THE WORKS OF

EDGAR ALLAN POE

IN FIVE VOLUMES

VOLUME FOUR

Contents

The Devil in the Belfry

Lionizing

X-ing a Paragrab

Metzengerstein

The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether

The Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq.

How to Write a Blackwood article

A Predicament

Mystification

Diddling

The Angel of the Odd

Mellonia Tauta

The Duc de l'Omlette

The Oblong Box

Loss of Breath

The Man That Was Used Up

The Business Man

The Landscape Garden

Maelzel's Chess-Player

The Power of Words

The Colloquy of Monas and Una

The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion

Shadow.--A Parable

======

THE DEVIL IN THE BELFRY

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

EVERYBODY knows, in a general way, that the finest place in the world

is -- or, alas, was -- the Dutch borough of Vondervotteimittiss. Yet

as it lies some distance from any of the main roads, being in a

somewhat out-of-the-way situation, there are perhaps very few of my

readers who have ever paid it a visit. For the benefit of those who

have not, therefore, it will be only proper that I should enter into

some account of it. And this is indeed the more necessary, as with

the hope of enlisting public sympathy in behalf of the inhabitants, I

design here to give a history of the calamitous events which have so

lately occurred within its limits. No one who knows me will doubt

that the duty thus self-imposed will be executed to the best of my

ability, with all that rigid impartiality, all that cautious

examination into facts, and diligent collation of authorities, which

should ever distinguish him who aspires to the title of historian.

By the united aid of medals, manuscripts, and inscriptions, I am

enabled to say, positively, that the borough of Vondervotteimittiss

has existed, from its origin, in precisely the same condition which

it at present preserves. Of the date of this origin, however, I

grieve that I can only speak with that species of indefinite

definiteness which mathematicians are, at times, forced to put up

with in certain algebraic formulae. The date, I may thus say, in

regard to the remoteness of its antiquity, cannot be less than any

assignable quantity whatsoever.

Touching the derivation of the name Vondervotteimittiss, I confess

myself, with sorrow, equally at fault. Among a multitude of opinions

upon this delicate point- some acute, some learned, some sufficiently

the reverse -- I am able to select nothing which ought to be

considered satisfactory. Perhaps the idea of Grogswigg- nearly

coincident with that of Kroutaplenttey -- is to be cautiously

preferred. -- It runs: -- Vondervotteimittis -- Vonder, lege Donder

-- Votteimittis, quasi und Bleitziz- Bleitziz obsol: -- pro Blitzen."

This derivative, to say the truth, is still countenanced by some

traces of the electric fluid evident on the summit of the steeple of

the House of the Town-Council. I do not choose, however, to commit

myself on a theme of such importance, and must refer the reader

desirous of information to the "Oratiunculae de Rebus

Praeter-Veteris," of Dundergutz. See, also, Blunderbuzzard "De

Derivationibus," pp. 27 to 5010, Folio, Gothic edit., Red and Black

character, Catch-word and No Cypher; wherein consult, also, marginal

notes in the autograph of Stuffundpuff, with the Sub-Commentaries of

Gruntundguzzell.

Notwithstanding the obscurity which thus envelops the date of the

foundation of Vondervotteimittis, and the derivation of its name,

there can be no doubt, as I said before, that it has always existed

as we find it at this epoch. The oldest man in the borough can

remember not the slightest difference in the appearance of any

portion of it; and, indeed, the very suggestion of such a possibility

is considered an insult. The site of the village is in a perfectly

circular valley, about a quarter of a mile in circumference, and

entirely surrounded by gentle hills, over whose summit the people

have never yet ventured to pass. For this they assign the very good

reason that they do not believe there is anything at all on the other

side.

Round the skirts of the valley (which is quite level, and paved

throughout with flat tiles), extends a continuous row of sixty little

houses. These, having their backs on the hills, must look, of course,

to the centre of the plain, which is just sixty yards from the front

door of each dwelling. Every house has a small garden before it, with

a circular path, a sun-dial, and twenty-four cabbages. The buildings

themselves are so precisely alike, that one can in no manner be

distinguished from the other. Owing to the vast antiquity, the style

of architecture is somewhat odd, but it is not for that reason the

less strikingly picturesque. They are fashioned of hard-burned little

bricks, red, with black ends, so that the walls look like a

chess-board upon a great scale. The gables are turned to the front,

and there are cornices, as big as all the rest of the house, over the

eaves and over the main doors. The windows are narrow and deep, with

very tiny panes and a great deal of sash. On the roof is a vast

quantity of tiles with long curly ears. The woodwork, throughout, is

of a dark hue and there is much carving about it, with but a trifling

variety of pattern for, time out of mind, the carvers of

Vondervotteimittiss have never been able to carve more than two

objects -- a time-piece and a cabbage. But these they do exceedingly

well, and intersperse them, with singular ingenuity, wherever they

find room for the chisel.

The dwellings are as much alike inside as out, and the furniture is

all upon one plan. The floors are of square tiles, the chairs and

tables of black-looking wood with thin crooked legs and puppy feet.

The mantelpieces are wide and high, and have not only time-pieces and

cabbages sculptured over the front, but a real time-piece, which

makes a prodigious ticking, on the top in the middle, with a

flower-pot containing a cabbage standing on each extremity by way of

outrider. Between each cabbage and the time-piece, again, is a little

China man having a large stomach with a great round hole in it,

through which is seen the dial-plate of a watch.

The fireplaces are large and deep, with fierce crooked-looking

fire-dogs. There is constantly a rousing fire, and a huge pot over

it, full of sauer-kraut and pork, to which the good woman of the

house is always busy in attending. She is a little fat old lady, with

blue eyes and a red face, and wears a huge cap like a sugar-loaf,

ornamented with purple and yellow ribbons. Her dress is of

orange-colored linsey-woolsey, made very full behind and very short

in the waist -- and indeed very short in other respects, not reaching

below the middle of her leg. This is somewhat thick, and so are her

ankles, but she has a fine pair of green stockings to cover them. Her

shoes -- of pink leather -- are fastened each with a bunch of yellow

ribbons puckered up in the shape of a cabbage. In her left hand she

has a little heavy Dutch watch; in her right she wields a ladle for

the sauerkraut and pork. By her side there stands a fat tabby cat,

with a gilt toy-repeater tied to its tail, which "the boys" have

there fastened by way of a quiz.

The boys themselves are, all three of them, in the garden attending

the pig. They are each two feet in height. They have three-cornered

cocked hats, purple waistcoats reaching down to their thighs,

buckskin knee-breeches, red stockings, heavy shoes with big silver

buckles, long surtout coats with large buttons of mother-of-pearl.

Each, too, has a pipe in his mouth, and a little dumpy watch in his

right hand. He takes a puff and a look, and then a look and a puff.

The pig- which is corpulent and lazy -- is occupied now in picking up

the stray leaves that fall from the cabbages, and now in giving a

kick behind at the gilt repeater, which the urchins have also tied to

his tail in order to make him look as handsome as the cat.

Right at the front door, in a high-backed leather-bottomed armed

chair, with crooked legs and puppy feet like the tables, is seated

the old man of the house himself. He is an exceedingly puffy little

old gentleman, with big circular eyes and a huge double chin. His

dress resembles that of the boys -- and I need say nothing farther

about it. All the difference is, that his pipe is somewhat bigger

than theirs and he can make a greater smoke. Like them, he has a

watch, but he carries his watch in his pocket. To say the truth, he

has something of more importance than a watch to attend to -- and

what that is, I shall presently explain. He sits with his right leg

upon his left knee, wears a grave countenance, and always keeps one

of his eyes, at least, resolutely bent upon a certain remarkable

object in the centre of the plain.

This object is situated in the steeple of the House of the Town

Council. The Town Council are all very little, round, oily,

intelligent men, with big saucer eyes and fat double chins, and have

their coats much longer and their shoe-buckles much bigger than the

ordinary inhabitants of Vondervotteimittiss. Since my sojourn in the

borough, they have had several special meetings, and have adopted

these three important resolutions:

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

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

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

Above the session-room of the Council is the steeple, and in the

steeple is the belfry, where exists, and has existed time out of

mind, the pride and wonder of the village -- the great clock of the

borough of Vondervotteimittiss. And this is the object to which the

eyes of the old gentlemen are turned who sit in the leather-bottomed

arm-chairs.

The great clock has seven faces -- one in each of the seven sides of

the steeple -- so that it can be readily seen from all quarters. Its

faces are large and white, and its hands heavy and black. There is a

belfry-man whose sole duty is to attend to it; but this duty is the

most perfect of sinecures -- for the clock of Vondervotteimittis was

never yet known to have anything the matter with it. Until lately,

the bare supposition of such a thing was considered heretical. From

the remotest period of antiquity to which the archives have

reference, the hours have been regularly struck by the big bell. And,

indeed the case was just the same with all the other clocks and

watches in the borough. Never was such a place for keeping the true

time. When the large clapper thought proper to say "Twelve o'clock!"

all its obedient followers opened their throats simultaneously, and

responded like a very echo. In short, the good burghers were fond of

their sauer-kraut, but then they were proud of their clocks.

All people who hold sinecure offices are held in more or less

respect, and as the belfry -- man of Vondervotteimittiss has the most

perfect of sinecures, he is the most perfectly respected of any man

in the world. He is the chief dignitary of the borough, and the very

pigs look up to him with a sentiment of reverence. His coat-tail is

very far longer -- his pipe, his shoe -- buckles, his eyes, and his

stomach, very far bigger -- than those of any other old gentleman in

the village; and as to his chin, it is not only double, but triple.

I have thus painted the happy estate of Vondervotteimittiss: alas,

that so fair a picture should ever experience a reverse!

There has been long a saying among the wisest inhabitants, that "no

good can come from over the hills"; and it really seemed that the

words had in them something of the spirit of prophecy. It wanted five

minutes of noon, on the day before yesterday, when there appeared a

very odd-looking object on the summit of the ridge of the eastward.

Such an occurrence, of course, attracted universal attention, and

every little old gentleman who sat in a leather-bottomed arm-chair

turned one of his eyes with a stare of dismay upon the phenomenon,

still keeping the other upon the clock in the steeple.

By the time that it wanted only three minutes to noon, the droll

object in question was perceived to be a very diminutive

foreign-looking young man. He descended the hills at a great rate, so

that every body had soon a good look at him. He was really the most

finicky little personage that had ever been seen in

Vondervotteimittiss. His countenance was of a dark snuff-color, and

he had a long hooked nose, pea eyes, a wide mouth, and an excellent

set of teeth, which latter he seemed anxious of displaying, as he was

grinning from ear to ear. What with mustachios and whiskers, there

was none of the rest of his face to be seen. His head was uncovered,

and his hair neatly done up in papillotes. His dress was a

tight-fitting swallow-tailed black coat (from one of whose pockets

dangled a vast length of white handkerchief), black kerseymere

knee-breeches, black stockings, and stumpy-looking pumps, with huge

bunches of black satin ribbon for bows. Under one arm he carried a

huge chapeau-de-bras, and under the other a fiddle nearly five times

as big as himself. In his left hand was a gold snuff-box, from which,

as he capered down the hill, cutting all manner of fantastic steps,

he took snuff incessantly with an air of the greatest possible

self-satisfaction. God bless me! -- here was a sight for the honest

burghers of Vondervotteimittiss!

To speak plainly, the fellow had, in spite of his grinning, an

audacious and sinister kind of face; and as he curvetted right into

the village, the old stumpy appearance of his pumps excited no little

suspicion; and many a burgher who beheld him that day would have

given a trifle for a peep beneath the white cambric handkerchief

which hung so obtrusively from the pocket of his swallow-tailed coat.

But what mainly occasioned a righteous indignation was, that the

scoundrelly popinjay, while he cut a fandango here, and a whirligig

there, did not seem to have the remotest idea in the world of such a

thing as keeping time in his steps.

The good people of the borough had scarcely a chance, however, to get

their eyes thoroughly open, when, just as it wanted half a minute of

noon, the rascal bounced, as I say, right into the midst of them;

gave a chassez here, and a balancez there; and then, after a

pirouette and a pas-de-zephyr, pigeon-winged himself right up into

the belfry of the House of the Town Council, where the

wonder-stricken belfry-man sat smoking in a state of dignity and

dismay. But the little chap seized him at once by the nose; gave it a

swing and a pull; clapped the big chapeau de-bras upon his head;

knocked it down over his eyes and mouth; and then, lifting up the big

fiddle, beat him with it so long and so soundly, that what with the

belfry-man being so fat, and the fiddle being so hollow, you would

have sworn that there was a regiment of double-bass drummers all

beating the devil's tattoo up in the belfry of the steeple of

Vondervotteimittiss.

There is no knowing to what desperate act of vengeance this

unprincipled attack might have aroused the inhabitants, but for the

important fact that it now wanted only half a second of noon. The

bell was about to strike, and it was a matter of absolute and

pre-eminent necessity that every body should look well at his watch.

It was evident, however, that just at this moment the fellow in the

steeple was doing something that he had no business to do with the

clock. But as it now began to strike, nobody had any time to attend

to his manoeuvres, for they had all to count the strokes of the bell

as it sounded.

"One!" said the clock.

"Von!" echoed every little old gentleman in every leather-bottomed

arm-chair in Vondervotteimittiss. "Von!" said his watch also; "von!"

said the watch of his vrow; and "von!" said the watches of the boys,

and the little gilt repeaters on the tails of the cat and pig.

"Two!" continued the big bell; and

"Doo!" repeated all the repeaters.

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

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

others.

"Eleven!" said the big one.

"Eleben!" assented the little ones.

"Twelve!" said the bell.

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

"Und dvelf it is!" said all the little old gentlemen, putting up

their watches. But the big bell had not done with them yet.

"Thirteen!" said he.

"Der Teufel!" gasped the little old gentlemen, turning pale, dropping

their pipes, and putting down all their right legs from over their

left knees.

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

Dirteen o'clock!!"

Why attempt to describe the terrible scene which ensued? All

Vondervotteimittiss flew at once into a lamentable state of uproar.

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

for dis hour!"

"Vot is com'd to mein kraut?" screamed all the vrows, "It has been

done to rags for this hour!"

"Vot is cum'd to mein pipe?" swore all the little old gentlemen,

"Donder and Blitzen; it has been smoked out for dis hour!" -- and

they filled them up again in a great rage, and sinking back in their

arm-chairs, puffed away so fast and so fiercely that the whole valley

was immediately filled with impenetrable smoke.

Meantime the cabbages all turned very red in the face, and it seemed

as if old Nick himself had taken possession of every thing in the

shape of a timepiece. The clocks carved upon the furniture took to

dancing as if bewitched, while those upon the mantel-pieces could

scarcely contain themselves for fury, and kept such a continual

striking of thirteen, and such a frisking and wriggling of their

pendulums as was really horrible to see. But, worse than all, neither

the cats nor the pigs could put up any longer with the behavior of

the little repeaters tied to their tails, and resented it by

scampering all over the place, scratching and poking, and squeaking

and screeching, and caterwauling and squalling, and flying into the

faces, and running under the petticoats of the people, and creating

altogether the most abominable din and confusion which it is possible

for a reasonable person to conceive. And to make matters still more

distressing, the rascally little scape-grace in the steeple was

evidently exerting himself to the utmost. Every now and then one

might catch a glimpse of the scoundrel through the smoke. There he

sat in the belfry upon the belfry-man, who was lying flat upon his

back. In his teeth the villain held the bell-rope, which he kept

jerking about with his head, raising such a clatter that my ears ring

again even to think of it. On his lap lay the big fiddle, at which he

was scraping, out of all time and tune, with both hands, making a

great show, the nincompoop! of playing "Judy O'Flannagan and Paddy

O'Rafferty."

Affairs being thus miserably situated, I left the place in disgust,

and now appeal for aid to all lovers of correct time and fine kraut.

Let us proceed in a body to the borough, and restore the ancient

order of things in Vondervotteimittiss by ejecting that little fellow

from the steeple.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

LIONIZING

-------- all people went

Upon their ten toes in wild wonderment.

--_ Bishop Hall's Satires_.

I AM - that is to say I was - a great man; but I am neither the

author of Junius nor the man in the mask; for my name, I believe, is

Robert Jones, and I was born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge.

The first action of my life was the taking hold of my nose with

both hands. My mother saw this and called me a genius: my father wept

for joy and presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I mastered

before I was breeched.

I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon came to

understand that, provided a man had a nose sufficiently conspicuous

he might, by merely following it, arrive at a Lionship. But my

attention was not confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my

proboscis a couple of pulls and swallowed a half dozen of drams.

When I came of age my father asked me, one day, If I would step

with him into his study.

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

your existence?"

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

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

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

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

nose?"

"A nose, my father;" I replied, greatly softened, "has been

variously defined by about a thousand different authors." [Here I

pulled out my watch.] "It is now noon or thereabouts - we shall have

time enough to get through with them all before midnight. To commence

then: - The nose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance --

that bump - that excrescence - that - "

"Will do, Robert," interrupted the good old gentleman. "I am

thunderstruck at the extent of your information - I am positively --

upon my soul." [Here he closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his

heart.] "Come here!" [Here he took me by the arm.] "Your education

may now be considered as finished - it is high time you should

scuffle for yourself - and you cannot do a better thing than merely

follow your nose -- so - so - so - " [Here he kicked me down stairs

and out of the door] - "so get out of my house, and God bless you!"

As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered this

accident rather fortunate than otherwise. I resolved to be guided by

the paternal advice. I determined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull

or two upon the spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology forthwith.

All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar.

"Wonderful genius!" said the Quarterly.

"Superb physiologist!" said the Westminster.

"Clever fellow!" said the Foreign.

"Fine writer!" said the Edinburgh.

"Profound thinker!" said the Dublin.

"Great man!" said Bentley.

"Divine soul!" said Fraser.

"One of us!" said Blackwood.

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

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

"Where can he be?" said little Miss Bas-Bleu. - But I paid these

people no attention whatever - I just stepped into the shop of an

artist.

The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the

Marquis of So-and-So was holding the Duchess' poodle; the Earl of

This-and-That was flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of

Touch-me-Not was leaning upon the back of her chair.

I approached the artist and turned up my nose.

"Oh, beautiful!" sighed her Grace.

"Oh my!" lisped the Marquis.

"Oh, shocking!" groaned the Earl.

"Oh, abominable!" growled his Royal Highness.

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

"For his nose!" shouted her Grace.

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

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

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"Beautiful!" said he, entranced.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

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

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

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

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

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

microscope.

"None," said I, turning it up.

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

of the manoeuvre.

"A thousand pounds," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he.

"Precisely," said I.

"A thousand pounds?" said he.

"Just so," said I.

"You shall have them," said he. "What a piece of virtu!" So he drew

me a check upon the spot, and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged

rooms in Jermyn street, and sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition

of the "Nosology," with a portrait of the proboscis. - That sad

little rake, the Prince of Wales, invited me to dinner.

We were all lions and recherchés.

There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Porphyry, Iamblicus,

Plotinus, Proclus, Hierocles, Maximus Tyrius, and Syrianus.

There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted Turgot, Price,

Priestly, Condorcet, De Stael, and the "Ambitious Student in Ill

Health."

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

philosophers, and that all philosophers were fools.

There was Æstheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity, and atoms;

bi-part and pre-existent soul; affinity and discord; primitive

intelligence and homöomeria.

There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Eusebius and Arianus;

heresy and the Council of Nice; Puseyism and consubstantialism;

Homousios and Homouioisios.

There was Fricassée from the Rocher de Cancale. He mentioned Muriton

of red tongue; cauliflowers with velouté sauce; veal à la St.

Menehoult; marinade à la St. Florentin; and orange jellies en

mosäiques.

There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour and Markbrünnen;

upon Mousseux and Chambertin; upon Richbourg and St. George; upon

Haubrion, Leonville, and Medoc; upon Barac and Preignac; upon Grâve,

upon Sauterne, upon Lafitte, and upon St. Peray. He shook his head at

Clos de Vougeot, and told, with his eyes shut, the difference between

Sherry and Amontillado.

There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He discoursed of

Cimabué, Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argostino - of the gloom of

Caravaggio, of the amenity of Albano, of the colors of Titian, of the

frows of Rubens, and of the waggeries of Jan Steen.

There was the President of the Fum-Fudge University. He was of

opinion that the moon was called Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt,

Dian in Rome, and Artemis in Greece. There was a Grand Turk from

Stamboul. He could not help thinking that the angels were horses,

cocks, and bulls; that somebody in the sixth heaven had seventy

thousand heads; and that the earth was supported by a sky-blue cow

with an incalculable number of green horns.

There was Delphinus Polyglott. He told us what had become of the

eighty-three lost tragedies of Æschylus; of the fifty-four orations

of Isæus; of the three hundred and ninety-one speeches of Lysias; of

the hundred and eighty treatises of Theophrastus; of the eighth book

of the conic sections of Apollonius; of Pindar's hymns and

dithyrambics; and of the five and forty tragedies of Homer Junior.

There was Ferdinand Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He informed us all about

internal fires and tertiary formations; about äeriforms, fluidiforms,

and solidiforms; about quartz and marl; about schist and schorl;

about gypsum and trap; about talc and calc; about blende and

horn-blende; about mica-slate and pudding-stone; about cyanite and

lepidolite; about hematite and tremolite; about antimony and

calcedony; about manganese and whatever you please.

There was myself. I spoke of myself; - of myself, of myself, of

myself; - of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up my

nose, and I spoke of myself.

"Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince.

"Superb!" said his guests: - and next morning her Grace of

Bless-my-Soul paid me a visit.

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

under the chin.

"Upon honor," said I.

"Nose and all?" she asked.

"As I live," I replied.

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

"Dear Duchess, with all my heart."

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

"Every bit of it, my love," said I: so I gave it a twist or two, and

found myself at Almack's. The rooms were crowded to suffocation.

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

"He is coming!" said somebody farther up.

"He is coming!" said somebody farther still.

"He is come!" exclaimed the Duchess. "He is come, the little love!" -

and, seizing me firmly by both hands, she kissed me thrice upon the

nose. A marked sensation immediately ensued.

"Diavolo!" cried Count Capricornutti.

"Dios guarda!" muttered Don Stiletto.

"Mille tonnerres!" ejaculated the Prince de Grenouille.

"Tousand teufel!" growled the Elector of Bluddennuff.

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

Bluddennuff.

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

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

This was all that could be desired. We exchanged cards. At

Chalk-Farm, the next morning, I shot off his nose - and then called

upon my friends.

"Bête!" said the first.

"Fool!" said the second.

"Dolt!" said the third.

"Ass!" said the fourth.

"Ninny!" said the fifth.

"Noodle!" said the sixth.

"Be off!" said the seventh.

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

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

"My son," he replied, "it is still the study of Nosology; but in

hitting the Elector upon the nose you have overshot your mark. You

have a fine nose, it is true; but then Bluddennuff has none. You are

damned, and he has become the hero of the day. I grant you that in

Fum-Fudge the greatness of a lion is in proportion to the size of his

proboscis - but, good heavens! there is no competing with a lion who

has no proboscis at all."

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

X-ING A PARAGRAB

AS it is well known that the 'wise men' came 'from the East,' and as

Mr. Touch-and-go Bullet-head came from the East, it follows that Mr.

Bullet-head was a wise man; and if collateral proof of the matter be

needed, here we have it -- Mr. B. was an editor. Irascibility was his

sole foible, for in fact the obstinacy of which men accused him was

anything but his foible, since he justly considered it his forte. It

was his strong point -- his virtue; and it would have required all

the logic of a Brownson to convince him that it was 'anything else.'

I have shown that Touch-and-go Bullet-head was a wise man; and the

only occasion on which he did not prove infallible, was when,

abandoning that legitimate home for all wise men, the East, he

migrated to the city of Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, or some place

of a similar title, out West.

I must do him the justice to say, however, that when he made up his

mind finally to settle in that town, it was under the impression that

no newspaper, and consequently no editor, existed in that particular

section of the country. In establishing 'The Tea-Pot' he expected to

have the field all to himself. I feel confident he never would have

dreamed of taking up his residence in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis

had he been aware that, in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, there lived

a gentleman named John Smith (if I rightly remember), who for many

years had there quietly grown fat in editing and publishing the

'Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis Gazette.' It was solely, therefore, on

account of having been misinformed, that Mr. Bullet-head found

himself in Alex-suppose we call it Nopolis, 'for short' -- but, as he

did find himself there, he determined to keep up his character for

obst -- for firmness, and remain. So remain he did; and he did more;

he unpacked his press, type, etc., etc., rented an office exactly

opposite to that of the 'Gazette,' and, on the third morning after

his arrival, issued the first number of 'The Alexan' -- that is to

say, of 'The Nopolis Tea-Pot' -- as nearly as I can recollect, this

was the name of the new paper.

The leading article, I must admit, was brilliant -- not to say

severe. It was especially bitter about things in general -- and as

for the editor of 'The Gazette,' he was torn all to pieces in

particular. Some of Bullethead's remarks were really so fiery that I

have always, since that time, been forced to look upon John Smith,

who is still alive, in the light of a salamander. I cannot pretend to

give all the 'Tea-Pot's' paragraphs verbatim, but one of them runs

thus:

'Oh, yes! -- Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! The editor over the way

is a genius -- O, my! Oh, goodness, gracious! -- what is this world

coming to? Oh, tempora! Oh, Moses!'

A philippic at once so caustic and so classical, alighted like a

bombshell among the hitherto peaceful citizens of Nopolis. Groups of

excited individuals gathered at the corners of the streets. Every one

awaited, with heartfelt anxiety, the reply of the dignified Smith.

Next morning it appeared as follows:

'We quote from "The Tea-Pot" of yesterday the subjoined paragraph:

"Oh, yes! Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! Oh, my! Oh, goodness! Oh,

tempora! Oh, Moses!" Why, the fellow is all O! That accounts for his

reasoning in a circle, and explains why there is neither beginning

nor end to him, nor to anything he says. We really do not believe the

vagabond can write a word that hasn't an O in it. Wonder if this

O-ing is a habit of his? By-the-by, he came away from Down-East in a

great hurry. Wonder if he O's as much there as he does here? "O! it

is pitiful."'

The indignation of Mr. Bullet-head at these scandalous insinuations,

I shall not attempt to describe. On the eel-skinning principle,

however, he did not seem to be so much incensed at the attack upon

his integrity as one might have imagined. It was the sneer at his

style that drove him to desperation. What! -- he Touch-and-go

Bullet-head! -- not able to write a word without an O in it! He would

soon let the jackanapes see that he was mistaken. Yes! he would let

him see how much he was mistaken, the puppy! He, Touch-and-go

Bullet-head, of Frogpondium, would let Mr. John Smith perceive that

he, Bullet-head, could indite, if it so pleased him, a whole

paragraph -- aye! a whole article -- in which that contemptible vowel

should not once -- not even once -- make its appearance. But no; --

that would be yielding a point to the said John Smith. He,

Bullet-head, would make no alteration in his style, to suit the

caprices of any Mr. Smith in Christendom. Perish so vile a thought!

The O forever; He would persist in the O. He would be as O-wy as O-wy

could be.

Burning with the chivalry of this determination, the great

Touch-and-go, in the next 'Tea-Pot,' came out merely with this simple

but resolute paragraph, in reference to this unhappy affair:

'The editor of the "Tea-Pot" has the honor of advising the editor of

the "Gazette" that he (the "Tea-Pot") will take an opportunity in

tomorrow morning's paper, of convincing him (the "Gazette") that he

(the "Tea-Pot") both can and will be his own master, as regards

style; he (the "Tea-Pot") intending to show him (the "Gazette") the

supreme, and indeed the withering contempt with which the criticism

of him (the "Gazette") inspires the independent bosom of him (the

"TeaPot") by composing for the especial gratification (?) of him (the

"Gazette") a leading article, of some extent, in which the beautiful

vowel -- the emblem of Eternity -- yet so offensive to the

hyper-exquisite delicacy of him (the "Gazette") shall most certainly

not be avoided by his (the "Gazette's") most obedient, humble

servant, the "Tea-Pot." "So much for Buckingham!"'

In fulfilment of the awful threat thus darkly intimated rather than

decidedly enunciated, the great Bullet-head, turning a deaf ear to

all entreaties for 'copy,' and simply requesting his foreman to 'go

to the d-l,' when he (the foreman) assured him (the 'Tea-Pot'!) that

it was high time to 'go to press': turning a deaf ear to everything,

I say, the great Bullet-head sat up until day-break, consuming the

midnight oil, and absorbed in the composition of the really

unparalleled paragraph, which follows:-

'So ho, John! how now? Told you so, you know. Don't crow, another

time, before you're out of the woods! Does your mother know you're

out? Oh, no, no! -- so go home at once, now, John, to your odious old

woods of Concord! Go home to your woods, old owl -- go! You won't!

Oh, poh, poh, don't do so! You've got to go, you know! So go at once,

and don't go slow, for nobody owns you here, you know! Oh! John,

John, if you don't go you're no homo -- no! You're only a fowl, an

owl, a cow, a sow, -- a doll, a poll; a poor, old,

good-for-nothing-to-nobody, log, dog, hog, or frog, come out of a

Concord bog. Cool, now -- cool! Do be cool, you fool! None of your

crowing, old cock! Don't frown so -- don't! Don't hollo, nor howl nor

growl, nor bow-wow-wow! Good Lord, John, how you do look! Told you

so, you know -- but stop rolling your goose of an old poll about so,

and go and drown your sorrows in a bowl!'

Exhausted, very naturally, by so stupendous an effort, the great

Touch-and-go could attend to nothing farther that night. Firmly,

composedly, yet with an air of conscious power, he handed his MS. to

the devil in waiting, and then, walking leisurely home, retired, with

ineffable dignity to bed.

Meantime the devil, to whom the copy was entrusted, ran up stairs to

his 'case,' in an unutterable hurry, and forthwith made a

commencement at 'setting' the MS. 'up.'

In the first place, of course, -- as the opening word was 'So,' -- he

made a plunge into the capital S hole and came out in triumph with a

capital S. Elated by this success, he immediately threw himself upon

the little-o box with a blindfold impetuosity -- but who shall

describe his horror when his fingers came up without the anticipated

letter in their clutch? who shall paint his astonishment and rage at

perceiving, as he rubbed his knuckles, that he had been only thumping

them to no purpose, against the bottom of an empty box. Not a single

little-o was in the little-o hole; and, glancing fearfully at the

capital-O partition, he found that to his extreme terror, in a

precisely similar predicament. Awe -- stricken, his first impulse was

to rush to the foreman.

'Sir!' said he, gasping for breath, 'I can't never set up nothing

without no o's.'

'What do you mean by that?' growled the foreman, who was in a very

ill humor at being kept so late.

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

little un!'

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

'I don't know, sir,' said the boy, 'but one of them ere "G'zette"

devils is bin prowling 'bout here all night, and I spect he's gone

and cabbaged 'em every one.'

'Dod rot him! I haven't a doubt of it,' replied the foreman, getting

purple with rage 'but I tell you what you do, Bob, that's a good boy

-- you go over the first chance you get and hook every one of their

i's and (d-n them!) their izzards.'

'Jist so,' replied Bob, with a wink and a frown -- 'I'll be into 'em,

I'll let 'em know a thing or two; but in de meantime, that ere

paragrab? Mus go in to-night, you know -- else there'll be the d-l to

pay, and-'

'And not a bit of pitch hot,' interrupted the foreman, with a deep

sigh, and an emphasis on the 'bit.' 'Is it a long paragraph, Bob?'

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

'Ah, well, then! do the best you can with it! We must get to press,"

said the foreman, who was over head and ears in work; 'just stick in

some other letter for o; nobody's going to read the fellow's trash

anyhow.'

'Wery well,' replied Bob, 'here goes it!' and off he hurried to his

case, muttering as he went: 'Considdeble vell, them ere expressions,

perticcler for a man as doesn't swar. So I's to gouge out all their

eyes, eh? and d-n all their gizzards! Vell! this here's the chap as

is just able for to do it.' The fact is that although Bob was but

twelve years old and four feet high, he was equal to any amount of

fight, in a small way.

The exigency here described is by no means of rare occurrence in

printing-offices; and I cannot tell how to account for it, but the

fact is indisputable, that when the exigency does occur, it almost

always happens that x is adopted as a substitute for the letter

deficient. The true reason, perhaps, is that x is rather the most

superabundant letter in the cases, or at least was so in the old

times -- long enough to render the substitution in question an

habitual thing with printers. As for Bob, he would have considered it

heretical to employ any other character, in a case of this kind, than

the x to which he had been accustomed.

'I shell have to x this ere paragrab,' said he to himself, as he read

it over in astonishment, 'but it's jest about the awfulest o-wy

paragrab I ever did see': so x it he did, unflinchingly, and to press

it went x-ed.

Next morning the population of Nopolis were taken all aback by

reading in 'The Tea-Pot,' the following extraordinary leader:

'Sx hx, Jxhn! hxw nxw? Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw. Dxn't crxw, anxther

time, befxre yxu're xut xf the wxxds! Dxes yxur mxther knxw yxu're

xut? Xh, nx, nx! -- sx gx hxme at xnce, nxw, Jxhn, tx yxur xdixus xld

wxxds xf Cxncxrd! Gx hxme tx yxur wxxds, xld xwl, -- gx! Yxu wxn't?

Xh, pxh, pxh, Jxhn, dxn't dx sx! Yxu've gxt tx gx, yxu knxw, sx gx at

xnce, and dxn't gx slxw; fxr nxbxdy xwns yxu here, yxu knxw. Xh,

Jxhn, Jxhn, Jxhn, if yxu dxn't gx yxu're nx hxmx -- nx! Yxu're xnly a

fxwl, an xwl; a cxw, a sxw; a dxll, a pxll; a pxxr xld

gxxd-fxr-nxthing-tx-nxbxdy, lxg, dxg, hxg, xr frxg, cxme xut xf a

Cxncxrd bxg. Cxxl, nxw -- cxxl! Dx be cxxl, yxu fxxl! Nxne xf yxur

crxwing, xld cxck! Dxn't frxwn sx -- dxn't! Dxn't hxllx, nxr hxwl,

nxr grxwl, nxr bxw-wxw-wxw! Gxxd Lxrd, Jxhn, hxw yxu dx lxxk! Txld

yxu sx, yxu knxw, -- but stxp rxlling yxur gxxse xf an xld pxll abxut

sx, and gx and drxwn yxur sxrrxws in a bxwl!'

The uproar occasioned by this mystical and cabalistical article, is

not to be conceived. The first definite idea entertained by the

populace was, that some diabolical treason lay concealed in the

hieroglyphics; and there was a general rush to Bullet-head's

residence, for the purpose of riding him on a rail; but that

gentleman was nowhere to be found. He had vanished, no one could tell

how; and not even the ghost of him has ever been seen since.

Unable to discover its legitimate object, the popular fury at length

subsided; leaving behind it, by way of sediment, quite a medley of

opinion about this unhappy affair.

One gentleman thought the whole an X-ellent joke.

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

fancy.

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

A fourth could only suppose it the Yankee's design to X-press, in a

general way, his X-asperation.

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

That Bullet-head had been driven to an extremity, was clear to all;

and in fact, since that editor could not be found, there was some

talk about lynching the other one.

The more common conclusion, however, was that the affair was, simply,

X-traordinary and in-X-plicable. Even the town mathematician

confessed that he could make nothing of so dark a problem. X, every.

body knew, was an unknown quantity; but in this case (as he properly

observed), there was an unknown quantity of X.

The opinion of Bob, the devil (who kept dark about his having 'X-ed

the paragrab'), did not meet with so much attention as I think it

deserved, although it was very openly and very fearlessly expressed.

He said that, for his part, he had no doubt about the matter at all,

that it was a clear case, that Mr. Bullet-head 'never could be

persuaded fur to drink like other folks, but vas continually

a-svigging o' that ere blessed XXX ale, and as a naiteral

consekvence, it just puffed him up savage, and made him X (cross) in

the X-treme.'

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

METZENGERSTEIN

Pestis eram vivus - moriens tua mors ero.

-- _Martin Luther_

HORROR and fatality have been stalking abroad in all ages. Why

then give a date to this story I have to tell? Let it suffice to say,

that at the period of which I speak, there existed, in the interior

of Hungary, a settled although hidden belief in the doctrines of the

Metempsychosis. Of the doctrines themselves - that is, of their

falsity, or of their probability - I say nothing. I assert, however,

that much of our incredulity - as La Bruyere says of all our

unhappiness - "_vient de ne pouvoir être seuls_." {*1}

But there are some points in the Hungarian superstition which

were fast verging to absurdity. They - the Hungarians - differed very

essentially from their Eastern authorities. For example, "_The

soul_," said the former - I give the words of an acute and

intelligent Parisian - "_ne demeure qu'un seul fois dans un corps

sensible: au reste - un cheval, un chien, un homme meme, n'est que la

ressemblance peu tangible de ces animaux._"

The families of Berlifitzing and Metzengerstein had been at

variance for centuries. Never before were two houses so illustrious,

mutually embittered by hostility so deadly. The origin of this enmity

seems to be found in the words of an ancient prophecy - "A lofty name

shall have a fearful fall when, as the rider over his horse, the

mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph over the immortality of

Berlifitzing."

To be sure the words themselves had little or no meaning. But

more trivial causes have given rise - and that no long while ago - to

consequences equally eventful. Besides, the estates, which were

contiguous, had long exercised a rival influence in the affairs of a

busy government. Moreover, near neighbors are seldom friends; and the

inhabitants of the Castle Berlifitzing might look, from their lofty

buttresses, into the very windows of the palace Metzengerstein. Least

of all had the more than feudal magnificence, thus discovered, a

tendency to allay the irritable feelings of the less ancient and less

wealthy Berlifitzings. What wonder then, that the words, however

silly, of that prediction, should have succeeded in setting and

keeping at variance two families already predisposed to quarrel by

every instigation of hereditary jealousy? The prophecy seemed to

imply - if it implied anything - a final triumph on the part of the

already more powerful house; and was of course remembered with the

more bitter animosity by the weaker and less influential.

Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although loftily descended, was, at

the epoch of this narrative, an infirm and doting old man, remarkable

for nothing but an inordinate and inveterate personal antipathy to

the family of his rival, and so passionate a love of horses, and of

hunting, that neither bodily infirmity, great age, nor mental

incapacity, prevented his daily participation in the dangers of the

chase.

Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other hand, not yet

Mary, followed him quickly after. Frederick was, at that time, in his

fifteenth year. In a city, fifteen years are no long period - a child

may be still a child in his third lustrum: but in a wilderness - in

so magnificent a wilderness as that old principality, fifteen years

have a far deeper meaning.

From some peculiar circumstances attending the administration of

his father, the young Baron, at the decease of the former, entered

immediately upon his vast possessions. Such estates were seldom held

before by a nobleman of Hungary. His castles were without number. The

chief in point of splendor and extent was the "Chateau

Metzengerstein." The boundary line of his dominions was never clearly

defined; but his principal park embraced a circuit of fifty miles.

Upon the succession of a proprietor so young, with a character so

well known, to a fortune so unparalleled, little speculation was

afloat in regard to his probable course of conduct. And, indeed, for

the space of three days, the behavior of the heir out-heroded Herod,

and fairly surpassed the expectations of his most enthusiastic

admirers. Shameful debaucheries - flagrant treacheries - unheard-of

atrocities - gave his trembling vassals quickly to understand that no

servile submission on their part - no punctilios of conscience on his

own - were thenceforward to prove any security against the

remorseless fangs of a petty Caligula. On the night of the fourth

day, the stables of the castle Berlifitzing were discovered to be on

fire; and the unanimous opinion of the neighborhood added the crime

of the incendiary to the already hideous list of the Baron's

misdemeanors and enormities.

But during the tumult occasioned by this occurrence, the young

nobleman himself sat apparently buried in meditation, in a vast and

desolate upper apartment of the family palace of Metzengerstein. The

rich although faded tapestry hangings which swung gloomily upon the

walls, represented the shadowy and majestic forms of a thousand

illustrious ancestors. _Here_, rich-ermined priests, and pontifical

dignitaries, familiarly seated with the autocrat and the sovereign,

put a veto on the wishes of a temporal king, or restrained with the

fiat of papal supremacy the rebellious sceptre of the Arch-enemy.

_There_, the dark, tall statures of the Princes Metzengerstein -

their muscular war-coursers plunging over the carcasses of fallen

foes - startled the steadiest nerves with their vigorous expression;

and _here_, again, the voluptuous and swan-like figures of the dames

of days gone by, floated away in the mazes of an unreal dance to the

strains of imaginary melody.

But as the Baron listened, or affected to listen, to the

gradually increasing uproar in the stables of Berlifitzing - or

perhaps pondered upon some more novel, some more decided act of

audacity - his eyes became unwittingly rivetted to the figure of an

enormous, and unnaturally colored horse, represented in the tapestry

as belonging to a Saracen ancestor of the family of his rival. The

horse itself, in the foreground of the design, stood motionless and

statue-like - while farther back, its discomfited rider perished by

the dagger of a Metzengerstein.

On Frederick's lip arose a fiendish expression, as he became

aware of the direction which his glance had, without his

consciousness, assumed. Yet he did not remove it. On the contrary, he

could by no means account for the overwhelming anxiety which appeared

falling like a pall upon his senses. It was with difficulty that he

reconciled his dreamy and incoherent feelings with the certainty of

being awake. The longer he gazed the more absorbing became the spell

- the more impossible did it appear that he could ever withdraw his

glance from the fascination of that tapestry. But the tumult without

becoming suddenly more violent, with a compulsory exertion he

diverted his attention to the glare of ruddy light thrown full by the

flaming stables upon the windows of the apartment.

The action, however, was but momentary, his gaze returned

mechanically to the wall. To his extreme horror and astonishment, the

head of the gigantic steed had, in the meantime, altered its

position. The neck of the animal, before arched, as if in compassion,

over the prostrate body of its lord, was now extended, at full

length, in the direction of the Baron. The eyes, before invisible,

now wore an energetic and human expression, while they gleamed with a

fiery and unusual red; and the distended lips of the apparently

enraged horse left in full view his gigantic and disgusting teeth.

Stupified with terror, the young nobleman tottered to the door.

As he threw it open, a flash of red light, streaming far into the

chamber, flung his shadow with a clear outline against the quivering

tapestry, and he shuddered to perceive that shadow - as he staggered

awhile upon the threshold - assuming the exact position, and

precisely filling up the contour, of the relentless and triumphant

murderer of the Saracen Berlifitzing.

To lighten the depression of his spirits, the Baron hurried into

the open air. At the principal gate of the palace he encountered

three equerries. With much difficulty, and at the imminent peril of

their lives, they were restraining the convulsive plunges of a

gigantic and fiery-colored horse.

