East.”</p> + +<p>“True,” returned the merchant, and looked down a +moment in thought, then, raising his head quickly, said, +in a tone not so benign as his wonted one, “This would +seem a rare chance, indeed; why, upon first hearing it, +did you not snatch at it? I mean for yourself!”</p> + +<p>“I?—would it had been possible!”</p> + +<p>Not without some emotion was this said, and not +without some embarrassment was the reply. “Ah, yes, +I had forgotten.”</p> + +<p>Upon this, the stranger regarded him with mild gravity, +not a little disconcerting; the more so, as there was +in it what seemed the aspect not alone of the superior, +but, as it were, the rebuker; which sort of bearing, in +a beneficiary towards his benefactor, looked strangely +enough; none the less, that, somehow, it sat not altogether +unbecomingly upon the beneficiary, being free +from anything like the appearance of assumption, and +mixed with a kind of painful conscientiousness, as +though nothing but a proper sense of what he owed to +himself swayed him. At length he spoke:</p> + +<p>“To reproach a penniless man with remissness in not +availing himself of an opportunity for pecuniary investment—but, +no, no; it was forgetfulness; and this, +charity will impute to some lingering effect of that unfortunate +brain-fever, which, as to occurrences dating +yet further back, disturbed Mr. Roberts’s memory still +more seriously.”</p> + +<p>“As to that,” said the merchant, rallying, “I am +not——”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, but you must admit, that just now, an +unpleasant distrust, however vague, was yours. Ah, +shallow as it is, yet, how subtle a thing is suspicion, +which at times can invade the humanest of hearts and +wisest of heads. But, enough. My object, sir, in calling +your attention to this stock, is by way of acknowledgment +of your goodness. I but seek to be grateful; +if my information leads to nothing, you must remember +the motive.”</p> + +<p>He bowed, and finally retired, leaving Mr. Roberts +not wholly without self-reproach, for having momentarily +indulged injurious thoughts against one who, it was +evident, was possessed of a self-respect which forbade +his indulging them himself.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE MAN WITH THE WEED MAKES IT AN EVEN QUESTION WHETHER +HE BE A GREAT SAGE OR A GREAT SIMPLETON.</span></h2> + +<p>“Well, there is sorrow in the world, but goodness +too; and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more +than sorrow is. Dear good man. Poor beating heart!”</p> + +<p>It was the man with the weed, not very long after +quitting the merchant, murmuring to himself with his +hand to his side like one with the heart-disease.</p> + +<p>Meditation over kindness received seemed to have +softened him something, too, it may be, beyond what +might, perhaps, have been looked for from one whose +unwonted self-respect in the hour of need, and in the act +of being aided, might have appeared to some not wholly +unlike pride out of place; and pride, in any place, is +seldom very feeling. But the truth, perhaps, is, that +those who are least touched with that vice, besides being +not unsusceptible to goodness, are sometimes the +ones whom a ruling sense of propriety makes appear +cold, if not thankless, under a favor. For, at such a +time, to be full of warm, earnest words, and heart-felt +protestations, is to create a scene; and well-bred people +dislike few things more than that; which would +seem to look as if the world did not relish earnestness; +but, not so; because the world, being earnest itself, likes +an earnest scene, and an earnest man, very well, but +only in their place—the stage. See what sad work they +make of it, who, ignorant of this, flame out in Irish +enthusiasm and with Irish sincerity, to a benefactor, +who, if a man of sense and respectability, as well as +kindliness, can but be more or less annoyed by it; +and, if of a nervously fastidious nature, as some are, +may be led to think almost as much less favorably of +the beneficiary paining him by his gratitude, as if he had +been guilty of its contrary, instead only of an indiscretion. +But, beneficiaries who know better, though they +may feel as much, if not more, neither inflict such pain, +nor are inclined to run any risk of so doing. And these, +being wise, are the majority. By which one sees how +inconsiderate those persons are, who, from the absence +of its officious manifestations in the world, complain that +there is not much gratitude extant; when the truth is, +that there is as much of it as there is of modesty; but, +both being for the most part votarists of the shade, for +the most part keep out of sight.</p> + +<p>What started this was, to account, if necessary, for +the changed air of the man with the weed, who, throwing +off in private the cold garb of decorum, and so giving +warmly loose to his genuine heart, seemed almost +transformed into another being. This subdued air of +softness, too, was toned with melancholy, melancholy +unreserved; a thing which, however at variance with +propriety, still the more attested his earnestness; for +one knows not how it is, but it sometimes happens that, +where earnestness is, there, also, is melancholy.</p> + +<p>At the time, he was leaning over the rail at the boat’s +side, in his pensiveness, unmindful of another pensive +figure near—a young gentleman with a swan-neck, +wearing a lady-like open shirt collar, thrown back, and +tied with a black ribbon. From a square, tableted-broach, +curiously engraved with Greek characters, he +seemed a collegian—not improbably, a sophomore—on +his travels; possibly, his first. A small book bound in +Roman vellum was in his hand.</p> + +<p>Overhearing his murmuring neighbor, the youth +regarded him with some surprise, not to say interest. +But, singularly for a collegian, being apparently of a +retiring nature, he did not speak; when the other still +more increased his diffidence by changing from soliloquy +to colloquy, in a manner strangely mixed of familiarity +and pathos.</p> + +<p>“Ah, who is this? You did not hear me, my young +friend, did you? Why, you, too, look sad. My melancholy +is not catching!”</p> + +<p>“Sir, sir,” stammered the other.</p> + +<p>“Pray, now,” with a sort of sociable sorrowfulness, +slowly sliding along the rail, “Pray, now, my young +friend, what volume have you there? Give me leave,” +gently drawing it from him. “Tacitus!” Then opening +it at random, read: “In general a black and shameful +period lies before me.” “Dear young sir,” touching +his arm alarmedly, “don’t read this book. It is poison, +moral poison. Even were there truth in Tacitus, +such truth would have the operation of falsity, and so +still be poison, moral poison. Too well I know this +Tacitus. In my college-days he came near souring me +into cynicism. Yes, I began to turn down my collar, +and go about with a disdainfully joyless expression.”</p> + +<p>“Sir, sir, I—I—”</p> + +<p>“Trust me. Now, young friend, perhaps you think +that Tacitus, like me, is only melancholy; but he’s more—he’s +ugly. A vast difference, young sir, between the +melancholy view and the ugly. The one may show the +world still beautiful, not so the other. The one may be +compatible with benevolence, the other not. The one +may deepen insight, the other shallows it. Drop Tacitus. +Phrenologically, my young friend, you would +seem to have a well-developed head, and large; but +cribbed within the ugly view, the Tacitus view, your +large brain, like your large ox in the contracted field, +will but starve the more. And don’t dream, as some of +you students may, that, by taking this same ugly view, +the deeper meanings of the deeper books will so alone +become revealed to you. Drop Tacitus. His subtlety +is falsity, To him, in his double-refined anatomy of +human nature, is well applied the Scripture saying—‘There +is a subtle man, and the same is deceived.’ Drop +Tacitus. Come, now, let me throw the book overboard.”</p> + +<p>“Sir, I—I—”</p> + +<p>“Not a word; I know just what is in your mind, and +that is just what I am speaking to. Yes, learn from me +that, though the sorrows of the world are great, its +wickedness—that is, its ugliness—is small. Much cause +to pity man, little to distrust him. I myself have known +adversity, and know it still. But for that, do I turn +cynic? No, no: it is small beer that sours. To my +fellow-creatures I owe alleviations. So, whatever I +may have undergone, it but deepens my confidence in +my kind. Now, then” (winningly), “this book—will +you let me drown it for you?”</p> + +<p>“Really, sir—I—”</p> + +<p>“I see, I see. But of course you read Tacitus in order +to aid you in understanding human nature—as if truth +was ever got at by libel. My young friend, if to know +human nature is your object, drop Tacitus and go north +to the cemeteries of Auburn and Greenwood.”</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, I—I—”</p> + +<p>“Nay, I foresee all that. But you carry Tacitus, +that shallow Tacitus. What do <i>I</i> carry? See”—producing +a pocket-volume—“Akenside—his ‘Pleasures +of Imagination.’ One of these days you will know it. +Whatever our lot, we should read serene and cheery +books, fitted to inspire love and trust. But Tacitus! I +have long been of opinion that these classics are the bane +of colleges; for—not to hint of the immorality of Ovid, +Horace, Anacreon, and the rest, and the dangerous theology +of Eschylus and others—where will one find views +so injurious to human nature as in Thucydides, Juvenal, +Lucian, but more particularly Tacitus? When I consider +that, ever since the revival of learning, these classics +have been the favorites of successive generations of students +and studious men, I tremble to think of that mass +of unsuspected heresy on every vital topic which for +centuries must have simmered unsurmised in the heart +of Christendom. But Tacitus—he is the most extraordinary +example of a heretic; not one iota of confidence in +his kind. What a mockery that such an one should be +reputed wise, and Thucydides be esteemed the statesman’s +manual! But Tacitus—I hate Tacitus; not, +though, I trust, with the hate that sins, but a righteous +hate. Without confidence himself, Tacitus destroys it +in all his readers. Destroys confidence, paternal confidence, +of which God knows that there is in this world +none to spare. For, comparatively inexperienced as you +are, my dear young friend, did you never observe how +little, very little, confidence, there is? I mean between +man and man—more particularly between stranger and +stranger. In a sad world it is the saddest fact. Confidence! +I have sometimes almost thought that confidence +is fled; that confidence is the New Astrea—emigrated—vanished—gone.” +Then softly sliding nearer, +with the softest air, quivering down and looking up, +“could you now, my dear young sir, under such circumstances, +by way of experiment, simply have confidence +in <i>me</i>?”</p> + +<p>From the outset, the sophomore, as has been seen, +had struggled with an ever-increasing embarrassment, +arising, perhaps, from such strange remarks coming from +a stranger—such persistent and prolonged remarks, too. +In vain had he more than once sought to break the +spell by venturing a deprecatory or leave-taking word. +In vain. Somehow, the stranger fascinated him. Little +wonder, then, that, when the appeal came, he could +hardly speak, but, as before intimated, being apparently +of a retiring nature, abruptly retired from the spot, leaving +the chagrined stranger to wander away in the opposite +direction.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>AT THE OUTSET OF WHICH CERTAIN PASSENGERS PROVE DEAF +TO THE CALL OF CHARITY.</span></h2> + +<p>—“You—pish! Why will the captain suffer these +begging fellows on board?”;</p> + +<p>These pettish words were breathed by a well-to-do +gentleman in a ruby-colored velvet vest, and with a ruby-colored +cheek, a ruby-headed cane in his hand, to a man in +a gray coat and white tie, who, shortly after the interview +last described, had accosted him for contributions to a +Widow and Orphan Asylum recently founded among the +Seminoles. Upon a cursory view, this last person might +have seemed, like the man with the weed, one of the less +unrefined children of misfortune; but, on a closer observation, +his countenance revealed little of sorrow, though +much of sanctity.</p> + +<p>With added words of touchy disgust, the well-to-do +gentleman hurried away. But, though repulsed, and +rudely, the man in gray did not reproach, for a time +patiently remaining in the chilly loneliness to which he +had been left, his countenance, however, not without +token of latent though chastened reliance.</p> + +<p>At length an old gentleman, somewhat bulky, drew +nigh, and from him also a contribution was sought.</p> + +<p>“Look, you,” coming to a dead halt, and scowling +upon him. “Look, you,” swelling his bulk out before +him like a swaying balloon, “look, you, you on others’ +behalf ask for money; you, a fellow with a face as long +as my arm. Hark ye, now: there is such a thing as +gravity, and in condemned felons it may be genuine; +but of long faces there are three sorts; that of grief’s +drudge, that of the lantern-jawed man, and that of the +impostor. You know best which yours is.”</p> + +<p>“Heaven give you more charity, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And you less hypocrisy, sir.”</p> + +<p>With which words, the hard-hearted old gentleman +marched off.</p> + +<p>While the other still stood forlorn, the young clergyman, +before introduced, passing that way, catching a +chance sight of him, seemed suddenly struck by some +recollection; and, after a moment’s pause, hurried up +with: “Your pardon, but shortly since I was all over +looking for you.”</p> + +<p>“For me?” as marveling that one of so little account +should be sought for.</p> + +<p>“Yes, for you; do you know anything about the +negro, apparently a cripple, aboard here? Is he, or is +he not, what he seems to be?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, poor Guinea! have you, too, been distrusted? +you, upon whom nature has placarded the evidence of +your claims?”</p> + +<p>“Then you do really know him, and he is quite +worthy? It relieves me to hear it—much relieves me. +Come, let us go find him, and see what can be done.”</p> + +<p>“Another instance that confidence may come too +late. I am sorry to say that at the last landing I myself—just +happening to catch sight of him on the gangway-plank—assisted +the cripple ashore. No time to +talk, only to help. He may not have told you, but he +has a brother in that vicinity.</p> + +<p>“Really, I regret his going without my seeing him +again; regret it, more, perhaps, than you can readily think. +You see, shortly after leaving St. Louis, he was on the +forecastle, and there, with many others, I saw him, and +put trust in him; so much so, that, to convince those +who did not, I, at his entreaty, went in search of you, +you being one of several individuals he mentioned, and +whose personal appearance he more or less described, +individuals who he said would willingly speak for him. +But, after diligent search, not finding you, and catching +no glimpse of any of the others he had enumerated, +doubts were at last suggested; but doubts indirectly +originating, as I can but think, from prior distrust unfeelingly +proclaimed by another. Still, certain it is, I +began to suspect.”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>A sort of laugh more like a groan than a laugh; and +yet, somehow, it seemed intended for a laugh.</p> + +<p>Both turned, and the young clergyman started at +seeing the wooden-legged man close behind him, morosely +grave as a criminal judge with a mustard-plaster +on his back. In the present case the mustard-plaster +might have been the memory of certain recent biting +rebuffs and mortifications.</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t think it was I who laughed would you?”</p> + +<p>“But who was it you laughed at? or rather, tried to +laugh at?” demanded the young clergyman, flushing, +“me?”</p> + +<p>“Neither you nor any one within a thousand miles +of you. But perhaps you don’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“If he were of a suspicious temper, he might not,” +interposed the man in gray calmly, “it is one of the +imbecilities of the suspicious person to fancy that every +stranger, however absent-minded, he sees so much as +smiling or gesturing to himself in any odd sort of way, +is secretly making him his butt. In some moods, the +movements of an entire street, as the suspicious man +walks down it, will seem an express pantomimic jeer at +him. In short, the suspicious man kicks himself with +his own foot.”</p> + +<p>“Whoever can do that, ten to one he saves other +folks’ sole-leather,” said the wooden-legged man with a +crusty attempt at humor. But with augmented grin +and squirm, turning directly upon the young clergyman, +“you still think it was <i>you</i> I was laughing at, just now. +To prove your mistake, I will tell you what I <i>was</i> +laughing at; a story I happened to call to mind just +then.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon, in his porcupine way, and with sarcastic +details, unpleasant to repeat, he related a story, which +might, perhaps, in a good-natured version, be rendered +as follows:</p> + +<p>A certain Frenchman of New Orleans, an old man, +less slender in purse than limb, happening to attend +the theatre one evening, was so charmed with the +character of a faithful wife, as there represented to +the life, that nothing would do but he must marry upon +it. So, marry he did, a beautiful girl from Tennessee, who +had first attracted his attention by her liberal mould, +and was subsequently recommended to him through her +kin, for her equally liberal education and disposition. +Though large, the praise proved not too much. For, +ere long, rumor more than corroborated it, by whispering +that the lady was liberal to a fault. But though various +circumstances, which by most Benedicts would have +been deemed all but conclusive, were duly recited to the +old Frenchman by his friends, yet such was his confidence +that not a syllable would he credit, till, chancing +one night to return unexpectedly from a journey, upon +entering his apartment, a stranger burst from the alcove: +“Begar!” cried he, “now I <i>begin</i> to suspec.”</p> + +<p>His story told, the wooden-legged man threw back +his head, and gave vent to a long, gasping, rasping sort +of taunting cry, intolerable as that of a high-pressure +engine jeering off steam; and that done, with apparent +satisfaction hobbled away.</p> + +<p>“Who is that scoffer,” said the man in gray, not without +warmth. “Who is he, who even were truth on his +tongue, his way of speaking it would make truth almost +offensive as falsehood. Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“He who I mentioned to you as having boasted his +suspicion of the negro,” replied the young clergyman, +recovering from disturbance, “in short, the person +to whom I ascribe the origin of my own distrust; he +maintained that Guinea was some white scoundrel, betwisted +and painted up for a decoy. Yes, these were +his very words, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible! he could not be so wrong-headed. +Pray, will you call him back, and let me ask him if he +were really in earnest?”</p> + +<p>The other complied; and, at length, after no few surly +objections, prevailed upon the one-legged individual to +return for a moment. Upon which, the man in gray +thus addressed him: “This reverend gentleman tells +me, sir, that a certain cripple, a poor negro, is by you +considered an ingenious impostor. Now, I am not unaware +that there are some persons in this world, who, +unable to give better proof of being wise, take a strange +delight in showing what they think they have sagaciously +read in mankind by uncharitable suspicions +of them. I hope you are not one of these. In short, +would you tell me now, whether you were not merely +joking in the notion you threw out about the negro. +Would you be so kind?”</p> + +<p>“No, I won’t be so kind, I’ll be so cruel.”</p> + +<p>“As you please about that.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he’s just what I said he was.”</p> + +<p>“A white masquerading as a black?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>The man in gray glanced at the young clergyman a +moment, then quietly whispered to him, “I thought you +represented your friend here as a very distrustful sort of +person, but he appears endued with a singular credulity.—Tell +me, sir, do you really think that a white could +look the negro so? For one, I should call it pretty good +acting.”</p> + +<p>“Not much better than any other man acts.”</p> + +<p>“How? Does all the world act? Am <i>I</i>, for instance, +an actor? Is my reverend friend here, too, a performer?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, don’t you both perform acts? To do, is to act; +so all doers are actors.”</p> + +<p>“You trifle.—I ask again, if a white, how could he +look the negro so?”</p> + +<p>“Never saw the negro-minstrels, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but they are apt to overdo the ebony; exemplifying +the old saying, not more just than charitable, that +‘the devil is never so black as he is painted.’ But his +limbs, if not a cripple, how could he twist his limbs so?”</p> + +<p>“How do other hypocritical beggars twist theirs? +Easy enough to see how they are hoisted up.”</p> + +<p>“The sham is evident, then?”</p> + +<p>“To the discerning eye,” with a horrible screw of his +gimlet one.</p> + +<p>“Well, where is Guinea?” said the man in gray; +“where is he? Let us at once find him, and refute beyond +cavil this injurious hypothesis.”</p> + +<p>“Do so,” cried the one-eyed man, “I’m just in the +humor now for having him found, and leaving the streaks +of these fingers on his paint, as the lion leaves the +streaks of his nails on a Caffre. They wouldn’t let me +touch him before. Yes, find him, I’ll make wool fly, +and him after.”</p> + +<p>“You forget,” here said the young clergyman to the +man in gray, “that yourself helped poor Guinea ashore.”</p> + +<p>“So I did, so I did; how unfortunate. But look +now,” to the other, “I think that without personal proof +I can convince you of your mistake. For I put it to +you, is it reasonable to suppose that a man with brains, +sufficient to act such a part as you say, would take all +that trouble, and run all that hazard, for the mere sake +of those few paltry coppers, which, I hear, was all he +got for his pains, if pains they were?”</p> + +<p>“That puts the case irrefutably,” said the young +clergyman, with a challenging glance towards the one-legged +man.</p> + +<p>“You two green-horns! Money, you think, is the sole +motive to pains and hazard, deception and deviltry, in +this world. How much money did the devil make by +gulling Eve?”</p> + +<p>Whereupon he hobbled off again with a repetition of +his intolerable jeer.</p> + +<p>The man in gray stood silently eying his retreat a +while, and then, turning to his companion, said: “A +bad man, a dangerous man; a man to be put down in +any Christian community.—And this was he who was +the means of begetting your distrust? Ah, we should +shut our ears to distrust, and keep them open only for its +opposite.”</p> + +<p>“You advance a principle, which, if I had acted upon +it this morning, I should have spared myself what I now +feel.—That but one man, and he with one leg, should +have such ill power given him; his one sour word +leavening into congenial sourness (as, to my knowledge, +it did) the dispositions, before sweet enough, of a numerous +company. But, as I hinted, with me at the time +his ill words went for nothing; the same as now; only +afterwards they had effect; and I confess, this puzzles +me.”</p> + +<p>“It should not. With humane minds, the spirit of +distrust works something as certain potions do; it is a +spirit which may enter such minds, and yet, for a time, +longer or shorter, lie in them quiescent; but only the +more deplorable its ultimate activity.”</p> + +<p>“An uncomfortable solution; for, since that baneful +man did but just now anew drop on me his bane, how +shall I be sure that my present exemption from its effects +will be lasting?”</p> + +<p>“You cannot be sure, but you can strive against it.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“By strangling the least symptom of distrust, of any +sort, which hereafter, upon whatever provocation, may +arise in you.”</p> + +<p>“I will do so.” Then added as in soliloquy, “Indeed, +indeed, I was to blame in standing passive under such +influences as that one-legged man’s. My conscience upbraids +me.—The poor negro: You see him occasionally, +perhaps?”</p> + +<p>“No, not often; though in a few days, as it happens, +my engagements will call me to the neighborhood of his +present retreat; and, no doubt, honest Guinea, who is a +grateful soul, will come to see me there.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have been his benefactor?”</p> + +<p>“His benefactor? I did not say that. I have known +him.”</p> + +<p>“Take this mite. Hand it to Guinea when you see +him; say it comes from one who has full belief in his +honesty, and is sincerely sorry for having indulged, however +transiently, in a contrary thought.”</p> + +<p>“I accept the trust. And, by-the-way, since you are +of this truly charitable nature, you will not turn away +an appeal in behalf of the Seminole Widow and Orphan +Asylum?”</p> + +<p>“I have not heard of that charity.”</p> + +<p>“But recently founded.”</p> + +<p>After a pause, the clergyman was irresolutely putting +his hand in his pocket, when, caught by something in his +companion’s expression, he eyed him inquisitively, almost +uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Ah, well,” smiled the other wanly, “if that subtle +bane, we were speaking of but just now, is so soon beginning +to work, in vain my appeal to you. Good-by.”</p> + +<p>“Nay,” not untouched, “you do me injustice; instead +of indulging present suspicions, I had rather make +amends for previous ones. Here is something for your +asylum. Not much; but every drop helps. Of course +you have papers?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” producing a memorandum book and +pencil. “Let me take down name and amount. We +publish these names. And now let me give you a little +history of our asylum, and the providential way in +which it was started.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A GENTLEMAN WITH GOLD SLEEVE-BUTTONS.</span></h2> + +<p>At an interesting point of the narration, and at the +moment when, with much curiosity, indeed, urgency, the +narrator was being particularly questioned upon that +point, he was, as it happened, altogether diverted both +from it and his story, by just then catching sight of a +gentleman who had been standing in sight from the beginning, +but, until now, as it seemed, without being +observed by him.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” said he, rising, “but yonder is one +who I know will contribute, and largely. Don’t take +it amiss if I quit you.”</p> + +<p>“Go: duty before all things,” was the conscientious +reply.</p> + +<p>The stranger was a man of more than winsome aspect. +There he stood apart and in repose, and yet, by his mere +look, lured the man in gray from his story, much as, by +its graciousness of bearing, some full-leaved elm, alone +in a meadow, lures the noon sickleman to throw down +his sheaves, and come and apply for the alms of its +shade.</p> + +<p>But, considering that goodness is no such rare thing +among men—the world familiarly know the noun; a +common one in every language—it was curious that +what so signalized the stranger, and made him look like +a kind of foreigner, among the crowd (as to some it +make him appear more or less unreal in this portraiture), +was but the expression of so <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'prevailent'.">prevalent</ins> a quality. Such +goodness seemed his, allied with such fortune, that, so +far as his own personal experience could have gone, +scarcely could he have known ill, physical or moral; +and as for knowing or suspecting the latter in any serious +degree (supposing such degree of it to be), by observation +or philosophy; for that, probably, his nature, by +its opposition, imperfectly qualified, or from it wholly +exempted. For the rest, he might have been five and +fifty, perhaps sixty, but tall, rosy, between plump and +portly, with a primy, palmy air, and for the time and +place, not to hint of his years, dressed with a strangely +festive finish and elegance. The inner-side of his coat-skirts +was of white satin, which might have looked +especially inappropriate, had it not seemed less a bit +of mere tailoring than something of an emblem, as it +were; an involuntary emblem, let us say, that what +seemed so good about him was not all outside; no, the +fine covering had a still finer lining. Upon one hand he +wore a white kid glove, but the other hand, which was +ungloved, looked hardly less white. Now, as the Fidèle, +like most steamboats, was upon deck a little soot-streaked +here and there, especially about the railings, it was +marvel how, under such circumstances, these hands retained +their spotlessness. But, if you watched them +a while, you noticed that they avoided touching anything; +you noticed, in short, that a certain negro body-servant, +whose hands nature had dyed black, perhaps with the +same purpose that millers wear white, this negro servant’s +hands did most of his master’s handling for him; +having to do with dirt on his account, but not to his +prejudices. But if, with the same undefiledness of consequences +to himself, a gentleman could also sin by +deputy, how shocking would that be! But it is not +permitted to be; and even if it were, no judicious moralist +would make proclamation of it.</p> + +<p>This gentleman, therefore, there is reason to affirm, +was one who, like the Hebrew governor, knew how to +keep his hands clean, and who never in his life happened +to be run suddenly against by hurrying house-painter, +or sweep; in a word, one whose very good luck it was +to be a very good man.</p> + +<p>Not that he looked as if he were a kind of Wilberforce +at all; that superior merit, probably, was not his; nothing +in his manner bespoke him righteous, but only +good, and though to be good is much below being righteous, +and though there is a difference between the two, +yet not, it is to be hoped, so incompatible as that a +righteous man can not be a good man; though, conversely, +in the pulpit it has been with much cogency urged, +that a merely good man, that is, one good merely by his +nature, is so far from there by being righteous, that +nothing short of a total change and conversion can make +him so; which is something which no honest mind, +well read in the history of righteousness, will care to +deny; nevertheless, since St. Paul himself, agreeing in a +sense with the pulpit distinction, though not altogether +in the pulpit deduction, and also pretty plainly intimating +which of the two qualities in question enjoys his +apostolic preference; I say, since St. Paul has so meaningly +said, that, “scarcely for a righteous man will +one die, yet peradventure for a good man some would +even dare to die;” therefore, when we repeat of this +gentleman, that he was only a good man, whatever +else by severe censors may be objected to him, it is +still to be hoped that his goodness will not at least +be considered criminal in him. At all events, no man, +not even a righteous man, would think it quite right to +commit this gentleman to prison for the crime, extraordinary +as he might deem it; more especially, as, until +everything could be known, there would be some chance +that the gentleman might after all be quite as innocent +of it as he himself.</p> + +<p>It was pleasant to mark the good man’s reception of +the salute of the righteous man, that is, the man in +gray; his inferior, apparently, not more in the social +scale than in stature. Like the benign elm again, the +good man seemed to wave the canopy of his goodness +over that suitor, not in conceited condescension, but +with that even amenity of true majesty, which can be +kind to any one without stooping to it.</p> + +<p>To the plea in behalf of the Seminole widows and +orphans, the gentleman, after a question or two duly +answered, responded by producing an ample pocket-book +in the good old capacious style, of fine green +French morocco and workmanship, bound with silk of +the same color, not to omit bills crisp with newness, +fresh from the bank, no muckworms’ grime upon them. +Lucre those bills might be, but as yet having been kept +unspotted from the world, not of the filthy sort. Placing +now three of those virgin bills in the applicant’s +hands, he hoped that the smallness of the contribution +would be pardoned; to tell the truth, and this at last +accounted for his toilet, he was bound but a short run +down the river, to attend, in a festive grove, the afternoon +wedding of his niece: so did not carry much money +with him.</p> + +<p>The other was about expressing his thanks when the +gentleman in his pleasant way checked him: the gratitude +was on the other side. To him, he said, charity +was in one sense not an effort, but a luxury; against too +great indulgence in which his steward, a humorist, had +sometimes admonished him.</p> + +<p>In some general talk which followed, relative to organized +modes of doing good, the gentleman expressed +his regrets that so many benevolent societies as there +were, here and there isolated in the land, should not act +in concert by coming together, in the way that already +in each society the individuals composing it had done, +which would result, he thought, in like advantages upon +a larger scale. Indeed, such a confederation might, perhaps, +be attended with as happy results as politically +attended that of the states.</p> + +<p>Upon his hitherto moderate enough companion, this +suggestion had an effect illustrative in a sort of that notion +of Socrates, that the soul is a harmony; for as the +sound of a flute, in any particular key, will, it is said, audibly +affect the corresponding chord of any harp in good +tune, within hearing, just so now did some string in him +respond, and with animation.</p> + +<p>Which animation, by the way, might seem more or +less out of character in the man in gray, considering his +unsprightly manner when first introduced, had he not +already, in certain after colloquies, given proof, in some +degree, of the fact, that, with certain natures, a soberly +continent air at times, so far from arguing emptiness of +stuff, is good proof it is there, and plenty of it, because +unwasted, and may be used the more effectively, too, +when opportunity offers. What now follows on the +part of the man in gray will still further exemplify, perhaps +somewhat strikingly, the truth, or what appears +to be such, of this remark.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said he eagerly, “I am before you. A project, +not dissimilar to yours, was by me thrown out at the +World’s Fair in London.”</p> + +<p>“World’s Fair? You there? Pray how was that?”</p> + +<p>“First, let me——”</p> + +<p>“Nay, but first tell me what took you to the Fair?”</p> + +<p>“I went to exhibit an invalid’s easy-chair I had invented.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have not always been in the charity business?”</p> + +<p>“Is it not charity to ease human suffering? I am, +and always have been, as I always will be, I trust, in +the charity business, as you call it; but charity is not +like a pin, one to make the head, and the other the +point; charity is a work to which a good workman may +be competent in all its branches. I invented my Protean +easy-chair in odd intervals stolen from meals and +sleep.”</p> + +<p>“You call it the Protean easy-chair; pray describe +it.”</p> + +<p>“My Protean easy-chair is a chair so all over bejointed, +behinged, and bepadded, everyway so elastic, +springy, and docile to the airiest touch, that in some one +of its endlessly-changeable accommodations of back, +seat, footboard, and arms, the most restless body, the +body most racked, nay, I had almost added the most +tormented conscience must, somehow and somewhere, +find rest. Believing that I owed it to suffering humanity +to make known such a chair to the utmost, I scraped +together my little means and off to the World’s Fair +with it.”</p> + +<p>“You did right. But your scheme; how did you +come to hit upon that?”</p> + +<p>“I was going to tell you. After seeing my invention +duly catalogued and placed, I gave myself up to pondering +the scene about me. As I dwelt upon that shining +pageant of arts, and moving concourse of nations, and reflected +that here was the pride of the world glorying in +a glass house, a sense of the fragility of worldly grandeur +profoundly impressed me. And I said to myself, +I will see if this occasion of vanity cannot supply a hint +toward a better profit than was designed. Let some +world-wide good to the world-wide cause be now done. +In short, inspired by the scene, on the fourth day I issued +at the World’s Fair my prospectus of the World’s +Charity.”</p> + +<p>“Quite a thought. But, pray explain it.”</p> + +<p>“The World’s Charity is to be a society whose members +shall comprise deputies from every charity and mission +extant; the one object of the society to be the methodization +of the world’s benevolence; to which end, +the present system of voluntary and promiscuous contribution +to be done away, and the Society to be +empowered by the various governments to levy, annually, +one grand benevolence tax upon all mankind; as +in Augustus Cæsar’s time, the whole world to come up +to be taxed; a tax which, for the scheme of it, should +be something like the income-tax in England, a tax, also, +as before hinted, to be a consolidation-tax of all possible +benevolence taxes; as in America here, the state-tax, +and the county-tax, and the town-tax, and the +poll-tax, are by the assessors rolled into one. This tax, +according to my tables, calculated with care, would result +in the yearly raising of a fund little short of eight +hundred millions; this fund to be annually applied to +such objects, and in such modes, as the various charities +and missions, in general congress represented, might +decree; whereby, in fourteen years, as I estimate, there +would have been devoted to good works the sum of +eleven thousand two hundred millions; which would +warrant the dissolution of the society, as that fund judiciously +expended, not a pauper or heathen could remain +the round world over.”</p> + +<p>“Eleven thousand two hundred millions! And all +by passing round a <i>hat</i>, as it were.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am no Fourier, the projector of an impossible +scheme, but a philanthropist and a financier setting forth +a philanthropy and a finance which are practicable.”</p> + +<p>“Practicable?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Eleven thousand two hundred millions; it +will frighten none but a retail philanthropist. What is +it but eight hundred millions for each of fourteen years? +Now eight hundred millions—what is that, to average +it, but one little dollar a head for the population of the +planet? And who will refuse, what Turk or Dyak +even, his own little dollar for sweet charity’s sake? +Eight hundred millions! More than that sum is yearly +expended by mankind, not only in vanities, but miseries. +Consider that bloody spendthrift, War. And are +mankind so stupid, so wicked, that, upon the demonstration +of these things they will not, amending their ways, +devote their superfluities to blessing the world instead +of cursing it? Eight hundred millions! They have +not to make it, it is theirs already; they have but to +direct it from ill to good. And to this, scarce a self-denial +is demanded. Actually, they would not in the +mass be one farthing the poorer for it; as certainly would +they be all the better and happier. Don’t you see? +But admit, as you must, that mankind is not mad, and +my project is practicable. For, what creature but a +madman would not rather do good than ill, when it is +plain that, good or ill, it must return upon himself?”</p> + +<p>“Your sort of reasoning,” said the good gentleman, +adjusting his gold sleeve-buttons, “seems all reasonable +enough, but with mankind it wont do.”</p> + +<p>“Then mankind are not reasoning beings, if reason +wont do with them.”</p> + +<p>“That is not to the purpose. By-the-way, from the +manner in which you alluded to the world’s census, it +would appear that, according to your world-wide scheme, +the pauper not less than the nabob is to contribute to +the relief of pauperism, and the heathen not less than +the Christian to the conversion of heathenism. How is +that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, that—pardon me—is quibbling. Now, no +philanthropist likes to be opposed with quibbling.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I won’t quibble any more. But, after all, if +I understand your project, there is little specially new +in it, further than the magnifying of means now in +operation.”</p> + +<p>“Magnifying and energizing. For one thing, missions +I would thoroughly reform. Missions I would +quicken with the Wall street spirit.”</p> + +<p>“The Wall street spirit?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; for if, confessedly, certain spiritual ends are to +be gained but through the auxiliary agency of worldly +means, then, to the surer gaining of such spiritual ends, +the example of worldly policy in worldly projects should +not by spiritual projectors be slighted. In brief, the +conversion of the heathen, so far, at least, as depending +on human effort, would, by the world’s charity, be let +out on contract. So much by bid for converting India, +so much for Borneo, so much for Africa. Competition +allowed, stimulus would be given. There would be no +lethargy of monopoly. We should have no mission-house +or tract-house of which slanderers could, with any +plausibility, say that it had degenerated in its clerkships +into a sort of custom-house. But the main point is the +Archimedean money-power that would be brought to +bear.”</p> + +<p>“You mean the eight hundred million power?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. You see, this doing good to the world by +driblets amounts to just nothing. I am for doing good +to the world with a will. I am for doing good to the +world once for all and having done with it. Do but +think, my dear sir, of the eddies and maëlstroms of +pagans in China. People here have no conception of +it. Of a frosty morning in Hong Kong, pauper pagans +are found dead in the streets like so many nipped peas +in a bin of peas. To be an immortal being in China is +no more distinction than to be a snow-flake in a snow-squall. +What are a score or two of missionaries to +such a people? A pinch of snuff to the kraken. I am +for sending ten thousand missionaries in a body and +converting the Chinese <i>en masse</i> within six months of +the debarkation. The thing is then done, and turn to +something else.”</p> + +<p>“I fear you are too enthusiastic.”</p> + +<p>“A philanthropist is necessarily an enthusiast; for +without enthusiasm what was ever achieved but commonplace? +But again: consider the poor in London. +To that mob of misery, what is a joint here and a loaf +there? I am for voting to them twenty thousand bullocks +and one hundred thousand barrels of flour to begin +with. They are then comforted, and no more hunger +for one while among the poor of London. And so all +round.”</p> + +<p>“Sharing the character of your general project, these +things, I take it, are rather examples of wonders that +were to be wished, than wonders that will happen.”</p> + +<p>“And is the age of wonders passed? Is the world +too old? Is it barren? Think of Sarah.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am Abraham reviling the angel (with a +smile). But still, as to your design at large, there +seems a certain audacity.”</p> + +<p>“But if to the audacity of the design there be brought +a commensurate circumspectness of execution, how +then?”</p> + +<p>“Why, do you really believe that your world’s +charity will ever go into operation?”</p> + +<p>“I have confidence that it will.”</p> + +<p>“But may you not be over-confident?”</p> + +<p>“For a Christian to talk so!”</p> + +<p>“But think of the obstacles!”</p> + +<p>“Obstacles? I have confidence to remove obstacles, +though mountains. Yes, confidence in the world’s +charity to that degree, that, as no better person offers to +supply the place, I have nominated myself provisional +treasurer, and will be happy to receive subscriptions, for +the present to be devoted to striking off a million more +of my prospectuses.”</p> + +<p>The talk went on; the man in gray revealed a spirit +of benevolence which, mindful of the millennial promise, +had gone abroad over all the countries of the globe, +much as the diligent spirit of the husbandman, stirred +by forethought of the coming seed-time, leads him, in +March reveries at his fireside, over every field of his +farm. The master chord of the man in gray had been +touched, and it seemed as if it would never cease +vibrating. A not unsilvery tongue, too, was his, with +gestures that were a Pentecost of added ones, and persuasiveness +before which granite hearts might crumble +into gravel.</p> + +<p>Strange, therefore, how his auditor, so singularly +good-hearted as he seemed, remained proof to such eloquence; +though not, as it turned out, to such pleadings. +For, after listening a while longer with pleasant +incredulity, presently, as the boat touched his place of +destination, the gentleman, with a look half humor, half +pity, put another bank-note into his hands; charitable +to the last, if only to the dreams of enthusiasm.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A CHARITABLE LADY.</span></h2> + +<p>If a drunkard in a sober fit is the dullest of mortals, +an enthusiast in a reason-fit is not the most lively. +And this, without prejudice to his greatly improved +understanding; for, if his elation was the height of his +madness, his despondency is but the extreme of his sanity. +Something thus now, to all appearance, with the +man in gray. Society his stimulus, loneliness was his +lethargy. Loneliness, like the sea breeze, blowing off +from a thousand leagues of blankness, he did not find, +as veteran solitaires do, if anything, too bracing. In +short, left to himself, with none to charm forth his +latent lymphatic, he insensibly resumes his original air, +a quiescent one, blended of sad humility and demureness.</p> + +<p>Ere long he goes laggingly into the ladies’ saloon, as +in spiritless quest of somebody; but, after some disappointed +glances about him, seats himself upon a sofa +with an air of melancholy exhaustion and depression.</p> + +<p>At the sofa’s further end sits a plump and pleasant +person, whose aspect seems to hint that, if she have any +weak point, it must be anything rather than her excellent +heart. From her twilight dress, neither dawn nor +dark, apparently she is a widow just breaking the chrysalis +of her mourning. A small gilt testament is in her +hand, which she has just been reading. Half-relinquished, +she holds the book in reverie, her finger inserted at +the xiii. of 1st Corinthians, to which chapter possibly +her attention might have recently been turned, by witnessing +the scene of the monitory mute and his slate.</p> + +<p>The sacred page no longer meets her eye; but, as at +evening, when for a time the western hills shine on +though the sun be set, her thoughtful face retains its +tenderness though the teacher is forgotten.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the expression of the stranger is such as +ere long to attract her glance. But no responsive one. +Presently, in her somewhat inquisitive survey, her +volume drops. It is restored. No encroaching politeness +in the act, but kindness, unadorned. The eyes of +the lady sparkle. Evidently, she is not now unprepossessed. +Soon, bending over, in a low, sad tone, full of +deference, the stranger breathes, “Madam, pardon my +freedom, but there is something in that face which +strangely draws me. May I ask, are you a sister of the +Church?”</p> + +<p>“Why—really—you—”</p> + +<p>In concern for her embarrassment, he hastens to relieve +it, but, without seeming so to do. “It is very +solitary for a brother here,” eying the showy ladies +brocaded in the background, “I find none to mingle +souls with. It may be wrong—I <i>know</i> it is—but I cannot +force myself to be easy with the people of the world. +I prefer the company, however silent, of a brother or +sister in good standing. By the way, madam, may I ask +if you have confidence?”</p> + +<p>“Really, sir—why, sir—really—I—”</p> + +<p>“Could you put confidence in <i>me</i> for instance?”</p> + +<p>“Really, sir—as much—I mean, as one may wisely +put in a—a—stranger, an entire stranger, I had almost +said,” rejoined the lady, hardly yet at ease in her affability, +drawing aside a little in body, while at the same +time her heart might have been drawn as far the other +way. A natural struggle between charity and prudence.</p> + +<p>“Entire stranger!” with a sigh. “Ah, who would +be a stranger? In vain, I wander; no one will have +confidence in me.”</p> + +<p>“You interest me,” said the good lady, in mild surprise. +“Can I any way befriend you?”</p> + +<p>“No one can befriend me, who has not confidence.”</p> + +<p>“But I—I have—at least to that degree—I mean +that——”</p> + +<p>“Nay, nay, you have none—none at all. Pardon, I +see it. No confidence. Fool, fond fool that I am to +seek it!”</p> + +<p>“You are unjust, sir,” rejoins the good lady with +heightened interest; “but it may be that something +untoward in your experiences has unduly biased you. +Not that I would cast reflections. Believe me, I—yes, +yes—I may say—that—that——”</p> + +<p>“That you have confidence? Prove it. Let me have +twenty dollars.”</p> + +<p>“Twenty dollars!”</p> + +<p>“There, I told you, madam, you had no confidence.”</p> + +<p>The lady was, in an extraordinary way, touched. She +sat in a sort of restless torment, knowing not which way +to turn. She began twenty different sentences, and left +off at the first syllable of each. At last, in desperation, +she hurried out, “Tell me, sir, for what you want the +twenty dollars?”</p> + +<p>“And did I not——” then glancing at her half-mourning, +“for the widow and the fatherless. I am traveling +agent of the Widow and Orphan Asylum, recently +founded among the Seminoles.”</p> + +<p>“And why did you not tell me your object before?” +As not a little relieved. “Poor souls—Indians, too—those +cruelly-used Indians. Here, here; how could I +hesitate. I am so sorry it is no more.”</p> + +<p>“Grieve not for that, madam,” rising and folding up +the bank-notes. “This is an inconsiderable sum, I admit, +but,” taking out his pencil and book, “though I +here but register the amount, there is another register, +where is set down the motive. Good-bye; you have +confidence. Yea, you can say to me as the apostle said +to the Corinthians, ‘I rejoice that I have confidence in +you in all things.’”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>TWO BUSINESS MEN TRANSACT A LITTLE BUSINESS.</span></h2> + +<p>—“Pray, sir, have you seen a gentleman with a weed +hereabouts, rather a saddish gentleman? Strange where +he can have gone to. I was talking with him not +twenty minutes since.”</p> + +<p>By a brisk, ruddy-cheeked man in a tasseled traveling-cap, +carrying under his arm a ledger-like volume, +the above words were addressed to the collegian before +introduced, suddenly accosted by the rail to which not +long after his retreat, as in a previous chapter recounted, +he had returned, and there remained.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen him, sir?”</p> + +<p>Rallied from his apparent diffidence by the genial +jauntiness of the stranger, the youth answered with unwonted +promptitude: “Yes, a person with a weed was +here not very long ago.”</p> + +<p>“Saddish?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and a little cracked, too, I should say.”</p> + +<p>“It was he. Misfortune, I fear, has disturbed his +brain. Now quick, which way did he go?”</p> + +<p>“Why just in the direction from which you came, +the gangway yonder.”</p> + +<p>“Did he? Then the man in the gray coat, whom I +just met, said right: he must have gone ashore. How +unlucky!”</p> + +<p>He stood vexedly twitching at his cap-tassel, which +fell over by his whisker, and continued: “Well, I am very +sorry. In fact, I had something for him here.”—Then +drawing nearer, “you see, he applied to me for relief, +no, I do him injustice, not that, but he began to intimate, +you understand. Well, being very busy just then, I +declined; quite rudely, too, in a cold, morose, unfeeling +way, I fear. At all events, not three minutes afterwards +I felt self-reproach, with a kind of prompting, very peremptory, +to deliver over into that unfortunate man’s +hands a ten-dollar bill. You smile. Yes, it may be +superstition, but I can’t help it; I have my weak side, +thank God. Then again,” he rapidly went on, “we +have been so very prosperous lately in our affairs—by +we, I mean the Black Rapids Coal Company—that, really, +out of my abundance, associative and individual, it is +but fair that a charitable investment or two should be +made, don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the collegian without the least embarrassment, +“do I understand that you are officially connected +with the Black Rapids Coal Company?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I happen to be president and transfer-agent.”</p> + +<p>“You are?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but what is it to you? You don’t want to +invest?”</p> + +<p>“Why, do you sell the stock?”</p> + +<p>“Some might be bought, perhaps; but why do you ask? +you don’t want to invest?”</p> + +<p>“But supposing I did,” with cool self-collectedness, +“could you do up the thing for me, and here?”</p> + +<p>“Bless my soul,” gazing at him in amaze, “really, +you are quite a business man. Positively, I feel afraid +of you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no need of that.—You could sell me some of +that stock, then?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, I don’t know. To be sure, there are +a few shares under peculiar circumstances bought in by +the Company; but it would hardly be the thing to +convert this boat into the Company’s office. I think +you had better defer investing. So,” with an indifferent +air, “you have seen the unfortunate man I spoke of?”</p> + +<p>“Let the unfortunate man go his ways.—What is +that large book you have with you?”</p> + +<p>“My transfer-book. I am subpoenaed with it to court.”</p> + +<p>“Black Rapids Coal Company,” obliquely reading +the gilt inscription on the back; “I have heard much of +it. Pray do you happen to have with you any statement +of the condition of your company.”</p> + +<p>“A statement has lately been printed.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, but I am naturally inquisitive. Have +you a copy with you?”</p> + +<p>“I tell you again, I do not think that it would be +suitable to convert this boat into the Company’s office.—That +unfortunate man, did you relieve him at all?”</p> + +<p>“Let the unfortunate man relieve himself.—Hand +me the statement.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you are such a business-man, I can hardly +deny you. Here,” handing a small, printed pamphlet.</p> + +<p>The youth turned it over sagely.</p> + +<p>“I hate a suspicious man,” said the other, observing +him; “but I must say I like to see a cautious one.”</p> + +<p>“I can gratify you there,” languidly returning the +pamphlet; “for, as I said before, I am naturally inquisitive; +I am also circumspect. No appearances can deceive +me. Your statement,” he added “tells a very fine +story; but pray, was not your stock a little heavy +awhile ago? downward tendency? Sort of low spirits +among holders on the subject of that stock?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, there was a depression. But how came it? +who devised it? The ‘bears,’ sir. The depression of +our stock was solely owing to the growling, the hypocritical +growling, of the bears.”</p> + +<p>“How, hypocritical?”</p> + +<p>“Why, the most monstrous of all hypocrites are these +bears: hypocrites by inversion; hypocrites in the simulation +of things dark instead of bright; souls that thrive, +less upon depression, than the fiction of depression; +professors of the wicked art of manufacturing depressions; +spurious Jeremiahs; sham Heraclituses, who, the +lugubrious day done, return, like sham Lazaruses among +the beggars, to make merry over the gains got by their +pretended sore heads—scoundrelly bears!”</p> + +<p>“You are warm against these bears?”</p> + +<p>“If I am, it is less from the remembrance of their +stratagems as to our stock, than from the persuasion +that these same destroyers of confidence, and gloomy +philosophers of the stock-market, though false in themselves, +are yet true types of most destroyers of confidence +and gloomy philosophers, the world over. Fellows +who, whether in stocks, politics, bread-stuffs, +morals, metaphysics, religion—be it what it may—trump +up their black panics in the naturally-quiet +brightness, solely with a view to some sort of covert +advantage. That corpse of calamity which the gloomy +philosopher parades, is but his Good-Enough-Morgan.”</p> + +<p>“I rather like that,” knowingly drawled the youth. +“I fancy these gloomy souls as little as the next one. +Sitting on my sofa after a champagne dinner, smoking +my plantation cigar, if a gloomy fellow come to me—what +a bore!”</p> + +<p>“You tell him it’s all stuff, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I tell him it ain’t natural. I say to him, you are +happy enough, and you know it; and everybody else is +as happy as you, and you know that, too; and we shall +all be happy after we are no more, and you know that, +too; but no, still you must have your sulk.”</p> + +<p>“And do you know whence this sort of fellow gets +his sulk? not from life; for he’s often too much of a +recluse, or else too young to have seen anything of it. +No, he gets it from some of those old plays he sees on +the stage, or some of those old books he finds up in +garrets. Ten to one, he has lugged home from auction +a musty old Seneca, and sets about stuffing himself with +that stale old hay; and, thereupon, thinks it looks wise +and antique to be a croaker, thinks it’s taking a stand-way +above his kind.”</p> + +<p>“Just so,” assented the youth. “I’ve lived some, and +seen a good many such ravens at second hand. By the +way, strange how that man with the weed, you were inquiring +for, seemed to take me for some soft sentimentalist, +only because I kept quiet, and thought, because +I had a copy of Tacitus with me, that I was reading him +for his gloom, instead of his gossip. But I let him talk. +And, indeed, by my manner humored him.”</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t have done that, now. Unfortunate +man, you must have made quite a fool of him.”</p> + +<p>“His own fault if I did. But I like prosperous +fellows, comfortable fellows; fellows that talk comfortably +and prosperously, like you. Such fellows are +generally honest. And, I say now, I happen to have a +superfluity in my pocket, and I’ll just——”</p> + +<p>“—Act the part of a brother to that unfortunate +man?”</p> + +<p>“Let the unfortunate man be his own brother. +What are you dragging him in for all the time? One +would think you didn’t care to register any transfers, +or dispose of any stock—mind running on something +else. I say I will invest.”</p> + +<p>“Stay, stay, here come some uproarious fellows—this +way, this way.”</p> + +<p>And with off-handed politeness the man with the +book escorted his companion into a private little haven +removed from the brawling swells without.</p> + +<p>Business transacted, the two came forth, and walked +the deck.</p> + +<p>“Now tell me, sir,” said he with the book, “how +comes it that a young gentleman like you, a sedate student +at the first appearance, should dabble in stocks and +that sort of thing?”</p> + +<p>“There are certain sophomorean errors in the world,” +drawled the sophomore, deliberately adjusting his shirt-collar, +“not the least of which is the popular notion +touching the nature of the modern scholar, and the nature +of the modern scholastic sedateness.”</p> + +<p>“So it seems, so it seems. Really, this is quite a +new leaf in my experience.”</p> + +<p>“Experience, sir,” originally observed the sophomore, +“is the only teacher.”</p> + +<p>“Hence am I your pupil; for it’s only when experience +speaks, that I can endure to listen to speculation.”</p> + +<p>“My speculations, sir,” dryly drawing himself up, +“have been chiefly governed by the maxim of Lord +Bacon; I speculate in those philosophies which come +home to my business and bosom—pray, do you know of +any other good stocks?”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t like to be concerned in the New Jerusalem, +would you?”</p> + +<p>“New Jerusalem?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the new and thriving city, so called, in northern +Minnesota. It was originally founded by certain fugitive +Mormons. Hence the name. It stands on the +Mississippi. Here, here is the map,” producing a roll. +“There—there, you see are the public buildings—here +the landing—there the park—yonder the botanic gardens—and +this, this little dot here, is a perpetual fountain, +you understand. You observe there are twenty +asterisks. Those are for the lyceums. They have lignum-vitae +rostrums.”</p> + +<p>“And are all these buildings now standing?”</p> + +<p>“All standing—bona fide.”</p> + +<p>“These marginal squares here, are they the water-lots?”</p> + +<p>“Water-lots in the city of New Jerusalem? All terra +firma—you don’t seem to care about investing, though?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly think I should read my title clear, as the +law students say,” yawned the collegian.</p> + +<p>“Prudent—you are prudent. Don’t know that you are +wholly out, either. At any rate, I would rather have +one of your shares of coal stock than two of this other. +Still, considering that the first settlement was by two +fugitives, who had swum over naked from the opposite +shore—it’s a surprising place. It is, <i>bona fide</i>.—But +dear me, I must go. Oh, if by possibility you should +come across that unfortunate man——”</p> + +<p>“—In that case,” with drawling impatience, “I +will send for the steward, and have him and his misfortunes +consigned overboard.”</p> + +<p>“Ha ha!—now were some gloomy philosopher here, +some theological bear, forever taking occasion to growl +down the stock of human nature (with ulterior views, +d’ye see, to a fat benefice in <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'the the'.">the</ins> gift of the worshipers +of Ariamius), he would pronounce that the sign of a +hardening heart and a softening brain. Yes, that would +be his sinister construction. But it’s nothing more than +the oddity of a genial humor—genial but dry. Confess +it. Good-bye.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN THE CABIN.</span></h2> + +<p>Stools, settees, sofas, divans, ottomans; occupying +them are clusters of men, old and young, wise and simple; +in their hands are cards spotted with diamonds, +spades, clubs, hearts; the favorite games are whist, +cribbage, and brag. Lounging in arm-chairs or sauntering +among the marble-topped tables, amused with +the scene, are the comparatively few, who, instead of +having hands in the games, for the most part keep their +hands in their pockets. These may be the philosophes. +But here and there, with a curious expression, +one is reading a small sort of handbill of anonymous +poetry, rather wordily entitled:—</p> + +<p class='c noin'>“ODE<br /> +<span class='sf75'>ON THE INTIMATIONS<br /> +OF<br /> +DISTRUST IN MAN,<br /> +UNWILLINGLY INFERRED FROM REPEATED REPULSES,<br /> +IN DISINTERESTED ENDEAVORS<br /> +TO PROCURE HIS<br /> +CONFIDENCE.”</span></p> + +<p>On the floor are many copies, looking as if fluttered +down from a balloon. The way they came there was +this: A somewhat elderly person, in the quaker dress, +had quietly passed through the cabin, and, much in the +manner of those railway book-peddlers who precede +their proffers of sale by a distribution of puffs, direct or +indirect, of the volumes to follow, had, without speaking, +handed about the odes, which, for the most part, +after a cursory glance, had been disrespectfully tossed +aside, as no doubt, the moonstruck production of some +wandering rhapsodist.</p> + +<p>In due time, book under arm, in trips the ruddy man +with the traveling-cap, who, lightly moving to and fro, +looks animatedly about him, with a yearning sort of +gratulatory affinity and longing, expressive of the very +soul of sociality; as much as to say, “Oh, boys, would +that I were personally acquainted with each mother’s +son of you, since what a sweet world, to make sweet +acquaintance in, is ours, my brothers; yea, and what +dear, happy dogs are we all!”</p> + +<p>And just as if he had really warbled it forth, he makes +fraternally up to one lounging stranger or another, exchanging +with him some pleasant remark.</p> + +<p>“Pray, what have you there?” he asked of one newly +accosted, a little, dried-up man, who looked as if he +never dined.</p> + +<p>“A little ode, rather queer, too,” was the reply, “of +the same sort you see strewn on the floor here.”