The landlord replied, that as the major had brought him a distinguished guest, he should claim the right to do the hospitalities of his own house, and this he held the more incumbent, as the major was returned from so long an absence. But in obedience to the spirit of temperance that ruled in the village, and was so rigid in its exactions, that it kept Captain Jack Laythe, the man who dozed in the chair, a spy over his counter, he could give them nothing but cider and mead. Indeed the whole town had gone into such exceedingly steady habits, that if an old friend chanced that way, and took it into his head that a drop of heavy would do him no harm, he was forced to wink him down into the cellar, and relieve his wants in a little out of the way place, for even the smell of whiskey upon the tumblers was set down as proof of guilt sufficient to call a town meeting.

They had scarcely drank the cider set before them by the landlord, when the man in the chair began to exhibit signs of motion. Then getting up from his seat, his sharp sallow visage assumed a look of revenge; and approaching the counter, he began scenting the tumblers. "Captain Jack Laythe!" said the major, casting upon the man a look of hate, "you might find a better business than scenting tumblers for temperance folks. You're a pretty Christian, surrendering yourself to such meanness!" It was evident that the major's choler was raised, and that he rather courted a set-to with the spy, who had no great admiration for heroes of any kind. Indeed, the major declared that if such a thing had happened when he was with his regiment in Mexico, his sword had not long remained in its sheath.

"This man," rejoined the spy, with a nasal drawl, "is a burning torch to the town, which he keeps in a perpetual uproar. The devil never thought of half the evil he has inflicted upon certain of the townspeople, for he serves them with his poison, and they go about as if they were dead. Time and again has he been commanded to surrender his traffic of misery, on penalty of being ridden into the river; but he has neither fear of the devil, nor respect for the laws; and though every pulpit in the land should preach against him, they cannot put him to shame." The host, who was itching to have revenge of the spy, hurled a lemon squeezer at his head, which took him between the two eyes, and caused him to retreat into the street, amidst the cheering and jeering of the bystanders. The major, too, applied his boot in right good earnest to the retreating gentleman's rear, and asserted his courage by making threats in the door, while the other, having regained his sight, stood challenging him to come out into the street, and take it like a man. The major called upon the bystanders to bear witness that he had courage enough to tackle a dozen or more of such spies, only he would rather not soil his hands just now. Nor was there any honor in fighting such people, which was a chief point in such game.

The landlord now reminded the major that the town esteemed him too highly to have him compromise himself by holding a parley with such a fellow, who was no other than an old Pawtucket stage driver, who having tempered his throat with brandy until it had dried up his wits, saw fit to reform, and had become the most implacable enemy of all who enjoyed what he had abused.

The spy seeing the landlord about to set on his big dog, took to his heels, muttering in a low and plaintive tone, and threatening to report his grievances to Parson Bangshanter, and Squire Clapp, two leading members of the temperance league, and who, in respect to good morals, had taken the sale of liquor into their own hands, and were making a good thing of it. The major now remembered that his wife, Polly Potter, would get the news and be impatient to welcome him, and so bidding the host and his company good night, and assuring me that he would ring the town out to pay me proper respect in the morning, he took his way home, meeting with so serious an accident as had well nigh cost him his life, the particulars of which I must reserve for another chapter.



CHAPTER XIII.

WHICH TREATS OF TWO STRANGE CHARACTERS I MET AT THE INDEPENDENT TEMPERANCE HOTEL.



HAVING got rid of the major, I desired to change my clothing before supper, and was shown to a snug little room up stairs by a damsel of such exquisite beauty and bashfulness, that my whole soul seemed melting within me, so quickly did her charms enslave me. In answer to a question that hung trembling upon my lips, and which I had only power to put in broken accents, for she passed me the candle, and as she did so, I touched her hand, and saw her bosom heave gently, and her eyes fill with liquid light, out of which came the language of love, she said, with a smile and a lisp, that they called her Bessie. Nature had been all bountiful in bestowing her gifts, for surely, thought I, the nation can boast of no prettier Bessie. I thought of the garden of Eden, of the palm groves of Campania, of every rural beauty that just then beguiled my fancies. But in neither of them did there seem happiness for me without Bessie for the idol of my worship. I had, indeed, touched the hidden spring of her sympathy, and as it gushed forth in unison with my own, I read the flutterings of her heart in her crimsoning cheeks, and contemplated the bounties of that Providence which forgets not the humblest of its creatures. "Oh, sir," said she, "what will my father say?" and she attempted a frown, and started back as I stole a kiss of the cheek now suffused with blushes. Then with an arch toss of the head, she turned her great black eyes rogueishly upon me, and said in a half whisper that I must not attempt it again. But I could not resist the magic of her glance, while, together with the cherry-like freshness of her lips, and the raven blackness of those glossy curls that hung so ravishingly over her fair blushing cheeks, discovering a delicately arched brow, and enhancing the sweetness of her oval face, carried me away captive, and made it seem as if heaven had created our loves to flow on in one unhallowed stream of joy. Her dapper figure was neatly set off with a dress of black silk, buttoned close about the neck, and showing the symmetry of her bust to great advantage; and over this she wore an apron of brown silk, gimped at the edge, and her collar and wristbands were of snowy white linen. "Heaven knows I would not harm thee, for thou art even too fair; only a knave would rob one so innocent." And I held her tremblingly by the hand, in the open door, as she attempted to draw herself away, beseeching me with a bewitching glance to "remember her youth." Bessie was the landlord's daughter; and though she was scarce passed her seventeenth summer, had became so famous for her beauty, as to number her admirers in every village of the county; and many were the travelers that way who tarried to do homage to her charms. I had just raised her warm hand to my lips, hoping, after I had kissed it, to engage her in conversation, when the door of a room on the opposite side of the passage opened, and a queer little man, with a hump on his back, and otherwise deformed, issued therefrom, and with a nervous step hurried down stairs, muttering to himself like one lost in his own contemplations. Bessie, with the suddenness of one surprised, vaulted in an opposite direction, and, ere I had time to cast a glance after her, disappeared down a back stair, leaving her image behind only to haunt my fancy, and make me think there was no one else in this world with whom I could be happy.

A few minutes, and having completed my toilet, I appeared at the supper table, which the blushing Bessie had spread with all the niceties of the season, and was waiting to do the honors. My appetite was indeed keen, but the flashing of her eyes so troubled my sensitive nature, that I entirely forgot the supper, and began to inquire, half resolved to end my journey here, if mine host could accommodate me for a month. Bessie heaved a sigh, saying it should be done if she had to give up her own room. To which I replied that nothing could induce me to give her trouble for my sake; that I would take up my lodgings upon the corn shed, where, with the stars and her charms to occupy my musings, I could be so happy.

When supper was over, Bessie ushered me into a large sitting room, on the left of the hall, and bid me good night. A large, square table, upon which was a copy of Godey's Lady's Book, the New England Cultivator, the New Bedford Mercury, and sundry other papers of good morals, stood in the center of the room. The walls were papered in bright colors, and the floor was covered with an Uxbridge carpet, the colors of which were green and red, and made fresh by the glare of a spirit lamp that burned upon the table. A chart of the South Shoal, a map of Massachusetts and Rhode Island, and sundry rude drawings in crayon and water colors, hung suspended from the walls. The air of quiet cheerfulness that pervaded the sitting room, bespoke the care Bessie had bestowed upon it, and the active part she took in the management of the household. And, too, there was a piano standing open at one end of the room, for Bessie, in addition to having studied Latin and algebra two years at the high school, had taken music lessons of Monsieur Pensin, and could play seven tunes right off.

An aged, clerical-looking man, his visage lean and careworn, with his newly-married bride, a simply clad country girl of eighteen, sat at a window, looking out upon a little square, and every few minutes exchanging caresses they imagined were seen by no one else in the room. Indeed, when they were not caressing, they were whispering in very affectionate proximity. Once or twice I overheard, "My darling," and, "You know, my love," which curt but meaning sentences are much in fashion with persons on a bridal tour, and who set out with the belief that earth has no ill that can disturb the solace of their perhaps weak love.

The little deformed man, of the nervous temperament, and whose well formed head seemed to have been thrown by accident upon his distended chest, paced, or rather oscillated up and down the room, swinging his arms restlessly, now casting a glance of his keen gray eye at me, then pausing at the farther end of the room to read the notice of a lecture on Crabbe, inscribed upon a great red poster. There was something in the lettering of the poster that displeased him exceedingly, for, having scanned over it, he would turn away with a quickened pace, and mutter some incoherent sentences no one present could comprehend, but which his increasing nervousness betold were expressive of anger. The thought of Bessie made me impatient, and following the example of the little deformed man, I also commenced pacing the room, but on the opposite side of the table, meeting and exchanging glances with him in the center. The maps upon the walls furnished me themes for contemplation in my sallies; and I read and reread the exact latitude and longitude of the South Shoal, as it appeared on the charts. Then I paused at a front window, and peered out into the starlight night, and saw the tree tops in a little square opposite, move gently to the breeze, while my fancies recurred to the association of that home, at the fireside of which I pictured my father and mother, sitting thinking of me. At the opposite end of the room I read, for it was there printed upon the red colored poster, that the celebrated Giles Sheridan, (who was no less a person than the little deformed man who paced the room so briskly,) would lecture on Crabbe, in the basement of the "Orthodox Meeting House," at seven o'clock, on the following evening.

It perplexed me not a little to know why this Giles Sheridan, this queer little man, had selected for the subject of his lecture, a person so little known in the rural districts of Massachusetts. Had he consulted either the political or mechanical tastes of the people, instead of their literary, the cause would not have been involved in so deep a mystery; but this will be explained hereafter.