"Whose horse? Where did you get him?" demanded the youth, in a

querulous and husky tone of voice, as he became instantly aware that

the mysterious steed in the tapestried chamber was the very

counterpart of the furious animal before his eyes.

"He is your own property, sire," replied one of the equerries,

"at least he is claimed by no other owner. We caught him flying, all

smoking and foaming with rage, from the burning stables of the Castle

Berlifitzing. Supposing him to have belonged to the old Count's stud

of foreign horses, we led him back as an estray. But the grooms there

disclaim any title to the creature; which is strange, since he bears

evident marks of having made a narrow escape from the flames.

"The letters W. V. B. are also branded very distinctly on his

forehead," interrupted a second equerry, "I supposed them, of course,

to be the initials of Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing - but all at the

castle are positive in denying any knowledge of the horse."

"Extremely singular!" said the young Baron, with a musing air,

and apparently unconscious of the meaning of his words. "He is, as

you say, a remarkable horse - a prodigious horse! although, as you

very justly observe, of a suspicious and untractable character, let

him be mine, however," he added, after a pause, "perhaps a rider like

Frederick of Metzengerstein, may tame even the devil from the stables

of Berlifitzing."

"You are mistaken, my lord; the horse, as I think we mentioned,

is _not_ from the stables of the Count. If such had been the case, we

know our duty better than to bring him into the presence of a noble

of your family."

"True!" observed the Baron, dryly, and at that instant a page of

the bedchamber came from the palace with a heightened color, and a

precipitate step. He whispered into his master's ear an account of

the sudden disappearance of a small portion of the tapestry, in an

apartment which he designated; entering, at the same time, into

particulars of a minute and circumstantial character; but from the

low tone of voice in which these latter were communicated, nothing

escaped to gratify the excited curiosity of the equerries.

The young Frederick, during the conference, seemed agitated by a

variety of emotions. He soon, however, recovered his composure, and

an expression of determined malignancy settled upon his countenance,

as he gave peremptory orders that a certain chamber should be

immediately locked up, and the key placed in his own possession.

"Have you heard of the unhappy death of the old hunter

Berlifitzing?" said one of his vassals to the Baron, as, after the

departure of the page, the huge steed which that nobleman had adopted

as his own, plunged and curvetted, with redoubled fury, down the long

avenue which extended from the chateau to the stables of

Metzengerstein.

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

say you?"

"It is indeed true, my lord; and, to a noble of your name, will

be, I imagine, no unwelcome intelligence."

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

died he?"

"In his rash exertions to rescue a favorite portion of his

hunting stud, he has himself perished miserably in the flames."

"I-n-d-e-e-d-!" ejaculated the Baron, as if slowly and

deliberately impressed with the truth of some exciting idea.

"Indeed;" repeated the vassal.

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

chateau.

From this date a marked alteration took place in the outward

demeanor of the dissolute young Baron Frederick Von Metzengerstein.

Indeed, his behavior disappointed every expectation, and proved

little in accordance with the views of many a manoeuvering mamma;

while his habits and manner, still less than formerly, offered any

thing congenial with those of the neighboring aristocracy. He was

never to be seen beyond the limits of his own domain, and, in this

wide and social world, was utterly companionless - unless, indeed,

that unnatural, impetuous, and fiery-colored horse, which he

henceforward continually bestrode, had any mysterious right to the

title of his friend.

Numerous invitations on the part of the neighborhood for a long

time, however, periodically came in. "Will the Baron honor our

festivals with his presence?" "Will the Baron join us in a hunting of

the boar?" - "Metzengerstein does not hunt;" "Metzengerstein will not

attend," were the haughty and laconic answers.

These repeated insults were not to be endured by an imperious

nobility. Such invitations became less cordial - less frequent - in

time they ceased altogether. The widow of the unfortunate Count

Berlifitzing was even heard to express a hope "that the Baron might

be at home when he did not wish to be at home, since he disdained the

company of his equals; and ride when he did not wish to ride, since

he preferred the society of a horse." This to be sure was a very

silly explosion of hereditary pique; and merely proved how singularly

unmeaning our sayings are apt to become, when we desire to be

unusually energetic.

The charitable, nevertheless, attributed the alteration in the

conduct of the young nobleman to the natural sorrow of a son for the

untimely loss of his parents - forgetting, however, his atrocious and

reckless behavior during the short period immediately succeeding that

bereavement. Some there were, indeed, who suggested a too haughty

idea of self-consequence and dignity. Others again (among them may be

mentioned the family physician) did not hesitate in speaking of

morbid melancholy, and hereditary ill-health; while dark hints, of a

more equivocal nature, were current among the multitude.

Indeed, the Baron's perverse attachment to his lately-acquired

charger - an attachment which seemed to attain new strength from

every fresh example of the animal's ferocious and demon-like

propensities - at length became, in the eyes of all reasonable men, a

hideous and unnatural fervor. In the glare of noon - at the dead hour

of night - in sickness or in health - in calm or in tempest - the

young Metzengerstein seemed rivetted to the saddle of that colossal

horse, whose intractable audacities so well accorded with his own

spirit.

There were circumstances, moreover, which coupled with late

events, gave an unearthly and portentous character to the mania of

the rider, and to the capabilities of the steed. The space passed

over in a single leap had been accurately measured, and was found to

exceed, by an astounding difference, the wildest expectations of the

most imaginative. The Baron, besides, had no particular _name_ for

the animal, although all the rest in his collection were

distinguished by characteristic appellations. His stable, too, was

appointed at a distance from the rest; and with regard to grooming

and other necessary offices, none but the owner in person had

ventured to officiate, or even to enter the enclosure of that

particular stall. It was also to be observed, that although the three

grooms, who had caught the steed as he fled from the conflagration at

Berlifitzing, had succeeded in arresting his course, by means of a

chain-bridle and noose - yet no one of the three could with any

certainty affirm that he had, during that dangerous struggle, or at

any period thereafter, actually placed his hand upon the body of the

beast. Instances of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor of a noble

and high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of exciting

unreasonable attention - especially among men who, daily trained to

the labors of the chase, might appear well acquainted with the

sagacity of a horse - but there were certain circumstances which

intruded themselves per force upon the most skeptical and phlegmatic;

and it is said there were times when the animal caused the gaping

crowd who stood around to recoil in horror from the deep and

impressive meaning of his terrible stamp - times when the young

Metzengerstein turned pale and shrunk away from the rapid and

searching expression of his earnest and human-looking eye.

Among all the retinue of the Baron, however, none were found to

doubt the ardor of that extraordinary affection which existed on the

part of the young nobleman for the fiery qualities of his horse; at

least, none but an insignificant and misshapen little page, whose

deformities were in everybody's way, and whose opinions were of the

least possible importance. He - if his ideas are worth mentioning at

all - had the effrontery to assert that his master never vaulted into

the saddle without an unaccountable and almost imperceptible shudder,

and that, upon his return from every long-continued and habitual

ride, an expression of triumphant malignity distorted every muscle in

his countenance.

One tempestuous night, Metzengerstein, awaking from a heavy

slumber, descended like a maniac from his chamber, and, mounting in

hot haste, bounded away into the mazes of the forest. An occurrence

so common attracted no particular attention, but his return was

looked for with intense anxiety on the part of his domestics, when,

after some hours' absence, the stupendous and magnificent battlements

of the Chateau Metzengerstein, were discovered crackling and rocking

to their very foundation, under the influence of a dense and livid

mass of ungovernable fire.

As the flames, when first seen, had already made so terrible a

progress that all efforts to save any portion of the building were

evidently futile, the astonished neighborhood stood idly around in

silent and pathetic wonder. But a new and fearful object soon

rivetted the attention of the multitude, and proved how much more

intense is the excitement wrought in the feelings of a crowd by the

contemplation of human agony, than that brought about by the most

appalling spectacles of inanimate matter.

Up the long avenue of aged oaks which led from the forest to the

main entrance of the Chateau Metzengerstein, a steed, bearing an

unbonneted and disordered rider, was seen leaping with an impetuosity

which outstripped the very Demon of the Tempest.

The career of the horseman was indisputably, on his own part,

uncontrollable. The agony of his countenance, the convulsive struggle

of his frame, gave evidence of superhuman exertion: but no sound,

save a solitary shriek, escaped from his lacerated lips, which were

bitten through and through in the intensity of terror. One instant,

and the clattering of hoofs resounded sharply and shrilly above the

roaring of the flames and the shrieking of the winds - another, and,

clearing at a single plunge the gate-way and the moat, the steed

bounded far up the tottering staircases of the palace, and, with its

rider, disappeared amid the whirlwind of chaotic fire.

The fury of the tempest immediately died away, and a dead calm

sullenly succeeded. A white flame still enveloped the building like a

shroud, and, streaming far away into the quiet atmosphere, shot forth

a glare of preternatural light; while a cloud of smoke settled

heavily over the battlements in the distinct colossal figure of - _a

horse_.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE SYSTEM OF DOCTOR TARR AND PROFESSOR FETHER

DURING the autumn of 18--, while on a tour through the extreme

southern provinces of France, my route led me within a few miles of a

certain Maison de Sante or private mad-house, about which I had heard

much in Paris from my medical friends. As I had never visited a place

of the kind, I thought the opportunity too good to be lost; and so

proposed to my travelling companion (a gentleman with whom I had made

casual acquaintance a few days before) that we should turn aside, for

an hour or so, and look through the establishment. To this he

objected -- pleading haste in the first place, and, in the second, a

very usual horror at the sight of a lunatic. He begged me, however,

not to let any mere courtesy towards himself interfere with the

gratification of my curiosity, and said that he would ride on

leisurely, so that I might overtake him during the day, or, at all

events, during the next. As he bade me good-bye, I bethought me that

there might be some difficulty in obtaining access to the premises,

and mentioned my fears on this point. He replied that, in fact,

unless I had personal knowledge of the superintendent, Monsieur

Maillard, or some credential in the way of a letter, a difficulty

might be found to exist, as the regulations of these private

mad-houses were more rigid than the public hospital laws. For

himself, he added, he had, some years since, made the acquaintance of

Maillard, and would so far assist me as to ride up to the door and

introduce me; although his feelings on the subject of lunacy would

not permit of his entering the house.

I thanked him, and, turning from the main road, we entered a

grass-grown by-path, which, in half an hour, nearly lost itself in a

dense forest, clothing the base of a mountain. Through this dank and

gloomy wood we rode some two miles, when the Maison de Sante came in

view. It was a fantastic chateau, much dilapidated, and indeed

scarcely tenantable through age and neglect. Its aspect inspired me

with absolute dread, and, checking my horse, I half resolved to turn

back. I soon, however, grew ashamed of my weakness, and proceeded.

As we rode up to the gate-way, I perceived it slightly open, and the

visage of a man peering through. In an instant afterward, this man

came forth, accosted my companion by name, shook him cordially by the

hand, and begged him to alight. It was Monsieur Maillard himself. He

was a portly, fine-looking gentleman of the old school, with a

polished manner, and a certain air of gravity, dignity, and authority

which was very impressive.

My friend, having presented me, mentioned my desire to inspect the

establishment, and received Monsieur Maillard's assurance that he

would show me all attention, now took leave, and I saw him no more.

When he had gone, the superintendent ushered me into a small and

exceedingly neat parlor, containing, among other indications of

refined taste, many books, drawings, pots of flowers, and musical

instruments. A cheerful fire blazed upon the hearth. At a piano,

singing an aria from Bellini, sat a young and very beautiful woman,

who, at my entrance, paused in her song, and received me with

graceful courtesy. Her voice was low, and her whole manner subdued. I

thought, too, that I perceived the traces of sorrow in her

countenance, which was excessively, although to my taste, not

unpleasingly, pale. She was attired in deep mourning, and excited in

my bosom a feeling of mingled respect, interest, and admiration.

I had heard, at Paris, that the institution of Monsieur Maillard was

managed upon what is vulgarly termed the "system of soothing" -- that

all punishments were avoided -- that even confinement was seldom

resorted to -- that the patients, while secretly watched, were left

much apparent liberty, and that most of them were permitted to roam

about the house and grounds in the ordinary apparel of persons in

right mind.

Keeping these impressions in view, I was cautious in what I said

before the young lady; for I could not be sure that she was sane;

and, in fact, there was a certain restless brilliancy about her eyes

which half led me to imagine she was not. I confined my remarks,

therefore, to general topics, and to such as I thought would not be

displeasing or exciting even to a lunatic. She replied in a perfectly

rational manner to all that I said; and even her original

observations were marked with the soundest good sense, but a long

acquaintance with the metaphysics of mania, had taught me to put no

faith in such evidence of sanity, and I continued to practise,

throughout the interview, the caution with which I commenced it.

Presently a smart footman in livery brought in a tray with fruit,

wine, and other refreshments, of which I partook, the lady soon

afterward leaving the room. As she departed I turned my eyes in an

inquiring manner toward my host.

"No," he said, "oh, no -- a member of my family -- my niece, and a

most accomplished woman."

"I beg a thousand pardons for the suspicion," I replied, "but of

course you will know how to excuse me. The excellent administration

of your affairs here is well understood in Paris, and I thought it

just possible, you know-

"Yes, yes -- say no more -- or rather it is myself who should thank

you for the commendable prudence you have displayed. We seldom find

so much of forethought in young men; and, more than once, some

unhappy contre-temps has occurred in consequence of thoughtlessness

on the part of our visitors. While my former system was in operation,

and my patients were permitted the privilege of roaming to and fro at

will, they were often aroused to a dangerous frenzy by injudicious

persons who called to inspect the house. Hence I was obliged to

enforce a rigid system of exclusion; and none obtained access to the

premises upon whose discretion I could not rely."

"While your former system was in operation!" I said, repeating his

words -- "do I understand you, then, to say that the 'soothing

system' of which I have heard so much is no longer in force?"

"It is now," he replied, "several weeks since we have concluded to

renounce it forever."

"Indeed! you astonish me!"

"We found it, sir," he said, with a sigh, "absolutely necessary to

return to the old usages. The danger of the soothing system was, at

all times, appalling; and its advantages have been much overrated. I

believe, sir, that in this house it has been given a fair trial, if

ever in any. We did every thing that rational humanity could suggest.

I am sorry that you could not have paid us a visit at an earlier

period, that you might have judged for yourself. But I presume you

are conversant with the soothing practice -- with its details."

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

"I may state the system, then, in general terms, as one in which the

patients were menages-humored. We contradicted no fancies which

entered the brains of the mad. On the contrary, we not only indulged

but encouraged them; and many of our most permanent cures have been

thus effected. There is no argument which so touches the feeble

reason of the madman as the argumentum ad absurdum. We have had men,

for example, who fancied themselves chickens. The cure was, to insist

upon the thing as a fact -- to accuse the patient of stupidity in not

sufficiently perceiving it to be a fact -- and thus to refuse him any

other diet for a week than that which properly appertains to a

chicken. In this manner a little corn and gravel were made to perform

wonders."

"But was this species of acquiescence all?"

"By no means. We put much faith in amusements of a simple kind, such

as music, dancing, gymnastic exercises generally, cards, certain

classes of books, and so forth. We affected to treat each individual

as if for some ordinary physical disorder, and the word 'lunacy' was

never employed. A great point was to set each lunatic to guard the

actions of all the others. To repose confidence in the understanding

or discretion of a madman, is to gain him body and soul. In this way

we were enabled to dispense with an expensive body of keepers."

"And you had no punishments of any kind?"

"None."

"And you never confined your patients?"

"Very rarely. Now and then, the malady of some individual growing to

a crisis, or taking a sudden turn of fury, we conveyed him to a

secret cell, lest his disorder should infect the rest, and there kept

him until we could dismiss him to his friends -- for with the raging

maniac we have nothing to do. He is usually removed to the public

hospitals."

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

"Decidedly. The system had its disadvantages, and even its dangers.

It is now, happily, exploded throughout all the Maisons de Sante of

France."

"I am very much surprised," I said, "at what you tell me; for I made

sure that, at this moment, no other method of treatment for mania

existed in any portion of the country."

"You are young yet, my friend," replied my host, "but the time will

arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on

in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others. Believe

nothing you hear, and only one-half that you see. Now about our

Maisons de Sante, it is clear that some ignoramus has misled you.

After dinner, however, when you have sufficiently recovered from the

fatigue of your ride, I will be happy to take you over the house, and

introduce to you a system which, in my opinion, and in that of every

one who has witnessed its operation, is incomparably the most

effectual as yet devised."

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

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

some measure."

In this manner I conversed with Monsieur Maillard for an hour or two,

during which he showed me the gardens and conservatories of the

place.

"I cannot let you see my patients," he said, "just at present. To a

sensitive mind there is always more or less of the shocking in such

exhibitions; and I do not wish to spoil your appetite for dinner. We

will dine. I can give you some veal a la Menehoult, with cauliflowers

in veloute sauce -- after that a glass of Clos de Vougeot -- then

your nerves will be sufficiently steadied."

At six, dinner was announced; and my host conducted me into a large

salle a manger, where a very numerous company were assembled --

twenty-five or thirty in all. They were, apparently, people of

rank-certainly of high breeding -- although their habiliments, I

thought, were extravagantly rich, partaking somewhat too much of the

ostentatious finery of the vielle cour. I noticed that at least

two-thirds of these guests were ladies; and some of the latter were

by no means accoutred in what a Parisian would consider good taste at

the present day. Many females, for example, whose age could not have

been less than seventy were bedecked with a profusion of jewelry,

such as rings, bracelets, and earrings, and wore their bosoms and

arms shamefully bare. I observed, too, that very few of the dresses

were well made -- or, at least, that very few of them fitted the

wearers. In looking about, I discovered the interesting girl to whom

Monsieur Maillard had presented me in the little parlor; but my

surprise was great to see her wearing a hoop and farthingale, with

high-heeled shoes, and a dirty cap of Brussels lace, so much too

large for her that it gave her face a ridiculously diminutive

expression. When I had first seen her, she was attired, most

becomingly, in deep mourning. There was an air of oddity, in short,

about the dress of the whole party, which, at first, caused me to

recur to my original idea of the "soothing system," and to fancy that

Monsieur Maillard had been willing to deceive me until after dinner,

that I might experience no uncomfortable feelings during the repast,

at finding myself dining with lunatics; but I remembered having been

informed, in Paris, that the southern provincialists were a

peculiarly eccentric people, with a vast number of antiquated

notions; and then, too, upon conversing with several members of the

company, my apprehensions were immediately and fully dispelled.

The dining-room itself, although perhaps sufficiently comfortable and

of good dimensions, had nothing too much of elegance about it. For

example, the floor was uncarpeted; in France, however, a carpet is

frequently dispensed with. The windows, too, were without curtains;

the shutters, being shut, were securely fastened with iron bars,

applied diagonally, after the fashion of our ordinary shop-shutters.

The apartment, I observed, formed, in itself, a wing of the chateau,

and thus the windows were on three sides of the parallelogram, the

door being at the other. There were no less than ten windows in all.

The table was superbly set out. It was loaded with plate, and more

than loaded with delicacies. The profusion was absolutely barbaric.

There were meats enough to have feasted the Anakim. Never, in all my

life, had I witnessed so lavish, so wasteful an expenditure of the

good things of life. There seemed very little taste, however, in the

arrangements; and my eyes, accustomed to quiet lights, were sadly

offended by the prodigious glare of a multitude of wax candles,

which, in silver candelabra, were deposited upon the table, and all

about the room, wherever it was possible to find a place. There were

several active servants in attendance; and, upon a large table, at

the farther end of the apartment, were seated seven or eight people

with fiddles, fifes, trombones, and a drum. These fellows annoyed me

very much, at intervals, during the repast, by an infinite variety of

noises, which were intended for music, and which appeared to afford

much entertainment to all present, with the exception of myself.

Upon the whole, I could not help thinking that there was much of the

bizarre about every thing I saw -- but then the world is made up of

all kinds of persons, with all modes of thought, and all sorts of

conventional customs. I had travelled, too, so much, as to be quite

an adept at the nil admirari; so I took my seat very coolly at the

right hand of my host, and, having an excellent appetite, did justice

to the good cheer set before me.

The conversation, in the meantime, was spirited and general. The

ladies, as usual, talked a great deal. I soon found that nearly all

the company were well educated; and my host was a world of

good-humored anecdote in himself. He seemed quite willing to speak of

his position as superintendent of a Maison de Sante; and, indeed, the

topic of lunacy was, much to my surprise, a favorite one with all

present. A great many amusing stories were told, having reference to

the whims of the patients.

"We had a fellow here once," said a fat little gentleman, who sat at

my right, -- "a fellow that fancied himself a tea-pot; and by the

way, is it not especially singular how often this particular crotchet

has entered the brain of the lunatic? There is scarcely an insane

asylum in France which cannot supply a human tea-pot. Our gentleman

was a Britannia -- ware tea-pot, and was careful to polish himself

every morning with buckskin and whiting."

"And then," said a tall man just opposite, "we had here, not long

ago, a person who had taken it into his head that he was a donkey --

which allegorically speaking, you will say, was quite true. He was a

troublesome patient; and we had much ado to keep him within bounds.

For a long time he would eat nothing but thistles; but of this idea

we soon cured him by insisting upon his eating nothing else. Then he

was perpetually kicking out his heels-so-so-"

"Mr. De Kock! I will thank you to behave yourself!" here interrupted

an old lady, who sat next to the speaker. "Please keep your feet to

yourself! You have spoiled my brocade! Is it necessary, pray, to

illustrate a remark in so practical a style? Our friend here can

surely comprehend you without all this. Upon my word, you are nearly

as great a donkey as the poor unfortunate imagined himself. Your

acting is very natural, as I live."

