"Heavens!" exclaimed the general, resting the point of his sword on the floor, "what's here to do?" In another moment he advanced between the contestants, and with his sword struck the knife from the uplifted hand of the Georgian, and commanded him to spare the life at his mercy. "Pray, sir," said he, "don't forget to be merciful, for he is a military gentleman of distinction, and I am sure it was an accident you will readily forgive when it is explained." The Georgian replied, that it had become a fashion with military men to carry their gallantry a little too far with females, and rather than regret the trouncing he had given the major, he hoped the example would have its effect.

The landlord now made his appearance, and seeing the city's guest in such a plight, inquired into the cause, but could get no satisfactory account of it; and being scrupulous of the reputation of his house, he enjoined them to keep the affair as quiet as possible, lest it get to the ear of the editors, who would take great pride in using it to his damage. He then closed the door and endeavored to raise the major to his feet, but he was so like a dead man, and had lost so much good red blood, that the landlord became seriously alarmed, and had a doctor, who boarded in his house, at once called in. The doctor, when he had felt his pulse and ribs for some time, said the case was a little doubtful, but he had skill enough to mend it. Indeed, to tell the truth, it only required a plaster or two, and a purgative, to restore him to perfect health. When the major had gained the use of his tongue, however, he declared he had at least seven broken ribs, and he knew not how many cracks in his skull, for it felt like a fractured cocoanut.

And while the doctor was administering his balms to the patient, the Georgian was endeavoring to pacify his wife, who, with the aid of hartshorn and sundry other restoratives, was in a fair way of recovery. General Benthornham, in the meantime, continued to pace the room, so much absorbed in his endeavor to preserve the peace of the house, as to be unconscious of the figure he was cutting.

"And now, gentlemen," said the general, in a foggy voice, "as the lady has received no damage, either to her reputation or person, and you are both gentlemen, I think the little affair can be reconciled, if the major will but explain the mistake with as much delicacy as he is capable of."

"Indeed," replied the major, "I am sure the gentleman will be satisfied that I meant no wrong to his lady, who I thought had got into my room instead of my getting into her's, by mistake as it turns out, when I tell him how it happened. The people where I was raised know me for a peaceable man; and now that I have become a politician, it behooves me to take care of what little character I have, which is not the case with all of them. And God knows I treated the lady with courtesy; for, rather than prove unfaithful to my wife Polly, I bid her take herself away." The major said this in such a tone of humility, that although it left the matter more confounded in the Georgian's mind, it so affected his feelings that he began to regret having dealt so severely with him, and earnestly desired to know the origin of the affair, which the major at once related with great simplicity of manner, and finally, laid all the blame to the strength of the liquor he had indulged in during the evening. General Benthornham had, in the meantime, taken a seat where the bright glare of the gas shone full upon his face, and as the major proceeded with his narrative, would every now and then interpose an approving, "See that now!"

When the major had finished his story, the lady was affected to tears, and besought her husband to make the gentleman such amends as the case demanded. But, indeed, that was unnecessary, for the Georgian had become so affected that he would have gone upon his knees and offered the major any apology he might in reason demand. But the lady sprang to her feet, and saying she would dress the injured man's wounds with her own hands, proceeded to her beaureau and with her cologne bottle and sponge set about bathing his temples, and performing such other little kindnesses as pleased the major wonderfully, and made him declare he believed it the fate of every truly great public man to suffer in this way. In truth, he was not so sure that we appreciated it to the extent of its value, for it disciplined a man and prepared his mind for meeting the great things that were required of it in this world. "I have no fears of my reputation, madam," he concluded, "but being the guest of the city, I fear if my enemies see the bruised condition of my head, they will say I have had a difficulty with an alderman." While they were each trying to emulate the other in consoling the major in his distress, the lady, who had just then discovered the singular plight General Benthornham was in, caught sight of his bare extremities, which so affected her that she shrieked, and swooned in the arms of her husband.



CHAPTER XXXV.

WHICH RELATES THE VERY UNMILITARY PREDICAMENT THE MAJOR WAS FOUND IN ON THE FOLLOWING MORNING, WHEN HIS PRESENCE WAS EXPECTED AT THE REVIEW.



GENERAL BENTHORNHAM was every inch a gentleman, and though he had what the vulgar call a very ugly conk nose, the ladies held him in high favor, and doubtless had never seen him except in full uniform, when he appeared to excellent advantage, for the point of his hat aided to detract from the immensity of his nose. As soon, therefore, as he saw the lady faint, and was made conscious of the cause, he took to his heels, and scampered out of sight with the nimbleness of a boy of fifteen, muttering apologies as he went, and saying to himself, "Isn't this a pretty pickle for a military man of my age to be in?" The Georgian was nevertheless inclined to treat this second fainting effort of his wife with no great degree of sympathy, and without further ceremony told her, while almost suffocating her with hartshorn, not to make such a fool of herself, for it was the devil who put bad thoughts into the heads of virtuous women. As to the general, he was an old man, and had nothing about him a female of good morals need fear. This suddenly brought her to her senses, when she indulged in a few of those epithets females, however delicate, will use when resolved to show their lords the length they may go in asserting a priority of rights. In truth she threatened to pluck out all her hair, which would have been a performance much to be regretted, seeing that it floated over her shoulders like tresses of silk, and was so luxuriant that a Delhian maid might have envied it. She also cursed the hour she took him for her husband, saying his night revels would be the death of her, and continuing in a strain of execrations and wailings, (wishing herself back with her mother an hundred times, and declaring her's the most wretched of lives,) until he swore she gave him no peace of his life.

The Georgian raised not his voice in anger again; but took the major affectionately by the arm, and, moved by compassion, assisted him to General Benthornham's room, where he strove to comfort him as best he could; and as the night was excessively hot, they quenched their thirst with a little brandy and water, over which they again condoled one another for their misfortunes, and became the very best of friends. The general then begged the Georgian to say to his lady that he intended no affront and that his appearing before her in his shirt was entirely owing to his presence of mind having forsaken him. Bidding them good night, the Georgian promised to convey this apology to his lady, and took his departure, as the two military heroes went quietly to bed.

General Benthornham's was a double bedded room, and when morning came, and the numerous pet birds in the house were tuning their notes, and stray members of the seventh regiment, in their dashing uniforms, might be seen passing down Broadway to their armory, anxious lest some rival corps rob them of their laurels, and as proud of their feathers as the whistling canaries, the general and his guest still slept, but in such a position, and with such loud snoring, that had a stranger entered the room he would have sworn they had gone to bed prepared for battle, expecting at day light, (the time most fashionable for duel fighting,) to open fire and seriously damage each other's most dependable parts. Verily, reader, do not make me the object of your invective, when I say that it is extremely doubtful if the public at large, to which I am ready at all times to pay homage, ever saw a general officer in his native buff. And this I hold to be the reason why it is so prone to overrate the mightiness of some of those warriors who dash up Broadway on parade days, decked out in such a profuseness of feathers. Indeed it has come to my knowledge that the greatest of generals, when presented with that natural uniform in which their worthy mothers gave them to the world, are in no one particular unlike other men, and in truth that it is the splendid uniform that invests them with an appearance of great possessions and power, before which even great poets and scholars are ready to cast their offerings. Taking this view of the case, then, I pray you to give ear while I relate how the general and the major were seen in a position which I venture to assert few truly great military men were ever seen in, either during war or peace.

The beds in General Benthornham's room stood parallel with each other, a narrow passage extending between. And, as I have before stated that the weather was excessively warm, when the aid de camp, a profusely feathered foreign gentleman, entered for the orders of his chief, he found both heroes naked to the buff, with the broad disc of their most dependable parts forming confronting batteries, and their bodies making the letter C, very like snails after a shower of rain. On the opposite sides were little tables, upon which stood, within reach, bottles of congress water, decanters in which the liquor had well nigh got to the bottom, and tumblers containing the dregs of two very suggestive drinks called cocktails, all provided at an early hour by a shrewd and very considerate waiter. The aid was not a little abashed when he discovered the condition his chief was in, and declared, in very good French, not a word of which Benthornham could have understood had he been awake, that although he had been aid to Garibaldi when he held possession of Rome, and had served in numerous battles where he had to run for his life, he never had seen general officers cut such figures, which he would not have the brigade see for the world. Indeed, he thought within himself that the sight was enough to have shocked either the seventh or seventy-first regiments, both of which corps were composed of young men of modesty and great respectability. The aid touched his hat out of sheer respect to his sleeping superior, and indeed saluted him according to the regulations of the service. But as neither the general nor the major paid the slightest heed to these courtesies and the aid was a man much given to paying all deference to his superiors, he, without disturbing the general in the least, drew up the sheet and laid it gently over him, as a means of protecting his dignity from further damage. He also performed a similar service for the major, who was snoring at a pace that can be better imagined than described.