The clerical looking man had just kissed his young bride, and muttered something about the joys of paradise, as I, for the ninth time, paused to ponder over the curious announcement. And as I did so, the little man, with that sensitiveness common to true genius, looked up at me with an eye beaming with intelligence, while his lips quivered, his fingers became restless, and he locked his hands before him and behind him, in quick succession, then frisked his straight hair back over his ears with his fingers, and gave out such other signs of timidity as convinced me that he was a stranger in the land, and would engage me in conversation merely to unburden his thoughts. I have said true genius, in speaking of this queer little man, for indeed, if strange nature had so disfigured his person as to make it unsightly, she had more than compensated him with the gifts of a brilliant mind. "Like myself, sir, you are a traveler this way?" he spoke, with a voice clear and musical, and with just enough of a refined brogue to discover the land of his nativity, or to give melody to his conversation. "You will pardon me, sir; but I saw you evinced an interest in the notice of my lecture. Ah! sir; even a look of encouragement cheers and fortifies this misgiving heart of mine. Few, sir, very few, think of me, seeing that there is nothing about me pleasing to the eye." And as he said this, he sighed, frisked his left hand across his forehead, and shook his head. I saw he was troubled with that lack of confidence in himself, so common to men of his kind; he was also too timid for one thrown upon a strange land with only genius to aid him in struggling against adversity. On discovering to him who I was, and that I had written a Life and Times of Captain Seth Brewster, which my publisher, and several independent critics he kept in his employ, had praised into an unprecedented sale, though it was indeed the veriest rubbish, his pent up enthusiasm gushed forth in a rhapsody of joy. I told him, too, that two sonnets which I had written, over the signature of Mary, had been published in the "New Bedford Mercury," the editor of which very excellent paper said they were charming, though he never paid me a penny for them. It may interest all aspiring female poets to know that these little attempts at verse found their way into the "Home Journal," and were highly praised by it, as is everything written by Marys of sixteen.

"Men of letters are brothers!" said the little, deformed man, grasping tightly my hand. "They should bind their sympathies in eternal friendship. You have no other word for it! The world never thinks of them until they are dead; ought they not then to be brothers to one another while they live?" He now placed two chairs, frisked about like one half crazed, expressed his joy at meeting one who had aspirations in common with him, said he wished the meek old lover in the corner had his young bride in paradise, and bid me be seated and join him in a talk over the past and present of letters. I replied by saying I was more impatient to know what had brought him to Barnstable with so strange a subject for his lecture. "That is the point, and I will tell you; for a stranger is never to blame for doing wrong when he thinks he is doing right!" said he, with great earnestness of manner. And he drew his chair closer, and tapped me impressively on the arm with the fore finger of his right hand. "And you read my name, Giles Sheridan, on the pink poster. I am well known in some parts of the world, and not so well known in others. Thanks to a merciful God, I am not the worst man in the world, and yet I am deformed; and as the world praises most the beauty that adorns the surface, so few think of me, care for me, or say, 'Giles Sheridan, there is meat and wine at my house, where you will be welcome.' Thinking even a cripple might find favor and fortune in the country, I came over not long since, and sought the city of Boston, it being, as many had told me, the great center of America's learning and refinement. There I gave a lecture or two; but being a stranger, and deformed withal, the reception I met was cold and discouraging. Against such men as Lowell, and Curtis, men born on the soil, and of such goodly person as made them the pets of the petticoats and pantaletts, I could not hope to succeed. In truth, I gave up, sick at heart, clean only in pocket, and with the alternative of a garret and a crust staring me in the face, in a land of plenty. At length a friendly hand came to my succor, and through it I was invited by a committee, composed of the tavern keeper, the schoolmaster, the Unitarian clergyman, and the milkman, (who had a relish for letters,) to deliver three lectures in this town, for which they promised to pay me five dollars a lecture, and my victuals. Yes, sir, my victuals. Five dollars and victuals for a learned lecture was something for a man whose pocket stood much in need of replenishing. I came, disposed to do to the best of my ability; and the victuals I have had, and they are good. I chose Crabbe for the subject of my lecture, in deference to my own taste, and also because I was led to believe, judging from analogy, that the knowledge of men of letters which ruled in Boston, must also rule in the villages and towns round about. It was that which led me to announce Crabbe, which announcement has much disturbed the town. No one seems to know who or what manner of man he was, and many curious questions have been put to me concerning his origin, the things he did while living, the manner of his death, and what was said of him afterwards. Several inquisitive old ladies, who called to see me to-day, put many questions concerning his morals and religion. Not entertaining a doubt of his loving all religion that was founded in truth and reason, I sent them away fully satisfied that Mr. Crabbe was a man of good standing in the church. You will remember sir, it was Crabbe who said, 'There sits he upright in his seat secure, As one whose conscience is correct and pure.'"

Here he continued to repeat several of the most beautiful lines written by that poet, and which are familiar to his readers.

"An unhappy sort of man, clothed in the garb of a mechanic, and calling himself a nonresistant, has several times called to inquire if Mr. Crabbe, of whom I proposed to speak, was an advocate of physical resistance. Not being able to satisfy him upon this point, he has sought in divers ways to pick a quarrel with me." Just at this moment the door opened, and there entered to the evident annoyance of the little deformed man, one Ephraim Flagg, a clicker of shoes, and an ex-stagedriver. He was lean and low of figure, had a long bony face, and a gloomy expression of countenance, and a straight, narrow forehead, and coarse, silvery hair, that stood erect upon his head. "I have come again, you see; but don't let your choler get up, my little stranger. Peace and little men ought to keep each other company," spoke the man, with a strong, nasal twang, after having adjusted his thumbs in the arm holes of his waistcoat, and passed twice or thrice up and down the, room, with a tantalizing air. Ephraim Flagg had given up driving the stage between New London and Norwich, and had recently taken to books, and so studied certain exact and inexact sciences, as they were called, and neglected all business, that it was feared he would become a town tax. In addition to this he had made himself famous for quarreling with all those who differed with him on the peculiarities of his social problem.

"Sir!" replied the lecturer, "as you chose neither to be convinced, nor to accept reason for argument, perhaps we had as well end this bantering!"

"Oh! there you are," interrupted the nonresistant, "you must not allow your ill temper to rise. You can't get (no you can't) the better of your adversary that way. If a man kicks you, and if you want to show yourself his superior, turn right round and thank him. Depend upon it, there is nothing equal to it! It so unhinges the man. Now, as to this Mr. Crabbe, (you forgot, in our controversy yesterday, to say where he was born,) being a gentleman, and in favor of using physical force-"

"Seeing that I am engaged, Mr. Flagg," interrupted Giles Sheridan, "perhaps you will excuse me any further controversy on the peculiar merits of Crabbe's combativeness."

"But there was one point not made quite clear to me, and I came back, not to make you angry, for men who give lectures should have good tempers, but to inquire if this Mr. Crabbe was ever kocked down; and if he was, how and in what manner he returned the kindness?" To this question, Giles Sheridan was not inclined to vouchsafe an answer. The nonresistant then said, the principles he had been trying to defend, were being illustrated. "I am an enemy to physical force; but I have gained a victory over you! You won't deny that, I take it?" continued the nonresistant, taking a seat uninvited; and, having placed his feet upon the table, near Giles Sheridan, who was scarce able to restrain his feelings at the want of good breeding therein displayed, threw his hat upon the floor, and said he would wager four dollars and thirty cents, which was all the money he possessed, that he could lecture on the principles of nonresistance, and draw an audience greater by ten per cent. than would come to hear about Mr. Crabbe. "You don't know whether your man had a liking for tobacco and whiskey?" he parenthesized. A look of contempt flashed from Giles Sheridan's eye, as he twirled his fingers, and curtly replied, "I wish, for your own sake, sir, that your tongue did not betray the error of the doctrine you have set up-"

"Oh! there you are!" the nonresistant quickly replied, "establishing by your acts what you have not courage to acknowledge with your lips." Wounded in his feelings, the little deformed man turned away, and commenced inquiring what I thought about several learned, but very heavy reviews that had recently appeared in Putnam's Magazine, a monthly so sensitive of its character for weighty logic, that it never gave ordinary readers anything they could digest. I confessed I was not sufficiently qualified to speak on the subject; to do which, required that a man be a member of that mutual admiration society, beyond whose delicate fingers it seldom circulated. The nonresistant evidently saw my embarrassment, and saying he had but one more question to ask respecting the man Crabbe, continued in the following manner, while Giles Sheridan remained doggedly silent. "Now, look a here! if your Mr. Crabbe had a bin a farmer who had grown a nice field of wheat, which his neighbor's horse, being breachy, had got into, wanting to get the best of that neighbor, would he have killed the horse, or would he have gone to that neighbor and said, 'Neighbor, thy horse is in my wheat, pray come and take him out, that I may not bear thee malice?'" This question, and the quaint manner in which it was put, so conciliated the little deformed man that he could not resist a smile. "I have you there!" exclaimed the nonresistant with a toss of his head.

"It occurs to me that Crabbe never had a farm, hence it would not become me to speak for him. For myself, I had driven the horse out with my dog," replied the other.

"There you are wrong," retorted the nonresistant, "for the dog would have destroyed the wheat, and so carried the devil to the heart of the farmer, that he had gone to law, if, indeed, he had not killed the horse, and by so doing lost all power over his adversary. Whereas, if he had spoken gently of the conduct of the horse, the owner would have been sorely grieved, and set about making good the damage, according to the promptings of his own heart."