"Mille pardons! Ma'm'selle!" replied Monsieur De Kock, thus addressed

-- "a thousand pardons! I had no intention of offending. Ma'm'selle

Laplace -- Monsieur De Kock will do himself the honor of taking wine

with you."

Here Monsieur De Kock bowed low, kissed his hand with much ceremony,

and took wine with Ma'm'selle Laplace.

"Allow me, mon ami," now said Monsieur Maillard, addressing myself,

"allow me to send you a morsel of this veal a la St. Menhoult -- you

will find it particularly fine."

At this instant three sturdy waiters had just succeeded in depositing

safely upon the table an enormous dish, or trencher, containing what

I supposed to be the "monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen

ademptum." A closer scrutiny assured me, however, that it was only a

small calf roasted whole, and set upon its knees, with an apple in

its mouth, as is the English fashion of dressing a hare.

"Thank you, no," I replied; "to say the truth, I am not particularly

partial to veal a la St. -- what is it? -- for I do not find that it

altogether agrees with me. I will change my plate, however, and try

some of the rabbit."

There were several side-dishes on the table, containing what appeared

to be the ordinary French rabbit -- a very delicious morceau, which I

can recommend.

"Pierre," cried the host, "change this gentleman's plate, and give

him a side-piece of this rabbit au-chat."

"This what?" said I.

"This rabbit au-chat."

"Why, thank you -- upon second thoughts, no. I will just help myself

to some of the ham."

There is no knowing what one eats, thought I to myself, at the tables

of these people of the province. I will have none of their rabbit

au-chat -- and, for the matter of that, none of their cat-au-rabbit

either.

"And then," said a cadaverous looking personage, near the foot of the

table, taking up the thread of the conversation where it had been

broken off, -- "and then, among other oddities, we had a patient,

once upon a time, who very pertinaciously maintained himself to be a

Cordova cheese, and went about, with a knife in his hand, soliciting

his friends to try a small slice from the middle of his leg."

"He was a great fool, beyond doubt," interposed some one, "but not to

be compared with a certain individual whom we all know, with the

exception of this strange gentleman. I mean the man who took himself

for a bottle of champagne, and always went off with a pop and a fizz,

in this fashion."

Here the speaker, very rudely, as I thought, put his right thumb in

his left cheek, withdrew it with a sound resembling the popping of a

cork, and then, by a dexterous movement of the tongue upon the teeth,

created a sharp hissing and fizzing, which lasted for several

minutes, in imitation of the frothing of champagne. This behavior, I

saw plainly, was not very pleasing to Monsieur Maillard; but that

gentleman said nothing, and the conversation was resumed by a very

lean little man in a big wig.

"And then there was an ignoramus," said he, "who mistook himself for

a frog, which, by the way, he resembled in no little degree. I wish

you could have seen him, sir," -- here the speaker addressed myself

-- "it would have done your heart good to see the natural airs that

he put on. Sir, if that man was not a frog, I can only observe that

it is a pity he was not. His croak thus -- o-o-o-o-gh -- o-o-o-o-gh!

was the finest note in the world -- B flat; and when he put his

elbows upon the table thus -- after taking a glass or two of wine --

and distended his mouth, thus, and rolled up his eyes, thus, and

winked them with excessive rapidity, thus, why then, sir, I take it

upon myself to say, positively, that you would have been lost in

admiration of the genius of the man."

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

"And then," said somebody else, "then there was Petit Gaillard, who

thought himself a pinch of snuff, and was truly distressed because he

could not take himself between his own finger and thumb."

"And then there was Jules Desoulieres, who was a very singular

genius, indeed, and went mad with the idea that he was a pumpkin. He

persecuted the cook to make him up into pies -- a thing which the

cook indignantly refused to do. For my part, I am by no means sure

that a pumpkin pie a la Desoulieres would not have been very capital

eating indeed!"

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

Maillard.

"Ha! ha! ha!" said that gentleman -- "he! he! he! -- hi! hi! hi! --

ho! ho! ho! -- hu! hu! hu! hu! -- very good indeed! You must not be

astonished, mon ami; our friend here is a wit -- a drole -- you must

not understand him to the letter."

"And then," said some other one of the party, -- "then there was

Bouffon Le Grand -- another extraordinary personage in his way. He

grew deranged through love, and fancied himself possessed of two

heads. One of these he maintained to be the head of Cicero; the other

he imagined a composite one, being Demosthenes' from the top of the

forehead to the mouth, and Lord Brougham's from the mouth to the

chin. It is not impossible that he was wrong; but he would have

convinced you of his being in the right; for he was a man of great

eloquence. He had an absolute passion for oratory, and could not

refrain from display. For example, he used to leap upon the

dinner-table thus, and -- and-"

Here a friend, at the side of the speaker, put a hand upon his

shoulder and whispered a few words in his ear, upon which he ceased

talking with great suddenness, and sank back within his chair.

"And then," said the friend who had whispered, "there was Boullard,

the tee-totum. I call him the tee-totum because, in fact, he was

seized with the droll but not altogether irrational crotchet, that he

had been converted into a tee-totum. You would have roared with

laughter to see him spin. He would turn round upon one heel by the

hour, in this manner -- so-

Here the friend whom he had just interrupted by a whisper, performed

an exactly similar office for himself.

"But then," cried the old lady, at the top of her voice, "your

Monsieur Boullard was a madman, and a very silly madman at best; for

who, allow me to ask you, ever heard of a human tee-totum? The thing

is absurd. Madame Joyeuse was a more sensible person, as you know.

She had a crotchet, but it was instinct with common sense, and gave

pleasure to all who had the honor of her acquaintance. She found,

upon mature deliberation, that, by some accident, she had been turned

into a chicken-cock; but, as such, she behaved with propriety. She

flapped her wings with prodigious effect -- so -- so -- and, as for

her crow, it was delicious! Cock-a-doodle-doo! -- cock-a-doodle-doo!

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

"Madame Joyeuse, I will thank you to behave yourself!" here

interrupted our host, very angrily. "You can either conduct yourself

as a lady should do, or you can quit the table forthwith-take your

choice."

The lady (whom I was much astonished to hear addressed as Madame

Joyeuse, after the description of Madame Joyeuse she had just given)

blushed up to the eyebrows, and seemed exceedingly abashed at the

reproof. She hung down her head, and said not a syllable in reply.

But another and younger lady resumed the theme. It was my beautiful

girl of the little parlor.

"Oh, Madame Joyeuse was a fool!" she exclaimed, "but there was really

much sound sense, after all, in the opinion of Eugenie Salsafette.

She was a very beautiful and painfully modest young lady, who thought

the ordinary mode of habiliment indecent, and wished to dress

herself, always, by getting outside instead of inside of her clothes.

It is a thing very easily done, after all. You have only to do so --

and then so -- so -- so -- and then so -- so -- so -- and then so --

so -- and then-

"Mon dieu! Ma'm'selle Salsafette!" here cried a dozen voices at once.

"What are you about? -- forbear! -- that is sufficient! -- we see,

very plainly, how it is done! -- hold! hold!" and several persons

were already leaping from their seats to withhold Ma'm'selle

Salsafette from putting herself upon a par with the Medicean Venus,

when the point was very effectually and suddenly accomplished by a

series of loud screams, or yells, from some portion of the main body

of the chateau.

My nerves were very much affected, indeed, by these yells; but the

rest of the company I really pitied. I never saw any set of

reasonable people so thoroughly frightened in my life. They all grew

as pale as so many corpses, and, shrinking within their seats, sat

quivering and gibbering with terror, and listening for a repetition

of the sound. It came again -- louder and seemingly nearer -- and

then a third time very loud, and then a fourth time with a vigor

evidently diminished. At this apparent dying away of the noise, the

spirits of the company were immediately regained, and all was life

and anecdote as before. I now ventured to inquire the cause of the

disturbance.

"A mere bagtelle," said Monsieur Maillard. "We are used to these

things, and care really very little about them. The lunatics, every

now and then, get up a howl in concert; one starting another, as is

sometimes the case with a bevy of dogs at night. It occasionally

happens, however, that the concerto yells are succeeded by a

simultaneous effort at breaking loose, when, of course, some little

danger is to be apprehended."

"And how many have you in charge?"

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

"Principally females, I presume?"

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

you."

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

of the gentler sex."

"It is generally so, but not always. Some time ago, there were about

twenty-seven patients here; and, of that number, no less than

eighteen were women; but, lately, matters have changed very much, as

you see."

"Yes -- have changed very much, as you see," here interrupted the

gentleman who had broken the shins of Ma'm'selle Laplace.

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

company at once.

"Hold your tongues, every one of you!" said my host, in a great rage.

Whereupon the whole company maintained a dead silence for nearly a

minute. As for one lady, she obeyed Monsieur Maillard to the letter,

and thrusting out her tongue, which was an excessively long one, held

it very resignedly, with both hands, until the end of the

entertainment.

"And this gentlewoman," said I, to Monsieur Maillard, bending over

and addressing him in a whisper -- "this good lady who has just

spoken, and who gives us the cock-a-doodle-de-doo -- she, I presume,

is harmless -- quite harmless, eh?"

"Harmless!" ejaculated he, in unfeigned surprise, "why -- why, what

can you mean?"

"Only slightly touched?" said I, touching my head. "I take it for

granted that she is not particularly not dangerously affected, eh?"

"Mon dieu! what is it you imagine? This lady, my particular old

friend Madame Joyeuse, is as absolutely sane as myself. She has her

little eccentricities, to be sure -- but then, you know, all old

women -- all very old women -- are more or less eccentric!"

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

ladies and gentlemen-"

"Are my friends and keepers," interupted Monsieur Maillard, drawing

himself up with hauteur, -- "my very good friends and assistants."

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

"Assuredly," he said, -- "we could not do at all without the women;

they are the best lunatic nurses in the world; they have a way of

their own, you know; their bright eyes have a marvellous effect; --

something like the fascination of the snake, you know."

"To be sure," said I, -- "to be sure! They behave a little odd, eh?

-- they are a little queer, eh? -- don't you think so?"

"Odd! -- queer! -- why, do you really think so? We are not very

prudish, to be sure, here in the South -- do pretty much as we please

-- enjoy life, and all that sort of thing, you know-"

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

And then, perhaps, this Clos de Vougeot is a little heady, you know

-- a little strong -- you understand, eh?"

"To be sure," said I, -- "to be sure. By the bye, Monsieur, did I

understand you to say that the system you have adopted, in place of

the celebrated soothing system, was one of very rigorous severity?"

"By no means. Our confinement is necessarily close; but the treatment

-- the medical treatment, I mean -- is rather agreeable to the

patients than otherwise."

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

"Not altogether. Some portions of it are referable to Professor Tarr,

of whom you have, necessarily, heard; and, again, there are

modifications in my plan which I am happy to acknowledge as belonging

of right to the celebrated Fether, with whom, if I mistake not, you

have the honor of an intimate acquaintance."

"I am quite ashamed to confess," I replied, "that I have never even

heard the names of either gentleman before."

"Good heavens!" ejaculated my host, drawing back his chair abruptly,

and uplifting his hands. "I surely do not hear you aright! You did

not intend to say, eh? that you had never heard either of the learned

Doctor Tarr, or of the celebrated Professor Fether?"

"I am forced to acknowledge my ignorance," I replied; "but the truth

should be held inviolate above all things. Nevertheless, I feel

humbled to the dust, not to be acquainted with the works of these, no

doubt, extraordinary men. I will seek out their writings forthwith,

and peruse them with deliberate care. Monsieur Maillard, you have

really -- I must confess it -- you have really -- made me ashamed of

myself!"

And this was the fact.

"Say no more, my good young friend," he said kindly, pressing my

hand, -- "join me now in a glass of Sauterne."

We drank. The company followed our example without stint. They

chatted -- they jested -- they laughed -- they perpetrated a thousand

absurdities -- the fiddles shrieked -- the drum row-de-dowed -- the

trombones bellowed like so many brazen bulls of Phalaris -- and the

whole scene, growing gradually worse and worse, as the wines gained

the ascendancy, became at length a sort of pandemonium in petto. In

the meantime, Monsieur Maillard and myself, with some bottles of

Sauterne and Vougeot between us, continued our conversation at the

top of the voice. A word spoken in an ordinary key stood no more

chance of being heard than the voice of a fish from the bottom of

Niagra Falls.

"And, sir," said I, screaming in his ear, "you mentioned something

before dinner about the danger incurred in the old system of

soothing. How is that?"

"Yes," he replied, "there was, occasionally, very great danger

indeed. There is no accounting for the caprices of madmen; and, in my

opinion as well as in that of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, it is

never safe to permit them to run at large unattended. A lunatic may

be 'soothed,' as it is called, for a time, but, in the end, he is

very apt to become obstreperous. His cunning, too, is proverbial and

great. If he has a project in view, he conceals his design with a

marvellous wisdom; and the dexterity with which he counterfeits

sanity, presents, to the metaphysician, one of the most singular

problems in the study of mind. When a madman appears thoroughly sane,

indeed, it is high time to put him in a straitjacket."

"But the danger, my dear sir, of which you were speaking, in your own

experience -- during your control of this house -- have you had

practical reason to think liberty hazardous in the case of a

lunatic?"

"Here? -- in my own experience? -- why, I may say, yes. For example:

-- no very long while ago, a singular circumstance occurred in this

very house. The 'soothing system,' you know, was then in operation,

and the patients were at large. They behaved remarkably

well-especially so, any one of sense might have known that some

devilish scheme was brewing from that particular fact, that the

fellows behaved so remarkably well. And, sure enough, one fine

morning the keepers found themselves pinioned hand and foot, and

thrown into the cells, where they were attended, as if they were the

lunatics, by the lunatics themselves, who had usurped the offices of

the keepers."

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

life!"

"Fact -- it all came to pass by means of a stupid fellow -- a lunatic

-- who, by some means, had taken it into his head that he had

invented a better system of government than any ever heard of before

-- of lunatic government, I mean. He wished to give his invention a

trial, I suppose, and so he persuaded the rest of the patients to

join him in a conspiracy for the overthrow of the reigning powers."

"And he really succeeded?"

"No doubt of it. The keepers and kept were soon made to exchange

places. Not that exactly either -- for the madmen had been free, but

the keepers were shut up in cells forthwith, and treated, I am sorry

to say, in a very cavalier manner."

"But I presume a counter-revolution was soon effected. This condition

of things could not have long existed. The country people in the

neighborhood-visitors coming to see the establishment -- would have

given the alarm."

"There you are out. The head rebel was too cunning for that. He

admitted no visitors at all -- with the exception, one day, of a very

stupid-looking young gentleman of whom he had no reason to be afraid.

He let him in to see the place -- just by way of variety, -- to have

a little fun with him. As soon as he had gammoned him sufficiently,

he let him out, and sent him about his business."

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

"Oh, a very long time, indeed -- a month certainly -- how much longer

I can't precisely say. In the meantime, the lunatics had a jolly

season of it -- that you may swear. They doffed their own shabby

clothes, and made free with the family wardrobe and jewels. The

cellars of the chateau were well stocked with wine; and these madmen

are just the devils that know how to drink it. They lived well, I can

tell you."

"And the treatment -- what was the particular species of treatment

which the leader of the rebels put into operation?"

"Why, as for that, a madman is not necessarily a fool, as I have

already observed; and it is my honest opinion that his treatment was

a much better treatment than that which it superseded. It was a very

capital system indeed -- simple -- neat -- no trouble at all -- in

fact it was delicious it was

Here my host's observations were cut short by another series of

yells, of the same character as those which had previously

disconcerted us. This time, however, they seemed to proceed from

persons rapidly approaching.

"Gracious heavens!" I ejaculated -- "the lunatics have most

undoubtedly broken loose."

"I very much fear it is so," replied Monsieur Maillard, now becoming

excessively pale. He had scarcely finished the sentence, before loud

shouts and imprecations were heard beneath the windows; and,

immediately afterward, it became evident that some persons outside

were endeavoring to gain entrance into the room. The door was beaten

with what appeared to be a sledge-hammer, and the shutters were

wrenched and shaken with prodigious violence.

A scene of the most terrible confusion ensued. Monsieur Maillard, to

my excessive astonishment threw himself under the side-board. I had

expected more resolution at his hands. The members of the orchestra,

who, for the last fifteen minutes, had been seemingly too much

intoxicated to do duty, now sprang all at once to their feet and to

their instruments, and, scrambling upon their table, broke out, with

one accord, into, "Yankee Doodle," which they performed, if not

exactly in tune, at least with an energy superhuman, during the whole

of the uproar.

Meantime, upon the main dining-table, among the bottles and glasses,

leaped the gentleman who, with such difficulty, had been restrained

from leaping there before. As soon as he fairly settled himself, he

commenced an oration, which, no doubt, was a very capital one, if it

could only have been heard. At the same moment, the man with the

teetotum predilection, set himself to spinning around the apartment,

with immense energy, and with arms outstretched at right angles with

his body; so that he had all the air of a tee-totum in fact, and

knocked everybody down that happened to get in his way. And now, too,

hearing an incredible popping and fizzing of champagne, I discovered

at length, that it proceeded from the person who performed the bottle

of that delicate drink during dinner. And then, again, the frog-man

croaked away as if the salvation of his soul depended upon every note

that he uttered. And, in the midst of all this, the continuous

braying of a donkey arose over all. As for my old friend, Madame

Joyeuse, I really could have wept for the poor lady, she appeared so

terribly perplexed. All she did, however, was to stand up in a

corner, by the fireplace, and sing out incessantly at the top of her

voice, "Cock-a-doodle-de-dooooooh!"

And now came the climax -- the catastrophe of the drama. As no

resistance, beyond whooping and yelling and cock-a-doodling, was

offered to the encroachments of the party without, the ten windows

were very speedily, and almost simultaneously, broken in. But I shall

never forget the emotions of wonder and horror with which I gazed,

when, leaping through these windows, and down among us pele-mele,

fighting, stamping, scratching, and howling, there rushed a perfect

army of what I took to be Chimpanzees, Ourang-Outangs, or big black

baboons of the Cape of Good Hope.

I received a terrible beating -- after which I rolled under a sofa

and lay still. After lying there some fifteen minutes, during which

time I listened with all my ears to what was going on in the room, I

came to same satisfactory denouement of this tragedy. Monsieur

Maillard, it appeared, in giving me the account of the lunatic who

had excited his fellows to rebellion, had been merely relating his

own exploits. This gentleman had, indeed, some two or three years

before, been the superintendent of the establishment, but grew crazy

himself, and so became a patient. This fact was unknown to the

travelling companion who introduced me. The keepers, ten in number,

having been suddenly overpowered, were first well tarred, then --

carefully feathered, and then shut up in underground cells. They had

been so imprisoned for more than a month, during which period

Monsieur Maillard had generously allowed them not only the tar and

feathers (which constituted his "system"), but some bread and

abundance of water. The latter was pumped on them daily. At length,

one escaping through a sewer, gave freedom to all the rest.

The "soothing system," with important modifications, has been resumed

at the chateau; yet I cannot help agreeing with Monsieur Maillard,

that his own "treatment" was a very capital one of its kind. As he

justly observed, it was "simple -- neat -- and gave no trouble at all

-- not the least."

I have only to add that, although I have searched every library in

Europe for the works of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, I have, up

to the present day, utterly failed in my endeavors at procuring an

edition.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

HOW TO WRITE A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE.

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

_ Cry of the Turkish fig-peddler_.

I PRESUME everybody has heard of me. My name is the Signora Psyche

Zenobia. This I know to be a fact. Nobody but my enemies ever calls

me Suky Snobbs. I have been assured that Suky is but a vulgar

corruption of Psyche, which is good Greek, and means "the soul"

(that's me, I'm all soul) and sometimes "a butterfly," which latter

meaning undoubtedly alludes to my appearance in my new crimson satin

dress, with the sky-blue Arabian mantelet, and the trimmings of green

agraffas, and the seven flounces of orange-colored auriculas. As for

Snobbs -- any person who should look at me would be instantly aware

that my name wasn't Snobbs. Miss Tabitha Turnip propagated that

report through sheer envy. Tabitha Turnip indeed! Oh the little

wretch! But what can we expect from a turnip? Wonder if she remembers

the old adage about "blood out of a turnip," &c.? [Mem. put her in

mind of it the first opportunity.] [Mem. again -- pull her nose.]

Where was I? Ah! I have been assured that Snobbs is a mere corruption

of Zenobia, and that Zenobia was a queen -- (So am I. Dr. Moneypenny

always calls me the Queen of the Hearts) -- and that Zenobia, as well

as Psyche, is good Greek, and that my father was "a Greek," and that

consequently I have a right to our patronymic, which is Zenobia and

not by any means Snobbs. Nobody but Tabitha Turnip calls me Suky

Snobbs. I am the Signora Psyche Zenobia.

As I said before, everybody has heard of me. I am that very Signora

Psyche Zenobia, so justly celebrated as corresponding secretary to

the "Philadelphia, Regular, Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles,

Lettres, Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association, To,

Civilize, Humanity." Dr. Moneypenny made the title for us, and says

he chose it because it sounded big like an empty rum-puncheon. (A

vulgar man that sometimes -- but he's deep.) We all sign the initials

of the society after our names, in the fashion of the R. S. A., Royal

Society of Arts -- the S. D. U. K., Society for the Diffusion of

Useful Knowledge, &c, &c. Dr. Moneypenny says that S. stands for

stale, and that D. U. K. spells duck, (but it don't,) that S. D. U.