</p> + +<p>“I did not observe them. Let me see;” picking +one up and looking it over. “Well now, this is pretty; +plaintive, especially the opening:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘Alas for man, he hath small sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of genial trust and confidence.’<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class='noin'>—If it be so, alas for him, indeed. Runs off very +smoothly, sir. Beautiful pathos. But do you think the +sentiment just?”</p> + +<p>“As to that,” said the little dried-up man, “I think +it a kind of queer thing altogether, and yet I am almost +ashamed to add, it really has set me to thinking; +yes and to feeling. Just now, somehow, I feel as it +were trustful and genial. I don’t know that ever I felt +so much so before. I am naturally numb in my sensibilities; +but this ode, in its way, works on my numbness +not unlike a sermon, which, by lamenting over my +lying dead in trespasses and sins, thereby stirs me up to +be all alive in well-doing.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to hear it, and hope you will do well, as +the doctors say. But who snowed the odes about +here?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot say; I have not been here long.”</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t an angel, was it? Come, you say you feel +genial, let us do as the rest, and have cards.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, I never play cards.”</p> + +<p>“A bottle of wine?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, I never drink wine.”</p> + +<p>“Cigars?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, I never smoke cigars.”</p> + +<p>“Tell stories?”</p> + +<p>“To speak truly, I hardly think I know one worth +telling.”</p> + +<p>“Seems to me, then, this geniality you say you feel +waked in you, is as water-power in a land without +mills. Come, you had better take a genial hand at the +cards. To begin, we will play for as small a sum as +you please; just enough to make it interesting.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, you must excuse me. Somehow I distrust +cards.”</p> + +<p>“What, distrust cards? Genial cards? Then for +once I join with our sad Philomel here:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘Alas for man, he hath small sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of genial trust and confidence.’<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class='noin'>Good-bye!”</p> + +<p>Sauntering and chatting here and there, again, he +with the book at length seems fatigued, looks round +for a seat, and spying a partly-vacant settee drawn up +against the side, drops down there; soon, like his +chance neighbor, who happens to be the good merchant, +becoming not a little interested in the scene more immediately +before him; a party at whist; two cream-faced, +giddy, unpolished youths, the one in a red cravat, +the other in a green, opposed to two bland, grave, +handsome, self-possessed men of middle age, decorously +dressed in a sort of professional black, and apparently +doctors of some eminence in the civil law.</p> + +<p>By-and-by, after a preliminary scanning of the new +comer next him the good merchant, sideways leaning +over, whispers behind a crumpled copy of the Ode +which he holds: “Sir, I don’t like the looks of those +two, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly,” was the whispered reply; “those colored +cravats are not in the best taste, at least not to mine; +but my taste is no rule for all.”</p> + +<p>“You mistake; I mean the other two, and I don’t +refer to dress, but countenance. I confess I am not +familiar with such gentry any further than reading about +them in the papers—but those two are—are sharpers, +aint they?”</p> + +<p>“Far be from us the captious and fault-finding spirit, +my dear sir.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, sir, I would not find fault; I am little given +that way: but certainly, to say the least, these two +youths can hardly be adepts, while the opposed couple +may be even more.”</p> + +<p>“You would not hint that the colored cravats would +be so bungling as to lose, and the dark cravats so dextrous +as to cheat?—Sour imaginations, my dear sir. +Dismiss them. To little purpose have you read the +Ode you have there. Years and experience, I trust, +have not sophisticated you. A fresh and liberal construction +would teach us to regard those four players—indeed, +this whole cabin-full of players—as playing at +games in which every player plays fair, and not a player +but shall win.”</p> + +<p>“Now, you hardly mean that; because games in +which all may win, such games remain as yet in this +world uninvented, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” luxuriously laying himself back, and +casting a free glance upon the players, “fares all paid; +digestion sound; care, toil, penury, grief, unknown; +lounging on this sofa, with waistband relaxed, why not +be cheerfully resigned to one’s fate, nor peevishly pick +holes in the blessed fate of the world?”</p> + +<p>Upon this, the good merchant, after staring long and +hard, and then rubbing his forehead, fell into meditation, +at first uneasy, but at last composed, and in the +end, once more addressed his companion: “Well, I see +it’s good to out with one’s private thoughts now and +then. Somehow, I don’t know why, a certain misty +suspiciousness seems inseparable from most of one’s private +notions about some men and some things; but +once out with these misty notions, and their mere contact +with other men’s soon dissipates, or, at least, modifies +them.”</p> + +<p>“You think I have done you good, then? may be, +I have. But don’t thank me, don’t thank me. If by +words, casually delivered in the social hour, I do any +good to right or left, it is but involuntary influence—locust-tree +sweetening the herbage under it; no merit +at all; mere wholesome accident, of a wholesome nature.—Don’t +you see?”</p> + +<p>Another stare from the good merchant, and both were +silent again.</p> + +<p>Finding his book, hitherto resting on his lap, rather +irksome there, the owner now places it edgewise on the +settee, between himself and neighbor; in so doing, +chancing to expose the lettering on the back—“<i>Black +Rapids Coal Company</i>”—which the good merchant, +scrupulously honorable, had much ado to avoid reading, +so directly would it have fallen under his eye, had +he not conscientiously averted it. On a sudden, as if +just reminded of something, the stranger starts up, and +moves away, in his haste leaving his book; which +the merchant observing, without delay takes it up, and, +hurrying after, civilly returns it; in which act he could +not avoid catching sight by an involuntary glance of +part of the lettering.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, thank you, my good sir,” said the other, +receiving the volume, and was resuming his retreat, +when the merchant spoke: “Excuse me, but are you +not in some way connected with the—the Coal Company +I have heard of?”</p> + +<p>“There is more than one Coal Company that may be +heard of, my good sir,” smiled the other, pausing with +an expression of painful impatience, disinterestedly +mastered.</p> + +<p>“But you are connected with one in particular.—The +‘Black Rapids,’ are you not?”</p> + +<p>“How did you find that out?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, I have heard rather tempting information +of your Company.”</p> + +<p>“Who is your informant, pray,” somewhat coldly.</p> + +<p>“A—a person by the name of Ringman.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know him. But, doubtless, there are plenty +who know our Company, whom our Company does not +know; in the same way that one may know an individual, +yet be unknown to him.—Known this Ringman +long? Old friend, I suppose.—But pardon, I must +leave you.”</p> + +<p>“Stay, sir, that—that stock.”</p> + +<p>“Stock?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s a little irregular, perhaps, but——”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, you don’t think of doing any business +with me, do you? In my official capacity I have not +been authenticated to you. This transfer-book, now,” +holding it up so as to bring the lettering in sight, “how +do you know that it may not be a bogus one? And I, +being personally a stranger to you, how can you have +confidence in me?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” knowingly smiled the good merchant, +“if you were other than I have confidence that you are, +hardly would you challenge distrust that way.”</p> + +<p>“But you have not examined my book.”</p> + +<p>“What need to, if already I believe that it is what it +is lettered to be?”</p> + +<p>“But you had better. It might suggest doubts.”</p> + +<p>“Doubts, may be, it might suggest, but not knowledge; +for how, by examining the book, should I think I +knew any more than I now think I do; since, if it +be the true book, I think it so already; and since if it +be otherwise, then I have never seen the true one, and +don’t know what that ought to look like.”</p> + +<p>“Your logic I will not criticize, but your confidence I +admire, and earnestly, too, jocose as was the method +I took to draw it out. Enough, we will go to yonder +table, and if there be any business which, either in my +private or official capacity, I can help you do, pray +command me.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>ONLY A PAGE OR SO.</span></h2> + +<p>The transaction concluded, the two still remained +seated, falling into familiar conversation, by degrees +verging into that confidential sort of sympathetic +silence, the last refinement and luxury of unaffected +good feeling. A kind of social superstition, to suppose +that to be truly friendly one must be saying friendly +words all the time, any more than be doing friendly +deeds continually. True friendliness, like true religion, +being in a sort independent of works.</p> + +<p>At length, the good merchant, whose eyes were pensively +resting upon the gay tables in the distance, broke +the spell by saying that, from the spectacle before them, +one would little divine what other quarters of the boat +might reveal. He cited the case, accidentally encountered +but an hour or two previous, of a shrunken old +miser, clad in shrunken old moleskin, stretched out, an +invalid, on a bare plank in the emigrants’ quarters, +eagerly clinging to life and lucre, though the one was +gasping for outlet, and about the other he was in torment +lest death, or some other unprincipled cut-purse, +should be the means of his losing it; by like feeble +tenure holding lungs and pouch, and yet knowing and +desiring nothing beyond them; for his mind, never +raised above mould, was now all but mouldered away. +To such a degree, indeed, that he had no trust in anything, +not even in his parchment bonds, which, the better +to preserve from the tooth of time, he had packed +down and sealed up, like brandy peaches, in a tin case +of spirits.</p> + +<p>The worthy man proceeded at some length with +these dispiriting particulars. Nor would his cheery +companion wholly deny that there might be a point of +view from which such a case of extreme want of confidence +might, to the humane mind, present features not +altogether welcome as wine and olives after dinner. +Still, he was not without compensatory considerations, +and, upon the whole, took his companion to task for +evincing what, in a good-natured, round-about way, he +hinted to be a somewhat jaundiced sentimentality. +Nature, he added, in Shakespeare’s words, had meal and +bran; and, rightly regarded, the bran in its way was +not to be condemned.</p> + +<p>The other was not disposed to question the justice of +Shakespeare’s thought, but would hardly admit the +propriety of the application in this instance, much less +of the comment. So, after some further temperate discussion +of the pitiable miser, finding that they could +not entirely harmonize, the merchant cited another case, +that of the negro cripple. But his companion suggested +whether the alleged hardships of that alleged +unfortunate might not exist more in the pity of the observer +than the experience of the observed. He knew +nothing about the cripple, nor had seen him, but ventured +to surmise that, could one but get at the real state +of his heart, he would be found about as happy as most +men, if not, in fact, full as happy as the speaker himself. +He added that negroes were by nature a singularly +cheerful race; no one ever heard of a native-born African +Zimmermann or Torquemada; that even from religion +they dismissed all gloom; in their hilarious rituals they +danced, so to speak, and, as it were, cut pigeon-wings. +It was improbable, therefore, that a negro, however reduced +to his stumps by fortune, could be ever thrown +off the legs of a laughing philosophy.</p> + +<p>Foiled again, the good merchant would not desist, but +ventured still a third case, that of the man with the +weed, whose story, as narrated by himself, and confirmed +and filled out by the testimony of a certain man in a +gray coat, whom the merchant had afterwards met, he +now proceeded to give; and that, without holding +back those particulars disclosed by the second informant, +but which delicacy had prevented the unfortunate +man himself from touching upon.</p> + +<p>But as the good merchant could, perhaps, do better +justice to the man than the story, we shall venture to +tell it in other words than his, though not to any other +effect.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>STORY OF THE UNFORTUNATE MAN, FROM WHICH MAY BE GATHERED +WHETHER OR NO HE HAS BEEN JUSTLY SO ENTITLED.</span></h2> + +<p>It appeared that the unfortunate man had had for a +wife one of those natures, anomalously vicious, which +would almost tempt a metaphysical lover of our species +to doubt whether the human form be, in all cases, conclusive +evidence of humanity, whether, sometimes, it may +not be a kind of unpledged and indifferent tabernacle, +and whether, once for all to crush the saying of Thrasea, +(an unaccountable one, considering that he himself was +so good a man) that “he who hates vice, hates humanity,” +it should not, in self-defense, be held for a reasonable +maxim, that none but the good are human.</p> + +<p>Goneril was young, in person lithe and straight, too +straight, indeed, for a woman, a complexion naturally +rosy, and which would have been charmingly so, but for +a certain hardness and bakedness, like that of the glazed +colors on stone-ware. Her hair was of a deep, rich +chestnut, but worn in close, short curls all round her +head. Her Indian figure was not without its impairing +effect on her bust, while her mouth would have been +pretty but for a trace of moustache. Upon the whole, +aided by the resources of the toilet, her appearance at +distance was such, that some might have thought her, if +anything, rather beautiful, though of a style of beauty +rather peculiar and cactus-like.</p> + +<p>It was happy for Goneril that her more striking peculiarities +were less of the person than of temper and taste. +One hardly knows how to reveal, that, while having a +natural antipathy to such things as the breast of chicken, +or custard, or peach, or grape, Goneril could yet in +private make a satisfactory lunch on hard crackers and +brawn of ham. She liked lemons, and the only kind of +candy she loved were little dried sticks of blue clay, +secretly carried in her pocket. Withal she had hard, +steady health like a squaw’s, with as firm a spirit and +resolution. Some other points about her were likewise +such as pertain to the women of savage life. Lithe +though she was, she loved supineness, but upon occasion +could endure like a stoic. She was taciturn, too. From +early morning till about three o’clock in the afternoon +she would seldom speak—it taking that time to thaw +her, by all accounts, into but talking terms with humanity. +During the interval she did little but look, and +keep looking out of her large, metallic eyes, which her +enemies called cold as a cuttle-fish’s, but which by her +were esteemed gazelle-like; for Goneril was not without +vanity. Those who thought they best knew her, often +wondered what happiness such a being could take in +life, not considering the happiness which is to be had by +some natures in the very easy way of simply causing +pain to those around them. Those who suffered from +Goneril’s strange nature, might, with one of those +hyberboles to which the resentful incline, have pronounced +her some kind of toad; but her worst slanderers +could never, with any show of justice, have accused +her of being a toady. In a large sense she possessed +the virtue of independence of mind. Goneril held it +flattery to hint praise even of the absent, and even if +merited; but honesty, to fling people’s imputed faults +into their faces. This was thought malice, but it certainly +was not passion. Passion is human. Like an +icicle-dagger, Goneril at once stabbed and froze; so at +least they said; and when she saw frankness and innocence +tyrannized into sad nervousness under her spell, +according to the same authority, inly she chewed her +blue clay, and you could mark that she chuckled. These +peculiarities were strange and unpleasing; but another +was alleged, one really incomprehensible. In company +she had a strange way of touching, as by accident, the +arm or hand of comely young men, and seemed to reap +a secret delight from it, but whether from the humane +satisfaction of having given the evil-touch, as it is called, +or whether it was something else in her, not equally +wonderful, but quite as deplorable, remained an enigma.</p> + +<p>Needless to say what distress was the unfortunate man’s, +when, engaged in conversation with company, he would +suddenly perceive his Goneril bestowing her mysterious +touches, especially in such cases where the strangeness +of the thing seemed to strike upon the touched person, +notwithstanding good-breeding forbade his proposing +the mystery, on the spot, as a subject of discussion for +the company. In these cases, too, the unfortunate man +could never endure so much as to look upon the touched +young gentleman afterwards, fearful of the mortification +of meeting in his countenance some kind of more or less +quizzingly-knowing expression. He would shudderingly +shun the young gentleman. So that here, to the husband, +Goneril’s touch had the dread operation of the +heathen taboo. Now Goneril brooked no chiding. So, +at favorable times, he, in a wary manner, and not indelicately, +would venture in private interviews gently to +make distant allusions to this questionable propensity. +She divined him. But, in her cold loveless way, said it +was witless to be telling one’s dreams, especially foolish +ones; but if the unfortunate man liked connubially to +rejoice his soul with such chimeras, much connubial joy +might they give him. All this was sad—a touching +case—but all might, perhaps, have been borne by the +unfortunate man—conscientiously mindful of his vow—for +better or for worse—to love and cherish his dear +Goneril so long as kind heaven might spare her to him—but +when, after all that had happened, the devil of +jealousy entered her, a calm, clayey, cakey devil, for +none other could possess her, and the object of that deranged +jealousy, her own child, a little girl of seven, her +father’s consolation and pet; when he saw Goneril artfully +torment the little innocent, and then play the +maternal hypocrite with it, the unfortunate man’s patient +long-suffering gave way. Knowing that she would +neither confess nor amend, and might, possibly, become +even worse than she was, he thought it but duty as a +father, to withdraw the child from her; but, loving it as +he did, he could not do so without accompanying it into +domestic exile himself. Which, hard though it was, he +did. Whereupon the whole female neighborhood, who +till now had little enough admired dame Goneril, broke +out in indignation against a husband, who, without assigning +a cause, could deliberately abandon the wife of +his bosom, and sharpen the sting to her, too, by depriving +her of the solace of retaining her offspring. To all this, +self-respect, with Christian charity towards Goneril, long +kept the unfortunate man dumb. And well had it been +had he continued so; for when, driven to desperation, +he hinted something of the truth of the case, not a soul +would credit it; while for Goneril, she pronounced all +he said to be a malicious invention. Ere long, at the +suggestion of some woman’s-rights women, the injured +wife began a suit, and, thanks to able counsel and accommodating +testimony, succeeded in such a way, as +not only to recover custody of the child, but to get such +a settlement awarded upon a separation, as to make +penniless the unfortunate man (so he averred), besides, +through the legal sympathy she enlisted, effecting a +judicial blasting of his private reputation. What made +it yet more lamentable was, that the unfortunate man, +thinking that, before the court, his wisest plan, as well +as the most Christian besides, being, as he deemed, not +at variance with the truth of the matter, would be to +put forth the plea of the mental derangement of Goneril, +which done, he could, with less of mortification to himself, +and odium to her, reveal in self-defense those +eccentricities which had led to his retirement from the +joys of wedlock, had much ado in the end to prevent this +charge of derangement from fatally recoiling upon himself—especially, +when, among other things, he alleged +her mysterious teachings. In vain did his counsel, +striving to make out the derangement to be where, in +fact, if anywhere, it was, urge that, to hold otherwise, +to hold that such a being as Goneril was sane, this was +constructively a libel upon womankind. Libel be it. +And all ended by the unfortunate man’s subsequently +getting wind of Goneril’s intention to procure him to +be permanently committed for a lunatic. Upon which +he fled, and was now an innocent outcast, wandering +forlorn in the great valley of the Mississippi, with a +weed on his hat for the loss of his Goneril; for he had +lately seen by the papers that she was dead, and thought +it but proper to comply with the prescribed form of +mourning in such cases. For some days past he had +been trying to get money enough to return to his child, +and was but now started with inadequate funds.</p> + +<p>Now all of this, from the beginning, the good merchant +could not but consider rather hard for the unfortunate +man.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE MAN WITH THE TRAVELING-CAP EVINCES MUCH HUMANITY, +AND IN A WAY WHICH WOULD SEEM TO SHOW HIM TO BE ONE +OF THE MOST LOGICAL OF OPTIMISTS.</span></h2> + +<p>Years ago, a grave American savant, being in London, +observed at an evening party there, a certain coxcombical +fellow, as he thought, an absurd ribbon in his lapel, +and full of smart persiflage, whisking about to the admiration +of as many as were disposed to admire. Great +was the savan’s disdain; but, chancing ere long to find +himself in a corner with the jackanapes, got into conversation +with him, when he was somewhat ill-prepared +for the good sense of the jackanapes, but was altogether +thrown aback, upon subsequently being whispered by a +friend that the jackanapes was almost as great a savan +as himself, being no less a personage than Sir Humphrey +Davy.</p> + +<p>The above anecdote is given just here by way of an +anticipative reminder to such readers as, from the kind +of jaunty levity, or what may have passed for such, +hitherto for the most part appearing in the man with the +traveling-cap, may have been tempted into a more or +less hasty estimate of him; that such readers, when +they find the same person, as they presently will, capable +of philosophic and humanitarian discourse—no mere +casual sentence or two as heretofore at times, but solidly +sustained throughout an almost entire sitting; that they +may not, like the American savan, be thereupon betrayed +into any surprise incompatible with their own good +opinion of their previous penetration.</p> + +<p>The merchant’s narration being ended, the other +would not deny but that it did in some degree affect +him. He hoped he was not without proper feeling for +the unfortunate man. But he begged to know in what +spirit he bore his alleged calamities. Did he despond +or have confidence?</p> + +<p>The merchant did not, perhaps, take the exact import +of the last member of the question; but answered, that, +if whether the unfortunate man was becomingly resigned +under his affliction or no, was the point, he could say for +him that resigned he was, and to an exemplary degree: +for not only, so far as known, did he refrain from any +one-sided reflections upon human goodness and human +justice, but there was observable in him an air of +chastened reliance, and at times tempered cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>Upon which the other observed, that since the unfortunate +man’s alleged experience could not be deemed +very conciliatory towards a view of human nature better +than human nature was, it largely redounded to his +fair-mindedness, as well as piety, that under the alleged +dissuasives, apparently so, from philanthropy, he had +not, in a moment of excitement, been warped over to +the ranks of the misanthropes. He doubted not, also, +that with such a man his experience would, in the end, +act by a complete and beneficent inversion, and so far +from shaking his confidence in his kind, confirm it, and +rivet it. Which would the more surely be the case, did +he (the unfortunate man) at last become satisfied (as +sooner or later he probably would be) that in the distraction +of his mind his Goneril had not in all respects +had fair play. At all events, the description of the +lady, charity could not but regard as more or less exaggerated, +and so far unjust. The truth probably was +that she was a wife with some blemishes mixed with +some beauties. But when the blemishes were displayed, +her husband, no adept in the female nature, had tried to +use reason with her, instead of something far more persuasive. +Hence his failure to convince and convert. +The act of withdrawing from her, seemed, under the +circumstances, abrupt. In brief, there were probably +small faults on both sides, more than balanced by large +virtues; and one should not be hasty in judging.</p> + +<p>When the merchant, strange to say, opposed views so +calm and impartial, and again, with some warmth, deplored +the case of the unfortunate man, his companion, +not without seriousness, checked him, saying, that this +would never do; that, though but in the most exceptional +case, to admit the existence of unmerited misery, more +particularly if alleged to have been brought about by +unhindered arts of the wicked, such an admission was, +to say the least, not prudent; since, with some, it might +unfavorably bias their most important persuasions. Not +that those persuasions were legitimately servile to such +influences. Because, since the common occurrences of +life could never, in the nature of things, steadily look one +way and tell one story, as flags in the trade-wind; hence, +if the conviction of a Providence, for instance, were in +any way made dependent upon such variabilities as +everyday events, the degree of that conviction would, +in thinking minds, be subject to fluctuations akin to those +of the stock-exchange during a long and uncertain war. +Here he glanced aside at his transfer-book, and after a +moment’s pause continued. It was of the essence of a +right conviction of the divine nature, as with a right +conviction of the human, that, based less on experience +than intuition, it rose above the zones of weather.</p> + +<p>When now the merchant, with all his heart, coincided +with this (as being a sensible, as well as religious person, +he could not but do), his companion expressed satisfaction, +that, in an age of some distrust on such subjects, +he could yet meet with one who shared with him, +almost to the full, so sound and sublime a confidence.</p> + +<p>Still, he was far from the illiberality of denying that +philosophy duly bounded was not permissible. Only +he deemed it at least desirable that, when such a case as +that alleged of the unfortunate man was made the subject +of philosophic discussion, it should be so philosophized +upon, as not to afford handles to those unblessed +with the true light. For, but to grant that there was +so much as a mystery about such a case, might by those +persons be held for a tacit surrender of the question. +And as for the apparent license temporarily permitted +sometimes, to the bad over the good (as was by implication +alleged with regard to Goneril and the unfortunate +man), it might be injudicious there to lay too much +polemic stress upon the doctrine of future retribution as +the vindication of present impunity. For though, indeed, +to the right-minded that doctrine was true, and of sufficient +solace, yet with the perverse the polemic mention +of it might but provoke the shallow, though mischievous +conceit, that such a doctrine was but tantamount to the +one which should affirm that Providence was not now, +but was going to be. In short, with all sorts of cavilers, +it was best, both for them and everybody, that whoever +had the true light should stick behind the secure +Malakoff of confidence, nor be tempted forth to hazardous +skirmishes on the open ground of reason. Therefore, +he deemed it unadvisable in the good man, even in +the privacy of his own mind, or in communion with a +congenial one, to indulge in too much latitude of philosophizing, +or, indeed, of compassionating, since this might, +beget an indiscreet habit of thinking and feeling which +might unexpectedly betray him upon unsuitable occasions. +Indeed, whether in private or public, there was +nothing which a good man was more bound to guard +himself against than, on some topics, the emotional unreserve +of his natural heart; for, that the natural heart, +in certain points, was not what it might be, men had +been authoritatively admonished.</p> + +<p>But he thought he might be getting dry.</p> + +<p>The merchant, in his good-nature, thought otherwise, +and said that he would be glad to refresh himself with +such fruit all day. It was sitting under a ripe pulpit, +and better such a seat than under a ripe peach-tree.</p> + +<p>The other was pleased to find that he had not, as he +feared, been prosing; but would rather not be considered +in the formal light of a preacher; he preferred +being still received in that of the equal and genial companion. +To which end, throwing still more of sociability +into his manner, he again reverted to the unfortunate +man. Take the very worst view of that case; +admit that his Goneril was, indeed, a Goneril; how +fortunate to be at last rid of this Goneril, both by +nature and by law? If he were acquainted with the +unfortunate man, instead of condoling with him, he +would congratulate him. Great good fortune had this +unfortunate man. Lucky dog, he dared say, after all.</p> + +<p>To which the merchant replied, that he earnestly +hoped it might be so, and at any rate he tried his best +to comfort himself with the persuasion that, if the unfortunate +man was not happy in this world, he would, +at least, be so in another.</p> + +<p>His companion made no question of the unfortunate +man’s happiness in both worlds; and, presently calling +for some champagne, invited the merchant to partake, +upon the playful plea that, whatever notions other than +felicitous ones he might associate with the unfortunate +man, a little champagne would readily bubble away.</p> + +<p>At intervals they slowly quaffed several glasses in +silence and thoughtfulness. At last the merchant’s expressive +face flushed, his eye moistly beamed, his lips +trembled with an imaginative and feminine sensibility. +Without sending a single fume to his head, the wine +seemed to shoot to his heart, and begin soothsaying +there. “Ah,” he cried, pushing his glass from him, +“Ah, wine is good, and confidence is good; but can wine +or confidence percolate down through all the stony +strata of hard considerations, and drop warmly and +ruddily into the cold cave of truth? Truth will <i>not</i> be +comforted. Led by dear charity, lured by sweet hope, +fond fancy essays this feat; but in vain; mere dreams +and ideals, they explode in your hand, leaving naught +but the scorching behind!”</p> + +<p>“Why, why, why!” in amaze, at the burst: “bless +me, if <i>In vino veritas</i> be a true saying, then, for all the +fine confidence you professed with me, just now, distrust, +deep distrust, underlies it; and ten thousand +strong, like the Irish Rebellion, breaks out in you now. +That wine, good wine, should do it! Upon my soul,” +half seriously, half humorously, securing the bottle, +“you shall drink no more of it. Wine was meant to +gladden the heart, not grieve it; to heighten confidence, +not depress it.”</p> + +<p>Sobered, shamed, all but confounded, by this raillery, +the most telling rebuke under such circumstances, the +merchant stared about him, and then, with altered mien, +stammeringly confessed, that he was almost as much +surprised as his companion, at what had escaped him. +He did not understand it; was quite at a loss to account +for such a rhapsody popping out of him unbidden. It +could hardly be the champagne; he felt his brain unaffected; +in fact, if anything, the wine had acted upon +it something like white of egg in coffee, clarifying and +brightening.</p> + +<p>“Brightening? brightening it may be, but less like +the white of egg in coffee, than like stove-lustre on a +stove—black, brightening seriously, I repent calling for +the champagne. To a temperament like yours, champagne +is not to be recommended. Pray, my dear sir, do +you feel quite yourself again? Confidence restored?”</p> + +<p>“I hope so; I think I may say it is so. But we have +had a long talk, and I think I must retire now.”</p> + +<p>So saying, the merchant rose, and making his adieus, +left the table with the air of one, mortified at having +been tempted by his own honest goodness, accidentally +stimulated into making mad disclosures—to himself as +to another—of the queer, unaccountable caprices of his +natural heart.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>WORTH THE CONSIDERATION OF THOSE TO WHOM IT MAY PROVE +WORTH CONSIDERING.</span></h2> + +<p>As the last chapter was begun with a reminder looking +forwards, so the present must consist of one glancing +backwards.</p> + +<p>To some, it may raise a degree of surprise that one +so full of confidence, as the merchant has throughout +shown himself, up to the moment of his late sudden impulsiveness, +should, in that instance, have betrayed such +a depth of discontent. He may be thought inconsistent, +and even so he is. But for this, is the author to be +blamed? True, it may be urged that there is nothing +a writer of fiction should more carefully see to, as there +is nothing a sensible reader will more carefully look for, +than that, in the depiction of any character, its consistency +should be preserved. But this, though at first blush, +seeming reasonable enough, may, upon a closer view, +prove not so much so. For how does it couple with +another requirement—equally insisted upon, perhaps—that, +while to all fiction is allowed some play of invention, +yet, fiction based on fact should never be contradictory +to it; and is it not a fact, that, in real life, a consistent +character is a <i>rara avis</i>? Which being so, the distaste +of readers to the contrary sort in books, can hardly arise +from any sense of their untrueness. It may rather be +from perplexity as to understanding them. But if the +acutest sage be often at his wits’ ends to understand +living character, shall those who are not sages expect to +run and read character in those mere phantoms which +flit along a page, like shadows along a wall? That +fiction, where every character can, by reason of its consistency, +be comprehended at a glance, either exhibits +but sections of character, making them appear for +wholes, or else is very untrue to reality; while, on the +other hand, that author who draws a character, even +though to common view incongruous in its parts, as the +flying-squirrel, and, at different periods, as much at +variance with itself as the butterfly is with the caterpillar +into which it changes, may yet, in so doing, be +not false but faithful to facts.</p> + +<p>If reason be judge, no writer has produced such inconsistent +characters as nature herself has. It must call +for no small sagacity in a reader unerringly to discriminate +in a novel between the inconsistencies of conception +and those of life as elsewhere. Experience is the only +guide here; but as no one man can be coextensive with +<i>what is</i>, it may be unwise in every ease to rest upon it. +When the duck-billed beaver of Australia was first +brought stuffed to England, the naturalists, appealing +to their classifications, maintained that there was, in +reality, no such creature; the bill in the specimen +must needs be, in some way, artificially stuck on.</p> + +<p>But let nature, to the perplexity of the naturalists, produce +her duck-billed beavers as she may, lesser authors +some may hold, have no business to be perplexing +readers with duck-billed characters. Always, they +should represent human nature not in obscurity, but +transparency, which, indeed, is the practice with most +novelists, and is, perhaps, in certain cases, someway felt +to be a kind of honor rendered by them to their kind. +But, whether it involve honor or otherwise might be +mooted, considering that, if these waters of human +nature can be so readily seen through, it may be either +that they are very pure or very shallow. Upon the +whole, it might rather be thought, that he, who, in view +of its inconsistencies, says of human nature the same that, +in view of its contrasts, is said of the divine nature, that +it is past finding out, thereby evinces a better appreciation +of it than he who, by always representing it in a +clear light, leaves it to be inferred that he clearly knows +all about it.</p> + +<p>But though there is a prejudice against inconsistent +characters in books, yet the prejudice bears the other +way, when what seemed at first their inconsistency, +afterwards, by the skill of the writer, turns out to be +their good keeping. The great masters excel in nothing +so much as in this very particular. They challenge +astonishment at the tangled web of some character, +and then raise admiration still greater at their satisfactory +unraveling of it; in this way throwing open, +sometimes to the understanding even of school misses, +the last complications of that spirit which is affirmed +by its Creator to be fearfully and wonderfully +made.</p> + +<p>At least, something like this is claimed for certain +psychological novelists; nor will the claim be here +disputed. Yet, as touching this point, it may prove +suggestive, that all those sallies of ingenuity, having for +their end the revelation of human nature on fixed principles, +have, by the best judges, been excluded with +contempt from the ranks of the sciences—palmistry, +physiognomy, phrenology, psychology. Likewise, the +fact, that in all ages such conflicting views have, by the +most eminent minds, been taken of mankind, would, as +with other topics, seem some presumption of a pretty +general and pretty thorough ignorance of it. Which +may appear the less improbable if it be considered that, +after poring over the best novels professing to portray +human nature, the studious youth will still run risk of +being too often at fault upon actually entering the world; +whereas, had he been furnished with a true delineation, +it ought to fare with him something as with a stranger +entering, map in hand, Boston town; the streets may be +very crooked, he may often pause; but, thanks to his true +map, he does not hopelessly lose his way. Nor, to this +comparison, can it be an adequate objection, that the +twistings of the town are always the same, and those of +human nature subject to variation. The grand points of +human nature are the same to-day they were a thousand +years ago. The only variability in them is in expression, +not in feature.</p> + +<p>But as, in spite of seeming discouragement, some +mathematicians are yet in hopes of hitting upon an exact +method of determining the longitude, the more earnest +psychologists may, in the face of previous failures, still +cherish expectations with regard to some mode of infallibly +discovering the heart of man.</p> + +<p>But enough has been said by way of apology for +whatever may have seemed amiss or obscure in the +character of the merchant; so nothing remains but to turn +to our comedy, or, rather, to pass from the comedy of +thought to that of action.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>AN OLD MISER, UPON SUITABLE REPRESENTATIONS, IS PREVAILED UPON TO +VENTURE AN INVESTMENT.</span></h2> + +<p>The merchant having withdrawn, the other remained +seated alone for a time, with the air of one who, after +having conversed with some excellent man, carefully +ponders what fell from him, however intellectually inferior +it may be, that none of the profit may be lost; +happy if from any honest word he has heard he can +derive some hint, which, besides confirming him in the +theory of virtue, may, likewise, serve for a finger-post +to virtuous action.</p> + +<p>Ere long his eye brightened, as if some such hint was +now caught. He rises, book in hand, quits the cabin, +and enters upon a sort of corridor, narrow and dim, a +by-way to a retreat less ornate and cheery than the +former; in short, the emigrants’ quarters; but which, +owing to the present trip being a down-river one, will +doubtless be found comparatively tenantless. Owing +to obstructions against the side windows, the whole +place is dim and dusky; very much so, for the most +part; yet, by starts, haggardly lit here and there by +narrow, capricious sky-lights in the cornices. But there +would seem no special need for light, the place being +designed more to pass the night in, than the day; +in brief, a pine barrens dormitory, of knotty pine bunks, +without bedding. As with the nests in the geometrical +towns of the associate penguin and pelican, these bunks +were disposed with Philadelphian regularity, but, like +the cradle of the oriole, they were pendulous, and, +moreover, were, so to speak, three-story cradles; the +description of one of which will suffice for all.</p> + +<p>Four ropes, secured to the ceiling, passed downwards +through auger-holes bored in the corners of three rough +planks, which at equal distances rested on knots vertically +tied in the ropes, the lowermost plank but an inch +or two from the floor, the whole affair resembling, on a +large scale, rope book-shelves; only, instead of hanging +firmly against a wall, they swayed to and fro at the +least suggestion of motion, but were more especially +lively upon the provocation of a green emigrant sprawling +into one, and trying to lay himself out there, when +the cradling would be such as almost to toss him back +whence he came. In consequence, one less inexperienced, +essaying repose on the uppermost shelf, was liable +to serious disturbance, should a raw beginner select +a shelf beneath. Sometimes a throng of poor emigrants, +coming at night in a sudden rain to occupy these oriole +nests, would—through ignorance of their peculiarity—bring +about such a rocking uproar of carpentry, joining +to it such an uproar of exclamations, that it seemed as if +some luckless ship, with all its crew, was being dashed +to pieces among the rocks. They were beds devised +by some sardonic foe of poor travelers, to deprive them +of that <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'tranquillity'.">tranquility</ins> which should precede, as well as +accompany, slumber.—Procrustean beds, on whose hard +grain humble worth and honesty writhed, still invoking +repose, while but torment responded. Ah, did any one +make such a bunk for himself, instead of having it made +for him, it might be just, but how cruel, to say, You +must lie on it!</p> + +<p>But, purgatory as the place would appear, the +stranger advances into it: and, like Orpheus in his gay +descent to Tartarus, lightly hums to himself an opera +snatch.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there is a rustling, then a creaking, one of +the cradles swings out from a murky nook, a sort of +wasted penguin-flipper is supplicatingly put forth, +while a wail like that of Dives is heard:—“Water, +water!”</p> + +<p>It was the miser of whom the merchant had spoken.</p> + +<p>Swift as a sister-of-charity, the stranger hovers over +him:—</p> + +<p>“My poor, poor sir, what can I do for you?”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh—water!”</p> + +<p>Darting out, he procures a glass, returns, and, holding it +to the sufferer’s lips, supports his head while he drinks: +“And did they let you lie here, my poor sir, racked +with this parching thirst?”</p> + +<p>The miser, a lean old man, whose flesh seemed salted +cod-fish, dry as combustibles; head, like one whittled +by an idiot out of a knot; flat, bony mouth, nipped +between buzzard nose and chin; expression, flitting +between hunks and imbecile—now one, now the other—he +made no response. His eyes were closed, his cheek +lay upon an old white moleskin coat, rolled under his +head like a wizened apple upon a grimy snow-bank.</p> + +<p>Revived at last, he inclined towards his ministrant, +and, in a voice disastrous with a cough, said:—“I am +old and miserable, a poor beggar, not worth a shoestring—how +can I repay you?”</p> + +<p>“By giving me your confidence.”</p> + +<p>“Confidence!” he squeaked, with changed manner, +while the pallet swung, “little left at my age, but take +the stale remains, and welcome.”</p> + +<p>“Such as it is, though, you give it. Very good. +Now give me a hundred dollars.”</p> + +<p>Upon this the miser was all panic. His hands +groped towards his waist, then suddenly flew upward +beneath his moleskin pillow, and there lay clutching +something out of sight. Meantime, to himself he incoherently +mumbled:—“Confidence? Cant, gammon! +Confidence? hum, bubble!—Confidence? fetch, gouge!—Hundred +dollars?—hundred devils!”</p> + +<p>Half spent, he lay mute awhile, then feebly raising +himself, in a voice for the moment made strong by the +sarcasm, said, “A hundred dollars? rather high price to +put upon confidence. But don’t you see I am a poor, +old rat here, dying in the wainscot? You have served +me; but, wretch that I am, I can but cough you my +thanks,—ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>This time his cough was so violent that its convulsions +were imparted to the plank, which swung him +about like a stone in a sling preparatory to its being +hurled.</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“What a shocking cough. I wish, my friend, the +herb-doctor was here now; <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'abox'.">a box</ins> of his Omni-Balsamic +Reinvigorator would do you good.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve a good mind to go find him. He’s aboard +somewhere. I saw his long, snuff-colored surtout. +Trust me, his medicines are the best in the +world.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, how sorry I am.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt of it,” squeaked the other again, “but go, +get your charity out on deck. There parade the pursy +peacocks; they don’t cough down here in desertion and +darkness, like poor old me. Look how scaly a pauper I +am, clove with this churchyard cough. Ugh, ugh, +ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Again, how sorry I feel, not only for your cough, +but your poverty. Such a rare chance made unavailable. +Did you have but the sum named, how I could +invest it for you. Treble profits. But confidence—I +fear that, even had you the precious cash, you +would not have the more precious confidence I speak +of.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh, ugh!” flightily raising himself. “What’s +that? How, how? Then you don’t want the money +for yourself?”</p> + +<p>“My dear, <i>dear</i> sir, how could you impute to me +such preposterous self-seeking? To solicit out of hand, +for my private behoof, an hundred dollars from a perfect +stranger? I am not mad, my dear sir.”</p> + +<p>“How, how?” still more bewildered, “do you, then, +go about the world, gratis, seeking to invest people’s +money for them?”</p> + +<p>“My humble profession, sir. I live not for myself; +but the world will not have confidence in me, and yet +confidence in me were great gain.”</p> + +<p>“But, but,” in a kind of vertigo, “what do—do you +do—do with people’s money? Ugh, ugh! How is the +gain made?”</p> + +<p>“To tell that would ruin me. That known, every +one would be going into the business, and it would be +overdone. A secret, a mystery—all I have to do with +you is to receive your confidence, and all you have to +do with me is, in due time, to receive it back, thrice +paid in trebling profits.”</p> + +<p>“What, what?” imbecility in the ascendant once +more; “but the vouchers, the vouchers,” suddenly +hunkish again.</p> + +<p>“Honesty’s best voucher is honesty’s face.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t see yours, though,” peering through the obscurity.</p> + +<p>From this last alternating flicker of rationality, the +miser fell back, sputtering, into his previous gibberish, +but it took now an arithmetical turn. Eyes closed, he +lay muttering to himself—</p> + +<p>“One hundred, one hundred—two hundred, two hundred—three +hundred, three hundred.”</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes, feebly stared, and still more feebly +said—</p> + +<p>“It’s a little dim here, ain’t it? Ugh, ugh! But, +as well as my poor old eyes can see, you look honest.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear that.”</p> + +<p>“If—if, now, I should put”—trying to raise himself, +but vainly, excitement having all but exhausted him—“if, +if now, I should put, put——”</p> + +<p>“No ifs. Downright confidence, or none. So help +me heaven, I will have no half-confidences.”</p> + +<p>He said it with an indifferent and superior air, and +seemed moving to go.</p> + +<p>“Don’t, don’t leave me, friend; bear with me; age +can’t help some distrust; it can’t, friend, it can’t. Ugh, +ugh, ugh! Oh, I am so old and miserable. I ought to +have a guardian. Tell me, if——”</p> + +<p>“If? No more!”</p> + +<p>“Stay! how soon—ugh, ugh!—would my money be +trebled? How soon, friend?”</p> + +<p>“You won’t confide. Good-bye!”</p> + +<p>“Stay, stay,” falling back now like an infant, “I +confide, I confide; help, friend, my distrust!”</p> + +<p>From an old buckskin pouch, tremulously dragged +forth, ten hoarded eagles, tarnished into the appearance +of ten old horn-buttons, were taken, and half-eagerly, +half-reluctantly, offered.</p> + +<p>“I know not whether I should accept this slack confidence,” +said the other coldly, receiving the gold, “but +an eleventh-hour confidence, a sick-bed confidence, a +distempered, death-bed confidence, after all. Give me +the healthy confidence of healthy men, with their +healthy wits about them. But let that pass. All right. +Good-bye!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, back, back—receipt, my receipt! Ugh, ugh, +ugh! Who are you? What have I done? Where go +you? My gold, my gold! Ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>But, unluckily for this final flicker of reason, the +stranger was now beyond ear-shot, nor was any one else +within hearing of so feeble a call.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A SICK MAN, AFTER SOME IMPATIENCE, IS INDUCED TO BECOME A PATIENT</span></h2> + +<p>The sky slides into blue, the bluffs into bloom; the +rapid Mississippi expands; runs sparkling and gurgling, +all over in eddies; one magnified wake of a seventy-four. +The sun comes out, a golden huzzar, from his tent, flashing +his helm on the world. All things, warmed in the +landscape, leap. Speeds the dædal boat as a dream.</p> + +<p>But, withdrawn in a corner, wrapped about in a shawl, +sits an unparticipating man, visited, but not warmed, by +the sun—a plant whose hour seems over, while buds +are blowing and seeds are astir. On a stool at his left +sits a stranger in a snuff-colored surtout, the collar +thrown back; his hand waving in persuasive gesture, his +eye beaming with hope. But not easily may hope be +awakened in one long tranced into hopelessness by a +chronic complaint.</p> + +<p>To some remark the sick man, by word or look, +seemed to have just made an impatiently querulous +answer, when, with a deprecatory air, the other resumed:</p> + +<p>“Nay, think not I seek to cry up my treatment by +crying down that of others. And yet, when one is confident +he has truth on his side, and that is not on the +other, it is no very easy thing to be charitable; not that +temper is the bar, but conscience; for charity would +beget toleration, you know, which is a kind of implied +permitting, and in effect a kind of countenancing; and +that which is countenanced is so far furthered. But +should untruth be furthered? Still, while for the +world’s good I refuse to further the cause of these mineral +doctors, I would fain regard them, not as willful +wrong-doers, but good Samaritans erring. And is this—I +put it to you, sir—is this the view of an arrogant +rival and pretender?”</p> + +<p>His physical power all dribbled and gone, the sick +man replied not by voice or by gesture; but, with feeble +dumb-show of his face, seemed to be saying “Pray leave +me; who was ever cured by talk?”</p> + +<p>But the other, as if not unused to make allowances +for such despondency, proceeded; and kindly, yet firmly:</p> + +<p>“You tell me, that by advice of an eminent physiologist +in Louisville, you took tincture of iron. For what? +To restore your lost energy. And how? Why, in +healthy subjects iron is naturally found in the blood, and +iron in the bar is strong; ergo, iron is the source of +animal invigoration. But you being deficient in vigor, +it follows that the cause is deficiency of iron. Iron, then, +must be put into you; and so your tincture. Now as +to the theory here, I am mute. But in modesty assuming +its truth, and then, as a plain man viewing that +theory in practice, I would respectfully question your +eminent physiologist: ‘Sir,’ I would say, ‘though by natural +processes, lifeless natures taken as nutriment become +vitalized, yet is a lifeless nature, under any circumstances, +capable of a living transmission, with all its qualities +as a lifeless nature unchanged? If, sir, nothing can +be incorporated with the living body but by assimilation, +and if that implies the conversion of one thing to a +different thing (as, in a lamp, oil is assimilated into +flame), is it, in this view, likely, that by banqueting on +fat, Calvin Edson will fatten? That is, will what is fat +on the board prove fat on the bones? If it will, then, +sir, what is iron in the vial will prove iron in the vein.’ +Seems that conclusion too confident?”</p> + +<p>But the sick man again turned his dumb-show look, +as much as to say, “Pray leave me. Why, with painful +words, hint the vanity of that which the pains of this +body have too painfully proved?”</p> + +<p>But the other, as if unobservant of that querulous +look, went on:</p> + +<p>“But this notion, that science can play farmer to the +flesh, making there what living soil it pleases, seems not +so strange as that other conceit—that science is now-a-days +so expert that, in consumptive cases, as yours, it +can, by prescription of the inhalation of certain vapors, +achieve the sublimest act of omnipotence, breathing +into all but lifeless dust the breath of life. For did you +not tell me, my poor sir, that by order of the great +chemist in Baltimore, for three weeks you were never +driven out without a respirator, and for a given time of +every day sat bolstered up in a sort of gasometer, inspiring +vapors generated by the burning of drugs? as if this +concocted atmosphere of man were an antidote to the +poison of God’s natural air. Oh, who can wonder at +that old reproach against science, that it is atheistical? +And here is my prime reason for opposing these chemical +practitioners, who have sought out so many inventions. +For what do their inventions indicate, unless it +be that kind and degree of pride in human skill, which +seems scarce compatible with reverential dependence +upon the power above? Try to rid my mind of it as I +may, yet still these chemical practitioners with their +tinctures, and fumes, and braziers, and occult incantations, +seem to me like Pharaoh’s vain sorcerers, trying +to beat down the will of heaven. Day and night, in all +charity, I intercede for them, that heaven may not, in +its own language, be provoked to anger with their +inventions; may not take vengeance of their inventions. A +thousand pities that you should ever have been in the +hands of these Egyptians.”</p> + +<p>But again came nothing but the dumb-show look, as +much as to say, “Pray leave me; quacks, and indignation +against quacks, both are vain.”</p> + +<p>But, once more, the other went on: “How different +we herb-doctors! who claim nothing, invent nothing; +but staff in hand, in glades, and upon hillsides, go about +in nature, humbly seeking her cures. True Indian doctors, +though not learned in names, we are not unfamiliar +with essences—successors of Solomon the Wise, who +knew all vegetables, from the cedar of Lebanon, to the +hyssop on the wall. Yes, Solomon was the first of +herb-doctors. Nor were the virtues of herbs unhonored +by yet older ages. Is it not writ, that on a moonlight +night,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Medea gathered the enchanted herbs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That did renew old Æson?”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class='noin'>Ah, would you but have confidence, you should be +the new Æson, and I your Medea. A few vials of my +Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator would, I am certain, give +you some strength.”</p> + +<p>Upon this, indignation and abhorrence seemed to +work by their excess the effect promised of the balsam. +Roused from that long apathy of impotence, the cadaverous +man started, and, in a voice that was as the sound +of obstructed air gurgling through a maze of broken +honey-combs, cried: “Begone! You are all alike. The +name of doctor, the dream of helper, condemns you. For +years I have been but a gallipot for you experimentizers +to rinse your experiments into, and now, in this livid +skin, partake of the nature of my contents. Begone! +I hate ye.”</p> + +<p>“I were inhuman, could I take affront at a want of +confidence, born of too bitter an experience of betrayers. +Yet, permit one who is not without feeling——”</p> + +<p>“Begone! Just in that voice talked to me, not six +months ago, the German doctor at the water cure, from +which I now return, six months and sixty pangs nigher +my grave.”</p> + +<p>“The water-cure? Oh, fatal delusion of the well-meaning +Preisnitz!—Sir, trust me——”</p> + +<p>“Begone!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, an invalid should not always have his own +way. Ah, sir, reflect how untimely this distrust in one +like you. How weak you are; and weakness, is it not +the time for confidence? Yes, when through weakness +everything bids despair, then is the time to get strength +by confidence.”</p> + +<p>Relenting in his air, the sick man cast upon him a +long glance of beseeching, as if saying, “With confidence +must come hope; and how can hope be?”</p> + +<p>The herb-doctor took a sealed paper box from his +surtout pocket, and holding it towards him, said solemnly, +“Turn not away. This may be the last time of health’s +asking. Work upon yourself; invoke confidence, though +from ashes; rouse it; for your life, rouse it, and invoke +it, I say.”</p> + +<p>The other trembled, was silent; and then, a little +commanding himself, asked the ingredients of the medicine.</p> + +<p>“Herbs.”</p> + +<p>“What herbs? And the nature of them? And the +reason for giving them?”</p> + +<p>“It cannot be made known.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will none of you.”</p> + +<p>Sedately observant of the juiceless, joyless form before +him, the herb-doctor was mute a moment, then +said:—“I give up.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“You are sick, and a philosopher.”</p> + +<p>“No, no;—not the last.”</p> + +<p>“But, to demand the ingredient, with the reason for +giving, is the mark of a philosopher; just as the consequence +is the penalty of a fool. A sick philosopher is +incurable?”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because he has no confidence.”</p> + +<p>“How does that make him incurable?”</p> + +<p>“Because either he spurns his powder, or, if he take +it, it proves a blank cartridge, though the same given to +a rustic in like extremity, would act like a charm. I +am no materialist; but the mind so acts upon the body, +that if the one have no confidence, neither has the other.”</p> + +<p>Again, the sick man appeared not unmoved. He +seemed to be thinking what in candid truth could be +said to all this. At length, “You talk of confidence. +How comes it that when brought low himself, the herb-doctor, +who was most confident to prescribe in other +cases, proves least confident to prescribe in his own; +having small confidence in himself for himself?”</p> + +<p>“But he has confidence in the brother he calls in. +And that he does so, is no reproach to him, since he +knows that when the body is prostrated, the mind is +not erect. Yes, in this hour the herb-doctor does distrust +himself, but not his art.”</p> + +<p>The sick man’s knowledge did not warrant him to +gainsay this. But he seemed not grieved at it; glad to +be confuted in a way tending towards his wish.</p> + +<p>“Then you give me hope?” his sunken eye turned up.</p> + +<p>“Hope is proportioned to confidence. How much +confidence you give me, so much hope do I give you. +For this,” lifting the box, “if all depended upon this, I +should rest. It is nature’s own.”</p> + +<p>“Nature!”</p> + +<p>“Why do you start?”</p> + +<p>“I know not,” with a sort of shudder, “but I have +heard of a book entitled ‘Nature in Disease.’”</p> + +<p>“A title I cannot approve; it is suspiciously scientific. +‘Nature in Disease?’ As if nature, divine nature, +were aught but health; as if through nature disease +is decreed! But did I not before hint of the tendency +of science, that forbidden tree? Sir, if despondency +is yours from recalling that title, dismiss it. Trust +me, nature is health; for health is good, and nature +cannot work ill. As little can she work error. Get +nature, and you get well. Now, I repeat, this medicine +is nature’s own.”</p> + +<p>Again the sick man could not, according to his light, +conscientiously disprove what was said. Neither, as +before, did he seem over-anxious to do so; the less, as +in his sensitiveness it seemed to him, that hardly could +he offer so to do without something like the appearance +of a kind of implied irreligion; nor in his heart was he +ungrateful, that since a spirit opposite to that pervaded +all the herb-doctor’s hopeful words, therefore, for hopefulness, +he (the sick man) had not alone medical warrant, +but also doctrinal.</p> + +<p>“Then you do really think,” hectically, “that if I +take this medicine,” mechanically reaching out for it, +“I shall regain my health?”</p> + +<p>“I will not encourage false hopes,” relinquishing to +him the box, “I will be frank with you. Though +frankness is not always the weakness of the mineral +practitioner, yet the herb doctor must be frank, or +nothing. Now then, sir, in your case, a radical cure—such +a cure, understand, as should make you robust—such +a cure, sir, I do not and cannot promise.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you need not! only restore me the power of +being something else to others than a burdensome care, +and to myself a droning grief. Only cure me of this +misery of weakness; only make me so that I can walk +about in the sun and not draw the flies to me, as lured +by the coming of decay. Only do that—but that.”</p> + +<p>“You ask not much; you are wise; not in vain have +you suffered. That little you ask, I think, can be +granted. But remember, not in a day, nor a week, nor +perhaps a month, but sooner or later; I say not exactly +when, for I am neither prophet nor charlatan. Still, if, +according to the directions in your box there, you take +my medicine steadily, without assigning an especial day, +near or remote, to discontinue it, then may you calmly +look for some eventual result of good. But again I say, +you must have confidence.”</p> + +<p>Feverishly he replied that he now trusted he had, and +hourly should pray for its increase. When suddenly +relapsing into one of those strange caprices peculiar to +some invalids, he added: “But to one like me, it is so +hard, so hard. The most confident hopes so often have +failed me, and as often have I vowed never, no, never, +to trust them again. Oh,” feebly wringing his hands, +“you do not know, you do not know.”</p> + +<p>“I know this, that never did a right confidence, come +to naught. But time is short; you hold your cure, to +retain or reject.”</p> + +<p>“I retain,” with a clinch, “and now how much?”</p> + +<p>“As much as you can evoke from your heart and +heaven.”</p> + +<p>“How?—the price of this medicine?”</p> + +<p>“I thought it was confidence you meant; how much +confidence you should have. The medicine,—that is +half a dollar a vial. Your box holds six.”</p> + +<p>The money was paid.</p> + +<p>“Now, sir,” said the herb-doctor, “my business calls +me away, and it may so be that I shall never see you +again; if then——”</p> + +<p>He paused, for the sick man’s countenance fell blank.