The landlord hearing the nonresistant's voice, entered the room and ordered him to begone about his business, and seek some better employment than that of hectoring every traveler who chanced to put up at his inn. But the nonresistant replied that he was not to be insulted by a landlord who professed to keep a temperance house, and sold liquid death daily on the sly; nor would he leave the inn, in which he had a common right, until his own convenience dictated. This so enraged the landlord, that although he was a little man, he seized the nonresistant by the collar, and would have forced him to leave the premises but that the other proved too strong for him. Indeed the nonresistant, notwithstanding his principles, had well nigh divested the landlord of his coat, and done serious damage to his face, and was only ejected from the house by the timely assistance of the hostler and the bar tender.



CHAPTER XIV.

IN WHICH THE TOWN IS THROWN INTO A STATE OF ALARM, AND SUNDRY OTHER THINGS WORTH MENTIONING.



THE nonresistant, resolving to make the street his castle, stood for some minutes making grimaces, and hurling coarse invective at the landlord, who, with sundry idlers, had gathered into the portico. He then took his leave, swearing to have satisfaction of his assailants, as Giles Sheridan, looking out at the window, said he should long remember the fellow for the courtesy he had manifested towards him.

Peace being restored, the landlord, his shirt ruffle in a sad plight, returned to apologize for the disturbance to his guests; while peeping in at the door, I saw Bessie, her black eyes almost swimming in tears, and evidently alarmed for my safety. Again Giles Sheridan spoke up and said: "It can be no good that brought the fellow hither. He must have been begotten under an evil star, and nursed by a virago. The fellow has but to take good care of his invective; and if he adopt the ass instead of the madman, he may in time become an excellent critic." Here he paused, turned his head quickly, and frisked his fingers nervously through his straight, silvery hair. The clerical looking groom, hearing the little deformed man speak thus, led his young bride frightened to bed.

The lecturer now drew a much worn and almost illegible manuscript from his pocket, and commenced reading to me a few passages from it, in a clear, shrill voice, and with much earnestness of manner. His love of approbation, I saw, was only equaled by his want of self-confidence, which made him anxious to hear what I would say of it. So I listened with more than ordinary attention while he read, and then expressed a firm belief that the people of Barnstable could not fail to appreciate his ascetics. This so encouraged him that his heart seemed beating with joy, and he warmed into enthusiasm, and read on, watching intently the changes of my countenance, as if he wished to read in them my fleeting thoughts. I was about to inquire whether it were good policy to measure public taste by one's own, when he paused, and heaving a sigh, said in a modulated tone of voice, that so many queer inquiries had been made of him respecting Crabbe, that he began to doubt whether he could interest the people in a discourse upon the character of one they had scarce heard of. No longer ago than yesterday, he said, General Sam Wheeler, the popular high school committeeman, looked in to say, that it was getting all over Barnstable, and had very nearly got into the columns of the Patriot, that he had been got down by the evil agency of the anti-temperance men to lecture on a new process of making brandy from crab apples. And the Baptist clergyman rather encouraged this report, which was doing serious damage. I was told, too, that the subject of my lecture had been warmly debated by the ladies of the Orthodox Sewing Circle, where Mrs. Silas Heywood, who had written several strong articles for the Patriot, which journal adopted them as its own, was heard to declare emphatically that she had never heard of this man Crabbe, though she had read no end of books. Miss Bruce had been six quarters at the high-school, knew something of Latin and algebra, and had taken music lessons of Monsieur Pensin; but she had never heard of Crabbe until she read "Night and Morning," where, out of sheer affectation, as it seemed to her, she found that the author had made sundry quotations from him to adorn the heads of his chapters. As for Miss Leland, who had been two years abroad with her father and mother, and was supposed to know all about literature and the poets, she thought Mr. Crabbe could not be much, since she had not even heard of him while in England. Mr. Faulkner, the storekeeper, had not a book of Crabbe on his shelves, though he dealt largely in hardware and literature, and was a very respectable scholar. And Squire Brigham, the lawyer, who mixed himself up with other people's business a great deal, busied himself in saying: Crabbe must have been an obscure fellow, for though there was a pyramid of old books in his library, he had not one of this author's among them; and perhaps he ought to be thankful for it, for indeed Mrs. Forbush had said to him in confidence, that she understood of the little deformed man that Crabbe had written some very bad things of lawyers. Mrs. Forbush went regularly to Boston to get the fashions and attend the Lowell lectures; Mrs. Forbush had written a religious novel for the "Olive Branch;" Mrs. Forbush said, who would have thought of giving such a looking little creature five dollars and his victuals for lecturing upon such a subject

The cry of fire without, and the loud peals of an alarm bell, suddenly threw the town and the tavern into a state of great excitement. Giles Sheridan stopped short in his discourse, and the inmates of the house rushed in great agitation into the street. The alarm spread rapidly, and people began to run in every direction but the right one. One declared it a false alarm. That it was set on foot to afford recreation for the mischievous, another was quite sure. A third was ready to swear he saw the incendiary run down "the lane." People ran in opposite directions, crying fire. People, wayward and confused, were endeavoring to persuade one another that the scene of the fire was not in the direction they were going, though neither smoke nor flame could be seen in any part of the town. And while the people were thus confused, an harsh and grating voice cried out that the fire was down the lane, a narrow pathway that led from one part of the town to another. The confused figures of men who had stood contemplating here and there about the square, now rushed down the lane, and soon came in hearing of moans and lamentations, which grew louder and louder, as of one in great distress. "Oh! unworthy sinner that I am, let every man exert himself to remedy this misfortune!" a stifled voice was heard to cry out, as a crowd, having gathered round a pit, where some workmen had been digging for a well, discovered no less a person at the bottom, half buried in sand and water, than Major Roger Potter. "Peace, good man, and thy misfortune shall be remedied soon," said the Orthodox clergyman, who was among the alarmists, and, notwithstanding his accustomed frigidity, could scarce suppress a smile at seeing the major cut so sorry a figure. The clergyman now ordered the bystanders, who were much more inclined to enjoy the joke, to bring ropes, and assist in relieving the distressed man, who, if not a friend of the church, was at least a Christian. "Aye, aye," responded the major, "and be not long about it, for the sand is caving in, and I feel the devil fingering my toes." Seeing the people come to his relief, the major regained his courage, (for when discovered he was nearly frightened out of his wits,) and began heaping curses upon the head of the miscreant who had laid so diabolical a plot against his life. Indeed, he stubbornly refused to be convinced that it was anything else than a trick of his enemies to rob him of his military title. In fine, he declared to the parson, who several times rebuked him for his free use of profane adjectives, that nothing but his good will for mankind in general prevented him from taking summary vengeance of his enemies with his sword, which, fortunately for those who were making light of his distress, he had left at home. It was not that he set so high a value upon his life, for he had shown while in the Mexican War that he was not wanting in valor, and was ready at any moment to sacrifice it to his honor; but it sorely grieved him to think of what a loss the nation and Barnstable would suffer in his death by falling into a pit.

The rabble, as he called those who had come to his relief, now began to jeer him, and to demand of him a speech, merely to occupy the time while ropes necessary to his deliverance were being brought. This so enraged the major, that in addition to swearing he would not be drawn up by such a set of inhuman rascals, he commenced to curse his hard fate. A few moments more and he became calm, and looking up beseechingly in the clergyman's face, which was reflected by the light of a lantern, he enjoined him to hasten to his wife, Polly Potter, and tell her of the plight he was in. She had never forsaken him in his misfortunes. But the clergyman was scrupulous of his dignity, and not fancying the strong quality of the expletives he was using, took his leave, saying he could not waste sympathy upon one who so far forgot his afflictions as to take the name of the Lord in vain.

Ropes were now at hand, and amidst much laughter and jeering, the major was relieved from his perilous position, not, however, until his face had received some bruises and his garments much injury. The crowd now professed so much affection for him, that he began to deplore the loss of his temper, and to offer apologies for what he had said when in the pit, which were readily accepted, with regrets for his misfortune. Indeed, he inwardly congratulated himself that he had not lost a whit of his political or military popularity, and that the mishap was one of those peculiar interpositions of Providence which may occur in the life of any great man. As to the oaths that had lost him the friendship of the clergyman, he regretted them from the very bottom of his heart, and hoped his friends, in the exercise of that generosity they had ever evinced for him, would set them down to the bewildered and confused state of his faculties. Hoping he would never again be in a condition to merit their jokes, the major bowed in the politest manner, and turned to take his departure, adding that he would have to perform certain offices pleasing to his wife, Polly. He had, however, no sooner turned his back, than the crowd gave out shouts of laughter, seeing the condition his nether garments were in. Being unconscious of the cause, the major mistook their shouts for a manifestation of his popularity, and having paused to acknowledge it with a bow, continued on his way as the crowd dispersed.

It seems that the mischievous urchins, on seeing the major enter the tavern, mounted his team and drove several times round the town, the pig and chickens keeping up a medley of noise that seriously annoyed numerous peaceably-disposed citizens. And having satisfied their mischievous propensities, they left old Battle to himself, knowing that he would keep faith with his master. Finding his faithful animal gone, when he issued from the tavern, the major, not doubting the steady habits of his horse, very naturally believed that he had taken his way home, and thus forestalled his arrival. The only thing that caused him any fear was, that some accident might occur to his live stock. He therefore took the shortest road home, and so completely absorbed in the contemplation of his profits, and of the prospect of another chance for political fame, was he, that he hastened on regardless of the planks the workmen had placed round the well they were digging, and of which he became conscious only when he had tumbled some twenty feet to the bottom. Beginning to sink deeper and deeper in the sand, from which all his efforts to extricate himself failed, he set up a cry of fire, regarding it the one which would soonest bring him relief. And this cry he bawled until he sent the whole town into a state of excitement.