K. stands for Stale Duck and not for Lord Brougham's society -- but

then Dr. Moneypenny is such a queer man that I am never sure when he

is telling me the truth. At any rate we always add to our names the

initials P. R. E. T. T. Y. B. L. U. E. B. A. T. C. H. -- that is to

say, Philadelphia, Regular, Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles,

Lettres, Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association, To,

Civilize, Humanity -- one letter for each word, which is a decided

improvement upon Lord Brougham. Dr. Moneypenny will have it that our

initials give our true character -- but for my life I can't see what

he means.

Notwithstanding the good offices of the Doctor, and the strenuous

exertions of the association to get itself into notice, it met with

no very great success until I joined it. The truth is, the members

indulged in too flippant a tone of discussion. The papers read every

Saturday evening were characterized less by depth than buffoonery.

They were all whipped syllabub. There was no investigation of first

causes, first principles. There was no investigation of any thing at

all. There was no attention paid to that great point, the "fitness of

things." In short there was no fine writing like this. It was all low

-- very! No profundity, no reading, no metaphysics -- nothing which

the learned call spirituality, and which the unlearned choose to

stigmatize as cant. [Dr. M. says I ought to spell "cant" with a

capital K -- but I know better.]

When I joined the society it was my endeavor to introduce a better

style of thinking and writing, and all the world knows how well I

have succeeded. We get up as good papers now in the P. R. E. T. T. Y.

B. L. U. E. B. A. T. C. H. as any to be found even in Blackwood. I

say, Blackwood, because I have been assured that the finest writing,

upon every subject, is to be discovered in the pages of that justly

celebrated Magazine. We now take it for our model upon all themes,

and are getting into rapid notice accordingly. And, after all, it's

not so very difficult a matter to compose an article of the genuine

Blackwood stamp, if one only goes properly about it. Of course I

don't speak of the political articles. Everybody knows how they are

managed, since Dr. Moneypenny explained it. Mr. Blackwood has a pair

of tailor's-shears, and three apprentices who stand by him for

orders. One hands him the "Times," another the "Examiner" and a third

a "Culley's New Compendium of Slang-Whang." Mr. B. merely cuts out

and intersperses. It is soon done -- nothing but "Examiner,"

"Slang-Whang," and "Times" -- then "Times," "Slang-Whang," and

"Examiner" -- and then "Times," "Examiner," and "Slang-Whang."

But the chief merit of the Magazine lies in its miscellaneous

articles; and the best of these come under the head of what Dr.

Moneypenny calls the bizarreries (whatever that may mean) and what

everybody else calls the intensities. This is a species of writing

which I have long known how to appreciate, although it is only since

my late visit to Mr. Blackwood (deputed by the society) that I have

been made aware of the exact method of composition. This method is

very simple, but not so much so as the politics. Upon my calling at

Mr. B.'s, and making known to him the wishes of the society, he

received me with great civility, took me into his study, and gave me

a clear explanation of the whole process.

"My dear madam," said he, evidently struck with my majestic

appearance, for I had on the crimson satin, with the green agraffas,

and orange-colored auriclas. "My dear madam," said he, "sit down. The

matter stands thus: In the first place your writer of intensities

must have very black ink, and a very big pen, with a very blunt nib.

And, mark me, Miss Psyche Zenobia!" he continued, after a pause, with

the most expressive energy and solemnity of manner, "mark me! -- that

pen -- must -- never be mended! Herein, madam, lies the secret, the

soul, of intensity. I assume upon myself to say, that no individual,

of however great genius ever wrote with a good pen -- understand me,

-- a good article. You may take, it for granted, that when manuscript

can be read it is never worth reading. This is a leading principle in

our faith, to which if you cannot readily assent, our conference is

at an end."

He paused. But, of course, as I had no wish to put an end to the

conference, I assented to a proposition so very obvious, and one,

too, of whose truth I had all along been sufficiently aware. He

seemed pleased, and went on with his instructions.

"It may appear invidious in me, Miss Psyche Zenobia, to refer you to

any article, or set of articles, in the way of model or study, yet

perhaps I may as well call your attention to a few cases. Let me see.

There was 'The Dead Alive,' a capital thing! -- the record of a

gentleman's sensations when entombed before the breath was out of his

body -- full of tastes, terror, sentiment, metaphysics, and

erudition. You would have sworn that the writer had been born and

brought up in a coffin. Then we had the 'Confessions of an

Opium-eater' -- fine, very fine! -- glorious imagination -- deep

philosophy acute speculation -- plenty of fire and fury, and a good

spicing of the decidedly unintelligible. That was a nice bit of

flummery, and went down the throats of the people delightfully. They

would have it that Coleridge wrote the paper -- but not so. It was

composed by my pet baboon, Juniper, over a rummer of Hollands and

water, 'hot, without sugar.'" [This I could scarcely have believed

had it been anybody but Mr. Blackwood, who assured me of it.] "Then

there was 'The Involuntary Experimentalist,' all about a gentleman

who got baked in an oven, and came out alive and well, although

certainly done to a turn. And then there was 'The Diary of a Late

Physician,' where the merit lay in good rant, and indifferent Greek

-- both of them taking things with the public. And then there was

'The Man in the Bell,' a paper by-the-by, Miss Zenobia, which I

cannot sufficiently recommend to your attention. It is the history of

a young person who goes to sleep under the clapper of a church bell,

and is awakened by its tolling for a funeral. The sound drives him

mad, and, accordingly, pulling out his tablets, he gives a record of

his sensations. Sensations are the great things after all. Should you

ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations

-- they will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet. If you wish to

write forcibly, Miss Zenobia, pay minute attention to the

sensations."

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

"Good!" he replied. "I see you are a pupil after my own heart. But I

must put you au fait to the details necessary in composing what may

be denominated a genuine Blackwood article of the sensation stamp --

the kind which you will understand me to say I consider the best for

all purposes.

"The first thing requisite is to get yourself into such a scrape as

no one ever got into before. The oven, for instance, -- that was a

good hit. But if you have no oven or big bell, at hand, and if you

cannot conveniently tumble out of a balloon, or be swallowed up in an

earthquake, or get stuck fast in a chimney, you will have to be

contented with simply imagining some similar misadventure. I should

prefer, however, that you have the actual fact to bear you out.

Nothing so well assists the fancy, as an experimental knowledge of

the matter in hand. 'Truth is strange,' you know, 'stranger than

fiction' -- besides being more to the purpose."

Here I assured him I had an excellent pair of garters, and would go

and hang myself forthwith.

"Good!" he replied, "do so; -- although hanging is somewhat hacknied.

Perhaps you might do better. Take a dose of Brandreth's pills, and

then give us your sensations. However, my instructions will apply

equally well to any variety of misadventure, and in your way home you

may easily get knocked in the head, or run over by an omnibus, or

bitten by a mad dog, or drowned in a gutter. But to proceed.

"Having determined upon your subject, you must next consider the

tone, or manner, of your narration. There is the tone didactic, the

tone enthusiastic, the tone natural -- all common -- place enough.

But then there is the tone laconic, or curt, which has lately come

much into use. It consists in short sentences. Somehow thus: Can't be

too brief. Can't be too snappish. Always a full stop. And never a

paragraph.

"Then there is the tone elevated, diffusive, and interjectional. Some

of our best novelists patronize this tone. The words must be all in a

whirl, like a humming-top, and make a noise very similar, which

answers remarkably well instead of meaning. This is the best of all

possible styles where the writer is in too great a hurry to think.

"The tone metaphysical is also a good one. If you know any big words

this is your chance for them. Talk of the Ionic and Eleatic schools

-- of Archytas, Gorgias, and Alcmaeon. Say something about

objectivity and subjectivity. Be sure and abuse a man named Locke.

Turn up your nose at things in general, and when you let slip any

thing a little too absurd, you need not be at the trouble of

scratching it out, but just add a footnote and say that you are

indebted for the above profound observation to the 'Kritik der reinem

Vernunft,' or to the 'Metaphysithe Anfongsgrunde der

Noturwissenchaft.' This would look erudite and -- and -- and frank.

"There are various other tones of equal celebrity, but I shall

mention only two more -- the tone transcendental and the tone

heterogeneous. In the former the merit consists in seeing into the

nature of affairs a very great deal farther than anybody else. This

second sight is very efficient when properly managed. A little

reading of the 'Dial' will carry you a great way. Eschew, in this

case, big words; get them as small as possible, and write them upside

down. Look over Channing's poems and quote what he says about a 'fat

little man with a delusive show of Can.' Put in something about the

Supernal Oneness. Don't say a syllable about the Infernal Twoness.

Above all, study innuendo. Hint everything -- assert nothing. If you

feel inclined to say 'bread and butter,' do not by any means say it

outright. You may say any thing and every thing approaching to 'bread

and butter.' You may hint at buck-wheat cake, or you may even go so

far as to insinuate oat-meal porridge, but if bread and butter be

your real meaning, be cautious, my dear Miss Psyche, not on any

account to say 'bread and butter!'

I assured him that I should never say it again as long as I lived. He

kissed me and continued:

"As for the tone heterogeneous, it is merely a judicious mixture, in

equal proportions, of all the other tones in the world, and is

consequently made up of every thing deep, great, odd, piquant,

pertinent, and pretty.

"Let us suppose now you have determined upon your incidents and tone.

The most important portion -- in fact, the soul of the whole

business, is yet to be attended to -- I allude to the filling up. It

is not to be supposed that a lady, or gentleman either, has been

leading the life of a book worm. And yet above all things it is

necessary that your article have an air of erudition, or at least

afford evidence of extensive general reading. Now I'll put you in the

way of accomplishing this point. See here!" (pulling down some three

or four ordinary-looking volumes, and opening them at random). "By

casting your eye down almost any page of any book in the world, you

will be able to perceive at once a host of little scraps of either

learning or bel-espritism, which are the very thing for the spicing

of a Blackwood article. You might as well note down a few while I

read them to you. I shall make two divisions: first, Piquant Facts

for the Manufacture of Similes, and, second, Piquant Expressions to

be introduced as occasion may require. Write now!" -- and I wrote as

he dictated.

"PIQUANT FACTS FOR SIMILES. 'There were originally but three Muses --

Melete, Mneme, Aoede -- meditation, memory, and singing.' You may

make a good deal of that little fact if properly worked. You see it

is not generally known, and looks recherche. You must be careful and

give the thing with a downright improviso air.

"Again. 'The river Alpheus passed beneath the sea, and emerged

without injury to the purity of its waters.' Rather stale that, to be

sure, but, if properly dressed and dished up, will look quite as

fresh as ever.

"Here is something better. 'The Persian Iris appears to some persons

to possess a sweet and very powerful perfume, while to others it is

perfectly scentless.' Fine that, and very delicate! Turn it about a

little, and it will do wonders. We'll have some thing else in the

botanical line. There's nothing goes down so well, especially with

the help of a little Latin. Write!

"'The Epidendrum Flos Aeris, of Java, bears a very beautiful flower,

and will live when pulled up by the roots. The natives suspend it by

a cord from the ceiling, and enjoy its fragrance for years.' That's

capital! That will do for the similes. Now for the Piquant

Expressions.

"PIQUANT EXPRESSIONS. 'The Venerable Chinese novel Ju-Kiao-Li.' Good!

By introducing these few words with dexterity you will evince your

intimate acquaintance with the language and literature of the

Chinese. With the aid of this you may either get along without either

Arabic, or Sanscrit, or Chickasaw. There is no passing muster,

however, without Spanish, Italian, German, Latin, and Greek. I must

look you out a little specimen of each. Any scrap will answer,

because you must depend upon your own ingenuity to make it fit into

your article. Now write!

"'Aussi tendre que Zaire' -- as tender as Zaire-French. Alludes to

the frequent repetition of the phrase, la tendre Zaire, in the French

tragedy of that name. Properly introduced, will show not only your

knowledge of the language, but your general reading and wit. You can

say, for instance, that the chicken you were eating (write an article

about being choked to death by a chicken-bone) was not altogether

aussi tendre que Zaire. Write!

_'Van muerte tan escondida,

Que no te sienta venir,

Porque el plazer del morir,

No mestorne a dar la vida.'_

"That's Spanish -- from Miguel de Cervantes. 'Come quickly, O death!

but be sure and don't let me see you coming, lest the pleasure I

shall feel at your appearance should unfortunately bring me back

again to life.' This you may slip in quite a propos when you are

struggling in the last agonies with the chicken-bone. Write!

_'Il pover 'huomo che non se'n era accorto,

Andava combattendo, e era morto.'_

That's Italian, you perceive -- from Ariosto. It means that a great

hero, in the heat of combat, not perceiving that he had been fairly

killed, continued to fight valiantly, dead as he was. The application

of this to your own case is obvious -- for I trust, Miss Psyche, that

you will not neglect to kick for at least an hour and a half after

you have been choked to death by that chicken-bone. Please to write!

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

_Durch sie -- durch sie!'_

That's German -- from Schiller. 'And if I die, at least I die -- for

thee -- for thee!' Here it is clear that you are apostrophizing the

cause of your disaster, the chicken. Indeed what gentleman (or lady

either) of sense, wouldn't die, I should like to know, for a well

fattened capon of the right Molucca breed, stuffed with capers and

mushrooms, and served up in a salad-bowl, with orange-jellies en

mosaiques. Write! (You can get them that way at Tortoni's) -- Write,

if you please!

"Here is a nice little Latin phrase, and rare too, (one can't be too

recherche or brief in one's Latin, it's getting so common --

ignoratio elenchi. He has committed an ignoratio elenchi -- that is

to say, he has understood the words of your proposition, but not the

idea. The man was a fool, you see. Some poor fellow whom you address

while choking with that chicken-bone, and who therefore didn't

precisely understand what you were talking about. Throw the ignoratio

elenchi in his teeth, and, at once, you have him annihilated. If he

dares to reply, you can tell him from Lucan (here it is) that

speeches are mere anemonae verborum, anemone words. The anemone, with

great brilliancy, has no smell. Or, if he begins to bluster, you may

be down upon him with insomnia Jovis, reveries of Jupiter -- a phrase

which Silius Italicus (see here!) applies to thoughts pompous and

inflated. This will be sure and cut him to the heart. He can do

nothing but roll over and die. Will you be kind enough to write?

"In Greek we must have some thing pretty -- from Demosthenes, for

example. !<,D@ N,LT8 ¯"4 B"84< :"P,F,J"4

[Anerh o pheugoen kai palin makesetai] There is a tolerably good

translation of it in Hudibras

'For he that flies may fight again,

Which he can never do that's slain.'

In a Blackwood article nothing makes so fine a show as your Greek.

The very letters have an air of profundity about them. Only observe,

madam, the astute look of that Epsilon! That Phi ought certainly to

be a bishop! Was ever there a smarter fellow than that Omicron? Just

twig that Tau! In short, there is nothing like Greek for a genuine

sensation-paper. In the present case your application is the most

obvious thing in the world. Rap out the sentence, with a huge oath,

and by way of ultimatum at the good-for-nothing dunder-headed villain

who couldn't understand your plain English in relation to the

chicken-bone. He'll take the hint and be off, you may depend upon

it."

These were all the instructions Mr. B. could afford me upon the topic

in question, but I felt they would be entirely sufficient. I was, at

length, able to write a genuine Blackwood article, and determined to

do it forthwith. In taking leave of me, Mr. B. made a proposition for

the purchase of the paper when written; but as he could offer me only

fifty guineas a sheet, I thought it better to let our society have

it, than sacrifice it for so paltry a sum. Notwithstanding this

niggardly spirit, however, the gentleman showed his consideration for

me in all other respects, and indeed treated me with the greatest

civility. His parting words made a deep impression upon my heart, and

I hope I shall always remember them with gratitude.

"My dear Miss Zenobia," he said, while the tears stood in his eyes,

"is there anything else I can do to promote the success of your

laudable undertaking? Let me reflect! It is just possible that you

may not be able, so soon as convenient, to -- to -- get yourself

drowned, or -- choked with a chicken-bone, or -- or hung, -- or --

bitten by a -- but stay! Now I think me of it, there are a couple of

very excellent bull-dogs in the yard -- fine fellows, I assure you --

savage, and all that -- indeed just the thing for your money --

they'll have you eaten up, auricula and all, in less than five

minutes (here's my watch!) -- and then only think of the sensations!

Here! I say -- Tom! -- Peter! -- Dick, you villain! -- let out those"

-- but as I was really in a great hurry, and had not another moment

to spare, I was reluctantly forced to expedite my departure, and

accordingly took leave at once -- somewhat more abruptly, I admit,

than strict courtesy would have otherwise allowed.

It was my primary object upon quitting Mr. Blackwood, to get into

some immediate difficulty, pursuant to his advice, and with this view

I spent the greater part of the day in wandering about Edinburgh,

seeking for desperate adventures -- adventures adequate to the

intensity of my feelings, and adapted to the vast character of the

article I intended to write. In this excursion I was attended by one

negro -- servant, Pompey, and my little lap-dog Diana, whom I had

brought with me from Philadelphia. It was not, however, until late in

the afternoon that I fully succeeded in my arduous undertaking. An

important event then happened of which the following Blackwood

article, in the tone heterogeneous, is the substance and result.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

A PREDICAMENT

What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus?

--COMUS.

IT was a quiet and still afternoon when I strolled forth in the

goodly city of Edina. The confusion and bustle in the streets were

terrible. Men were talking. Women were screaming. Children were

choking. Pigs were whistling. Carts they rattled. Bulls they

bellowed. Cows they lowed. Horses they neighed. Cats they

caterwauled. Dogs they danced. Danced! Could it then be possible?

Danced! Alas, thought I, my dancing days are over! Thus it is ever.

What a host of gloomy recollections will ever and anon be awakened in

the mind of genius and imaginative contemplation, especially of a

genius doomed to the everlasting and eternal, and continual, and, as

one might say, the -- continued -- yes, the continued and continuous,

bitter, harassing, disturbing, and, if I may be allowed the

expression, the very disturbing influence of the serene, and godlike,

and heavenly, and exalted, and elevated, and purifying effect of what

may be rightly termed the most enviable, the most truly enviable --

nay! the most benignly beautiful, the most deliciously ethereal, and,

as it were, the most pretty (if I may use so bold an expression)

thing (pardon me, gentle reader!) in the world -- but I am always led

away by my feelings. In such a mind, I repeat, what a host of

recollections are stirred up by a trifle! The dogs danced! I -- I

could not! They frisked -- I wept. They capered -- I sobbed aloud.

Touching circumstances! which cannot fail to bring to the

recollection of the classical reader that exquisite passage in

relation to the fitness of things, which is to be found in the

commencement of the third volume of that admirable and venerable

Chinese novel the Jo-Go-Slow.

In my solitary walk through, the city I had two humble but faithful

companions. Diana, my poodle! sweetest of creatures! She had a

quantity of hair over her one eye, and a blue ribband tied

fashionably around her neck. Diana was not more than five inches in

height, but her head was somewhat bigger than her body, and her tail

being cut off exceedingly close, gave an air of injured innocence to

the interesting animal which rendered her a favorite with all.

And Pompey, my negro! -- sweet Pompey! how shall I ever forget thee?

I had taken Pompey's arm. He was three feet in height (I like to be

particular) and about seventy, or perhaps eighty, years of age. He

had bow-legs and was corpulent. His mouth should not be called small,

nor his ears short. His teeth, however, were like pearl, and his

large full eyes were deliciously white. Nature had endowed him with

no neck, and had placed his ankles (as usual with that race) in the

middle of the upper portion of the feet. He was clad with a striking

simplicity. His sole garments were a stock of nine inches in height,

and a nearly -- new drab overcoat which had formerly been in the

service of the tall, stately, and illustrious Dr. Moneypenny. It was

a good overcoat. It was well cut. It was well made. The coat was

nearly new. Pompey held it up out of the dirt with both hands.

There were three persons in our party, and two of them have already

been the subject of remark. There was a third -- that person was

myself. I am the Signora Psyche Zenobia. I am not Suky Snobbs. My

appearance is commanding. On the memorable occasion of which I speak

I was habited in a crimson satin dress, with a sky-blue Arabian

mantelet. And the dress had trimmings of green agraffas, and seven

graceful flounces of the orange-colored auricula. I thus formed the

third of the party. There was the poodle. There was Pompey. There was

myself. We were three. Thus it is said there were originally but

three Furies -- Melty, Nimmy, and Hetty -- Meditation, Memory, and

Fiddling.

Leaning upon the arm of the gallant Pompey, and attended at a

respectable distance by Diana, I proceeded down one of the populous

and very pleasant streets of the now deserted Edina. On a sudden,

there presented itself to view a church -- a Gothic cathedral --

vast, venerable, and with a tall steeple, which towered into the sky.

What madness now possessed me? Why did I rush upon my fate? I was

seized with an uncontrollable desire to ascend the giddy pinnacle,

and then survey the immense extent of the city. The door of the

cathedral stood invitingly open. My destiny prevailed. I entered the

ominous archway. Where then was my guardian angel? -- if indeed such

angels there be. If! Distressing monosyllable! what world of mystery,

and meaning, and doubt, and uncertainty is there involved in thy two

letters! I entered the ominous archway! I entered; and, without

injury to my orange-colored auriculas, I passed beneath the portal,

and emerged within the vestibule. Thus it is said the immense river

Alfred passed, unscathed, and unwetted, beneath the sea.