</p> + +<p>“Forgive me,” cried the other, “forgive that imprudent +phrase ‘never see you again.’ Though I solely +intended it with reference to myself, yet I had forgotten +what your sensitiveness might be. I repeat, then, that +it may be that we shall not soon have a second interview, +so that hereafter, should another of my boxes be needed, +you may not be able to replace it except by purchase at +the shops; and, in so doing, you may run more or less +risk of taking some not salutary mixture. For such is +the popularity of the Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator—thriving +not by the credulity of the simple, but the +trust of the wise—that certain contrivers have not been +idle, though I would not, indeed, hastily affirm of them +that they are aware of the sad consequences to the +public. Homicides and murderers, some call those contrivers; +but I do not; for murder (if such a crime be +possible) comes from the heart, and these men’s motives +come from the purse. Were they not in poverty, I +think they would hardly do what they do. Still, the +public interests forbid that I should let their needy +device for a living succeed. In short, I have adopted +precautions. Take the wrapper from any of my vials +and hold it to the light, you will see water-marked in +capitals the word ‘<i>confidence</i>,’ which is the countersign +of the medicine, as I wish it was of the world. The +wrapper bears that mark or else the medicine is counterfeit. +But if still any lurking doubt should remain, +pray enclose the wrapper to this address,” handing a +card, “and by return mail I will answer.”</p> + +<p>At first the sick man listened, with the air of vivid +interest, but gradually, while the other was still talking, +another strange caprice came over him, and he presented +the aspect of the most calamitous dejection.</p> + +<p>“How now?” said the herb-doctor.</p> + +<p>“You told me to have confidence, said that confidence +was indispensable, and here you preach to me +distrust. Ah, truth will out!”</p> + +<p>“I told you, you must have confidence, unquestioning +confidence, I meant confidence in the genuine medicine, +and the genuine <i>me</i>.”</p> + +<p>“But in your absence, buying vials purporting to be +yours, it seems I cannot have unquestioning confidence.”</p> + +<p>“Prove all the vials; trust those which are true.”</p> + +<p>“But to doubt, to suspect, to prove—to have all this +wearing work to be doing continually—how opposed to +confidence. It is evil!”</p> + +<p>“From evil comes good. Distrust is a stage to +confidence. How has it proved in our interview? But +your voice is husky; I have let you talk too much. +You hold your cure; I will leave you. But stay—when I +hear that health is yours, I will not, like some I know, +vainly make boasts; but, giving glory where all glory is +due, say, with the devout herb-doctor, Japus in Virgil, +when, in the unseen but efficacious presence of Venus, +he with simples healed the wound of Æneas:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘This is no mortal work, no cure of mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor art’s effect, but done by power divine.’”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>TOWARDS THE END OF WHICH THE HERB-DOCTOR PROVES HIMSELF A +FORGIVER OF INJURIES.</span></h2> + +<p>In a kind of ante-cabin, a number of respectable looking +people, male and female, way-passengers, recently +come on board, are listlessly sitting in a mutually shy +sort of silence.</p> + +<p>Holding up a small, square bottle, ovally labeled +with the engraving of a countenance full of soft pity as +that of the Romish-painted Madonna, the herb-doctor +passes slowly among them, benignly urbane, turning +this way and that, saying:—</p> + +<p>“Ladies and gentlemen, I hold in my hand here the +Samaritan Pain Dissuader, thrice-blessed discovery of +that disinterested friend of humanity whose portrait +you see. Pure vegetable extract. Warranted to remove +the acutest pain within less than ten minutes. +Five hundred dollars to be forfeited on failure. Especially +efficacious in heart disease and tic-douloureux. +Observe the expression of this pledged friend of humanity.—Price +only fifty cents.”</p> + +<p>In vain. After the first idle stare, his auditors—in +pretty good health, it seemed—instead of encouraging +his politeness, appeared, if anything, impatient of it; +and, perhaps, only diffidence, or some small regard for +his feelings, prevented them from telling him so. But, +insensible to their coldness, or charitably overlooking it, +he more wooingly than ever resumed: “May I venture +upon a small supposition? Have I your kind +leave, ladies and gentlemen?”</p> + +<p>To which modest appeal, no one had the kindness to +answer a syllable.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, resignedly, “silence is at least not +denial, and may be consent. My supposition is this: +possibly some lady, here present, has a dear friend at +home, a bed-ridden sufferer from spinal complaint. If +so, what gift more appropriate to that sufferer than this +tasteful little bottle of Pain Dissuader?”</p> + +<p>Again he glanced about him, but met much the same +reception as before. Those faces, alien alike to sympathy +or surprise, seemed patiently to say, “We are travelers; +and, as such, must expect to meet, and quietly +put up with, many antic fools, and more antic quacks.”</p> + +<p>“Ladies and gentlemen,” (deferentially fixing his eyes +upon their now self-complacent faces) “ladies and gentlemen, +might I, by your kind leave, venture upon one +other small supposition? It is this: that there is scarce +a sufferer, this noonday, writhing on his bed, but in his +hour he sat satisfactorily healthy and happy; that the +Samaritan Pain Dissuader is the one only balm for +that to which each living creature—who knows?—may +be a draughted victim, present or prospective. In +short:—Oh, Happiness on my right hand, and oh, Security +on my left, can ye wisely adore a Providence, +and not think it wisdom to provide?—Provide!” (Uplifting +the bottle.)</p> + +<p>What immediate effect, if any, this appeal might have +had, is uncertain. For just then the boat touched at a +houseless landing, scooped, as by a land-slide, out of +sombre forests; back through which led a road, the +sole one, which, from its narrowness, and its being +walled up with story on story of dusk, matted foliage, +presented the vista of some cavernous old gorge in a +city, like haunted Cock Lane in London. Issuing from +that road, and crossing that landing, there stooped his +shaggy form in the door-way, and entered the ante-cabin, +with a step so burdensome that shot seemed in his +pockets, a kind of invalid Titan in homespun; his beard +blackly pendant, like the Carolina-moss, and dank with +cypress dew; his countenance tawny and shadowy as +an iron-ore country in a clouded day. In one hand he +carried a heavy walking-stick of swamp-oak; with the +other, led a puny girl, walking in moccasins, not improbably +his child, but evidently of alien maternity, +perhaps Creole, or even Camanche. Her eye would +have been large for a woman, and was inky as the pools +of falls among mountain-pines. An Indian blanket, +orange-hued, and fringed with lead tassel-work, appeared +that morning to have shielded the child from +heavy showers. Her limbs were tremulous; she seemed +a little Cassandra, in nervousness.</p> + +<p>No sooner was the pair spied by the herb-doctor, than +with a cheerful air, both arms extended like a host’s, he +advanced, and taking the child’s reluctant hand, said, +trippingly: “On your travels, ah, my little May Queen? +Glad to see you. What pretty moccasins. Nice to +dance in.” Then with a half caper sang—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘Hey diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cow jumped over the moon.’<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class='noin'>Come, chirrup, chirrup, my little robin!”</p> + +<p>Which playful welcome drew no responsive playfulness +from the child, nor appeared to gladden or conciliate +the father; but rather, if anything, to dash the dead +weight of his heavy-hearted expression with a smile +hypochondriacally scornful.</p> + +<p>Sobering down now, the herb-doctor addressed the +stranger in a manly, business-like way—a transition +which, though it might seem a little abrupt, did not +appear constrained, and, indeed, served to show that his +recent levity was less the habit of a frivolous nature, +than the frolic condescension of a kindly heart.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” said he, “but, if I err not, I was speaking +to you the other day;—on a Kentucky boat, wasn’t +it?”</p> + +<p>“Never to me,” was the reply; the voice deep and +lonesome enough to have come from the bottom of an +abandoned coal-shaft.</p> + +<p>“Ah!—But am I again mistaken, (his eye falling on +the swamp-oak stick,) or don’t you go a little lame, +sir?”</p> + +<p>“Never was lame in my life.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed? I fancied I had perceived not a limp, but +a hitch, a slight hitch;—some experience in these +things—divined some hidden cause of the hitch—buried +bullet, may be—some dragoons in the Mexican war discharged +with such, you know.—Hard fate!” he sighed, +“little pity for it, for who sees it?—have you dropped +anything?”</p> + +<p>Why, there is no telling, but the stranger was bowed +over, and might have seemed bowing for the purpose of +picking up something, were it not that, as arrested +in the imperfect posture, he for the moment so remained; +slanting his tall stature like a mainmast yielding +to the gale, or Adam to the thunder.</p> + +<p>The little child pulled him. With a kind of a surge +he righted himself, for an instant looked toward the +herb-doctor; but, either from emotion or aversion, or +both together, withdrew his eyes, saying nothing. Presently, +still stooping, he seated himself, drawing his child +between his knees, his massy hands tremulous, and still +averting his face, while up into the compassionate one +of the herb-doctor the child turned a fixed, melancholy +glance of repugnance.</p> + +<p>The herb-doctor stood observant a moment, then +said:</p> + +<p>“Surely you have pain, strong pain, somewhere; in +strong frames pain is strongest. Try, now, my specific,” +(holding it up). “Do but look at the expression +of this friend of humanity. Trust me, certain cure for +any pain in the world. Won’t you look?”</p> + +<p>“No,” choked the other.</p> + +<p>“Very good. Merry time to you, little May Queen.”</p> + +<p>And so, as if he would intrude his cure upon no one, +moved pleasantly off, again crying his wares, nor now +at last without result. A new-comer, not from the +shore, but another part of the boat, a sickly young +man, after some questions, purchased a bottle. Upon +this, others of the company began a little to wake up +as it were; the scales of indifference or prejudice fell +from their eyes; now, at last, they seemed to have an +inkling that here was something not undesirable which +might be had for the buying.</p> + +<p>But while, ten times more briskly bland than ever, +the herb-doctor was driving his benevolent trade, accompanying +each sale with added praises of the thing +traded, all at once the dusk giant, seated at some distance, +unexpectedly raised his voice with—</p> + +<p>“What was that you last said?”</p> + +<p>The question was put distinctly, yet resonantly, as +when a great clock-bell—stunning admonisher—strikes +one; and the stroke, though single, comes bedded in +the belfry clamor.</p> + +<p>All proceedings were suspended. Hands held forth +for the specific were withdrawn, while every eye turned +towards the direction whence the question came. But, +no way abashed, the herb-doctor, elevating his voice +with even more than wonted self-possession, replied—</p> + +<p>“I was saying what, since you wish it, I cheerfully +repeat, that the Samaritan Pain Dissuader, which I here +hold in my hand, will either cure or ease any pain +you please, within ten minutes after its application.”</p> + +<p>“Does it produce insensibility?”</p> + +<p>“By no means. Not the least of its merits is, that +it is not an opiate. It kills pain without killing +feeling.”</p> + +<p>“You lie! Some pains cannot be eased but by producing +insensibility, and cannot be cured but by producing +death.”</p> + +<p>Beyond this the dusk giant said nothing; neither, for +impairing the other’s market, did there appear much +need to. After eying the rude speaker a moment with +an expression of mingled admiration and consternation, +the company silently exchanged glances of mutual sympathy +under unwelcome conviction. Those who had +purchased looked sheepish or ashamed; and a cynical-looking +little man, with a thin flaggy beard, and a +countenance ever wearing the rudiments of a grin, +seated alone in a corner commanding a good view of +the scene, held a rusty hat before his face.</p> + +<p>But, again, the herb-doctor, without noticing the retort, +overbearing though it was, began his panegyrics +anew, and in a tone more assured than before, going so +far now as to say that his specific was sometimes almost +as effective in cases of mental suffering as in cases +of physical; or rather, to be more precise, in cases +when, through sympathy, the two sorts of pain coöperated +into a climax of both—in such cases, he said, the +specific had done very well. He cited an example: +Only three bottles, faithfully taken, cured a Louisiana +widow (for three weeks sleepless in a darkened chamber) +of neuralgic sorrow for the loss of husband and +child, swept off in one night by the last epidemic. For +the truth of this, a printed voucher was produced, duly +signed.</p> + +<p>While he was reading it aloud, a sudden side-blow +all but felled him.</p> + +<p>It was the giant, who, with a countenance lividly +epileptic with hypochondriac mania, exclaimed—</p> + +<p>“Profane fiddler on heart-strings! Snake!”</p> + +<p>More he would have added, but, convulsed, could +not; so, without another word, taking up the child, +who had followed him, went with a rocking pace out of +the cabin.</p> + +<p>“Regardless of decency, and lost to humanity!” +exclaimed the herb-doctor, with much ado recovering +himself. Then, after a pause, during which he examined +his bruise, not omitting to apply externally a little +of his specific, and with some success, as it would +seem, plained to himself:</p> + +<p>“No, no, I won’t seek redress; innocence is my redress. +But,” turning upon them all, “if that man’s +wrathful blow provokes me to no wrath, should his evil +distrust arouse you to distrust? I do devoutly hope,” +proudly raising voice and arm, “for the honor of +humanity—hope that, despite this coward assault, the +Samaritan Pain Dissuader stands unshaken in the confidence +of all who hear me!”</p> + +<p>But, injured as he was, and patient under it, too, +somehow his case excited as little compassion as his +oratory now did enthusiasm. Still, pathetic to the last, +he continued his appeals, notwithstanding the frigid +regard of the company, till, suddenly interrupting himself, +as if in reply to a quick summons from without, he +said hurriedly, “I come, I come,” and so, with every +token of precipitate dispatch, out of the cabin the +herb-doctor went.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>INQUEST INTO THE TRUE CHARACTER OF THE HERB-DOCTOR.</span></h2> + +<p>“Sha’n’t see that fellow again in a hurry,” remarked +an auburn-haired gentleman, to his neighbor with a hook-nose. +“Never knew an operator so completely unmasked.”</p> + +<p>“But do you think it the fair thing to unmask an +operator that way?”</p> + +<p>“Fair? It is right.”</p> + +<p>“Supposing that at high ’change on the Paris Bourse, +Asmodeus should lounge in, distributing hand-bills, revealing +the true thoughts and designs of all the operators +present—would that be the fair thing in Asmodeus? +Or, as Hamlet says, were it ‘to consider the thing too +curiously?’”</p> + +<p>“We won’t go into that. But since you admit the +fellow to be a knave——”</p> + +<p>“I don’t admit it. Or, if I did, I take it back. +Shouldn’t wonder if, after all, he is no knave at all, or, +but little of one. What can you prove against him?”</p> + +<p>“I can prove that he makes dupes.”</p> + +<p>“Many held in honor do the same; and many, not +wholly knaves, do it too.”</p> + +<p>“How about that last?”</p> + +<p>“He is not wholly at heart a knave, I fancy, among +whose dupes is himself. Did you not see our quack +friend apply to himself his own quackery? A fanatic +quack; essentially a fool, though effectively a +knave.”</p> + +<p>Bending over, and looking down between his knees +on the floor, the auburn-haired gentleman meditatively +scribbled there awhile with his cane, then, glancing up, +said:</p> + +<p>“I can’t conceive how you, in anyway, can hold +him a fool. How he talked—so glib, so pat, so +well.”</p> + +<p>“A smart fool always talks well; takes a smart fool +to be tonguey.”</p> + +<p>In much the same strain the discussion continued—the +hook-nosed gentleman talking at large and excellently, +with a view of demonstrating that a smart fool +always talks just so. Ere long he talked to such purpose +as almost to convince.</p> + +<p>Presently, back came the person of whom the auburn-haired +gentleman had predicted that he would not +return. Conspicuous in the door-way he stood, saying, +in a clear voice, “Is the agent of the Seminole Widow +and Orphan Asylum within here?”</p> + +<p>No one replied.</p> + +<p>“Is there within here any agent or any member of +any charitable institution whatever?”</p> + +<p>No one seemed competent to answer, or, no one +thought it worth while to.</p> + +<p>“If there be within here any such person, I have in +my hand two dollars for him.”</p> + +<p>Some interest was manifested.</p> + +<p>“I was called away so hurriedly, I forgot this part of +my duty. With the proprietor of the Samaritan Pain +Dissuader it is a rule, to devote, on the spot, to some +benevolent purpose, the half of the proceeds of sales. +Eight bottles were disposed of among this company. +Hence, four half-dollars remain to charity. Who, as +steward, takes the money?”</p> + +<p>One or two pair of feet moved upon the floor, as with +a sort of itching; but nobody rose.</p> + +<p>“Does diffidence prevail over duty? If, I say, there +be any gentleman, or any lady, either, here present, who +is in any connection with any charitable institution +whatever, let him or her come forward. He or she +happening to have at hand no certificate of such connection, +makes no difference. Not of a suspicious +temper, thank God, I shall have confidence in whoever +offers to take the money.”</p> + +<p>A demure-looking woman, in a dress rather tawdry +and rumpled, here drew her veil well down and rose; +but, marking every eye upon her, thought it advisable, +upon the whole, to sit down again.</p> + +<p>“Is it to be believed that, in this Christian company, +there is no one charitable person? I mean, no one connected +with any charity? Well, then, is there no object +of charity here?”</p> + +<p>Upon this, an unhappy-looking woman, in a sort of +mourning, neat, but sadly worn, hid her face behind a +meagre bundle, and was heard to sob. Meantime, as +not seeing or hearing her, the herb-doctor again spoke, +and this time not unpathetically:</p> + +<p>“Are there none here who feel in need of help, and +who, in accepting such help, would feel that they, in +their time, have given or done more than may ever be +given or done to them? Man or woman, is there none +such here?”</p> + +<p>The sobs of the woman were more audible, though +she strove to repress them. While nearly every one’s +attention was bent upon her, a man of the appearance of +a day-laborer, with a white bandage across his face, concealing +the side of the nose, and who, for coolness’ sake, +had been sitting in his red-flannel shirt-sleeves, his coat +thrown across one shoulder, the darned cuffs drooping +behind—this man shufflingly rose, and, with a pace that +seemed the lingering memento of the lock-step of convicts, +went up for a duly-qualified claimant.</p> + +<p>“Poor wounded huzzar!” sighed the herb-doctor, and +dropping the money into the man’s clam-shell of a hand +turned and departed.</p> + +<p>The recipient of the alms was about moving after, +when the auburn-haired gentleman staid him: “Don’t +be frightened, you; but I want to see those coins. +Yes, yes; good silver, good silver. There, take them +again, and while you are about it, go bandage the rest +of yourself behind something. D’ye hear? Consider +yourself, wholly, the scar of a nose, and be off with +yourself.”</p> + +<p>Being of a forgiving nature, or else from emotion not +daring to trust his voice, the man silently, but not +without some precipitancy, withdrew.</p> + +<p>“Strange,” said the auburn-haired gentleman, returning +to his friend, “the money was good money.”</p> + +<p>“Aye, and where your fine knavery now? Knavery +to devote the half of one’s receipts to charity? He’s a +fool I say again.”</p> + +<p>“Others might call him an original genius.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, being original in his folly. Genius? His +genius is a cracked pate, and, as this age goes, not +much originality about that.”</p> + +<p>“May he not be knave, fool, and genius altogether?”</p> + +<p>“I beg pardon,” here said a third person with a gossiping +expression who had been listening, “but you are +somewhat puzzled by this man, and well you may be.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know anything about him?” asked the +hooked-nosed gentleman.</p> + +<p>“No, but I suspect him for something.”</p> + +<p>“Suspicion. We want knowledge.”</p> + +<p>“Well, suspect first and know next. True knowledge +comes but by suspicion or revelation. That’s my +maxim.”</p> + +<p>“And yet,” said the auburn-haired gentleman, “since +a wise man will keep even some certainties to himself, +much more some suspicions, at least he will at all events +so do till they ripen into knowledge.”</p> + +<p>“Do you hear that about the wise man?” said the +hook-nosed gentleman, turning upon the new comer. +“Now what is it you suspect of this fellow?”</p> + +<p>“I shrewdly suspect him,” was the eager response, +“for one of those Jesuit emissaries prowling all over our +country. The better to accomplish their secret designs, +they assume, at times, I am told, the most singular +masques; sometimes, in appearance, the absurdest.”</p> + +<p>This, though indeed for some reason causing a droll +smile upon the face of the hook-nosed gentleman, added +a third angle to the discussion, which now became a +sort of triangular duel, and ended, at last, with but a +triangular result.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.</span></h2> + +<p>“Mexico? Molino del Rey? Resaca de la Palma?”</p> + +<p>“Resaca de la <i>Tomba</i>!”</p> + +<p>Leaving his reputation to take care of itself, since, as +is not seldom the case, he knew nothing of its being in +debate, the herb-doctor, wandering towards the forward +part of the boat, had there espied a singular character in a +grimy old regimental coat, a countenance at once grim +and wizened, interwoven paralyzed legs, stiff as icicles, +suspended between rude crutches, while the whole +rigid body, like a ship’s long barometer on gimbals, +swung to and fro, mechanically faithful to the motion +of the boat. Looking downward while he swung, the +cripple seemed in a brown study.</p> + +<p>As moved by the sight, and conjecturing that here +was some battered hero from the Mexican battle-fields, +the herb-doctor had sympathetically accosted him as +above, and received the above rather dubious reply. As, +with a half moody, half surly sort of air that reply was +given, the cripple, by a voluntary jerk, nervously increased +his swing (his custom when seized by emotion), so that +one would have thought some squall had suddenly rolled +the boat and with it the barometer.</p> + +<p>“Tombs? my friend,” exclaimed the herb-doctor in +mild surprise. “You have not descended to the dead, +have you? I had imagined you a scarred campaigner, +one of the noble children of war, for your dear country +a glorious sufferer. But you are Lazarus, it seems.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he who had sores.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, the <i>other</i> Lazarus. But I never knew that +either of them was in the army,” glancing at the dilapidated +regimentals.</p> + +<p>“That will do now. Jokes enough.”</p> + +<p>“Friend,” said the other reproachfully, “you think +amiss. On principle, I greet unfortunates with some +pleasant remark, the better to call off their thoughts +from their troubles. The physician who is at once wise +and humane seldom unreservedly sympathizes with his +patient. But come, I am a herb-doctor, and also a natural +bone-setter. I may be sanguine, but I think I +can do something for you. You look up now. Give me +your story. Ere I undertake a cure, I require a full account +of the case.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t help me,” returned the cripple gruffly. +“Go away.”</p> + +<p>“You seem sadly destitute of——”</p> + +<p>“No I ain’t destitute; to-day, at least, I can pay my +way.”</p> + +<p>“The Natural Bone-setter is happy, indeed, to hear +that. But you were premature. I was deploring your +destitution, not of cash, but of confidence. You think +the Natural Bone-setter can’t help you. Well, suppose +he can’t, have you any objection to telling him your +story? You, my friend, have, in a signal way, experienced +adversity. Tell me, then, for my private good, +how, without aid from the noble cripple, Epictetus, you +have arrived at his heroic sang-froid in misfortune.”</p> + +<p>At these words the cripple fixed upon the speaker the +hard ironic eye of one toughened and defiant in misery, +and, in the end, grinned upon him with his unshaven face +like an ogre.</p> + +<p>“Come, come, be sociable—be human, my friend. +Don’t make that face; it distresses me.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” with a sneer, “you are the man I’ve +long heard of—The Happy Man.”</p> + +<p>“Happy? my friend. Yes, at least I ought to be. +My conscience is peaceful. I have confidence in everybody. +I have confidence that, in my humble profession, +I do some little good to the world. Yes, I think that, +without presumption, I may venture to assent to the +proposition that I am the Happy Man—the Happy Bone-setter.”</p> + +<p>“Then, you shall hear my story. Many a month I +have longed to get hold of the Happy Man, drill him, +drop the powder, and leave him to explode at his +leisure.”.</p> + +<p>“What a demoniac unfortunate” exclaimed the herb-doctor +retreating. “Regular infernal machine!”</p> + +<p>“Look ye,” cried the other, stumping after him, and +with his horny hand catching him by a horn button, “my +name is Thomas Fry. Until my——”</p> + +<p>—“Any relation of Mrs. Fry?” interrupted the other. +“I still correspond with that excellent lady on the subject +of prisons. Tell me, are you anyway connected +with <i>my</i> Mrs. Fry?”</p> + +<p>“Blister Mrs. Fry! What do them sentimental souls +know of prisons or any other black fact? I’ll tell ye +a story of prisons. Ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>The herb-doctor shrank, and with reason, the laugh +being strangely startling.</p> + +<p>“Positively, my friend,” said he, “you must stop +that; I can’t stand that; no more of that. I hope I +have the milk of kindness, but your thunder will soon +turn it.”</p> + +<p>“Hold, I haven’t come to the milk-turning part yet. +My name is Thomas Fry. Until my twenty-third year +I went by the nickname of Happy Tom—happy—ha, +ha! They called me Happy Tom, d’ye see? because I was +so good-natured and laughing all the time, just as I am +now—ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>Upon this the herb-doctor would, perhaps, have run, +but once more the hyæna clawed him. Presently, +sobering down, he continued:</p> + +<p>“Well, I was born in New York, and there I lived a +steady, hard-working man, a cooper by trade. One +evening I went to a political meeting in the Park—for +you must know, I was in those days a great patriot. As +bad luck would have it, there was trouble near, between +a gentleman who had been drinking wine, and a pavior +who was sober. The pavior chewed tobacco, and the +gentleman said it was beastly in him, and pushed him, +wanting to have his place. The pavior chewed on and +pushed back. Well, the gentleman carried a sword-cane, +and presently the pavior was down—skewered.”</p> + +<p>“How was that?”</p> + +<p>“Why you see the pavior undertook something above +his strength.”</p> + +<p>“The other must have been a Samson then. ‘Strong +as a pavior,’ is a proverb.”</p> + +<p>“So it is, and the gentleman was in body a rather +weakly man, but, for all that, I say again, the pavior +undertook something above his strength.”</p> + +<p>“What are you talking about? He tried to maintain +his rights, didn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but, for all that, I say again, he undertook +something above his strength.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand you. But go on.”</p> + +<p>“Along with the gentleman, I, with other witnesses, +was taken to the Tombs. There was an examination, +and, to appear at the trial, the gentleman and witnesses +all gave bail—I mean all but me.”</p> + +<p>“And why didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t get it.”</p> + +<p>“Steady, hard-working cooper like you; what was +the reason you couldn’t get bail?”</p> + +<p>“Steady, hard-working cooper hadn’t no friends. +Well, souse I went into a wet cell, like a canal-boat +splashing into the lock; locked up in pickle, d’ye see? +against the time of the trial.”</p> + +<p>“But what had you done?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I hadn’t got any friends, I tell ye. A worse +crime than murder, as ye’ll see afore long.”</p> + +<p>“Murder? Did the wounded man die?”</p> + +<p>“Died the third night.”</p> + +<p>“Then the gentleman’s bail didn’t help him. Imprisoned +now, wasn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Had too many friends. No, it was <i>I</i> that was +imprisoned.—But I was going on: They let me walk +about the corridor by day; but at night I must into lock. +There the wet and the damp struck into my bones. They +doctored me, but no use. When the trial came, I was +boosted up and said my say.”</p> + +<p>“And what was that?”</p> + +<p>“My say was that I saw the steel go in, and saw it +sticking in.”</p> + +<p>“And that hung the gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Hung him with a gold chain! His friends called a +meeting in the Park, and presented him with a gold +watch and chain upon his acquittal.”</p> + +<p>“Acquittal?”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I say he had friends?”</p> + +<p>There was a pause, broken at last by the herb-doctor’s +saying: “Well, there is a bright side to everything. +If this speak prosaically for justice, it speaks romantically +for friendship! But go on, my fine fellow.”</p> + +<p>“My say being said, they told me I might go. I said +I could not without help. So the constables helped me, +asking <i>where</i> would I go? I told them back to the +‘Tombs.’ I knew no other place. ‘But where are your +friends?’ said they. ‘I have none.’ So they put me +into a hand-barrow with an awning to it, and wheeled +me down to the dock and on board a boat, and away to +Blackwell’s Island to the Corporation Hospital. There +I got worse—got pretty much as you see me now. +Couldn’t cure me. After three years, I grew sick of +lying in a grated iron bed alongside of groaning thieves +and mouldering burglars. They gave me five silver dollars, +and these crutches, and I hobbled off. I had an +only brother who went to Indiana, years ago. I begged +about, to make up a sum to go to him; got to +Indiana at last, and they directed me to his grave. It +was on a great plain, in a log-church yard with a stump +fence, the old gray roots sticking all ways like moose-antlers. +The bier, set over the grave, it being the last +dug, was of green hickory; bark on, and green twigs +sprouting from it. Some one had planted a bunch of violets +on the mound, but it was a poor soil (always choose +the poorest soils for grave-yards), and they were all dried +to tinder. I was going to sit and rest myself on the bier +and think about my brother in heaven, but the bier +broke down, the legs being only tacked. So, after +driving some hogs out of the yard that were rooting +there, I came away, and, not to make too long a story +of it, here I am, drifting down stream like any other bit +of wreck.”</p> + +<p>The herb-doctor was silent for a time, buried in +thought. At last, raising his head, he said: “I have +considered your whole story, my friend, and strove to +consider it in the light of a commentary on what I +believe to be the system of things; but it so jars with all, +is so incompatible with all, that you must pardon me, +if I honestly tell you, I cannot believe it.”</p> + +<p>“That don’t surprise me.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly anybody believes my story, and so to most +I tell a different one.”</p> + +<p>“How, again?”</p> + +<p>“Wait here a bit and I’ll show ye.”</p> + +<p>With that, taking off his rag of a cap, and arranging +his tattered regimentals the best he could, off he went +stumping among the passengers in an adjoining part of +the deck, saying with a jovial kind of air: “Sir, a +shilling for Happy Tom, who fought at Buena Vista. +Lady, something for General Scott’s soldier, crippled in +both pins at glorious Contreras.”</p> + +<p>Now, it so chanced that, unbeknown to the cripple, a +prim-looking stranger had overheard part of his story. +Beholding him, then, on his present begging adventure, +this person, turning to the herb-doctor, indignantly said: +“Is it not too bad, sir, that yonder rascal should lie +so?”</p> + +<p>“Charity never faileth, my good sir,” was the reply. +“The vice of this unfortunate is pardonable. Consider, +he lies not out of wantonness.”</p> + +<p>“Not out of wantonness. I never heard more wanton +lies. In one breath to tell you what would appear to +be his true story, and, in the next, away and falsify it.”</p> + +<p>“For all that, I repeat he lies not out of wantonness. +A ripe philosopher, turned out of the great Sorbonne of +hard times, he thinks that woes, when told to strangers +for money, are best sugared. Though the inglorious +lock-jaw of his knee-pans in a wet dungeon is a far +more pitiable ill than to have been crippled at glorious +Contreras, yet he is of opinion that this lighter and +false ill shall attract, while the heavier and real one +might repel.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense; he belongs to the Devil’s regiment; and +I have a great mind to expose him.”</p> + +<p>“Shame upon you. Dare to expose that poor unfortunate, +and by heaven—don’t you do it, sir.”</p> + +<p>Noting something in his manner, the other thought it +more prudent to retire than retort. By-and-by, the +cripple came back, and with glee, having reaped a pretty +good harvest.</p> + +<p>“There,” he laughed, “you know now what sort of +soldier I am.”</p> + +<p>“Aye, one that fights not the stupid Mexican, but a +foe worthy your tactics—Fortune!”</p> + +<p>“Hi, hi!” clamored the cripple, like a fellow in the +pit of a sixpenny theatre, then said, “don’t know much +what you meant, but it went off well.”</p> + +<p>This over, his countenance capriciously put on a +morose ogreness. To kindly questions he gave no kindly +answers. Unhandsome notions were thrown out +about “free Ameriky,” as he sarcastically called his country. +These seemed to disturb and pain the herb-doctor, +who, after an interval of thoughtfulness, gravely addressed +him in these words:</p> + +<p>“You, my Worthy friend, to my concern, have reflected +upon the government under which you live and suffer. +Where is your patriotism? Where your gratitude? +True, the charitable may find something in your case, +as you put it, partly to account for such reflections as +coming from you. Still, be the facts how they may, +your reflections are none the less unwarrantable. Grant, +for the moment, that your experiences are as you give +them; in which case I would admit that government +might be thought to have more or less to do with what +seems undesirable in them. But it is never to be forgotten +that human government, being subordinate to the +divine, must needs, therefore, in its degree, partake of +the characteristics of the divine. That is, while in general +efficacious to happiness, the world’s law may yet, in +some cases, have, to the eye of reason, an unequal operation, +just as, in the same imperfect view, some inequalities +may appear in the operations of heaven’s law; +nevertheless, to one who has a right confidence, final +benignity is, in every instance, as sure with the one law +as the other. I expound the point at some length, +because these are the considerations, my poor fellow, +which, weighed as they merit, will enable you to sustain +with unimpaired trust the apparent calamities which +are yours.”</p> + +<p>“What do you talk your hog-latin to me for?” cried +the cripple, who, throughout the address, betrayed the +most illiterate obduracy; and, with an incensed look, +anew he swung himself.</p> + +<p>Glancing another way till the spasm passed, the +other continued:</p> + +<p>“Charity marvels not that you should be somewhat +hard of conviction, my friend, since you, doubtless, +believe yourself hardly dealt by; but forget not that +those who are loved are chastened.”</p> + +<p>“Mustn’t chasten them too much, though, and too +long, because their skin and heart get hard, and feel +neither pain nor tickle.”</p> + +<p>“To mere reason, your case looks something piteous, +I grant. But never despond; many things—the +choicest—yet remain. You breathe this bounteous air, +are warmed by this gracious sun, and, though poor and +friendless, indeed, nor so agile as in your youth, yet, how +sweet to roam, day by day, through the groves, plucking +the bright mosses and flowers, till forlornness itself +becomes a hilarity, and, in your innocent independence, +you skip for joy.”</p> + +<p>“Fine skipping with these ’ere horse-posts—ha ha!”</p> + +<p>“Pardon; I forgot the crutches. My mind, figuring +you after receiving the benefit of my art, overlooked +you as you stand before me.”</p> + +<p>“Your art? You call yourself a bone-setter—a natural +bone-setter, do ye? Go, bone-set the crooked world, +and then come bone-set crooked me.”</p> + +<p>“Truly, my honest friend, I thank you for again recalling +me to my original object. Let me examine you,” +bending down; “ah, I see, I see; much such a case as the +negro’s. Did you see him? Oh no, you came aboard +since. Well, his case was a little something like yours. +I prescribed for him, and I shouldn’t wonder at all if, in +a very short time, he were able to walk almost as well +as myself. Now, have you no confidence in my art?”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>The herb-doctor averted himself; but, the wild laugh +dying away, resumed:</p> + +<p>“I will not force confidence on you. Still, I would +fain do the friendly thing by you. Here, take this box; +just rub that liniment on the joints night and morning. +Take it. Nothing to pay. God bless you. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Stay,” pausing in his swing, not untouched by so +unexpected an act; “stay—thank’ee—but will this +really do me good? Honor bright, now; will it? Don’t +deceive a poor fellow,” with changed mien and glistening +eye.</p> + +<p>“Try it. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Stay, stay! <i>Sure</i> it will do me good?”</p> + +<p>“Possibly, possibly; no harm in trying. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Stay, stay; give me three more boxes, and here’s +the money.”</p> + +<p>“My friend,” returning towards him with a sadly +pleased sort of air, “I rejoice in the birth of your confidence +and hopefulness. Believe me that, like your +crutches, confidence and hopefulness will long support +a man when his own legs will not. Stick to confidence +and hopefulness, then, since how mad for the cripple to +throw his crutches away. You ask for three more boxes +of my liniment. Luckily, I have just that number remaining. +Here they are. I sell them at half-a-dollar +apiece. But I shall take nothing from you. There; +God bless you again; good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Stay,” in a convulsed voice, and rocking himself, +“stay, stay! You have made a better man of me. You +have borne with me like a good Christian, and talked to +me like one, and all that is enough without making me +a present of these boxes. Here is the money. I won’t +take nay. There, there; and may Almighty goodness +go with you.”</p> + +<p>As the herb-doctor withdrew, the cripple gradually +subsided from his hard rocking into a gentle oscillation. +It expressed, perhaps, the soothed mood of his +reverie.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>REAPPEARANCE OF ONE WHO MAY BE REMEMBERED.</span></h2> + +<p>The herb-doctor had not moved far away, when, in +advance of him, this spectacle met his eye. A dried-up +old man, with the stature of a boy of twelve, was tottering +about like one out of his mind, in rumpled +clothes of old moleskin, showing recent contact with +bedding, his ferret eyes, blinking in the sunlight of the +snowy boat, as imbecilely eager, and, at intervals, coughing, +he peered hither and thither as if in alarmed search +for his nurse. He presented the aspect of one who, +bed-rid, has, through overruling excitement, like that of +a fire, been stimulated to his feet.</p> + +<p>“You seek some one,” said the herb-doctor, accosting +him. “Can I assist you?”</p> + +<p>“Do, do; I am so old and miserable,” coughed the +old man. “Where is he? This long time I’ve been trying +to get up and find him. But I haven’t any friends, +and couldn’t get up till now. Where is he?”</p> + +<p>“Who do you mean?” drawing closer, to stay the +further wanderings of one so weakly.</p> + +<p>“Why, why, why,” now marking the other’s dress, +“why you, yes you—you, you—ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“I?”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh, ugh!—you are the man he spoke of. +Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Faith, that is just what I want to know.”</p> + +<p>“Mercy, mercy!” coughed the old man, bewildered, +“ever since seeing him, my head spins round so. I +ought to have a guard<i>ee</i>an. Is this a snuff-colored surtout +of yours, or ain’t it? Somehow, can’t trust my +senses any more, since trusting him—ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you have trusted somebody? Glad to hear it. +Glad to hear of any instance, of that sort. Reflects well +upon all men. But you inquire whether this is a snuff-colored +surtout. I answer it is; and will add that a +herb-doctor wears it.”</p> + +<p>Upon this the old man, in his broken way, replied +that then he (the herb-doctor) was the person he +sought—the person spoken of by the other person as +yet unknown. He then, with flighty eagerness, wanted +to know who this last person was, and where he was, +and whether he could be trusted with money to treble it.</p> + +<p>“Aye, now, I begin to understand; ten to one you +mean my worthy friend, who, in pure goodness of heart, +makes people’s fortunes for them—their everlasting fortunes, +as the phrase goes—only charging his one small +commission of confidence. Aye, aye; before intrusting +funds with my friend, you want to know about him. +Very proper—and, I am glad to assure you, you need +have no hesitation; none, none, just none in the world; +bona fide, none. Turned me in a trice a hundred dollars +the other day into as many eagles.”</p> + +<p>“Did he? did he? But where is he? Take me to +him.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, take my arm! The boat is large! We may +have something of a hunt! Come on! Ah, is that he?”</p> + +<p>“Where? where?”</p> + +<p>“O, no; I took yonder coat-skirts for his. But no, +my honest friend would never turn tail that way. +Ah!——”</p> + +<p>“Where? where?”</p> + +<p>“Another mistake. Surprising resemblance. I took +yonder clergyman for him. Come on!”</p> + +<p>Having searched that part of the boat without success, +they went to another part, and, while exploring that, +the boat sided up to a landing, when, as the two were +passing by the open guard, the herb-doctor suddenly +rushed towards the disembarking throng, crying out: +“Mr. Truman, Mr. Truman! There he goes—that’s he. +Mr. Truman, Mr. Truman!—Confound that steam-pipe., +Mr. Truman! for God’s sake, Mr. Truman!—No, no.—There, +the plank’s in—too late—we’re off.”</p> + +<p>With that, the huge boat, with a mighty, walrus +wallow, rolled away from the shore, resuming her +course.</p> + +<p>“How vexatious!” exclaimed the herb-doctor, returning. +“Had we been but one single moment sooner.—There +he goes, now, towards yon hotel, his portmanteau +following. You see him, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Where? where?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t see him any more. Wheel-house shot between. +I am very sorry. I should have so liked you +to have let him have a hundred or so of your money. +You would have been pleased with the investment, believe +me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I <i>have</i> let him have some of my money,” +groaned the old man.</p> + +<p>“You have? My dear sir,” seizing both the miser’s +hands in both his own and heartily shaking them. “My +dear sir, how I congratulate you. You don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh! I fear I don’t,” with another groan. +“His name is Truman, is it?”</p> + +<p>“John Truman.”</p> + +<p>“Where does he live?”</p> + +<p>“In St. Louis.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s his office?”</p> + +<p>“Let me see. Jones street, number one hundred +and—no, no—anyway, it’s somewhere or other up-stairs +in Jones street.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you remember the number? Try, now.”</p> + +<p>“One hundred—two hundred—three hundred—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my hundred dollars! I wonder whether it will +be one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, with +them! Ugh, ugh! Can’t remember the number?”</p> + +<p>“Positively, though I once knew, I have forgotten, +quite forgotten it. Strange. But never mind. You +will easily learn in St. Louis. He is well known +there.”</p> + +<p>“But I have no receipt—ugh, ugh! Nothing to +show—don’t know where I stand—ought to have a +guard<i>ee</i>an—ugh, ugh! Don’t know anything. Ugh, +ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Why, you know that you gave him your confidence, +don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then?”</p> + +<p>“But what, what—how, how—ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Why, didn’t he tell you?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“What! Didn’t he tell you that it was a secret, a +mystery?”</p> + +<p>“Oh—yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then?”</p> + +<p>“But I have no bond.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t need any with Mr. Truman. Mr. Truman’s +word is his bond.”</p> + +<p>“But how am I to get my profits—ugh, ugh!—and +my money back? Don’t know anything. Ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you must have confidence.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say that word again. Makes my head spin +so. Oh, I’m so old and miserable, nobody caring for +me, everybody fleecing me, and my head spins so—ugh, +ugh!—and this cough racks me so. I say again, I ought +to have a guard<i>ee</i>an.”</p> + +<p>“So you ought; and Mr. Truman is your guardian to +the extent you invested with him. Sorry we missed +him just now. But you’ll hear from him. All right. +It’s imprudent, though, to expose yourself this way. +Let me take you to your berth.”</p> + +<p>Forlornly enough the old miser moved slowly away +with him. But, while descending a stairway, he was +seized with such coughing that he was fain to pause.</p> + +<p>“That is a very bad cough.”</p> + +<p>“Church-yard—ugh, ugh!—church-yard cough.—Ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Have you tried anything for it?”</p> + +<p>“Tired of trying. Nothing does me any good—ugh! +ugh! Not even the Mammoth Cave. Ugh! ugh! +Denned there six months, but coughed so bad the rest +of the coughers—ugh! ugh!—black-balled me out. +Ugh, ugh! Nothing does me good.”</p> + +<p>“But have you tried the Omni-Balsamic Reinvigorator, +sir?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what that Truman—ugh, ugh!—said I +ought to take. Yarb-medicine; you are that yarb-doctor, +too?”</p> + +<p>“The same. Suppose you try one of my boxes now. +Trust me, from what I know of Mr. Truman, he is not +the gentleman to recommend, even in behalf of a friend, +anything of whose excellence he is not conscientiously +satisfied.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh!—how much?”</p> + +<p>“Only two dollars a box.”</p> + +<p>“Two dollars? Why don’t you say two millions? +ugh, ugh! Two dollars, that’s two hundred cents; +that’s eight hundred farthings; that’s two thousand +mills; and all for one little box of yarb-medicine. My +head, my head!—oh, I ought to have a guard<i>ee</i>an for; +my head. Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Well, if two dollars a box seems too much, take a +dozen boxes at twenty dollars; and that will be getting +four boxes for nothing, and you need use none but those +four, the rest you can retail out at a premium, and so +cure your cough, and make money by it. Come, you +had better do it. Cash down. Can fill an order in a +day or two. Here now,” producing a box; “pure +herbs.”</p> + +<p>At that moment, seized with another spasm, the miser +snatched each interval to fix his half distrustful, half +hopeful eye upon the medicine, held alluringly up. +“Sure—ugh! Sure it’s all nat’ral? Nothing but +yarbs? If I only thought it was a purely nat’ral medicine +now—all yarbs—ugh, ugh!—oh this cough, this +cough—ugh, ugh!—shatters my whole body. Ugh, +ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“For heaven’s sake try my medicine, if but a single +box. That it is pure nature you may be confident, +Refer you to Mr. Truman.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know his number—ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh! Oh +this cough. He did speak well of this medicine though; +said solemnly it would cure me—ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh!—take +off a dollar and I’ll have a box.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t sir, can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Say a dollar-and-half. Ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Can’t. Am pledged to the one-price system, only +honorable one.”</p> + +<p>“Take off a shilling—ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh, ugh—I’ll take it.—There.”</p> + +<p>Grudgingly he handed eight silver coins, but while +still in his hand, his cough took him and they were +shaken upon the deck.</p> + +<p>One by one, the herb-doctor picked them up, and, +examining them, said: “These are not quarters, these +are pistareens; and clipped, and sweated, at that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh don’t be so miserly—ugh, ugh!—better a beast +than a miser—ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“Well, let it go. Anything rather than the idea of +your not being cured of such a cough. And I hope, for +the credit of humanity, you have not made it appear +worse than it is, merely with a view to working upon +the weak point of my pity, and so getting my medicine +the cheaper. Now, mind, don’t take it till night. Just +before retiring is the time. There, you can get along +now, can’t you? I would attend you further, but I land +presently, and must go hunt up my luggage.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A HARD CASE.</span></h2> + +<p>“Yarbs, yarbs; natur, natur; you foolish old file +you! He diddled you with that hocus-pocus, did he? +Yarbs and natur will cure your incurable cough, you +think.”</p> + +<p>It was a rather eccentric-looking person who spoke; +somewhat ursine in aspect; sporting a shaggy spencer +of the cloth called bear’s-skin; a high-peaked cap of raccoon-skin, +the long bushy tail switching over behind; +raw-hide leggings; grim stubble chin; and to end, a +double-barreled gun in hand—a Missouri bachelor, a +Hoosier gentleman, of Spartan leisure and fortune, and +equally Spartan manners and sentiments; and, as the +sequel may show, not less acquainted, in a Spartan way +of his own, with philosophy and books, than with woodcraft +and rifles.</p> + +<p>He must have overheard some of the talk between the +miser and the herb-doctor; for, just after the withdrawal +of the one, he made up to the other—now at the foot +of the stairs leaning against the baluster there—with the +greeting above.</p> + +<p>“Think it will cure me?” coughed the miser in echo; +“why shouldn’t it? The medicine is nat’ral yarbs, +pure yarbs; yarbs must cure me.”</p> + +<p>“Because a thing is nat’ral, as you call it, you think +it must be good. But who gave you that cough? Was +it, or was it not, nature?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, you don’t think that natur, Dame Natur, will +hurt a body, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Natur is good Queen Bess; but who’s responsible +for the cholera?”</p> + +<p>“But yarbs, yarbs; yarbs are good?”</p> + +<p>“What’s deadly-nightshade? Yarb, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that a Christian man should speak agin natur +and yarbs—ugh, ugh, ugh!—ain’t sick men sent out into +the country; sent out to natur and grass?”</p> + +<p>“Aye, and poets send out the sick spirit to green +pastures, like lame horses turned out unshod to the turf +to renew their hoofs. A sort of yarb-doctors in their +way, poets have it that for sore hearts, as for sore lungs, +nature is the grand cure. But who froze to death my +teamster on the prairie? And who made an idiot of +Peter the Wild Boy?”</p> + +<p>“Then you don’t believe in these ’ere yarb-doctors?”</p> + +<p>“Yarb-doctors? I remember the lank yarb-doctor +I saw once on a hospital-cot in Mobile. One of the +faculty passing round and seeing who lay there, said +with professional triumph, ‘Ah, Dr. Green, your yarbs +don’t help ye now, Dr. Green. Have to come to us and +the mercury now, Dr. Green.—Natur! Y-a-r-b-s!’”</p> + +<p>“Did I hear something about herbs and herb-doctors?” +here said a flute-like voice, advancing.</p> + +<p>It was the herb-doctor in person. Carpet-bag in +hand, he happened to be strolling back that way.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” addressing the Missourian, “but if I +caught your words aright, you would seem to have little +confidence in nature; which, really, in my way of +thinking, looks like carrying the spirit of distrust pretty +far.”</p> + +<p>“And who of my sublime species may you be?” +turning short round upon him, clicking his rifle-lock, +with an air which would have seemed half cynic, half +wild-cat, were it not for the grotesque excess of the expression, +which made its sincerity appear more or less +dubious.</p> + +<p>“One who has confidence in nature, and confidence +in man, with some little modest confidence in himself.”</p> + +<p>“That’s your Confession of Faith, is it? Confidence +in man, eh? Pray, which do you think are most, +knaves or fools?”</p> + +<p>“Having met with few or none of either, I hardly +think I am competent to answer.”</p> + +<p>“I will answer for you. Fools are most.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you think so?”</p> + +<p>“For the same reason that I think oats are numerically +more than horses. Don’t knaves munch up fools +just as horses do oats?”</p> + +<p>“A droll, sir; you are a droll. I can appreciate +drollery—ha, ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>“But I’m in earnest.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the drollery, to deliver droll extravagance +with an earnest air—knaves munching up fools as horses +oats.—Faith, very droll, indeed, ha, ha, ha! Yes, I +think I understand you now, sir. How silly I was to +have taken you seriously, in your droll conceits, too, +about having no confidence in nature. In reality you +have just as much as I have.”</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> have confidence in nature? <i>I?</i> I say again there +is nothing I am more suspicious of. I once lost ten +thousand dollars by nature. Nature embezzled that +amount from me; absconded with ten thousand dollars’ +worth of my property; a plantation on this stream, +swept clean away by one of those sudden shiftings of +the banks in a freshet; ten thousand dollars’ worth of +alluvion thrown broad off upon the waters.”</p> + +<p>“But have you no confidence that by a reverse shifting +that soil will come back after many days?—ah, here +is my venerable friend,” observing the old miser, “not +in your berth yet? Pray, if you <i>will</i> keep afoot, don’t +lean against that baluster; take my arm.”</p> + +<p>It was taken; and the two stood together; the old +miser leaning against the herb-doctor with something of +that air of trustful fraternity with which, when standing, +the less strong of the Siamese twins habitually leans +against the other.</p> + +<p>The Missourian eyed them in silence, which was +broken by the herb-doctor.</p> + +<p>“You look surprised, sir. Is it because I publicly +take under my protection a figure like this? But I am +never ashamed of honesty, whatever his coat.”</p> + +<p>“Look you,” said the Missourian, after a scrutinizing +pause, “you are a queer sort of chap. Don’t know +exactly what to make of you. Upon the whole though, +you somewhat remind me of the last boy I had on my +place.”</p> + +<p>“Good, trustworthy boy, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very! I am now started to get me made some +kind of machine to do the sort of work which boys are +supposed to be fitted for.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have passed a veto upon boys?”</p> + +<p>“And men, too.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear sir, does not that again imply more or +less lack of confidence?—(Stand up a little, just a very +little, my venerable friend; you lean rather hard.)—No +confidence in boys, no confidence in men, no confidence +in nature. Pray, sir, who or what may you have confidence +in?”</p> + +<p>“I have confidence in distrust; more particularly as +applied to you and your herbs.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” with a forbearing smile, “that is frank. But +pray, don’t forget that when you suspect my herbs you +suspect nature.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I say that before?”</p> + +<p>“Very good. For the argument’s sake I will suppose +you are in earnest. Now, can you, who suspect nature, +deny, that this same nature not only kindly brought you +into being, but has faithfully nursed you to your present +vigorous and independent condition? Is it not to nature +that you are indebted for that robustness of mind +which you so unhandsomely use to her scandal? Pray, +is it not to nature that you owe the very eyes by which +you criticise her?”</p> + +<p>“No! for the privilege of vision I am indebted to an +oculist, who in my tenth year operated upon me in Philadelphia. +Nature made me blind and would have kept +me so. My oculist counterplotted her.”</p> + +<p>“And yet, sir, by your complexion, I judge you live +an out-of-door life; without knowing it, you are +partial to nature; you fly to nature, the universal +mother.”</p> + +<p>“Very motherly! Sir, in the passion-fits of nature, +I’ve known birds fly from nature to me, rough as I look; +yes, sir, in a tempest, refuge here,” smiting the folds of +his bearskin. “Fact, sir, fact. Come, come, Mr. Palaverer, +for all your palavering, did you yourself never +shut out nature of a cold, wet night? Bar her out? +Bolt her out? Lint her out?”</p> + +<p>“As to that,” said the herb-doctor calmly, “much +may be said.”</p> + +<p>“Say it, then,” ruffling all his hairs. “You can’t, +sir, can’t.” Then, as in apostrophe: “Look you, nature! +I don’t deny but your clover is sweet, and your +dandelions don’t roar; but whose hailstones smashed +my windows?”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” with unimpaired affability, producing one of +his boxes, “I am pained to meet with one who holds +nature a dangerous character. Though your manner is +refined your voice is rough; in short, you seem to have +a sore throat. In the calumniated name of nature, I +present you with this box; my venerable friend here +has a similar one; but to you, a free gift, sir. Through +her regularly-authorized agents, of whom I happen to +be one, Nature delights in benefiting those who most +abuse her. Pray, take it.”</p> + +<p>“Away with it! Don’t hold it so near. Ten to one +there is a torpedo in it. Such things have been. Editors +been killed that way. Take it further off, I +say.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! my dear sir——”</p> + +<p>“I tell you I want none of your boxes,” snapping his +rifle.</p> + +<p>“Oh, take it—ugh, ugh! do take it,” chimed in the +old miser; “I wish he would give me one for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“You find it lonely, eh,” turning short round; “gulled +yourself, you would have a companion.”</p> + +<p>“How can he find it lonely,” returned the herb-doctor, +“or how desire a companion, when here I stand by +him; I, even I, in whom he has trust. For the gulling, +tell me, is it humane to talk so to this poor old man? +Granting that his dependence on my medicine is vain, +is it kind to deprive him of what, in mere imagination, +if nothing more, may help eke out, with hope, his +disease? For you, if you have no confidence, and, +thanks to your native health, can get along without it, +so far, at least, as trusting in my medicine goes; yet, +how cruel an argument to use, with this afflicted one +here. Is it not for all the world as if some brawny +pugilist, aglow in December, should rush in and put +out a hospital-fire, because, forsooth, he feeling no need +of artificial heat, the shivering patients shall have none? +Put it to your conscience, sir, and you will admit, that, +whatever be the nature of this afflicted one’s trust, you, +in opposing it, evince either an erring head or a heart +amiss. Come, own, are you not pitiless?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, poor soul,” said the Missourian, gravely eying +the old man—“yes, it <i>is</i> pitiless in one like me to +speak too honestly to one like you. You are a late +sitter-up in this life; past man’s usual bed-time; and +truth, though with some it makes a wholesome breakfast, +proves to all a supper too hearty. Hearty food, +taken late, gives bad dreams.”</p> + +<p>“What, in wonder’s name—ugh, ugh!—is he talking +about?” asked the old miser, looking up to the herb-doctor.</p> + +<p>“Heaven be praised for that!” cried the Missourian.</p> + +<p>“Out of his mind, ain’t he?” again appealed the old +miser.</p> + +<p>“Pray, sir,” said the herb-doctor to the Missourian, +“for what were you giving thanks just now?”</p> + +<p>“For this: that, with some minds, truth is, in effect, +not so cruel a thing after all, seeing that, like a loaded +pistol found by poor devils of savages, it raises +more wonder than terror—its peculiar virtue being unguessed, +unless, indeed, by indiscreet handling, it should +happen to go off of itself.”</p> + +<p>“I pretend not to divine your meaning there,” said +the herb-doctor, after a pause, during which he eyed the +Missourian with a kind of pinched expression, mixed of +pain and curiosity, as if he grieved at his state of mind, +and, at the same time, wondered what had brought him +to it, “but this much I know,” he added, “that the +general cast of your thoughts is, to say the least, unfortunate. +There is strength in them, but a strength, +whose source, being physical, must wither. You will +yet recant.”</p> + +<p>“Recant?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, when, as with this old man, your evil days of +decay come on, when a hoary captive in your chamber, +then will you, something like the dungeoned Italian we +read of, gladly seek the breast of that confidence begot in +the tender time of your youth, blessed beyond telling +if it return to you in age.”</p> + +<p>“Go back to nurse again, eh? Second childhood, +indeed. You are soft.”</p> + +<p>“Mercy, mercy!” cried the old miser, “what is all +this!—ugh, ugh! Do talk sense, my good friends. +Ain’t you,” to the Missourian, “going to buy some of +that medicine?”</p> + +<p>“Pray, my venerable friend,” said the herb-doctor, +now trying to straighten himself, “don’t lean <i>quite</i> so +hard; my arm grows numb; abate a little, just a very +little.”</p> + +<p>“Go,” said the Missourian, “go lay down in your +grave, old man, if you can’t stand of yourself. It’s a +hard world for a leaner.”</p> + +<p>“As to his grave,” said the herb-doctor, “that is far +enough off, so he but faithfully take my medicine.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh, ugh, ugh!—He says true. No, I ain’t—ugh! +a going to die yet—ugh, ugh, ugh! Many years to live +yet, ugh, ugh, ugh!”</p> + +<p>“I approve your confidence,” said the herb-doctor; +“but your coughing distresses me, besides being +injurious to you. Pray, let me conduct you to your +berth. You are best there. Our friend here will wait +till my return, I know.”</p> + +<p>With which he led the old miser away, and then, +coming back, the talk with the Missourian was +resumed.