And now, since I have exhausted the limits of my chapter, I must reserve what took place between the major and his wife Polly, and how she almost fainted at seeing him enter the house in so shattered a condition, for another chapter.



CHAPTER XV.

IN WHICH THERE IS AN INTERESTING MEETING BETWEEN MAJOR POTTER AND HIS WIFE POLLY.



MAJOR ROGER SHERMAN POTTER lived in a little red house in the outskirts of the town of Barnstable. There were two crabbed little windows in front, for it could boast of but one story, and a narrow green door, over which a prairie rose bush clustered, as if to hide its infirmity. A small window, reminding one of a half closed jacknife, and in which were two earthen flower pots containing mignonnette, set jauntily upon the roof, which was so covered with black moss, that it was impossible to tell whether it was shingled or tiled. Indeed such was the shattered condition of the little tenement, that you might easily have imagined it suffering from a forty years' attack of chronic disease, and quite unfit for the habitation of so great a military hero. The major, however, had a peculiar faculty for reconciling humbleness with greatness, and always overcame the remonstrances of his wife, (who was continually urging the necessity of a larger tenement, in accordance with their advanced popularity,) by reminding her that General Scott, who was a great military hero, and to whom the nation owed a debt of gratitude it had no notion of discharging until after his death, was kept poor and humble by the nation, merely for its own convenience. In truth, whenever Polly Potter upbraided the major for not keeping up proper appearances, he would mutter so that her ears could not escape the meaning, that rags might cover a nobleman, while the knave might scent his fine linen with the perfumes of Arabia. In reply to this, Polly would remind him in her own way, that tattered garments and good society were not the fashion of the day, and seldom went together.

"Well, here I am, wife! in an unsuitable condition, I confess," said the major, stalking into his little habitation, and embracing his wife, who had been waiting his coming in great anxiety, seeing that old Battle had arrived nearly an hour previous, with the tin wagon in a very disordered condition. "Heavens! my faithful husband, my dear good husband, what has happened?" shrieked his wife, standing aghast for a moment, and then throwing herself almost fainting into his arms, as two shy looking and ill clad little girls, and a boy of some twelve years old, clung about her garments, and commenced to cry with all the might of their lungs. The major's wife was a slender, meekly attired woman, with exceedingly sharp features, a bright, watchful eye, evincing great energy of character, and a complexion which might be considered a compromise between the color of Dr. Townsend's sarsaparilla and the daintiest olive-induced, as the major afterwards told me, by bilious disorder.

The major was at a loss how to account to his wife for his shattered condition, nor was he conscious of the disordered state of his nether garments, the rent in which had been made larger by the process of getting him out of the pit. However, as her recovery was almost as sudden as her notion to faint, and seeing that nothing serious had resulted therefrom, he placed her in a chair, and commenced recounting to her how he got into the pit, which he swore, and made her believe, was set for him by his enemies, who had for many years bore him great malice, in consequence of his fame, which, God knows, he had worked hard enough to gain. "La's me, husband," said the artless woman, making him a return of her affections; "it's just what I've a dozen times told you they'd do, if they'd only a sly chance. There's Robins Dobson, who has been trying for years to be Major of the Invincibles, and it's just what his wife wants. She wants to see his name, with the title 'tached, in the Patriot some mornin'. Poor folks has a hard enough time to get up in the world, and when they gets up, everybody wants to pull 'em down. That's the way the world goes." As it had always been a custom with the good woman to believe no greater military character than the major ever lived-an opinion he shared to the fullest extent-so was it the most pleasing thing with him to reciprocate the honor by asserting, whenever an opportunity offered, that history afforded no example of a military hero ever before being blessed with so good a wife. Indeed I very much doubt whether there ever existed a heaven in which love, joy, and mutual confidence were so liberally exchanged as in this, the major's little tenement. As for furniture, it could boast of but little, and that of the shabbiest kind. It was true, there was a print of General Scott hung upon the discolored wall, and another of Zack Taylor, and another of General Pierce, mounted upon a ferocious-looking charger, and about to demonstrate his courage (not in attacking the lines of an enemy) by rushing into the thickest of a hailstorm. By these, especially the latter, Polly Potter set great store, inasmuch as they illustrated the major's taste for the profession of which he was so illustrious a member. I had almost forgotten to mention, while enumerating the portraits of these great generals, that there was hanging over the tea-table (as if to do penance for some grievous wrong committed against that venerable institutution) a picture of General Webb, who had distinguished himself in several great battles, fought in the columns of an almost pious newspaper, published in Wall Street, New York, and whom Polly Potter verily believed, having heard it of the neighbors, to be a wonderful diplomatist, which was rare in so great a general.

"And now, seeing that we have had but scanty fare for the week past, and have got deeply in debt to the grocer, who has twice threatened to take our little things for pay, pray tell us of your voyage, and what success you have met with;" said the good woman, which reminded the major of his neglect of his faithful horse, which, in reply to a question concerning his arrival, he was told had come safely home, and been put in the barn, but without either pig or chickens. The major was not a little surprised on hearing this account of his team, and repaired at once to the barn, where he found old Battle a little jaded, but otherwise in his usual good condition, and as ready as ever to acknowledge the caresses of his kind master. To his utter astonishment neither pig nor chickens, upon which he had set so much store, as constituting the larger half of his available profits, were to be seen. He now swore either that the town was full of thieves, or that it was another trick of his enemies to deprive him of the means of sustaining his hard-earned reputation. His wife now, evincing great grief at the sad misfortune, held the lantern while he counted his skins and tin ware, which he found to tally exactly with his account of stock, which he kept on a dingy slip of paper, with the exactness of a cotton broker. "Curse on these enemies of mine; they are all an evil minded set of blockheads!" ejaculated the major, pausing to consider a moment, and then heaving a sigh. "Husband, curse not your enemies," enjoined the confiding woman, "for the Scripture teacheth that we must pray for them; and you know we have much need of being exalted above them."

"I leave what the Scripture teacheth to Parson Boomer," interrupted the major, "who deals in that sort of commerce. Scripture, as I take it, has little to do with one's military reputation. And, may the devil take me if I don't think military men get it right nine times out of ten, and won't be far behind them in getting to heaven, (I mean the parsons,) unless they look well to the state of their morals."

Being very short, and stout, and singularly duck-legged withal, the major, having had his attention called to the condition of his garments, drew forth his cotton handkerchief and hung it about his loins, as a means of protecting the exposed state of his battery. Thus protected in his dignity, he resolved that his wife should bear him company, and together they would sally down the road a mile or two, in search of his lost live stock. As this necessarily incurred some danger to his person, which it required courage to overcome, he thought it well to step into the house and get his sword, a weapon that never failed him, and with which, according to his own account, he had killed innumerable Mexicans. Having girded on this venerable weapon, he came forth as never before did military hero, swearing to have satisfaction of every enemy who chanced in his way.

Let it be understood by all my military acquaintances, that I mean no offence in what I have here written. Nor must it be inferred because I have thus accoutered the major, who must be set down for a military politician, that such is the fashion with all great majors and colonels; for indeed history furnishes no account of their going to war with what is generally accepted as their most vital parts protected with pocket handkerchiefs, not even when fleeing before the enemies' bullets. Nor would this history sustain the reputation for truth I have from the beginning resolved it shall maintain with generations yet unborn, were I to leave unrecorded this act of heroism, seeing that it has so many counterparts among those who affect the profession of arms, and are honest enough in their belief that the nation's battles cannot be fought without them.

And now, having prepared himself for a tilt with assailants, rather than a search for his pig and poultry, he strode forth, his wife following a few steps behind, lantern in hand, and so regulating the shadow as not to obstruct his vision. Being a woman of great kindness, and much given to religion, his wife would pause every few steps, and enjoin the major to treat his adversary, if any he should chance to meet, with great consideration. There was no knowing, she said, but that it might all be the work of some mischievous boys. "That may be, wife; but they are set on by older heads. There's Captain Tom Baker, and Sergeant Prentice, of the Invincibles, in it somewhere! And they'll never stop molesting me until they have felt the weight of this sword!" returned the major, touching the hilt of his sword, and quickening his pace.

They had not proceeded far, when the rippling of a brook, and a slight rustling of leaves among some bushes by the roadside, caused the major to halt suddenly, half unsheath his sword, and place himself in an attitude of defence. "I said we should find them, wife; and may the devil take me if I don't make dead men of them in a trice."

"Truly, husband, it is only the wind and the brook you hear, and which, at this hour of the night, sounds very like the talking of conspiring men," interupted the woman, as if to encourage the major, who shrugged his shoulders, and began to show signs of fear in the backward and cautious movement of his steps. "As I hope to be saved, wife," returned our hero, in a modified tone of voice, "though it takes more than a trifle to alarm me, who has seen much service in Mexico, I am not mistaken. A vagabond of some kind lurks in the bushes yonder, for I heard his voice as distinctly as if it had been bawled into my ears. There! hear you not the sound of his footsteps? Go you ahead with the light, and leave the rest to me."

"Pray, husband, do not let your fancies lead you to rash acts."

"Rash acts?" rejoined the major, "to kill a score of such lurking vagabonds would only be doing good service for the devil, who merits one's aid now and then." In evidence of her faith in the cause of the sounds, the good woman advanced forward, and, followed by the major, with his sword drawn and braced, they proceeded cautiously on over the bridge, though not until our hero had several times stopped to listen, which he declared was enjoined by every rule of the profession, and was a means to avoid surprise while advancing upon an enemy.