When the aid had performed the little services above described, he paced the room for several minutes, undecided as to the next course he should pursue. He had fully expected to find his superior officer in a different uniform, and ready to issue his orders as became a man of so much circumstance. As to the city's guest, he expected to find him at least a respectable gentleman, and one who would take some care of his person. He at length thought it advisable to give the general a few gentle shakes, in the hope of restoring him to consciousness; but, so sound was his sleep, that it became neces- sary to use violence before even a perceptible motion was produced. After considerable effort, however, he turned upon his face with a loud guffaw, and then upon his back. In fine, he put himself in various strange attitudes, puffed like a porpoise in an head sea, and began swearing as never general swore before, that the wretch who disturbed him of his slumbers should suffer for it at court martial.

As the time for forming the brigade was near at hand, the aid very naturally became more and more anxious. "Pardon me this liberty, your honor," said he, addressing his superior, who was rubbing a pair of swollen and very red eyes, "but the regiments are waiting orders, and as the hour is late, the officers will be in much suspense until they are issued."

"Order them," replied the general, "to get to their families, keep respectable for the rest of the day, and then let them defy the devil with their good behavior, for it is not yet light, and in all my military experience (and I have had more than most men) I never heard of a general being called up at midnight to review troops. Get ye away to them, sir, and if they be not content with this order, tell them the fault's none of mine; for if the devil come, you must not disturb my sleep."

"It is my duty to carry your order, general," rejoined the colonel, again touching his hat, "but I am sure it will not be obeyed, for I have heard it said that the seventh regiment have a commendable fear of the devil, and would rather have nothing to do with him." The distinguished French gentleman was so puzzled at the conduct of his superior officer, that he stood shrugging his shoulders, lifting his mustache, and contorting his face into every imaginable expression. At length he swore by Saint Peter, and one or two more of the apostles, that if the general got not up in a trice, and issued his order how to form the brigade, he would withdraw, report his condition, and throw up his sword.

"Stop, sir," said the general, "let not a disrespectful word pass your lips, or I order you under arrest, and sent to the devil, which is a good enough punishment for Frenchmen." The colonel was about to withdraw; but the general again peremptorily ordered him to stop, and, after some effort, succeeded in getting his legs over the side of the bed, and his body in an upright position; and, when he had gazed about the room confusedly, and fumbled about for his drawers, he said to the officer, "And now, sir, I change my mind, do you do this: first order me a waiter! and when you have done it, see that he be not a simpleton, but a good, honest fellow, who will assist me to put on my uniform without keeping his hand to my nose, expecting it to drop shillings. Then get this sleeping gentleman you see here awake, for he is a person of much consequence, and, being the guest of the city, (which I say, seeing how much wind the fathers have wasted over him,) and a major who has seen service in Mexico, it will be of much importance that he go with us. Then, sinking the rules of the service for a few minutes, you must join us in a morning glass, which will do you no injury, for I see you are every inch a soldier. Then, go straightway to the general of brigade, tell him to let the bands play till they have cracked their cheeks, and earned their money, which they will not do unless you tell them. And as I have not seen much of this general of brigade's skill, and have heard it said that his brains are in his boots, tell him that the general in command orders him to form the brigade, which, if he have sense enough, he can do while I am putting on my breeches." Here the general's lower lip dropped, he cast a confused look first on the floor then at the feathered Frenchman, and then began tugging away at his drawers, until his nightcap fell to the floor, followed by his wig and numerous imprecations, for he was vain of his looks, and thought himself a man whom any lady of taste might take for husband with credit to herself. "Then," he resumed, "say I order him to march the brigade up Broadway, in platoon, to Union Square; and let the bands ring out music that shall rend the very air, send the rich of the city to wondering, and crowd the streets with ragged vagabonds. And as I am a soldier, I take it when this is done no man dare say the brigade is not made up of heroes, every man of them; if he do, let him be bayoneted! Call a halt, when you reach the square, and there stand till I come, which will be when I have my horse." After listening with great attention to the general's commands, the aid again saluted, notwithstanding his chief was in his shirt, and then set about waking up the major, which he succeeded in doing after very many violent shakes, and at length seizing him by the shoulders and raising him bodily to his haunches, on which he sat endeavoring to disenchant his eyes, like the moody josch of a mandarin. The major then set to shouting at the top of his voice, exclaiming sundry queer commands, and making such strange flourishes with his hands as at first caused the Frenchman to take him for a madman.

It turned out, however, that he fancied himself mounted upon old Battle, reviewing the Barnstable Invincibles, whom he was berating right soundly for a set of stupid knaves. An invitation from the general to join him and the aid in drinking a morning sweeper, suddenly brought him to his understanding, and, after offering numerous apologies for the distressed state of his person, said he was not aware that the earliness of the hour prevented military men and politicians from drinking one another's health, provided they were of equal rank: he therefore begged the feathered Frenchman to join him in drinking the health of General Benthornham, a gentleman and a soldier; in fact, a man of whom the country was proud, for he had seen wars enough to satisfy the ambition of any gentleman with a military turn of mind. The general condescended a bow in return for so flattering a compliment, and saying the best men were known by their deeds, placed the glass to his lips and quaffed the mixture with a wry face.

The aid now took his departure, with orders to his general of brigade; and a servant having appeared, the two distressed officers, still suffering from the effect of the revel, ordered a light breakfast of coffee, toast, and eggs, which, when they had quaffed the congress water, they devoured like true heroes, the superior officer being not a little surprised at the facility with which Major Roger Potter used his fingers, and discoursed of his wife, Polly's, skill in preparing good breakfasts. They then ordered their horses, the major giving particular directions how to saddle old Battle, to the end that he might carry a standing tail, which was rare with him. He also directed that his own holsters be mounted, for, though they were shabby in appearance, no soldier could fail to see that they had seen a deal of service, and would admire them the more for it.

And now, gentle reader, lest you be deceived in either of my military heroes, I will just mention, that the major retired to his own room, and, having habited himself in his well worn uniform, joined General Benthornham, who had also got himself into his uniform, and taken up a position at the table, armed, not with his sword, but a corpulent decanter, from which he was filling his glass. The major never refused an invitation to join in a service held so laudable by the profession, and filled his glass also. And so strong was the beverage, that not many minutes had elapsed when they found it extremely difficult to take a forward move without oscillating from the line. As, however, the brigade was made up of gentlemen, and not fighting soldiers, the general suddenly remembered that it would not do to keep them waiting; and, taking the major by the arm, they toddled (as if the floor were unsafe for such good men to tread upon) down stairs, into the front hall, to the no small delight of the numerous bystanders, who gave them all the room required by their high positions.

And now, when the grooms brought the horses to the door, they were astonished that so famous a major should ride an animal so shattered in his appearance, and also travel with a pig who could match the devil in cutting up antics. They therefore stood viewing him with intense anxiety; and, as old Battle had the spring halt in his near hind leg, they were sure the major, when mounted, must cut a figure rarely presented in Broadway. And among the grooms there was one Bob Totten, a man born and reared in Barnstable, and who had, many years ago, been a fellow cordwainer in the same shop with the major. "Faith," said he, in a voice loud enough to be heard by several of the bystanders, "it's old Roger Potter, or my eyes deceive me, and he used to follow the trade of tin peddling."

A group of ragged and vicious boys, attracted by the strange figure cut by the major in his uniform, commenced dividing their jibes between him and his horse, evincing not the slightest respect for either. The question which should mount first was now mooted. The major insisted that he would see his superior officer first in the saddle; while the general argued, with equal plausibility, that courtesy demanded that the major should mount first, he being the guest of the city. They debated the point for some time; and at last compromised the matter by agreeing to mount together. This difficulty being settled, another of equal importance arose.

"You have brought me another man's horse," said the general, in an angry tone; "and if I am known for my horsemanship, I value myself too much to be kicked off by a colt."

"Faith, sir," replied the groom, "the horse is your own, and no other man's; and a horse of steady enough habits he is, too."

The general, however, continued to pronounce him a strange horse, and refused to be convinced until he had applied his spectacles.