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the herb-doctor, with some dignity and +more feeling, “now that our infirm friend is withdrawn, +allow me, to the full, to express my concern at the +words you allowed to escape you in his hearing. Some +of those words, if I err not, besides being calculated to +beget deplorable distrust in the patient, seemed fitted to +convey unpleasant imputations against me, his physician.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose they did?” with a menacing air.</p> + +<p>“Why, then—then, indeed,” respectfully retreating, +“I fall back upon my previous theory of your general +facetiousness. I have the fortune to be in company with +a humorist—a wag.”</p> + +<p>“Fall back you had better, and wag it is,” cried the +Missourian, following him up, and wagging his raccoon +tail almost into the herb-doctor’s face, “look you!”</p> + +<p>“At what?”</p> + +<p>“At this coon. Can you, the fox, catch him?”</p> + +<p>“If you mean,” returned the other, not unselfpossessed, +“whether I flatter myself that I can in any way +dupe you, or impose upon you, or pass myself off upon +you for what I am not, I, as an honest man, answer that +I have neither the inclination nor the power to do aught +of the kind.”</p> + +<p>“Honest man? Seems to me you talk more like a +craven.”</p> + +<p>“You in vain seek to pick a quarrel with me, or put +any affront upon me. The innocence in me heals me.”</p> + +<p>“A healing like your own nostrums. But you are a +queer man—a very queer and dubious man; upon the +whole, about the most so I ever met.”</p> + +<p>The scrutiny accompanying this seemed unwelcome +to the diffidence of the herb-doctor. As if at once to +attest the absence of resentment, as well as to change +the subject, he threw a kind of familiar cordiality into +his air, and said: “So you are going to get some machine +made to do your work? Philanthropic scruples, +doubtless, forbid your going as far as New Orleans for +slaves?”</p> + +<p>“Slaves?” morose again in a twinkling, “won’t have +’em! Bad enough to see whites ducking and grinning +round for a favor, without having those poor devils of +niggers congeeing round for their corn. Though, to me, +the niggers are the freer of the two. You are an abolitionist, +ain’t you?” he added, squaring himself with +both hands on his rifle, used for a staff, and gazing in +the herb-doctor’s face with no more reverence than if it +were a target. “You are an abolitionist, ain’t you?”</p> + +<p>“As to that, I cannot so readily answer. If by abolitionist +you mean a zealot, I am none; but if you mean +a man, who, being a man, feels for all men, slaves included, +and by any lawful act, opposed to nobody’s +interest, and therefore, rousing nobody’s enmity, would +willingly abolish suffering (supposing it, in its degree, +to exist) from among mankind, irrespective of color, +then am I what you say.”</p> + +<p>“Picked and prudent sentiments. You are the moderate +man, the invaluable understrapper of the wicked +man. You, the moderate man, may be used for wrong, +but are useless for right.”</p> + +<p>“From all this,” said the herb-doctor, still forgivingly, +“I infer, that you, a Missourian, though living in a slave-state, +are without slave sentiments.”</p> + +<p>“Aye, but are you? Is not that air of yours, so +spiritlessly enduring and yielding, the very air of a +slave? Who is your master, pray; or are you owned by +a company?”</p> + +<p>“<i>My</i> master?”</p> + +<p>“Aye, for come from Maine or Georgia, you come +from a slave-state, and a slave-pen, where the best +breeds are to be bought up at any price from a livelihood +to the Presidency. Abolitionism, ye gods, but +expresses the fellow-feeling of slave for slave.”</p> + +<p>“The back-woods would seem to have given you +rather eccentric notions,” now with polite superiority +smiled the herb-doctor, still with manly intrepidity forbearing +each unmanly thrust, “but to return; since, +for your purpose, you will have neither man nor boy, +bond nor free, truly, then some sort of machine for you +is all there is left. My desires for your success attend +you, sir.—Ah!” glancing shoreward, “here is Cape Girádeau; +I must leave you.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN THE POLITE SPIRIT OF THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS.</span></h2> + +<p>—“‘Philosophical Intelligence Office’—novel +idea! But how did you come to dream that I wanted +anything in your absurd line, eh?”</p> + +<p>About twenty minutes after leaving Cape Girádeau, +the above was growled out over his shoulder by the Missourian +to a chance stranger who had just accosted +him; a round-backed, baker-kneed man, in a mean five-dollar +suit, wearing, collar-wise by a chain, a small brass +plate, inscribed P. I. O., and who, with a sort of canine +deprecation, slunk obliquely behind.</p> + +<p>“How did you come to dream that I wanted anything +in your line, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, respected sir,” whined the other, crouching a +pace nearer, and, in his obsequiousness, seeming to wag +his very coat-tails behind him, shabby though they were, +“oh, sir, from long experience, one glance tells me the +gentleman who is in need of our humble services.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose I did want a boy—what they jocosely +call a good boy—how could your absurd office help me?—Philosophical +Intelligence Office?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, respected sir, an office founded on strictly philosophical +and physio——”</p> + +<p>“Look you—come up here—how, by philosophy or +physiology either, make good boys to order? Come up +here. Don’t give me a crick in the neck. Come up +here, come, sir, come,” calling as if to his pointer. +“Tell me, how put the requisite assortment of good +qualities into a boy, as the assorted mince into the +pie?”</p> + +<p>“Respected sir, our office——”</p> + +<p>“You talk much of that office. Where is it? On +board this boat?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, sir, I just came aboard. Our office——”</p> + +<p>“Came aboard at that last landing, eh? Pray, do +you know a herb-doctor there? Smooth scamp in a +snuff-colored surtout?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir, I was but a sojourner at Cape Girádeau. +Though, now that you mention a snuff-colored surtout, I +think I met such a man as you speak of stepping ashore +as I stepped aboard, and ’pears to me I have seen him +somewhere before. Looks like a very mild Christian +sort of person, I should say. Do you know him, respected +sir?”</p> + +<p>“Not much, but better than you seem to. Proceed +with your business.”</p> + +<p>With a low, shabby bow, as grateful for the permission, +the other began: “Our office——”</p> + +<p>“Look you,” broke in the bachelor with ire, “have +you the spinal complaint? What are you ducking and +groveling about? Keep still. Where’s your office?”</p> + +<p>“The branch one which I represent, is at Alton, sir, +in the free state we now pass,” (pointing somewhat +proudly ashore).</p> + +<p>“Free, eh? You a freeman, you flatter yourself? +With those coat-tails and that spinal complaint of servility? +Free? Just cast up in your private mind who +is your master, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh, oh! I don’t understand—indeed—indeed. +But, respected sir, as before said, our office, founded on +principles wholly new——”</p> + +<p>“To the devil with your principles! Bad sign when +a man begins to talk of his principles. Hold, come +back, sir; back here, back, sir, back! I tell you no +more boys for me. Nay, I’m a Mede and Persian. In +my old home in the woods I’m pestered enough with +squirrels, weasels, chipmunks, skunks. I want no more +wild vermin to spoil my temper and waste my substance. +Don’t talk of boys; enough of your boys; a +plague of your boys; chilblains on your boys! As for +Intelligence Offices, I’ve lived in the East, and know +’em. Swindling concerns kept by low-born cynics, under +a fawning exterior wreaking their cynic malice upon +mankind. You are a fair specimen of ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, dear, dear!”</p> + +<p>“Dear? Yes, a thrice dear purchase one of your +boys would be to me. A rot on your boys!”</p> + +<p>“But, respected sir, if you will not have boys, might +we not, in our small way, accommodate you with a +man?”</p> + +<p>“Accommodate? Pray, no doubt you could accommodate +me with a bosom-friend too, couldn’t you? +Accommodate! Obliging word accommodate: there’s +accommodation notes now, where one accommodates +another with a loan, and if he don’t pay it pretty quickly, +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'acommodates'.">accommodates</ins> him, with a chain to his foot. Accommodate! +God forbid that I should ever be accommodated. +No, no. Look you, as I told that cousin-german of +yours, the herb-doctor, I’m now on the road to get me +made some sort of machine to do my work. Machines for +me. My cider-mill—does that ever steal my cider? My +mowing-machine—does that ever lay a-bed mornings? +My corn-husker—does that ever give me insolence? +No: cider-mill, mowing-machine, corn-husker—all faithfully +attend to their business. Disinterested, too; no +board, no wages; yet doing good all their lives long; +shining examples that virtue is its own reward—the only +practical Christians I know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, dear, dear, dear!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir:—boys? Start my soul-bolts, what a difference, +in a moral point of view, between a corn-husker +and a boy! Sir, a corn-husker, for its patient continuance +in well-doing, might not unfitly go to heaven. Do +you suppose a boy will?”</p> + +<p>“A corn-husker in heaven! (turning up the whites +of his eyes). Respected sir, this way of talking as if +heaven were a kind of Washington patent-office museum—oh, +oh, oh!—as if mere machine-work and puppet-work +went to heaven—oh, oh, oh! Things incapable +of free agency, to receive the eternal reward of well-doing—oh, +oh, oh!”</p> + +<p>“You Praise-God-Barebones you, what are you groaning +about? Did I say anything of that sort? Seems to +me, though you talk so good, you are mighty quick at a +hint the other way, or else you want to pick a polemic +quarrel with me.”</p> + +<p>“It may be so or not, respected sir,” was now the demure +reply; “but if it be, it is only because as a soldier +out of honor is quick in taking affront, so a Christian +out of religion is quick, sometimes perhaps a little too +much so, in spying heresy.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” after an astonished pause, “for an unaccountable +pair, you and the herb-doctor ought to yoke +together.”</p> + +<p>So saying, the bachelor was eying him rather sharply, +when he with the brass plate recalled him to the discussion +by a hint, not unflattering, that he (the man with +the brass plate) was all anxiety to hear him further on +the subject of servants.</p> + +<p>“About that matter,” exclaimed the impulsive bachelor, +going off at the hint like a rocket, “all thinking +minds are, now-a-days, coming to the conclusion—one +derived from an immense hereditary experience—see +what Horace and others of the ancients say of servants—coming +to the conclusion, I say, that boy or man, the +human animal is, for most work-purposes, a losing animal. +Can’t be trusted; less trustworthy than oxen; +for conscientiousness a turn-spit dog excels him. Hence +these thousand new inventions—carding machines, horseshoe +machines, tunnel-boring machines, reaping machines, +apple-paring machines, boot-blacking machines, +sewing machines, shaving machines, run-of-errand machines, +dumb-waiter machines, and the Lord-only-knows-what +machines; all of which announce the era when +that refractory animal, the working or serving man, +shall be a buried by-gone, a superseded fossil. Shortly +prior to which glorious time, I doubt not that a price +will be put upon their peltries as upon the knavish +‘possums,’ especially the boys. Yes, sir (ringing his +rifle down on the deck), I rejoice to think that the +day is at hand, when, prompted to it by law, I shall +shoulder this gun and go out a boy-shooting.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, now! Lord, Lord, Lord!—But <i>our</i> office, respected +sir, conducted as I ventured to observe——”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” bristlingly settling his stubble chin in his +coon-skins. “Don’t try to oil me; the herb-doctor +tried that. My experience, carried now through a course—worse +than salivation—a course of five and thirty +boys, proves to me that boyhood is a natural state of +rascality.”</p> + +<p>“Save us, save us!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, yes. My name is Pitch; I stick to what I +say. I speak from fifteen years’ experience; five and +thirty boys; American, Irish, English, German, African, +Mulatto; not to speak of that China boy sent me by +one who well knew my perplexities, from California; +and that Lascar boy from Bombay. Thug! I found +him sucking the embryo life from my spring eggs. All +rascals, sir, every soul of them; Caucasian or Mongol. +Amazing the endless variety of rascality in human nature +of the juvenile sort. I remember that, having discharged, +one after another, twenty-nine boys—each, too, +for some wholly unforeseen species of viciousness peculiar +to that one peculiar boy—I remember saying to myself: +Now, then, surely, I have got to the end of the list, +wholly exhausted it; I have only now to get me a boy, +any boy different from those twenty-nine preceding +boys, and he infallibly shall be that virtuous boy I have +so long been seeking. But, bless me! this thirtieth boy—by +the way, having at the time long forsworn your intelligence +offices, I had him sent to me from the Commissioners +of Emigration, all the way from New York, +culled out carefully, in fine, at my particular request, +from a standing army of eight hundred boys, the +flowers of all nations, so they wrote me, temporarily in +barracks on an East River island—I say, this thirtieth +boy was in person not ungraceful; his deceased mother +a lady’s maid, or something of that sort; and +in manner, why, in a plebeian way, a perfect Chesterfield; +very intelligent, too—quick as a flash. But, +such suavity! ‘Please sir! please sir!’ always bowing +and saying, ‘Please sir.’ In the strangest way, too, combining +a filial affection with a menial respect. Took +such warm, singular interest in my affairs. Wanted to +be considered one of the family—sort of adopted son of +mine, I suppose. Of a morning, when I would go out +to my stable, with what childlike good nature he would +trot out my nag, ‘Please sir, I think he’s getting fatter +and fatter.’ ‘But, he don’t look very clean, does +he?’ unwilling to be downright harsh with so affectionate +a lad; ‘and he seems a little hollow inside the +haunch there, don’t he? or no, perhaps I don’t see plain +this morning.’ ‘Oh, please sir, it’s just there I think +he’s gaining so, please.’ Polite scamp! I soon found +he never gave that wretched nag his oats of nights; +didn’t bed him either. Was above that sort of chambermaid +work. No end to his willful neglects. But the +more he abused my service, the more polite he grew.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir, some way you mistook him.”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit of it. Besides, sir, he was a boy who under +a Chesterfieldian exterior hid strong destructive propensities. +He cut up my horse-blanket for the bits of +leather, for hinges to his chest. Denied it point-blank. +After he was gone, found the shreds under his mattress. +Would slyly break his hoe-handle, too, on purpose to +get rid of hoeing. Then be so gracefully penitent for +his fatal excess of industrious strength. Offer to mend +all by taking a nice stroll to the nighest settlement—cherry-trees +in full bearing all the way—to get the broken +thing cobbled. Very politely stole my pears, odd +pennies, shillings, dollars, and nuts; regular squirrel at +it. But I could prove nothing. Expressed to him my +suspicions. Said I, moderately enough, ‘A little less +politeness, and a little more honesty would suit me better.’ +He fired up; threatened to sue for libel. I won’t +say anything about his afterwards, in Ohio, being found +in the act of gracefully putting a bar across a rail-road +track, for the reason that a stoker called him the rogue +that he was. But enough: polite boys or saucy boys, +white boys or black boys, smart boys or lazy boys, +Caucasian boys or Mongol boys—all are rascals.”</p> + +<p>“Shocking, shocking!” nervously tucking his frayed +cravat-end out of sight. “Surely, respected sir, you labor +under a deplorable hallucination. Why, pardon again, +you seem to have not the slightest confidence in boys, I +admit, indeed, that boys, some of them at least, are but +too prone to one little foolish foible or other. But, what +then, respected sir, when, by natural laws, they finally +outgrow such things, and wholly?”</p> + +<p>Having until now vented himself mostly in plaintive +dissent of canine whines and groans, the man with the +brass-plate seemed beginning to summon courage to a +less timid encounter. But, upon his maiden essay, was +not very encouragingly handled, since the dialogue immediately +continued as follows:</p> + +<p>“Boys outgrow what is amiss in them? From bad +boys spring good men? Sir, ‘the child is father of the +man;’ hence, as all boys are rascals, so are all men. +But, God bless me, you must know these things better +than I; keeping an intelligence office as you do; a business +which must furnish peculiar facilities for studying +mankind. Come, come up here, sir; confess you know +these things pretty well, after all. Do you not know +that all men are rascals, and all boys, too?”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” replied the other, spite of his shocked feelings +seeming to pluck up some spirit, but not to an indiscreet +degree, “Sir, heaven be praised, I am far, very far from +knowing what you say. True,” he thoughtfully continued, +“with my associates, I keep an intelligence +office, and for ten years, come October, have, one way +or other, been concerned in that line; for no small period +in the great city of Cincinnati, too; and though, as +you hint, within that long interval, I must have had +more or less favorable opportunity for studying mankind—in +a business way, scanning not only the faces, +but ransacking the lives of several thousands of human +beings, male and female, of various nations, both employers +and employed, genteel and ungenteel, educated +and uneducated; yet—of course, I candidly admit, with +some random exceptions, I have, so far as my small observation +goes, found that mankind thus domestically +viewed, confidentially viewed, I may say; they, upon the +whole—making some reasonable allowances for human +imperfection—present as pure a moral spectacle as the +purest angel could wish. I say it, respected sir, with +confidence.”</p> + +<p>“Gammon! You don’t mean what you say. Else +you are like a landsman at sea: don’t know the ropes, +the very things everlastingly pulled before your eyes. +Serpent-like, they glide about, traveling blocks too +subtle for you. In short, the entire ship is a riddle. +Why, you green ones wouldn’t know if she were unseaworthy; +but still, with thumbs stuck back into your +arm-holes, pace the rotten planks, singing, like a fool, +words put into your green mouth by the cunning owner, +the man who, heavily insuring it, sends his ship to be +wrecked—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘A wet sheet and a flowing sea!’—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class='noin'>and, sir, now that it occurs to me, your talk, the +whole of it, is but a wet sheet and a flowing sea, and +an idle wind that follows fast, offering a striking contrast +to my own discourse.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” exclaimed the man with the brass-plate, his +patience now more or less tasked, “permit me with +deference to hint that some of your remarks are injudiciously +worded. And thus we say to our patrons, when +they enter our office full of abuse of us because of some +worthy boy we may have sent them—some boy wholly +misjudged for the time. Yes, sir, permit me to remark +that you do not sufficiently consider that, though a small +man, I may have my small share of feelings.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, I didn’t mean to wound your feelings at +all. And that they are small, very small, I take your +word for it. Sorry, sorry. But truth is like a thrashing-machine; +tender sensibilities must keep out of the +way. Hope you understand me. Don’t want to hurt +you. All I say is, what I said in the first place, only +now I swear it, that all boys are rascals.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” lowly replied the other, still forbearing like an +old lawyer badgered in court, or else like a good-hearted +simpleton, the butt of mischievous wags, “Sir, since +you come back to the point, will you allow me, in my +small, quiet way, to submit to you certain small, quiet +views of the subject in hand?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” with insulting indifference, rubbing his +chin and looking the other way. “Oh, yes; go on.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, respected sir,” continued the other, now +assuming as genteel an attitude as the irritating set of +his pinched five-dollar suit would permit; “well, then, +sir, the peculiar principles, the strictly philosophical +principles, I may say,” guardedly rising in dignity, as +he guardedly rose on his toes, “upon which our office is +founded, has led me and my associates, in our small, +quiet way, to a careful analytical study of man, conducted, +too, on a quiet theory, and with an unobtrusive +aim wholly our own. That theory I will not now at +large set forth. But some of the discoveries resulting +from it, I will, by your permission, very briefly mention; +such of them, I mean, as refer to the state of boyhood +scientifically viewed.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have studied the thing? expressly studied +boys, eh? Why didn’t you out with that before?”</p> + +<p>“Sir, in my small business way, I have not conversed +with so many masters, gentlemen masters, for nothing. +I have been taught that in this world there is a precedence +of opinions as well as of persons. You have +kindly given me your views, I am now, with modesty, +about to give you mine.”</p> + +<p>“Stop flunkying—go on.”</p> + +<p>“In the first place, sir, our theory teaches us to proceed +by analogy from the physical to the moral. Are +we right there, sir? Now, sir, take a young boy, a +young male infant rather, a man-child in short—what +sir, I respectfully ask, do you in the first place remark?”</p> + +<p>“A rascal, sir! present and prospective, a rascal!”</p> + +<p>“Sir, if passion is to invade, surely science must +evacuate. May I proceed? Well, then, what, in the +first place, in a general view, do you remark, respected +sir, in that male baby or man-child?”</p> + +<p>The bachelor privily growled, but this time, upon the +whole, better governed himself than before, though not, +indeed, to the degree of thinking it prudent to risk an +articulate response.</p> + +<p>“What do you remark? I respectfully repeat.” +But, as no answer came, only the low, half-suppressed +growl, as of Bruin in a hollow trunk, the questioner continued: +“Well, sir, if you will permit me, in my small way, +to speak for you, you remark, respected sir, an incipient +creation; loose sort of sketchy thing; a little preliminary +rag-paper study, or careless cartoon, so to speak, of a +man. The idea, you see, respected sir, is there; but, as +yet, wants filling out. In a word, respected sir, the +man-child is at present but little, every way; I don’t +pretend to deny it; but, then, he <i>promises</i> well, does he +not? Yes, promises very well indeed, I may say. (So, +too, we say to our patrons in reference to some noble +little youngster objected to for being a <i>dwarf</i>.) But, to +advance one step further,” extending his thread-bare leg, +as he drew a pace nearer, “we must now drop the +figure of the rag-paper cartoon, and borrow one—to use +presently, when wanted—from the horticultural kingdom. +Some bud, lily-bud, if you please. Now, such +points as the new-born man-child has—as yet not all +that could be desired, I am free to confess—still, such +as they are, there they are, and palpable as those of an +adult. But we stop not here,” taking another step. +“The man-child not only possesses these present points, +small though they are, but, likewise—now our horticultural +image comes into play—like the bud of the lily, +he contains concealed rudiments of others; that is, +points at present invisible, with beauties at present +dormant.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, this talk is getting too horticultural +and beautiful altogether. Cut it short, cut it short!”</p> + +<p>“Respected sir,” with a rustily martial sort of gesture, +like a decayed corporal’s, “when deploying into the +field of discourse the vanguard of an important argument, +much more in evolving the grand central forces +of a new philosophy of boys, as I may say, surely you +will kindly allow scope adequate to the movement in +hand, small and humble in its way as that movement +may be. Is it worth my while to go on, respected +sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, stop flunkying and go on.”</p> + +<p>Thus encouraged, again the philosopher with the brass-plate +proceeded:</p> + +<p>“Supposing, sir, that worthy gentleman (in such +terms, to an applicant for service, we allude to some +patron we chance to have in our eye), supposing, respected +sir, that worthy gentleman, Adam, to have been +dropped overnight in Eden, as a calf in the pasture; +supposing that, sir—then how could even the learned +serpent himself have foreknown that such a downy-chinned +little innocent would eventually rival the goat +in a beard? Sir, wise as the serpent was, that eventuality +would have been entirely hidden from his wisdom.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that. The devil is very sagacious. +To judge by the event, he appears to have +understood man better even than the Being who made +him.”</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake, don’t say that, sir! To the point. +Can it now with fairness be denied that, in his beard, the +man-child prospectively possesses an appendix, not less +imposing than patriarchal; and for this goodly beard, +should we not by generous anticipation give the man-child, +even in his cradle, credit? Should we not now, +sir? respectfully I put it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if like pig-weed he mows it down soon as it +shoots,” porcinely rubbing his stubble-chin against his +coon-skins.</p> + +<p>“I have hinted at the analogy,” continued the other, +calmly disregardful of the digression; “now to apply it. +Suppose a boy evince no noble quality. Then generously +give him credit for his prospective one. Don’t you +see? So we say to our patrons when they would fain +return a boy upon us as unworthy: ‘Madam, or sir, +(as the case may be) has this boy a beard?’ ‘No.’ +‘Has he, we respectfully ask, as yet, evinced any noble +quality?’ ‘No, indeed.’ ‘Then, madam, or sir, take him +back, we humbly beseech; and keep him till that same +noble quality sprouts; for, have confidence, it, like the +beard, is in him.’”</p> + +<p>“Very fine theory,” scornfully exclaimed the bachelor, +yet in secret, perhaps, not entirely undisturbed by +these strange new views of the matter; “but what trust +is to be placed in it?”</p> + +<p>“The trust of perfect confidence, sir. To proceed. +Once more, if you please, regard the man-child.”</p> + +<p>“Hold!” paw-like thrusting put his bearskin arm, +“don’t intrude that man-child upon me too often. He +who loves not bread, dotes not on dough. As little of +your man-child as your logical arrangements will +admit.”</p> + +<p>“Anew regard the man-child,” with inspired intrepidity +repeated he with the brass-plate, “in the perspective +of his developments, I mean. At first the man-child +has no teeth, but about the sixth month—am I right, +sir?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know anything about it.”</p> + +<p>“To proceed then: though at first deficient in teeth, +about the sixth month the man-child begins to put forth +in that particular. And sweet those tender little puttings-forth +are.”</p> + +<p>“Very, but blown out of his mouth directly, worthless +enough.”</p> + +<p>“Admitted. And, therefore, we say to our patrons returning +with a boy alleged not only to be deficient in +goodness, but redundant in ill: ‘The lad, madam or sir, +evinces very corrupt qualities, does he? No end to +them.’ ‘But, have confidence, there will be; for pray, +madam, in this lad’s early childhood, were not those +frail first teeth, then his, followed by his present sound, +even, beautiful and permanent set. And the more objectionable +those first teeth became, was not that, madam, +we respectfully submit, so much the more reason +to look for their speedy substitution by the present +sound, even, beautiful and permanent ones.’ ‘True, +true, can’t deny that.’ ‘Then, madam, take him back, +we respectfully beg, and wait till, in the now swift +course of nature, dropping those transient moral blemishes +you complain of, he replacingly buds forth in the +sound, even, beautiful and permanent virtues.’”</p> + +<p>“Very philosophical again,” was the contemptuous +reply—the outward contempt, perhaps, proportioned to +the inward misgiving. “Vastly philosophical, indeed, but +tell me—to continue your analogy—since the second +teeth followed—in fact, came from—the first, is there +no chance the blemish may be transmitted?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all.” Abating in humility as he gained in +the argument. “The second teeth follow, but do not +come from, the first; successors, not sons. The first +teeth are not like the germ blossom of the apple, at +once the father of, and incorporated into, the growth it +foreruns; but they are thrust from their place by the +independent undergrowth of the succeeding set—an +illustration, by the way, which shows more for me than +I meant, though not more than I wish.”</p> + +<p>“What does it show?” Surly-looking as a thundercloud +with the inkept unrest of unacknowledged conviction.</p> + +<p>“It shows this, respected sir, that in the case of any +boy, especially an ill one, to apply unconditionally the +saying, that the ‘child is father of the man’, is, besides +implying an uncharitable aspersion of the race, affirming +a thing very wide of——”</p> + +<p>“—Your analogy,” like a snapping turtle.</p> + +<p>“Yes, respected sir.”</p> + +<p>“But is analogy argument? You are a punster.”</p> + +<p>“Punster, respected sir?” with a look of being aggrieved.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you pun with ideas as another man may with +words.”</p> + +<p>“Oh well, sir, whoever talks in that strain, whoever +has no confidence in human reason, whoever despises +human reason, in vain to reason with him. Still, respected +sir,” altering his air, “permit me to hint that, +had not the force of analogy moved you somewhat, you +would hardly have offered to contemn it.”</p> + +<p>“Talk away,” disdainfully; “but pray tell me what +has that last analogy of yours to do with your intelligence +office business?”</p> + +<p>“Everything to do with it, respected sir. From that +analogy we derive the reply made to such a patron as, +shortly after being supplied by us with an adult servant, +proposes to return him upon our hands; not that, while +with the patron, said adult has given any cause of dissatisfaction, +but the patron has just chanced to hear +something unfavorable concerning him from some +gentleman who employed said adult, long before, while +a boy. To which too fastidious patron, we, taking said +adult by the hand, and graciously reintroducing him to +the patron, say: ‘Far be it from you, madam, or sir, +to proceed in your censure against this adult, in anything +of the spirit of an ex-post-facto law. Madam, or +sir, would you visit upon the butterfly the +caterpillar? In the natural advance of all creatures, do +they not bury themselves over and over again in the +endless resurrection of better and better? Madam, or sir, +take back this adult; he may have been a caterpillar, +but is now a butterfly.”</p> + +<p>“Pun away; but even accepting your analogical pun, +what does it amount to? Was the caterpillar one creature, +and is the butterfly another? The butterfly is the +caterpillar in a gaudy cloak; stripped of which, there +lies the impostor’s long spindle of a body, pretty much +worm-shaped as before.”</p> + +<p>“You reject the analogy. To the facts then. You +deny that a youth of one character can be transformed +into a man of an opposite character. Now then—yes, +I have it. There’s the founder of La Trappe, and Ignatius +Loyola; in boyhood, and someway into manhood, +both devil-may-care bloods, and yet, in the end, the +wonders of the world for anchoritish self-command. +These two examples, by-the-way, we cite to such patrons +as would hastily return rakish young waiters upon +us. ‘Madam, or sir—patience; patience,’ we say; ‘good +madam, or sir, would you discharge forth your cask of +good wine, because, while working, it riles more or less? +Then discharge not forth this young waiter; the good in +him is working.’ ‘But he is a sad rake.’ ‘Therein is +his promise; the rake being crude material for the +saint.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you are a talking man—what I call a wordy +man. You talk, talk.”</p> + +<p>“And with submission, sir, what is the greatest judge, +bishop or prophet, but a talking man? He talks, talks. +It is the peculiar vocation of a teacher to talk. What’s +wisdom itself but table-talk? The best wisdom in this +world, and the last spoken by its teacher, did it not +literally and truly come in the form of table-talk?”</p> + +<p>“You, you, you!” rattling down his rifle.</p> + +<p>“To shift the subject, since we cannot agree. Pray, +what is your opinion, respected sir, of St. Augustine?”</p> + +<p>“St. Augustine? What should I, or you either, know +of him? Seems to me, for one in such a business, to say +nothing of such a coat, that though you don’t know a +great deal, indeed, yet you know a good deal more than +you ought to know, or than you have a right to know, +or than it is safe or expedient for you to know, or +than, in the fair course of life, you could have honestly +come to know. I am of opinion you should be served +like a Jew in the middle ages with his gold; this knowledge +of yours, which you haven’t enough knowledge to +know how to make a right use of, it should be taken +from you. And so I have been thinking all along.”</p> + +<p>“You are merry, sir. But you have a little looked +into St. Augustine I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“St. Augustine on Original Sin is my text book. +But you, I ask again, where do you find time or inclination +for these out-of-the-way speculations? In fact, +your whole talk, the more I think of it, is altogether unexampled +and extraordinary.”</p> + +<p>“Respected sir, have I not already informed you that +the quite new method, the strictly philosophical one, on +which our office is founded, has led me and my associates +to an enlarged study of mankind. It was my fault, +if I did not, likewise, hint, that these studies directed +always to the scientific procuring of good servants of all +sorts, boys included, for the kind gentlemen, our patrons—that +these studies, I say, have been conducted equally +among all books of all libraries, as among all men of all +nations. Then, you rather like St. Augustine, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Excellent genius!”</p> + +<p>“In some points he was; yet, how comes it that under +his own hand, St. Augustine confesses that, until his +thirtieth year, he was a very sad dog?”</p> + +<p>“A saint a sad dog?”</p> + +<p>“Not the saint, but the saint’s irresponsible little +forerunner—the boy.”</p> + +<p>“All boys are rascals, and so are all men,” again flying +off at his tangent; “my name is Pitch; I stick to +what I say.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, sir, permit me—when I behold you on this mild +summer’s eve, thus eccentrically clothed in the skins of +wild beasts, I cannot but conclude that the equally +grim and unsuitable habit of your mind is likewise but +an eccentric assumption, having no basis in your genuine +soul, no more than in nature herself.”</p> + +<p>“Well, really, now—really,” fidgeted the bachelor, +not unaffected in his conscience by these benign personalities, +“really, really, now, I don’t know but that I +may have been a little bit too hard upon those five and +thirty boys of mine.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to find you a little softening, sir. Who knows +now, but that flexile gracefulness, however questionable +at the time of that thirtieth boy of yours, might have +been the silky husk of the most solid qualities of maturity. +It might have been with him as with the ear of the +Indian corn.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, yes,” excitedly cried the bachelor, as the +light of this new illustration broke in, “yes, yes; and +now that I think of it, how often I’ve sadly watched my +Indian corn in May, wondering whether such sickly, +half-eaten sprouts, could ever thrive up into the stiff, +stately spear of August.”</p> + +<p>“A most admirable reflection, sir, and you have only, +according to the analogical theory first started by our office, +to apply it to that thirtieth boy in question, and see +the result. Had you but kept that thirtieth boy—been +patient with his sickly virtues, cultivated them, hoed +round them, why what a glorious guerdon would have +been yours, when at last you should have had a St. Augustine +for an ostler.”</p> + +<p>“Really, really—well, I am glad I didn’t send him to +jail, as at first I intended.”</p> + +<p>“Oh that would have been too bad. Grant he was +vicious. The petty vices of boys are like the innocent +kicks of colts, as yet imperfectly broken. Some boys +know not virtue only for the same reason they know +not French; it was never taught them. Established upon +the basis of parental charity, juvenile asylums exist by +law for the benefit of lads convicted of acts which, in +adults, would have received other requital. Why? Because, +do what they will, society, like our office, at bottom +has a Christian confidence in boys. And all this we +say to our patrons.”</p> + +<p>“Your patrons, sir, seem your marines to whom you +may say anything,” said the other, relapsing. “Why +do knowing employers shun youths from asylums, +though offered them at the smallest wages? I’ll none +of your reformado boys.”</p> + +<p>“Such a boy, respected sir, I would not get for you, +but a boy that never needed reform. Do not smile, for +as whooping-cough and measles are juvenile diseases, +and yet some juveniles never have them, so are there +boys equally free from juvenile vices. True, for the +best of boys’ measles may be contagious, and evil communications +corrupt good manners; but a boy with a +sound mind in a sound body—such is the boy I would +get you. If hitherto, sir, you have struck upon a peculiarly +bad vein of boys, so much the more hope now of +your hitting a good one.”</p> + +<p>“That sounds a kind of reasonable, as it were—a +little so, really. In fact, though you have said a great +many foolish things, very foolish and absurd things, yet, +upon the whole, your conversation has been such as +might almost lead one less distrustful than I to repose a +certain conditional confidence in you, I had almost added +in your office, also. Now, for the humor of it, supposing +that even I, I myself, really had this sort of conditional +confidence, though but a grain, what sort of a boy, in +sober fact, could you send me? And what would be +your fee?”</p> + +<p>“Conducted,” replied the other somewhat loftily, +rising now in eloquence as his proselyte, for all his pretenses, +sunk in conviction, “conducted upon principles +involving care, learning, and labor, exceeding what is +usual in kindred institutions, the Philosophical Intelligence +Office is forced to charge somewhat higher than +customary. Briefly, our fee is three dollars in advance. +As for the boy, by a lucky chance, I have a very promising +little fellow now in my eye—a very likely little +fellow, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Honest?”</p> + +<p>“As the day is long. Might trust him with untold +millions. Such, at least, were the marginal observations +on the phrenological chart of his head, submitted to me +by the mother.”</p> + +<p>“How old?”</p> + +<p>“Just fifteen.”</p> + +<p>“Tall? Stout?”</p> + +<p>“Uncommonly so, for his age, his mother remarked.”</p> + +<p>“Industrious?”</p> + +<p>“The busy bee.”</p> + +<p>The bachelor fell into a troubled reverie. At last, +with much hesitancy, he spoke:</p> + +<p>“Do you think now, candidly, that—I say candidly—candidly—could +I have some small, limited—some +faint, conditional degree of confidence in that boy? +Candidly, now?”</p> + +<p>“Candidly, you could.”</p> + +<p>“A sound boy? A good boy?”</p> + +<p>“Never knew one more so.”</p> + +<p>The bachelor fell into another irresolute reverie; +then said: “Well, now, you have suggested some +rather new views of boys, and men, too. Upon those +views in the concrete I at present decline to determine. +Nevertheless, for the sake purely of a scientific experiment, +I will try that boy. I don’t think him an angel, +mind. No, no. But I’ll try him. There are my three +dollars, and here is my address. Send him along this +day two weeks. Hold, you will be wanting the money +for his passage. There,” handing it somewhat reluctantly.</p> + +<p>“Ah, thank you. I had forgotten his passage;” then, +altering in manner, and gravely holding the bills, continued: +“Respected sir, never willingly do I handle +money not with perfect willingness, nay, with a certain +alacrity, paid. Either tell me that you have a perfect +and unquestioning confidence in me (never mind the boy +now) or permit me respectfully to return these bills.”</p> + +<p>“Put ’em up, put ’em-up!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. Confidence is the indispensable basis +of all sorts of business transactions. Without it, commerce +between man and man, as between country and +country, would, like a watch, run down and stop. And +now, supposing that against present expectation the lad +should, after all, evince some little undesirable trait, do +not, respected sir, rashly dismiss him. Have but patience, +have but confidence. Those transient vices will, +ere long, fall out, and be replaced by the sound, firm, +even and permanent virtues. Ah,” glancing shoreward, +towards a grotesquely-shaped bluff, “there’s the Devil’s +Joke, as they call it: the bell for landing will shortly +ring. I must go look up the cook I brought for the innkeeper +at Cairo.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN WHICH THE POWERFUL EFFECT OF NATURAL SCENERY IS EVINCED +IN THE CASE OF THE MISSOURIAN, WHO, IN VIEW OF THE REGION ROUND-ABOUT +CAIRO, HAS A RETURN OF HIS CHILLY FIT.</span></h2> + +<p>At Cairo, the old established firm of Fever & Ague is +still settling up its unfinished business; that Creole +grave-digger, Yellow Jack—his hand at the mattock and +spade has not lost its cunning; while Don Saturninus +Typhus taking his constitutional with Death, Calvin Edson +and three undertakers, in the morass, snuffs up the +mephitic breeze with zest.</p> + +<p>In the dank twilight, fanned with mosquitoes, and +sparkling with fire-flies, the boat now lies before Cairo. +She has landed certain passengers, and tarries for the +coming of expected ones. Leaning over the rail on the +inshore side, the Missourian eyes through the dubious +medium that swampy and squalid domain; and over it +audibly mumbles his cynical mind to himself, as Apermantus’ +dog may have mumbled his bone. He bethinks +him that the man with the brass-plate was to land on +this villainous bank, and for that cause, if no other, begins +to suspect him. Like one beginning to rouse himself +from a dose of chloroform treacherously given, he +half divines, too, that he, the philosopher, had unwittingly +been betrayed into being an unphilosophical dupe. +To what vicissitudes of light and shade is man subject! +He ponders the mystery of human subjectivity in general. +He thinks he perceives with Crossbones, his favorite +author, that, as one may wake up well in the morning, +very well, indeed, and brisk as a buck, I thank you, but +ere bed-time get under the weather, there is no telling +how—so one may wake up wise, and slow of assent, +very wise and very slow, I assure you, and for all that, +before night, by like trick in the atmosphere, be left in +the lurch a ninny. Health and wisdom equally precious, +and equally little as unfluctuating possessions to be relied +on.</p> + +<p>But where was slipped in the entering wedge? Philosophy, +knowledge, experience—were those trusty knights +of the castle recreant? No, but unbeknown to them, the +enemy stole on the castle’s south side, its genial one, +where Suspicion, the warder, parleyed. In fine, his too +indulgent, too artless and companionable nature betrayed +him. Admonished by which, he thinks he must be a +little splenetic in his intercourse henceforth.</p> + +<p>He revolves the crafty process of sociable chat, by +which, as he fancies, the man with the brass-plate +wormed into him, and made such a fool of him as insensibly +to persuade him to waive, in his exceptional +case, that general law of distrust systematically applied +to the race. He revolves, but cannot comprehend, the +operation, still less the operator. Was the man a +trickster, it must be more for the love than the lucre. +Two or three dirty dollars the motive to so many nice +wiles? And yet how full of mean needs his seeming. +Before his mental vision the person of that threadbare +Talleyrand, that impoverished Machiavelli, that seedy +Rosicrucian—for something of all these he vaguely deems +him—passes now in puzzled review. Fain, in his disfavor, +would he make out a logical case. The doctrine +of analogies recurs. Fallacious enough doctrine when +wielded against one’s prejudices, but in corroboration of +cherished suspicions not without likelihood. Analogically, +he couples the slanting cut of the equivocator’s +coat-tails with the sinister cast in his eye; he weighs +slyboot’s sleek speech in the light imparted by the oblique +import of the smooth slope of his worn boot-heels; +the insinuator’s undulating flunkyisms dovetail into +those of the flunky beast that windeth his way on his +belly.</p> + +<p>From these uncordial reveries he is roused by a cordial +slap on the shoulder, accompanied by a spicy volume of +tobacco-smoke, out of which came a voice, sweet as a +seraph’s:</p> + +<p>“A penny for your thoughts, my fine fellow.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A PHILANTHROPIST UNDERTAKES TO CONVERT A MISANTHROPE, BUT DOES +NOT GET BEYOND CONFUTING HIM.</span></h2> + +<p>“Hands off!” cried the bachelor, involuntarily covering +dejection with moroseness.</p> + +<p>“Hands off? that sort of label won’t do in our Fair. +Whoever in our Fair has fine feelings loves to feel the +nap of fine cloth, especially when a fine fellow wears +it.”</p> + +<p>“And who of my fine-fellow species may you be? +From the Brazils, ain’t you? Toucan fowl. Fine feathers +on foul meat.”</p> + +<p>This ungentle mention of the toucan was not improbably +suggested by the parti-hued, and rather plumagy +aspect of the stranger, no bigot it would seem, but a +liberalist, in dress, and whose wardrobe, almost anywhere +than on the liberal Mississippi, used to all sorts of fantastic +informalities, might, even to observers less critical +than the bachelor, have looked, if anything, a little out +of the common; but not more so perhaps, than, considering +the bear and raccoon costume, the bachelor’s +own appearance. In short, the stranger sported a vesture +barred with various hues, that of the cochineal +predominating, in style participating of a Highland +plaid, Emir’s robe, and French blouse; from its plaited +sort of front peeped glimpses of a flowered regatta-shirt, +while, for the rest, white trowsers of ample duck flowed +over maroon-colored slippers, and a jaunty smoking-cap +of regal purple crowned him off at top; king of traveled +good-fellows, evidently. Grotesque as all was, nothing +looked stiff or unused; all showed signs of easy service, +the least wonted thing setting like a wonted glove. +That genial hand, which had just been laid on the ungenial +shoulder, was now carelessly thrust down before +him, sailor-fashion, into a sort of Indian belt, confining +the redundant vesture; the other held, by its long bright +cherry-stem, a Nuremburgh pipe in blast, its great porcelain +bowl painted in miniature with linked crests and +arms of interlinked nations—a florid show. As by +subtle saturations of its mellowing essence the tobacco +had ripened the bowl, so it looked as if something similar +of the interior spirit came rosily out on the cheek. But +rosy pipe-bowl, or rosy countenance, all was lost on +that unrosy man, the bachelor, who, waiting a moment +till the commotion, caused by the boat’s renewed progress, +had a little abated, thus continued:</p> + +<p>“Hark ye,” jeeringly eying the cap and belt, “did +you ever see Signor Marzetti in the African pantomime?”</p> + +<p>“No;—good performer?”</p> + +<p>“Excellent; plays the intelligent ape till he seems it. +With such naturalness can a being endowed with an +immortal spirit enter into that of a monkey. But +where’s your tail? In the pantomime, Marzetti, no +hypocrite in his monkery, prides himself on that.”</p> + +<p>The stranger, now at rest, sideways and genially, on +one hip, his right leg cavalierly crossed before the other, +the toe of his vertical slipper pointed easily down on the +deck, whiffed out a long, leisurely sort of indifferent and +charitable puff, betokening him more or less of the mature +man of the world, a character which, like its opposite, +the sincere Christian’s, is not always swift to take +offense; and then, drawing near, still smoking, again +laid his hand, this time with mild impressiveness, on the +ursine shoulder, and not unamiably said: “That in your +address there is a sufficiency of the <i>fortiter in re</i> few unbiased +observers will question; but that this is duly +attempered with the <i>suaviter in modo</i> may admit, I think, +of an honest doubt. My dear fellow,” beaming his eyes +full upon him, “what injury have I done you, that +you should receive my greeting with a curtailed civility?”</p> + +<p>“Off hands;” once more shaking the friendly member +from him. “Who in the name of the great chimpanzee, +in whose likeness, you, Marzetti, and the other chatterers +are made, who in thunder are you?”</p> + +<p>“A cosmopolitan, a catholic man; who, being such, +ties himself to no narrow tailor or teacher, but federates, +in heart as in costume, something of the various gallantries +of men under various suns. Oh, one roams not +over the gallant globe in vain. Bred by it, is a fraternal +and fusing feeling. No man is a stranger. You accost +anybody. Warm and confiding, you wait not for measured +advances. And though, indeed, mine, in this instance, +have met with no very hilarious encouragement, +yet the principle of a true citizen of the world is still to +return good for ill.—My dear fellow, tell me how I can +serve you.”</p> + +<p>“By dispatching yourself, Mr. Popinjay-of-the-world, +into the heart of the Lunar Mountains. You are another +of them. Out of my sight!”</p> + +<p>“Is the sight of humanity so very disagreeable to you +then? Ah, I may be foolish, but for my part, in all its +aspects, I love it. Served up à la Pole, or à la Moor, à la +Ladrone, or à la Yankee, that good dish, man, still delights +me; or rather is man a wine I never weary of +comparing and sipping; wherefore am I a pledged cosmopolitan, +a sort of London-Dock-Vault connoisseur, +going about from Teheran to Natchitoches, a taster of +races; in all his vintages, smacking my lips over this racy +creature, man, continually. But as there are teetotal +palates which have a distaste even for Amontillado, so I +suppose there may be teetotal souls which relish not +even the very best brands of humanity. Excuse me, +but it just occurs to me that you, my dear fellow, possibly +lead a solitary life.”</p> + +<p>“Solitary?” starting as at a touch of divination.</p> + +<p>“Yes: in a solitary life one insensibly contracts oddities,—talking +to one’s self now.”</p> + +<p>“Been eaves-dropping, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Why, a soliloquist in a crowd can hardly but be +overheard, and without much reproach to the hearer.”</p> + +<p>“You are an eaves-dropper.”</p> + +<p>“Well. Be it so.”</p> + +<p>“Confess yourself an eaves-dropper?”</p> + +<p>“I confess that when you were muttering here I, passing +by, caught a word or two, and, by like chance, +something previous of your chat with the Intelligence-office +man;—a rather sensible fellow, by the way; +much of my style of thinking; would, for his own sake, +he were of my style of dress. Grief to good minds, to +see a man of superior sense forced to hide his light +under the bushel of an inferior coat.—Well, from what +little I heard, I said to myself, Here now is one with the +unprofitable philosophy of disesteem for man. Which +disease, in the main, I have observed—excuse me—to +spring from a certain lowness, if not sourness, of spirits +inseparable from sequestration. Trust me, one had better +mix in, and do like others. Sad business, this holding +out against having a good time. Life is a pic-nic <i>en +costume</i>; one must take a part, assume a character, stand +ready in a sensible way to play the fool. To come in +plain clothes, with a long face, as a wiseacre, only makes +one a discomfort to himself, and a blot upon the scene. +Like your jug of cold water among the wine-flasks, it +leaves you unelated among the elated ones. No, no. +This austerity won’t do. Let me tell you too—<i>en confiance</i>—that +while revelry may not always merge into +ebriety, soberness, in too deep potations, may become a +sort of sottishness. Which sober sottishness, in my +way of thinking, is only to be cured by beginning at the +other end of the horn, to tipple a little.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, what society of vintners and old topers are +you hired to lecture for?”</p> + +<p>“I fear I did not give my meaning clearly. A little +story may help. The story of the worthy old woman +of Goshen, a very moral old woman, who wouldn’t let +her shoats eat fattening apples in fall, for fear the fruit +might ferment upon their brains, and so make them +swinish. Now, during a green Christmas, inauspicious +to the old, this worthy old woman fell into a moping +decline, took to her bed, no appetite, and refused to +see her best friends. In much concern her good man +sent for the doctor, who, after seeing the patient and +putting a question or two, beckoned the husband out, +and said: ‘Deacon, do you want her cured?’ ‘Indeed I +do.’ ‘Go directly, then, and buy a jug of Santa Cruz.’ +‘Santa Cruz? my wife drink Santa Cruz?’ ‘Either that +or die.’ ‘But how much?’ ‘As much as she can get +down.’ ‘But she’ll get drunk!’ ‘That’s the cure.’ +Wise men, like doctors, must be obeyed. Much against +the grain, the sober deacon got the unsober medicine, +and, equally against her conscience, the poor old woman +took it; but, by so doing, ere long recovered health and +spirits, famous appetite, and glad again to see her +friends; and having by this experience broken the ice of +arid abstinence, never afterwards kept herself a cup too +low.”</p> + +<p>This story had the effect of surprising the bachelor +into interest, though hardly into approval.</p> + +<p>“If I take your parable right,” said he, sinking no +little of his former churlishness, “the meaning is, that +one cannot enjoy life with gusto unless he renounce +the too-sober view of life. But since the too-sober +view is, doubtless, nearer true than the too-drunken; I, +who rate truth, though cold water, above untruth, though +Tokay, will stick to my earthen jug.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” slowly spirting upward a spiral staircase of +lazy smoke, “I see; you go in for the lofty.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing! but if I wasn’t afraid of prosing, I +might tell another story about an old boot in a pieman’s +loft, contracting there between sun and oven an +unseemly, dry-seasoned curl and warp. You’ve seen such +leathery old garretteers, haven’t you? Very high, sober, +solitary, philosophic, grand, old boots, indeed; but I, for +my part, would rather be the pieman’s trodden slipper +on the ground. Talking of piemen, humble-pie before +proud-cake for me. This notion of being lone and lofty +is a sad mistake. Men I hold in this respect to be like +roosters; the one that betakes himself to a lone and +lofty perch is the hen-pecked one, or the one that has +the pip.”</p> + +<p>“You are abusive!” cried the bachelor, evidently +touched.</p> + +<p>“Who is abused? You, or the race? You won’t +stand by and see the human race abused? Oh, then, +you have some respect for the human race.”</p> + +<p>“I have some respect for <i>myself</i>” with a lip not so +firm as before.</p> + +<p>“And what race may <i>you</i> belong to? now don’t you +see, my dear fellow, in what inconsistencies one involves +himself by affecting disesteem for men. To a charm, my +little stratagem succeeded. Come, come, think better +of it, and, as a first step to a new mind, give up solitude. +I fear, by the way, you have at some time been reading +Zimmermann, that old Mr. Megrims of a Zimmermann, +whose book on Solitude is as vain as Hume’s on Suicide, +as Bacon’s on Knowledge; and, like these, will betray +him who seeks to steer soul and body by it, like a false +religion. All they, be they what boasted ones you +please, who, to the yearning of our kind after a founded +rule of content, offer aught not in the spirit of fellowly +gladness based on due confidence in what is above, +away with them for poor dupes, or still poorer impostors.”</p> + +<p>His manner here was so earnest that scarcely any +auditor, perhaps, but would have been more or less +impressed by it, while, possibly, nervous opponents might +have a little quailed under it. Thinking within himself +a moment, the bachelor replied: “Had you experience, +you would know that your tippling theory, take it in +what sense you will, is poor as any other. And Rabelais’s +pro-wine Koran no more trustworthy than Mahomet’s +anti-wine one.”</p> + +<p>“Enough,” for a finality knocking the ashes from his +pipe, “we talk and keep talking, and still stand where +we did. What do you say for a walk? My arm, and +let’s a turn. They are to have dancing on the hurricane-deck +to-night. I shall fling them off a Scotch jig, while, to +save the pieces, you hold my loose change; and following +that, I propose that you, my dear fellow, stack your +gun, and throw your bearskins in a sailor’s hornpipe—I +holding your watch. What do you say?”</p> + +<p>At this proposition the other was himself again, all +raccoon.</p> + +<p>“Look you,” thumping down his rifle, “are you +Jeremy Diddler No. 3?”</p> + +<p>“Jeremy Diddler? I <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'have have'.">have</ins> heard of Jeremy the +prophet, and Jeremy Taylor the divine, but your other +Jeremy is a gentleman I am unacquainted with.”</p> + +<p>“You are his confidential clerk, ain’t you?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Whose</i>, pray? Not that I think myself unworthy of +being confided in, but I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“You are another of them. Somehow I meet with +the most extraordinary metaphysical scamps to-day. +Sort of visitation of them. And yet that herb-doctor +Diddler somehow takes off the raw edge of the Diddlers +that come after him.”</p> + +<p>“Herb-doctor? who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Like you—another of them.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Who?</i>” Then drawing near, as if for a good long +explanatory chat, his left hand spread, and his pipe-stem +coming crosswise down upon it like a ferule, “You +think amiss of me. Now to undeceive you, I will just +enter into a little argument and——”</p> + +<p>“No you don’t. No more little arguments for me. +Had too many little arguments to-day.”</p> + +<p>“But put a case. Can you deny—I dare you to +deny—that the man leading a solitary life is peculiarly +exposed to the sorriest misconceptions touching strangers?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I <i>do</i> deny it,” again, in his impulsiveness, snapping +at the controversial bait, “and I will confute +you there in a trice. Look, you——”</p> + +<p>“Now, now, now, my dear fellow,” thrusting out +both vertical palms for double shields, “you crowd me +too hard. You don’t give one a chance. Say what you +will, to shun a social proposition like mine, to shun +society in any way, evinces a churlish nature—cold, loveless; +as, to embrace it, shows one warm and friendly, +in fact, sunshiny.”</p> + +<p>Here the other, all agog again, in his perverse way, +launched forth into the unkindest references to deaf old +worldlings keeping in the deafening world; and gouty +gluttons limping to their gouty gormandizings; and +corseted coquets clasping their corseted cavaliers in the +waltz, all for disinterested society’s sake; and thousands, +bankrupt through lavishness, ruining themselves out of +pure love of the sweet company of man—no envies, +rivalries, or other unhandsome motive to it.</p> + +<p>“Ah, now,” deprecating with his pipe, “irony is so +unjust: never could abide irony: something Satanic about +irony. God defend me from Irony, and Satire, his bosom +friend.”</p> + +<p>“A right knave’s prayer, and a right fool’s, too,” snapping +his rifle-lock.</p> + +<p>“Now be frank. Own that was a little gratuitous. +But, no, no, you didn’t mean it; any way, I can make +allowances. Ah, did you but know it, how much pleasanter +to puff at this philanthropic pipe, than still to keep +fumbling at that misanthropic rifle. As for your <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'worldlingg, lutton,'.">worldling, +glutton,”</ins> and coquette, though, doubtless, being +such, they may have their little foibles—as who has +not?—yet not one of the three can be reproached with +that awful sin of shunning society; awful I call it, for +not seldom it presupposes a still darker thing than +itself—remorse.”</p> + +<p>“Remorse drives man away from man? How came +your fellow-creature, Cain, after the first murder, to go +and build the first city? And why is it that the +modern Cain dreads nothing so much as solitary confinement?</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, you get excited. Say what you +will, I for one must have my fellow-creatures round me. +Thick, too—I must have them thick.”</p> + +<p>“The pick-pocket, too, loves to have his fellow-creatures +round him. Tut, man! no one goes into the crowd +but for his end; and the end of too many is the same as +the pick-pocket’s—a purse.”</p> + +<p>“Now, my dear fellow, how can you have the conscience +to say that, when it is as much according to +natural law that men are social as sheep gregarious. +But grant that, in being social, each man has his end, +do you, upon the strength of that, do you yourself, I +say, mix with man, now, immediately, and be your +end a more genial philosophy. Come, let’s take a +turn.”</p> + +<p>Again he offered his fraternal arm; but the bachelor +once more flung it off, and, raising his rifle in energetic +invocation, cried: “Now the high-constable catch and +confound all knaves in towns and rats in grain-bins, and +if in this boat, which is a human grain-bin for the time, +any sly, smooth, philandering rat be dodging now, pin +him, thou high rat-catcher, against this rail.”</p> + +<p>“A noble burst! shows you at heart a trump. And +when a card’s that, little matters it whether it be spade +or diamond. You are good wine that, to be still better, +only needs a shaking up. Come, let’s agree that we’ll +to New Orleans, and there embark for London—I staying +with my friends nigh Primrose-hill, and you putting +up at the Piazza, Covent Garden—Piazza, Covent Garden; +for tell me—since you will not be a disciple +to the full—tell me, was not that humor, of Diogenes, +which led him to live, a merry-andrew, in the flower-market, +better than that of the less wise Athenian, +which made him a skulking scare-crow in pine-barrens? +An injudicious gentleman, Lord Timon.”</p> + +<p>“Your hand!” seizing it.</p> + +<p>“Bless me, how cordial a squeeze. It is agreed we +shall be brothers, then?”</p> + +<p>“As much so as a brace of misanthropes can be,” +with another and terrific squeeze. “I had thought that +the moderns had degenerated beneath the capacity of +misanthropy. Rejoiced, though but in one instance, +and that disguised, to be undeceived.”</p> + +<p>The other stared in blank amaze.</p> + +<p>“Won’t do. You are Diogenes, Diogenes in disguise. +I say—Diogenes masquerading as a cosmopolitan.”