Having ascended the brow of a hill, a short distance beyond the bridge, it was agreed between the major and his wife, that, being out of danger, they might now look more after the lost property and think less of assailants. The major, in the meantime, commenced giving his wife an account of the pig's knowing qualities, which, together with a description of the eccentric swine driver, amused her not a little. If the pig, she argued, was possessed of one half the gifts set down to him, he would take care of himself for the night; and as to the chickens, not even the black people who lived on the hill, would think of coming out at night to steal them-for though they were proverbially fond of keeping a large poultry yard, and not over scrupulous of the means by which they supplied it-they were too sparing of their energies to waste them at that hour of night. She therefore enjoined that they return peaceably home, and leave the search to be resumed at daylight. The major admitted the reason of his wife's argument, but declared his determination to traverse the road round and return by way of the tavern. It might, in truth, betray a want of courage, did he retrace his steps at this stage of the road.

"As to courage, husband," said his wife, holding the lantern so near that the shadow reflected over his broad face, "I am sure you have already proved that you are not wanting in that; and as there are but a few hours until daylight, we had as well go home and get us comfortably to bed." The figure of a man, whose dusky shadow reflected along the fence, was now seen approaching in the road. The major had no sooner descried him, than he fell in with his wife's opinion, and as a practical illustration of his faith in it, commenced retracing his steps so fast that it was with much difficulty she could keep up with him. Looking neither to the right nor the left, he continued on until he had gained the house, from the door of which he turned to look back, when, finding the figure had vanished, he said with an air of regained courage, that it was not that he feared the miscreant, but having a wife and three children dependent upon him, he could not hope for forgiveness were he to risk his valuable life in combat with a lurking vagabond. He therefore shut the door, partook of an humble supper, and went quietly to bed, leaving the pig and chickens to take care of themselves until daylight.



CHAPTER XVI.

WHEREIN IS RECORDED EVENTS WHICH TOOK PLACE ON THE DAY FOLLOWING THE MAJOR'S ARRIVAL AT BARNSTABLE, WITH SUNDRY OTHER QUEER THINGS.



THE sun was filling the east with golden filaments, and the sparrows were making the air melodious with their songs, glad, no doubt, at the major's return, when, on the morning following the events I have recorded in the foregoing chapter, I was awakened by a voice singing sweetly under my window. I soon recognized it as the voice of Bessie, whose image rose up in my fancy as the fairest of living creatures. At first, my senses seemed seized with a pleasant delirium; but soon the strains came so sweet and tender that I lost all power over my emotions, while it seemed to me as if my fancy had winged its way to some land where love and joy rules unclouded. "O, sweet transport, whither wilt thou beguile me!" I said with a sigh, as the voice ceased its singing, and the effect was like an electric shock, consuming me with disappointment. But I heard the dulcet echoes mingling faintly with the songs of birds, as if some seraph had strung her lute to give sweet music to the winds; and I was consoled.

After a few moments' pause the voice again broke forth from the garden, and I caught the following words, which, if I can trust my treacherous memory, belong to a song written by the learned Dr. Easley when in the tutelage of his literary career, and heaven knows, (for he was then a priest of slender means,) before he ever thought of translating German or becoming the pensioned puffer of three New York booksellers: "Come, gentle stranger, haste thee hither, Tarry not, for I am lonely—Come and tell me whom thou lovest Or the throbbing mischief will my heart betray." This being a fair and honest specimen of Easley's early attempts at versification, it was said of him by those best qualified to judge, that had he but stuck to the pulpit and sonnet writing, he would in time have become an adept, for he could compose pathetically enough, and so regulate his points as to make his theology appear quite profound. But he had a weakness which ran to the getting of gold, and this betrayed him into the commerce of literature, where he had become a critic of easy virtue, and had attracted about him innumerable adorers, principally maidens of twenty, whose elegant endowments and clever novels he could not sufficiently extol. Besides being a poet and a great praiser of small books, the learned doctor had a rare talent for making ladies' slippers, which, it had been more than once hinted, was the trade of his early youth. It was now charged upon him, though I do not assert it of my own knowledge, that he had found it profitable to become the assassin of criticism and the undertaker of literature, for which offices he was amply qualified, notwithstanding the very serious writers in Putnam's Magazine thought he ought to be transported to Sandy Hook, there to do penance among the breakers a whole November. And this punishment they would no doubt have carried out, but for the two newspapers and four booksellers, who stood in so much need of his virgin goodness that they refused to part with him even for a day.

After another pause, the voice of Bessie again struck up, and this time she sung: "O, had I Ariadne's crown, At morning I would sing to thee—Would sing of dew-drops on thy ringlets, Then my Apollo thou should'st be." This, also, was by the learned Doctor Easley, and is extracted from a poem published in his native village many years ago. Having great confidence in its numerous beauties, which the villagers, being humble people, failed to discover, the doctor resolved to seek his fortune in New York, confident that first rate poetic talent never was appreciated in the country.

The sweetness of Bessie's voice (not the words) so enchanted me, that I arose, dressed myself, and hurried down stairs, and into the reading room, where the little deformed man was premeditating the ill fate of his lecture. He returned my salutation with great earnestness of manner, told me he had walked three times around the square, listening to the birds sing. And, too, he had been regarded by young Barnstable as an object of curiosity. Impatient to engage me in conversation, he drew forth his notes, which he as suddenly shut up and returned to his pocket, on seeing the clerical looking man enter the room, accompanied by his bride, her countenance the very picture of innocence betrayed.

The little deformed man had evidently taken a dislike to the gray haired and milky faced groom; for no sooner had he pocketed his notes than he set to pacing the room rapidly, frisking his fingers alternately behind and before him, and casting half angry glances over his shoulder at him. I took advantage of this display of irrascibility on the part of the lecturer, and passed into the hall, where Bessie, having ceased her singing, was busily arranging the furniture and attending to those little domestic duties which, in towns where fashion rules, are left to untutored servants. She received my salutation with a modest courtesy, but became so confused and agitated as I pressed her hand, that, unable to resist the temptation, I stole a kiss ere she was conscious of my intention. "It is not kind of you, sir," she said, in a half chiding whisper; "you must not do it again." And she set her black eye upon me, inquiringly, and artlessly raised her apron, as if to wipe away the blushes. Fain would I have pressed her to my bosom, and beseeched her to regard me as a brother. But her face suddenly became lighted up with a smile, and such was the perfection of its beauty that to me it seemed created only for an angel. I asked myself if there was on earth any thing I could aspire to with so much gallantry as her love; nor could I suppress the thought, that he who would betray it was unworthy even of the devil.

Bessie quickly regained her temper, and as if suddenly recalling something to mind, began prattling to me in the most artless manner. "Just think, sir," said she, "what a disturbance there is in town this morning." And she laid her hand gently upon my arm. "That queer man they call the major, and who is thought half fool and half philosopher, has got back; and there's always such a time in town when he comes. And, don't you think, he has brought an audacious pig with him. And the pig has gone to work (they say, sir, that he is possessed of a devil) and broke into poor Elder Boomer's fowl yard, and eat up all his chickens. And the brute does such queer things! As for the poor elder, God knows he has a hard enough time to live. He only gets five hundred dollars a year, and what the sewing circle does for him. Only last week the circle gave him new dresses for all his family, and a nice three-ply carpet, which I made for him. I forgot to tell you, too, that about a month since the circle gave him a new set of dimity bed curtains, and two marseilles quilts; and now they will have to make him up the loss of his chickens. Just think of it, sir! And he's such a good old man, and preaches such good sermons. I do wish, you could hear him once, sir." Here Bessie paused to take breath. I assured her that he must be a fortunate man who had such lips to speak his praises. At which she gave me a rogueish look, blushed, and tossed her head reprovingly. Nothing, I replied, would give me so much pleasure, especially did she bear me company, as to attend the elder's church; but, however strong my inclinations, they could not now be gratified, for the imperative nature of my mission left me but one or two days to tarry in Barnstable. This caused her feelings some disquiet; but with great good sense she changed the subject of conversation, and commenced giving me a detailed account of the various kind acts performed by the sewing circle, of which she was a member, and which was chiefly made up of worthy ladies, who sought out the needy and relieved their wants, knowing that charity well bestowed is recorded in heaven.

The sewing circle exercised a sort of paternity over all cases of distress, and according to Bessie, never withheld relief, except when the object requiring it was given to strong drink. In truth, it was held that something must be done for all persons in distress; and so many were the poor foreign families moving into town, that it was seldom the circle had not its hands full. As to the provision prohibiting strong drink, it was found at times to work somewhat inconveniently, inasmuch as most of the objects of charity, (the clergy excepted,) liked a little; and being of foreign birth they could always find the means to get it, though they generally swore they had not wherewith to get a penny loaf.

"And what is worse," resumed Bessie, recurring to the mischievous pig, "as if it wasn't enough that the elder lost all his chickens, but some evil-minded people must go and get into the church, and put a coop full of poor little fowls on the pulpit. O! there's such an ado about it over town!"

It being the custom of the country to breakfast at seven o'clock, and that hour having arrived, a man in a blue smock frock issued from a side door, (Bessie vaulted up the hall as he entered,) and commenced ringing a bell in so loud a manner that I verily thought he would alarm the whole neighborhood. An opening of doors, and a general movement for the dining room, a long, simply furnished, but exquisitely clean apartment, was now made. A table covered with linen of snowy whiteness, and set out with great good taste, ranged up the center of the room; and we sat down to a breakfast of steak, and ham, and eggs, and cold chickens, and fish balls, and hot rolls, and corn cakes, and brown bread-all prepared so nice and delicately, that even the most fastidious could have found nothing to grumble at. Indeed it was said of the the landlord of the "Independent Temperance," that he spared neither pains nor expense in the management of his house, which had gained much fame over the country, though it had thrice made him a bankrupt with three score of creditors, who were always ready to say wicked things of him. Some people said if the temperance society would only let him have his way, he would pay, and no thanks to anybody.