And now, matters being arranged to their satisfaction, they mounted amidst the shouts and screams of the boys; which was not to be wondered at, for I venture to asset that young New York had never before seen a major so strangely mounted. The noise and confusion, however, was something old Battle was not accustomed to, for, though he was an horse of uncommon good behavior, he now pricked up his head and tail, and gave out such proofs of the youth that yet remained in his bones, that it was with difficulty his rider could manage him. The general, meanwhile, coursed up Broadway with the lightness of a well mounted dragoon, turning in his saddle now and then to ascertain what had become of the major, who, by dint of hard labor, had got old Battle into a three-jog trot, and his head in the right direction. The mischievous urchins, however, continued to harass his rear, and so belabored his gambrels with whatever came to hand, that he increased his pace wonderfully, and at the same time made it so difficult for the major to keep his saddle that he completely lost his temper, and swore he would ride over the whole of them. But they ceased not to tease him; in truth, an urchin more mischievous than the rest, lighted a bunch of fire crackers he had tied to the end of a rod, and, with wicked intent, applied them to old Battle's tail, so frightening him with the explosions that he took to his heels and dashed up Broadway like a colt of three years, spreading consternation among the promenaders, and causing numerous timid people to seek shelter in doors. In truth, I very much doubt whether John Gilpin ever frightened so many people, or caused so many to look with astonishment. Onward he dashed, passing omnibuses and other vehicles without number, (all of which made way for him,) until he reached the New York Hotel, where he came up with the general, whose horse took it into his head not to be outdone by so shabby a charger, and, giving one or two springs, dashed up Broadway with the fleetness of an Arabian filly.

Scarce had the general's horse taken this strange freak into his head, when old Battle stumbled, fell full length upon the pavement, and launched the major head foremost to the ground some yards in advance. "I give my soul to my Maker, for now my end has come," said he, "and I forgive all my enemies." A groan followed this exclamation, his limbs seemed seized with spasms, and then for several minutes he remained speechless. With the assistance of two policemen and several sympathizing gentlemen, he was carried into the New York Hotel, where the landlord kindly provided for him, and made him as comfortable as it was possible until he called in a physician, one Miliano, who had great skill in mending battered skulls, and restoring life to half dead persons. As for the general's horse, he dashed on until he reached Union Square, where he made a bolt into the thickest of the brigade, which he scattered in such confusion and dismay that they looked neither to the right nor the left, but, depending upon their heels to save their valuable lives, ran into the nearest open doors, leaving their muskets to whomsoever saw fit to carry them off. And when the horse had reached the Everett House, he, in evident malice, threw the general over his head upon the pavement, when several persons rushed out and picked him up for dead; but, instead of being dead, he proved to be the soberest of men, and when he was upon his feet ordered the bravest man to go in pursuit of his horse, who was proceeding up Fourth Avenue, a terror to all pedestrians.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

WHICH RELATES HOW THE MAJOR WAS RESTORED TO CONSCIOUSNESS; AND OF THE STORY OF AN ECCENTRIC CRITIC.



LET me avail myself of your good nature, reader, for I am a man who would not artfully conceal truth to the injury of a friend; but I am, at the same time, conscious of the heavy penalty incurred in speaking the honest, unembroidered truth of some of our well tailored heroes, who open and shut like sunflowers under a vertical sun, and present an excellent object to attract the admiration of your fine ladies in Broadway. Heaven knows I appreciate the true hero, and am ready to favor an honest purpose with a joyful heart; but your political general of militia is a model of coxcombry, a creature ready to faint when you want service of him, and the best imposture known at this day. I, however, hold it not well to turn the wheel too far against men who are harmlessly inclined, and in whose marching and countermarching up Broadway (with the pomp and circumstance of men about to face blood and flames) the juvenile and other lighthearted portions of the community find an excellent fund of amusement. Indeed, I remember that others may love what I have no taste to appreciate; and that when fortune turns against me, which is the case at this moment, I had better keep my thumbs out of my neighbor's finger glass. Nor would I knowingly wound with my remarks on General Benthornham's merits as an officer, the pride of one of his many admirers. Suffice it to say, then, (as the learned Doctor Easley would say,) that although his coat had received a rent or two in the back, no sooner was his truant horse brought back to him than he mounted with the daring of a book publisher, and, after evincing no small desire to ride over the brigade a dozen times, and putting it through a series of intricate evolutions, which the various regiments forming it performed with great credit to themselves, he ordered them dismissed and sent home, there to look well to their good behavior during the rest of the day. And for this last and very kind service, they thought him the bravest general history had any account of. In accordance, then, with this parental admonition, they betook themselves home, well fatigued, but as ready to fight as any good men ought to be when satisfied that arms were necessary to the maintenance of law; which, however much I may blush to acknowledge it, was the case in Gotham, which was in sad disorder-not from any bad spirit between its citizens, but merely the curious antics of a very ambitious mayor. Having made an amende I hope will prove ample, let us turn to the patient at the New York Hotel.

Major Roger Potter, who I forgot to mention had been dubbed a General on the preceding evening, lay in a state of stupor, though with evident signs of life, for some hours. Being the guest of the city, no little anxiety was evinced by the physician, who, after exercising great skill in feeling for broken bones and cracks in his skull, declared that he could find neither bruises nor broken bones; but, if appearances were to be taken, he had received such internal injury as must soon put an end to his usefulness in this world, and send him to a better. He therefore got out his lancet, and, after nearly draining his veins of blood, was about to apply a monster plaster to his head, when the patient suddenly opened his eyes and began to give out such extraordinary signs of life that the doctor as suddenly changed his mind, and, laying aside the plaster, at once declared he had the most sanguine hopes of his recovery. Meanwhile a report got over the city that Major Roger Potter was thrown from his horse, and lay a corpse at the New York Hotel. And the newspapers added to this report by inserting the mournful event as a fact. Indeed, the city fathers, who evinced a strange passion for mournings, were well nigh voting a respectable sum to pay proper respect to his remains, for they held it no disgrace to vote sums for melancholy purposes; which, however, they invariably spend in night suppers, over which they give one another bloody noses and black eyes-a distinguishing motto with divers hard headed councilmen. But the major was resolved not to be sent to his long account in so mean a style, and remained with his eyes wide open, and so clearly in possession of his rational senses, that the bystanders, who were all gentlemen of quality, (there not being an opera singer among them,) declared that his power of endurance was without bounds. In truth, it was proven that no amount of battering and bruising could kill so famous a warrior. But, if he opened his eyes, he spoke not a word until the physician was gone, when his lips slowly resumed their power of motion, and he said, in a voice scarcely intelligible, "Quantibus, moribus, canibus, omnibus, ma dormibus."

"Pray, what does he say?" inquired the bystanders of one another.

"Lambabus, Jehovabus, cananius," resumed the major, following the effort with a deep sigh.

"He speaks Latin," replied one of the bystanders; "and as I have a little of that language at my fingers' ends, I recognize that he says, 'Blessed is he who dies in a noble mission.' Yes, there! he repeats it again, and I have it exactly."

The major continued muttering several incoherent sentences, interlarding them with words of intelligible English, which doubly confused his auditors, another of whom declared that though he never had read a verse of Latin in his life, he was sure it was not that, but some strange tongue, in which the sufferer, being a profound scholar, desired to make his "dying declaration." They all finally came to this opinion, and agreed that a priest and a parson be called, as they were not quite sure as to his religion, and it was only necessary to have some one who knew Latin by heart. A druggist was suggested by another; but an objection was interposed on the ground that the Latin of druggists was not to be depended upon. Again, it was said the priest and the parson would get to quarreling over some nice point of doctrine, or as to the exact style of sending him to heaven, which would make it extremely unpleasant for the worldly minded lookers on. "It is just come into my head," spoke a young man of genteel appearance and sympathizing looks, "that there lives in the neighborhood one Orlando Tickler, an Irish gentleman of much ancestry. He is reputed to be poor, but a profound critic of books; it is also said of him that he can speak numerous tongues." Orlando Tickler was a man of fashionable aspect, and had written various learned essays, largely set with Latin sentences, on subjects connected with high art, for which he affected a love equaled only by his contempt for every American who "dabbled in it." And, as he was always ready to give proof of his wisdom, he came at the first invitation, and with so grave and solemn a bearing that no man would have dared to dispute his wisdom.

"And now, sir," said he, in a brogue of peculiar richness, addressing the prostrate hero, "since I see you are dying, and about to leave this world, pray what would you say in respect to yourself?"

The major (now General Roger Potter) fixed his eyes upon Mr. Tickler with such intenseness that he turned pale, and repeated his question. Whereupon the prostrate patient again muttered, "Quantibus, moribus, canibus, ma dormebus."

"Faith, and it's as good Latin as my man could speak, which is saying no little for him as a gentleman," said Mr. Tickler, with an air of much wisdom.