</p> + +<p>With ruefully altered mien, the stranger still stood mute +awhile. At length, in a pained tone, spoke: “How hard +the lot of that pleader who, in his zeal conceding too +much, is taken to belong to a side which he but labors, +however ineffectually, to convert!” Then with another +change of air: “To you, an Ishmael, disguising +in sportiveness my intent, I came ambassador from the +human race, charged with the assurance that for your +mislike they bore no answering grudge, but sought to +conciliate accord between you and them. Yet you take +me not for the honest envoy, but I know not what sort +of unheard-of spy. Sir,” he less lowly added, “this +mistaking of your man should teach you how you may +mistake all men. For God’s sake,” laying both hands +upon him, “get you confidence. See how distrust has +duped you. I, Diogenes? I he who, going a step +beyond misanthropy, was less a man-hater than a man-hooter? +Better were I stark and stiff!”</p> + +<p>With which the philanthropist moved away less +lightsome than he had come, leaving the discomfited +misanthrope to the solitude he held so sapient.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE COSMOPOLITAN MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE.</span></h2> + +<p>In the act of retiring, the cosmopolitan was met by a +passenger, who with the bluff <i>abord</i> of the West, thus +addressed him, though a stranger.</p> + +<p>“Queer ’coon, your friend. Had a little skrimmage +with him myself. Rather entertaining old ’coon, if he +wasn’t so deuced analytical. Reminded me somehow of +what I’ve heard about Colonel John Moredock, of Illinois, +only your friend ain’t quite so good a fellow at +bottom, I should think.”</p> + +<p>It was in the semicircular porch of a cabin, opening +a recess from the deck, lit by a zoned lamp swung overhead, +and sending its light vertically down, like the sun +at noon. Beneath the lamp stood the speaker, affording +to any one disposed to it no unfavorable chance for +scrutiny; but the glance now resting on him betrayed +no such rudeness.</p> + +<p>A man neither tall nor stout, neither short nor gaunt; +but with a body fitted, as by measure, to the service of +his mind. For the rest, one less favored perhaps in his +features than his clothes; and of these the beauty may +have been less in the fit than the cut; to say nothing of +the fineness of the nap, seeming out of keeping with +something the reverse of fine in the skin; and the +unsuitableness of a violet vest, sending up sunset hues to +a countenance betokening a kind of bilious habit.</p> + +<p>But, upon the whole, it could not be fairly said that +his appearance was unprepossessing; indeed, to the +congenial, it would have been doubtless not uncongenial; +while to others, it could not fail to be at least curiously +interesting, from the warm air of florid cordiality, +contrasting itself with one knows not what kind of aguish +sallowness of saving discretion lurking behind it. +Ungracious critics might have thought that the manner +flushed the man, something in the same fictitious way +that the vest flushed the cheek. And though his teeth +were singularly good, those same ungracious ones might +have hinted that they were too good to be true; or rather, +were not so good as they might be; since the best +false teeth are those made with at least two or three +blemishes, the more to look like life. But fortunately +for better constructions, no such critics had the stranger +now in eye; only the cosmopolitan, who, after, in the +first place, acknowledging his advances with a mute +salute—in which acknowledgment, if there seemed less of +spirit than in his way of accosting the Missourian, it was +probably because of the saddening sequel of that late +interview—thus now replied: “Colonel John Moredock,” +repeating the words abstractedly; “that surname recalls +reminiscences. Pray,” with enlivened air, “was he +anyway connected with the Moredocks of Moredock +Hall, Northamptonshire, England?”</p> + +<p>“I know no more of the Moredocks of Moredock Hall +than of the Burdocks of Burdock Hut,” returned the +other, with the air somehow of one whose fortunes had +been of his own making; “all I know is, that the late +Colonel John Moredock was a famous one in his time; +eye like Lochiel’s; finger like a trigger; nerve like a catamount’s; +and with but two little oddities—seldom stirred +without his rifle, and hated Indians like snakes.”</p> + +<p>“Your Moredock, then, would seem a Moredock of +Misanthrope Hall—the Woods. No very sleek creature, +the colonel, I fancy.”</p> + +<p>“Sleek or not, he was no uncombed one, but silky +bearded and curly headed, and to all but Indians juicy +as a peach. But Indians—how the late Colonel John +Moredock, Indian-hater of Illinois, did hate Indians, to +be sure!”</p> + +<p>“Never heard of such a thing. Hate Indians? Why +should he or anybody else hate Indians? <i>I</i> admire +Indians. Indians I have always heard to be one of the +finest of the primitive races, possessed of many heroic +virtues. Some noble women, too. When I think of +Pocahontas, I am ready to love Indians. Then there’s +Massasoit, and Philip of Mount Hope, and Tecumseh, +and Red-Jacket, and Logan—all heroes; and there’s the +Five Nations, and Araucanians—federations and communities +of heroes. God bless me; hate Indians? Surely +the late Colonel John Moredock must have wandered in +his mind.”</p> + +<p>“Wandered in the woods considerably, but never +wandered elsewhere, that I ever heard.”</p> + +<p>“Are you in earnest? Was there ever one who so +made it his particular mission to hate Indians that, to +designate him, a special word has been coined—Indian-hater?”</p> + +<p>“Even so.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, you take it very calmly.—But really, I +would like to know something about this Indian-hating, +I can hardly believe such a thing to be. Could you +favor me with a little history of the extraordinary man +you mentioned?”</p> + +<p>“With all my heart,” and immediately stepping from +the porch, gestured the cosmopolitan to a settee near +by, on deck. “There, sir, sit you there, and I will sit +here beside you—you desire to hear of Colonel John +Moredock. Well, a day in my boyhood is marked with +a white stone—the day I saw the colonel’s rifle, powder-horn +attached, hanging in a cabin on the West bank +of the Wabash river. I was going westward a long journey +through the wilderness with my father. It was +nigh noon, and we had stopped at the cabin to unsaddle +and bait. The man at the cabin pointed out the rifle, and +told whose it was, adding that the colonel was that +moment sleeping on wolf-skins in the corn-loft above, +so we must not talk very loud, for the colonel had been +out all night hunting (Indians, mind), and it would be +cruel to disturb his sleep. Curious to see one so famous, +we waited two hours over, in hopes he would come +forth; but he did not. So, it being necessary to get to +the next cabin before nightfall, we had at last to ride off +without the wished-for satisfaction. Though, to tell the +truth, I, for one, did not go away entirely ungratified, +for, while my father was watering the horses, I slipped +back into the cabin, and stepping a round or two up the +ladder, pushed my head through the trap, and peered +about. Not much light in the loft; but off, in the further +corner, I saw what I took to be the wolf-skins, and +on them a bundle of something, like a drift of leaves; +and at one end, what seemed a moss-ball; and over it, +deer-antlers branched; and close by, a small squirrel +sprang out from a maple-bowl of nuts, brushed the moss-ball +with his tail, through a hole, and vanished, squeaking. +That bit of woodland scene was all I saw. No +Colonel Moredock there, unless that moss-ball was his +curly head, seen in the back view. I would have gone +clear up, but the man below had warned me, that +though, from his camping habits, the colonel could sleep +through thunder, he was for the same cause amazing +quick to waken at the sound of footsteps, however soft, +and especially if human.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” said the other, softly laying his hand +on the narrator’s wrist, “but I fear the colonel was of +a distrustful nature—little or no confidence. He <i>was</i> a +little suspicious-minded, wasn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit. Knew too much. Suspected nobody, +but was not ignorant of Indians. Well: though, as +you may gather, I never fully saw the man, yet, have I, +one way and another, heard about as much of him as +any other; in particular, have I heard his history again +and again from my father’s friend, James Hall, the judge, +you know. In every company being called upon to +give this history, which none could better do, the judge +at last fell into a style so methodic, you would have +thought he spoke less to mere auditors than to an invisible +amanuensis; seemed talking for the press; very impressive +way with him indeed. And I, having an equally +impressible memory, think that, upon a pinch, I can +render you the judge upon the colonel almost word for +word.”</p> + +<p>“Do so, by all means,” said the cosmopolitan, well +pleased.</p> + +<p>“Shall I give you the judge’s philosophy, and all?”</p> + +<p>“As to that,” rejoined the other gravely, pausing over +the pipe-bowl he was filling, “the desirableness, to a +man of a certain mind, of having another man’s philosophy +given, depends considerably upon what school of +philosophy that other man belongs to. Of what school +or system was the judge, pray?”</p> + +<p>“Why, though he knew how to read and write, the +judge never had much schooling. But, I should say he +belonged, if anything, to the free-school system. Yes, a +true patriot, the judge went in strong for free-schools.”</p> + +<p>“In philosophy? The man of a certain mind, then, +while respecting the judge’s patriotism, and not blind +to the judge’s capacity for narrative, such as he may +prove to have, might, perhaps, with prudence, waive an +opinion of the judge’s probable philosophy. But I am +no rigorist; proceed, I beg; his philosophy or not, as +you please.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I would mostly skip that part, only, to begin, +some reconnoitering of the ground in a philosophical +way the judge always deemed indispensable with strangers. +For you must know that Indian-hating was no +monopoly of Colonel Moredock’s; but a passion, in one +form or other, and to a degree, greater or less, largely +shared among the class to which he belonged. And +Indian-hating still exists; and, no doubt, will continue +to exist, so long as Indians do. Indian-hating, then, +shall be my first theme, and Colonel Moredock, the Indian-hater, +my next and last.”</p> + +<p>With which the stranger, settling himself in his seat, +commenced—the hearer paying marked regard, slowly +smoking, his glance, meanwhile, steadfastly abstracted +towards the deck, but his right ear so disposed towards +the speaker that each word came through as little atmospheric +intervention as possible. To intensify the +sense of hearing, he seemed to sink the sense of sight. +No complaisance of mere speech could have been so +flattering, or expressed such striking politeness as this +mute eloquence of thoroughly digesting attention.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>CONTAINING THE METAPHYSICS OF INDIAN-HATING, ACCORDING TO THE +VIEWS OF ONE EVIDENTLY NOT SO PREPOSSESSED AS ROUSSEAU IN +FAVOR OF SAVAGES.</span></h2> + +<p>“The judge always began in these words: ‘The +backwoodsman’s hatred of the Indian has been a topic +for some remark. In the earlier times of the frontier +the passion was thought to be readily accounted for. +But Indian rapine having mostly ceased through regions +where it once prevailed, the philanthropist is surprised +that Indian-hating has not in like degree ceased with it. +He wonders why the backwoodsman still regards the +red man in much the same spirit that a jury does a +murderer, or a trapper a wild cat—a creature, in whose +behalf mercy were not wisdom; truce is vain; he must +be executed.</p> + +<p>“‘A curious point,’ the judge would continue, ‘which +perhaps not everybody, even upon explanation, may fully +understand; while, in order for any one to approach to +an understanding, it is necessary for him to learn, or if +he already know, to bear in mind, what manner of man +the backwoodsman is; as for what manner of man the +Indian is, many know, either from history or experience.</p> + +<p>“‘The backwoodsman is a lonely man. He is a thoughtful +man. He is a man strong and unsophisticated. Impulsive, +he is what some might call unprincipled. At +any rate, he is self-willed; being one who less hearkens +to what others may say about things, than looks for +himself, to see what are things themselves. If in straits, +there are few to help; he must depend upon himself; +he must continually look to himself. Hence self-reliance, +to the degree of standing by his own judgment, +though it stand alone. Not that he deems himself +infallible; too many mistakes in following trails prove +the contrary; but he thinks that nature destines such +sagacity as she has given him, as she destines it to the +’possum. To these fellow-beings of the wilds their +untutored sagacity is their best dependence. If with +either it prove faulty, if the ’possum’s betray it to the +trap, or the backwoodsman’s mislead him into ambuscade, +there are consequences to be undergone, but no self-blame. +As with the ’possum, instincts prevail with +the backwoodsman over precepts. Like the ’possum, +the backwoodsman presents the spectacle of a creature +dwelling exclusively among the works of God, yet +these, truth must confess, breed little in him of a godly +mind. Small bowing and scraping is his, further than +when with bent knee he points his rifle, or picks its +flint. With few companions, solitude by necessity his +lengthened lot, he stands the trial—no slight one, since, +next to dying, solitude, rightly borne, is perhaps of +fortitude the most rigorous test. But not merely is the +backwoodsman content to be alone, but in no few cases +is anxious to be so. The sight of smoke ten miles off is +provocation to one more remove from man, one step +deeper into nature. Is it that he feels that whatever man +may be, man is not the universe? that glory, beauty, +kindness, are not all engrossed by him? that as the +presence of man frights birds away, so, many bird-like +thoughts? Be that how it will, the backwoodsman is +not without some fineness to his nature. Hairy Orson as +he looks, it may be with him as with the Shetland seal—beneath +the bristles lurks the fur.</p> + +<p>“‘Though held in a sort a barbarian, the backwoodsman +would seem to America what Alexander was to +Asia—captain in the vanguard of conquering civilization. +Whatever the nation’s growing opulence or power, does +it not lackey his heels? Pathfinder, provider of security +to those who come after him, for himself he asks +nothing but hardship. Worthy to be compared with +Moses in the Exodus, or the Emperor Julian in Gaul, +who on foot, and bare-browed, at the head of covered +or mounted legions, marched so through the elements, +day after day. The tide of emigration, let it roll as it +will, never overwhelms the backwoodsman into itself; +he rides upon advance, as the Polynesian upon the comb +of the surf.</p> + +<p>“‘Thus, though he keep moving on through life, he +maintains with respect to nature much the same unaltered +relation throughout; with her creatures, too, +including panthers and Indians. Hence, it is not +unlikely that, accurate as the theory of the Peace Congress +may be with respect to those two varieties of +beings, among others, yet the backwoodsman might be +qualified to throw out some practical suggestions.</p> + +<p>“‘As the child born to a backwoodsman must in turn +lead his father’s life—a life which, as related to humanity, +is related mainly to Indians—it is thought best +not to mince matters, out of delicacy; but to tell the boy +pretty plainly what an Indian is, and what he must expect +from him. For however charitable it may be to +view Indians as members of the Society of Friends, yet +to affirm them such to one ignorant of Indians, whose +lonely path lies a long way through their lands, this, in +the event, might prove not only injudicious but cruel. +At least something of this kind would seem the maxim +upon which <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'backswood'.">backwoods</ins>’ education is based. Accordingly, +if in youth the backwoodsman incline to knowledge, +as is generally the case, he hears little from his +schoolmasters, the old chroniclers of the forest, but histories +of Indian lying, Indian theft, Indian double-dealing, +Indian fraud and perfidy, Indian want of +conscience, Indian blood-thirstiness, Indian diabolism—histories +which, though of wild woods, are almost as +full of things unangelic as the Newgate Calendar or the +Annals of Europe. In these Indian narratives and traditions +the lad is thoroughly grounded. “As the twig +is bent the tree’s inclined.” The instinct of antipathy +against an Indian grows in the backwoodsman with the +sense of good and bad, right and wrong. In one breath +he learns that a brother is to be loved, and an Indian to +be hated.</p> + +<p>“‘Such are the facts,’ the judge would say, ‘upon +which, if one seek to moralize, he must do so with an +eye to them. It is terrible that one creature should so +regard another, should make it conscience to abhor an +entire race. It is terrible; but is it surprising? +Surprising, that one should hate a race which he believes to +be red from a cause akin to that which makes some tribes +of garden insects green? A race whose name is upon +the frontier a <i>memento mori</i>; painted to him in every evil +light; now a horse-thief like those in Moyamensing; +now an assassin like a New York rowdy; now a treaty-breaker +like an Austrian; now a Palmer with poisoned +arrows; now a judicial murderer and Jeffries, after a +fierce farce of trial condemning his victim to bloody +death; or a Jew with hospitable speeches cozening +some fainting stranger into ambuscade, there to burk +him, and account it a deed grateful to Manitou, his god.</p> + +<p>“‘Still, all this is less advanced as truths of the Indians +than as examples of the backwoodsman’s impression of +them—in which the charitable may think he does them +some injustice. Certain it is, the Indians themselves +think so; quite unanimously, too. The Indians, in +deed, protest against the backwoodsman’s view of +them; and some think that one cause of their returning +his antipathy so sincerely as they do, is their moral indignation +at being so libeled by him, as they really believe +and say. But whether, on this or any point, the +Indians should be permitted to testify for themselves, +to the exclusion of other testimony, is a question that +may be left to the Supreme Court. At any rate, it has +been observed that when an Indian becomes a genuine +proselyte to Christianity (such cases, however, not being +very many; though, indeed, entire tribes are sometimes +nominally brought to the true light,) he will not in that +case conceal his enlightened conviction, that his race’s +portion by nature is total depravity; and, in that way, +as much as admits that the backwoodsman’s worst idea +of it is not very far from true; while, on the other hand, +those red men who are the greatest sticklers for the +theory of Indian virtue, and Indian loving-kindness, are +sometimes the arrantest horse-thieves and tomahawkers +among them. So, at least, avers the backwoodsman. +And though, knowing the Indian nature, as he thinks he +does, he fancies he is not ignorant that an Indian may +in some points deceive himself almost as effectually as in +bush-tactics he can another, yet his theory and his practice +as above contrasted seem to involve an inconsistency +so extreme, that the backwoodsman only accounts for it +on the supposition that when a tomahawking red-man +advances the notion of the benignity of the red race, +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'it it'.">it is</ins> but part and parcel with that subtle strategy which +he finds so useful in war, in hunting, and the general +conduct of life.’</p> + +<p>“In further explanation of that deep abhorrence with +which the backwoodsman regards the savage, the judge +used to think it might perhaps a little help, to consider +what kind of stimulus to it is furnished in those forest +histories and traditions before spoken of. In which behalf, +he would tell the story of the little colony of +Wrights and Weavers, originally seven cousins from Virginia, +who, after successive removals with their families, +at last established themselves near the southern frontier +of the Bloody Ground, Kentucky: ‘They were strong, +brave men; but, unlike many of the pioneers in those +days, theirs was no love of conflict for conflict’s sake. +Step by step they had been lured to their lonely resting-place +by the ever-beckoning seductions of a fertile and +virgin land, with a singular exemption, during the march, +from Indian molestation. But clearings made and +houses built, the bright shield was soon to turn its other +side. After repeated persecutions and eventual hostilities, +forced on them by a dwindled tribe in their +neighborhood—persecutions resulting in loss of crops and +cattle; hostilities in which they lost two of their number, +illy to be spared, besides others getting painful +wounds—the five remaining cousins made, with some +serious concessions, a kind of treaty with Mocmohoc, +the chief—being to this induced by the harryings of +the enemy, leaving them no peace. But they were +further prompted, indeed, first incited, by the suddenly +changed ways of Mocmohoc, who, though hitherto +deemed a savage almost perfidious as Caesar Borgia, yet +now put on a seeming the reverse of this, engaging to +bury the hatchet, smoke the pipe, and be friends forever; +not friends in the mere sense of renouncing +enmity, but in the sense of kindliness, active and familiar.</p> + +<p>“‘But what the chief now seemed, did not wholly +blind them to what the chief had been; so that, though +in no small degree influenced by his change of bearing, +they still distrusted him enough to covenant with him, +among other articles on their side, that though friendly +visits should be exchanged between the wigwams and +the cabins, yet the five cousins should never, on any +account, be expected to enter the chief’s lodge together. +The intention was, though they reserved it, that if ever, +under the guise of amity, the chief should mean them +mischief, and effect it, it should be but partially; so that +some of the five might survive, not only for their families’ +sake, but also for retribution’s. Nevertheless, Mocmohoc +did, upon a time, with such fine art and pleasing +carriage win their confidence, that he brought them +all together to a feast of bear’s meat, and there, by stratagem, +ended them. Years after, over their calcined bones +and those of all their families, the chief, reproached for +his treachery by a proud hunter whom he had made captive, +jeered out, “Treachery? pale face! ’Twas they +who broke their covenant first, in coming all together; +they that broke it first, in trusting Mocmohoc.”’</p> + +<p>“At this point the judge would pause, and lifting his +hand, and rolling his eyes, exclaim in a solemn enough +voice, ‘Circling wiles and bloody lusts. The acuteness +and genius of the chief but make him the more atrocious.’</p> + +<p>“After another pause, he would begin an imaginary +kind of dialogue between a backwoodsman and a questioner:</p> + +<p>“‘But are all Indians like Mocmohoc?—Not all have +proved such; but in the least harmful may lie his germ. +There is an Indian nature. “Indian blood is in me,” is the +half-breed’s threat.—But are not some Indians kind?—Yes, +but kind Indians are mostly lazy, and reputed +simple—at all events, are seldom chiefs; chiefs among the +red men being taken from the active, and those accounted +wise. Hence, with small promotion, kind Indians +have but proportionate influence. And kind +Indians may be forced to do unkind biddings. So “beware +the Indian, kind or unkind,” said Daniel Boone, who +lost his sons by them.—But, have all you backwoodsmen +been some way victimized by Indians?—No.—Well, +and in certain cases may not at least some few of you be +favored by them?—Yes, but scarce one among us so +self-important, or so selfish-minded, as to hold his personal +exemption from Indian outrage such a set-off +against the contrary experience of so many others, as +that he must needs, in a general way, think well of Indians; +or, if he do, an arrow in his flank might suggest a +pertinent doubt.</p> + +<p>“‘In short,’ according to the judge, ‘if we at all credit +the backwoodsman, his feeling against Indians, to be +taken aright, must be considered as being not so much +on his own account as on others’, or jointly on both +accounts. True it is, scarce a family he knows but some +member of it, or connection, has been by Indians maimed +or scalped. What avails, then, that some one Indian, or +some two or three, treat a backwoodsman friendly-like? +He fears me, he thinks. Take my rifle from me, give +him motive, and what will come? Or if not so, how +know I what involuntary preparations may be going +on in him for things as unbeknown in present time to +him as me—a sort of chemical preparation in the soul +for malice, as chemical preparation in the body for +malady.’</p> + +<p>“Not that the backwoodsman ever used those words, +you see, but the judge found him expression for his +meaning. And this point he would conclude with saying, +that, ‘what is called a “friendly Indian” is a very rare +sort of creature; and well it was so, for no ruthlessness +exceeds that of a “friendly Indian” turned enemy. +A coward friend, he makes a valiant foe.</p> + +<p>“‘But, thus far the passion in question has been +viewed in a general way as that of a community. When +to his due share of this the backwoodsman adds his private +passion, we have then the stock out of which is +formed, if formed at all, the Indian-hater <i>par excellence</i>.’</p> + +<p>“The Indian-hater <i>par excellence</i> the judge defined to +be one ‘who, having with his mother’s milk drank in +small love for red men, in youth or early manhood, ere +the sensibilities become osseous, receives at their hand +some signal outrage, or, which in effect is much the same, +some of his kin have, or some friend. Now, nature +all around him by her solitudes wooing or bidding him +muse upon this matter, he accordingly does so, till the +thought develops such attraction, that much as straggling +vapors troop from all sides to a storm-cloud, so +straggling thoughts of other outrages troop to the nucleus +thought, assimilate with it, and swell it. At last, +taking counsel with the elements, he comes to his resolution. +An intenser Hannibal, he makes a vow, the hate +of which is a vortex from whose suction scarce the +remotest chip of the guilty race may reasonably feel +secure. Next, he declares himself and settles his temporal +affairs. With the solemnity of a Spaniard turned +monk, he takes leave of his kin; or rather, these leave-takings +have something of the still more impressive +finality of death-bed adieus. Last, he commits himself +to the forest primeval; there, so long as life shall be his, +to act upon a calm, cloistered scheme of strategical, implacable, +and lonesome vengeance. Ever on the noiseless +trail; cool, collected, patient; less seen than felt; +snuffing, smelling—a Leather-stocking Nemesis. In the +settlements he will not be seen again; in eyes of old +companions tears may start at some chance thing that +speaks of him; but they never look for him, nor call; +they know he will not come. Suns and seasons fleet; +the tiger-lily blows and falls; babes are born and leap in +their mothers’ arms; but, the Indian-hater is good as +gone to his long home, and “Terror” is his epitaph.’</p> + +<p>“Here the judge, not unaffected, would pause again, +but presently resume: ‘How evident that in strict speech +there can be no biography of an Indian-hater <i>par excellence</i>, +any more than one of a sword-fish, or other deep-sea +denizen; or, which is still less imaginable, one of a +dead man. The career of the Indian-hater <i>par excellence</i> +has the impenetrability of the fate of a lost steamer. +Doubtless, events, terrible ones, have happened, must +have happened; but the powers that be in nature have +taken order that they shall never become news.</p> + +<p>“‘But, luckily for the curious, there is a species of diluted +Indian-hater, one whose heart proves not so steely +as his brain. Soft enticements of domestic life too, +often draw him from the ascetic trail; a monk who +apostatizes to the world at times. Like a mariner, too, +though much abroad, he may have a wife and family in +some green harbor which he does not forget. It is with +him as with the Papist converts in Senegal; fasting and +mortification prove hard to bear.’</p> + +<p>“The judge, with his usual judgment, always thought +that the intense solitude to which the Indian-hater +consigns himself, has, by its overawing influence, no little +to do with relaxing his vow. He would relate instances +where, after some months’ lonely scoutings, the +Indian-hater is suddenly seized with a sort of calenture; +hurries openly towards the first smoke, though he knows +it is an Indian’s, announces himself as a lost hunter, +gives the savage his rifle, throws himself upon his charity, +embraces him with much affection, imploring the +privilege of living a while in his sweet companionship. +What is too often the sequel of so distempered a procedure +may be best known by those who best know the +Indian. Upon the whole, the judge, by two and thirty +good and sufficient reasons, would maintain that there +was no known vocation whose consistent following calls +for such self-containings as that of the Indian-hater <i>par +excellence</i>. In the highest view, he considered such a soul +one peeping out but once an age.</p> + +<p>“For the diluted Indian-hater, although the vacations +he permits himself impair the keeping of the character, +yet, it should not be overlooked that this is the man +who, by his very infirmity, enables us to form surmises, +however inadequate, of what Indian-hating in its perfection +is.”</p> + +<p>“One moment,” gently interrupted the cosmopolitan +here, “and let me refill my calumet.”</p> + +<p>Which being done, the other proceeded:—</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>SOME ACCOUNT OF A MAN OF QUESTIONABLE MORALITY, BUT WHO, +NEVERTHELESS, WOULD SEEM ENTITLED TO THE ESTEEM OF THAT EMINENT +ENGLISH MORALIST WHO SAID HE LIKED A GOOD HATER.</span></h2> + +<p>“Coming to mention the man to whose story all thus +far said was but the introduction, the judge, who, like +you, was a great smoker, would insist upon all the company +taking cigars, and then lighting a fresh one himself, +rise in his place, and, with the solemnest voice, say— +‘Gentlemen, let us smoke to the memory of Colonel John +Moredock;’ when, after several whiffs taken standing in +deep silence and deeper reverie, he would resume his +seat and his discourse, something in these words:</p> + +<p>“‘Though Colonel John Moredock was not an Indian-hater +<i>par excellence</i>, he yet cherished a kind of sentiment +towards the red man, and in that degree, and so acted +out his sentiment as sufficiently to merit the tribute +just rendered to his memory.</p> + +<p>“‘John Moredock was the son of a woman married +thrice, and thrice widowed by a tomahawk. The three +successive husbands of this woman had been pioneers, +and with them she had wandered from wilderness to +wilderness, always on the frontier. With nine children, +she at last found herself at a little clearing, afterwards +Vincennes. There she joined a company about to remove +to the new country of Illinois. On the eastern +side of Illinois there were then no settlements; but on +the west side, the shore of the Mississippi, there were, +near the mouth of the Kaskaskia, some old hamlets +of French. To the vicinity of those hamlets, very innocent +and pleasant places, a new Arcadia, Mrs. Moredock’s +party was destined; for thereabouts, among the vines, +they meant to settle. They embarked upon the Wabash +in boats, proposing descending that stream into the +Ohio, and the Ohio into the Mississippi, and so, northwards, +towards the point to be reached. All went well +till they made the rock of the Grand Tower on the Mississippi, +where they had to land and drag their boats +round a point swept by a strong current. Here a party +of Indians, lying in wait, rushed out and murdered +nearly all of them. The widow was among the victims +with her children, John excepted, who, some fifty miles +distant, was following with a second party.</p> + +<p>“He was just entering upon manhood, when thus left +in nature sole survivor of his race. Other youngsters +might have turned mourners; he turned avenger. +His nerves were electric wires—sensitive, but steel. He +was one who, from self-possession, could be made neither +to flush nor pale. It is said that when the tidings +were brought him, he was ashore sitting beneath a hemlock +eating his dinner of venison—and as the tidings +were told him, after the first start he kept on eating, +but slowly and deliberately, chewing the wild news +with the wild meat, as if both together, turned to chyle, +together should sinew him to his intent. From that meal +he rose an Indian-hater. He rose; got his arms, prevailed +upon some comrades to join him, and without delay +started to discover who were the actual transgressors. +They proved to belong to a band of twenty renegades +from various tribes, outlaws even among Indians, and +who had formed themselves into a maurauding crew. +No opportunity for action being at the time presented, +he dismissed his friends; told them to go on, thanking +them, and saying he would ask their aid at some future +day. For upwards of a year, alone in the wilds, he +watched the crew. Once, what he thought a favorable +chance having occurred—it being midwinter, and the +savages encamped, apparently to remain so—he anew +mustered his friends, and marched against them; but, +getting wind of his coming, the enemy fled, and in +such panic that everything was left behind but their +weapons. During the winter, much the same thing +happened upon two subsequent occasions. The next +year he sought them at the head of a party pledged to +serve him for forty days. At last the hour came. It +was on the shore of the Mississippi. From their covert, +Moredock and his men dimly descried the gang of Cains +in the red dusk of evening, paddling over to a jungled +island in mid-stream, there the more securely to lodge; +for Moredock’s retributive spirit in the wilderness spoke +ever to their trepidations now, like the voice calling +through the garden. Waiting until dead of night, the +whites swam the river, towing after them a raft laden +with their arms. On landing, Moredock cut the fastenings +of the enemy’s canoes, and turned them, with his +own raft, adrift; resolved that there should be neither +escape for the Indians, nor safety, except in victory, for +the whites. Victorious the whites were; but three of +the Indians saved themselves by taking to the stream. +Moredock’s band lost not a man.</p> + +<p>“‘Three of the murderers survived. He knew their +names and persons. In the course of three years each +successively fell by his own hand. All were now dead. +But this did not suffice. He made no avowal, but to +kill Indians had become his passion. As an athlete, he +had few equals; as a shot, none; in single combat, not +to be beaten. Master of that woodland-cunning enabling +the adept to subsist where the tyro would perish, and +expert in all those arts by which an enemy is pursued +for weeks, perhaps months, without once suspecting it, +he kept to the forest. The solitary Indian that met him, +died. When a murder was descried, he would either +secretly pursue their track for some chance to strike at +least one blow; or if, while thus engaged, he himself +was discovered, he would elude them by superior skill.</p> + +<p>“‘Many years he spent thus; and though after a time +he was, in a degree, restored to the ordinary life of the +region and period, yet it is believed that John Moredock +never let pass an opportunity of quenching an Indian. +Sins of commission in that kind may have been his, but +none of omission.</p> + +<p>“‘It were to err to suppose,’ the judge would say, ‘that +this gentleman was naturally ferocious, or peculiarly +possessed of those qualities, which, unhelped by provocation +of events, tend to withdraw man from social life. +On the contrary, Moredock was an example of something +apparently self-contradicting, certainly curious, but, at +the same time, undeniable: namely, that nearly all Indian-haters +have at bottom loving hearts; at any rate, +hearts, if anything, more generous than the average. +Certain it is, that, to the degree in which he mingled in +the life of the settlements, Moredock showed himself +not without humane feelings. No cold husband or colder +father, he; and, though often and long away from his +household, bore its needs in mind, and provided for them. +He could be very convivial; told a good story (though +never of his more private exploits), and sung a capital +song. Hospitable, not backward to help a neighbor; by +report, benevolent, as retributive, in secret; while, in a +general manner, though sometimes grave—as is not unusual +with men of his complexion, a sultry and tragical +brown—yet with nobody, Indians excepted, otherwise +than courteous in a manly fashion; a moccasined +gentleman, admired and loved. In fact, no one more +popular, as an incident to follow may prove.</p> + +<p>“‘His bravery, whether in Indian fight or any other, +was unquestionable. An officer in the ranging service +during the war of 1812, he acquitted himself with more +than credit. Of his soldierly character, this anecdote is +told: Not long after Hull’s dubious surrender at Detroit, +Moredock with some of his rangers rode up at night to a +log-house, there to rest till morning. The horses being +attended to, supper over, and sleeping-places assigned +the troop, the host showed the colonel his best bed, +not on the ground like the rest, but a bed that stood on +legs. But out of delicacy, the guest declined to monopolize +it, or, indeed, to occupy it at all; when, to increase +the inducement, as the host thought, he was told that a +general officer had once slept in that bed. “Who, pray?” +asked the colonel. “General Hull.” “Then you must +not take offense,” said the colonel, buttoning up his coat, +“but, really, no coward’s bed, for me, however comfortable.” +Accordingly he took up with valor’s bed—a cold +one on the ground.</p> + +<p>“‘At one time the colonel was a member of the territorial +council of Illinois, and at the formation of the +state government, was pressed to become candidate for +governor, but begged to be excused. And, though he +declined to give his reasons for declining, yet by those +who best knew him the cause was not wholly unsurmised. +In his official capacity he might be called upon +to enter into friendly treaties with Indian tribes, a thing +not to be thought of. And even did no such contingecy +arise, yet he felt there would be an impropriety in +the Governor of Illinois stealing out now and then, +during a recess of the legislative bodies, for a few days’ +shooting at human beings, within the limits of his paternal +chief-magistracy. If the governorship offered large +honors, from Moredock it demanded larger sacrifices. +These were incompatibles. In short, he was not unaware +that to be a consistent Indian-hater involves the +renunciation of ambition, with its objects—the pomps +and glories of the world; and since religion, pronouncing +such things vanities, accounts it merit to renounce them, +therefore, so far as this goes, Indian-hating, whatever +may be thought of it in other respects, may be regarded +as not wholly without the efficacy of a devout sentiment.’”</p> + +<p>Here the narrator paused. Then, after his long and +irksome sitting, started to his feet, and regulating his +disordered shirt-frill, and at the same time adjustingly +shaking his legs down in his rumpled pantaloons, concluded: +“There, I have done; having given you, not +my story, mind, or my thoughts, but another’s. And +now, for your friend Coonskins, I doubt not, that, if the +judge were here, he would pronounce him a sort of +comprehensive Colonel Moredock, who, too much spreading +his passion, shallows it.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>MOOT POINTS TOUCHING THE LATE COLONEL JOHN MOREDOCK.</span></h2> + +<p>“Charity, charity!” exclaimed the cosmopolitan, +“never a sound judgment without charity. When man +judges man, charity is less a bounty from our mercy +than just allowance for the insensible lee-way of human +fallibility. God forbid that my eccentric friend should +be what you hint. You do not know him, or but imperfectly. +His outside deceived you; at first it came +near deceiving even me. But I seized a chance, when, +owing to indignation against some wrong, he laid himself +a little open; I seized that lucky chance, I say, to +inspect his heart, and found it an inviting oyster in a forbidding +shell. His outside is but put on. Ashamed of his +own goodness, he treats mankind as those strange old +uncles in romances do their nephews—snapping at them +all the time and yet loving them as the apple of their +eye.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my words with him were few. Perhaps he is +not what I took him for. Yes, for aught I know, you +may be right.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to hear it. Charity, like poetry, should be +cultivated, if only for its being graceful. And now, since +you have renounced your notion, I should be happy, +would you, so to speak, renounce your story, too. That, +story strikes me with even more incredulity than wonder. +To me some parts don’t hang together. If the +man of hate, how could John Moredock be also the +man of love? Either his lone campaigns are fabulous +as Hercules’; or else, those being true, what was +thrown in about his geniality is but garnish. In short, +if ever there was such a man as Moredock, he, in my +way of thinking, was either misanthrope or nothing; +and his misanthropy the more intense from being focused +on one race of men. Though, like suicide, man-hatred +would seem peculiarly a Roman and a Grecian +passion—that is, Pagan; yet, the annals of neither Rome +nor Greece can produce the equal in man-hatred of +Colonel Moredock, as the judge and you have painted +him. As for this Indian-hating in general, I can only +say of it what Dr. Johnson said of the alleged Lisbon +earthquake: ‘Sir, I don’t believe it.’”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t believe it? Why not? Clashed with any +little prejudice of his?”</p> + +<p>“Doctor Johnson had no prejudice; but, like a certain +other person,” with an ingenuous smile, “he had +sensibilities, and those were pained.”</p> + +<p>“Dr. Johnson was a good Christian, wasn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“He was.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose he had been something else.”</p> + +<p>“Then small incredulity as to the alleged earthquake.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose he had been also a misanthrope?”</p> + +<p>“Then small incredulity as to the robberies and murders +alleged to have been perpetrated under the pall of +smoke and ashes. The infidels of the time were quick +to credit those reports and worse. So true is it that, +while religion, contrary to the common notion, implies, +in certain cases, a spirit of slow reserve as to assent, +infidelity, which claims to despise credulity, is sometimes +swift to it.”</p> + +<p>“You rather jumble together misanthropy and infidelity.”</p> + +<p>“I do not jumble them; they are coordinates. For +misanthropy, springing from the same root with disbelief +of religion, is twin with that. It springs from +the same root, I say; for, set aside materialism, and +what is an atheist, but one who does not, or will not, +see in the universe a ruling principle of love; and +what a misanthrope, but one who does not, or will +not, see in man a ruling principle of kindness? Don’t +you see? In either case the vice consists in a want of +confidence.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of a sensation is misanthropy?”</p> + +<p>“Might as well ask me what sort of sensation is +hydrophobia. Don’t know; never had it. But I have +often wondered what it can be like. Can a misanthrope +feel warm, I ask myself; take ease? be companionable +with himself? Can a misanthrope smoke +a cigar and muse? How fares he in solitude? Has +the misanthrope such a thing as an appetite? Shall a +peach refresh him? The effervescence of champagne, +with what eye does he behold it? Is summer good to +him? Of long winters how much can he sleep? What +are his dreams? How feels he, and what does he, when +suddenly awakened, alone, at dead of night, by fusilades +of thunder?”</p> + +<p>“Like you,” said the stranger, “I can’t understand the +misanthrope. So far as my experience goes, either mankind +is worthy one’s best love, or else I have been lucky. +Never has it been my lot to have been wronged, though +but in the smallest degree. Cheating, backbiting, superciliousness, +disdain, hard-heartedness, and all that +brood, I know but by report. Cold regards tossed over +the sinister shoulder of a former friend, ingratitude in +a beneficiary, treachery in a confidant—such things may +be; but I must take somebody’s word for it. Now the +bridge that has carried me so well over, shall I not +praise it?”</p> + +<p>“Ingratitude to the worthy bridge not to do so. +Man is a noble fellow, and in an age of satirists, I am +not displeased to find one who has confidence in him, +and bravely stands up for him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I always speak a good word for man; and what +is more, am always ready to do a good deed for +him.”</p> + +<p>“You are a man after my own heart,” responded the +cosmopolitan, with a candor which lost nothing by its +calmness. “Indeed,” he added, “our sentiments agree +so, that were they written in a book, whose was whose, +few but the nicest critics might determine.”</p> + +<p>“Since we are thus joined in mind,” said the stranger, +“why not be joined in hand?”</p> + +<p>“My hand is always at the service of virtue,” frankly +extending it to him as to virtue personified.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said the stranger, cordially retaining his +hand, “you know our fashion here at the West. It may +be a little low, but it is kind. Briefly, we being newly-made +friends must drink together. What say you?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you; but indeed, you must excuse me.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because, to tell the truth, I have to-day met so +many old friends, all free-hearted, convivial gentlemen, +that really, really, though for the present I succeed in +mastering it, I am at bottom almost in the condition of +a sailor who, stepping ashore after a long voyage, ere +night reels with loving welcomes, his head of less capacity +than his heart.”</p> + +<p>At the allusion to old friends, the stranger’s countenance +a little fell, as a jealous lover’s might at hearing +from his sweetheart of former ones. But rallying, he +said: “No doubt they treated you to something strong; +but wine—surely, that gentle creature, wine; come, let +us have a little gentle wine at one of these little tables +here. Come, come.” Then essaying to roll about like +a full pipe in the sea, sang in a voice which had had more +of good-fellowship, had there been less of a latent squeak +to it:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Let us drink of the wine of the vine benign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sparkles warm in Zansovine.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The cosmopolitan, with longing eye upon him, stood +as sorely tempted and wavering a moment; then, abruptly +stepping towards him, with a look of dissolved surrender, +said: “When mermaid songs move figure-heads, +then may glory, gold, and women try their blandishments +on me. But a good fellow, singing a good song, +he woos forth my every spike, so that my whole hull, +like a ship’s, sailing by a magnetic rock, caves in with +acquiescence. Enough: when one has a heart of a certain +sort, it is in vain trying to be resolute.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE BOON COMPANIONS.</span></h2> + +<p>The wine, port, being called for, and the two seated +at the little table, a natural pause of convivial expectancy +ensued; the stranger’s eye turned towards the bar +near by, watching the red-cheeked, white-aproned man +there, blithely dusting the bottle, and invitingly arranging +the salver and glasses; when, with a sudden impulse +turning round his head towards his companion, he said, +“Ours is friendship at first sight, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It is,” was the placidly pleased reply: “and the +same may be said of friendship at first sight as of love +at first sight: it is the only true one, the only noble +one. It bespeaks confidence. Who would go sounding +his way into love or friendship, like a strange ship by +night, into an enemy’s harbor?”</p> + +<p>“Right. Boldly in before the wind. Agreeable, how +we always agree. By-the-way, though but a formality, +friends should know each other’s names. What is yours, +pray?”</p> + +<p>“Francis Goodman. But those who love me, call me +Frank. And yours?”</p> + +<p>“Charles Arnold Noble. But do you call me +Charlie.”</p> + +<p>“I will, Charlie; nothing like preserving in manhood +the fraternal familiarities of youth. It proves the heart +a rosy boy to the last.”</p> + +<p>“My sentiments again. Ah!”</p> + +<p>It was a smiling waiter, with the smiling bottle, the +cork drawn; a common quart bottle, but for the occasion +fitted at bottom into a little bark basket, braided +with porcupine quills, gayly tinted in the Indian fashion. +This being set before the entertainer, he regarded it +with affectionate interest, but seemed not to understand, +or else to pretend not to, a handsome red label pasted +on the bottle, bearing the capital letters, P. W.</p> + +<p>“P. W.,” said he at last, perplexedly eying the pleasing +poser, “now what does P. W. mean?”</p> + +<p>“Shouldn’t wonder,” said the cosmopolitan gravely, +“if it stood for port wine. You called for port wine, +didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Why so it is, so it is!”</p> + +<p>“I find some little mysteries not very hard to clear +up,” said the other, quietly crossing his legs.</p> + +<p>This commonplace seemed to escape the stranger’s +hearing, for, full of his bottle, he now rubbed his somewhat +sallow hands over it, and with a strange kind of +cackle, meant to be a chirrup, cried: “Good wine, good +wine; is it not the peculiar bond of good feeling?” +Then brimming both glasses, pushed one over, saying, +with what seemed intended for an air of fine disdain: +“Ill betide those gloomy skeptics who maintain that +now-a-days pure wine is unpurchasable; that almost +every variety on sale is less the vintage of vineyards +than laboratories; that most bar-keepers are but a set +of male Brinvilliarses, with complaisant arts practicing +against the lives of their best friends, their customers.”</p> + +<p>A shade passed over the cosmopolitan. After a few +minutes’ down-cast musing, he lifted his eyes and said: +“I have long thought, my dear Charlie, that the spirit +in which wine is regarded by too many in these days is +one of the most painful examples of want of confidence. +Look at these glasses. He who could mistrust poison +in this wine would mistrust consumption in Hebe’s +cheek. While, as for suspicions against the dealers in +wine and sellers of it, those who cherish such suspicions +can have but limited trust in the human heart. Each +human heart they must think to be much like each bottle +of port, not such port as this, but such port as they +hold to. Strange traducers, who see good faith in nothing, +however sacred. Not medicines, not the wine in +sacraments, has escaped them. The doctor with his +phial, and the priest with his chalice, they deem equally +the unconscious dispensers of bogus cordials to the +dying.”</p> + +<p>“Dreadful!”</p> + +<p>“Dreadful indeed,” said the cosmopolitan solemnly. +“These distrusters stab at the very soul of confidence. +If this wine,” impressively holding up his full glass, “if +this wine with its bright promise be not true, how shall +man be, whose promise can be no brighter? But if wine +be false, while men are true, whither shall fly convivial +geniality? To think of sincerely-genial souls drinking +each other’s health at unawares in perfidious and murderous +drugs!”</p> + +<p>“Horrible!”</p> + +<p>“Much too much so to be true, Charlie. Let us forget +it. Come, you are my entertainer on this occasion, +and yet you don’t pledge me. I have been waiting for +it.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon, pardon,” half confusedly and half ostentatiously +lifting his glass. “I pledge you, Frank, with +my whole heart, believe me,” taking a draught too decorous +to be large, but which, small though it was, was +followed by a slight involuntary wryness to the mouth.</p> + +<p>“And I return you the pledge, Charlie, heart-warm +as it came to me, and honest as this wine I drink it in,” +reciprocated the cosmopolitan with princely kindliness in +his gesture, taking a generous swallow, concluding in a +smack, which, though audible, was not so much so as to +be unpleasing.</p> + +<p>“Talking of alleged spuriousness of wines,” said he, +tranquilly setting down his glass, and then sloping back +his head and with friendly fixedness eying the wine, +“perhaps the strangest part of those allegings is, that +there is, as claimed, a kind of man who, while convinced +that on this continent most wines are shams, yet still +drinks away at them; accounting wine so fine a thing, +that even the sham article is better than none at all. And +if the temperance people urge that, by this course, he +will sooner or later be undermined in health, he answers, +‘And do you think I don’t know that? But health +without cheer I hold a bore; and cheer, even of the +spurious sort, has its price, which I am willing to +pay.’”</p> + +<p>“Such a man, Frank, must have a disposition ungovernably +bacchanalian.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if such a man there be, which I don’t credit. +It is a fable, but a fable from which I once heard a person +of less genius than grotesqueness draw a moral even +more extravagant than the fable itself. He said that it +illustrated, as in a parable, how that a man of a disposition +ungovernably good-natured might still familiarly +associate with men, though, at the same time, he believed +the greater part of men false-hearted—accounting society +so sweet a thing that even the spurious sort was +better than none at all. And if the Rochefoucaultites +urge that, by this course, he will sooner or later be undermined +in security, he answers, ‘And do you think I +don’t know that? But security without society I hold +a bore; and society, even of the spurious sort, has its +price, which I am willing to pay.’”</p> + +<p>“A most singular theory,” said the stranger with a +slight fidget, eying his companion with some inquisitiveness, +“indeed, Frank, a most slanderous thought,” he +exclaimed in sudden heat and with an involuntary look +almost of being personally aggrieved.</p> + +<p>“In one sense it merits all you say, and more,” rejoined +the other with wonted mildness, “but, for a kind +of drollery in it, charity might, perhaps, overlook something +of the wickedness. Humor is, in fact, so blessed a +thing, that even in the least virtuous product of the +human mind, if there can be found but nine good jokes, +some philosophers are clement enough to affirm that +those nine good jokes should redeem all the wicked +thoughts, though plenty as the populace of Sodom. At +any rate, this same humor has something, there is no +telling what, of beneficence in it, it is such a catholicon +and charm—nearly all men agreeing in relishing it, +though they may agree in little else—and in its way it +undeniably does such a deal of familiar good in the +world, that no wonder it is almost a proverb, that a man +of humor, a man capable of a good loud laugh—seem +how he may in other things—can hardly be a heartless +scamp.”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the other, pointing to the +figure of a pale pauper-boy on the deck below, whose +pitiableness was touched, as it were, with ludicrousness +by a pair of monstrous boots, apparently some mason’s +discarded ones, cracked with drouth, half eaten by lime, +and curled up about the toe like a bassoon. “Look—ha, +ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said the other, with what seemed quiet appreciation, +but of a kind expressing an eye to the grotesque, +without blindness to what in this case accompanied +it, “I see; and the way in which it moves you, +Charlie, comes in very apropos to point the proverb I +was speaking of. Indeed, had you intended this effect, +it could not have been more so. For who that heard +that laugh, but would as naturally argue from it a +sound heart as sound lungs? True, it is said that a +man may smile, and smile, and smile, and be a villain; +but it is not said that a man may laugh, and laugh, and +laugh, and be one, is it, Charlie?”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha!—no no, no no.”</p> + +<p>“Why Charlie, your explosions illustrate my remarks +almost as aptly as the chemist’s imitation volcano did +his lectures. But even if experience did not sanction +the proverb, that a good laugher cannot be a bad man, I +should yet feel bound in confidence to believe it, since +it is a saying current among the people, and I doubt +not originated among them, and hence <i>must</i> be true; for +the voice of the people is the voice of truth. Don’t +you think so?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I do. If Truth don’t speak through the +people, it never speaks at all; so I heard one say.”</p> + +<p>“A true saying. But we stray. The popular notion +of humor, considered as index to the heart, would seem +curiously confirmed by Aristotle—I think, in his ‘Politics,’ +(a work, by-the-by, which, however it may be +viewed upon the whole, yet, from the tenor of certain +sections, should not, without precaution, be placed in +the hands of youth)—who remarks that the least lovable +men in history seem to have had for humor not only a +disrelish, but a hatred; and this, in some cases, along +with an extraordinary dry taste for practical punning. +I remember it is related of Phalaris, the capricious +tyrant of Sicily, that he once caused a poor fellow to be +beheaded on a horse-block, for no other cause than having +a horse-laugh.”</p> + +<p>“Funny Phalaris!”</p> + +<p>“Cruel Phalaris!”</p> + +<p>As after fire-crackers, there was a pause, both looking +downward on the table as if mutually struck by the +contrast of exclamations, and pondering upon its significance, +if any. So, at least, it seemed; but on one side +it might have been otherwise: for presently glancing up, +the cosmopolitan said: “In the instance of the moral, +drolly cynic, drawn from the queer bacchanalian fellow +we were speaking of, who had his reasons for still drinking +spurious wine, though knowing it to be such—there, +I say, we have an example of what is certainly a wicked +thought, but conceived in humor. I will now give you +one of a wicked thought conceived in wickedness. You +shall compare the two, and answer, whether in the one +case the sting is not neutralized by the humor, and +whether in the other the absence of humor does not +leave the sting free play. I once heard a wit, a mere +wit, mind, an irreligious Parisian wit, say, with regard +to the temperance movement, that none, to their personal +benefit, joined it sooner than niggards and knaves; +because, as he affirmed, the one by it saved money and +the other made money, as in ship-owners cutting off +the spirit ration without giving its equivalent, and +gamblers and all sorts of subtle tricksters sticking to +cold water, the better to keep a cool head for business.”</p> + +<p>“A wicked thought, indeed!” cried the stranger, +feelingly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” leaning over the table on his elbow and genially +gesturing at him with his forefinger: “yes, and, as +I said, you don’t remark the sting of it?”</p> + +<p>“I do, indeed. Most calumnious thought, Frank!”</p> + +<p>“No humor in it?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit!”</p> + +<p>“Well now, Charlie,” eying him with moist regard, +“let us drink. It appears to me you don’t drink +freely.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh—indeed, indeed—I am not backward there. +I protest, a freer drinker than friend Charlie you will +find nowhere,” with feverish zeal snatching his glass, +but only in the sequel to dally with it. “By-the-way, +Frank,” said he, perhaps, or perhaps not, to draw attention +from himself, “by-the-way, I saw a good thing +the other day; capital thing; a panegyric on the press, +It pleased me so, I got it by heart at two readings. It +is a kind of poetry, but in a form which stands in something +the same relation to blank verse which that does +to rhyme. A sort of free-and-easy chant with refrains +to it. Shall I recite it?”</p> + +<p>“Anything in praise of the press I shall be happy to +hear,” rejoined the cosmopolitan, “the more so,” he +gravely proceeded, “as of late I have observed in some +quarters a disposition to disparage the press.”</p> + +<p>“Disparage the press?”</p> + +<p>“Even so; some gloomy souls affirming that it is +proving with that great invention as with brandy or +eau-de-vie, which, upon its first discovery, was believed +by the doctors to be, as its French name implies, a panacea—a +notion which experience, it may be thought, +has not fully verified.”</p> + +<p>“You surprise me, Frank. Are there really those who +so decry the press? Tell me more. Their reasons.”</p> + +<p>“Reasons they have none, but affirmations they have +many; among other things affirming that, while under +dynastic despotisms, the press is to the people little but +an improvisatore, under popular ones it is too apt to be +their Jack Cade. In fine, these sour sages regard the +press in the light of a Colt’s revolver, pledged to no +cause but his in whose chance hands it may be; deeming +the one invention an improvement upon the pen, +much akin to what the other is upon the pistol; involving, +along with the multiplication of the barrel, no consecration +of the aim. The term ‘freedom of the press’ +they consider on a par with <i>freedom of Colt’s revolver</i>. +Hence, for truth and the right, they hold, to indulge +hopes from the one is little more sensible than for Kossuth +and Mazzini to indulge hopes from the other. +Heart-breaking views enough, you think; but their +refutation is in every true reformer’s contempt. Is it +not so?”</p> + +<p>“Without doubt. But go on, go on. I like to hear +you,” flatteringly brimming up his glass for him.</p> + +<p>“For one,” continued the cosmopolitan, grandly +swelling his chest, “I hold the press to be neither the +people’s improvisatore, nor Jack Cade; neither their +paid fool, nor conceited drudge. I think interest never +prevails with it over duty. The press still speaks for +truth though impaled, in the teeth of lies though intrenched. +Disdaining for it the poor name of cheap +diffuser of news, I claim for it the independent apostleship +of Advancer of Knowledge:—the iron Paul! +Paul, I say; for not only does the press advance knowledge, +but righteousness. In the press, as in the sun, +resides, my dear Charlie, a dedicated principle of beneficent +force and light. For the Satanic press, by its +coappearance with the apostolic, it is no more an aspersion +to that, than to the true sun is the coappearance +of the mock one. For all the baleful-looking parhelion, +god Apollo dispenses the day. In a word, Charlie, what +the sovereign of England is titularly, I hold the press to +be actually—Defender of the Faith!—defender of the +faith in the final triumph of truth over error, metaphysics +over superstition, theory over falsehood, machinery +over nature, and the good man over the bad. Such are +my views, which, if stated at some length, you, Charlie, +must pardon, for it is a theme upon which I cannot +speak with cold brevity. And now I am impatient for +your panegyric, which, I doubt not, will put mine to +the blush.”</p> + +<p>“It is rather in the blush-giving vein,” smiled the +other; “but such as it is, Frank, you shall have it.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me when you are about to begin,” said the +cosmopolitan, “for, when at public dinners the press is +toasted, I always drink the toast standing, and shall +stand while you pronounce the panegyric.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Frank; you may stand up now.”</p> + +<p>He accordingly did so, when the stranger likewise +rose, and uplifting the ruby wine-flask, began.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>OPENING WITH A POETICAL EULOGY OF THE PRESS AND CONTINUING +WITH TALK INSPIRED BY THE SAME.</span></h2> + +<p>“‘Praise be unto the press, not Faust’s, but Noah’s; +let us extol and magnify the press, the true press of +Noah, from which breaketh the true morning. Praise +be unto the press, not the black press but the red; +let us extol and magnify the press, the red press of Noah, +from which cometh inspiration. Ye pressmen of the +Rhineland and the Rhine, join in with all ye who tread +out the glad tidings on isle Madeira or Mitylene.—Who +giveth redness of eyes by making men long to tarry at +the fine print?