I thought the staircase would never have an end. Round! Yes, they

went round and up, and round and up and round and up, until I could

not help surmising, with the sagacious Pompey, upon whose supporting

arm I leaned in all the confidence of early affection -- I could not

help surmising that the upper end of the continuous spiral ladder had

been accidentally, or perhaps designedly, removed. I paused for

breath; and, in the meantime, an accident occurred of too momentous a

nature in a moral, and also in a metaphysical point of view, to be

passed over without notice. It appeared to me -- indeed I was quite

confident of the fact -- I could not be mistaken -- no! I had, for

some moments, carefully and anxiously observed the motions of my

Diana -- I say that I could not be mistaken -- Diana smelt a rat! At

once I called Pompey's attention to the subject, and he -- he agreed

with me. There was then no longer any reasonable room for doubt. The

rat had been smelled -- and by Diana. Heavens! shall I ever forget

the intense excitement of the moment? Alas! what is the boasted

intellect of man? The rat! -- it was there -- that is to say, it was

somewhere. Diana smelled the rat. I -- I could not! Thus it is said

the Prussian Isis has, for some persons, a sweet and very powerful

perfume, while to others it is perfectly scentless.

The staircase had been surmounted, and there were now only three or

four more upward steps intervening between us and the summit. We

still ascended, and now only one step remained. One step! One little,

little step! Upon one such little step in the great staircase of

human life how vast a sum of human happiness or misery depends! I

thought of myself, then of Pompey, and then of the mysterious and

inexplicable destiny which surrounded us. I thought of Pompey! --

alas, I thought of love! I thought of my many false steps which have

been taken, and may be taken again. I resolved to be more cautious,

more reserved. I abandoned the arm of Pompey, and, without his

assistance, surmounted the one remaining step, and gained the chamber

of the belfry. I was followed immediately afterward by my poodle.

Pompey alone remained behind. I stood at the head of the staircase,

and encouraged him to ascend. He stretched forth to me his hand, and

unfortunately in so doing was forced to abandon his firm hold upon

the overcoat. Will the gods never cease their persecution? The

overcoat is dropped, and, with one of his feet, Pompey stepped upon

the long and trailing skirt of the overcoat. He stumbled and fell --

this consequence was inevitable. He fell forward, and, with his

accursed head, striking me full in the -- in the breast, precipitated

me headlong, together with himself, upon the hard, filthy, and

detestable floor of the belfry. But my revenge was sure, sudden, and

complete. Seizing him furiously by the wool with both hands, I tore

out a vast quantity of black, and crisp, and curling material, and

tossed it from me with every manifestation of disdain. It fell among

the ropes of the belfry and remained. Pompey arose, and said no word.

But he regarded me piteously with his large eyes and -- sighed. Ye

Gods -- that sigh! It sunk into my heart. And the hair -- the wool!

Could I have reached that wool I would have bathed it with my tears,

in testimony of regret. But alas! it was now far beyond my grasp. As

it dangled among the cordage of the bell, I fancied it alive. I

fancied that it stood on end with indignation. Thus the happy-dandy

Flos Aeris of Java bears, it is said, a beautiful flower, which will

live when pulled up by the roots. The natives suspend it by a cord

from the ceiling and enjoy its fragrance for years.

Our quarrel was now made up, and we looked about the room for an

aperture through which to survey the city of Edina. Windows there

were none. The sole light admitted into the gloomy chamber proceeded

from a square opening, about a foot in diameter, at a height of about

seven feet from the floor. Yet what will the energy of true genius

not effect? I resolved to clamber up to this hole. A vast quantity of

wheels, pinions, and other cabalistic -- looking machinery stood

opposite the hole, close to it; and through the hole there passed an

iron rod from the machinery. Between the wheels and the wall where

the hole lay there was barely room for my body -- yet I was

desperate, and determined to persevere. I called Pompey to my side.

"You perceive that aperture, Pompey. I wish to look through it. You

will stand here just beneath the hole -- so. Now, hold out one of

your hands, Pompey, and let me step upon it -- thus. Now, the other

hand, Pompey, and with its aid I will get upon your shoulders."

He did every thing I wished, and I found, upon getting up, that I

could easily pass my head and neck through the aperture. The prospect

was sublime. Nothing could be more magnificent. I merely paused a

moment to bid Diana behave herself, and assure Pompey that I would be

considerate and bear as lightly as possible upon his shoulders. I

told him I would be tender of his feelings -- ossi tender que

beefsteak. Having done this justice to my faithful friend, I gave

myself up with great zest and enthusiasm to the enjoyment of the

scene which so obligingly spread itself out before my eyes.

Upon this subject, however, I shall forbear to dilate. I will not

describe the city of Edinburgh. Every one has been to the city of

Edinburgh. Every one has been to Edinburgh -- the classic Edina. I

will confine myself to the momentous details of my own lamentable

adventure. Having, in some measure, satisfied my curiosity in regard

to the extent, situation, and general appearance of the city, I had

leisure to survey the church in which I was, and the delicate

architecture of the steeple. I observed that the aperture through

which I had thrust my head was an opening in the dial-plate of a

gigantic clock, and must have appeared, from the street, as a large

key-hole, such as we see in the face of the French watches. No doubt

the true object was to admit the arm of an attendant, to adjust, when

necessary, the hands of the clock from within. I observed also, with

surprise, the immense size of these hands, the longest of which could

not have been less than ten feet in length, and, where broadest,

eight or nine inches in breadth. They were of solid steel apparently,

and their edges appeared to be sharp. Having noticed these

particulars, and some others, I again turned my eyes upon the

glorious prospect below, and soon became absorbed in contemplation.

From this, after some minutes, I was aroused by the voice of Pompey,

who declared that he could stand it no longer, and requested that I

would be so kind as to come down. This was unreasonable, and I told

him so in a speech of some length. He replied, but with an evident

misunderstanding of my ideas upon the subject. I accordingly grew

angry, and told him in plain words, that he was a fool, that he had

committed an ignoramus e-clench-eye, that his notions were mere

insommary Bovis, and his words little better than an

ennemywerrybor'em. With this he appeared satisfied, and I resumed my

contemplations.

It might have been half an hour after this altercation when, as I was

deeply absorbed in the heavenly scenery beneath me, I was startled by

something very cold which pressed with a gentle pressure on the back

of my neck. It is needless to say that I felt inexpressibly alarmed.

I knew that Pompey was beneath my feet, and that Diana was sitting,

according to my explicit directions, upon her hind legs, in the

farthest corner of the room. What could it be? Alas! I but too soon

discovered. Turning my head gently to one side, I perceived, to my

extreme horror, that the huge, glittering, scimetar-like minute-hand

of the clock had, in the course of its hourly revolution, descended

upon my neck. There was, I knew, not a second to be lost. I pulled

back at once -- but it was too late. There was no chance of forcing

my head through the mouth of that terrible trap in which it was so

fairly caught, and which grew narrower and narrower with a rapidity

too horrible to be conceived. The agony of that moment is not to be

imagined. I threw up my hands and endeavored, with all my strength,

to force upward the ponderous iron bar. I might as well have tried to

lift the cathedral itself. Down, down, down it came, closer and yet

closer. I screamed to Pompey for aid; but he said that I had hurt his

feelings by calling him 'an ignorant old squint-eye:' I yelled to

Diana; but she only said 'bow-wow-wow,' and that I had told her 'on

no account to stir from the corner.' Thus I had no relief to expect

from my associates.

Meantime the ponderous and terrific Scythe of Time (for I now

discovered the literal import of that classical phrase) had not

stopped, nor was it likely to stop, in its career. Down and still

down, it came. It had already buried its sharp edge a full inch in my

flesh, and my sensations grew indistinct and confused. At one time I

fancied myself in Philadelphia with the stately Dr. Moneypenny, at

another in the back parlor of Mr. Blackwood receiving his invaluable

instructions. And then again the sweet recollection of better and

earlier times came over me, and I thought of that happy period when

the world was not all a desert, and Pompey not altogether cruel.

The ticking of the machinery amused me. Amused me, I say, for my

sensations now bordered upon perfect happiness, and the most trifling

circumstances afforded me pleasure. The eternal click-clak,

click-clak, click-clak of the clock was the most melodious of music

in my ears, and occasionally even put me in mind of the graceful

sermonic harangues of Dr. Ollapod. Then there were the great figures

upon the dial-plate -- how intelligent how intellectual, they all

looked! And presently they took to dancing the Mazurka, and I think

it was the figure V. who performed the most to my satisfaction. She

was evidently a lady of breeding. None of your swaggerers, and

nothing at all indelicate in her motions. She did the pirouette to

admiration -- whirling round upon her apex. I made an endeavor to

hand her a chair, for I saw that she appeared fatigued with her

exertions -- and it was not until then that I fully perceived my

lamentable situation. Lamentable indeed! The bar had buried itself

two inches in my neck. I was aroused to a sense of exquisite pain. I

prayed for death, and, in the agony of the moment, could not help

repeating those exquisite verses of the poet Miguel De Cervantes:

Vanny Buren, tan escondida

Query no te senty venny

Pork and pleasure, delly morry

Nommy, torny, darry, widdy!

But now a new horror presented itself, and one indeed sufficient to

startle the strongest nerves. My eyes, from the cruel pressure of the

machine, were absolutely starting from their sockets. While I was

thinking how I should possibly manage without them, one actually

tumbled out of my head, and, rolling down the steep side of the

steeple, lodged in the rain gutter which ran along the eaves of the

main building. The loss of the eye was not so much as the insolent

air of independence and contempt with which it regarded me after it

was out. There it lay in the gutter just under my nose, and the airs

it gave itself would have been ridiculous had they not been

disgusting. Such a winking and blinking were never before seen. This

behavior on the part of my eye in the gutter was not only irritating

on account of its manifest insolence and shameful ingratitude, but

was also exceedingly inconvenient on account of the sympathy which

always exists between two eyes of the same head, however far apart. I

was forced, in a manner, to wink and to blink, whether I would or

not, in exact concert with the scoundrelly thing that lay just under

my nose. I was presently relieved, however, by the dropping out of

the other eye. In falling it took the same direction (possibly a

concerted plot) as its fellow. Both rolled out of the gutter

together, and in truth I was very glad to get rid of them.

The bar was now four inches and a half deep in my neck, and there was

only a little bit of skin to cut through. My sensations were those of

entire happiness, for I felt that in a few minutes, at farthest, I

should be relieved from my disagreeable situation. And in this

expectation I was not at all deceived. At twenty-five minutes past

five in the afternoon, precisely, the huge minute-hand had proceeded

sufficiently far on its terrible revolution to sever the small

remainder of my neck. I was not sorry to see the head which had

occasioned me so much embarrassment at length make a final separation

from my body. It first rolled down the side of the steeple, then

lodge, for a few seconds, in the gutter, and then made its way, with

a plunge, into the middle of the street.

I will candidly confess that my feelings were now of the most

singular -- nay, of the most mysterious, the most perplexing and

incomprehensible character. My senses were here and there at one and

the same moment. With my head I imagined, at one time, that I, the

head, was the real Signora Psyche Zenobia -- at another I felt

convinced that myself, the body, was the proper identity. To clear my

ideas on this topic I felt in my pocket for my snuff-box, but, upon

getting it, and endeavoring to apply a pinch of its grateful contents

in the ordinary manner, I became immediately aware of my peculiar

deficiency, and threw the box at once down to my head. It took a

pinch with great satisfaction, and smiled me an acknowledgement in

return. Shortly afterward it made me a speech, which I could hear but

indistinctly without ears. I gathered enough, however, to know that

it was astonished at my wishing to remain alive under such

circumstances. In the concluding sentences it quoted the noble words

of Ariosto--

Il pover hommy che non sera corty

And have a combat tenty erry morty; thus comparing me to the hero

who, in the heat of the combat, not perceiving that he was dead,

continued to contest the battle with inextinguishable valor. There

was nothing now to prevent my getting down from my elevation, and I

did so. What it was that Pompey saw so very peculiar in my appearance

I have never yet been able to find out. The fellow opened his mouth

from ear to ear, and shut his two eyes as if he were endeavoring to

crack nuts between the lids. Finally, throwing off his overcoat, he

made one spring for the staircase and disappeared. I hurled after the

scoundrel these vehement words of Demosthenes-

Andrew O'Phlegethon, you really make haste to fly, and then turned to

the darling of my heart, to the one-eyed! the shaggy-haired Diana.

Alas! what a horrible vision affronted my eyes? Was that a rat I saw

skulking into his hole? Are these the picked bones of the little

angel who has been cruelly devoured by the monster? Ye gods! and what

do I behold -- is that the departed spirit, the shade, the ghost, of

my beloved puppy, which I perceive sitting with a grace so

melancholy, in the corner? Hearken! for she speaks, and, heavens! it

is in the German of Schiller-

"Unt stubby duk, so stubby dun

Duk she! duk she!" Alas! and are not her words too true?

"And if I died, at least I died

For thee -- for thee." Sweet creature! she too has sacrificed herself

in my behalf. Dogless, niggerless, headless, what now remains for the

unhappy Signora Psyche Zenobia? Alas -- nothing! I have done.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

MYSTIFICATION

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

them.

-- NED KNOWLES.

THE BARON RITZNER VON JUNG was a noble Hungarian family, every member

of which (at least as far back into antiquity as any certain records

extend) was more or less remarkable for talent of some description --

the majority for that species of grotesquerie in conception of which

Tieck, a scion of the house, has given a vivid, although by no means

the most vivid exemplifications. My acquaintance with Ritzner

commenced at the magnificent Chateau Jung, into which a train of

droll adventures, not to be made public, threw a place in his regard,

and here, with somewhat more difficulty, a partial insight into his

mental conformation. In later days this insight grew more clear, as

the intimacy which had at first permitted it became more close; and

when, after three years of the character of the Baron Ritzner von

Jung.

I remember the buzz of curiosity which his advent excited within the

college precincts on the night of the twenty-fifth of June. I

remember still more distinctly, that while he was pronounced by all

parties at first sight "the most remarkable man in the world," no

person made any attempt at accounting for his opinion. That he was

unique appeared so undeniable, that it was deemed impertinent to

inquire wherein the uniquity consisted. But, letting this matter pass

for the present, I will merely observe that, from the first moment of

his setting foot within the limits of the university, he began to

exercise over the habits, manners, persons, purses, and propensities

of the whole community which surrounded him, an influence the most

extensive and despotic, yet at the same time the most indefinite and

altogether unaccountable. Thus the brief period of his residence at

the university forms an era in its annals, and is characterized by

all classes of people appertaining to it or its dependencies as "that

very extraordinary epoch forming the domination of the Baron Ritzner

von Jung." then of no particular age, by which I mean that it was

impossible to form a guess respecting his age by any data personally

afforded. He might have been fifteen or fifty, and was twenty-one

years and seven months. He was by no means a handsome man -- perhaps

the reverse. The contour of his face was somewhat angular and harsh.

His forehead was lofty and very fair; his nose a snub; his eyes

large, heavy, glassy, and meaningless. About the mouth there was more

to be observed. The lips were gently protruded, and rested the one

upon the other, after such a fashion that it is impossible to

conceive any, even the most complex, combination of human features,

conveying so entirely, and so singly, the idea of unmitigated

gravity, solemnity and repose.

It will be perceived, no doubt, from what I have already said, that

the Baron was one of those human anomalies now and then to be found,

who make the science of mystification the study and the business of

their lives. For this science a peculiar turn of mind gave him

instinctively the cue, while his physical appearance afforded him

unusual facilities for carrying his prospects into effect. I quaintly

termed the domination of the Baron Ritzner von Jung, ever rightly

entered into the mystery which overshadowed his character. I truly

think that no person at the university, with the exception of myself,

ever suspected him to be capable of a joke, verbal or practical: --

the old bull-dog at the garden-gate would sooner have been accused,

-- the ghost of Heraclitus, -- or the wig of the Emeritus Professor

of Theology. This, too, when it was evident that the most egregious

and unpardonable of all conceivable tricks, whimsicalities and

buffooneries were brought about, if not directly by him, at least

plainly through his intermediate agency or connivance. The beauty, if

I may so call it, of his art mystifique, lay in that consummate

ability (resulting from an almost intuitive knowledge of human

nature, and a most wonderful self-possession,) by means of which he

never failed to make it appear that the drolleries he was occupied in

bringing to a point, arose partly in spite, and partly in consequence

of the laudable efforts he was making for their prevention, and for

the preservation of the good order and dignity of Alma Mater. The

deep, the poignant, the overwhelming mortification, which upon each

such failure of his praise worthy endeavors, would suffuse every

lineament of his countenance, left not the slightest room for doubt

of his sincerity in the bosoms of even his most skeptical companions.

The adroitness, too, was no less worthy of observation by which he

contrived to shift the sense of the grotesque from the creator to the

created -- from his own person to the absurdities to which he had

given rise. In no instance before that of which I speak, have I known

the habitual mystific escape the natural consequence of his manoevres

-- an attachment of the ludicrous to his own character and person.

Continually enveloped in an atmosphere of whim, my friend appeared to

live only for the severities of society; and not even his own

household have for a moment associated other ideas than those of the

rigid and august with the memory of the Baron Ritzner von Jung. the

demon of the dolce far niente lay like an incubus upon the

university. Nothing, at least, was done beyond eating and drinking

and making merry. The apartments of the students were converted into

so many pot-houses, and there was no pot-house of them all more

famous or more frequented than that of the Baron. Our carousals here

were many, and boisterous, and long, and never unfruitful of events.

Upon one occasion we had protracted our sitting until nearly

daybreak, and an unusual quantity of wine had been drunk. The company

consisted of seven or eight individuals besides the Baron and myself.

Most of these were young men of wealth, of high connection, of great

family pride, and all alive with an exaggerated sense of honor. They

abounded in the most ultra German opinions respecting the duello. To

these Quixotic notions some recent Parisian publications, backed by

three or four desperate and fatal conversation, during the greater

part of the night, had run wild upon the all -- engrossing topic of

the times. The Baron, who had been unusually silent and abstracted in

the earlier portion of the evening, at length seemed to be aroused

from his apathy, took a leading part in the discourse, and dwelt upon

the benefits, and more especially upon the beauties, of the received

code of etiquette in passages of arms with an ardor, an eloquence, an

impressiveness, and an affectionateness of manner, which elicited the

warmest enthusiasm from his hearers in general, and absolutely

staggered even myself, who well knew him to be at heart a ridiculer

of those very points for which he contended, and especially to hold

the entire fanfaronade of duelling etiquette in the sovereign

contempt which it deserves.

Looking around me during a pause in the Baron's discourse (of which

my readers may gather some faint idea when I say that it bore

resemblance to the fervid, chanting, monotonous, yet musical sermonic

manner of Coleridge), I perceived symptoms of even more than the

general interest in the countenance of one of the party. This

gentleman, whom I shall call Hermann, was an original in every

respect -- except, perhaps, in the single particular that he was a

very great fool. He contrived to bear, however, among a particular

set at the university, a reputation for deep metaphysical thinking,

and, I believe, for some logical talent. As a duellist he had

acquired who had fallen at his hands; but they were many. He was a

man of courage undoubtedly. But it was upon his minute acquaintance

with the etiquette of the duello, and the nicety of his sense of

honor, that he most especially prided himself. These things were a

hobby which he rode to the death. To Ritzner, ever upon the lookout

for the grotesque, his peculiarities had for a long time past

afforded food for mystification. Of this, however, I was not aware;

although, in the present instance, I saw clearly that something of a

whimsical nature was upon the tapis with my friend, and that Hermann

was its especial object.

As the former proceeded in his discourse, or rather monologue I

perceived the excitement of the latter momently increasing. At length

he spoke; offering some objection to a point insisted upon by R., and

giving his reasons in detail. To these the Baron replied at length

(still maintaining his exaggerated tone of sentiment) and concluding,

in what I thought very bad taste, with a sarcasm and a sneer. The

hobby of Hermann now took the bit in his teeth. This I could discern

by the studied hair-splitting farrago of his rejoinder. His last

words I distinctly remember. "Your opinions, allow me to say, Baron

von Jung, although in the main correct, are, in many nice points,

discreditable to yourself and to the university of which you are a

member. In a few respects they are even unworthy of serious

refutation. I would say more than this, sir, were it not for the fear

of giving you offence (here the speaker smiled blandly), I would say,

sir, that your opinions are not the opinions to be expected from a

gentleman."

As Hermann completed this equivocal sentence, all eyes were turned

upon the Baron. He became pale, then excessively red; then, dropping

his pocket-handkerchief, stooped to recover it, when I caught a

glimpse of his countenance, while it could be seen by no one else at

the table. It was radiant with the quizzical expression which was its

natural character, but which I had never seen it assume except when

we were alone together, and when he unbent himself freely. In an

instant afterward he stood erect, confronting Hermann; and so total

an alteration of countenance in so short a period I certainly never

saw before. For a moment I even fancied that I had misconceived him,

and that he was in sober earnest. He appeared to be stifling with

passion, and his face was cadaverously white. For a short time he

remained silent, apparently striving to master his emotion. Having at

length seemingly succeeded, he reached a decanter which stood near

him, saying as he held it firmly clenched "The language you have

thought proper to employ, Mynheer Hermann, in addressing yourself to

me, is objectionable in so many particulars, that I have neither

temper nor time for specification. That my opinions, however, are not

the opinions to be expected from a gentleman, is an observation so

directly offensive as to allow me but one line of conduct. Some

courtesy, nevertheless, is due to the presence of this company, and

to yourself, at this moment, as my guest. You will pardon me,

therefore, if, upon this consideration, I deviate slightly from the

general usage among gentlemen in similar cases of personal affront.