"Please, sir, tell us what he says, for we are all impatient, lest the poor man go out of the world with a dying request upon his lips;" interposed one of the bystanders.

"What's that he says, now?" queried Mr. Tickler, in reply. "Well, I have it!-he says, (and I think his mind is a little out because he says it,) that this world is all naked vanity, and the quicker a man makes his peace with heaven, the stronger is the proof that he is a man of sense."

They all agreed that this was a very sensible remark for a dying man, when the major, to their utter astonishment, again opened his lips, and with more vigor than before, muttered one of two sentences, which were all of Latin he had ever known in his life, "Apolla Majora canimus."

"See, now!-what is this it is now?" interposed the learned Tickler. "Faith it's hard enough keeping them all in a body's head. Indeed, an' it's come to me quick enough though! He says he gave his energies to his country, and hopes the devil may get his enemies if they say it was otherwise with him."

Mr. Tickler now commenced a dissertation on the beauties of the Latin language, the origin of which he traced into the ancient Celtic, which, judging from its Nomic melody, he should say bore a trite and common resemblance to that now spoken in Wales, Ireland, and the Highlands of Scotland; and which, notwithstanding the authorities to the contrary, he firmly believed was introduced first into his country by William the Conqueror. Indeed, he insisted that he had twice debated this point with the learned critic, Easley, (whom he styled the New York executioner of literature,) and beat him with ease; for though Easley was a man of profound knowledge and erudition, he was not a match for him at Latin.

"Omnes codem cogimur, omnium," repeated the major.

"Gentlemen," said the critic, "he has something of great importance to communicate, and, if it please you, desires to be alone for a few minutes." The bystanders were now well convinced that Mr. Tickler was a man of profound learning, and more than up to his reputation. They, therefore, withdrew in silence; and had no sooner disappeared than the major rose to his haunches without the slightest difficulty, and gave visible proof that his tongue was restored to its original usefulness.

"Truly, I am under an obligation to you, sir," said he, addressing himself to the critic; "for you have rendered me a service I much needed. I was only stunned, and knew that a little sleep would restore me to my natural understanding. But my tongue had lost its power, and I could not sleep with so many about my bed. The nonsense I muttered was for a disguise; for I feared if I came suddenly to my senses they would dry up their sympathies, and not think so well of me. But pray, how comes it, sir, that you made such good Latin of my gibberish? Tell me, kind sir, for I see you are a scholar, and it may be that Latin is a natural gift with me; and when you are done I will order up a little brandy, which we will divide between us; for I apprehend it will not embarrass you, since you are a man in whose eye I see wisdom enough for several."

"To be honest with you, friend, I will not reject the brandy, for I took a liking to it when I was a strolling player, and believe it does me no harm in my new profession. He here, at the major's request, rang the bell for a waiter. "As to what you said, to tell the truth between ourselves, not a word of it could I make out; for though I can speak many languages, my head is not troubled with a word of Latin, which, I have no doubt, you spoke with great correctness. I would have you know, sir, that it will not do in these pinching times to set up for a critic, unless you have Latin at your finger's ends. And if you have it not, why it serves the same purpose to say you have. With Latin you can enter the Press Club, (which affords you an excellent opportunity of escaping the bills of your tailor,) and if you practice the deception with skill, you will be set down for a man of wonderful capacity. But if you knew what a miserable thing it is to be a critic, you would, I knew, say a man had better follow the devil with a fife and drum than depend on the tricks of booksellers for his bread, which is come the fashion with critics at this day."

"Upon my soul, Mr. Tickler," replied the major, rising to his feet, as sound a man as ever was seen, "I reverence you for your good sense. The truth is, I hold it none the worse of a man that he have not his mouth full of Latin every minute in the day. And as my wife Polly knows, I have languages enough at my tongue's end; but hold it better of a man that he try to get perfect in his own."

"Let us to the priests with the languages," rejoined Mr. Tickler, knowingly; "and let us get to the brandy for here comes the servant." And the servant entered with a bow.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND SEVERAL THINGS COMMON TO MILITARY POLITICIANS; ALSO, A CURIOUS HISTORY OF THE CRITICS, AS RELATED BY MR. TICKLER.



HAVING given his order to the servant, General Potter turned to Mr. Tickler, and with great politeness said, "I may say to you in confidence, seeing that I shall be all right when I take a bottle or two of Townsend's Sarsaparilla, that my friends made me a General last night; and as experience teaches me that this title will do me great service, pray make it convenient to address me accordingly." Mr. Tickler at once promised to scrupulously regard this admonition, as well as to hold the general's person in profound respect.

And now, as many inquiries were made after his health by persons of distinction, he desired the host to send them away, saying he was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. And when the gentlemen who retired at Mr. Tickler's request reentered the room, they were surprised and astonished to find the man they had supposed on the point of death restored to perfect health, and weak only from the blood taken from him by the skillful physician. He was, indeed, speaking as good English as needs be, and earnestly debating a question of state policy with Mr. Tickler over an excellent punch. On making inquiries about his pains, he good naturedly assured them he was a much sounder man than before, except that he had a slight itching in one of his toes, which could be readily removed with a bottle or two of Dr. Townsend's Sarsaparilla. They were not a little diverted at the quaintness of the remark, and went away satisfied that he was at least the most remarkable man of the age, if not the wisest.

Not a thought was given to old Battle during all this time, which was the strangest thing of all, considering the affection he bore him. Having drained his glass, the general (which he must henceforth be called) gave Mr. Tickler wonderful account of his mission, and the prospects that were held out to him. "I see, sir," said he, addressing Tickler, "that you are a man of uncommon ability; and as I stand in great need of just such a gentleman's services, to write my speeches, and do an elegant correspondence, you have but to say you will join me, and I promise you such a share of the rewards as will make you a happy man for the rest of your life. My speeches are not difficult, but my correspondence is extensive and curious enough, God knows."

"An office that will better my condition will not stand long waiting my acceptance, as you shall have reason to know, sir, when you make me the offer. Mind ye, I have followed the wretched life of a critic so long that I am compelled to cheat my tailor, and depend on a friend to invite me to dinner. As to my accomplishments, you will find them out by inquiring at the Press Club, which is composed of as nice gentlemen as any lady of taste could wish; and I swear, sir, they have so much learning that they have killed several magazines of great respectability." Mr. Tickler said this with an air of superlative dignity; and having a beard and mustache of exquisite growth, he drew a delicate comb from his pocket, and commenced curling them with great care. In truth, Mr. Orlando Tickler was something of an exquisite, and as much a fixture at the opera as the empty chair of a stockholder. What was more, he leveled an opera glass worth sixty dollars at the belles.

"Really, sir," replied the general with a smile, "you talk like a gentleman of profound wisdom. I perhaps ought to tell you, that a clever young gentleman, who did me the service I desire of you, being ambitious, left me, and set up for a lawyer. And it was in vain I promisd him a seat in Congress in two years, if he would remain with me. It is also said of him, that he has taken to writing my history, which an honest bookseller has engaged to publish out of sheer respect to the severe and very uncharitable things he had said of me and my wife, Polly Potter." The general now begged Mr. Tickler to give him a more detailed account of these critics, of whom he he had spoken so strangely.

"Faith, sir, it gives me pleasure to impart knowledge to others," rejoined Mr. Tickler; "and as I have no great love for any of them, I will, to be brief, tell you that you may divide them under four heads: The wise critics, the fashionable society critics, the correspondent critics, and the critics at large. The wise critic is generally a dilapidated parson, who, having vacated the pulpit for want of morals, brings into literature the spirit of the viper, which he manifests toward his brother craftsmen with peculiar unction. He preserves a sort of clerical air, wears a white neckcloth, spectacles, and a shabby coat; and in addition to foul linen, he has a great passion for sending poets and novel writers to the devil. He affects to despise a literature not well savored with religious sentiment, but will at times condescend to lavish unmeasured praise upon a book of loose morals. The wise critic generally has lodging with some pious lady in Fourth Street, breakfasts on rolls and coffee at Peteler's, dines three times a week with his female literary friends, and for the rest takes rice and milk at Savery's, in Beekman Street. Being literary editor of two or more daily papers, publishers hold him in great respect, and employ him at reading the novels of ambitious school girls, which he will aid them in cramming down the spacious throat of the public. It would not do to offer a wise critic pay for his services; but the accepting of presents he regards in the light of exchanges of love between a friend served and a friend admired. He has numerous affairs of ceremony with gifted widows, who write very excellent sensation books in behalf of downtrodden humanity, and who never fail to express their admiration of his great learning; and this high consideration he repays with ponderous eulogies on their books. His carping he reserves for the devil, and such authors as Prescott, Bryant, and Longfellow.