—Praise be unto the press, the rosy press +of Noah, which giveth rosiness of hearts, by making men +long to tarry at the rosy wine.—Who hath babblings and +contentions? Who, without cause, inflicteth wounds? +Praise be unto the press, the kindly press of Noah, +which knitteth friends, which fuseth foes.—Who may be +bribed?—Who may be bound?—Praise be unto the press, +the free press of Noah, which will not lie for tyrants, +but make tyrants speak the truth.—Then praise be unto +the press, the frank old press of Noah; then let us +extol and magnify the press, the brave old press of Noah; +then let us with roses garland and enwreath the press, +the grand old press of Noah, from which flow streams of +knowledge which give man a bliss no more unreal than +his pain.’”</p> + +<p>“You deceived me,” smiled the cosmopolitan, as both +now resumed their seats; “you roguishly took advantage +of my simplicity; you archly played upon my enthusiasm. +But never mind; the offense, if any, was so charming, +I almost wish you would offend again. As for certain +poetic left-handers in your panegyric, those I cheerfully +concede to the indefinite privileges of the poet. Upon +the whole, it was quite in the lyric style—a style I always +admire on account of that spirit of Sibyllic confidence +and assurance which is, perhaps, its prime ingredient. +But come,” glancing at his companion’s glass, “for a +lyrist, you let the bottle stay with you too long.”</p> + +<p>“The lyre and the vine forever!” cried the other in +his rapture, or what seemed such, heedless of the hint, +“the vine, the vine! is it not the most graceful and +bounteous of all growths? And, by its being such, is +not something meant—divinely meant? As I live, a +vine, a Catawba vine, shall be planted on my grave!”</p> + +<p>“A genial thought; but your glass there.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh,” taking a moderate sip, “but you, why don’t +you drink?”</p> + +<p>“You have forgotten, my dear Charlie, what I told +you of my previous convivialities to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” cried the other, now in manner quite abandoned +to the lyric mood, not without contrast to the easy +sociability of his companion. “Oh, one can’t drink too +much of good old wine—the genuine, mellow old port. +Pooh, pooh! drink away.”</p> + +<p>“Then keep me company.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” with a flourish, taking another sip—“suppose +we have cigars. Never mind your pipe there; +a pipe is best when alone. I say, waiter, bring some +cigars—your best.”</p> + +<p>They were brought in a pretty little bit of western +pottery, representing some kind of Indian utensil, mummy-colored, +set down in a mass of tobacco leaves, whose +long, green fans, fancifully grouped, formed with peeps +of red the sides of the receptacle.</p> + +<p>Accompanying it were two accessories, also bits of +pottery, but smaller, both globes; one in guise of an +apple flushed with red and gold to the life, and, through +a cleft at top, you saw it was hollow. This was for the +ashes. The other, gray, with wrinkled surface, in the +likeness of a wasp’s nest, was the match-box. +“There,” said the stranger, pushing over the cigar-stand, +“help yourself, and I will touch you off,” taking +a match. “Nothing like tobacco,” he added, when the +fumes of the cigar began to wreathe, glancing from the +smoker to the pottery, “I will have a Virginia tobacco-plant +set over my grave beside the Catawba vine.”</p> + +<p>“Improvement upon your first idea, which by itself +was good—but you don’t smoke.”</p> + +<p>“Presently, presently—let me fill your glass again. +You don’t drink.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you; but no more just now. Fill <i>your</i> +glass.”</p> + +<p>“Presently, presently; do you drink on. Never +mind me. Now that it strikes me, let me say, that he +who, out of superfine gentility or fanatic morality, +denies himself tobacco, suffers a more serious abatement +in the cheap pleasures of life than the dandy in his iron +boot, or the celibate on his iron cot. While for him +who would fain revel in tobacco, but cannot, it is a thing +at which philanthropists must weep, to see such an one, +again and again, madly returning to the cigar, which, +for his incompetent stomach, he cannot enjoy, while +still, after each shameful repulse, the sweet dream of +the impossible good goads him on to his fierce misery +once more—poor eunuch!”</p> + +<p>“I agree with you,” said the cosmopolitan, still gravely +social, “but you don’t smoke.”</p> + +<p>“Presently, presently, do you smoke on. As I was +saying about——”</p> + +<p>“But <i>why</i> don’t you smoke—come. You don’t think +that tobacco, when in league with wine, too much enhances +the latter’s vinous quality—in short, with certain +constitutions tends to impair self-possession, do you?”</p> + +<p>“To think that, were treason to good fellowship,” +was the warm disclaimer. “No, no. But the fact is, +there is an unpropitious flavor in my mouth just now. +Ate of a diabolical ragout at dinner, so I shan’t smoke +till I have washed away the lingering memento of it +with wine. But smoke away, you, and pray, don’t +forget to drink. By-the-way, while we sit here so +companionably, giving loose to any companionable +nothing, your uncompanionable friend, Coonskins, is, by +pure contrast, brought to recollection. If he were but +here now, he would see how much of real heart-joy he +denies himself by not hob-a-nobbing with his kind.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” with loitering emphasis, slowly withdrawing +his cigar, “I thought I had undeceived you there. I +thought you had come to a better understanding of my +eccentric friend.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I thought so, too; but first impressions will +return, you know. In truth, now that I think of it, I +am led to conjecture from chance things which dropped +from Coonskins, during the little interview I had with +him, that he is not a Missourian by birth, but years ago +came West here, a young misanthrope from the other +side of the Alleghanies, less to make his fortune, than to +flee man. Now, since they say trifles sometimes effect +great results, I shouldn’t wonder, if his history were +probed, it would be found that what first indirectly gave +his sad bias to Coonskins was his disgust at reading in boyhood +the advice of Polonius to Laertes—advice which, in +the selfishness it inculcates, is almost on a par with a sort +of ballad upon the economies of money-making, to be +occasionally seen pasted against the desk of small retail +traders in New England.”</p> + +<p>“I do hope now, my dear <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'fellew'.">fellow</ins>,” said the cosmopolitan +with an air of bland protest, “that, in my presence +at least, you will throw out nothing to the prejudice of +the sons of the Puritans.”</p> + +<p>“Hey-day and high times indeed,” exclaimed the +other, nettled, “sons of the Puritans forsooth! And +who be Puritans, that I, an Alabamaian, must do them +reverence? A set of sourly conceited old Malvolios, +whom Shakespeare laughs his fill at in his comedies.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, what were you about to suggest with regard +to Polonius,” observed the cosmopolitan with quiet forbearance, +expressive of the patience of a superior mind +at the petulance of an inferior one; “how do you characterize +his advice to Laertes?”</p> + +<p>“As false, fatal, and calumnious,” exclaimed the other, +with a degree of ardor befitting one resenting a stigma +upon the family escutcheon, “and for a father to give +his son—monstrous. The case you see is this: The son +is going abroad, and for the first. What does the father? +Invoke God’s blessing upon him? Put the blessed Bible +in his trunk? No. Crams him with maxims smacking +of my Lord Chesterfield, with maxims of France, with +maxims of Italy.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, be charitable, not that. Why, does he not +among other things say:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">‘The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel’?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class='noin'>Is that compatible with maxims of Italy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes it is, Frank. Don’t you see? Laertes is to +take the best of care of his friends—his proved friends, +on the same <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'principal'.">principle</ins> that a wine-corker takes the best +of care of his proved bottles. When a bottle gets a +sharp knock and don’t break, he says, ‘Ah, I’ll keep that +bottle.’ Why? Because he loves it? No, he has particular +use for it.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear!” appealingly turning in distress, “that—that +kind of criticism is—is—in fact—it won’t do.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t truth do, Frank? You are so charitable with +everybody, do but consider the tone of the speech. +Now I put it to you, Frank; is there anything in it +hortatory to high, heroic, disinterested effort? Anything +like ‘sell all thou hast and give to the poor?’ And, +in other points, what desire seems most in the father’s +mind, that his son should cherish nobleness for himself, +or be on his guard against the contrary thing in others? +An irreligious warner, Frank—no devout counselor, is +Polonius. I hate him. Nor can I bear to hear your +veterans of the world affirm, that he who steers through +life by the advice of old Polonius will not steer among +the breakers.”</p> + +<p>“No, no—I hope nobody affirms that,” rejoined the +cosmopolitan, with tranquil abandonment; sideways reposing +his arm at full length upon the table. “I hope +nobody affirms that; because, if Polonius’ advice be +taken in your sense, then the recommendation of it by +men of experience would appear to involve more or less +of an unhandsome sort of reflection upon human nature. +And yet,” with a perplexed air, “your suggestions have +put things in such a strange light to me as in fact a +little to disturb my previous notions of Polonius and +what he says. To be frank, by your ingenuity you have +unsettled me there, to that degree that were it not for +our coincidence of opinion in general, I should almost +think I was now at length beginning to feel the ill effect +of an immature mind, too much consorting with a +mature one, except on the ground of first principles in +common.”</p> + +<p>“Really and truly,” cried the other with a kind of +tickled modesty and pleased concern, “mine is an understanding +too weak to throw out grapnels and hug another +to it. I have indeed heard of some great scholars +in these days, whose boast is less that they have made +disciples than victims. But for me, had I the power to +do such things, I have not the heart to desire.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you, my dear Charlie. And yet, I repeat, +by your commentaries on Polonius you have, I know +not how, unsettled me; so that now I don’t exactly see +how Shakespeare meant the words he puts in Polonius’ +mouth.”</p> + +<p>“Some say that he meant them to open people’s eyes; +but I don’t think so.”</p> + +<p>“Open their eyes?” echoed the cosmopolitan, slowly +expanding his; “what is there in this world for one to +open his eyes to? I mean in the sort of invidious sense +you cite?”</p> + +<p>“Well, others say he meant to corrupt people’s morals; +and still others, that he had no express intention at +all, but in effect opens their eyes and corrupts their +morals in one operation. All of which I reject.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you reject so crude an hypothesis; and yet, +to confess, in reading Shakespeare in my closet, struck +by some passage, I have laid down the volume, and said: +‘This Shakespeare is a queer man.’ At times seeming +irresponsible, he does not always seem reliable. There +appears to be a certain—what shall I call it?—hidden +sun, say, about him, at once enlightening and mystifying. +Now, I should be afraid to say what I have sometimes +thought that hidden sun might be.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think it was the true light?” with clandestine +geniality again filling the other’s glass.</p> + +<p>“I would prefer to decline answering a categorical +question there. Shakespeare has got to be a kind of +deity. Prudent minds, having certain latent thoughts +concerning him, will reserve them in a condition of lasting +probation. Still, as touching avowable speculations, +we are permitted a tether. Shakespeare himself is to be +adored, not arraigned; but, so we do it with humility, we +may a little canvass his characters. There’s his Autolycus +now, a fellow that always puzzled me. How is one +to take Autolycus? A rogue so happy, so lucky, so +triumphant, of so almost captivatingly vicious a career +that a virtuous man reduced to the poor-house (were +such a contingency conceivable), might almost long to +change sides with him. And yet, see the words put into +his mouth: ‘Oh,’ cries Autolycus, as he comes galloping, +gay as a buck, upon the stage, ‘oh,’ he laughs, ‘oh what +a fool is Honesty, and Trust, his sworn brother, a very +simple gentleman.’ Think of that. Trust, that is, confidence—that +is, the thing in this universe the sacredest—is +rattlingly pronounced just the simplest. And the +scenes in which the rogue figures seem purposely devised +for verification of his principles. Mind, Charlie, I +do not say it <i>is</i> so, far from it; but I <i>do</i> say it seems so. +Yes, Autolycus would seem a needy varlet acting upon +the persuasion that less is to be got by invoking pockets +than picking them, more to be made by an expert knave +than a bungling beggar; and for this reason, as he +thinks, that the soft heads outnumber the soft hearts. +The devil’s drilled recruit, Autolycus is joyous as if he +wore the livery of heaven. When disturbed by the +character and career of one thus wicked and thus happy, +my sole consolation is in the fact that no such creature +ever existed, except in the powerful imagination which +evoked him. And yet, a creature, a living creature, he +is, though only a poet was his maker. It may be, that +in that paper-and-ink investiture of his, Autolycus acts +more effectively upon mankind than he would in a flesh-and-blood +one. Can his influence be salutary? True, +in Autolycus there is humor; but though, according to +my principle, humor is in general to be held a saving +quality, yet the case of Autolycus is an exception; +because it is his humor which, so to speak, oils his +mischievousness. The bravadoing mischievousness of +Autolycus is slid into the world on humor, as a pirate +schooner, with colors flying, is launched into the sea on +greased ways.”</p> + +<p>“I approve of Autolycus as little as you,” said the +stranger, who, during his companion’s commonplaces, +had seemed less attentive to them than to maturing with +in his own mind the original conceptions destined to +eclipse them. “But I cannot believe that Autolycus, +mischievous as he must prove upon the stage, can be +near so much so as such a character as Polonius.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that,” bluntly, and yet not +impolitely, returned the cosmopolitan; “to be sure, accepting +your view of the old courtier, then if between +him and Autolycus you raise the question of unprepossessingness, +I grant you the latter comes off best. For a +moist rogue may tickle the midriff, while a dry worldling +may but wrinkle the spleen.”</p> + +<p>“But Polonius is not dry,” said the other excitedly; +“he drules. One sees the fly-blown old fop drule and +look wise. His vile wisdom is made the viler by his +vile rheuminess. The bowing and cringing, time-serving +old sinner—is such an one to give manly precepts to +youth? The discreet, decorous, old dotard-of-state; +senile prudence; fatuous soullessness! The ribanded +old dog is paralytic all down one side, and that the side +of nobleness. His soul is gone out. Only nature’s automatonism +keeps him on his legs. As with some old +trees, the bark survives the pith, and will still stand +stiffly up, though but to rim round punk, so the body +of old Polonius has outlived his soul.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” said the cosmopolitan with serious air, +almost displeased; “though I yield to none in admiration +of earnestness, yet, I think, even earnestness may have +limits. To human minds, strong language is always +more or less distressing. Besides, Polonius is an old +man—as I remember him upon the stage—with snowy +locks. Now charity requires that such a figure—think +of it how you will—should at least be treated with +civility. Moreover, old age is ripeness, and I once +heard say, ‘Better ripe than raw.’”</p> + +<p>“But not better rotten than raw!” bringing down his +hand with energy on the table.</p> + +<p>“Why, bless me,” in mild surprise contemplating his +heated comrade, “how you fly out against this unfortunate +Polonius—a being that never was, nor will be. +And yet, viewed in a Christian light,” he added pensively, +“I don’t know that anger against this man of straw +is a whit less wise than anger against a man of flesh, +Madness, to be mad with anything.”</p> + +<p>“That may be, or may not be,” returned the other, a +little testily, perhaps; “but I stick to what I said, that +it is better to be raw than rotten. And what is to be +feared on that head, may be known from this: that it is +with the best of hearts as with the best of pears—a dangerous +experiment to linger too long upon the scene. +This did Polonius. Thank fortune, Frank, I am young, +every tooth sound in my head, and if good wine can +keep me where I am, long shall I remain so.”</p> + +<p>“True,” with a smile. “But wine, to do good, must +be drunk. You have talked much and well, Charlie; +but drunk little and indifferently—fill up.”</p> + +<p>“Presently, presently,” with a hasty and preoccupied +air. “If I remember right, Polonius hints as much as +that one should, under no circumstances, commit the indiscretion +of aiding in a pecuniary way an unfortunate +friend. He drules out some stale stuff about ‘loan losing +both itself and friend,’ don’t he? But our bottle; is it +glued fast? Keep it moving, my dear Frank. Good +wine, and upon my soul I begin to feel it, and through +me old Polonius—yes, this wine, I fear, is what excites +me so against that detestable old dog without a tooth.”</p> + +<p>Upon this, the cosmopolitan, cigar in mouth, slowly +raised the bottle, and brought it slowly to the light, +looking at it steadfastly, as one might at a thermometer +in August, to see not how low it was, but how high. +Then whiffing out a puff, set it down, and said: “Well, +Charlie, if what wine you have drunk came out of this +bottle, in that case I should say that if—supposing a +case—that if one fellow had an object in getting another +fellow fuddled, and this fellow to be fuddled was of +your capacity, the operation would be comparatively +inexpensive. What do you think, Charlie?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I think I don’t much admire the supposition,” +said Charlie, with a look of resentment; “it ain’t safe, +depend upon it, Frank, to venture upon too jocose suppositions +with one’s friends.”</p> + +<p>“Why, bless you, Frank, my supposition wasn’t personal, +but general. You mustn’t be so touchy.”</p> + +<p>“If I am touchy it is the wine. Sometimes, when I +freely drink, <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'it it'.">it</ins> has a touchy effect on me, I have observed.”</p> + +<p>“Freely drink? you haven’t drunk the perfect measure +of one glass, yet. While for me, this must be my +fourth or fifth, thanks to your importunity; not to speak +of all I drank this morning, for old acquaintance’ sake. +Drink, drink; you must drink.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I drink while you are talking,” laughed the +other; “you have not noticed it, but I have drunk my +share. Have a queer way I learned from a sedate old +uncle, who used to tip off his glass-unperceived. Do +you fill up, and my glass, too. There! Now away +with that stump, and have a new cigar. Good fellowship +forever!” again in the lyric mood, “Say, Frank, +are we not men? I say are we not human? Tell me, +were they not human who engendered us, as before +heaven I believe they shall be whom we shall engender? +Fill up, up, up, my friend. Let the ruby tide aspire, +and all ruby aspirations with it! Up, fill up! Be we +convivial. And conviviality, what is it? The word, I +mean; what expresses it? A living together. But +bats live together, and did you ever hear of convivial +bats?”</p> + +<p>“If I ever did,” observed the cosmopolitan, “it has +quite slipped my recollection.”</p> + +<p>“But <i>why</i> did you never hear of convivial bats, nor +anybody else? Because bats, though they live together, +live not together genially. Bats are not genial souls. +But men are; and how delightful to think that the word +which among men signifies the highest pitch of geniality, +implies, as indispensable auxiliary, the cheery +benediction of the bottle. Yes, Frank, to live together +in the finest sense, we must drink together. And so, +what wonder that he who loves not wine, that sober +wretch has a lean heart—a heart like a wrung-out old +bluing-bag, and loves not his kind? Out upon him, to +the rag-house with him, hang him—the ungenial +soul!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, now, now, can’t you be convivial without being +censorious? I like easy, unexcited conviviality. For +the sober man, really, though for my part I naturally +love a cheerful glass, I will not prescribe my nature as +the law to other natures. So don’t abuse the sober +man. Conviviality is one good thing, and sobriety is +another good thing. So don’t be one-sided.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if I am one-sided, it is the wine. Indeed, indeed, +I have indulged too genially. My excitement +upon slight provocation shows it. But yours is a +stronger head; drink you. By the way, talking of geniality, +it is much on the increase in these days, ain’t +it?”</p> + +<p>“It is, and I hail the fact. Nothing better attests +the advance of the humanitarian spirit. In former and +less humanitarian ages—the ages of amphitheatres and +gladiators—geniality was mostly confined to the fireside +and table. But in our age—the age of joint-stock companies +and free-and-easies—it is with this precious +quality as with precious gold in old Peru, which Pizarro +found making up the scullion’s sauce-pot as the Inca’s +crown. Yes, we golden boys, the moderns, have geniality +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'everwhere'.">everywhere</ins>—a bounty broadcast like noonlight.”</p> + +<p>“True, true; my sentiments again. Geniality has +invaded each department and profession. We have genial +senators, genial authors, genial lecturers, genial +doctors, genial clergymen, genial surgeons, and the next +thing we shall have genial hangmen.”</p> + +<p>“As to the last-named sort of person,” said the cosmopolitan, +“I trust that the advancing spirit of geniality +will at last enable us to dispense with him. No murderers—no +hangmen. And surely, when the whole +world shall have been genialized, it will be as out of +place to talk of murderers, as in a Christianized world +to talk of sinners.”</p> + +<p>“To pursue the thought,” said the other, “every +blessing is attended with some evil, and——”</p> + +<p>“Stay,” said the cosmopolitan, “that may be better +let pass for a loose saying, than for hopeful doctrine.”</p> + +<p>“Well, assuming the saying’s truth, it would apply +to the future supremacy of the genial spirit, since then +it will fare with the hangman as it did with the weaver +when the spinning-jenny whizzed into the ascendant. +Thrown out of employment, what could Jack Ketch +turn his hand to? Butchering?”</p> + +<p>“That he could turn his hand to it seems probable; +but that, under the circumstances, it would be appropriate, +might in some minds admit of a question. For one, +I am inclined to think—and I trust it will not be held +fastidiousness—that it would hardly be suitable to the +dignity of our nature, that an individual, once employed +in attending the last hours of human unfortunates, +should, that office being extinct, transfer himself to the +business of attending the last hours of unfortunate cattle. +I would suggest that the individual turn valet—a +vocation to which he would, perhaps, appear not wholly +inadapted by his familiar dexterity about the person. In +particular, for giving a finishing tie to a gentleman’s +cravat, I know few who would, in all likelihood, be, +from previous occupation, better fitted than the professional +person in question.”</p> + +<p>“Are you in earnest?” regarding the serene speaker +with unaffected curiosity; “are you really in earnest?”</p> + +<p>“I trust I am never otherwise,” was the mildly earnest +reply; “but talking of the advance of geniality, I +am not without hopes that it will eventually exert its +influence even upon so difficult a subject as the misanthrope.”</p> + +<p>“A genial misanthrope! I thought I had stretched +the rope pretty hard in talking of genial hangmen. A +genial misanthrope is no more conceivable than a surly +philanthropist.”</p> + +<p>“True,” lightly depositing in an unbroken little +cylinder the ashes of his cigar, “true, the two you +name are well opposed.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you talk as if there <i>was</i> such a being as a +surly philanthropist.”</p> + +<p>“I do. My eccentric friend, whom you call Coonskins, +is an example. Does he not, as I explained to +you, hide under a surly air a philanthropic heart? +Now, the genial misanthrope, when, in the process of +eras, he shall turn up, will be the converse of this; under +an affable air, he will hide a misanthropical heart. +In short, the genial misanthrope will be a new kind of +monster, but still no small improvement upon the original +one, since, instead of making faces and throwing +stones at people, like that poor old crazy man, Timon, +he will take steps, fiddle in hand, and set the tickled +world a’dancing. In a word, as the progress of Christianization +mellows those in manner whom it cannot +mend in mind, much the same will it prove with the +progress of genialization. And so, thanks to geniality, +the misanthrope, reclaimed from his boorish address, will +take on refinement and softness—to so genial a degree, +indeed, that it may possibly fall out that the misanthrope +of the coming century will be almost as popular as, I +am sincerely sorry to say, some philanthropists of the +present time would seem not to be, as witness my eccentric +friend named before.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” cried the other, a little weary, perhaps, of a +speculation so abstract, “well, however it may be with +the century to come, certainly in the century which is, +whatever else one may be, he must be genial or he is +nothing. So fill up, fill up, and be genial!”</p> + +<p>“I am trying my best,” said the cosmopolitan, still +calmly companionable. “A moment since, we talked +of Pizarro, gold, and Peru; no doubt, now, you remember +that when the Spaniard first entered Atahalpa’s treasure-chamber, +and saw such profusion of plate stacked +up, right and left, with the wantonness of old barrels in +a brewer’s yard, the needy fellow felt a twinge of misgiving, +of want of confidence, as to the genuineness of +an opulence so profuse. He went about rapping the +shining vases with his knuckles. But it was all gold, +pure gold, good gold, sterling gold, which how cheerfully +would have been stamped such at Goldsmiths’ +Hall. And just so those needy minds, which, through +their own insincerity, having no confidence in mankind, +doubt lest the liberal geniality of this age be spurious. +They are small Pizarros in their way—by the +very princeliness of men’s geniality stunned into distrust +of it.”</p> + +<p>“Far be such distrust from you and me, my genial +friend,” cried the other fervently; “fill up, fill up!”</p> + +<p>“Well, this all along seems a division of labor,” +smiled the cosmopolitan. “I do about all the drinking, +and you do about all—the genial. But yours is a nature +competent to do that to a large population. And now, +my friend,” with a peculiarly grave air, evidently foreshadowing +something not unimportant, and very likely +of close personal interest; “wine, you know, opens the +heart, and——”</p> + +<p>“Opens it!” with exultation, “it thaws it right out. +Every heart is ice-bound till wine melt it, and reveal the +tender grass and sweet herbage budding below, with +every dear secret, hidden before like a dropped jewel in a +snow-bank, lying there unsuspected through winter till +spring.”</p> + +<p>“And just in that way, my dear Charlie, is one of +my little secrets now to be shown forth.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” eagerly moving round his chair, “what is it?”</p> + +<p>“Be not so impetuous, my dear Charlie. Let me +explain. You see, naturally, I am a man not overgifted +with assurance; in general, I am, if anything, diffidently +reserved; so, if I shall presently seem otherwise, the reason +is, that you, by the geniality you have evinced in all +your talk, and especially the noble way in which, while +affirming your good opinion of men, you intimated that +you never could prove false to any man, but most by +your indignation at a particularly illiberal passage in +Polonius’ advice—in short, in short,” with extreme embarrassment, +“how shall I express what I mean, unless +I add that by your whole character you impel me to +throw myself upon your nobleness; in one word, put +confidence in you, a generous confidence?”</p> + +<p>“I see, I see,” with heightened interest, “something +of moment you wish to confide. Now, what is it, +Frank? Love affair?”</p> + +<p>“No, not that.”</p> + +<p>“What, then, my <i>dear</i> Frank? Speak—depend upon +me to the last. Out with it.”</p> + +<p>“Out it shall come, then,” said the cosmopolitan. +“I am in want, urgent want, of money.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>A METAMORPHOSIS MORE <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'SUPRISING'.">SURPRISING</ins> THAN ANY IN OVID.</span></h2> + +<p>“In want of money!” pushing back his chair as +from a suddenly-disclosed man-trap or crater.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” naïvely assented the cosmopolitan, “and you +are going to loan me fifty dollars. I could almost wish +I was in need of more, only for your sake. Yes, my +dear Charlie, for your sake; that you might the better +prove your noble, kindliness, my dear Charlie.”</p> + +<p>“None of your dear Charlies,” cried the other, +springing to his feet, and buttoning up his coat, as if +hastily to depart upon a long journey.</p> + +<p>“Why, why, why?” painfully looking up.</p> + +<p>“None of your why, why, whys!” tossing out a foot, +“go to the devil, sir! Beggar, impostor!—never so +deceived in a man in my life.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>SHOWING THAT THE AGE OF MAGIC AND MAGICIANS IS NOT YET OVER.</span></h2> + +<p>While speaking or rather hissing those words, the +boon companion underwent much such a change as one +reads of in fairy-books. Out of old materials sprang a +new creature. Cadmus glided into the snake.</p> + +<p>The cosmopolitan rose, the traces of previous feeling +vanished; looked steadfastly at his transformed friend a +moment, then, taking ten half-eagles from his pocket, +stooped down, and laid them, one by one, in a circle +round him; and, retiring a pace, waved his long tasseled +pipe with the air of a necromancer, an air heightened +by his costume, accompanying each wave with a solemn +murmur of cabalistical words.</p> + +<p>Meantime, he within the magic-ring stood suddenly +rapt, exhibiting every symptom of a successful charm—a +turned cheek, a fixed attitude, a frozen eye; spellbound, +not more by the waving wand than by the ten +invincible talismans on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Reappear, reappear, reappear, oh, my former friend! +Replace this hideous apparition with thy blest shape, +and be the token of thy return the words, ‘My dear +Frank.’”</p> + +<p>“My dear Frank,” now cried the restored friend, +cordially stepping out of the ring, with regained self-possession +regaining lost identity, “My dear Frank, +what a funny man you are; full of fun as an egg of +meat. How could you tell me that absurd story of +your being in need? But I relish a good joke too well +to spoil it by letting on. Of course, I humored the +thing; and, on my side, put on all the cruel airs you +would have me. Come, this little episode of fictitious +estrangement will but enhance the delightful reality. +Let us sit down again, and finish our bottle.”</p> + +<p>“With all my heart,” said the cosmopolitan, dropping +the necromancer with the same facility with which he +had assumed it. “Yes,” he added, soberly picking +up the gold pieces, and returning them with a chink to +his pocket, “yes, I am something of a funny man now +and then; while for you, Charlie,” eying him in tenderness, +“what you say about your humoring the thing is +true enough; never did man second a joke better than +you did just now. You played your part better than I +did mine; you played it, Charlie, to the life.”</p> + +<p>“You see, I once belonged to an amateur play +company; that accounts for it. But come, fill up, +and let’s talk of something else.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” acquiesced the cosmopolitan, seating himself, +and quietly brimming his glass, “what shall we talk +about?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, anything you please,” a sort of nervously +accommodating.</p> + +<p>“Well, suppose we talk about Charlemont?”</p> + +<p>“Charlemont? What’s Charlemont? Who’s Charlemont?”</p> + +<p>“You shall hear, my dear Charlie,” answered the +cosmopolitan. “I will tell you the story of Charlemont, +the gentleman-madman.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>WHICH MAY PASS FOR WHATEVER IT MAY PROVE TO BE WORTH.</span></h2> + +<p>But ere be given the rather grave story of Charlemont, +a reply must in civility be made to a certain voice +which methinks I hear, that, in view of past chapters, +and more particularly the last, where certain antics appear, +exclaims: How unreal all this is! Who did ever +dress or act like your cosmopolitan? And who, it +might be returned, did ever dress or act like harlequin?</p> + +<p>Strange, that in a work of amusement, this severe +fidelity to real life should be exacted by any one, who, +by taking up such a work, sufficiently shows that he is +not unwilling to drop real life, and turn, for a time, to +something different. Yes, it is, indeed, strange that any +one should clamor for the thing he is weary of; that any +one, who, for any cause, finds real life dull, should yet +demand of him who is to divert his attention from it, +that he should be true to that dullness.</p> + +<p>There is another class, and with this class we side, +who sit down to a work of amusement tolerantly as they +sit at a play, and with much the same expectations and +feelings. They look that fancy shall evoke scenes different +from those of the same old crowd round the custom-house +counter, and same old dishes on the boardinghouse +table, with characters unlike those of the same +old acquaintances they meet in the same old way every +day in the same old street. And as, in real life, the proprieties +will not allow people to act out themselves with +that unreserve permitted to the stage; so, in books of +fiction, they look not only for more entertainment, but, +at bottom, even for more reality, than real life itself can +show. Thus, though they want novelty, they want +nature, too; but nature unfettered, exhilarated, in effect +transformed. In this way of thinking, the people in a +fiction, like the people in a play, must dress as nobody +exactly dresses, talk as nobody exactly talks, act as +nobody exactly acts. It is with fiction as with religion: +it should present another world, and yet one to which +we feel the tie.</p> + +<p>If, then, something is to be pardoned to well-meant +endeavor, surely a little is to be allowed to that writer +who, in all his scenes, does but seek to minister to what, +as he understands it, is the implied wish of the more +indulgent lovers of entertainment, before whom harlequin +can never appear in a coat too parti-colored, or cut +capers too fantastic.</p> + +<p>One word more. Though every one knows how +bootless it is to be in all cases vindicating one’s self, never +mind how convinced one may be that he is never in the +wrong; yet, so precious to man is the approbation of +his kind, that to rest, though but under an imaginary +censure applied to but a work of imagination, is no easy +thing. The mention of this weakness will explain why +such readers as may think they perceive something +harmonious between the boisterous hilarity of the +cosmopolitan with the bristling cynic, and his restrained +good-nature with the boon-companion, are now referred +to that chapter where some similar apparent inconsistency +in another character is, on general principles, +modestly endeavored to-be apologized for.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN WHICH THE COSMOPOLITAN TELLS THE STORY OF THE GENTLEMAN +MADMAN.</span></h2> + +<p>“Charlemont was a young merchant of French +descent, living in St. Louis—a man not deficient in +mind, and possessed of that sterling and captivating +kindliness, seldom in perfection seen but in youthful +bachelors, united at times to a remarkable sort of gracefully +devil-may-care and witty good-humor. Of course, he +was admired by everybody, and loved, as only mankind +can love, by not a few. But in his twenty-ninth year +a change came over him. Like one whose hair turns +gray in a night, so in a day Charlemont turned from +affable to morose. His acquaintances were passed without +greeting; while, as for his confidential friends, them +he pointedly, unscrupulously, and with a kind of fierceness, +cut dead.</p> + +<p>“One, provoked by such conduct, would fain have +resented it with words as disdainful; while another, +shocked by the change, and, in concern for a friend, +magnanimously overlooking affronts, implored to know +what sudden, secret grief had distempered him. But +from resentment and from tenderness Charlemont alike +turned away.</p> + +<p>“Ere long, to the general surprise, the merchant +Charlemont was gazetted, and the same day it was reported +that he had withdrawn from town, but not +before placing his entire property in the hands of responsible +assignees for the benefit of creditors.</p> + +<p>“Whither he had vanished, none could guess. At +length, nothing being heard, it was surmised that he +must have made away with himself—a surmise, doubtless, +originating in the remembrance of the change some +months previous to his bankruptcy—a change of a sort +only to be ascribed to a mind suddenly thrown from its +balance.</p> + +<p>“Years passed. It was spring-time, and lo, one +bright morning, Charlemont lounged into the St. Louis +coffee-houses—gay, polite, humane, companionable, and +dressed in the height of costly elegance. Not only was +he alive, but he was himself again. Upon meeting with +old acquaintances, he made the first advances, and in +such a manner that it was impossible not to meet him +half-way. Upon other old friends, whom he did not +chance casually to meet, he either personally called, or +left his card and compliments for them; and to several, +sent presents of game or hampers of wine.</p> + +<p>“They say the world is sometimes harshly unforgiving, +but it was not so to Charlemont. The world +feels a return of love for one who returns to it as he +did. Expressive of its renewed interest was a whisper, +an inquiring whisper, how now, exactly, so long after +his bankruptcy, it fared with Charlemont’s purse. +Rumor, seldom at a loss for answers, replied that he had +spent nine years in Marseilles in France, and there acquiring +a second fortune, had returned with it, a man +devoted henceforth to genial friendships.</p> + +<p>“Added years went by, and the restored wanderer +still the same; or rather, by his noble qualities, grew up +like golden maize in the encouraging sun of good +opinions. But still the latent wonder was, what had +caused that change in him at a period when, pretty much +as now, he was, to all appearance, in the possession of +the same fortune, the same friends, the same popularity. +But nobody thought it would be the thing to question +him here.</p> + +<p>“At last, at a dinner at his house, when all the guests +but one had successively departed; this remaining +guest, an old acquaintance, being just enough under +the influence of wine to set aside the fear of touching +upon a delicate point, ventured, in a way which perhaps +spoke more favorably for his heart than his tact, to beg +of his host to explain the one enigma of his life. Deep +melancholy overspread the before cheery face of Charlemont; +he sat for some moments tremulously silent; then +pushing a full decanter towards the guest, in a choked +voice, said: ‘No, no! when by art, and care, and time, +flowers are made to bloom over a grave, who would +seek to dig all up again only to know the mystery?—The +wine.’ When both glasses were filled, Charlemont +took his, and lifting it, added lowly: ‘If ever, in days +to come, you shall see ruin at hand, and, thinking you +understand mankind, shall tremble for your friendships, +and tremble for your pride; and, partly through love +for the one and fear for the other, shall resolve to be +beforehand with the world, and save it from a sin by +prospectively taking that sin to yourself, then will you +do as one I now dream of once did, and like him will +you suffer; but how fortunate and how grateful should +you be, if like him, after all that had happened, you +could be a little happy again.’</p> + +<p>“When the guest went away, it was with the persuasion, +that though outwardly restored in mind as in +fortune, yet, some taint of Charlemont’s old malady +survived, and that it was not well for friends to touch +one dangerous string.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN WHICH THE COSMOPOLITAN STRIKINGLY EVINCES THE ARTLESSNESS +OF HIS NATURE.</span></h2> + +<p>“Well, what do you think of the story of Charlemont?” +mildly asked he who had told it.</p> + +<p>“A very strange one,” answered the auditor, who had +been such not with perfect ease, “but is it true?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not; it is a story which I told with +the purpose of every story-teller—to amuse. Hence, if +it seem strange to you, that strangeness is the romance; +it is what contrasts it with real life; it is the invention, +in brief, the fiction as opposed to the fact. For do but +ask yourself, my dear Charlie,” lovingly leaning over towards +him, “I rest it with your own heart now, whether +such a forereaching motive as Charlemont hinted +he had acted on in his change—whether such a motive, +I say, were a sort of one at all justified by the nature +of human society? Would you, for one, turn the +cold shoulder to a friend—a convivial one, say, whose +pennilessness should be suddenly revealed to you?”</p> + +<p>“How can you ask me, my dear Frank? You know +I would scorn such meanness.” But rising somewhat +disconcerted—“really, early as it is, I think I must retire; +my head,” putting up his hand to it, “feels unpleasantly; +this confounded elixir of logwood, little as I +drank of it, has played the deuce with me.”</p> + +<p>“Little as you drank of this elixir of logwood? Why, +Charlie, you are losing your mind. To talk so of the +genuine, mellow old port. Yes, I think that by all +means you had better away, and sleep it off. There—don’t +apologize—don’t explain—go, go—I understand +you exactly. I will see you to-morrow.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN WHICH THE COSMOPOLITAN IS ACCOSTED BY A MYSTIC, WHEREUPON +ENSUES PRETTY MUCH SUCH TALK AS MIGHT BE EXPECTED.</span></h2> + +<p>As, not without some haste, the boon companion withdrew, +a stranger advanced, and touching the cosmopolitan, +said: “I think I heard you say you would see that +man again. Be warned; don’t you do so.”</p> + +<p>He turned, surveying the speaker; a blue-eyed man, +sandy-haired, and Saxon-looking; perhaps five and +forty; tall, and, but for a certain angularity, well made; +little touch of the drawing-room about him, but a look of +plain propriety of a Puritan sort, with a kind of farmer +dignity. His age seemed betokened more by his brow, +placidly thoughtful, than by his general aspect, which +had that look of youthfulness in maturity, peculiar +sometimes to habitual health of body, the original gift +of nature, or in part the effect or reward of steady temperance +of the passions, kept so, perhaps, by constitution +as much as morality. A neat, comely, almost +ruddy cheek, coolly fresh, like a red clover-blossom at +coolish dawn—the color of warmth preserved by the +virtue of chill. Toning the whole man, was one-knows-not-what +of shrewdness and mythiness, strangely jumbled; +in that way, he seemed a kind of cross between +a Yankee peddler and a Tartar priest, though it seemed +as if, at a pinch, the first would not in all probability +play second fiddle to the last.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the cosmopolitan, rising and bowing with +slow dignity, “if I cannot with unmixed satisfaction +hail a hint pointed at one who has just been clinking +the social glass with me, on the other hand, I am not +disposed to underrate the motive which, in the present +case, could alone have prompted such an intimation. +My friend, whose seat is still warm, has retired for the +night, leaving more or less in his bottle here. Pray, sit +down in his seat, and partake with me; and then, if +you choose to hint aught further unfavorable to the man, +the genial warmth of whose person in part passes into +yours, and whose genial hospitality meanders through +you—be it so.”</p> + +<p>“Quite beautiful conceits,” said the stranger, now +scholastically and artistically eying the picturesque +speaker, as if he were a statue in the Pitti Palace; +“very beautiful:” then with the gravest interest, +“yours, sir, if I mistake not, must be a beautiful soul—one +full of all love and truth; for where beauty is, +there must those be.”</p> + +<p>“A pleasing belief,” rejoined the cosmopolitan, beginning +with an even air, “and to confess, long ago it +pleased me. Yes, with you and Schiller, I am pleased +to believe that beauty is at bottom incompatible with +ill, and therefore am so eccentric as to have confidence +in the latent benignity of that beautiful creature, the +rattle-snake, whose lithe neck and burnished maze of +tawny gold, as he sleekly curls aloft in the sun, who on +the prairie can behold without wonder?”</p> + +<p>As he breathed these words, he seemed so to enter +into their spirit—as some earnest descriptive speakers +will—as unconsciously to wreathe his form and sidelong +crest his head, till he all but seemed the creature described. +Meantime, the stranger regarded him with +little surprise, apparently, though with much contemplativeness +of a mystical sort, and presently said:</p> + +<p>“When charmed by the beauty of that viper, did it +never occur to you to change personalities with him? +to feel what it was to be a snake? to glide unsuspected +in grass? to sting, to kill at a touch; your whole beautiful +body one iridescent scabbard of death? In short, +did the wish never occur to you to feel yourself exempt +from knowledge, and conscience, and revel for a while +in the carefree, joyous life of a perfectly instinctive, +unscrupulous, and irresponsible creature?”</p> + +<p>“Such a wish,” replied the other, not perceptibly +disturbed, “I must confess, never consciously was +mine. Such a wish, indeed, could hardly occur to ordinary +imaginations, and mine I cannot think much +above the average.”</p> + +<p>“But now that the idea is suggested,” said the +stranger, with infantile intellectuality, “does it not +raise the desire?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly. For though I do not think I have any uncharitable +prejudice against the rattle-snake, still, I +should not like to be one. If I were a rattle-snake now, +there would be no such thing as being genial with men—men +would be afraid of me, and then I should be a very +lonesome and miserable rattle-snake.”</p> + +<p>“True, men would be afraid of you. And why? +Because of your rattle, your hollow rattle—a sound, as +I have been told, like the shaking together of small, dry +skulls in a tune of the Waltz of Death. And here we +have another beautiful truth. When any creature is by +its make inimical to other creatures, nature in effect +labels that creature, much as an apothecary does a +poison. So that whoever is destroyed by a rattle-snake, +or other harmful agent, it is his own fault. He should +have respected the label. Hence that significant passage +in Scripture, ‘Who will pity the charmer that is +bitten with a serpent?’”</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> would pity him,” said the cosmopolitan, a little +bluntly, perhaps.</p> + +<p>“But don’t you think,” rejoined the other, still maintaining +his passionless air, “don’t you think, that for a +man to pity where nature is pitiless, is a little presuming?”</p> + +<p>“Let casuists decide the casuistry, but the compassion +the heart decides for itself. But, sir,” deepening in +seriousness, “as I now for the first realize, you but a +moment since introduced the word irresponsible in a +way I am not used to. Now, sir, though, out of a tolerant +spirit, as I hope, I try my best never to be +frightened at any speculation, so long as it is pursued in +honesty, yet, for once, I must acknowledge that you do +really, in the point cited, cause me uneasiness; because +a proper view of the universe, that view which is suited +to breed a proper confidence, teaches, if I err not, that +since all things are justly presided over, not very many +living agents but must be some way accountable.”</p> + +<p>“Is a rattle-snake accountable?” asked the stranger +with such a preternaturally cold, gemmy glance out of +his pellucid blue eye, that he seemed more a metaphysical +merman than a feeling man; “is a rattle-snake +accountable?”</p> + +<p>“If I will not affirm that it is,” returned the other, +with the caution of no inexperienced thinker, “neither +will I deny it. But if we suppose it so, I need not say +that such accountability is neither to you, nor me, nor +the Court of Common Pleas, but to something superior.”</p> + +<p>He was proceeding, when the stranger would have +interrupted him; but as reading his argument in his eye, +the cosmopolitan, without waiting for it to be put into +words, at once spoke to it: “You object to my supposition, +for but such it is, that the rattle-snake’s +accountability is not by nature manifest; but might not +much the same thing be urged against man’s? A +<i>reductio ad absurdum</i>, proving the objection vain. But +if now,” he continued, “you consider what capacity +for mischief there is in a rattle-snake (observe, I do not +charge it with being mischievous, I but say it has the +capacity), could you well avoid admitting that that +would be no symmetrical view of the universe which +should maintain that, while to man it is forbidden to +kill, without judicial cause, his fellow, yet the rattle-snake +has an implied permit of unaccountability to +murder any creature it takes capricious umbrage at—man +included?—But,” with a wearied air, “this is no genial +talk; at least it is not so to me. Zeal at unawares embarked +me in it. I regret it. Pray, sit down, and take +some of this wine.”</p> + +<p>“Your suggestions are new to me,” said the other, +with a kind of condescending appreciativeness, as of +one who, out of devotion to knowledge, disdains not to +appropriate the least crumb of it, even from a pauper’s +board; “and, as I am a very Athenian in hailing a new +thought, I cannot consent to let it drop so abruptly. +Now, the rattle-snake——”</p> + +<p>“Nothing more about rattle-snakes, I beseech,” in +distress; “I must positively decline to reenter upon +that subject. Sit down, sir, I beg, and take some of this +wine.”</p> + +<p>“To invite me to sit down with you is hospitable,” +collectedly acquiescing now in the change of topics; +“and hospitality being fabled to be of oriental origin, +and forming, as it does, the subject of a pleasing Arabian +romance, as well as being a very romantic thing in itself—hence +I always hear the expressions of hospitality +with pleasure. But, as for the wine, my regard for +that beverage is so extreme, and I am so fearful of letting +it sate me, that I keep my love for it in the lasting +condition of an untried abstraction. Briefly, I quaff +immense draughts of wine from the page of Hafiz, but +wine from a cup I seldom as much as sip.”</p> + +<p>The cosmopolitan turned a mild glance upon the +speaker, who, now occupying the chair opposite him, sat +there purely and coldly radiant as a prism. It seemed +as if one could almost hear him vitreously chime and +ring. That moment a waiter passed, whom, arresting +with a sign, the cosmopolitan bid go bring a goblet of +ice-water. “Ice it well, waiter,” said he; “and now,” +turning to the stranger, “will you, if you please, give +me your reason for the warning words you first addressed +to me?”</p> + +<p>“I hope they were not such warnings as most warnings +are,” said the stranger; “warnings which do not +forewarn, but in mockery come after the fact. And yet +something in you bids me think now, that whatever +latent design your impostor friend might have had upon +you, it as yet remains unaccomplished. You read his +label.”</p> + +<p>“And what did it say? ‘This is a genial soul,’ So +you see you must either give up your doctrine of labels, +or else your prejudice against my friend. But tell me,” +with renewed earnestness, “what do you take him for? +What is he?”</p> + +<p>“What are you? What am I? Nobody knows who +anybody is. The data which life furnishes, towards +forming a true estimate of any being, are as insufficient +to that end as in geometry one side given would be to +determine the triangle.”</p> + +<p>“But is not this doctrine of triangles someway inconsistent +with your doctrine of labels?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but what of that? I seldom care to be consistent. +In a philosophical view, consistency is a certain +level at all times, maintained in all the thoughts of +one’s mind. But, since nature is nearly all hill and +dale, how can one keep naturally advancing in knowledge +without submitting to the natural inequalities in +the progress? Advance into knowledge is just like +advance upon the grand Erie canal, where, from the +character of the country, change of level is inevitable; +you are locked up and locked down with perpetual +inconsistencies, and yet all the time you get on; while +the dullest part of the whole route is what the boatmen +call the ‘long level’—a consistently-flat surface of sixty +miles through stagnant swamps.”</p> + +<p>“In one particular,” rejoined the cosmopolitan, “your +simile is, perhaps, unfortunate. For, after all these +weary lockings-up and lockings-down, upon how much +of a higher plain do you finally stand? Enough to make +it an object? Having from youth been taught reverence +for knowledge, you must pardon me if, on but this one +account, I reject your analogy. But really you someway +bewitch me with your tempting discourse, so that +I keep straying from my point unawares. You tell me +you cannot certainly know who or what my friend is; +pray, what do you conjecture him to be?”</p> + +<p>“I conjecture him to be what, among the ancient +Egyptians, was called a ——” using some unknown +word.</p> + +<p>“A ——! And what is that?”</p> + +<p>“A —— is what Proclus, in a little note to his third +book on the theology of Plato, defines as —— ——” +coming out with a sentence of Greek.</p> + +<p>Holding up his glass, and steadily looking through its +transparency, the cosmopolitan rejoined: “That, in so +defining the thing, Proclus set it to modern understandings +in the most crystal light it was susceptible of, I +will not rashly deny; still, if you could put the definition +in words suited to perceptions like mine, I should +take it for a favor.</p> + +<p>“A favor!” slightly lifting his cool eyebrows; “a +bridal favor I understand, a knot of white ribands, a +very beautiful type of the purity of true marriage; but of +other favors I am yet to learn; and still, in a vague way, +the word, as you employ it, strikes me as unpleasingly +significant in general of some poor, unheroic submission +to being done good to.”</p> + +<p>Here the goblet of iced-water was brought, and, in +compliance with a sign from the cosmopolitan, was +placed before the stranger, who, not before expressing +acknowledgments, took a draught, apparently refreshing—its +very coldness, as with some is the case, proving +not entirely uncongenial.</p> + +<p>At last, setting down the goblet, and gently wiping +from his lips the beads of water freshly clinging there +as to the valve of a coral-shell upon a reef, he turned +upon the cosmopolitan, and, in a manner the most cool, +self-possessed, and matter-of-fact possible, said: “I hold +to the metempsychosis; and whoever I may be now, I +feel that I was once the stoic Arrian, and have inklings +of having been equally puzzled by a word in the current +language of that former time, very probably answering +to your word <i>favor</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Would you favor me by explaining?” said the cosmopolitan, +blandly.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” responded the stranger, with a very slight +degree of severity, “I like lucidity, of all things, and +am afraid I shall hardly be able to converse satisfactorily +with you, unless you bear it in mind.”</p> + +<p>The cosmopolitan ruminatingly eyed him awhile, then +said: “The best way, as I have heard, to get out of a +labyrinth, is to retrace one’s steps. I will accordingly +retrace mine, and beg you will accompany me. In +short, once again to return to the point: for what +reason did you warn me against my friend?”</p> + +<p>“Briefly, then, and clearly, because, as before said, I +conjecture him to be what, among the ancient Egyptians——”</p> + +<p>“Pray, now,” earnestly deprecated the cosmopolitan, +“pray, now, why disturb the repose of those ancient +Egyptians? What to us are their words or their +thoughts? Are we pauper Arabs, without a house of +our own, that, with the mummies, we must turn squatters +among the dust of the Catacombs?”</p> + +<p>“Pharaoh’s poorest brick-maker lies proudlier in his +rags than the Emperor of all the Russias in his hollands,” +oracularly said the stranger; “for death, though +in a worm, is majestic; while life, though in a king, is +contemptible. So talk not against mummies. It is a +part of my mission to teach mankind a due reverence +for mummies.”</p> + +<p>Fortunately, to arrest these incoherencies, or rather, +to vary them, a haggard, inspired-looking man now approached—a +crazy beggar, asking alms under the form +of peddling a rhapsodical tract, composed by himself, +and setting forth his claims to some rhapsodical apostleship. +Though ragged and dirty, there was about him +no touch of vulgarity; for, by nature, his manner was +not unrefined, his frame slender, and appeared the more +so from the broad, untanned frontlet of his brow, tangled +over with a disheveled mass of raven curls, throwing a +still deeper tinge upon a complexion like that of a +shriveled berry. Nothing could exceed his look of picturesque +Italian ruin and dethronement, heightened by +what seemed just one glimmering peep of reason, insufficient +to do him any lasting good, but enough, perhaps, +to suggest a torment of latent doubts at times, whether +his addled dream of glory were true.</p> + +<p>Accepting the tract offered him, the cosmopolitan +glanced over it, and, seeming to see just what it was, closed +it, put it in his pocket, eyed the man a moment, then, +leaning over and presenting him with a shilling, said to +him, in tones kind and considerate: “I am sorry, my +friend, that I happen to be engaged just now; but, +having purchased your work, I promise myself much +satisfaction in its perusal at my earliest leisure.”</p> + +<p>In his tattered, single-breasted frock-coat, buttoned +meagerly up to his chin, the shutter-brain made him a +bow, which, for courtesy, would not have misbecome a +viscount, then turned with silent appeal to the stranger. +But the stranger sat more like a cold prism than ever, +while an expression of keen Yankee cuteness, now replacing +his former mystical one, lent added icicles to his +aspect. His whole air said: “Nothing from me.” The +repulsed petitioner threw a look full of resentful pride +and cracked disdain upon him, and went his way.</p> + +<p>“Come, now,” said the cosmopolitan, a little reproachfully, +“you ought to have sympathized with that man; +tell me, did you feel no fellow-feeling? Look at his +tract here, quite in the transcendental vein.”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” said the stranger, declining the tract, +“I never patronize scoundrels.”</p> + +<p>“Scoundrels?”</p> + +<p>“I detected in him, sir, a damning peep of sense—damning, +I say; for sense in a seeming madman is scoundrelism. +I take him for a cunning vagabond, who picks +up a vagabond living by adroitly playing the madman. +Did you not remark how he flinched under my eye?’</p> + +<p>“Really?” drawing a long, astonished breath, “I could +hardly have divined in you a temper so subtlely distrustful. +Flinched? to be sure he did, poor fellow; +you received him with so lame a welcome. As for his +adroitly playing the madman, invidious critics might +object the same to some one or two strolling magi of +these days. But that is a matter I know nothing about. +But, once more, and for the last time, to return to the +point: why sir, did you warn me against my friend? I +shall rejoice, if, as I think it will prove, your want of +confidence in my friend rests upon a basis equally slender +with your distrust of the lunatic. Come, why did you +warn me? Put it, I beseech, in few words, and those +English.”</p> + +<p>“I warned you against him because he is suspected +for what on these boats is known—so they tell me—as +a Mississippi operator.”</p> + +<p>“An operator, ah? he operates, does he? My friend, +then, is something like what the Indians call a Great +Medicine, is he? He operates, he purges, he drains off +the repletions.”</p> + +<p>“I perceive, sir,” said the stranger, constitutionally +obtuse to the pleasant drollery, “that your notion, of +what is called a Great Medicine, needs correction. The +Great Medicine among the Indians is less a bolus than a +man in grave esteem for his politic sagacity.”</p> + +<p>“And is not my friend politic? Is not my friend sagacious? +By your own definition, is not my friend a Great +Medicine?”</p> + +<p>“No, he is an operator, a Mississippi operator; an +equivocal character. That he is such, I little doubt, +having had him pointed out to me as such by one desirous +of initiating me into any little novelty of this +western region, where I never before traveled. And, +sir, if I am not mistaken, you also are a stranger here +(but, indeed, where in this strange universe is not one a +stranger?) and that is a reason why I felt moved to warn +you against a companion who could not be otherwise +than perilous to one of a free and trustful disposition. +But I repeat the hope, that, thus far at least, he has not +succeeded with you, and trust that, for the future, he +will not.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you for your concern; but hardly can I equally +thank you for so steadily maintaining the hypothesis +of my friend’s objectionableness. True, I but made his +acquaintance for the first to-day, and know little of his +antecedents; but that would seem no just reason why a +nature like his should not of itself inspire confidence. +And since your own knowledge of the gentleman is not, +by your account, so exact as it might be, you will pardon +me if I decline to welcome any further suggestions unflattering +to him. Indeed, sir,” with friendly decision, +“let us change the subject.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE MYSTICAL MASTER INTRODUCES THE PRACTICAL DISCIPLE.</span></h2> + +<p>“Both, the subject and the interlocutor,” replied +the stranger rising, and waiting the return towards him +of a promenader, that moment turning at the further +end of his walk.</p> + +<p>“Egbert!” said he, calling.</p> + +<p>Egbert, a well-dressed, commercial-looking gentleman +of about thirty, responded in a way strikingly deferential, +and in a moment stood near, in the attitude less of +an equal companion apparently than a confidential follower.</p> + +<p>“This,” said the stranger, taking Egbert by the hand +and leading him to the cosmopolitan, “this is Egbert, a +disciple. I wish you to know Egbert. Egbert was the +first among mankind to reduce to practice the principles +of Mark Winsome—principles previously accounted as +less adapted to life than the closet. Egbert,” turning +to the disciple, who, with seeming modesty, a little +shrank under these compliments, “Egbert, this,” with +a salute towards the cosmopolitan, “is, like all of us, a +stranger. I wish you, Egbert, to know this brother +stranger; be communicative with him. Particularly if, +by anything hitherto dropped, his curiosity has been +roused as to the precise nature of my philosophy, I trust +you will not leave such curiosity ungratified. You, +Egbert, by simply setting forth your practice, can do +more to enlighten one as to my theory, than I myself +can by mere speech. Indeed, it is by you that I myself +best understand myself. For to every philosophy are +certain rear parts, very important parts, and these, like +the rear of one’s head, are best seen by reflection. +Now, as in a glass, you, Egbert, in your life, reflect +to me the more important part of my system. He, who +approves you, approves the philosophy of Mark Winsome.”