You will forgive me for the moderate tax I shall make upon your

imagination, and endeavor to consider, for an instant, the reflection

of your person in yonder mirror as the living Mynheer Hermann

himself. This being done, there will be no difficulty whatever. I

shall discharge this decanter of wine at your image in yonder mirror,

and thus fulfil all the spirit, if not the exact letter, of

resentment for your insult, while the necessity of physical violence

to your real person will be obviated."

With these words he hurled the decanter, full of wine, against the

mirror which hung directly opposite Hermann; striking the reflection

of his person with great precision, and of course shattering the

glass into fragments. The whole company at once started to their

feet, and, with the exception of myself and Ritzner, took their

departure. As Hermann went out, the Baron whispered me that I should

follow him and make an offer of my services. To this I agreed; not

knowing precisely what to make of so ridiculous a piece of business.

The duellist accepted my aid with his stiff and ultra recherche air,

and, taking my arm, led me to his apartment. I could hardly forbear

laughing in his face while he proceeded to discuss, with the

profoundest gravity, what he termed "the refinedly peculiar

character" of the insult he had received. After a tiresome harangue

in his ordinary style, he took down from his book shelves a number of

musty volumes on the subject of the duello, and entertained me for a

long time with their contents; reading aloud, and commenting

earnestly as he read. I can just remember the titles of some of the

works. There were the "Ordonnance of Philip le Bel on Single Combat";

the "Theatre of Honor," by Favyn, and a treatise "On the Permission

of Duels," by Andiguier. He displayed, also, with much pomposity,

Brantome's "Memoirs of Duels," -- published at Cologne, 1666, in the

types of Elzevir -- a precious and unique vellum-paper volume, with a

fine margin, and bound by Derome. But he requested my attention

particularly, and with an air of mysterious sagacity, to a thick

octavo, written in barbarous Latin by one Hedelin, a Frenchman, and

having the quaint title, "Duelli Lex Scripta, et non; aliterque."

From this he read me one of the drollest chapters in the world

concerning "Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per

se," about half of which, he averred, was strictly applicable to his

own "refinedly peculiar" case, although not one syllable of the whole

matter could I understand for the life of me. Having finished the

chapter, he closed the book, and demanded what I thought necessary to

be done. I replied that I had entire confidence in his superior

delicacy of feeling, and would abide by what he proposed. With this

answer he seemed flattered, and sat down to write a note to the

Baron. It ran thus:

Sir, -- My friend, M. P.-, will hand you this note. I find it

incumbent upon me to request, at your earliest convenience, an

explanation of this evening's occurrences at your chambers. In the

event of your declining this request, Mr. P. will be happy to

arrange, with any friend whom you may appoint, the steps preliminary

to a meeting.

With sentiments of perfect respect,

Your most humble servant,

JOHANN HERMAN.

To the Baron Ritzner von Jung,

Not knowing what better to do, I called upon Ritzner with this

epistle. He bowed as I presented it; then, with a grave countenance,

motioned me to a seat. Having perused the cartel, he wrote the

following reply, which I carried to Hermann.

SIR, -- Through our common friend, Mr. P., I have received your note

of this evening. Upon due reflection I frankly admit the propriety of

the explanation you suggest. This being admitted, I still find great

difficulty, (owing to the refinedly peculiar nature of our

disagreement, and of the personal affront offered on my part,) in so

wording what I have to say by way of apology, as to meet all the

minute exigencies, and all the variable shadows, of the case. I have

great reliance, however, on that extreme delicacy of discrimination,

in matters appertaining to the rules of etiquette, for which you have

been so long and so pre-eminently distinguished. With perfect

certainty, therefore, of being comprehended, I beg leave, in lieu of

offering any sentiments of my own, to refer you to the opinions of

Sieur Hedelin, as set forth in the ninth paragraph of the chapter of

"Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per se," in his

"Duelli Lex scripta, et non; aliterque." The nicety of your

discernment in all the matters here treated, will be sufficient, I am

assured, to convince you that the mere circumstance of me referring

you to this admirable passage, ought to satisfy your request, as a

man of honor, for explanation.

With sentiments of profound respect,

Your most obedient servant,

VON JUNG.

The Herr Johann Hermann

Hermann commenced the perusal of this epistle with a scowl, which,

however, was converted into a smile of the most ludicrous

self-complacency as he came to the rigmarole about Injuriae per

applicationem, per constructionem, et per se. Having finished

reading, he begged me, with the blandest of all possible smiles, to

be seated, while he made reference to the treatise in question.

Turning to the passage specified, he read it with great care to

himself, then closed the book, and desired me, in my character of

confidential acquaintance, to express to the Baron von Jung his

exalted sense of his chivalrous behavior, and, in that of second, to

assure him that the explanation offered was of the fullest, the most

honorable, and the most unequivocally satisfactory nature.

Somewhat amazed at all this, I made my retreat to the Baron. He

seemed to receive Hermann's amicable letter as a matter of course,

and after a few words of general conversation, went to an inner room

and brought out the everlasting treatise "Duelli Lex scripta, et non;

aliterque." He handed me the volume and asked me to look over some

portion of it. I did so, but to little purpose, not being able to

gather the least particle of meaning. He then took the book himself,

and read me a chapter aloud. To my surprise, what he read proved to

be a most horribly absurd account of a duel between two baboons. He

now explained the mystery; showing that the volume, as it appeared

prima facie, was written upon the plan of the nonsense verses of Du

Bartas; that is to say, the language was ingeniously framed so as to

present to the ear all the outward signs of intelligibility, and even

of profundity, while in fact not a shadow of meaning existed. The key

to the whole was found in leaving out every second and third word

alternately, when there appeared a series of ludicrous quizzes upon a

single combat as practised in modern times.

The Baron afterwards informed me that he had purposely thrown the

treatise in Hermann's way two or three weeks before the adventure,

and that he was satisfied, from the general tenor of his

conversation, that he had studied it with the deepest attention, and

firmly believed it to be a work of unusual merit. Upon this hint he

proceeded. Hermann would have died a thousand deaths rather than

acknowledge his inability to understand anything and everything in

the universe that had ever been written about the duello.

Littleton Barry.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

DIDDLING

CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE EXACT SCIENCES.

Hey, diddle diddle

The cat and the fiddle

SINCE the world began there have been two Jeremys. The one wrote a

Jeremiad about usury, and was called Jeremy Bentham. He has been much

admired by Mr. John Neal, and was a great man in a small way. The

other gave name to the most important of the Exact Sciences, and was

a great man in a great way -- I may say, indeed, in the very greatest

of ways.

Diddling -- or the abstract idea conveyed by the verb to diddle -- is

sufficiently well understood. Yet the fact, the deed, the thing

diddling, is somewhat difficult to define. We may get, however, at a

tolerably distinct conception of the matter in hand, by defining- not

the thing, diddling, in itself -- but man, as an animal that diddles.

Had Plato but hit upon this, he would have been spared the affront of

the picked chicken.

Very pertinently it was demanded of Plato, why a picked chicken,

which was clearly "a biped without feathers," was not, according to

his own definition, a man? But I am not to be bothered by any similar

query. Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that

diddles but man. It will take an entire hen-coop of picked chickens

to get over that.

What constitutes the essence, the nare, the principle of diddling is,

in fact, peculiar to the class of creatures that wear coats and

pantaloons. A crow thieves; a fox cheats; a weasel outwits; a man

diddles. To diddle is his destiny. "Man was made to mourn," says the

poet. But not so: -- he was made to diddle. This is his aim -- his

object- his end. And for this reason when a man's diddled we say he's

"done."

Diddling, rightly considered, is a compound, of which the ingredients

are minuteness, interest, perseverance, ingenuity, audacity,

nonchalance, originality, impertinence, and grin.

Minuteness: -- Your diddler is minute. His operations are upon a

small scale. His business is retail, for cash, or approved paper at

sight. Should he ever be tempted into magnificent speculation, he

then, at once, loses his distinctive features, and becomes what we

term "financier." This latter word conveys the diddling idea in every

respect except that of magnitude. A diddler may thus be regarded as a

banker in petto -- a "financial operation," as a diddle at

Brobdignag. The one is to the other, as Homer to "Flaccus" -- as a

Mastodon to a mouse -- as the tail of a comet to that of a pig.

Interest: -- Your diddler is guided by self-interest. He scorns to

diddle for the mere sake of the diddle. He has an object in view- his

pocket -- and yours. He regards always the main chance. He looks to

Number One. You are Number Two, and must look to yourself.

Perseverance: -- Your diddler perseveres. He is not readily

discouraged. Should even the banks break, he cares nothing about it.

He steadily pursues his end, and

Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto. so he never lets go of

his game.

Ingenuity: -- Your diddler is ingenious. He has constructiveness

large. He understands plot. He invents and circumvents. Were he not

Alexander he would be Diogenes. Were he not a diddler, he would be a

maker of patent rat-traps or an angler for trout.

Audacity: -- Your diddler is audacious. -- He is a bold man. He

carries the war into Africa. He conquers all by assault. He would not

fear the daggers of Frey Herren. With a little more prudence Dick

Turpin would have made a good diddler; with a trifle less blarney,

Daniel O'Connell; with a pound or two more brains Charles the

Twelfth.

Nonchalance: -- Your diddler is nonchalant. He is not at all nervous.

He never had any nerves. He is never seduced into a flurry. He is

never put out -- unless put out of doors. He is cool -- cool as a

cucumber. He is calm -- "calm as a smile from Lady Bury." He is easy-

easy as an old glove, or the damsels of ancient Baiae.

Originality: -- Your diddler is original -- conscientiously so. His

thoughts are his own. He would scorn to employ those of another. A

stale trick is his aversion. He would return a purse, I am sure, upon

discovering that he had obtained it by an unoriginal diddle.

Impertinence. -- Your diddler is impertinent. He swaggers. He sets

his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts. his hands in his trowsers' pockets. He

sneers in your face. He treads on your corns. He eats your dinner, he

drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he pulls your nose, he kicks

your poodle, and he kisses your wife.

Grin: -- Your true diddler winds up all with a grin. But this nobody

sees but himself. He grins when his daily work is done -- when his

allotted labors are accomplished -- at night in his own closet, and

altogether for his own private entertainment. He goes home. He locks

his door. He divests himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle.

He gets into bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done,

and your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of

course. I reason a priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without a

grin.

The origin of the diddle is referrable to the infancy of the Human

Race. Perhaps the first diddler was Adam. At all events, we can trace

the science back to a very remote period of antiquity. The moderns,

however, have brought it to a perfection never dreamed of by our

thick-headed progenitors. Without pausing to speak of the "old saws,"

therefore, I shall content myself with a compendious account of some

of the more "modern instances."

A very good diddle is this. A housekeeper in want of a sofa, for

instance, is seen to go in and out of several cabinet warehouses. At

length she arrives at one offering an excellent variety. She is

accosted, and invited to enter, by a polite and voluble individual at

the door. She finds a sofa well adapted to her views, and upon

inquiring the price, is surprised and delighted to hear a sum named

at least twenty per cent. lower than her expectations. She hastens to

make the purchase, gets a bill and receipt, leaves her address, with

a request that the article be sent home as speedily as possible, and

retires amid a profusion of bows from the shopkeeper. The night

arrives and no sofa. A servant is sent to make inquiry about the

delay. The whole transaction is denied. No sofa has been sold -- no

money received -- except by the diddler, who played shop-keeper for

the nonce.

Our cabinet warehouses are left entirely unattended, and thus afford

every facility for a trick of this kind. Visiters enter, look at

furniture, and depart unheeded and unseen. Should any one wish to

purchase, or to inquire the price of an article, a bell is at hand,

and this is considered amply sufficient.

Again, quite a respectable diddle is this. A well-dressed individual

enters a shop, makes a purchase to the value of a dollar; finds, much

to his vexation, that he has left his pocket-book in another coat

pocket; and so says to the shopkeeper-

"My dear sir, never mind; just oblige me, will you, by sending the

bundle home? But stay! I really believe that I have nothing less than

a five dollar bill, even there. However, you can send four dollars in

change with the bundle, you know."

"Very good, sir," replies the shop-keeper, who entertains, at once, a

lofty opinion of the high-mindedness of his customer. "I know

fellows," he says to himself, "who would just have put the goods

under their arm, and walked off with a promise to call and pay the

dollar as they came by in the afternoon."

A boy is sent with the parcel and change. On the route, quite

accidentally, he is met by the purchaser, who exclaims:

"Ah! This is my bundle, I see -- I thought you had been home with it,

long ago. Well, go on! My wife, Mrs. Trotter, will give you the five

dollars -- I left instructions with her to that effect. The change

you might as well give to me -- I shall want some silver for the Post

Office. Very good! One, two, is this a good quarter?- three, four --

quite right! Say to Mrs. Trotter that you met me, and be sure now and

do not loiter on the way."

The boy doesn't loiter at all -- but he is a very long time in

getting back from his errand -- for no lady of the precise name of

Mrs. Trotter is to be discovered. He consoles himself, however, that

he has not been such a fool as to leave the goods without the money,

and re-entering his shop with a self-satisfied air, feels sensibly

hurt and indignant when his master asks him what has become of the

change.

A very simple diddle, indeed, is this. The captain of a ship, which

is about to sail, is presented by an official looking person with an

unusually moderate bill of city charges. Glad to get off so easily,

and confused by a hundred duties pressing upon him all at once, he

discharges the claim forthwith. In about fifteen minutes, another and

less reasonable bill is handed him by one who soon makes it evident

that the first collector was a diddler, and the original collection a

diddle.

And here, too, is a somewhat similar thing. A steamboat is casting

loose from the wharf. A traveller, portmanteau in hand, is discovered

running toward the wharf, at full speed. Suddenly, he makes a dead

halt, stoops, and picks up something from the ground in a very

agitated manner. It is a pocket-book, and -- "Has any gentleman lost

a pocketbook?" he cries. No one can say that he has exactly lost a

pocket-book; but a great excitement ensues, when the treasure trove

is found to be of value. The boat, however, must not be detained.

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

"For God's sake, stay only a few minutes," says the finder of the

book -- "the true claimant will presently appear."

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

hear?"

"What am I to do?" asks the finder, in great tribulation. "I am about

to leave the country for some years, and I cannot conscientiously

retain this large amount in my possession. I beg your pardon, sir,"

[here he addresses a gentleman on shore,] "but you have the air of an

honest man. Will you confer upon me the favor of taking charge of

this pocket-book -- I know I can trust you -- and of advertising it?

The notes, you see, amount to a very considerable sum. The owner

will, no doubt, insist upon rewarding you for your trouble-

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

"Well, if you must have it so -- I will take a small reward -- just

to satisfy your scruples. Let me see -- why these notes are all

hundreds- bless my soul! a hundred is too much to take -- fifty would

be quite enough, I am sure-

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

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

better-

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

"Never mind!" cries the gentleman on shore, who has been examining

his own pocket-book for the last minute or so -- "never mind! I can

fix it -- here is a fifty on the Bank of North America -- throw the

book."

And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty with marked

reluctance, and throws the gentleman the book, as desired, while the

steamboat fumes and fizzes on her way. In about half an hour after

her departure, the "large amount" is seen to be a "counterfeit

presentment," and the whole thing a capital diddle.

A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or something similar, is to be

held at a certain spot which is accessible only by means of a free

bridge. A diddler stations himself upon this bridge, respectfully

informs all passers by of the new county law, which establishes a

toll of one cent for foot passengers, two for horses and donkeys, and

so forth, and so forth. Some grumble but all submit, and the diddler

goes home a wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well earned.

This taking a toll from a great crowd of people is an excessively

troublesome thing.

A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the diddler's promises

to pay, filled up and signed in due form, upon the ordinary blanks

printed in red ink. The diddler purchases one or two dozen of these

blanks, and every day dips one of them in his soup, makes his dog

jump for it, and finally gives it to him as a bonne bouche. The note

arriving at maturity, the diddler, with the diddler's dog, calls upon

the friend, and the promise to pay is made the topic of discussion.

The friend produces it from his escritoire, and is in the act of

reaching it to the diddler, when up jumps the diddler's dog and

devours it forthwith. The diddler is not only surprised but vexed and

incensed at the absurd behavior of his dog, and expresses his entire

readiness to cancel the obligation at any moment when the evidence of

the obligation shall be forthcoming.

A very mean diddle is this. A lady is insulted in the street by a

diddler's accomplice. The diddler himself flies to her assistance,

and, giving his friend a comfortable thrashing, insists upon

attending the lady to her own door. He bows, with his hand upon his

heart, and most respectfully bids her adieu. She entreats him, as her

deliverer, to walk in and be introduced to her big brother and her

papa. With a sigh, he declines to do so. "Is there no way, then,

sir," she murmurs, "in which I may be permitted to testify my

gratitude?"

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

couple of shillings?"

In the first excitement of the moment the lady decides upon fainting

outright. Upon second thought, however, she opens her purse-strings

and delivers the specie. Now this, I say, is a diddle minute -- for

one entire moiety of the sum borrowed has to be paid to the gentleman

who had the trouble of performing the insult, and who had then to

stand still and be thrashed for performing it.

Rather a small but still a scientific diddle is this. The diddler

approaches the bar of a tavern, and demands a couple of twists of

tobacco. These are handed to him, when, having slightly examined

them, he says:

"I don't much like this tobacco. Here, take it back, and give me a

glass of brandy and water in its place." The brandy and water is

furnished and imbibed, and the diddler makes his way to the door. But

the voice of the tavern-keeper arrests him.

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

water."

"Pay for my brandy and water! -- didn't I give you the tobacco for

the brandy and water? What more would you have?"

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

tobacco."

"What do you mean by that, you scoundrel? -- Didn't I give you back

your tobacco? Isn't that your tobacco lying there? Do you expect me

to pay for what I did not take?"

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

sir-"

"But me no buts, sir," interrupts the diddler, apparently in very

high dudgeon, and slamming the door after him, as he makes his

escape. -- "But me no buts, sir, and none of your tricks upon

travellers."

Here again is a very clever diddle, of which the simplicity is not

its least recommendation. A purse, or pocket-book, being really lost,

the loser inserts in one of the daily papers of a large city a fully

descriptive advertisement.

Whereupon our diddler copies the facts of this advertisement, with a

change of heading, of general phraseology and address. The original,

for instance, is long, and verbose, is headed "A Pocket-Book Lost!"

and requires the treasure, when found, to be left at No. 1 Tom

Street. The copy is brief, and being headed with "Lost" only,

indicates No. 2 Dick, or No. 3 Harry Street, as the locality at which

the owner may be seen. Moreover, it is inserted in at least five or

six of the daily papers of the day, while in point of time, it makes

its appearance only a few hours after the original. Should it be read

by the loser of the purse, he would hardly suspect it to have any

reference to his own misfortune. But, of course, the chances are five

or six to one, that the finder will repair to the address given by

the diddler, rather than to that pointed out by the rightful

proprietor. The former pays the reward, pockets the treasure and

decamps.

Quite an analogous diddle is this. A lady of ton has dropped, some

where in the street, a diamond ring of very unusual value. For its

recovery, she offers some forty or fifty dollars reward -- giving, in

her advertisement, a very minute description of the gem, and of its

settings, and declaring that, on its restoration at No. so and so, in

such and such Avenue, the reward would be paid instanter, without a

single question being asked. During the lady's absence from home, a

day or two afterwards, a ring is heard at the door of No. so and so,

in such and such Avenue; a servant appears; the lady of the house is

asked for and is declared to be out, at which astounding information,

the visitor expresses the most poignant regret. His business is of

importance and concerns the lady herself. In fact, he had the good

fortune to find her diamond ring. But perhaps it would be as well

that he should call again. "By no means!" says the servant; and "By

no means!" says the lady's sister and the lady's sister-in-law, who

are summoned forthwith. The ring is clamorously identified, the

reward is paid, and the finder nearly thrust out of doors. The lady

returns and expresses some little dissatisfaction with her sister and

sister-in-law, because they happen to have paid forty or fifty

dollars for a fac-simile of her diamond ring -- a fac-simile made out

of real pinch-beck and unquestionable paste.

But as there is really no end to diddling, so there would be none to

this essay, were I even to hint at half the variations, or

inflections, of which this science is susceptible. I must bring this

paper, perforce, to a conclusion, and this I cannot do better than by

a summary notice of a very decent, but rather elaborate diddle, of

which our own city was made the theatre, not very long ago, and which

was subsequently repeated with success, in other still more verdant

localities of the Union. A middle-aged gentleman arrives in town from

parts unknown. He is remarkably precise, cautious, staid, and

deliberate in his demeanor. His dress is scrupulously neat, but

plain, unostentatious. He wears a white cravat, an ample waistcoat,

made with an eye to comfort alone; thick-soled cosy-looking shoes,

and pantaloons without straps. He has the whole air, in fact, of your

well-to-do, sober-sided, exact, and respectable "man of business,"

Par excellence -- one of the stern and outwardly hard, internally

soft, sort of people that we see in the crack high comedies --

fellows whose words are so many bonds, and who are noted for giving

away guineas, in charity, with the one hand, while, in the way of

mere bargain, they exact the uttermost fraction of a farthing with

the other.