Bessie, and two trimly dressed maidens of riper years, waited upon the guests, nor thought the occupation bemeaning. And so nimble were their movements, and so gentle the manner in which they dispensed their courtesies, that I began to regret my bachelorhood, and to wish all male attendants exiled to Nantucket, where their habitual unclean condition would find a welcome among the whalemen.

I had well nigh dispatched my breakfast, when there arose a loud noise, as of voices in dispute, in the bar-room. Bessie began to tremble from head to foot, and to turn pale. "You must give up the pig, or stand the chances-now mind that!" said a voice which I at once recognized as that of the renowned Major Potter.

"Heaven knows I am a man of peace; but you must make good the loss I have suffered. All this trouble and mischief is done by the audacious brute you have brought into the town. You go out for good, and always come home bringing the town trouble. I have warned you of the error of your ways. But since you take not heed, we shall see what virtue there is in the Squire." This was said in a more modified tone of voice. Bessie said that it was the voice of Elder Boomer.

"You needn't think you are such a treasure! The town can get along well enough without you. By my military reputation, if I don't think all this ado about the poor pig is a trick to get the advantage of a neighbor you imagine hasn't got as good a lien upon heaven as yourself. Now, good man, do you take the safest plan, give the animal up to its owner, and trust to heaven for the price of the chickens, for it is written somewhere, that peace makers, being blessed, should not be peace breakers-"

"To quarrel is not my desire," interrupted the elder; "for such would not become me, who have no experience in arms; but I enjoin you to give up the life you are living, and so turn your energies to Christ's truth, that you may become worthy of heaven."

"Heaven has nothing to do with my pig!" rejoined the major. "Nor do I think this talking of heaven, while keeping him in bondage, will amount to much. Come! turn him out, be a christian, practice what you preach, and trust to heaven for the reward, as you would have me do!" To this the elder replied somewhat testily, that he would keep the animal fast locked up until the damages were settled, notwithstanding his faith in future rewards was in nowise shaken. I entered the bar room and found the major thrusting his hands into the huge pockets of his trowsers, walking round the elder, who was a man of meek aspect, and singularly lean of figure. Then canting his head with an air of self complacency, he enjoined the elder not to separate his works from his faith.

No sooner had the major caught a glance of me, than he approached, saluted me as became his military rank, and drew me aside to show me how handsomely the Patriot had recorded his arrival. This done, he commenced recounting the causes of his dispute with the parson, who would every few minutes speak up, and dispute the truth of his assertion, which so displeased the major, that had the parson been a fighting man, he would have challenged him to mortal combat, as it is called. As it was, he contented himself with getting in a passion, and swearing to have revenge, though it cost him six years' separation from his wife, Polly Potter.

Although famous for his disregard of truth, the major affected never to have his word disputed, and was at all times ready to draw his sword in its defence. "Heaven, as you know, knows all things, sir," said he, addressing himself to me; "and it knows me incapable of doing a dishonorable act. And therefore I say to you, for I hold it an honor and no disgrace to be a politician, that if you will hear patiently the cause of my dispute with this parson, I will accept your decision in the matter as final. But, heaven save the mark! use your judgment a little, sir, and be not like some of our judges, who seek to please those who promise most, and having little virtue, ask you to accept their good advice in excuse for their evil example." The major having said this with an air of conciliation, gave his head a significant toss, and his trowsers, which had got loose about his hips, a few twitches into place.

It now came to the parson's turn to speak. He shook his head at first, and was not a little reluctant about acceding to such terms; but on being assured of my position as a politician, who had done so much for Cape Cod, and the hard cider campaign, he resolved to accept my decision as final. Meanwhile, the major had screwed up his courage, and was making a circle round the parson, and loudly calling upon the landlord to bear witness that it had been his motto through life to wrong no man.

Numerous idlers had by this time gathered round the disputants, each giving his opinion on the merits of the question, and offering to back it up with dollars or drinks. Indeed, some of the opinions delivered by them were quite as profound as any delivered by our City Justices, and indeed discovered a superior sense of prudence. But it soon became evident that popular opinion was on the side of the major and his pig. And popular opinion was right, the major said, and ought to be respected all over the world. At this juncture of affairs, the lean figure of the nonresistant, (who was sure not to be far off when there was any chance of a disturbance,) stood in the doorway, and immediately engaged in the dispute. "I have not come (heaven knows I have not!) to give an opinion; but as I am here, it may be as well so to do, for heaven knows I am a man of peace, which it is my mission to preserve." The nonresistant was here interrupted by the major, who squared up to him with clenched fists, and bid him begone, or he would make splinters of him in a trice. The man, however, was not daunted by such threats, and getting his choler up, told the major he verily believed him to be a mixture of Jew and Celt, and as such, always more ready to talk than fight. He then told the parson, that although he held him in no very high favor, he would hint for his own sake, that he could in no way get the better of his enemy so well as by releasing the pig from custody, and delivering him into the hands of his owner, saying: "'Neighbor, prudence being the twin brother of peace, and both being acceptable to heaven, I have thought it well to restore thee thy pig, that thou mayest comfort him. He has eaten up my chickens, it is true, and he has otherwise done me grievous harm; but I freely forgive him, seeing that heaven made him a brute. Thou mayest take care of him; do for him what seemeth good; and know that as a christian I bear thee no malice. Let the good offset the evil, and I will trust in heaven to repair the loss I have suffered.'"

The nonresistant held that kindness was of itself so great a weapon, that it would incite generosity in the major-in a word, that he would give all his tin ware, with old Battle thrown in, rather than let such goodness suffer. But the major was not so easily seduced, and, calling the nonresistant a miscreant, he again bid him begone, or he would hasten his exit with the toe of his boot. On assenting to sit in judgment on the case in dispute, I took the precaution to stipulate that peace be preserved, and that the one should keep his lips sealed while the other was making his statement. But the parson commenced his statement by declaring the pig to be possessed of the devil; indeed it could not be otherwise, he said, since the strange antics it performed, and which he minutely described, betrayed a desire in him only to do evil. This the major immediately rose to dispute; and thrusting his hands into the ample pockets of his breeches, he declared with great emphasis, that he would not hear a word said against the pig's morals and sagacity, seeing that he had been reared and educated in the care of the clergy. In truth, he had given out so many proofs of rare sagacity, that the major stated it as his intention to speedily proceed with him to New York, there to have his "Life and Times" written by the erudite Easley, who was said to be strangely profound as a critic, in which capacity he wrote for three newspapers, and read for three or more publishers, all of whom where celebrated for not selling less than one hundred thousand copies of every work to which they affixed their imprint, though it was said of them that they had thrown to the public no end of literary carrion, which Easley had praised.

Order being restored, the major gave way to the parson, who closed his case by asserting that his poverty entitled him to compensation. The major now rose, and with considerable clearness, set forth the fact, that no evidence had been produced to show either that the pig was disposed to evil, or that he had devoured a single chicken. Feathers were scattered round, but feathers might have been laid there as a blind by some rascal who had divers evil designs against the hen roosts of his neighbors. Christians ought always, the major contended, to take a generous view of things before they couched the fatal spear. Again, there was neighbor Kimball's pet fox, an arrant rascal, who was known to have a strange penchant for young chickens, and had committed depredations enough to consign him to the gallows.

The above view of the case somewhat modified the parson's temper, and as he would not have those present think him less than a Christian gentleman, who would rather go supperless to bed than wrong his fellow, he, in the blandest manner, begged them not to think for a moment that he intended wrong. So, with great sanctity of countenance, he laid his hand upon his heart, called Omnipotence to witness that he bore the major no ill will, and was ready to atone for aught he had said damaging to his feelings. And this display of repentance well nigh dissolved the major into tears. The disputants now shook hands, and swore eternal friendship. The major bowed, and placed his hand to his heart; and the parson bowed, and placed his hand to his heart; and thus was I relieved from rendering a verdict, which most likely would have pleased neither. It was likewise intimated to the parson, that the sewing circle would make good his loss, with fourfold interest, which consoled him much. Together then the two friends, without further ceremony, set out to release the animal from bondage, congratulating one another that they had been wise enough to keep out of the hands of lawyers. On arriving at the parson's yard, to which they were followed by a crowd of idlers, they were not a little surprised to find that the pig had taken his departure, having first beaten the dog in a fair fight, and twice driven the kitchen maid frightened into the house. Great anxiety was now manifested to see an animal of such rare qualities; and on further search being made, he was discovered in neighbor Kimball's yard, fraternizing with his pet fox, and otherwise conducting himself so unbecomingly, as to make it evident that the friends of free love had inducted him into the mysteries of their system. In truth, he bore no small resemblance to a few of the disciples of that very accommodating system, for he was lean of figure, had a long, narrow head, and a vacant look out of the eyes.

"Duncan! my own Duncan!" ejaculated the major, his broad face flushed with joy. The animal raised his snout, gave a significant grunt, and ceasing his caressings, ran to his master, a double curl in his tail. Having got possession of his property, the major returned thanks within himself, invoked a blessing on the head of the parson, whom he cursed in his heart, and set out for home, followed by his pig and a score of mischievous boys, making the very air resound with their hootings.