</p> + +<p>Though portions of this harangue may, perhaps, in the +phraseology seem self-complaisant, yet no trace of self-complacency +was perceptible in the speaker’s manner, +which throughout was plain, unassuming, dignified, and +manly; the teacher and prophet seemed to lurk more +in the idea, so to speak, than in the mere bearing of him +who was the vehicle of it.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the cosmopolitan, who seemed not a little +interested in this new aspect of matters, “you speak of +a certain philosophy, and a more or less occult one it +may be, and hint of its bearing upon practical life; pray, +tell me, if the study of this philosophy tends to the +same formation of character with the experiences of the +world?”</p> + +<p>“It does; and that is the test of its truth; for any +philosophy that, being in operation contradictory to the +ways of the world, tends to produce a character at odds +with it, such a philosophy must necessarily be but a +cheat and a dream.”</p> + +<p>“You a little surprise me,” answered the cosmopolitan; +“for, from an occasional profundity in you, and also +from your allusions to a profound work on the theology +of Plato, it would seem but natural to surmise that, if +you are the originator of any philosophy, it must needs +so partake of the abstruse, as to exalt it above the comparatively +vile uses of life.”</p> + +<p>“No uncommon mistake with regard to me,” rejoined +the other. Then meekly standing like a Raphael: “If +still in golden accents old Memnon murmurs his riddle, +none the less does the balance-sheet of every man’s +ledger unriddle the profit or loss of life. Sir,” with calm +energy, “man came into this world, not to sit down and +muse, not to befog himself with vain subtleties, but to +gird up his loins and to work. Mystery is in the morning, +and mystery in the night, and the beauty of mystery +is everywhere; but still the plain truth remains, that +mouth and purse must be filled. If, hitherto, you have +supposed me a visionary, be undeceived. I am no one-ideaed +one, either; no more than the seers before me. +Was not Seneca a usurer? Bacon a courtier? and Swedenborg, +though with one eye on the invisible, did he +not keep the other on the main chance? Along with +whatever else it may be given me to be, I am a man of +serviceable knowledge, and a man of the world. Know +me for such. And as for my disciple here,” turning towards +him, “if you look to find any soft Utopianisms +and last year’s sunsets in him, I smile to think how he +will set you right. The doctrines I have taught him +will, I trust, lead him neither to the mad-house nor the +poor-house, as so many other doctrines have served credulous +sticklers. Furthermore,” glancing upon him +paternally, “Egbert is both my disciple and my poet. +For poetry is not a thing of ink and rhyme, but of +thought and act, and, in the latter way, is by any one to +be found anywhere, when in useful action sought. In +a word, my disciple here is a thriving young merchant, +a practical poet in the West India trade. There,” presenting +Egbert’s hand to the cosmopolitan, “I join you, +and leave you.” With which words, and without bowing, +the master withdrew.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE DISCIPLE UNBENDS, AND CONSENTS TO ACT A SOCIAL PART.</span></h2> + +<p>In the master’s presence the disciple had stood as one +not ignorant of his place; modesty was in his expression, +with a sort of reverential depression. But the +presence of the superior withdrawn, he seemed lithely +to shoot up erect from beneath it, like one of those wire +men from a toy snuff-box.</p> + +<p>He was, as before said, a young man of about thirty. +His countenance of that neuter sort, which, in repose, +is neither prepossessing nor disagreeable; so that it +seemed quite uncertain how he would turn out. His +dress was neat, with just enough of the mode to save it +from the reproach of originality; in which general +respect, though with a readjustment of details, his costume +seemed modeled upon his master’s. But, upon the +whole, he was, to all appearances, the last person in the +world that one would take for the disciple of any transcendental +philosophy; though, indeed, something +about his sharp nose and shaved chin seemed to hint +that if mysticism, as a lesson, ever came in his way, he +might, with the characteristic knack of a true New-Englander, +turn even so profitless a thing to some profitable +account.</p> + +<p>“Well” said he, now familiarly seating himself in the +vacated chair, “what do you think of Mark? Sublime +fellow, ain’t he?”</p> + +<p>“That each member of the human guild is worthy +respect my friend,” rejoined the cosmopolitan, “is a +fact which no admirer of that guild will question; but +that, in view of higher natures, the word sublime, so frequently +applied to them, can, without confusion, be also +applied to man, is a point which man will decide for +himself; though, indeed, if he decide it in the affirmative, +it is not for me to object. But I am curious to +know more of that philosophy of which, at present, I +have but inklings. You, its first disciple among men, +it seems, are peculiarly qualified to expound it. Have +you any objections to begin now?”</p> + +<p>“None at all,” squaring himself to the table. “Where +shall I begin? At first principles?”</p> + +<p>“You remember that it was in a practical way that +you were represented as being fitted for the clear exposition. +Now, what you call first principles, I have, in +some things, found to be more or less vague. Permit +me, then, in a plain way, to suppose some common case +in real life, and that done, I would like you to tell me +how you, the practical disciple of the philosophy I wish +to know about, would, in that case, conduct.”</p> + +<p>“A business-like view. Propose the case.”</p> + +<p>“Not only the case, but the persons. The case is +this: There are two friends, friends from childhood, +bosom-friends; one of whom, for the first time, being in +need, for the first time seeks a loan from the other, who, +so far as fortune goes, is more than competent to grant +it. And the persons are to be you and I: you, the friend +from whom the loan is sought—I, the friend who seeks +it; you, the disciple of the philosophy in question—I, +a common man, with no more philosophy than to know +that when I am comfortably warm I don’t feel cold, +and when I have the ague I shake. Mind, now, you +must work up your imagination, and, as much as possible, +talk and behave just as if the case supposed were +a fact. For brevity, you shall call me Frank, and I will +call you Charlie. Are you agreed?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly. You begin.”</p> + +<p>The cosmopolitan paused a moment, then, assuming a +serious and care-worn air, suitable to the part to be +enacted, addressed his hypothesized <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note: The original showed 'freind'.">friend</ins>.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE HYPOTHETICAL FRIENDS.</span></h2> + +<p>“Charlie, I am going to put confidence in you.”</p> + +<p>“You always have, and with reason. What is it +Frank?”</p> + +<p>“Charlie, I am in want—urgent want of money.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not well.”</p> + +<p>“But it <i>will</i> be well, Charlie, if you loan me a hundred +dollars. I would not ask this of you, only my +need is sore, and you and I have so long shared hearts +and minds together, however unequally on my side, that +nothing remains to prove our friendship than, with the +same inequality on my side, to share purses. You will +do me the favor won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Favor? What do you mean by asking me to do +you a favor?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Charlie, you never used to talk so.”</p> + +<p>“Because, Frank, you on your side, never used to +talk so.”</p> + +<p>“But won’t you loan me the money?”</p> + +<p>“No, Frank.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because my rule forbids. I give away money, but +never loan it; and of course the man who calls himself +my friend is above receiving alms. The negotiation +of a loan is a business transaction. And I will +transact no business with a friend. What a friend is, he +is socially and intellectually; and I rate social and intellectual +friendship too high to degrade it on either +side into a pecuniary make-shift. To be sure there are, +and I have, what is called business friends; that is, commercial +acquaintances, very convenient persons. But +I draw a red-ink line between them and my friends +in the true sense—my friends social and intellectual. +In brief, a true friend has nothing to do with loans; +he should have a soul above loans. Loans are such +unfriendly accommodations as are to be had from the +soulless corporation of a bank, by giving the regular +security and paying the regular discount.”</p> + +<p>“An <i>unfriendly</i> accommodation? Do those words go +together handsomely?”</p> + +<p>“Like the poor farmer’s team, of an old man and +a cow—not handsomely, but to the purpose. Look, +Frank, a loan of money on interest is a sale of money +on credit. To sell a thing on credit may be an +accommodation, but where is the friendliness? Few +men in their senses, except operators, borrow money on +interest, except upon a necessity akin to starvation. +Well, now, where is the friendliness of my letting a +starving man have, say, the money’s worth of a barrel of +flour upon the condition that, on a given day, he shall let +me have the money’s worth of a barrel and a half of flour; +especially if I add this further proviso, that if he fail so +to do, I shall then, to secure to myself the money’s +worth of my barrel and his half barrel, put his heart up +at public auction, and, as it is cruel to part families, +throw in his wife’s and children’s?”</p> + +<p>“I understand,” with a pathetic shudder; “but even +did it come to that, such a step on the creditor’s part, +let us, for the honor of human nature, hope, were less +the intention than the contingency.”</p> + +<p>“But, Frank, a contingency not unprovided for in +the taking beforehand of due securities.”</p> + +<p>“Still, Charlie, was not the loan in the first place a +friend’s act?”</p> + +<p>“And the auction in the last place an enemy’s act. +Don’t you see? The enmity lies couched in the friendship, +just as the ruin in the relief.”</p> + +<p>“I must be very stupid to-day, Charlie, but really, +I can’t understand this. Excuse me, my dear friend, but +it strikes me that in going into the philosophy of the +subject, you go somewhat out of your depth.”</p> + +<p>“So said the incautious wader out to the ocean; but +the ocean replied: ‘It is just the other way, my wet +friend,’ and drowned him.”</p> + +<p>“That, Charlie, is a fable about as unjust to the +ocean, as some of Æsop’s are to the animals. The ocean +is a magnanimous element, and would scorn to assassinate +a poor fellow, let alone taunting him in the act. +But I don’t understand what you say about enmity +couched in friendship, and ruin in relief.”</p> + +<p>“I will illustrate, Frank, The needy man is a train +slipped off the rail. He who loans him money on interest +is the one who, by way of accommodation, helps +get the train back where it belongs; but then, by way +of making all square, and a little more, telegraphs to an +agent, thirty miles a-head by a precipice, to throw just +there, on his account, a beam across the track. Your +needy man’s principle-and-interest friend is, I say +again, a friend with an enmity in reserve. No, no, my +dear friend, no interest for me. I scorn interest.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Charlie, none need you charge. Loan me +without interest.”</p> + +<p>“That would be alms again.”</p> + +<p>“Alms, if the sum borrowed is returned?”</p> + +<p>“Yes: an alms, not of the principle, but the interest.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am in sore need, so I will not decline the +alms. Seeing that it is you, Charlie, gratefully will I +accept the alms of the interest. No humiliation between +friends.”</p> + +<p>“Now, how in the refined view of friendship can you +suffer yourself to talk so, my dear Frank. It pains me. +For though I am not of the sour mind of Solomon, that, +in the hour of need, a stranger is better than a brother; +yet, I entirely agree with my sublime master, who, in his +Essay on Friendship, says so nobly, that if he want a +terrestrial convenience, not to his friend celestial (or +friend social and intellectual) would he go; no: for his +terrestrial convenience, to his friend terrestrial (or humbler +business-friend) he goes. Very lucidly he adds the +reason: Because, for the superior nature, which on no +account can ever descend to do good, to be annoyed +with requests to do it, when the inferior one, which by no +instruction can ever rise above that capacity, stands +always inclined to it—this is unsuitable.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will not consider you as my friend celestial, +but as the other.”</p> + +<p>“It racks me to come to that; but, to oblige you, I’ll do it. +We are business friends; business is business. You want to +negotiate a loan. Very good. On what paper? Will you pay +three per cent a month? Where is your security?”</p> + +<p>“Surely, you will not exact those formalities from +your old schoolmate—him with whom you have so often +sauntered down the groves of Academe, discoursing of +the beauty of virtue, and the grace that is in kindliness—and +all for so paltry a sum. Security? Our being fellow-academics, +and friends from childhood up, is security.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, my dear Frank, our being fellow-academics +is the worst of securities; while, our having been +friends from childhood up is just no security at all. +You forget we are now business friends.”</p> + +<p>“And you, on your side, forget, Charlie, that as your +business friend I can give you no security; my need +being so sore that I cannot get an indorser.”</p> + +<p>“No indorser, then, no business loan.”</p> + +<p>“Since then, Charlie, neither as the one nor the other +sort of friend you have defined, can I prevail with you; +how if, combining the two, I sue as both?”</p> + +<p>“Are you a centaur?”</p> + +<p>“When all is said then, what good have I of your +friendship, regarded in what light you will?”</p> + +<p>“The good which is in the philosophy of Mark Winsome, +as reduced to practice by a practical disciple.”</p> + +<p>“And why don’t you add, much good may the philosophy +of Mark Winsome do me? Ah,” turning invokingly, +“what is friendship, if it be not the helping hand +and the feeling heart, the good Samaritan pouring out +at need the purse as the vial!”</p> + +<p>“Now, my dear Frank, don’t be childish. Through +tears never did man see his way in the dark. I should +hold you unworthy that sincere friendship I bear you, +could I think that friendship in the ideal is too lofty for +you to conceive. And let me tell you, my dear Frank, +that you would seriously shake the foundations of our +love, if ever again you should repeat the present scene. +The philosophy, which is mine in the strongest way, +teaches plain-dealing. Let me, then, now, as at the most +suitable time, candidly disclose certain circumstances +you seem in ignorance of. Though our friendship began +in boyhood, think not that, on my side at least, it began +injudiciously. Boys are little men, it is said. You, I +juvenilely picked out for my friend, for your favorable +points at the time; not the least of which were your good +manners, handsome dress, and your parents’ rank and +repute of wealth. In short, like any grown man, boy +though I was, I went into the market and chose me my +mutton, not for its leanness, but its fatness. In other +words, there seemed in you, the schoolboy who always +had silver in his pocket, a reasonable probability that +you would never stand in lean need of fat succor; and if +my early impression has not been verified by the event, +it is only because of the caprice of fortune producing a +fallibility of human expectations, however discreet.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that I should listen to this cold-blooded disclosure!”</p> + +<p>“A little cold blood in your ardent veins, my dear +Frank, wouldn’t do you any harm, let me tell you. +Cold-blooded? You say that, because my disclosure +seems to involve a vile prudence on my side. But not +so. My reason for choosing you in part for the points I +have mentioned, was solely with a view of preserving +inviolate the delicacy of the connection. For—do but +think of it—what more distressing to delicate friendship, +formed early, than your friend’s eventually, in manhood, +dropping in of a rainy night for his little loan of five +dollars or so? Can delicate friendship stand that? +And, on the other side, would delicate friendship, so +long as it retained its delicacy, do that? Would you +not instinctively say of your dripping friend in the entry, +‘I have been deceived, fraudulently deceived, in this +man; he is no true friend that, in platonic love to demand +love-rites?’”</p> + +<p>“And rites, doubly rights, they are, cruel Charlie!”</p> + +<p>“Take it how you will, heed well how, by too importunately +claiming those rights, as you call them, you +shake those foundations I hinted of. For though, as it +turns out, I, in my early friendship, built me a fair house +on a poor site; yet such pains and cost have I lavished +on that house, that, after all, it is dear to me. No, I +would not lose the sweet boon of your friendship, Frank. +But beware.”</p> + +<p>“And of what? Of being in need? Oh, Charlie! +you talk not to a god, a being who in himself holds his +own estate, but to a man who, being a man, is the sport +of fate’s wind and wave, and who mounts towards heaven +or sinks towards hell, as the billows roll him in trough +or on crest.”</p> + +<p>“Tut! Frank. Man is no such poor devil as that +comes to—no poor drifting sea-weed of the universe. +Man has a soul; which, if he will, puts him beyond fortune’s +finger and the future’s spite. Don’t whine +like fortune’s whipped dog, Frank, or by the heart of a true +friend, I will cut ye.”</p> + +<p>“Cut me you have already, cruel Charlie, and to the quick. +Call to mind the days we went nutting, the times we walked +in the woods, arms wreathed about each other, showing +trunks invined like the trees:—oh, Charlie!”</p> + +<p>“Pish! we were boys.”</p> + +<p>“Then lucky the fate of the first-born of Egypt, cold +in the grave ere maturity struck them with a sharper +frost.—Charlie?”</p> + +<p>“Fie! you’re a girl.”</p> + +<p>“Help, help, Charlie, I want help!”</p> + +<p>“Help? to say nothing of the friend, there is something +wrong about the man who wants help. There is +somewhere a defect, a want, in brief, a need, a crying +need, somewhere about that man.”</p> + +<p>“So there is, Charlie.—Help, Help!”</p> + +<p>“How foolish a cry, when to implore help, is itself +the proof of undesert of it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, this, all along, is not you, Charlie, but some +ventriloquist who usurps your larynx. It is Mark Winsome +that speaks, not Charlie.”</p> + +<p>“If so, thank heaven, the voice of Mark Winsome is +not alien but congenial to my larynx. If the philosophy +of that illustrious teacher find little response among +mankind at large, it is less that they do not possess +teachable tempers, than because they are so unfortunate +as not to have natures predisposed to accord with him.</p> + +<p>“Welcome, that compliment to humanity,” exclaimed +Frank with energy, “the truer because unintended. +And long in this respect may humanity remain what +you affirm it. And long it will; since humanity, inwardly +feeling how subject it is to straits, and hence +how precious is help, will, for selfishness’ sake, if no +other, long postpone ratifying a philosophy that banishes +help from the world. But Charlie, Charlie! speak as +you used to; tell me you will help me. Were the case +reversed, not less freely would I loan you the money +than you would ask me to loan it.</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> ask? <i>I</i> ask a loan? Frank, by this hand, under +no circumstances would I accept a loan, though without +asking pressed on me. The experience of China +Aster might warn me.”</p> + +<p>“And what was that?”</p> + +<p>“Not very unlike the experience of the man that +built himself a palace of moon-beams, and when the moon +set was surprised that his palace vanished with it. I +will tell you about China Aster. I wish I could do so +in my own words, but unhappily the original story-teller +here has so tyrannized over me, that it is quite +impossible for me to repeat his incidents without sliding +into his style. I forewarn you of this, that you may +not think me so maudlin as, in some parts, the story +would seem to make its narrator. It is too bad that +any intellect, especially in so small a matter, should +have such power to impose itself upon another, against +its best exerted will, too. However, it is satisfaction to +know that the main moral, to which all tends, I fully +approve. But, to begin.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN WHICH THE STORY OF CHINA ASTER IS AT SECOND-HAND TOLD BY +ONE WHO, WHILE NOT DISAPPROVING THE MORAL, DISCLAIMS THE +SPIRIT OF THE STYLE.</span></h2> + +<p>“China Aster was a young candle-maker of Marietta, +at the mouth of the Muskingum—one whose trade would +seem a kind of subordinate branch of that parent craft +and mystery of the hosts of heaven, to be the means, +effectively or otherwise, of shedding some light through +the darkness of a planet benighted. But he made little +money by the business. Much ado had poor China +Aster and his family to live; he could, if he chose, light +up from his stores a whole street, but not so easily +could he light up with prosperity the hearts of his +household.</p> + +<p>“Now, China Aster, it so happened, had a friend, +Orchis, a shoemaker; one whose calling it is to defend +the understandings of men from naked contact with the +substance of things: a very useful vocation, and which, +spite of all the wiseacres may prophesy, will hardly go +out of fashion so long as rocks are hard and flints will +gall. All at once, by a capital prize in a lottery, this +useful shoemaker was raised from a bench to a sofa. A +small nabob was the shoemaker now, and the understandings +of men, let them shift for themselves. Not +that Orchis was, by prosperity, elated into heartlessness. +Not at all. Because, in his fine apparel, strolling one +morning into the candlery, and gayly switching about +at the candle-boxes with his gold-headed cane—while +poor China Aster, with his greasy paper cap and leather +apron, was selling one candle for one penny to a poor +orange-woman, who, with the patronizing coolness of a +liberal customer, required it to be carefully rolled up +and tied in a half sheet of paper—lively Orchis, the +woman being gone, discontinued his gay switchings and +said: ‘This is poor business for you, friend China +Aster; your capital is too small. You must drop this +vile tallow and hold up pure spermaceti to the world. +I tell you what it is, you shall have one thousand dollars +to extend with. In fact, you must make money, +China Aster. I don’t like to see your little boy paddling +about without shoes, as he does.’</p> + +<p>“‘Heaven bless your goodness, friend Orchis,’ replied +the candle-maker, ‘but don’t take it illy if I call to +mind the word of my uncle, the blacksmith, who, when +a loan was offered him, declined it, saying: “To ply my +own hammer, light though it be, I think best, rather +than piece it out heavier by welding to it a bit off a +neighbor’s hammer, though that may have some weight +to spare; otherwise, were the borrowed bit suddenly +wanted again, it might not split off at the welding, but +too much to one side or the other.”’</p> + +<p>“‘Nonsense, friend China Aster, don’t be so honest; +your boy is barefoot. Besides, a rich man lose by a +poor man? Or a friend be the worse by a friend? +China Aster, I am afraid that, in leaning over into your +vats here, this, morning, you have spilled out your wisdom. +Hush! I won’t hear any more. Where’s your +desk? Oh, here.’ With that, Orchis dashed off a check +on his bank, and off-handedly presenting it, said: +‘There, friend China Aster, is your one thousand dollars; +when you make it ten thousand, as you soon +enough will (for experience, the only true knowledge, +teaches me that, for every one, good luck is in store), +then, China Aster, why, then you can return me the +money or not, just as you please. But, in any event, +give yourself no concern, for I shall never demand payment.’</p> + +<p>“Now, as kind heaven will so have it that to a +hungry man bread is a great temptation, and, therefore, +he is not too harshly to be blamed, if, when freely +offered, he take it, even though it be uncertain whether +he shall ever be able to reciprocate; so, to a poor man, +proffered money is equally enticing, and the worst that +can be said of him, if he accept it, is just what can be +said in the other case of the hungry man. In short, the +poor candle-maker’s scrupulous morality succumbed to +his unscrupulous necessity, as is now and then apt to be +the case. He took the check, and was about carefully +putting it away for the present, when Orchis, switching +about again with his gold-headed cane, said: ‘By-the-way, +China Aster, it don’t mean anything, but suppose +you make a little memorandum of this; won’t do any +harm, you know.’ So China Aster gave Orchis his note +for one thousand dollars on demand. Orchis took it, and +looked at it a moment, ‘Pooh, I told you, friend China +Aster, I wasn’t going ever to make any <i>demand</i>.’ Then +tearing up the note, and switching away again at the +candle-boxes, said, carelessly; ‘Put it at four years.’ +So China Aster gave Orchis his note for one thousand +dollars at four years. ‘You see I’ll never trouble you +about this,’ said Orchis, slipping it in his pocket-book, +‘give yourself no further thought, friend China Aster, +than how best to invest your money. And don’t forget +my hint about spermaceti. Go into that, and I’ll buy +all my light of you,’ with which encouraging words, he, +with wonted, rattling kindness, took leave.</p> + +<p>“China Aster remained standing just where Orchis +had left him; when, suddenly, two elderly friends, +having nothing better to do, dropped in for a chat. +The chat over, China Aster, in greasy cap and apron, +ran after Orchis, and said: ‘Friend Orchis, heaven +will reward you for your good intentions, but here is +your check, and now give me my note.’</p> + +<p>“‘Your honesty is a bore, China Aster,’ said Orchis, not +without displeasure. ‘I won’t take the check from you.’</p> + +<p>“‘Then you must take it from the pavement, Orchis,’ +said China Aster; and, picking up a stone, he placed +the check under it on the walk.</p> + +<p>“‘China Aster,’ said Orchis, inquisitively eying him, +after my leaving the candlery just now, what asses +dropped in there to advise with you, that now you hurry +after me, and act so like a fool? Shouldn’t wonder +if it was those two old asses that the boys nickname +Old Plain Talk and Old Prudence.’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, it was those two, Orchis, but don’t call them names.’</p> + +<p>“‘A brace of spavined old croakers. Old Plain Talk +had a shrew for a wife, and that’s made him shrewish; +and Old Prudence, when a boy, broke down in an apple-stall, +and that discouraged him for life. No better sport +for a knowing spark like me than to hear Old Plain Talk +wheeze out his sour old saws, while Old Prudence stands +by, leaning on his staff, wagging his frosty old pow, and +chiming in at every clause.’</p> + +<p>“‘How can you speak so, friend Orchis, of those who +were my father’s friends?’”</p> + +<p>“‘Save me from my friends, if those old croakers were +Old Honesty’s friends. I call your father so, for every +one used to. Why did they let him go in his old age on +the town? Why, China Aster, I’ve often heard from +my mother, the chronicler, that those two old fellows, +with Old Conscience—as the boys called the crabbed old +quaker, that’s dead now—they three used to go to the +poor-house when your father was there, and get round +his bed, and talk to him for all the world as Eliphaz, +Bildad, and Zophar did to poor old pauper Job. Yes, +Job’s comforters were Old Plain Talk, and Old Prudence, +and Old Conscience, to your poor old father. +Friends? I should like to know who you call foes? +With their everlasting croaking and reproaching they +tormented poor Old Honesty, your father, to death.’</p> + +<p>“At these words, recalling the sad end of his worthy +parent, China Aster could not restrain some tears. Upon +which Orchis said: ‘Why, China Aster, you are the +dolefulest creature. Why don’t you, China Aster, take +a bright view of life? You will never get on in your +business or anything else, if you don’t take the bright view +of life. It’s the ruination of a man to take the dismal +one.’ Then, gayly poking at him with his gold-headed +cane, ‘Why don’t you, then? Why don’t you be bright +and hopeful, like me? Why don’t you have confidence, +China Aster?</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know, friend Orchis,’ soberly +replied China Aster, ‘but may be my not having +drawn a lottery-prize, like you, may make some difference.’</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! before I knew anything about the prize +I was gay as a lark, just as gay as I am now. In fact, +it has always been a principle with me to hold to the +bright view.’</p> + +<p>“Upon this, China Aster looked a little hard at Orchis, +because the truth was, that until the lucky prize came +to him, Orchis had gone under the nickname of Doleful +Dumps, he having been beforetimes of a hypochondriac +turn, so much so as to save up and put by a few dollars +of his scanty earnings against that rainy day he used to +groan so much about.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what it is, now, friend China Aster,’ said +Orchis, pointing down to the check under the stone, and +then slapping his pocket, ‘the check shall lie there if +you say so, but your note shan’t keep it company. In +fact, China Aster, I am too sincerely your friend to take +advantage of a passing fit of the blues in you. You <i>shall</i> +reap the benefit of my friendship.’ With which, buttoning +up his coat in a jiffy, away he ran, leaving the +check behind.</p> + +<p>“At first, China Aster was going to tear it up, but +thinking that this ought not to be done except in the +presence of the drawer of the check, he mused a while, +and picking it up, trudged back to the candlery, fully +resolved to call upon Orchis soon as his day’s work was +over, and destroy the check before his eyes. But it so +happened that when China Aster called, Orchis was out, +and, having waited for him a weary time in vain, China +Aster went home, still with the check, but still resolved +not to keep it another day. Bright and early next +morning he would a second time go after Orchis, and +would, no doubt, make a sure thing of it, by finding him +in his bed; for since the lottery-prize came to him, Orchis, +besides becoming more cheery, had also grown a +little lazy. But as destiny would have it, that same +night China Aster had a dream, in which a being in the +guise of a smiling angel, and holding a kind of cornucopia +in her hand, hovered over him, pouring down +showers of small gold dollars, thick as kernels of corn. +‘I am Bright Future, friend China Aster,’ said the angel, +‘and if you do what friend Orchis would have you +do, just see what will come of it.’ With which Bright +Future, with another swing of her cornucopia, poured +such another shower of small gold dollars upon him, +that it seemed to bank him up all round, and he waded +about in it like a maltster in malt.</p> + +<p>“Now, dreams are wonderful things, as everybody +knows—so wonderful, indeed, that some people stop not +short of ascribing them directly to heaven; and China +Aster, who was of a proper turn of mind in everything, +thought that in consideration of the dream, it would be +but well to wait a little, ere seeking Orchis again. During +the day, China Aster’s mind dwelling continually +upon the dream, he was so full of it, that when Old +Plain Talk dropped in to see him, just before dinnertime, +as he often did, out of the interest he took in Old +Honesty’s son, China Aster told all about his vision, +adding that he could not think that so radiant an angel +could deceive; and, indeed, talked at such a rate that +one would have thought he believed the angel some +beautiful human philanthropist. Something in this sort +Old Plain Talk understood him, and, accordingly, in his +plain way, said: ‘China Aster, you tell me that an angel +appeared to you in a dream. Now, what does that +amount to but this, that you dreamed an angel appeared +to you? Go right away, China Aster, and return the +check, as I advised you before. If friend Prudence were +here, he would say just the same thing.’ With which +words Old Plain Talk went off to find friend Prudence, +but not succeeding, was returning to the candlery himself, +when, at distance mistaking him for a dun who had +long annoyed him, China Aster in a panic barred all his +doors, and ran to the back part of the candlery, where +no knock could be heard.</p> + +<p>“By this sad mistake, being left with no friend to argue +the other side of the question, China Aster was so +worked upon at last, by musing over his dream, that +nothing would do but he must get the check cashed, and +lay out the money the very same day in buying a good +lot of spermaceti to make into candles, by which operation +he counted upon turning a better penny than he +ever had before in his life; in fact, this he believed +would prove the foundation of that famous fortune +which the angel had promised him.</p> + +<p>“Now, in using the money, China Aster was resolved +punctually to pay the interest every six months till the +principal should be returned, howbeit not a word about +such a thing had been breathed by Orchis; though, +indeed, according to custom, as well as law, in such +matters, interest would legitimately accrue on the loan, +nothing to the contrary having been put in the bond. +Whether Orchis at the time had this in mind or not, +there is no sure telling; but, to all appearance, he never +so much as cared to think about the matter, one way or +other.</p> + +<p>“Though the spermaceti venture rather disappointed +China Aster’s sanguine expectations, yet he made out to +pay the first six months’ interest, and though his next +venture turned out still less prosperously, yet by pinching +his family in the matter of fresh meat, and, what +pained him still more, his boys’ schooling, he contrived +to pay the second six months’ interest, sincerely grieved +that integrity, as well as its opposite, though not in an +equal degree, costs something, sometimes.</p> + +<p>“Meanwhile, Orchis had gone on a trip to Europe by +advice of a physician; it so happening that, since the +lottery-prize came to him, it had been discovered to Orchis +that his health was not very firm, though he had +never complained of anything before but a slight ailing +of the spleen, scarce worth talking about at the time. +So Orchis, being abroad, could not help China Aster’s +paying his interest as he did, however much he might +have been opposed to it; for China Aster paid it to +Orchis’s agent, who was of too business-like a turn to +decline interest regularly paid in on a loan.</p> + +<p>“But overmuch to trouble the agent on that score was +not again to be the fate of China Aster; for, not being +of that skeptical spirit which refuses to trust customers, +his third venture resulted, through bad debts, in +almost a total loss—a bad blow for the candle-maker. +Neither did Old Plain Talk, and Old Prudence neglect +the opportunity to read him an uncheerful enough lesson +upon the consequences of his disregarding their advice +in the matter of having nothing to do with borrowed +money. ‘It’s all just as I predicted,’ said Old Plain +Talk, blowing his old nose with his old bandana. ‘Yea, +indeed is it,’ chimed in Old Prudence, rapping his staff +on the floor, and then leaning upon it, looking with +solemn forebodings upon China Aster. Low-spirited +enough felt the poor candle-maker; till all at once who +should come with a bright face to him but his bright +friend, the angel, in another dream. Again the cornucopia +poured out its treasure, and promised still more. +Revived by the vision, he resolved not to be down-hearted, +but up and at it once more—contrary to the +advice of Old Plain Talk, backed as usual by his crony, +which was to the effect, that, under present circumstances, +the best thing China Aster could do, would be to +wind up his business, settle, if he could, all his liabilities, +and then go to work as a journeyman, by which +he could earn good wages, and give up, from that time +henceforth, all thoughts of rising above being a paid subordinate +to men more able than himself, for China Aster’s +career thus far plainly proved him the legitimate son of +Old Honesty, who, as every one knew, had never shown +much business-talent, so little, in fact, that many said +of him that he had no business to be in business. And +just this plain saying Plain Talk now plainly applied +to China Aster, and Old Prudence never disagreed with +him. But the angel in the dream did, and, maugre Plain +Talk, put quite other notions into the candle-maker.</p> + +<p>“He considered what he should do towards reëstablishing +himself. Doubtless, had Orchis been in the country, +he would have aided him in this strait. As it was, he +applied to others; and as in the world, much as some may +hint to the contrary, an honest man in misfortune still +can find friends to stay by him and help him, even so +it proved with China Aster, who at last succeeded in borrowing +from a rich old farmer the sum of six hundred +dollars, at the usual interest of money-lenders, upon the +security of a secret bond signed by China Aster’s wife +and himself, to the effect that all such right and title to +any property that should be left her by a well-to-do +childless uncle, an invalid tanner, such property should, +in the event of China Aster’s failing to return the borrowed +sum on the given day, be the lawful possession +of the money-lender. True, it was just as much as +China Aster could possibly do to induce his wife, a careful +woman, to sign this bond; because she had always +regarded her promised share in her uncle’s estate as an +anchor well to windward of the hard times in which +China Aster had always been more or less involved, and +from which, in her bosom, she never had seen much +chance of his freeing himself. Some notion may be had +of China Aster’s standing in the heart and head of his +wife, by a short sentence commonly used in reply to +such persons as happened to sound her on the point. +‘China Aster,’ she would say, ‘is a good husband, but +a bad business man!’ Indeed, she was a connection on +the maternal side of Old Plain Talk’s. But had not +China Aster taken good care not to let Old Plain Talk +and Old Prudence hear of his dealings with the old +farmer, ten to one they would, in some way, have interfered +with his success in that quarter.</p> + +<p>“It has been hinted that the honesty of China Aster +was what mainly induced the money-lender to befriend +him in his misfortune, and this must be apparent; for, +had China Aster been a different man, the money-lender +might have dreaded lest, in the event of his failing to +meet his note, he might some way prove slippery—more +especially as, in the hour of distress, worked upon by +remorse for so jeopardizing his wife’s money, his heart +might prove a traitor to his bond, not to hint that it +was more than doubtful how such a secret security and +claim, as in the last resort would be the old farmer’s, +would stand in a court of law. But though one inference +from all this may be, that had China Aster been +something else than what he was, he would not have +been trusted, and, therefore, he would have been effectually +shut out from running his own and wife’s head +into the usurer’s noose; yet those who, when everything +at last came out, maintained that, in this view +and to this extent, the honesty of the candle-maker was +no advantage to him, in so saying, such persons said +what every good heart must deplore, and no prudent +tongue will admit.</p> + +<p>“It may be mentioned, that the old farmer made +China Aster take part of his loan in three old dried-up +cows and one lame horse, not improved by the glanders. +These were thrown in at a pretty high figure, the old +money-lender having a singular prejudice in regard to +the high value of any sort of stock raised on his farm. +With a great deal of difficulty, and at more loss, China +Aster disposed of his cattle at public auction, no private +purchaser being found who could be prevailed +upon to invest. And now, raking and scraping in every +way, and working early and late, China Aster at last +started afresh, nor without again largely and confidently +extending himself. However, he did not try his +hand at the spermaceti again, but, admonished by experience, +returned to tallow. But, having bought a +good lot of it, by the time he got it into candles, tallow +fell so low, and candles with it, that his candles per +pound barely sold for what he had paid for the tallow. +Meantime, a year’s unpaid interest had accrued on Orchis’ +loan, but China Aster gave himself not so much +concern about that as about the interest now due to +the old farmer. But he was glad that the principal +there had yet some time to run. However, the skinny +old fellow gave him some trouble by coming after him +every day or two on a scraggy old white horse, furnished +with a musty old saddle, and goaded into his +shambling old paces with a withered old raw hide. All +the neighbors said that surely Death himself on the +pale horse was after poor China Aster now. And +something so it proved; for, ere long, China Aster +found himself involved in troubles mortal enough.</p> + +<p>At this juncture Orchis was heard of. Orchis, it seemed +had returned from his travels, and clandestinely married, +and, in a kind of queer way, was living in Pennsylvania +among his wife’s relations, who, among other +things, had induced him to join a church, or rather +semi-religious school, of Come-Outers; and what was +still more, Orchis, without coming to the spot himself, +had sent word to his agent to dispose of some of his +property in Marietta, and remit him the proceeds. +Within a year after, China Aster received a letter from +Orchis, commending him for his punctuality in paying +the first year’s interest, and regretting the necessity +that he (Orchis) was now under of using all his dividends; +so he relied upon China Aster’s paying the +next six months’ interest, and of course with the back +interest. Not more surprised than alarmed, China +Aster thought of taking steamboat to go and see Orchis, +but he was saved that expense by the unexpected +arrival in Marietta of Orchis in person, suddenly called +there by that strange kind of capriciousness lately characterizing +him. No sooner did China Aster hear of +his old friend’s arrival than he hurried to call upon him. +He found him curiously rusty in dress, sallow in cheek, +and decidedly less gay and cordial in manner, which +the more surprised China Aster, because, in former +days, he had more than once heard Orchis, in his light +rattling way, declare that all he (Orchis) wanted to +make him a perfectly happy, hilarious, and benignant +man, was a voyage to Europe and a wife, with a free +development of his inmost nature.</p> + +<p>“Upon China Aster’s stating his case, his trusted +friend was silent for a time; then, in an odd way, said +that he would not crowd China Aster, but still his +(Orchis’) necessities were urgent. Could not China +Aster mortgage the candlery? He was honest, and +must have moneyed friends; and could he not press +his sales of candles? Could not the market be forced +a little in that particular? The profits on candles +must be very great. Seeing, now, that Orchis had +the notion that the candle-making business was a very +profitable one, and knowing sorely enough what an +error was here, China Aster tried to undeceive him. +But he could not drive the truth into Orchis—Orchis +being very obtuse here, and, at the same time, +strange to say, very melancholy. Finally, Orchis +glanced off from so unpleasing a subject into the most +unexpected reflections, taken from a religious point +of view, upon the unstableness and deceitfulness of +the human heart. But having, as he thought, experienced +something of that sort of thing, China Aster +did not take exception to his friend’s observations, +but still refrained from so doing, almost as much for +the sake of sympathetic sociality as anything else. +Presently, Orchis, without much ceremony, rose, and +saying he must write a letter to his wife, bade his +friend good-bye, but without warmly shaking him by +the hand as of old.</p> + +<p>“In much concern at the change, China Aster made +earnest inquiries in suitable quarters, as to what things, +as yet unheard of, had befallen Orchis, to bring about +such a revolution; and learned at last that, besides traveling, +and getting married, and joining the sect of +Come-Outers, Orchis had somehow got a bad dyspepsia, +and lost considerable property through a breach of +trust on the part of a factor in New York. Telling +these things to Old Plain Talk, that man of some +knowledge of the world shook his old head, and told +China Aster that, though he hoped it might prove otherwise, +yet it seemed to him that all he had communicated +about Orchis worked together for bad omens as to +his future forbearance—especially, he added with a +grim sort of smile, in view of his joining the sect of +Come-Outers; for, if some men knew what was their +inmost natures, instead of coming out with it, they +would try their best to keep it in, which, indeed, was +the way with the prudent sort. In all which sour notions +Old Prudence, as usual, chimed in.</p> + +<p>“When interest-day came again, China Aster, by the +utmost exertions, could only pay Orchis’ agent a small +part of what was due, and a part of that was made up +by his children’s gift money (bright tenpenny pieces +and new quarters, kept in their little money-boxes), and +pawning his best clothes, with those of his wife and +children, so that all were subjected to the hardship of +staying away from church. And the old usurer, too, +now beginning to be obstreperous, China Aster paid +him his interest and some other pressing debts with +money got by, at last, mortgaging the candlery.</p> + +<p>“When next interest-day came round for Orchis, not +a penny could be raised. With much grief of heart, +China Aster so informed Orchis’ agent. Meantime, the +note to the old usurer fell due, and nothing from China +Aster was ready to meet it; yet, as heaven sends its +rain on the just and unjust alike, by a coincidence not +unfavorable to the old farmer, the well-to-do uncle, the +tanner, having died, the usurer entered upon possession +of such part of his property left by will to the wife +of China Aster. When still the next interest-day for +Orchis came round, it found China Aster worse off than +ever; for, besides his other troubles, he was now weak +with sickness. Feebly dragging himself to Orchis’ +agent, he met him in the street, told him just how it +was; upon which the agent, with a grave enough face, +said that he had instructions from his employer not to +crowd him about the interest at present, but to say to +him that about the time the note would mature, Orchis +would have heavy liabilities to meet, and therefore the +note must at that time be certainly paid, and, of course, +the back interest with it; and not only so, but, as Orchis +had had to allow the interest for good part of the +time, he hoped that, for the back interest, China Aster +would, in reciprocation, have no objections to allowing +interest on the interest annually. To be sure, this was +not the law; but, between friends who accommodate +each other, it was the custom.</p> + +<p>“Just then, Old Plain Talk with Old Prudence turned +the corner, coming plump upon China Aster as the +agent left him; and whether it was a sun-stroke, or +whether they accidentally ran against him, or whether +it was his being so weak, or whether it was everything +together, or how it was exactly, there is no telling, but +poor China Aster fell to the earth, and, striking his head +sharply, was picked up senseless. It was a day in July; +such a light and heat as only the midsummer banks of +the inland Ohio know. China Aster was taken home +on a door; lingered a few days with a wandering mind, +and kept wandering on, till at last, at dead of night, +when nobody was aware, his spirit wandered away into +the other world.</p> + +<p>“Old Plain Talk and Old Prudence, neither of whom +ever omitted attending any funeral, which, indeed, was +their chief exercise—these two were among the sincerest +mourners who followed the remains of the son of +their ancient friend to the grave.</p> + +<p>“It is needless to tell of the executions that followed; +how that the candlery was sold by the mortgagee; how +Orchis never got a penny for his loan; and how, in the +case of the poor widow, chastisement was tempered with +mercy; for, though she was left penniless, she was not left +childless. Yet, unmindful of the alleviation, a spirit of +complaint, at what she impatiently called the bitterness +of her lot and the hardness of the world, so preyed upon +her, as ere long to hurry her from the obscurity of +indigence to the deeper shades of the tomb.</p> + +<p>“But though the straits in which China Aster had left +his family had, besides apparently dimming the world’s +regard, likewise seemed to dim its sense of the probity +of its deceased head, and though this, as some thought, +did not speak well for the world, yet it happened in this +case, as in others, that, though the world may for a time +seem insensible to that merit which lies under a cloud, +yet, sooner or later, it always renders honor where honor +is due; for, upon the death of the widow, the freemen +of Marietta, as a tribute of respect for China Aster, and +an expression of their conviction of his high moral +worth, passed a resolution, that, until they attained maturity, +his children should be considered the town’s +guests. No mere verbal compliment, like those of some +public bodies; for, on the same day, the orphans were +officially installed in that hospitable edifice where their +worthy grandfather, the town’s guest before them, had +breathed his last breath.</p> + +<p>“But sometimes honor maybe paid to the memory of +an honest man, and still his mound remain without a +monument. Not so, however, with the candle-maker. +At an early day, Plain Talk had procured a plain stone, +and was digesting in his mind what pithy word or two +to place upon it, when there was discovered, in China +Aster’s otherwise empty wallet, an epitaph, written, +probably, in one of those disconsolate hours, attended +with more or less mental aberration, perhaps, so frequent +with him for some months prior to his end. A memorandum +on the back expressed the wish that it might be +placed over his grave. Though with the sentiment of +the epitaph Plain Talk did not disagree, he himself being +at times of a hypochondriac turn—at least, so many +said—yet the language struck him as too much drawn +out; so, after consultation with Old Prudence, he decided +upon making use of the epitaph, yet not without verbal +retrenchments. And though, when these were made, +the thing still appeared wordy to him, nevertheless, +thinking that, since a dead man was to be spoken about, +it was but just to let him speak for himself, especially +when he spoke sincerely, and when, by so doing, the +more salutary lesson would be given, he had the retrenched +inscription chiseled as follows upon the stone.</p> + +<p class='c sf75 noin'>‘HERE LIE<br /> +THE REMAINS OF<br /> +CHINA ASTER THE CANDLE-MAKER,<br /> +WHOSE CAREER<br /> +WAS AN EXAMPLE OF THE TRUTH OF SCRIPTURE, AS FOUND<br /> +IN THE<br /> +SOBER PHILOSOPHY<br /> +OF<br /> +SOLOMON THE WISE;<br /> +FOR HE WAS RUINED BY ALLOWING HIMSELF TO BE PERSUADED,<br /> +AGAINST HIS BETTER SENSE,<br /> +INTO THE FREE INDULGENCE OF CONFIDENCE,<br /> +AND<br /> +AN ARDENTLY BRIGHT VIEW OF LIFE,<br /> +TO THE EXCLUSION<br /> +OF<br /> +THAT COUNSEL WHICH COMES BY HEEDING<br /> +THE<br /> +OPPOSITE VIEW.’<br /> +</p> + +<p>“This inscription raised some talk in the town, and +was rather severely criticised by the capitalist—one of a +very cheerful turn—who had secured his loan to China +Aster by the mortgage; and though it also proved +obnoxious to the man who, in town-meeting, had first +moved for the compliment to China Aster’s memory, +and, indeed, was deemed by him a sort of slur upon the +candle-maker, to that degree that he refused to believe +that the candle-maker himself had composed it, charging +Old Plain Talk with the authorship, alleging that +the internal evidence showed that none but that veteran +old croaker could have penned such a jeremiade—yet, +for all this, the stone stood. In everything, of course, +Old Plain Talk was seconded by Old Prudence; who, +one day going to the grave-yard, in great-coat and +over-shoes—for, though it was a sunshiny morning, he +thought that, owing to heavy dews, dampness might +lurk in the ground—long stood before the stone, sharply +leaning over on his staff, spectacles on nose, spelling out +the epitaph word by word; and, afterwards meeting Old +Plain Talk in the street, gave a great rap with his stick, +and said: ‘Friend, Plain Talk, that epitaph will do +very well. Nevertheless, one short sentence is wanting.’ +Upon which, Plain Talk said it was too late, the +chiseled words being so arranged, after the usual manner +of such inscriptions, that nothing could be interlined. +Then,’ said Old Prudence, ‘I will put it in +the shape of a postscript.’ Accordingly, with the +approbation of Old Plain Talk, he had the following +words chiseled at the left-hand corner of the stone, and +pretty low down:</p> + +<p class='c'>‘The root of all was a friendly loan.’”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>ENDING WITH A RUPTURE OF THE HYPOTHESIS.</span></h2> + +<p>“With what heart,” cried Frank, still in character, +“have you told me this story? A story I can no way +approve; for its moral, if accepted, would drain me of +all reliance upon my last stay, and, therefore, of my last +courage in life. For, what was that bright view of +China Aster but a cheerful trust that, if he but kept up +a brave heart, worked hard, and ever hoped for the best, +all at last would go well? If your purpose, Charlie, in +telling me this story, was to pain me, and keenly, you +have succeeded; but, if it was to destroy my last confidence, +I praise God you have not.”</p> + +<p>“Confidence?” cried Charlie, who, on his side, +seemed with his whole heart to enter into the spirit of +the thing, “what has confidence to do with the matter? +That moral of the story, which I am for commending to +you, is this: the folly, on both sides, of a friend’s helping +a friend. For was not that loan of Orchis to China +Aster the first step towards their estrangement? And +did it not bring about what in effect was the enmity of +Orchis? I tell you, Frank, true friendship, like other +precious things, is not rashly to be meddled with. And +what more meddlesome between friends than a loan? +A regular marplot. For how can you help that the +helper must turn out a creditor? And creditor and +friend, can they ever be one? no, not in the most +lenient case; since, out of lenity to forego one’s claim, +is less to be a friendly creditor than to cease to be a +creditor at all. But it will not do to rely upon this +lenity, no, not in the best man; for the best man, as the +worst, is subject to all mortal contingencies. He may +travel, he may marry, he may join the Come-Outers, +or some equally untoward school or sect, not to speak of +other things that more or less tend to new-cast the +character. And were there nothing else, who shall +answer for his digestion, upon which so much depends?”</p> + +<p>“But Charlie, dear Charlie——”</p> + +<p>“Nay, wait.—You have hearkened to my story in +vain, if you do not see that, however indulgent and +right-minded I may seem to you now, that is no +guarantee for the future. And into the power of +that uncertain personality which, through the mutability +of my humanity, I may hereafter become, +should not common sense dissuade you, my dear Frank, +from putting yourself? Consider. Would you, in +your present need, be willing to accept a loan from a +friend, securing him by a mortgage on your homestead, +and do so, knowing that you had no reason to feel satisfied +that the mortgage might not eventually be transferred +into the hands of a foe? Yet the difference +between this man and that man is not so great as the +difference between what the same man be to-day and +what he may be in days to come. For there is no bent +of heart or turn of thought which any man holds by +virtue of an unalterable nature or will. Even those +feelings and opinions deemed most identical with eternal +right and truth, it is not impossible but that, as personal +persuasions, they may in reality be but the result +of some chance tip of Fate’s elbow in throwing her dice. +For, not to go into the first seeds of things, and passing +by the accident of parentage predisposing to this or that +habit of mind, descend below these, and tell me, if you +change this man’s experiences or that man’s books, will +wisdom go surety for his unchanged convictions? As +particular food begets particular dreams, so particular +experiences or books particular feelings or beliefs. I +will hear nothing of that fine babble about development +and its laws; there is no development in opinion and +feeling but the developments of time and tide. You +may deem all this talk idle, Frank; but conscience bids +me show you how fundamental the reasons for treating +you as I do.”</p> + +<p>“But Charlie, dear Charlie, what new notions are +these? I thought that man was no poor drifting weed +of the universe, as you phrased it; that, if so minded, +he could have a will, a way, a thought, and a heart of +his own? But now you have turned everything upside +down again, with an inconsistency that amazes and +shocks me.”</p> + +<p>“Inconsistency? Bah!”</p> + +<p>“There speaks the ventriloquist again,” sighed +Frank, in bitterness.</p> + +<p>Illy pleased, it may be, by this repetition of an allusion +little flattering to his originality, however much so +to his docility, the disciple sought to carry it off by exclaiming: +“Yes, I turn over day and night, with +indefatigable pains, the sublime pages of my master, +and unfortunately for you, my dear friend, I find nothing +<i>there</i> that leads me to think otherwise than I do. But +enough: in this matter the experience of China Aster +teaches a moral more to the point than anything Mark +Winsome can offer, or I either.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot think so, Charlie; for neither am I China +Aster, nor do I stand in his position. The loan to China +Aster was to extend his business with; the loan I seek +is to relieve my necessities.”</p> + +<p>“Your dress, my dear Frank, is respectable; your +cheek is not gaunt. Why talk of necessities when +nakedness and starvation beget the only real necessities?”</p> + +<p>“But I need relief, Charlie; and so sorely, that I now +conjure you to forget that I was ever your friend, while +I apply to you only as a fellow-being, whom, surely, +you will not turn away.”</p> + +<p>“That I will not. Take off your hat, bow over to +the ground, and supplicate an alms of me in the way of +London streets, and you shall not be a sturdy beggar in +vain. But no man drops pennies into the hat of a +friend, let me tell you. If you turn beggar, then, for +the honor of noble friendship, I turn stranger.”</p> + +<p>“Enough,” cried the other, rising, and with a toss of +his shoulders seeming disdainfully to throw off the character +he had assumed. “Enough. I have had my fill +of the philosophy of Mark Winsome as put into action. +And moonshiny as it in theory may be, yet a very practical +philosophy it turns out in effect, as he himself +engaged I should find. But, miserable for my race +should I be, if I thought he spoke truth when he +claimed, for proof of the soundness of his system, that +the study of it tended to much the same formation of +character with the experiences of the world.—Apt disciple! +Why wrinkle the brow, and waste the oil both +of life and the lamp, only to turn out a head kept cool +by the under ice of the heart? What your illustrious +magian has taught you, any poor, old, broken-down, +heart-shrunken dandy might have lisped. Pray, leave +me, and with you take the last dregs of your inhuman +philosophy. And here, take this shilling, and at the +first wood-landing buy yourself a few chips to warm the +frozen natures of you and your philosopher by.”</p> + +<p>With these words and a grand scorn the cosmopolitan +turned on his heel, leaving his companion at a loss to +determine where exactly the fictitious character had +been dropped, and the real one, if any, resumed. If +any, because, with pointed meaning, there occurred to +him, as he gazed after the cosmopolitan, these familiar +lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">“All the world’s a stage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the men and women merely players,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who have their exits and their entrances,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one man in his time plays many parts.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>UPON THE HEEL OF THE LAST SCENE THE COSMOPOLITAN ENTERS THE +BARBER’S SHOP, A BENEDICTION ON HIS LIPS.</span></h2> + +<p>“Bless you, barber!”</p> + +<p>Now, owing to the lateness of the hour, the barber +had been all alone until within the ten minutes last +passed; when, finding himself rather dullish company to +himself, he thought he would have a good time with +Souter John and Tam O’Shanter, otherwise called Somnus +and Morpheus, two very good fellows, though one +was not very bright, and the other an arrant rattlebrain, +who, though much listened to by some, no wise +man would believe under oath.</p> + +<p>In short, with back presented to the glare of his +lamps, and so to the door, the honest barber was taking +what are called cat-naps, and dreaming in his chair; so +that, upon suddenly hearing the benediction above, pronounced +in tones not unangelic, starting up, half awake, +he stared before him, but saw nothing, for the stranger +stood behind. What with cat-naps, dreams, and bewilderments, +therefore, the voice seemed a sort of spiritual +manifestation to him; so that, for the moment, +he stood all agape, eyes fixed, and one arm in the +air.</p> + +<p>“Why, barber, are you reaching up to catch birds +there with salt?”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” turning round disenchanted, “it is only a +man, then.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Only</i> a man? As if to be but a man were nothing. +But don’t be too sure what I am. You call me <i>man</i>, +just as the townsfolk called the angels who, in man’s +form, came to Lot’s house; just as the Jew rustics called +the devils who, in man’s form, haunted the tombs. +You can conclude nothing absolute from the human +form, barber.”</p> + +<p>“But I can conclude something from that sort of +talk, with that sort of dress,” shrewdly thought the +barber, eying him with regained self-possession, and not +without some latent touch of apprehension at being +alone with him. What was passing in his mind seemed +divined by the other, who now, more rationally and +gravely, and as if he expected it should be attended to, +said: “Whatever else you may conclude upon, it is +my desire that you conclude to give me a good shave,” +at the same time loosening his neck-cloth. “Are you +competent to a good shave, barber?”</p> + +<p>“No broker more so, sir,” answered the barber, whom +the business-like proposition instinctively made confine +to business-ends his views of the visitor.</p> + +<p>“Broker? What has a broker to do with lather? +A broker I have always understood to be a worthy dealer +in certain papers and metals.”</p> + +<p>“He, he!” taking him now for some dry sort of joker, +whose jokes, he being a customer, it might be as well +to appreciate, “he, he! You understand well enough, +sir. Take this seat, sir,” laying his hand on a great +stuffed chair, high-backed and high-armed, crimson-covered, +and raised on a sort of dais, and which seemed +but to lack a canopy and quarterings, to make it in +aspect quite a throne, “take this seat, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” sitting down; “and now, pray, explain +that about the broker. But look, look—what’s +this?” suddenly rising, and pointing, with his long pipe, +towards a gilt notification swinging among colored fly-papers +from the ceiling, like a tavern sign, “<i>No Trust?