"The fashionable critic belongs to the Press Club, from which it may be inferred that he is an excellent judge of Cologne and hair oil. I say this, sir, seeing how large a a quantity of these excellent articles are used by the nice persons who constitute that club. In dress, the fashionable critic is quite up to Fifth Avenue, and in manners he is rather above it. He is in high favor with certain aged dowagers of doubtful ancestry, who never think of giving an evening party without one or two of the best cravatted. He has a wonderful relish for light literature, and affects to speak numerous tongues. In truth, if there be a tongue he is not familiar with, he will tell you most patronizingly that it is a tongue not known in fashionable society. He writes articles for magazines, turns the brains of certain young damsels at boarding schools, and at the end of the year fancies himself a Byron. Now and then he gathers his stray effusions together, and gives them to the forgiving world in a book that sends a titillation of joy to the hearts of his numerous admirers, and also sets every fashionable critic to praising it as the most wonderful work of the age; for unlike the wise critic, the fashionable critic eschews envy, and invariably puffs the bantlings of his fellows. In fine, the fashionable critic is always tied to some lady friend, who has written a book he is about to notice in Putnam, a journal he has nearly choked to death with his great learning. If you would know how he lives I will tell you. He has three dollar lodgings with Mrs. Sponge, in Amity Street, which is fashionable enough for any body. But being a sharp fellow, he takes a dinner or two at the Brevort House, which enables him to indite all his epistles therefrom, so, to his friends, he is at the Brevort House. And, believe me, sir, for I say it more in pity than anger, he is a man much given to appropriating to himself the coats and breeches of his friends, and going uninvited to balls.

"The correspondent critic is generally an energetic gentleman of foreign extraction and doubtful ancestry. Being without means or business, he sets up for a critic of books. He will correspond gratis for papers in Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, Cincinnati, and other large cities. Having "got his newspapers," he forms an extensive acquaintance with authors, publishers, and actors-in a word, with any one in need of puffing, the force of which he gauges according to the amount paid. Although the wise critic holds him in utter contempt, he affects a knowledge of books quite as profound, and can completely outshine him in his style of adulation. As for new books, no enterprising publisher would deign to send him less than two copies, which may be found at a book stall the very next morning. As, however, his sense of feeling is so delicate that he only wants to feel a book to decide upon its merits, this disposing of the books fortunately does not debar him from giving a ten dollar opinion of it in one of his newspapers. When, however, his puffs are not squared according to the publisher's liking, he is sent about his business; sometimes threatened with an expos of the peculiarities of his trade. He has free drinks and dinners at various first class hotels, which he invariably recommends in his 'articles.' Doctor Thompson's purgative powders, Lubin's perfumery, and the Home Journal, are severally victims of his profound respect.

"The correspondent critic has small apartments at first class hotels, which he changes frequently, out of sheer respect, as he says, to economy. But I have failed to discover how this could apply, since the change was invariably made for a more expensive hotel, while a little score always remained on the ledger, to the no small annoyance of the host. But, sir, where they have it is in 'knowing' the impressibility of certain ambitious actresses, whose acquaintance they cultivate, and for a given sum set them up for Siddonses and Rachels, with the same respect for modesty they evince in puffing Peteler's soda water.

"And now, sir, we have come to the last, but depend upon it, he is not the least of them all—I mean the critic at large." Here Mr. Tickler, who, it must be known, was as big a knave as any of them, and only charged upon others the little inconsistencies he had himself been guilty of, lighted his cigar, and suggested the good results of another well compounded punch, which the general ordered without delay. "I tell you, sir," Mr. Tickler resumed, "he is an oily gentleman in very shabby clothes, and might be easily mistaken for a cross between a toper and a tinker. Lacking capacity for any other business, he forms a cheap connection with the press, where his first office would seem to be that of sitting in judgment upon literature. Indeed, I have seldom seen a more shabby gentleman set up for a man of letters. His aversion to water and clean linen is only equaled by his love of actors and bad brandy, the latter having painted his face with a deep glow. The limit of his 'set phrases' is somewhat narrow; but notwithstanding this little impediment, he has a wonderful facility for making heroes. He assists publishers in 'getting out books,' getting up sensations, and, perhaps, a learned controversy, in which the Evening Post, feeling its reserved rights infringed, will join issue with every one else. The critic at large is, in most cases, a foreign gentleman, who boasts an engagement on the Express, adding at the same time, and with some assurance, that he writes for the Sunday Dispatch and Atlas. This stroke of policy he holds necessary to preserve his respectability. He is in high favor at all the theaters, tips winks to his actress acquaintances, drinks slings and toddies at Honey's with actors befuddling themselves into that dreamy state regarded by the profession as necessary to the clear bringing out of all the beauties with which a beneficent providence endowed the kings and conquerors they are to personate at night, on that sequestered world called the stage. You may know by the downy state of his wardrobe that he has a place to sleep. But where he gets his breakfast is a mystery no friend has ever yet solved for me. Aside from taking a two shilling dinner at an oyster cellar in William Street and wiping his greasy fingers on a leather apron, he would seem to live on hopes and brandy-mixed. He affects great admiration of Johnson and Goldsmith, compares his poverty with theirs, and attributes the present wretched condition of criticism to the disgrace brought upon the profession by Easley and other dilapidated priests. You will frequently see this shabby man of letters standing at the corner of Nassau and Ann streets, his hands in his pockets and his head bent in meditation. Occasionally he will pitch his post in the vicinity of the Herald office, and look up longingly at the windows, as if envying the dare devils who write for that witty journal their fat larder. And here he will remain until some kind friend with a shilling invites him to a sling. Truly, sir, he is starved into flattering his patrons. If you be an ambitious author, you have only to show him the color of your coin, and for two dollars he will make you quite equal to Thackeray. Five dollars in his palm, and, my word for it, he will have you superior to either Bulwer or Dickens. If you be a poet, he will, for the sum of eight dollars, (which is Easley's price,) enshrine you with the combined mantles of Homer and Shakspeare. He applies the same scale of prices to such actors and actresses as stand in need of his services. Notwithstanding his passion for exalting his patrons, he affects in conversation a great dislike for American literature, while at the same time he is ever ready to lavish the most indiscriminate praise upon the books of foreign authors. He never makes both ends meet on Saturday, but will borrow a dollar to go to Coney Island on Sunday.

"And now, your honor, you have the whole mob, and you may make what you please of them." The general raised his glass, and was about to declare he had been highly entertained, when Mr. Tickler suddenly interrupted, by reminding him that he had just called to mind the fact, that there was a play writer critic. "This fellow is the most congenial of them all, has a little room somewhere in North Moore Street, in which may found two or three pictures of fierce looking tragedians; a cot covered with a quilt of various colors, and looking as if it had been used for a horse blanket; a carpet the colors have long since been worn out of; a dumb clock over the dingy mantel piece; a portrait of the deceased husband of the hostess; and a table well supplied with pipes, tobacco, and French plays. The French plays are, when slightly altered and rendered into English, for the public; the pipes and tobacco are for his friends. And although perpetually climbing the mountain of poverty, while building no end of castles in the air, he spends what he gets to-day and has no thought for to-morrow. It having come the fashion of the day for managers of theaters to feast their patrons on the morbid sentimentality of French plays, (as if the vices of our own social system were not enough to excite the vicious propensities of our high blooded youths,) so also would it seem the highest inspiration of the eighteenth century play writer to rehash and coarsify for the American stage all those lascivious eccentricities for which the French are famous. Hence, your jolly play writer is generally engaged with his friends, smoking pipes and reading the last French piece. The pleasure excited by this congenial occupation is invariably heightened with libations of whiskey, the play writer having a credit with the grocer at the corner for three bottles, which, in a case of emergency, may be extended to four. He writes occasionally for the Sunday newspapers, thinks John Brougham the greatest dramatist and wit of the age, and stands ready either to join him in a glass or sing his praises, though there is as much reason for committing so flagrant an outrage as there would be in praising the ten thousand and one stanzas written by that wonderful and very eccentric bard, Richard Yeadon, who has sung of so many springs and watering places as to dry up his own muse. He is likewise something of a dabbler at reviewing novels, but they must be largely sprinkled with murders, and have plots strong enough to carry anything but the clergy. All other critics are to him great bores; but, like them, he has a price for his services, and will, if you pay him, make Shakspeares and Corneilles of very ordinary persons. As for respectable society, he never even scented the perfumery of its outskirts; he therefore holds it in utter contempt. Ready at all times to adapt himself to circumstances, if he chance to get in arrears to his landlady, he will square the account by marrying either herself or her daughter." Mr. Tickler proceeded in this strain, relating sundry curious things of the critics, until the night was far advanced, and concluded by suggesting that no serious damage could result to his constitution from another punch. The general immediately fell in with this opinion, and indeed was so entertained by his narrative, that he would have ordered a dozen punches without considering his obligation to him wiped out. The punch being dispatched, the general slipped five dollars into Mr. Tickler's hand, and desired him to proceed to the host, thank him for his great kindness, and clear the little score from his ledger. Greatly delighted at the prospect of performing this service, Mr. Tickler proceeded to the office, and was informed by the polite host that it was a custom with him never to take money of persons driven to seek shelter in his house by accidents. To end the matter, he vowed it not only gave him great pleasure to have so distinguished a military gentleman in his house, which had bore a character for hospitality he was scrupulous it should continue to maintain, but that he would be happy to see him again. Indeed, he wished him success in all his undertakings, hoping they would bring comfort in great abundance.