CHAPTER XVII.

WHICH TREATS OF WHAT WAS DONE WITH THE PIG; AND ALSO OF THE LECTURE ON CRABBE, BY GILES SHERIDAN, AND VARIOUS THINGS.



WHEN Major Roger Potter reached his home, he found his wife Polly waiting with eager desire to see the animal he had so vividly described. "Pray to God, dear Polly," said he, embracing and kissing his wife, as the mischievous boys set up a loud yell, "for our pig is safe, and in him there is a fortune, which you shall share, and he comforted." And having consigned the animal to the care of his wife, who, although a strong minded woman in her way, looked at first with no little distrust on the animal, but became favorably impressed on seeing him cut certain curious capers round the room. Indeed she soon began to congratulate herself on the possession of so rare a creature, and to invoke certain ills on the head of the parson for holding him so tight in his fingers. "Peace, dear Polly," enjoined the major, "for goodness belongs to our kind. The nonresistant was right, (and right should have its right,) when he advised me to use goodness as the most effectual weapon to demolish an adversary. It becomes me, as it does all good christians, to reverence and adore the Church; but I own it is not in me to reverence those priests and deacons who affect to regale your palate with truth, while splitting God's goodness into fragments, merely to please those who have a terrible thirst to get to heaven over a road no one else travels."

"As to that, my dear husband," responded the earnest woman, "I cannot be a judge. But a major as famous as yourself, should be careful how he mixes glory with his profanity; lest the public, whose servant he is, set it down against him, and use it to his injury on election day."

"Truly, wife," rejoined the major, assuming an air of great self-complacency, "we military politicians had needs keep our wits whetted, and be careful how much honey we mix with the brimstone. But I must go look up my chickens; and if the devil, as some say, regulates the future affairs of politicians, we may safely leave our enemies to him." The good woman now brought food for the pig, when, having devoured it with a keen appetite, the major, in order to test his various talents, put him to a severe examination. It was found that he could perform with wonderful agility numerous gymnastic feats, such as jumping backward and forward, walking and vaulting upon his hinder legs, and keeping time to certain tunes. He could also distinguish between certain figures and letters of the alphabet, to the latter of which he would, when directed, point with his nose. Like some of our New York politicians, the pig was a wondrous animal in various ways. In fine, so extraordinary was his talent, that, as I have before said, the major resolved at once to proceed with him to one of our great cities, where first rate talent, whether of pigs or tragedians, was sure to find appreciation. But before this could be carried out, it was necessary that the services of Monsieur Pensin, who gave lessons in politeness to youths just entering society, be engaged to cultivate and so polish his manners as to render him an acceptable member of the Union Club, under the patronage of which institution, (generally supposed to have been established for the cultivation of effeminacy and other vices, common to the Dutch of New York,) he was sure to become a lion. Monsieur Pensin had figured in New York; was an exile of unquestionable nobility; and if we can trust the Tribune, a journal in high favor with foreign counts, a hero of enlarged celebrity.

And now the sagacious animal, fatigued with the labors of his examination, evinced an inclination to sleep, and to that end sought a distant corner of the room. "We must treat him tenderly, dear Polly, for he has wonderful instincts," said the major, casting a look of endearing sympathy at the animal. The good woman pledged her word not to be found wanting. Indeed so well did she appreciate the instincts, and even the tastes of the animal, that, having at hand a stray copy of the New York Express, and another of a very rare but no less wonderful journal, called the Mirror, (whose editor was famous for the immense amount of light and shade he threw into his financial operations,) she spread them upon the floor for his bed. And with an evident fellow feeling for those worthy journals, the animal coiled himself down, casting an approving look at the good woman as she covered him with an aged copy of the Herald. Seeing the animal thus reconciled, the major declared, that so pure a native American as Duncan could not have selected bed more appropriate, though he was not quite sure how the Express editors would regard the matter. Indeed, he was not quite sure that they would not, feeling sorely grieved, dig up Duncan's ancestors, and thereby find a means of damaging his character.

As the precious animal calmly went to sleep, the major sallied out, having first drawn his sword to disperse the noisy boys who had gathered about his door, and who hurled no few missiles at his head before they were routed. He then set out for the church, where he had an altercation with the sexton, which had resulted in blows but for his courage giving out. Twice he lost his temper, and twice he regained it. He at length got into the church, in search of his chickens; and to his great surprise and mortification, found that some political or military enemy (he would swear it was no one else) had broken his coop, and set them loose among the pews. Indeed it was high noon when the major got possession of his fowls, which he did with the aid of the sexton and several mischievous boys. He then secured them nicely in his coop, and having shouldered it, returned to his wife, presenting her with another proof of the success of his voyage, and relating how he got the advantage of Mrs. Trotbridge in the trade of the Shanghais. After which he seated himself in a chair, and for several minutes seemed absorbed in deep study. "Now, I tell thee, my dear Polly," he suddenly broke out, "Major Potter was born for no ordinary man. My enemies can inflict no injuries that will discourage me, for I have got scars enough, heaven knows; and scars are the proofs of a brave soldier. Major Potter never ran from an enemy! And that is something for a man to say who has been in the Mexican war. It was, as you know, by the merest slip in the world that I did not succeed to fortune the two last times I was in public life. And, dear Polly, I have now a better chance than ever, having fallen in with a great politician in search of fame. By joining our fortunes I will so manage it as to get the better of my enemies; and with a little aid from my friends of the newspapers, you will yet see me in power. I am a man of valor, I mix but little honey with my brimstone; and let my enemies say what they will, take my word for it, you shall yet see yourself the wife of a foreign minister."

"As to your valor, dear husband," returned his affectionate wife, "no one ever doubted it who knew you; and though there is nothing I so much covet as to be the wife of a foreign minister, and to move among great people abroad, and talk about it when I get home, our family is growing up, and need all we can earn to get them bread. And as they might become a town tax, while you were getting the office, perhaps we had better thank heaven, and remain humble folks until we can get to be fine ones without being sneered at."

"Indeed, Polly," said the major, in reply, "if any such mishap should befall you while I am gone, you must pray heaven, and get along as well as you can until I send relief. It is noble to struggle on and wait for the reward, which always comes." The good woman heard these words with tears in her eyes, and began to tax her resolution for means to meet the emergency; for she saw clearly that the major had got a freak into his head, and was about to give up the business of peddling tin ware, at which he made an honest living, and again lead the vagabond life of a politician.

And while this colloquy was proceeding between the major and his wife, I had taken a seat in the reading-room of the "Independent Temperance," where Giles Sheridan, the little deformed man, was nervously pacing the floor, and pausing every few minutes either to give me a few random sketches of his career in the world, or to mutter his misgiving at the result of his lecture on Crabbe. In truth, he had been waited upon several times during the morning by persons regarded by the town as famous for their great learning, all of whom said, if he had chosen a subject less remote, they would have guaranteed a large house; as it was, they were not quite so sure of the result. Soon the dapper figure of Bessie appeared in the room. "Please, sir," she said, as her cheeks crimsoned with blushes, "they say you came into town with that queer man they call Major Potter?"

"And what of that, my child?" I replied, as another sentence trembled upon her lips, which were as tempting as ripe cherries.

"Why, sir," she lisped, "you must know that although he now and then talks like a sensible man, he is set down for a great fool. He affords a deal of amusement for the boys, and never comes home but what he keeps the whole town in an uproar. Being a great fool is what got him elected Major of the Invincibles. And then he fancies himself a great politician, and goes about the country delivering lectures, as he calls them, and leaves his family to starve. Proceed no farther with him; for I heard our minister say (and he never profanes his calling) that the devil had run away with his brains. He is always talking about his valor, and his military dignity; but his poor distressed wife can tell you all about that." She was proceeding to say much more, but was interrupted by the appearance of the major, who, as he said, came to say, that as his wife was sick of a fever, and the house in a somewhat disordered condition, I must excuse his not giving me an invitation to dine with him. He hoped, however, that sufficient proof had been given to convince me of the high estimation in which he was held by Barnstable in general. "Pardon what I may have said extravagant of myself, sir. The rabble, you know, are always ready to get down a man of genius, and to misconstrue his acts; but the thinking never fail, as they have done with me, to give merit its due." Having said this with refreshing self complacency, the major turned to Giles Sheridan, (Bessie had left the room,) and as if to add to his discomfiture, told him he had little to expect from his lecture on Crabbe, of whom it was said that he could not be much of a poet, since the people of Barnstable knew so little of him. Indeed he offered to wager two dozen tin pints, a Shanghai chicken, and his military honor with the little deformed man, that he would give an exhibition with his pig, whose wonderful qualifications had already got noised over town, and attract a greater audience. Indeed, as I have resolved never to swerve from the truth in this history, it must be here acknowledged that the pig had become quite as famous as his master.

The little deformed man was in nowise pleased with such a comparison of his acquirements, and answered by saying, it did not become him to hold argument with a man, however high his military position, who would place genius in the scale with brute instinct. Seeing the pain he had caused the little man, the major said he meant no offence, and was ready to get upon his knees, dissolved in tears, if that were necessary to a good and sufficient apology. In fine, it must be said of the major, that, although he was at times emphatic in his eccentric declarations, he would not knowingly wound the feelings of those who had done him no harm. And, unlike some editors of New York newspapers, he always held himself accountable according to the strictest military rules, nor was he ever known to regard the character of his fellow in arms as of so little worth, that he would daily splinter it for the amusement of the public.