</i>” +“No trust means distrust; distrust means no confidence. +Barber,” turning upon him excitedly, “what fell suspiciousness +prompts this scandalous confession? My +life!” stamping his foot, “if but to tell a dog that you +have no confidence in him be matter for affront to the +dog, what an insult to take that way the whole haughty +race of man by the beard! By my heart, sir! but at +least you are valiant; backing the spleen of Thersites +with the pluck of Agamemnon.”</p> + +<p>“Your sort of talk, sir, is not exactly in my line,” +said the barber, rather ruefully, being now again hopeless +of his customer, and not without return of uneasiness; +“not in my line, sir,” he emphatically repeated.</p> + +<p>“But the taking of mankind by the nose is; a habit, +barber, which I sadly fear has insensibly bred in you a +disrespect for man. For how, indeed, may respectful +conceptions of him coexist with the perpetual habit of +taking him by the nose? But, tell me, though I, too, +clearly see the import of your notification, I do not, as +yet, perceive the object. What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Now you speak a little in my line, sir,” said the +barber, not unrelieved at this return to plain talk; +“that notification I find very useful, sparing me much +work which would not pay. Yes, I lost a good deal, +off and on, before putting that up,” gratefully glancing +towards it.</p> + +<p>“But what is its object? Surely, you don’t mean to +say, in so many words, that you have no confidence? +For instance, now,” flinging aside his neck-cloth, throwing +back his blouse, and reseating himself on the tonsorial +throne, at sight of which proceeding the barber +mechanically filled a cup with hot water from a copper +vessel over a spirit-lamp, “for instance, now, suppose I +say to you, ‘Barber, my dear barber, unhappily I have +no small change by me to-night, but shave me, and +depend upon your money to-morrow’—suppose I should +say that now, you would put trust in me, wouldn’t +you? You would have confidence?”</p> + +<p>“Seeing that it is you, sir,” with complaisance +replied the barber, now mixing the lather, “seeing that +it is <i>you</i> sir, I won’t answer that question. No need to.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, of course—in that view. But, as a supposition—you +would have confidence in me, wouldn’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Why—yes, yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then why that sign?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, sir, all people ain’t like you,” was the smooth +reply, at the same time, as if smoothly to close the +debate, beginning smoothly to apply the lather, which +operation, however, was, by a motion, protested against +by the subject, but only out of a desire to rejoin, which +was done in these words:</p> + +<p>“All people ain’t like me. Then I must be either +better or worse than most people. Worse, you could +not mean; no, barber, you could not mean that; hardly +that. It remains, then, that you think me better than +most people. But that I ain’t vain enough to believe; +though, from vanity, I confess, I could never yet, by my +best wrestlings, entirely free myself; nor, indeed, to be +frank, am I at bottom over anxious to—this same vanity, +barber, being so harmless, so useful, so comfortable, so +pleasingly preposterous a passion.”</p> + +<p>“Very true, sir; and upon my honor, sir, you talk +very well. But the lather is getting a little cold, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Better cold lather, barber, than a cold heart. Why +that cold sign? Ah, I don’t wonder you try to shirk +the confession. You feel in your soul how ungenerous +a hint is there. And yet, barber, now that I look into +your eyes—which somehow speak to me of the mother +that must have so often looked into them before me—I +dare say, though you may not think it, that the spirit of +that notification is not one with your nature. For look +now, setting, business views aside, regarding the thing +in an abstract light; in short, supposing a case, barber; +supposing, I say, you see a stranger, his face accidentally +averted, but his visible part very respectable-looking; +what now, barber—I put it to your conscience, to your +charity—what would be your impression of that man, +in a moral point of view? Being in a signal sense a +stranger, would you, for that, signally set him down for +a knave?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not, sir; by no means,” cried the barber, +humanely resentful.</p> + +<p>“You would upon the face of him——”</p> + +<p>“Hold, sir,” said the barber, “nothing about the face; +you remember, sir, that is out of sight.”</p> + +<p>“I forgot that. Well then, you would, upon the +<i>back</i> of him, conclude him to be, not improbably, some +worthy sort of person; in short, an honest man: wouldn’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Not unlikely I should, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well now—don’t be so impatient with your brush, +barber—suppose that honest man meet you by night in +some dark corner of the boat where his face would still +remain unseen, asking you to trust him for a shave—how +then?”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t trust him, sir.”</p> + +<p>“But is not an honest man to be trusted?”</p> + +<p>“Why—why—yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“There! don’t you see, now?”</p> + +<p>“See what?” asked the disconcerted barber, rather +vexedly.</p> + +<p>“Why, you stand self-contradicted, barber; don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” doggedly.</p> + +<p>“Barber,” gravely, and after a pause of concern, +“the enemies of our race have a saying that insincerity +is the most universal and inveterate vice of man—the +lasting bar to real amelioration, whether of individuals +or of the world. Don’t you now, barber, by your stubbornness +on this occasion, give color to such a calumny?”</p> + +<p>“Hity-tity!” cried the barber, losing patience, and +with it respect; “stubbornness?” Then clattering +round the brush in the cup, “Will you be shaved, or +won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Barber, I will be shaved, and with pleasure; but, +pray, don’t raise your voice that way. Why, now, if +you go through life gritting your teeth in that fashion, +what a comfortless time you will have.”</p> + +<p>“I take as much comfort in this world as you or any +other man,” cried the barber, whom the other’s sweetness +of temper seemed rather to exasperate than soothe.</p> + +<p>“To resent the imputation of anything like unhappiness +I have often observed to be peculiar to certain +orders of men,” said the other pensively, and half to +himself, “just as to be indifferent to that imputation, +from holding happiness but for a secondary good and inferior +grace, I have observed to be equally peculiar to +other kinds of men. Pray, barber,” innocently looking +up, “which think you is the superior creature?”</p> + +<p>“All this sort of talk,” cried the barber, still unmollified, +“is, as I told you once before, not in my line. In +a few minutes I shall shut up this shop. Will you be +shaved?”</p> + +<p>“Shave away, barber. What hinders?” turning up +his face like a flower.</p> + +<p>The shaving began, and proceeded in silence, till at +length it became necessary to prepare to relather a +little—affording an opportunity for resuming the subject, +which, on one side, was not let slip.</p> + +<p>“Barber,” with a kind of cautious kindliness, feeling +his way, “barber, now have a little patience with me; +do; trust me, I wish not to offend. I have been thinking +over that supposed case of the man with the averted +face, and I cannot rid my mind of the impression that, +by your opposite replies to my questions at the time, +you showed yourself much of a piece with a good many +other men—that is, you have confidence, and then again, +you have none. Now, what I would ask is, do you +think it sensible standing for a sensible man, one foot +on confidence and the other on suspicion? Don’t you +think, barber, that you ought to elect? Don’t you +think consistency requires that you should either say ‘I +have confidence in all men,’ and take down your notification; +or else say, ‘I suspect all men,’ and keep it up.”</p> + +<p>This dispassionate, if not deferential, way of putting +the case, did not fail to impress the barber, and proportionately +conciliate him. Likewise, from its pointedness, +it served to make him thoughtful; for, instead of going +to the copper vessel for more water, as he had purposed, +he halted half-way towards it, and, after a pause, cup in +hand, said: “Sir, I hope you would not do me injustice. +I don’t say, and can’t say, and wouldn’t say, that +I suspect all men; but I <i>do</i> say that strangers are not +to be trusted, and so,” pointing up to the sign, “no +trust.”</p> + +<p>“But look, now, I beg, barber,” rejoined the other +deprecatingly, not presuming too much upon the barber’s +changed temper; “look, now; to say that strangers +are not to be trusted, does not that imply something +like saying that mankind is not to be trusted; +for the mass of mankind, are they not necessarily +strangers to each individual man? Come, come, +my friend,” winningly, “you are no Timon to hold +the mass of mankind untrustworthy. Take down +your notification; it is misanthropical; much the same +sign that Timon traced with charcoal on the forehead of +a skull stuck over his cave. Take it down, barber; +take it down to-night. Trust men. Just try the experiment +of trusting men for this one little trip. Come +now, I’m a philanthropist, and will insure you against +losing a cent.”</p> + +<p>The barber shook his head dryly, and answered, “Sir, +you must excuse me. I have a family.”</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII<br /> +<span class='sf50'>VERY CHARMING.</span></h2> + +<p>“So you are a philanthropist, sir,” added the barber +with an illuminated look; “that accounts, then, for all. +Very odd sort of man the philanthropist. You are the +second one, sir, I have seen. Very odd sort of man, +indeed, the philanthropist. Ah, sir,” again meditatively +stirring in the shaving-cup, “I sadly fear, lest you +philanthropists know better what goodness is, than +what men are.” Then, eying him as if he were some +strange creature behind cage-bars, “So you are a philanthropist, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“I am Philanthropos, and love mankind. And, what +is more than you do, barber, I trust them.”</p> + +<p>Here the barber, casually recalled to his business, +would have replenished his shaving-cup, but finding +now that on his last visit to the water-vessel he had not +replaced it over the lamp, he did so now; and, while +waiting for it to heat again, became almost as sociable +as if the heating water were meant for whisky-punch; +and almost as pleasantly garrulous as the pleasant barbers +in romances.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said he, taking a throne beside his customer +(for in a row there were three thrones on the dais, as +for the three kings of Cologne, those patron saints of the +barber), “sir, you say you trust men. Well, I suppose +I might share some of your trust, were it not for +this trade, that I follow, too much letting me in behind +the scenes.”</p> + +<p>“I think I understand,” with a saddened look; “and +much the same thing I have heard from persons in +pursuits different from yours—from the lawyer, from +the congressman, from the editor, not to mention others, +each, with a strange kind of melancholy vanity, claiming +for his vocation the distinction of affording the +surest inlets to the conviction that man is no better +than he should be. All of which testimony, if reliable, +would, by mutual corroboration, justify some disturbance +in a good man’s mind. But no, no; it is a mistake—all +a mistake.”</p> + +<p>“True, sir, very true,” assented the barber.</p> + +<p>“Glad to hear that,” brightening up.</p> + +<p>“Not so fast, sir,” said the barber; “I agree with you +in thinking that the lawyer, and the congressman, and +the editor, are in error, but only in so far as each claims +peculiar facilities for the sort of knowledge in question; +because, you see, sir, the truth is, that every trade or +pursuit which brings one into contact with the facts, +sir, such trade or pursuit is equally an avenue to those +facts.”</p> + +<p>“<i>How</i> exactly is that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, in my opinion—and for the last twenty +years I have, at odd times, turned the matter over some in +my mind—he who comes to know man, will not remain +in ignorance of man. I think I am not rash in saying +that; am I, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Barber, you talk like an oracle—obscurely, barber, +obscurely.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” with some self-complacency, “the barber +has always been held an oracle, but as for the obscurity, +that I don’t admit.”</p> + +<p>“But pray, now, by your account, what precisely +may be this mysterious knowledge gained in your trade? +I grant you, indeed, as before hinted, that your trade, +imposing on you the necessity of functionally tweaking +the noses of mankind, is, in that respect, unfortunate, +very much so; nevertheless, a well-regulated +imagination should be proof even to such a provocation +to improper conceits. But what I want to +learn from you, barber, is, how does the mere handling +of the outside of men’s heads lead you to distrust the +inside of their hearts?</p> + +<p>“What, sir, to say nothing more, can one be forever +dealing in macassar oil, hair dyes, cosmetics, false moustaches, +wigs, and toupees, and still believe that men are +wholly what they look to be? What think you, sir, are a +thoughtful barber’s reflections, when, behind a careful +curtain, he shaves the thin, dead stubble off a head, and +then dismisses it to the world, radiant in curling auburn? +To contrast the shamefaced air behind the +curtain, the fearful looking forward to being possibly +discovered there by a prying acquaintance, with the +cheerful assurance and challenging pride with which +the same man steps forth again, a gay deception, into +the street, while some honest, shock-headed fellow +humbly gives him the wall! Ah, sir, they may talk of +the courage of truth, but my trade teaches me that +truth sometimes is sheepish. Lies, lies, sir, brave lies +are the lions!”</p> + +<p>“You twist the moral, barber; you sadly twist it. +Look, now; take it this way: A modest man thrust out +naked into the street, would he not be abashed? Take +him in and clothe him; would not his confidence be +restored? And in either case, is any reproach involved? +Now, what is true of the whole, holds proportionably +true of the part. The bald head is a nakedness which +the wig is a coat to. To feel uneasy at the possibility +of the exposure of one’s nakedness at top, and to feel +comforted by the consciousness of having it clothed—these +feelings, instead of being dishonorable to a bold +man, do, in fact, but attest a proper respect for himself +and his fellows. And as for the deception, you may as +well call the fine roof of a fine chateau a deception, +since, like a fine wig, it also is an artificial cover to the +head, and equally, in the common eye, decorates the +wearer.—I have confuted you, my dear barber; I have +confounded you.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon,” said the barber, “but I do not see that you +have. His coat and his roof no man pretends to palm +off as a part of himself, but the bald man palms off hair, +not his, for his own.”</p> + +<p>“Not <i>his</i>, barber? If he have fairly purchased his +hair, the law will protect him in its ownership, even +against the claims of the head on which it grew. But +it cannot be that you believe what you say, barber; +you talk merely for the humor. I could not think so +of you as to suppose that you would contentedly deal +in the impostures you condemn.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, sir, I must live.”</p> + +<p>“And can’t you do that without sinning against your +conscience, as you believe? Take up some other calling.”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t mend the matter much, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think, then, barber, that, in a certain point, +all the trades and callings of men are much on a par? +Fatal, indeed,” raising his hand, “inexpressibly dreadful, +the trade of the barber, if to such conclusions it +necessarily leads. Barber,” eying him not without +emotion, “you appear to me not so much a misbeliever, +as a man misled. Now, let me set you on the right +track; let me restore you to trust in human nature, and +by no other means than the very trade that has brought +you to suspect it.”</p> + +<p>“You mean, sir, you would have me try the experiment +of taking down that notification,” again pointing +to it with his brush; “but, dear me, while I sit chatting +here, the water boils over.”</p> + +<p>With which words, and such a well-pleased, sly, snug, +expression, as they say some men have when they think +their little stratagem has succeeded, he hurried to the +copper vessel, and soon had his cup foaming up with +white bubbles, as if it were a mug of new ale.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the other would have fain gone on with +the discourse; but the cunning barber lathered him with +so generous a brush, so piled up the foam on him, that +his face looked like the yeasty crest of a billow, and vain +to think of talking under it, as for a drowning priest in +the sea to exhort his fellow-sinners on a raft. Nothing +would do, but he must keep his mouth shut. Doubtless, +the interval was not, in a meditative way, unimproved; +for, upon the traces of the operation being at last removed, +the cosmopolitan rose, and, for added refreshment, +washed his face and hands; and having generally +readjusted himself, began, at last, addressing the barber +in a manner different, singularly so, from his previous +one. Hard to say exactly what the manner was, any +more than to hint it was a sort of magical; in a benign +way, not wholly unlike the manner, fabled or otherwise, +of certain creatures in nature, which have the power of +persuasive fascination—the power of holding another +creature by the button of the eye, as it were, despite +the serious disinclination, and, indeed, earnest protest, +of the victim. With this manner the conclusion of the +matter was not out of keeping; for, in the end, all argument +and expostulation proved vain, the barber being +irresistibly persuaded to agree to try, for the remainder +of the present trip, the experiment of trusting men, as +both phrased it. True, to save his credit as a free agent, +he was loud in averring that it was only for the novelty +of the thing that he so agreed, and he required the other, +as before volunteered, to go security to him against any +loss that might ensue; but still the fact remained, that +he engaged to trust men, a thing he had before said he +would not do, at least not unreservedly. Still the more +to save his credit, he now insisted upon it, as a last point, +that the agreement should be put in black and white, +especially the security part. The other made no demur; +pen, ink, and paper were provided, and grave as any +notary the cosmopolitan sat down, but, ere taking the +pen, glanced up at the notification, and said: “First +down with that sign, barber—Timon’s sign, there; down +with it.”</p> + +<p>This, being in the agreement, was done—though a little +reluctantly—with an eye to the future, the sign being +carefully put away in a drawer.</p> + +<p>“Now, then, for the writing,” said the cosmopolitan, +squaring himself. “Ah,” with a sigh, “I shall make a +poor lawyer, I fear. Ain’t used, you see, barber, to a +business which, ignoring the principle of honor, holds no +nail fast till clinched. Strange, barber,” taking up the +blank paper, “that such flimsy stuff as this should make +such strong hawsers; vile hawsers, too. Barber,” +starting up, “I won’t put it in black and white. It +were a reflection upon our joint honor. I will take your +word, and you shall take mine.”</p> + +<p>“But your memory may be none of the best, sir. Well +for you, on your side, to have it in black and white, just +for a memorandum like, you know.”</p> + +<p>“That, indeed! Yes, and it would help <i>your</i> memory, +too, wouldn’t it, barber? Yours, on your side, being a +little weak, too, I dare say. Ah, barber! how ingenious +we human beings are; and how kindly we reciprocate +each other’s little delicacies, don’t we? What better +proof, now, that we are kind, considerate fellows, with +responsive fellow-feelings—eh, barber? But to business. +Let me see. What’s your name, barber?”</p> + +<p>“William Cream, sir.”</p> + +<p>Pondering a moment, he began to write; and, after +some corrections, leaned back, and read aloud the following:</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p class='c noin'> +“<span class="smcap">Agreement</span><br /> +Between<br /> +<span class="smcap">Frank Goodman</span>, Philanthropist, and Citizen of the World,<br /> +and<br /> +<span class="smcap">William Cream</span>, Barber of the Mississippi steamer, Fidèle. +</p> + +<p> +“The first hereby agrees to make good to the last any loss that may +come from his trusting mankind, in the way of his vocation, for the residue +of the present trip; <span class="smcap lc">PROVIDED</span> that William Cream keep out of +sight, for the given term, his notification of <span class="smcap">No Trust</span>, and by no other +mode convey any, the least hint or intimation, tending to discourage +men from soliciting trust from him, in the way of his vocation, for the +time above specified; but, on the contrary, he do, by all proper and +reasonable words, gestures, manners, and looks, evince a perfect confidence +in all men, especially strangers; otherwise, this agreement to be +void. +</p> + +<p>“Done, in good faith, this 1st day of April 18—, at a quarter to +twelve o’clock, <span class="smcap lc">P. M.</span>, in the shop of said William Cream, on board the +said boat, Fidèle.” +</p> +</div> + + +<p>“There, barber; will that do?”</p> + +<p>“That will do,” said the barber, “only now put down +your name.”</p> + +<p>Both signatures being affixed, the question was started +by the barber, who should have custody of the instrument; +which point, however, he settled for himself, by +proposing that both should go together to the captain, +and give the document into his hands—the barber hinting +that this would be a safe proceeding, because the +captain was necessarily a party disinterested, and, what +was more, could not, from the nature of the present +case, make anything by a breach of trust. All of which +was listened to with some surprise and concern.</p> + +<p>“Why, barber,” said the cosmopolitan, “this don’t +show the right spirit; for me, I have confidence in the +captain purely because he is a man; but he shall have +nothing to do with our affair; for if you have no confidence +in me, barber, I have in you. There, keep the +paper yourself,” handing it magnanimously.</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said the barber, “and now nothing remains +but for me to receive the cash.”</p> + +<p>Though the mention of that word, or any of its singularly +numerous equivalents, in serious neighborhood +to a requisition upon one’s purse, is attended with a +more or less noteworthy effect upon the human countenance, +producing in many an abrupt fall of it—in others, +a writhing and screwing up of the features to a point +not undistressing to behold, in some, attended with a +blank pallor and fatal consternation—yet no trace of +any of these symptoms was visible upon the countenance +of the cosmopolitan, notwithstanding nothing could be +more sudden and unexpected than the barber’s demand.</p> + +<p>“You speak of cash, barber; pray in what connection?”</p> + +<p>“In a nearer one, sir,” answered the barber, less +blandly, “than I thought the man with the sweet voice +stood, who wanted me to trust him once for a shave, on +the score of being a sort of thirteenth cousin.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, and what did you say to him?”</p> + +<p>“I said, ‘Thank you, sir, but I don’t see the connection,’”</p> + +<p>“How could you so unsweetly answer one with a +sweet voice?”</p> + +<p>“Because, I recalled what the son of Sirach says in +the True Book: ‘An enemy speaketh sweetly with his +lips;’ and so I did what the son of Sirach advises in such +cases: ‘I believed not his many words.’”</p> + +<p>“What, barber, do you say that such cynical sort of +things are in the True Book, by which, of course, you +mean the Bible?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and plenty more to the same effect. Read the +Book of Proverbs.”</p> + +<p>“That’s strange, now, barber; for I never happen to +have met with those passages you cite. Before I go +to bed this night, I’ll inspect the Bible I saw on the +cabin-table, to-day. But mind, you mustn’t quote the +True Book that way to people coming in here; it would +be impliedly a violation of the contract. But you don’t +know how glad I feel that you have for one while signed +off all that sort of thing.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir; not unless you down with the cash.”</p> + +<p>“Cash again! What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Why, in this paper here, you engage, sir, to insure +me against a certain loss, and——”</p> + +<p>“Certain? Is it so <i>certain</i> you are going to lose?”</p> + +<p>“Why, that way of taking the word may not be +amiss, but I didn’t mean it so. I meant a <i>certain</i> loss; +you understand, a <span class="smcap lc">CERTAIN</span> loss; that is to say, a certain +loss. Now then, sir, what use your mere writing +and saying you will insure me, unless beforehand you +place in my hands a money-pledge, sufficient to that +end?”</p> + +<p>“I see; the material pledge.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and I will put it low; say fifty dollars.”</p> + +<p>“Now what sort of a beginning is this? You, barber, +for a given time engage to trust man, to put confidence +in men, and, for your first step, make a demand +implying no confidence in the very man you engage +with. But fifty dollars is nothing, and I would let you +have it cheerfully, only I unfortunately happen to have +but little change with me just now.”</p> + +<p>“But you have money in your trunk, though?”</p> + +<p>“To be sure. But you see—in fact, barber, you +must be consistent. No, I won’t let you have the money +now; I won’t let you violate the inmost spirit of our +contract, that way. So good-night, and I will see you +again.”</p> + +<p>“Stay, sir”—humming and hawing—“you have forgotten +something.”</p> + +<p>“Handkerchief?—gloves? No, forgotten nothing. +Good-night.”</p> + +<p>“Stay, sir—the—the shaving.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I <i>did</i> forget that. But now that it strikes me, +I shan’t pay you at present. Look at your agreement; +you must trust. Tut! against loss you hold the guarantee. +Good-night, my dear barber.”</p> + +<p>With which words he sauntered off, leaving the barber +in a maze, staring after.</p> + +<p>But it holding true in fascination as in natural philosophy, +that nothing can act where it is not, so the +barber was not long now in being restored to his self-possession +and senses; the first evidence of which perhaps +was, that, drawing forth his notification from the drawer, +he put it back where it belonged; while, as for the +agreement, that he tore up; which he felt the more free +to do from the impression that in all human probability +he would never again see the person who had drawn it. +Whether that impression proved well-founded or not, +does not appear. But in after days, telling the night’s +adventure to his friends, the worthy barber always +spoke of his queer customer as the man-charmer—as +certain East Indians are called snake-charmers—and all +his friends united in thinking him <span class="smcap">quite an Original</span>.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>IN WHICH THE LAST THREE WORDS OF THE LAST CHAPTER ARE MADE +THE TEXT OF DISCOURSE, WHICH WILL BE SURE OF RECEIVING MORE +OR LESS ATTENTION FROM THOSE READERS WHO DO NOT SKIP IT.</span></h2> + +<p>“Quite an original:” A phrase, we fancy, rather +oftener used by the young, or the unlearned, or the untraveled, +than by the old, or the well-read, or the man +who has made the grand tour. Certainly, the sense of +originality exists at its highest in an infant, and probably +at its lowest in him who has completed the circle +of the sciences.</p> + +<p>As for original characters in fiction, a grateful reader +will, on meeting with one, keep the anniversary of that +day. True, we sometimes hear of an author who, at +one creation, produces some two or three score such +characters; it may be possible. But they can hardly +be original in the sense that Hamlet is, or Don Quixote, +or Milton’s Satan. That is to say, they are not, in a +thorough sense, original at all. They are novel, or +singular, or striking, or captivating, or all four at +once.</p> + +<p>More likely, they are what are called odd characters; +but for that, are no more original, than what is called +an odd genius, in his way, is. But, if original, whence +came they? Or where did the novelist pick them +up?</p> + +<p>Where does any novelist pick up any character? +For the most part, in town, to be sure. Every great +town is a kind of man-show, where the novelist goes for +his stock, just as the agriculturist goes to the cattle-show +for his. But in the one fair, new species of quadrupeds +are hardly more rare, than in the other are new +species of characters—that is, original ones. Their +rarity may still the more appear from this, that, while +characters, merely singular, imply but singular forms +so to speak, original ones, truly so, imply original +instincts.</p> + +<p>In short, a due conception of what is to be held for +this sort of personage in fiction would make him almost +as much of a prodigy there, as in real history is a new +law-giver, a revolutionizing philosopher, or the founder +of a new religion.</p> + +<p>In nearly all the original characters, loosely accounted +such in works of invention, there is discernible +something prevailingly local, or of the age; which circumstance, +of itself, would seem to invalidate the claim, +judged by the principles here suggested.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, if we consider, what is popularly held +to entitle characters in fiction to being deemed original, +is but something personal—confined to itself. The character +sheds not its characteristic on its surroundings, +whereas, the original character, essentially such, is like +a revolving Drummond light, raying away from itself +all round it—everything is lit by it, everything starts +up to it (mark how it is with Hamlet), so that, in certain +minds, there follows upon the adequate conception +of such a character, an effect, in its way, akin to that +which in Genesis attends upon the beginning of +things.</p> + +<p>For much the same reason that there is but one +planet to one orbit, so can there be but one such original +character to one work of invention. Two would +conflict to chaos. In this view, to say that there are +more than one to a book, is good presumption there is +none at all. But for new, singular, striking, odd, eccentric, +and all sorts of entertaining and instructive characters, +a good fiction may be full of them. To produce +such characters, an author, beside other things, must +have seen much, and seen through much: to produce +but one original character, he must have had much +luck.</p> + +<p>There would seem but one point in common between +this sort of phenomenon in fiction and all other sorts: +it cannot be born in the author’s imagination—it being +as true in literature as in zoology, that all life is from +the egg.</p> + +<p>In the endeavor to show, if possible, the impropriety +of the phrase, <i>Quite an Original</i>, as applied by the barber’s +friends, we have, at unawares, been led into a +dissertation bordering upon the prosy, perhaps upon the +smoky. If so, the best use the smoke can be turned +to, will be, by retiring under cover of it, in good trim +as may be, to the story.</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV.<br /> +<span class='sf50'>THE COSMOPOLITAN INCREASES IN SERIOUSNESS.</span></h2> + +<p>In the middle of the gentleman’s cabin burned a solar +lamp, swung from the ceiling, and whose shade of +ground glass was all round fancifully variegated, in +transparency, with the image of a horned altar, from +which flames rose, alternate with the figure of a robed +man, his head encircled by a halo. The light of this +lamp, after dazzlingly striking on marble, snow-white +and round—the slab of a centre-table beneath—on all +sides went rippling off with ever-diminishing distinctness, +till, like circles from a stone dropped in water, the +rays died dimly away in the furthest nook of the +place.</p> + +<p>Here and there, true to their place, but not to their +function, swung other lamps, barren planets, which +had either gone out from exhaustion, or been extinguished +by such occupants of berths as the light annoyed, +or who wanted to sleep, not see.</p> + +<p>By a perverse man, in a berth not remote, the remaining +lamp would have been extinguished as well, had +not a steward forbade, saying that the commands of the +captain required it to be kept burning till the natural +light of day should come to relieve it. This steward, who, +like many in his vocation, was apt to be a little free-spoken +at times, had been provoked by the man’s pertinacity +to remind him, not only of the sad consequences +which might, upon occasion, ensue from the cabin being +left in darkness, but, also, of the circumstance that, +in a place full of strangers, to show one’s self anxious to +produce darkness there, such an anxiety was, to say the +least, not becoming. So the lamp—last survivor of +many—burned on, inwardly blessed by those in some +berths, and inwardly execrated by those in others.</p> + +<p>Keeping his lone vigils beneath his lone lamp, which +lighted his book on the table, sat a clean, comely, old +man, his head snowy as the marble, and a countenance +like that which imagination ascribes to good Simeon, +when, having at last beheld the Master of Faith, he blessed +him and departed in peace. From his hale look of +greenness in winter, and his hands ingrained with the +tan, less, apparently, of the present summer, than of +accumulated ones past, the old man seemed a well-to-do +farmer, happily dismissed, after a thrifty life of activity, +from the fields to the fireside—one of those who, +at three-score-and-ten, are fresh-hearted as at fifteen; +to whom seclusion gives a boon more blessed than +knowledge, and at last sends them to heaven untainted +by the world, because ignorant of it; just as a countryman +putting up at a London inn, and never stirring out +of it as a sight-seer, will leave London at last without +once being lost in its fog, or soiled by its mud.</p> + +<p>Redolent from the barber’s shop, as any bridegroom +tripping to the bridal chamber might come, and by his +look of cheeriness seeming to dispense a sort of morning +through the night, in came the cosmopolitan; but marking +the old man, and how he was occupied, he toned +himself down, and trod softly, and took a seat on the +other side of the table, and said nothing. Still, there +was a kind of waiting expression about him.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the old man, after looking up puzzled at +him a moment, “sir,” said he, “one would think this +was a coffee-house, and it was war-time, and I had +a newspaper here with great news, and the only copy +to be had, you sit there looking at me so eager.”</p> + +<p>“And so you <i>have</i> good news there, sir—the very +best of good news.”</p> + +<p>“Too good to be true,” here came from one of the +curtained berths.</p> + +<p>“Hark!” said the cosmopolitan. “Some one talks +in his sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the old man, “and you—<i>you</i> seem to be +talking in a dream. Why speak you, sir, of news, and +all that, when you must see this is a book I have here—the +Bible, not a newspaper?”</p> + +<p>“I know that; and when you are through with it—but +not a moment sooner—I will thank you for it. It +belongs to the boat, I believe—a present from a society.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, take it, take it!”</p> + +<p>“Nay, sir, I did not mean to touch you at all. I +simply stated the fact in explanation of my waiting here—nothing +more. Read on, sir, or you will distress me.”</p> + +<p>This courtesy was not without effect. Removing his +spectacles, and saying he had about finished his chapter, +the old man kindly presented the volume, which was +received with thanks equally kind. After reading for +some minutes, until his expression merged from attentiveness +into seriousness, and from that into a kind of +pain, the cosmopolitan slowly laid down the book, and +turning to the old man, who thus far had been watching +him with benign curiosity, said: “Can you, my aged +friend, resolve me a doubt—a disturbing doubt?”</p> + +<p>“There are doubts, sir,” replied the old man, with a +changed countenance, “there are doubts, sir, which, +if man have them, it is not man that can solve +them.”</p> + +<p>“True; but look, now, what my doubt is. I am one +who thinks well of man. I love man. I have confidence +in man. But what was told me not a half-hour +since? I was told that I would find it written—‘Believe +not his many words—an enemy speaketh sweetly +with his lips’—and also I was told that I would find a +good deal more to the same effect, and all in this book. +I could not think it; and, coming here to look for myself, +what do I read? Not only just what was quoted, +but also, as was engaged, more to the same purpose, +such as this: ‘With much communication he will +tempt thee; he will smile upon thee, and speak thee fair, +and say What wantest thou? If thou be for his profit +he will use thee; he will make thee bear, and will not +be sorry for it. Observe and take good heed. When +thou hearest these things, awake in thy sleep.’”</p> + +<p>“Who’s that describing the confidence-man?” here +came from the berth again.</p> + +<p>“Awake in his sleep, sure enough, ain’t he?” said the +cosmopolitan, again looking off in surprise. “Same +voice as before, ain’t it? Strange sort of dreamy man, +that. Which is his berth, pray?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind <i>him</i>, sir,” said the old man anxiously, +“but tell me truly, did you, indeed, read from the book +just now?”</p> + +<p>“I did,” with changed air, “and gall and wormwood +it is to me, a truster in man; to me, a philanthropist.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” moved, “you don’t mean to say, that what +you repeated is really down there? Man and boy, I +have read the good book this seventy years, and don’t +remember seeing anything like that. Let me see it,” +rising earnestly, and going round to him.</p> + +<p>“There it is; and there—and there”—turning over +the leaves, and pointing to the sentences one by one; +“there—all down in the ‘Wisdom of Jesus, the Son of +Sirach.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” cried the old man, brightening up, “now I +know. Look,” turning the leaves forward and back, till +all the Old Testament lay flat on one side, and all the +New Testament flat on the other, while in his fingers he +supported vertically the portion between, “look, sir, all +this to the right is certain truth, and all this to the left +is certain truth, but all I hold in my hand here is +apocrypha.”</p> + +<p>“Apocrypha?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and there’s the word in black and white,” +pointing to it. “And what says the word? It says as +much as ‘not warranted;’ for what do college men say +of anything of that sort? They say it is apocryphal. +The word itself, I’ve heard from the pulpit, implies +something of uncertain credit. So if your disturbance +be raised from aught in this apocrypha,” again taking +up the pages, “in that case, think no more of it, for it’s +apocrypha.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that about the Apocalypse?” here, a third +time, came from the berth.</p> + +<p>“He’s seeing visions now, ain’t he?” said the cosmopolitan, +once more looking in the direction of the interruption. +“But, sir,” resuming, “I cannot tell you how +thankful I am for your reminding me about the apocrypha +here. For the moment, its being such escaped me. +Fact is, when all is bound up together, it’s sometimes +confusing. The uncanonical part should be bound distinct. +And, now that I think of it, how well did those +learned doctors who rejected for us this whole book of +Sirach. I never read anything so calculated to destroy +man’s confidence in man. This son of Sirach even says—I +saw it but just now: ‘Take heed of thy friends;’ not, +observe, thy seeming friends, thy hypocritical friends, +thy false friends, but thy <i>friends</i>, thy real friends—that +is to say, not the truest friend in the world is to be implicitly +trusted. Can Rochefoucault equal that? I +should not wonder if his view of human nature, like +Machiavelli’s, was taken from this Son of Sirach. And +to call it wisdom—the Wisdom of the Son of Sirach! +Wisdom, indeed! What an ugly thing wisdom must +be! Give me the folly that dimples the cheek, say I, +rather than the wisdom that curdles the blood. But +no, no; it ain’t wisdom; it’s apocrypha, as you say, sir. +For how can that be trustworthy that teaches distrust?”</p> + +<p>“I tell you what it is,” here cried the same voice as +before, only more in less of mockery, “if you two don’t +know enough to sleep, don’t be keeping wiser men +awake. And if you want to know what wisdom is, go +find it under your blankets.”</p> + +<p>“Wisdom?” cried another voice with a brogue; +“arrah and is’t wisdom the two geese are gabbling +about all this while? To bed with ye, ye divils, and +don’t be after burning your fingers with the likes of +wisdom.”</p> + +<p>“We must talk lower,” said the old man; “I fear we +have annoyed these good people.”</p> + +<p>“I should be sorry if wisdom annoyed any one,” said +the other; “but we will lower our voices, as you say. +To resume: taking the thing as I did, can you be surprised +at my uneasiness in reading passages so charged +with the spirit of distrust?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I am not surprised,” said the old man; then +added: “from what you say, I see you are something +of my way of thinking—you think that to distrust the +creature, is a kind of distrusting of the Creator. Well, +my young friend, what is it? This is rather late for you +to be about. What do you want of me?”</p> + +<p>These questions were put to a boy in the fragment of +an old linen coat, bedraggled and yellow, who, coming +in from the deck barefooted on the soft carpet, had been +unheard. All pointed and fluttering, the rags of the +little fellow’s red-flannel shirt, mixed with those of his +yellow coat, flamed about him like the painted flames in +the robes of a victim in <i>auto-da-fe</i>. His face, too, wore +such a polish of seasoned grime, that his sloe-eyes +sparkled from out it like lustrous sparks in fresh coal. +He was a juvenile peddler, or <i>marchand</i>, as the polite +French might have called him, of travelers’ conveniences; +and, having no allotted sleeping-place, had, in +his wanderings about the boat, spied, through glass +doors, the two in the cabin; and, late though it was, +thought it might never be too much so for turning a +penny.</p> + +<p>Among other things, he carried a curious affair—a +miniature mahogany door, hinged to its frame, and suitably +furnished in all respects but one, which will shortly +appear. This little door he now meaningly held before +the old man, who, after staring at it a while, said: “Go +thy ways with thy toys, child.”</p> + +<p>“Now, may I never get so old and wise as that comes +to,” laughed the boy through his grime; and, by so +doing, disclosing leopard-like teeth, like those of Murillo’s +wild beggar-boy’s.</p> + +<p>“The divils are laughing now, are they?” here came +the brogue from the berth. “What do the divils find to +laugh about in wisdom, begorrah? To bed with ye, ye +divils, and no more of ye.”</p> + +<p>“You see, child, you have disturbed that person,” +said the old man; “you mustn’t laugh any more.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, now,” said the cosmopolitan, “don’t, pray, say +that; don’t let him think that poor Laughter is persecuted +for a fool in this world.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the old man to the boy, “you must, at +any rate, speak very low.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that wouldn’t be amiss, perhaps,” said the +cosmopolitan; “but, my fine fellow, you were about +saying something to my aged friend here; what was +it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” with a lowered voice, coolly opening and shutting +his little door, “only this: when I kept a toy-stand +at the fair in Cincinnati last month, I sold more +than one old man a child’s rattle.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt of it,” said the old man. “I myself often +buy such things for my little grandchildren.”</p> + +<p>“But these old men I talk of were old bachelors.”</p> + +<p>The old man stared at him a moment; then, whispering +to the cosmopolitan: “Strange boy, this; sort of +simple, ain’t he? Don’t know much, hey?”</p> + +<p>“Not much,” said the boy, “or I wouldn’t be so +ragged.”</p> + +<p>“Why, child, what sharp ears you have!” exclaimed +the old man.</p> + +<p>“If they were duller, I would hear less ill of myself,” +said the boy.</p> + +<p>“You seem pretty wise, my lad,” said the cosmopolitan; +“why don’t you sell your wisdom, and buy a +coat?”</p> + +<p>“Faith,” said the boy, “that’s what I did to-day, and +this is the coat that the price of my wisdom bought. +But won’t you trade? See, now, it is not the door I +want to sell; I only carry the door round for a specimen, +like. Look now, sir,” standing the thing up on the +table, “supposing this little door is your state-room +door; well,” opening it, “you go in for the night; +you close your door behind you—thus. Now, is all +safe?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so, child,” said the old man.</p> + +<p>“Of course it is, my fine fellow,” said the cosmopolitan.</p> + +<p>“All safe. Well. Now, about two o’clock in the +morning, say, a soft-handed gentleman comes softly and +tries the knob here—thus; in creeps my soft-handed +gentleman; and hey, presto! how comes on the soft +cash?”</p> + +<p>“I see, I see, child,” said the old man; “your fine +gentleman is a fine thief, and there’s no lock to your +little door to keep him out;” with which words he +peered at it more closely than before.</p> + +<p>“Well, now,” again showing his white teeth, “well, +now, some of you old folks are knowing ’uns, sure +enough; but now comes the great invention,” producing +a small steel contrivance, very simple but ingenious, +and which, being clapped on the inside of the little +door, secured it as with a bolt. “There now,” admiringly +holding it off at arm’s-length, “there now, let +that soft-handed gentleman come now a’ softly trying +this little knob here, and let him keep a’ trying till he +finds his head as soft as his hand. Buy the traveler’s +patent lock, sir, only twenty-five cents.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” cried the old man, “this beats printing. +Yes, child, I will have one, and use it this very +night.”</p> + +<p>With the phlegm of an old banker pouching the +change, the boy now turned to the other: “Sell you +one, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, my fine fellow, but I never use such +blacksmiths’ things.”</p> + +<p>“Those who give the blacksmith most work seldom +do,” said the boy, tipping him a wink expressive of a +degree of indefinite knowingness, not uninteresting to +consider in one of his years. But the wink was not +marked by the old man, nor, to all appearances, by him +for whom it was intended.</p> + +<p>“Now then,” said the boy, again addressing the old +man. “With your traveler’s lock on your door to-night, +you will think yourself all safe, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I think I will, child.”</p> + +<p>“But how about the window?”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, the window, child. I never thought of +that. I must see to that.”</p> + +<p>“Never you mind about the window,” said the boy, +“nor, to be honor bright, about the traveler’s lock either, +(though I ain’t sorry for selling one), do you just buy +one of these little jokers,” producing a number of suspender-like +objects, which he dangled before the old +man; “money-belts, sir; only fifty cents.”</p> + +<p>“Money-belt? never heard of such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“A sort of pocket-book,” said the boy, “only a safer +sort. Very good for travelers.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a pocket-book. Queer looking pocket-books +though, seems to me. Ain’t they rather long and narrow +for pocket-books?”</p> + +<p>“They go round the waist, sir, inside,” said the boy +“door open or locked, wide awake on your feet or fast +asleep in your chair, impossible to be robbed with a +money-belt.”</p> + +<p>“I see, I see. It <i>would</i> be hard to rob one’s money-belt. +And I was told to-day the Mississippi is a bad +river for pick-pockets. How much are they?”</p> + +<p>“Only fifty cents, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take one. There!”</p> + +<p>“Thank-ee. And now there’s a present for ye,” with +which, drawing from his breast a batch of little papers, +he threw one before the old man, who, looking at it, read +“<i>Counterfeit Detector</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Very good thing,” said the boy, “I give it to all my +customers who trade seventy-five cents’ worth; best +present can be made them. Sell you a money-belt, +sir?” turning to the cosmopolitan.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, my fine fellow, but I never use that +sort of thing; my money I carry loose.”</p> + +<p>“Loose bait ain’t bad,” said the boy, “look a lie and +find the truth; don’t care about a Counterfeit Detector, +do ye? or is the wind East, d’ye think?”</p> + +<p>“Child,” said the old man in some concern, “you +mustn’t sit up any longer, it affects your mind; there, go +away, go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“If I had some people’s brains to lie on. I would,” +said the boy, “but planks is hard, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Go, child—go, go!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, child,—yes, yes,” said the boy, with which +roguish parody, by way of congé, he scraped back his +hard foot on the woven flowers of the carpet, much as a +mischievous steer in May scrapes back his horny hoof +in the pasture; and then with a flourish of his hat—which, +like the rest of his tatters, was, thanks to hard +times, a belonging beyond his years, though not beyond +his experience, being a grown man’s cast-off beaver—turned, +and with the air of a young Caffre, quitted the +place.</p> + +<p>“That’s a strange boy,” said the old man, looking +after him. “I wonder who’s his mother; and whether +she knows what late hours he keeps?”</p> + +<p>“The probability is,” observed the other, “that his +mother does not know. But if you remember, sir, you +were saying something, when the boy interrupted you +with his door.”</p> + +<p>“So I was.—Let me see,” unmindful of his purchases +for the moment, “what, now, was it? What was that +I was saying? Do <i>you</i> remember?”</p> + +<p>“Not perfectly, sir; but, if I am not mistaken, it was +something like this: you hoped you did not distrust the +creature; for that would imply distrust of the Creator.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that was something like it,” mechanically and +unintelligently letting his eye fall now on his purchases.</p> + +<p>“Pray, will you put your money in your belt to-night?”</p> + +<p>“It’s best, ain’t it?” with a slight start. “Never +too late to be cautious. ‘Beware of pick-pockets’ is +all over the boat.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and it must have been the Son of Sirach, or +some other morbid cynic, who put them there. But +that’s not to the purpose. Since you are minded to it, +pray, sir, let me help you about the belt. I think that, +between us, we can make a secure thing of it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, no, no!” said the old man, not unperturbed, +“no, no, I wouldn’t trouble you for the world,” then, +nervously folding up the belt, “and I won’t be so impolite +as to do it for myself, before you, either. But, +now that I think of it,” after a pause, carefully taking +a little wad from a remote corner of his vest pocket, +“here are two bills they gave me at St. Louis, yesterday. +No doubt they are all right; but just to pass +time, I’ll compare them with the Detector here. Blessed +boy to make me such a present. Public benefactor, +that little boy!”</p> + +<p>Laying the Detector square before him on the table, +he then, with something of the air of an officer bringing +by the collar a brace of culprits to the bar, placed the +two bills opposite the Detector, upon which, the examination +began, lasting some time, prosecuted with +no small research and vigilance, the forefinger of the +right hand proving of lawyer-like efficacy in tracing out +and pointing the evidence, whichever way it might go.</p> + +<p>After watching him a while, the cosmopolitan said in +a formal voice, “Well, what say you, Mr. Foreman; +guilty, or not guilty?—Not guilty, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, I don’t know,” returned the old man, +perplexed, “there’s so many marks of all sorts to go by, +it makes it a kind of uncertain. Here, now, is this bill,” +touching one, “it looks to be a three dollar bill on +the Vicksburgh Trust and Insurance Banking Company. +Well, the Detector says——”</p> + +<p>“But why, in this case, care what it says? Trust and +Insurance! What more would you have?”</p> + +<p>“No; but the Detector says, among fifty other things, +that, if a good bill, it must have, thickened here and +there into the substance of the paper, little wavy spots +of red; and it says they must have a kind of silky feel, +being made by the lint of a red silk handkerchief stirred +up in the paper-maker’s vat—the paper being made to +order for the company.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and is——”</p> + +<p>“Stay. But then it adds, that sign is not always to +be relied on; for some good bills get so worn, the red +marks get rubbed out. And that’s the case with my +bill here—see how old it is—or else it’s a counterfeit, or +else—I don’t see right—or else—dear, dear me—I don’t +know what else to think.”</p> + +<p>“What a peck of trouble that Detector makes for you +now; believe me, the bill is good; don’t be so distrustful. +Proves what I’ve always thought, that much of +the want of confidence, in these days, is owing to these +Counterfeit Detectors you see on every desk and counter. +Puts people up to suspecting good bills. Throw it +away, I beg, if only because of the trouble it breeds +you.”</p> + +<p>“No; it’s troublesome, but I think I’ll keep it.—Stay, +now, here’s another sign. It says that, if the bill is good, it +must have in one corner, mixed in with the vignette, the +figure of a goose, very small, indeed, all but microscopic; +and, for added precaution, like the figure of Napoleon +outlined by the tree, not observable, even if magnified, +unless the attention is directed to it. Now, pore over it +as I will, I can’t see this goose.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t see the goose? why, I can; and a famous +goose it is. There” (reaching over and pointing to +a spot in the vignette).</p> + +<p>“I don’t see it—dear me—I don’t see the goose. Is +it a real goose?”</p> + +<p>“A perfect goose; beautiful goose.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear, I don’t see it.”</p> + +<p>“Then throw that Detector away, I say again; it +only makes you purblind; don’t you see what a wild-goose +chase it has led you? The bill is good. Throw +the Detector away.”</p> + +<p>“No; it ain’t so satisfactory as I thought for, but +I must examine this other bill.”</p> + +<p>“As you please, but I can’t in conscience assist you +any more; pray, then, excuse me.”</p> + +<p>So, while the old man with much painstakings resumed +his work, the cosmopolitan, to allow him every +facility, resumed his reading. At length, seeing that he +had given up his undertaking as hopeless, and was at +leisure again, the cosmopolitan addressed some gravely +interesting remarks to him about the book before him, +and, presently, becoming more and more grave, said, as +he turned the large volume slowly over on the table, +and with much difficulty traced the faded remains of the +gilt inscription giving the name of the society who had +presented it to the boat, “Ah, sir, though every one +must be pleased at the thought of the presence in public +places of such a book, yet there is something that +abates the satisfaction. Look at this volume; on the +outside, battered as any old valise in the baggage-room; +and inside, white and virgin as the hearts of lilies in +bud.”</p> + +<p>“So it is, so it is,” said the old man sadly, his attention +for the first directed to the circumstance.</p> + +<p>“Nor is this the only time,” continued the other, +“that I have observed these public Bibles in boats and +hotels. All much like this—old without, and new +within. True, this aptly typifies that internal freshness, +the best mark of truth, however ancient; but then, +it speaks not so well as could be wished for the good +book’s esteem in the minds of the traveling public. I +may err, but it seems to me that if more confidence +was put in it by the traveling public, it would hardly +be so.”</p> + +<p>With an expression very unlike that with which he +had bent over the Detector, the old man sat meditating +upon his companions remarks a while; and, at last, with +a rapt look, said: “And yet, of all people, the traveling +public most need to put trust in that guardianship which +is made known in this book.”</p> + +<p>“True, true,” thoughtfully assented the other. +“And one would think they would want to, and +be glad to,” continued the old man kindling; “for, in +all our wanderings through this vale, how pleasant, not +less than obligatory, to feel that we need start at no +wild alarms, provide for no wild perils; trusting in that +Power which is alike able and willing to protect us +when we cannot ourselves.”</p> + +<p>His manner produced something answering to it in +the cosmopolitan, who, leaning over towards him, said +sadly: “Though this is a theme on which travelers +seldom talk to each other, yet, to you, sir, I will say, +that I share something of your sense of security. I have +moved much about the world, and still keep at it; nevertheless, +though in this land, and especially in these +parts of it, some stories are told about steamboats and +railroads fitted to make one a little apprehensive, yet, I +may say that, neither by land nor by water, am I ever +seriously disquieted, however, at times, transiently uneasy; +since, with you, sir, I believe in a Committee +of Safety, holding silent sessions over all, in an invisible +patrol, most alert when we soundest sleep, and whose +beat lies as much through forests as towns, along rivers +as streets. In short, I never forget that passage of +Scripture which says, ‘Jehovah shall be thy confidence.’ +The traveler who has not this trust, what miserable +misgivings must be his; or, what vain, short-sighted +care must he take of himself.”</p> + +<p>“Even so,” said the old man, lowly.</p> + +<p>“There is a chapter,” continued the other, again +taking the book, “which, as not amiss, I must read you. +But this lamp, solar-lamp as it is, begins to burn dimly.”</p> + +<p>“So it does, so it does,” said the old man with +changed air, “dear me, it must be very late. I must to +bed, to bed! Let me see,” rising and looking wistfully all +round, first on the stools and settees, and then on the +carpet, “let me see, let me see;—is there anything I +have forgot,—forgot? Something I a sort of dimly remember. +Something, my son—careful man—told me at +starting this morning, this very morning. Something +about seeing to—something before I got into my berth. +What could it be? Something for safety. Oh, my poor +old memory!”</p> + +<p>“Let me give a little guess, sir. Life-preserver?”</p> + +<p>“So it was. He told me not to omit seeing I had a +life-preserver in my state-room; said the boat supplied +them, too. But where are they? I don’t see any. +What are they like?”</p> + +<p>“They are something like this, sir, I believe,” lifting +a brown stool with a curved tin compartment underneath; +“yes, this, I think, is a life-preserver, sir; and +a very good one, I should say, though I don’t pretend to +know much about such things, never using them myself.”</p> + +<p>“Why, indeed, now! Who would have thought it? +<i>that</i> a life-preserver? That’s the very stool I was sitting +on, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It is. And that shows that one’s life is looked out +for, when he ain’t looking out for it himself. In fact, +any of these stools here will float you, sir, should the +boat hit a snag, and go down in the dark. But, since +you want one in your room, pray take this one,” handing +it to him. “I think I can recommend this one; the +tin part,” rapping it with his knuckles, “seems so +perfect—sounds so very hollow.”</p> + +<p>“Sure it’s <i>quite</i> perfect, though?” Then, anxiously +putting on his spectacles, he scrutinized it pretty +closely—“well soldered? quite tight?”</p> + +<p>“I should say so, sir; though, indeed, as I said, I +never use this sort of thing, myself. Still, I think that +in case of a wreck, barring sharp-pointed timbers, you +could have confidence in that stool for a special providence.”</p> + +<p>“Then, good-night, good-night; and Providence have +both of us in its good keeping.”</p> + +<p>“Be sure it will,” eying the old man with sympathy, +as for the moment he stood, money-belt in hand, and +life-preserver under arm, “be sure it will, sir, since +in Providence, as in man, you and I equally put trust. +But, bless me, we are being left in the dark here. Pah! +what a smell, too.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, my way now,” cried the old man, peering before +him, “where lies my way to my state-room?”</p> + +<p>“I have indifferent eyes, and will show you; but, first, +for the good of all lungs, let me extinguish this lamp.”</p> + +<p>The next moment, the waning light expired, and with +it the waning flames of the horned altar, and the waning +halo round the robed man’s brow; while in the darkness +which ensued, the cosmopolitan kindly led the old man +away. Something further may follow of this Masquerade.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<div class='bbox'> +<h2 style='margin-top:0;'>Transcriber’s Note and Errata</h2> + +<p class='noin c'>The following words are seen in both hyphenated and un-hyphenated +forms. The number of instances are given in parentheses.</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="1" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td>church-yard (2)</td><td>churchyard (1)</td></tr> +<tr><td>cross-wise (1)</td><td>crosswise (1)</td></tr> +<tr><td>thread-bare (1)</td><td>threadbare (1)</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p class='noin c'>The following typographical errors have been corrected:</p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="1" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr style='font-weight:bold'><td>Page</td><td>Error</td><td>Correction</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>26</td><td>ACQUANTANCE</td><td>ACQUAINTANCE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>54</td><td>prevailent</td><td>prevalent</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>77</td><td>the the</td><td>the</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>110</td><td>tranquillity</td><td>tranquility</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>112</td><td>abox</td><td>a box</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>179</td><td>acommodates</td><td>accommodates</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>212</td><td>have have</td><td>have</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>213</td><td>worldlingg, lutton,</td><td>worldling, glutton,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>227</td><td>backswoods’</td><td>backwoods’</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>229</td><td>it it</td><td>it is</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>265</td><td>fellew</td><td>fellow</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>266</td><td>principal</td><td>principle</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>273</td><td>it it</td><td>it</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>275</td><td>everwhere</td><td>everywhere</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>281</td><td>SUPRISING</td><td>SURPRISING</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>314</td><td>freind</td><td>friend</td></tr> +</table></div> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONFIDENCE-MAN ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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