Slipping the price of a criticism into his own pocket, the adroit Tickler returned to the general, swore the host was the most generous fellow within his knowledge, and said, "See here, sir! faith of my father! but he would only take three dollars for it all. And he passed the divil knows how many compliments on your valor, for I couldn't count them." He now proffered the remaining two, but was not slow in acting upon the general's admonition to put them in his own pocket. "And now, sir," resumed Mr. Tickler, with an air of great anxiety, "let us hasten home to your lodgings, and to-morrow I will write this generous man a note for you, thanking him for such rare disinterestedness. And it shall be such a note!" The general, however, was not quite sure whether such an act would become a man of courtesy, and expressed a desire to see so generous a landlord and tell him how much he thanked him. But as this would seriously disturb Mr. Tickler's arrangements, that gentleman got him out of the house as speedily as possible, assuring him that such a proceeding would be contrary to all the established rules of etiquette. Quietly then, they proceeded down Broadway together, suspicious that they were seen by every passer by, and entered the St. Nicholas by a private door. And so unobserved was this achievement, that the host was, on the following morning, surprised and astonished at the return of his guest, whom he would have sworn was lying a corpse at the New York Hotel.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

GENERAL POTTER RECEIVES A LETTER FROM HIS WIFE POLLY; HE ENGAGES TO FIGHT THE KING OF THE KALORAMAS; PREPARES TO LEAVE FOR WASHINGTON; AND VARIOUS THINGS CURIOUS AND INTERESTING.



WHEN Tickler parted company with the general, it was with the understanding that they meet again in a day or two, and consummate the agreement whereby the adroit critic was to follow the fortunes of his master through politics and war. He therefore went directly to his home, and returned thanks for the mercy of this opportune deliverance from his dire necessities. A shilling he had not had in his pocket for several days; and as to the five dollars, it would enable him to assume a position of no small importance among his friends at the opera.

As to the general, he awoke early in the morning, and began to contemplate his honors. There could not be the slightest doubt of his fame in politics, seeing how many distinguished persons had sought to pay him homage. Indeed, he had been carried by a process known only to politicians to an incredible height of popularity, which, being vain of, he bore with a patience and cheerfulness equaled only by the docility of old Battle, his horse. The city fathers, it must be mentioned, finding him not quite up to their expectations, were endeavoring to drop him with as little noise as possible. But it seemed a question which was most deceived, the general or the city fathers. The latter found the former a shallow pated man, who from mere joking, had been made to believe himself a great politician, and by a singular cleverness in committing to memory the altered speeches of others, had created for himself a respectability that always vanished on an acquaintance with him; while the former declared that the population of a city was no proof of the amount of moral rectitude by which its government was conducted, seeing that he had found those of the city fathers with whom he had come in contact, very craggy headed men, and sadly deficient in everything but creating disorders and bringing disgrace upon the city: in fine, that they were not what they ought to be.

The general now began to look about him for means whereby he could distinguish himself in war, and make his fame national. He argued within himself that however famous a man might become in politics, there was an uncertainty always impending. But to be famous in war, was something as durable as time, and which always excited the warmest admiration of one's countrymen. And while he, with confused fancies flitting through his imagination, was thus contemplating his present greatness and future prospects, a servant entered, bearing a letter.

"Love of me!" exclaimed the general, "It's from my wife, Polly!"

A superscription in a series of hieroglyphics that would have defied the combined erudition of Rawlinson and Layard, the general deciphered thus: "To Major Roger Sherman Potter. In New York." The seal, which was of broken wafers, pressed with a thimble, was broken xwith eager anxiety, and the general, his eyes transfixed on the dingy page, read the contents, which ran thus:

"Barnstable, June -, 185.—"My Dear husban

"You knows i niver did like these ere politiks, for all the expereiance i've had in um tells me they nethir brings meat nor pays the store bills. I see they bin making ever so much on you yinder in New York; but that ant nothin', when a body has debts to pay, and childirn to shoe and larn. I know, and you know i know, that when you was young you had capacity (talent they call it) enuff to get to Congriss; and thats why i tried so to get you there, and sold all the ducks and chickens, and strained, you know, ever so many ways to help you up in the world; but now i see there's not a whit a use int, for i've a come convinsed that them politiks makes an honest man a rogue, and sends his soul to the devil, and his family to the town-house. I like to see you made so much of, for i have the nateral feelins of a wife, and if, as you used to say, i didn't know much of filosofy, why i have some sense, and want you to come straight home, and see to your poor family, for it takes all we can get for binding shoes to buy bread. But what i want to tell you is three days after you left on the Two Marys, Sheriff Warner come with a rit, and carried away the three pigs, and Warner has bin donnin me life out for that old store bill, and Draner says he wont wait another day for the rent, and Aldrich says you owe him ten dollars borrowed money, which you had better pay afore you make so much noise in New York. But what i want to tell you is, that i lent what little money you left to Captain Ben Larnard, who says he can't pay it back right away, but will when his wife gits home, though Captain Spelt's wife says she's run off with another man. And there's that trifle due when you went away to Jefferson Bigelow the butcher, he keeps a lookin in and giving me the startles, and saying how Squire Benson lives at the corner. Now as you love your poor wife and children come home, and let politiks alone, and provide for your children like a good christian and an honest man, which I have heard it said a politishon cant be. And this is the prayer of your true and affeckshonite wife POLLY POTTER."

"A bombshell from my wife Polly, sure enough!" ejaculated the general; "but she is a sensible woman, and with learning would have made her mark in the world. A man must not look back though, but renew his demonstrations against misfortune, and then if he succeed let him thank his energy. And yet it is true, as my wife Polly says, my politics have brought me in but little meat, and my children have often times gone scantily clad, whereas they might have had plenty if I'd stuck to the bench. However, a point approached, is a point gained, and now that my hand is almost upon a mission, which will repay for all my disappointments, it will not do to walk back into the house and shut the door."

Thus the hero reasoned within himself. It was true, old Battle was eating his head off. But the pig had made a wonderful sensation, and so crowded the house every night as to demonstrate the fact that first rate talent of every kind was highly appreciated in New York. The critics, with scarcely a dissenting voice, had declared the pig a marvel, a profound embodiment of talent, one of the wonders of the age; an animal possessed of such rare gifts that no lover of the curious in natural history should lose the opportunity of witnessing his performances. And in order to diversify these distinguished and very popular entertainments, the clever showman had introduced a piece called "Evenings with the Critics," in one scene of which was presented a litter of nine precocious pigs, habited in bright, colored mantles, and seated on seats forming a semicircle, with Duncan in ducal robes seated on a throne, and presiding with the gravest demeanor. The nine small pigs were supposed to represent various members of the critic tribe, while Duncan, who was in spectacles, personated Doctor Easley. And so cleverly did the showman understand the instincts of critics, as well as the beauties of his art, that he produced the scene with the merits of a poem called Hiawatha under consideration. Each pig waited the signal of approval or disapproval from Duncan, and according to his verdict, either fell upon and grievously soiled the poem, or grunted in one string of praise as they danced round it. And the audience understanding the logic of this, the performance proved highly entertaining. Indeed, renowned tragedians, very popular low comedians, leading business ladies, whose fame had been made for twenty years, and singing ladies who hailed from no less a place than the Covent Garden Opera, London, were driven by the pig mania into Poverty Lodge, from whence they sneeringly declared that no better proof of the low standard of public taste could be afforded.