The major said he had come to see if I was comfortable, and to inform me that he had thrown the editor of the Patriot a sly hint about noticing the arrival of so distinguished a person as myself. And the editor had assured him it would be properly recorded in his columns, and so embroidered as to make it pleasant to his fancy. The major now took leave of me, satisfied within himself of having convinced me that he was a man of stupendous parts. I must not forget to say that he promised to call again, and be present at the lecture in the evening, inasmuch as his absence could not fail to be seriously felt.

Night came on, and with it there gathered into the lecture room of the Orthodox Church, an audience of many bonnets and much respectability. Proverbially inquisitive, the people of the good old town of Barnstable were on tip-toe, to see the man of whose curious figure they had heard so much. And as if to gratify their curiosity, Giles Sheridan now rose, frisked the little black scroll about in his fingers, wiped the sweat nervously from his brow, and, in a faltering voice, gave an interesting sketch of the early life of his darling poet. This he continued for more than an hour, now warming into eloquence, now subsiding into a low, desponding voice. But his hearers sat unmoved, nor was one hand of applause raised to cheer his too misgiving heart. They wondered, and listened, and looked at one another, as was the custom of the country. The little deformed man, however, took it as a proof that he had failed to interest them; and this sorely taxed his sensitive nature. I ought also not to forget to mention that the speaker was twice interrupted by the major, who begged that he would state the exact quality of poetry written by his friend, the poet. The audience took this interruption very good naturedly, while the speaker gratified the major's curiosity by reciting a number of verses written by him. The major then said he was fully satisfied that this Mr. Crabbe must have been a great poet; but he thought if the speaker had known one Sergeant Milton, who wrote poetry in honor of the regiment he was major of during the Mexican war, he would not have set Mr. Crabbe on so high a horse. Indeed, according to what the major said, this Sergeant Milton was the most wonderful poet that ever sung of the Mexican War; and in addition to the gift of being a versifier, he was celebrated for brewing an excellent whiskey punch, without which no poet could hope for prosperity in New York, where punch begat poetry, and foul linen seemed inseparable from poets.

The speaker smiled at the major's quaint remarks concerning his friend, Sergeant Milton. But such was the failure he fancied himself making, that he would gladly have given the fifteen dollars he was to receive in pay for his lectures, and said not a word about the victuals, to have got quietly out of town. But in truth he had not a shilling in his pocket, and the money he was to receive of the committee constituted the forlorn hope of his future fortunes. So, with a heart overburdened with despondency, and an eye made liquid with anxiety, he concluded in a faltering voice, and heaved a sigh. And as no one came forward to congratulate him, and the very atmosphere seemed to partake of the frigidity of the audience, he watched his hearers disperse in silence, frisking his fingers, and wondering if he had made them any wiser on the life of one Crabbe.

But a silent tongue is no proof of what the heart feels; nor does the outward demonstration carry with it the stronger appreciation of merit. And so it proved in this instance. It being the custom of the country not to applaud on such occasions, the audience went home to unbosom its approval, which was of the heartiest kind. On his way home, the little man was joined by an elder of the church, who, seeing his despondency, said unto him: "Permit me to congratulate you, sir, for never was audience more interested in a lecture. You did nobly, sir." The little man's heart was touched. He grasped the speaker by the hand firmly, and as his enthusiasm broke its bounds, he poured forth his gratitude in a rhapsody of thanks. Indeed, so quickly did the word of consolation reinstate his confidence, that he became like an overjoyed child, and in the innocence of his heart invited the elder home with him, that they might enjoy a punch together. In short, he not only convinced Barnstable that Mr. Crabbe was a great poet, but so enlisted sympathy for himself, that the benevolent ladies of the sewing circle, seeing the dilapidated state of his raiment, made him up a purse, and presented it with an intimation that Warren, the tailor, lived at the corner. I should not forget to mention, that his second and third lectures proved more successful than the first, and that Major Roger Potter looked in at the "Independent Temperance" to compliment the little deformed man on the very learned character of his lecture, much of which (so he said) had so deeply interested him, that he had resolved to incorporate it into his next political speech, which he intended soon to make in opposition to that arch agitator, Thomas Benton, Esq., and which the state of the nation demanded should be done at no very distant day. Having said this, he called me aside, and enjoining me to keep what he said a profound secret, whispered what will be related in the next chapter, and took his departure.



CHAPTER XVIII.

WHICH TREATS OF HOW MAJOR ROGER SHERMAN POTTER, SOLELY IN OBEDIENCE TO THE DEMANDS OF THE NATION, TURNED A DEAF EAR TO THE REMONSTRANCES OF HIS WIFE POLLY, AND SAILED FOR NEW YORK, TO THE GREAT DELIGHT OF LITTLE BARNSTABLE.



"You will see, sir," whispered the major, putting the fore finger of his right hand to his lips, "that my inclination never runs to small things. It quite confounded my wife, Polly, when I revealed to her my intention of complying with your request, and of our setting out together in search of fame and fortune. But as I have the power of persuasion pretty largely developed, and am in all quite a philosopher, I overcame her objections by telling her you were a sprightly young gentleman, whose political fame and great learning was coupled with the most kind and affectionate disposition. 'Honor, husband,' says she, 'to whom honor is due. I know you have deserved, if you have not yet achieved. But let not your success in office carry away your modesty and humility. And above all, remember to think of us at home, for I have heard it said that politicians let their loves run too free when away from their wives.' Having assured her that I would not forget her admonition, and be careful upon what damsel I let a double look fall, she consented that I might depart a third time, and see what could be done. And I made a vow never to forget her while the sun of prosperity shone upon me. Now, if you will just fix the time of our departure, you will find me ready. Major Potter, as you have seen, is no small man in Barnstable. Major Potter never comes and goes without being noticed. And if you havn't had proof enough of my popularity, you'll see what an ado there will be made when I leave. Honor, as my wife Polly says, always awaits them who merit it; and though a man's modesty will not let him be for ever speaking of himself, I may say it to you, seeing that we are about to join our fortunes, that the people never see me go without a regret. As to my children, I shall give each an admonition before I leave; and as I hope one day to see them enjoying the admiration, as well as the distinction my military reputation will confer upon them, it will be safe to leave the rest to heaven." The major conveyed this information in so quaint a manner that I could not suppress a smile, though it disclosed a resolution I by no means welcomed. In truth, I had already seen so much of his eccentricities, that I was hoping our acquaintance would cease in Barnstable. But it now became apparent that he regarded himself not only a necessary item in my welfare, but as being most essential to the achievement of my designs. So, charging me to think no more of Bessie, whom he hinted was as coy a little witch as ever waited on the table of a country tavern, and ready at all times to make love with every dashing young fellow who chanced that way, he took his departure, promising to call at noon on the next day.

Having passed the night in refreshing sleep, I was up with the sun on the following morning, and before noon had received the calls of several distinguished citizens, two or three of whom requested that I "remain over," and deliver an address on the state of the nation. Offering my inability as an apology for not complying with their request, I was surprised that so obscure a person should receive such homage. The mystery, however, was very soon explained. The major, adopting the method in fashion with some of our modern politicians, had been actively noising it about, that no greater politician than myself ever lived; and that, being on my way to Washington in search of a foreign mission, I had generously invited him to accompany me. The major was indeed building up my reputation with a view to the consolidation of his own. He had also deluded the editor of the Patriot, (who was a man much given to good jokes,) into writing several long articles in compliment of my political achievements, and which were of so serious a style, that the distant reader, unaccustomed to the tricks of editors, must have been grievously misled. And indeed such was the fact, for the political excitement makers of New York had no sooner seen the article copied into their newspapers, than they set about contriving a plan by which to rob the city treasury of some thousands of dollars, under the pretext of giving me a public reception worthy of the city and so great a man.

Toward evening, the major made his appearance in the "Independent Temperance," and handing me a copy of the New York Herald, pointed to a letter in its columns, written by one Don Fernando, who it was said hoped soon to be mayor of the city, which office many persons seriously believed had been created for the accommodation of men happily endowed with a fondness for showing their greatness, which was the case with the aspiring Don Fernando, whose light was no taper burning in a small space. The letter set forth, with many flourishes, the necessity for showing proper respect to one so distinguished in the political world. And this the major held to be a significant token of the success that awaited us. He further hinted that the next thing we should see would be a resolution introduced at the Board of Common Council, (provided a member could be found sober enough to do it,) to vote a sum of money adequate to the occasion, with an additional clause, that a committee be appointed to carry out the arrangements. But why should not a worthy servant of the people be thus honored? There were those of the honorable council who held it no harm to be liberal in the treatment of distinguished strangers, seeing that it cost them nothing, and might, by some bare possibility, afford them an opportunity of making a speech, as well as indulging a natural passion for free drinks. The major was in ecstasies with the prospect, and now disclosed to me the fact, that he had sold out his stock of tin ware for two hundred dollars, his Shanghai chickens for fifty, and his wagon for ninety, making in all three hundred and forty dollars, two hundred of which he had set apart as peace and comfort money for his wife, Polly, and the balance he had resolved to tuck nicely away in his wallet, to serve in case of emergency. We must take Duncan with us, he said, for he was a pig of wonderful parts, and deformed monstrosities being much in favor in New York, we could make a good thing of exhibiting him, which would save us against the rubs of ill fortune. As to old Battle, he had been his companion in so many wars and tin ware campaigns, that he had resolved also to take him along, though it cost a new pair of saddle-bags. And as the New York politicians were bent on doing him great honor, he would no doubt be invited to review the troops, (perhaps be escorted by the Seventh Regiment,) when, as a matter of economy, the animal would serve an excellent purpose; and, being quite as high in metal as he was in bone, he would no doubt astonish the bystanders with his proud demeanor.