And now, while pondering over the letter received from his wife, Polly, and feeling as if he could kiss her a thousand times, and entreat her to bear with him, since this time he was sure of success, and would return to her so much exalted that the whole village would turn out to do him homage, Barnum entered, and without further ceremony declared himself so enamored of the pig, whose success with the public was unprecedented, that he cheerfully paid down the amount of the closing engagement, and produced a paper which proved to be a rengagement at an advance of terms, that so completely satisfied the general, that he signed it without further hesitation. The showman being a advocate of temperance, declined General Potter's invitation to join him over a punch; and being a man of business, took his departure as soon as he had perfected the rengagement, promising to keep the pig's birthplace and antecedents a profound secret. And when he was gone, the general took fifty dollars of the money paid him, and sate down to write the following letter in reply to that received from his wife Polly: "St. Nicholas Hotel, New York, June -, 185-. "MY DEAR WIFE POLLY:

"Your letter is just received, and grieves me enough, God knows. You must know, dear Polly, that riches are not got in a day, nor is fame gained in a week, though a man may be popular and not have money enough to get a shilling dinner. And truly, since I arrived here, so much honor has been showered upon me that my shoulders are scarce broad enough to carry it all. As for those who make up the government of this great city, I have come to think they are not to be trusted; for if my good nature would recompense them for the respect they have shown me, my common sense is not to be shut up with gilded doors when I see men much given to strong drink and breaking one another's heads, which it seems to me is the fashion with these high office gentlemen. I now send you fifty dollars, which will comfort you for a time; remember, I will send you some more when less engaged with matters concerning the public. Give each a little, just to keep matters quiet; but be careful not to let one of them know how much you have in the purse, or they'll all rush upon you and strip you to the last dollar. I have success at my finger's ends, and am sure of a mission, as you will see by the newspapers, which have said no end of good things of me. I have met with one or two slight misfortunes, but as they are such as all great politicians and military men must expect to meet, I will say no more about them. Heaven bless you and the children, is the sincere wish of your affectionate husband, "ROGER SHERMAN POTTER.

"P.S. Excuse my brevity, dear Polly, as I am much pressed with public affairs. Old Battle is well, but served me a scurvy trick only a day or two ago."

Having sealed and despatched this letter to the post office, General Potter suddenly remembered that he had not seen his faithful horse since the accident in Broadway that had so nearly cost him his life. He therefore repaired to the stable, where a scene so truly affecting took place, that the grooms had great difficulty in restraining their tears. No sooner did old Battle hear his master's voice, than he began neighing, when his master, in return, patted and caressed him as if he had been a child. In truth, the animal was much bruised about the knees and face, and altogether presented a figure sorry enough to enlist the sympathy of any kind gentleman. "It was no fault of yours, my true, my faithful friend," said the general, patting him on the neck and fondling him. "The ragged urchins did it all, and if their parents be not careful the devil and the gallows will put a sudden end to their career. Thou hast shared my trials in many an expedition, and it is my intention that thou share many more." In this manner the general continued to condole old Battle, until the grooms forgot their grief, and were well nigh splitting their sides with laughter. Leaving his horse, the general returned to his rooms, and found a stranger awaiting him.

"The importance of my mission, sir," spoke the man, who arose to his feet with great dignity of manner, and was evidently a man of much circumstance, "is the best apology I can offer for this self-introduction-"

"I see, sir," replied the general, "that you are a man of quality. Keep your seat, then, and accept my assurances of good faith in whatever it may please you to offer."

"My name," resumed the stranger, his stately figure and frank, open countenance, forming a curious contrast to the rotund figure of the general, "is Pekleworth Glanmoregain, so well known in the world of commerce that I apprehend it is not the first time you have heard of me." The general bowed. "Your fame as a military man having come to my knowledge, as also your ability for statesmanship, I have sought you out, with a view to engaging your services in carrying out a great project I now have on hand. But what passes between us I desire shall be kept a profound secret for the present, since events mature with such a rapidity at this day that it is impossible to keep track of them." The stranger paused and cast a scrutinizing glance at the general, who was surprised and astounded at the vagueness of his speech. Indeed, he began to have a suspicion that the stranger was on an errand of evil, or, perhaps, had come to engage his services in some unholy enterprise, such as poisoning an heir or giving false evidence.

"Pray, remember," said he, in a voice indicating great anxiety, "that if I have not much of the world's riches, I am at least an honest man, which is saying something, as things go. I may say, too, that I set some value upon my military reputation; therefore, let what you have to offer be such as it will not lower my reputation to accept. To tell you the truth, sir, I have a foreign mission in my eye, and am sure of getting it when I go to Washington, since my qualifications are not a whit behind any of them."

"Bury your misgivings, I enjoin you," replied the stranger, "for I am a responsible man, and the service I require of you is highly honorable. I have a mighty project in view, and if it can with your assistance be carried to a successful issue, not only will I make you a great general, but a rich man for the rest of your life."

The prospect of being made a great general so elated our hero, that as the stranger discovered his project in detail, he entered into it with great alacrity, and would, as an earnest of his ability, have given him an account of all the wars he had been in, and the victories that were gained solely by following his advice, but that the stranger assured him it was unnecessary, since he had already seen enough proof of his being a man of valor.

Pekleworth Glanmoregain, I must mention here, was a man who had become famous in commerce, and had large possessions. But these he was not content to enjoy, but sought to increase his wealth by means our forefathers would have characterized with much severity. There was, according to Pekleworth Glanmoregain, a territory somewhere on the Spanish main, familiarly known as the Kingdom of the Kaloramas. The Kaloramas were an inoffensive people, who had been much degraded by intestine wars, and were so low in the scale of physical and intellectual quality as to enlist in their behalf the sympathies of the powerful and magnanimous. But as that which is nationally weak only serves as a prey to that which is nationally strong, so the poor, emaciated Kaloramas had for years been a prey to the avarice of rival adventurers, who, in that spirit which arrogance always asserts over ignorance, would make their king a puppet and themselves mere vassals. And this the wily adventurers did, by professing great friendship for the king and his people, then setting up a fictitious claim to a voice in the affairs of the kingdom, and finally demanding for such service, which any knave or fool might have rendered, not one, but all his islands. In truth, the Kingdom of the Kaloramas, though insignificant in its own political aspect, had furnished a grand theme for a comedy of modern diplomatic errors, in the performance of which numerous clever gentlemen had found much innocent recreation, though not a man had been found capable of solving the plot to the satisfaction of the spectators. In fine, what caused so much longing after, and so many evil eyes to be cast upon this little kingdom of the poor Kaloramas, was the fact that it had within itself a great highway, over which the commerce of two oceans passed. And such were the advantages held out by a monopoly of this highway, that each claimant stood ready to censure the ignorance of the government that doubted his right to higher consideration than that given to his fellow adventurer, whom he would hang to the nearest tree with as little scruple as he would eat his breakfast.

"And now, sir," resumed Glanmoregain, "I have described the Kingdom of the Kaloramas to you, and also the immense advantages it possesses. To be honest with you, then, I desire to gain possession of it, which I take it will be no hard matter, provided the general who engages in my service be capable of outwitting his rivals. And as each keeps a general and a poet of his own, I am resolved to outdo the rest by having a general and two poets, which surely will secure the success of my enterprise."

"Truly, sir," interposed the general, somewhat surprised at the hugeness of Glanmoregain's desires, "I hold it no man is more capable of undertaking what you desire, for God has given me talents which have served me in war, and I have been careful not to abuse them in peace. Let me then have men and meat, and, if you please, a few of those gifts men so much covet, and I warrant you I make the glory all your own. Say but the word, and it will not be long before I have this king you speak of hung to the first tree, and myself elected in his place."

"You are exactly the gentleman I want," spoke the other; "and as to men and meat, I may mention, general, that I have numerous ships at my command, and provisions without stint! And there are at least ten thousand vagabonds, whom, heaven knows, the city would be well rid of; and these, being officered by well starved members of the legal profession, whose name is legion, can be got to do the fighting for the mere love they bear such amusement. Indeed, general, I am no prophet, or the appearance of such an army would soon frighten the king out of his kingdom, which would be a blessing, seeing that it would save so much blood. First disorganize the judiciary, then endeavor to spread dissension among the people, (which is a thing common enough with the ministers we send abroad,) and when these things are done the king can be easily overthrown, which will secure me the advantage I desire as well as a victory over my rivals."

"Faith, sir, I pledge my military reputation to do all these things; and if I fail it will be no fault of mine, for my arm is strong enough to meet the enemy at his own game. And as your speech betrays you a man of profound wisdom, I will tell you, for it will be of great advantage to our cause, that I am about to engage one Orlando Tickler, a critic of great learning, who speaks several tongues, and has no less than seven newspapers at his bidding. And what is more, he is much given to poetry, and can get up sonnets in praise of our victories. Think you not he can play an important part?"

"A person we much need," said Glanmoregain, patting the general on the shoulder; "and if he have seven newspapers at his bidding, why, if he but know how to use them in making victories of defeats, I will wager my life on the success of my enterprise. And if you can get that foreign mission you speak of, so much the better. Let it be to the King of the Kaloramas, and you can then use your privileges to get such a knowledge of the weaknesses of the court as will enable you to overthrow it with the greatest facility."

The preliminaries being arranged, the general promised to proceed strictly according to the advice of Glanmoregain, and to lose no time in proceeding to Washington to secure his appointment. He also promised to keep his own counsel; and to prove their good faith, they sat down to a bottle of old port, which, when they had finished, Glanmoregain took his departure, promising to call on the following day, and left the general to pack up his baggage, preparatory to taking his departure.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

IN WHICH GENERAL POTTER FINALLY SECURES THE SERVICES OF MR. TICKLER; AND, TOGETHER WITH PEKLEWORTH GLANMOREGAIN, THEY VISIT THE OPERA BEFORE SETTING OUT FOR WASHINGTON.



GLANMOREGAIN went home thinking within himself that the general was, mentally, not quite up to what he had expected to find him. However, as generals were not always to be judged either by their epistles or conversation, so the rotund figure, he thought, might prove himself a dabster in war as well as politics. Further, he did not so much want a general who would have his own way in every thing, (for then there was danger of his holding what he got, under the rules of war,) but rather one whom he could mould and direct according to his desires. In fine, the man, he thought, might reflect the follies of a fool, and in the quality of wars he intended to prosecute, be exactly the general he wanted. The general, on the other hand, commenced setting himself down as the most fortunate military man of his day. Indeed, all the pedantry of his extravagant nature was excited to a degree that made him already begin to contemplate himself the hero of endless victories. He also cast a stray thought to old Battle, and fancied himself mounted upon him at the head of a victorious army, returning proudly home after having demolished several kingdoms and built up as many republics. He also lost no time in writing a second letter to his wife Polly, in which he set forth, with much flourish, that he had been so elevated in the opinion of the nation, that now he was offered the command of an army; which he had accepted, and was about to invade the kingdom of a foreign prince. And this letter he sealed and dispatched with all possible speed, hoping in his heart that it might reach his wife Polly in advance of the other.

When this was done, Mr. Tickler entered, and, after passing the usual compliments, proceeded, without further ceremony, to write a note to the landlord of the New York Hotel, returning thanks for his extreme generosity. But not a word was said about the three dollars. Mr. Tickler declared it would not do to lisp a word concerning it, as such would be in direct violation of the rules of etiquette common at this day. Having despatched the note, the general set about relating what had taken place between himself and Glanmoregain, and expressing himself delighted at the opportunity of so soon displaying his prowess in war. "Faith!" exclaimed Mr. Tickler, "every merchant will soon get him a general of his own. By the love of my mother! now it's just struck me: perhaps I can get a small advance on the strength of my future services? for I am in arrears with my landlady, whose look of melancholy so admonishes me every time I enter the house, that I have for more than a week taken advantage of the back door." The general shrugged his shoulders, declared the will good enough to render the desired relief, but that the means were wanting. To be out-spoken, he hinted to Mr. Tickler that, in the event of joining his service, it must be upon the condition that he depend on the fortunes of war for his reward. As to the hostess, he declared that he had not a doubt of her being a very excellent lady, as hostesses ought to be. Still, he gave it as his opinion, that it were much better political economy to leave the poor woman's house with a small bill unpaid, than eat himself into a large one. He further suggested that when the time came, he pack up and leave as quietly as possible, neither looking to the right nor the left, but getting out of the city by the most direct route; and when a respectful distance was reached, just to drop her a friendly line, saying he could not find it compatible with his conscience to longer eat her bread without paying for it, but as soon as fortune put the means in his way, he would lose no time in rubbing out the score.

"Love of my mother!" again ejaculated Tickler, "but your astetics are well enough. And I like the logic that closes the door on a small debt, rather than bury a friend with a big one. See that, now, master general!"

The preliminaries whereby the adroit critic was to follow the fortunes of his master, were now arranged, and the agreement signed. Tickler was to be faithful and obedient to his master, rendering him such services as the change of events might demand, being content with rations and clothing until the fortunes of war turned up something better.

When night was come, Glanmoregain again made his appearance, having previously extended an invitation, to escort the general to the opera. And as Tickler was about to perform so important a part in his project, he could do no less than invite him also. Vain of the importance he imagined himself possessing in the eyes of the public, the general was with some difficulty restrained from mounting his uniform, which he held necessary, lest he be confounded with some ordinary individual without claim to popular favor. Having persuaded him to forego this unnecessary display, the three sallied out together, and soon arrived at what is curiously called the Academy of Music, a building which several friends of the writer of this history, and who are gentlemen of acknowledged taste, declare to be unexcelled for splendor and beauty of architecture, not even excepting the La Scala, St. Carlo, Covent Garden, or even the Tacon. With all deference for the opinions of my accomplished friends, I must confess that the exterior of the building struck me as a huge, square mass of brick much disfigured with awkward looking windows and common place lintels. Indeed, it might easily have been mistaken for a charity hospital; and in the absence of a front, discovering the slightest architectural grandeur, bore no small resemblance to an absurdly constructed barracks.

Entering what in a church would be designated a vestibule, but which here served as a convenient place for loitering gentlemen who speculate in tickets, and the only visible furniture of which had been reformed down to a cheap chandelier, they passed on through a narrow baize door, flanked on one side by an oily ticket taker, and on the other by a fashionably dressed and bearded gentleman, whom the manager, in his praiseworthy efforts to please a capricious public, seemed to have placed there for the ostensible purpose of staring in the faces of ladies, and so circumscribing the width of the passage as to render it exceedingly difficult of ingress. They passed on into the "dress circle," where the seats were peculiarly adapted for making the back ache, and soon found that they had got behind a huge column, (of which there were many similar ones,) where no human eye could get a glimpse of the stage, though the unfortunate visitor paid ten dollars for his seat. As to the interior of the house, it forcibly reminded me of an immense gypsum quarry, with rudely excavated galleries, forming such a jumble and confusion of lines, that it was in vain you looked for an architectural beauty. Indeed, I venture to assert, that such a huge conglomerate of plaster and cheap gilt never before decorated one edifice, and that dedicated to high art. And if the uncouth images, with limbs of giants and heads of ordinary females, which met the eye at every turn, were to be accepted in proof of the high standard of taste at which we had arrived, then surely plaster and gilt ought to form the motto. Figures of ugly females, in plaster, bore up the second tier; groups of nymphs, in plaster, stared at you from the circle borders; grim visaged figures, in plaster, looked tauntingly at you from the proscenium; a troop of impolite figures, in plaster, beset you in flank and rear, and haunted you at every turn, as plaster figures had evidently haunted the imagination of the architect. In fine, every deficiency seemed compensated with an image in plaster, or, what was worse, one of those fashionable society men who sit in dumb show, listening to the melody, without enjoying the sense or knowing a word of what is being sung.

A great admirer of this plaster-perfect edifice was my friend, Miss Kate Suppletongue, who declared to me that though she had been twice to London and Paris, she had seen nothing equal to the Academy for grandeur. Tom Slenderstring, of the Brevoort House, too, said neither the St. Carlos nor the Covent Garden could compare with it for beauty of design. And Tom was a traveled man, whose verdict the whole avenue accepted in matters of taste. My disappointment then was only equaled by the height to which my expectations had been raised by these excellent authorities. But what grieved me most, for I am a man of sympathy, was the batteries which had evidently been committed on these females in plaster forming an advance guard to the d.c.s circle, and obstructing the view while affecting to support the upper boxes. I am told that the directors and stockholders are men of large humanity, whose only vanity lies in fancying themselves liberal patrons of art, which is pardonable in gentlemen much given to commerce. I beseech them, then, as they are christian gentlemen, to look to the distressed condition of these females, some of whom have lost their noses, others their fingers and toes, while still others have had curious antics performed with their bosoms, which would seem to afford no little diversion to certain females of easy virtue, who, together with the empty seats of the stockholders, are firm fixtures of the dress circle. My pity was indeed excited at beholding the large aperture made by some strange accident in the abdomen of one of these plaster females, and which aperture a thoughtless young gentleman made a convenient place for depositing his hat and cane, much to the amusement of those in the vicinity.