He makes much ado before he can get suited with a boarding house. He

dislikes children. He has been accustomed to quiet. His habits are

methodical -- and then he would prefer getting into a private and

respectable small family, piously inclined. Terms, however, are no

object -- only he must insist upon settling his bill on the first of

every month, (it is now the second) and begs his landlady, when he

finally obtains one to his mind, not on any account to forget his

instructions upon this point -- but to send in a bill, and receipt,

precisely at ten o'clock, on the first day of every month, and under

no circumstances to put it off to the second.

These arrangements made, our man of business rents an office in a

reputable rather than a fashionable quarter of the town. There is

nothing he more despises than pretense. "Where there is much show,"

he says, "there is seldom any thing very solid behind" -- an

observation which so profoundly impresses his landlady's fancy, that

she makes a pencil memorandum of it forthwith, in her great family

Bible, on the broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.

The next step is to advertise, after some such fashion as this, in

the principal business six-pennies of the city -- the pennies are

eschewed as not "respectable" -- and as demanding payment for all

advertisements in advance. Our man of business holds it as a point of

his faith that work should never be paid for until done.

"WANTED -- The advertisers, being about to commence extensive

business operations in this city, will require the services of three

or four intelligent and competent clerks, to whom a liberal salary

will be paid. The very best recommendations, not so much for

capacity, as for integrity, will be expected. Indeed, as the duties

to be performed involve high responsibilities, and large amounts of

money must necessarily pass through the hands of those engaged, it is

deemed advisable to demand a deposit of fifty dollars from each clerk

employed. No person need apply, therefore, who is not prepared to

leave this sum in the possession of the advertisers, and who cannot

furnish the most satisfactory testimonials of morality. Young

gentlemen piously inclined will be preferred. Application should be

made between the hours of ten and eleven A. M., and four and five P.

M., of Messrs.

"Bogs, Hogs Logs, Frogs & Co.,

"No. 110 Dog Street"

By the thirty-first day of the month, this advertisement has brought

to the office of Messrs. Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs, and Company, some

fifteen or twenty young gentlemen piously inclined. But our man of

business is in no hurry to conclude a contract with any -- no man of

business is ever precipitate -- and it is not until the most rigid

catechism in respect to the piety of each young gentleman's

inclination, that his services are engaged and his fifty dollars

receipted for, just by way of proper precaution, on the part of the

respectable firm of Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs, and Company. On the

morning of the first day of the next month, the landlady does not

present her bill, according to promise -- a piece of neglect for

which the comfortable head of the house ending in ogs would no doubt

have chided her severely, could he have been prevailed upon to remain

in town a day or two for that purpose.

As it is, the constables have had a sad time of it, running hither

and thither, and all they can do is to declare the man of business

most emphatically, a "hen knee high" -- by which some persons imagine

them to imply that, in fact, he is n. e. i. -- by which again the

very classical phrase non est inventus, is supposed to be understood.

In the meantime the young gentlemen, one and all, are somewhat less

piously inclined than before, while the landlady purchases a

shilling's worth of the Indian rubber, and very carefully obliterates

the pencil memorandum that some fool has made in her great family

Bible, on the broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE ANGEL OF THE ODD

AN EXTRAVAGANZA.

IT was a chilly November afternoon.  I had just consummated an

unusually hearty dinner, of which the dyspeptic _truffe_ formed not

the least important item, and was sitting alone in the dining-room,

with my feet upon the fender, and at my elbow a small table which I

had rolled up to the fire, and upon which were some apologies for

dessert, with some miscellaneous bottles of wine, spirit and

_liqueur_.  In the morning I had been reading Glover's "Leonidas,"

Wilkie's "Epigoniad," Lamartine's "Pilgrimage," Barlow's "Columbiad,"

Tuckermann's "Sicily," and Griswold's "Curiosities" ;  I am willing

to confess, therefore, that I now felt a little stupid.  I made

effort to arouse myself by aid of frequent Lafitte, and, all failing,

I betook myself to a stray newspaper in despair.  Having carefully

perused the column of "houses to let," and the column of "dogs lost,"

and then the two columns of "wives and apprentices runaway," I

attacked with great resolution the editorial matter, and, reading it

from beginning to end without understanding a syllable, conceived the

possibility of its being Chinese, and so re-read it from the end to

the beginning, but with no more satisfactory result.  I was about

throwing away, in disgust,

"This folio of four pages, happy work

Which not even critics criticise,"

when I felt my attention somewhat aroused by the paragraph which

follows :

"The avenues to death are numerous and strange.  A London paper

mentions the decease of a person from a singular cause.  He was

playing at 'puff the dart,' which is played with a long needle

inserted in some worsted, and blown at a target through  a tin tube.

He placed the needle at the wrong end of the tube, and drawing his

breath strongly to puff the dart forward with force, drew the needle

into his throat.  It entered the lungs, and in a few days killed

him."

Upon seeing this I fell into a great rage, without exactly

knowing why.  "This thing," I exclaimed, "is a contemptible falsehood

- a poor hoax - the lees of the invention of some pitiable

penny-a-liner - of some wretched concoctor of accidents in Cocaigne.

These fellows, knowing the extravagant gullibility of the age, set

their wits to work in the imagination of improbable possibilities -

of odd accidents, as they term them; but to a reflecting intellect

(like mine," I added, in parenthesis, putting my forefinger

unconsciously to the side of my nose,) "to a contemplative

understanding such as I myself possess, it seems evident at once that

the marvelous increase of late in these 'odd accidents' is by far the

oddest accident of all.  For my own part, I intend to believe nothing

henceforward that has anything of the 'singular' about it."

"Mein Gott, den, vat a vool you bees for dat !" replied one of

the most remarkable voices I ever heard.  At first I took it for a

rumbling in my ears - such as a man sometimes experiences when

getting very drunk - but, upon second thought, I considered the sound

as more nearly resembling that which proceeds from an empty barrel

beaten with a big stick; and, in fact, this I should have concluded

it to be, but for the articulation of the syllables and words.  I am

by no means naturally nervous, and the very few glasses of Lafitte

which I had sipped served to embolden me no little, so that I felt

nothing of trepidation, but merely uplifted my eyes with a leisurely

movement, and looked carefully around the room for the intruder.  I

could not, however, perceive any one at all.

"Humph !" resumed the voice, as I continued my survey, "you mus

pe so dronk as de pig, den, for not zee me as I zit here at your

zide."

Hereupon I bethought me of looking immediately before my nose,

and there, sure enough, confronting me at the table sat a personage

nondescript, although not altogether indescribable.  His body was a

wine-pipe, or a rum-puncheon, or something of  that character, and

had a truly Falstaffian air.  In its nether extremity were inserted

two kegs, which seemed to answer all the purposes of legs.  For arms

there dangled from the upper portion of the carcass two tolerably

long bottles, with the necks outward for hands. All the head that I

saw the monster possessed of was one of those Hessian canteens which

resemble a large snuff-box with a hole in the middle of the lid.

This canteen (with a funnel on its top, like a cavalier cap slouched

over the eyes) was set on edge upon the puncheon, with the hole

toward myself; and through this hole, which seemed puckered up like

the mouth of a very precise old maid, the creature was emitting

certain rumbling and grumbling noises which he evidently intended for

intelligible talk.

"I zay," said he, "you mos pe dronk as de pig, vor zit dare and

not zee me zit ere; and I zay, doo, you mos pe pigger vool as de

goose, vor to dispelief vat iz print in de print.  'Tiz de troof -

dat it iz - eberry vord ob it."

"Who are you, pray ?" said I, with much dignity, although

somewhat puzzled; "how did you get here ?  and what is it you are

talking about ?"

"Az vor ow I com'd ere," replied the figure, "dat iz none of your

pizzness; and as vor vat I be talking apout, I be talk apout vat I

tink proper; and as vor who I be, vy dat is de very ting I com'd here

for to let you zee for yourzelf."

"You are a drunken vagabond," said I, "and I shall ring the bell

and order my footman to kick you into the street."

"He !  he !  he !" said the fellow, "hu !  hu !  hu !  dat you

can't do."

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

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

villanous mouth.

Upon this I made an effort to get up, in order to put my threat

into execution; but the ruffian just reached across the table very

deliberately, and hitting me a tap on the forehead with the neck of

one of the long bottles, knocked me back into the arm-chair from

which I had half arisen.  I was utterly astounded; and, for a moment,

was quite at a loss what to do.  In the meantime, he continued his

talk.

"You zee," said he, "it iz te bess vor zit still; and now you

shall know who I pe.  Look at me !  zee !  I am te _Angel ov te

Odd_."

"And odd enough, too," I ventured to reply; "but I was always

under the impression that an angel had wings."

"Te wing  !" he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing

?  Mein Gott !  do you take me vor a shicken ?"

"No - oh no !" I replied, much alarmed, "you are no chicken -

certainly not."

"Well, den, zit still and pehabe yourself, or I'll rap you again

mid me vist.  It iz te shicken ab te wing, und te owl ab te wing, und

te imp ab te wing, und te head-teuffel ab te wing.  Te angel ab _not_

te wing, and I am te _Angel ov te Odd_."

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

"My pizzness !" ejaculated the thing, "vy vat a low bred buppy

you mos pe vor to ask a gentleman und an angel apout his pizziness !"

This language was rather more than I could bear, even from an

angel; so, plucking up courage, I seized a salt-cellar which lay

within reach, and hurled it at the head of the intruder.  Either he

dodged, however, or my aim was inaccurate; for all I accomplished was

the demolition of the crystal which protected the dial of the clock

upon the mantel-piece.  As for the Angel, he evinced his sense of my

assault by giving me two or three hard consecutive raps upon the

forehead as before.  These reduced me at once to submission, and I am

almost ashamed to confess that either through pain or vexation, there

came a few tears into my eyes.

"Mein Gott !" said the Angel of the Odd, apparently much softened

at my distress; "mein Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry

zorry.  You mos not trink it so strong - you mos put te water in te

wine.  Here, trink dis, like a goot veller, und don't gry now - don't

!"

Hereupon the Angel of the Odd replenished my goblet (which was

about a third full of Port) with a colorless fluid that he poured

from one of his hand bottles.  I observed that these bottles had

labels about their necks, and that these labels were inscribed

"Kirschenwasser."

The considerate kindness of the Angel mollified me in no little

measure; and, aided by the water with which he diluted my Port more

than once, I at length regained sufficient temper to listen to his

very extraordinary discourse.  I cannot pretend to recount all that

he told me, but I gleaned from what he said that he was the genius

who presided over the _contretemps_ of mankind, and whose business it

was to bring about the _odd accidents_ which are continually

astonishing the skeptic.  Once or twice, upon my venturing to express

my total incredulity in respect to his pretensions, he grew very

angry indeed, so that at length I considered it the wiser policy to

say nothing at all, and let him have his own way.  He talked on,

therefore, at great length, while I merely leaned back in my chair

with my eyes shut, and amused myself with munching raisins and

filliping the stems about the room.  But, by-and-by, the Angel

suddenly construed this behavior of mine into contempt.  He arose in

a terrible passion, slouched his funnel down over his eyes, swore a

vast oath, uttered a threat of some character which I did not

precisely comprehend, and finally made me a low bow and departed,

wishing me, in the language of the archbishop in Gil-Blas, "_beaucoup

de bonheur et un peu plus de bon sens_."

His departure afforded me relief.  The _very_ few glasses of

Lafitte that I had sipped had the effect of rendering me drowsy, and

I felt inclined to take a nap of some fifteen or twenty minutes, as

is my custom after dinner.  At six I had an appointment of

consequence, which it was quite indispensable that I should keep.

The policy of insurance for my dwelling house had expired the day

before; and, some dispute having arisen, it was agreed that, at six,

I should meet the board of directors of the company and settle the

terms of a renewal.  Glancing upward at the clock on the

mantel-piece, (for I felt too drowsy to take out my watch), I had the

pleasure to find that I had still twenty-five minutes to spare. It

was half past five; I could easily walk to the insurance office in

five minutes; and my usual siestas had never been known to exceed

five and twenty.  I felt sufficiently safe, therefore, and composed

myself to my slumbers forthwith.

Having completed them to my satisfaction, I again looked   toward

the time-piece and was half inclined to believe in the possibility of

odd accidents when I found that, instead of my ordinary fifteen or

twenty minutes, I had been dozing only three; for it still wanted

seven and twenty of the appointed hour.  I betook myself again to my

nap, and at length a second time awoke, when, to my utter amazement,

it _still_ wanted twenty-seven minutes of six.  I jumped up to

examine the clock, and found that it had ceased running.  My watch

informed me that it was half past seven; and, of course, having slept

two hours, I was too late for my appointment.  "It will make no

difference," I said :  "I can call at the office in the morning and

apologize; in the meantime what can be the matter with the clock ?"

Upon examining it I discovered that one of the raisin stems which I

had been filliping about the room during the discourse of the Angel

of the Odd, had flown through the fractured crystal, and lodging,

singularly enough, in the key-hole, with an end projecting outward,

had thus arrested the revolution of the minute hand.

"Ah !" said I, "I see how it is.  This thing speaks for itself.

A natural accident, such as _will_ happen now and then !"

I gave the matter no further consideration, and at my usual hour

retired to bed.  Here, having placed a candle upon a reading stand at

the bed head, and having made an attempt to peruse some pages of the

"Omnipresence of the Deity," I unfortunately fell asleep in less than

twenty seconds, leaving the light burning as it was.

My dreams were terrifically disturbed by visions of the Angel of

the Odd.  Methought he stood at the foot of the couch, drew aside the

curtains, and, in the hollow, detestable tones of a rum puncheon,

menaced me with the bitterest vengeance for the contempt with which I

had treated him.  He concluded a long harangue by taking off his

funnel-cap, inserting the tube into my gullet, and thus deluging me

with an ocean of Kirschenwässer, which he poured, in a continuous

flood, from one of the long necked bottles that stood him instead of

an arm.  My agony was at length insufferable, and I awoke just in

time to perceive that a rat had ran off with the lighted candle from

the stand, but _not_ in season to prevent his making his escape with

it through the hole.  Very soon, a strong suffocating odor assailed

my nostrils;   the house, I clearly perceived, was on fire. In a few

minutes the blaze broke forth with violence, and in an incredibly

brief period the entire building was wrapped in flames.  All egress

from my chamber, except through a window, was cut off.  The crowd,

however, quickly procured and raised a long ladder.  By means of this

I was descending rapidly, and in apparent safety, when a huge hog,

about whose rotund stomach, and indeed about whose whole air and

physiognomy, there was something which reminded me of the Angel of

the Odd, - when this hog, I say, which hitherto had been quietly

slumbering in the mud, took it suddenly into his head that his left

shoulder needed scratching, and could find no more convenient

rubbing-post than that afforded by the foot of the ladder.  In an

instant I was precipitated and had the misfortune to fracture my arm.

This accident, with the loss of my insurance, and with the more

serious loss of my hair, the whole of which had been singed off by

the fire, predisposed me to serious impressions, so that, finally, I

made up my mind to take a wife.  There was a rich widow disconsolate

for the loss of her seventh husband, and to her wounded spirit I

offered the balm of my vows.  She yielded a reluctant consent to my

prayers.  I knelt at her feet in gratitude and adoration.  She

blushed and bowed her luxuriant tresses into close contact with those

supplied me, temporarily, by Grandjean. I know not how the

entanglement took place, but so it was.  I arose with a shining pate,

wigless ;  she in disdain and wrath, half buried in alien hair.  Thus

ended my hopes of the widow by an accident which could not have been

anticipated, to be sure, but which the natural sequence of events had

brought about.

Without despairing, however, I undertook the siege of a less

implacable heart.  The fates were again propitious for a brief

period; but again a trivial incident interfered.  Meeting my

betrothed in an avenue thronged with the _élite_ of the city, I was

hastening to greet her with one of my best considered bows, when a

small particle of some foreign matter, lodging in the corner of my

eye, rendered me, for the moment, completely blind.  Before I could

recover my sight, the lady of my love had disappeared - irreparably

affronted at what she chose to  consider my premeditated rudeness in

passing her by ungreeted.  While I stood bewildered at the suddenness

of this accident, (which might have happened, nevertheless, to any

one under the sun), and while I still continued incapable of sight, I

was accosted by the Angel of the Odd, who proffered me his aid with a

civility which I had no reason to expect.  He examined my disordered

eye with much gentleness and skill, informed me that I had a drop in

it, and (whatever a "drop" was) took it out, and afforded me relief.

I now considered it high time to die, (since fortune had so

determined to persecute me,) and accordingly made my way to the

nearest river.  Here, divesting myself of my clothes, (for there is

no reason why we cannot die as we were born), I threw myself headlong

into the current; the sole witness of my fate being a solitary crow

that had been seduced into the eating of brandy-saturated corn, and

so had staggered away from his fellows.  No sooner had I entered the

water than this bird took it into its head to fly away with the most

indispensable portion of my apparel. Postponing, therefore, for the

present, my suicidal design, I just slipped my nether extremities

into the sleeves of my coat, and betook myself to a pursuit of the

felon with all the nimbleness which the case required and its

circumstances would admit.  But my evil destiny attended me still. As

I ran at full speed, with my nose up in the atmosphere, and intent

only upon the purloiner of my property, I suddenly perceived that my

feet rested no longer upon _terra-firma_; the fact is, I had thrown

myself over a precipice, and should inevitably have been dashed to

pieces but for my good fortune in grasping the end of a long

guide-rope, which depended from a passing balloon.

As soon as I sufficiently recovered my senses to comprehend the

terrific predicament in which I stood or rather hung, I exerted all

the power of my lungs to make that predicament known to the æronaut

overhead.  But for a long time I exerted myself in vain.  Either the

fool could not, or the villain would not perceive me.  Meantime the

machine rapidly soared, while my strength even more rapidly failed.

I was soon upon the point of resigning myself to my fate, and

dropping quietly into the sea, when my spirits were suddenly revived

by hearing a  hollow voice from above, which seemed to be lazily

humming an opera air.  Looking up, I perceived the Angel of the Odd.

He was leaning with his arms folded, over the rim of the car ;  and

with a pipe in his mouth, at which he puffed leisurely, seemed to be

upon excellent terms with himself and the universe. I was too much

exhausted to speak, so I merely regarded him with an imploring air.

For several minutes, although he looked me full in the face, he

said nothing.  At length removing carefully his meerschaum from the

right to the left corner of his mouth, he condescended to speak.

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

To this piece of impudence, cruelty and affectation, I could

reply only by ejaculating the monosyllable "Help !"

"Elp !" echoed the ruffian - "not I.  Dare iz te pottle - elp

yourself, und pe tam'd !"

With these words he let fall a heavy bottle of Kirschenwasser

which, dropping precisely upon the crown of my head, caused me to

imagine that my brains were entirely knocked out.  Impressed with

this idea, I was about to relinquish my hold and give up the ghost

with a good grace, when I was arrested by the cry of the Angel, who

bade me hold on.

"Old on !" he said; "don't pe in te urry - don't. Will you pe

take de odder pottle, or ave you pe got zober yet and come to your

zenzes ?"

I made haste, hereupon, to nod my head twice - once in the

negative, meaning thereby that I would prefer not taking the other

bottle at present - and once in the affirmative, intending thus to

imply that I _was_ sober and _had_ positively come to my senses.  By

these means I somewhat softened the Angel.

"Und you pelief, ten," he inquired, "at te last ? You pelief,

ten, in te possibilty of te odd ?"

I again nodded my head in assent.

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

I nodded again.

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

I nodded once more.

"Put your right hand into your left hand preeches pocket, ten, in

token ov your vull zubmizzion unto te Angel ov te Odd."

This thing, for very obvious reasons, I found it quite impossible

to do.  In the first place, my left arm had been broken in my fall

from the ladder, and, therefore, had I let go my hold with the right

hand, I must have let go altogether.  In the second place, I could

have no breeches until I came across the crow.  I was therefore

obliged, much to my regret, to shake my head in the negative -

intending thus to give the Angel to understand that I found it

inconvenient, just at that moment, to comply with his very reasonable

demand !  No sooner, however, had I ceased shaking my head than -

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

In pronouncing these words, he drew a sharp knife across the

guide-rope by which I was suspended, and as we then happened to be

precisely over my own house, (which, during my peregrinations, had

been handsomely rebuilt,) it so occurred that I tumbled headlong down

the ample chimney and alit upon the dining-room hearth.

Upon coming to my senses, (for the fall had very thoroughly

stunned me,) I found it about four o'clock in the morning.  I lay

outstretched where I had fallen from the balloon.  My head grovelled

in the ashes of an extinguished fire, while my feet reposed upon the

wreck of a small table, overthrown, and amid the fragments of a

miscellaneous dessert, intermingled with a newspaper, some broken

glass and shattered bottles, and an empty jug of the Schiedam

Kirschenwasser.  Thus revenged himself the Angel of the Odd.

[Mabbott states that Griswold "obviously had a revised form" for use

in the 1856 volume of Poe's works. Mabbott does not substantiate this

claim, but it is surely not unreasonable. An editor, and even

typographical errors, may have produced nearly all of the very minor

changes made in this version. (Indeed, two very necessary words were

clearly dropped by accident.) An editor might have corrected

"Wickliffe's 'Epigoniad' " to "Wilkie's 'Epigoniad'," but is unlikely

to have added "Tuckerman's 'Sicily' " to the list of books read by

the narrator. Griswold was not above forgery (in Poe's letters) when

it suited his purpose, but would have too little to gain by such an

effort in this instance.]

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

MELLONTA TAUTA

TO THE EDITORS OF THE LADY'S BOOK:

I have the honor of sending you, for your magazine, an article which

I hope you will be able to comprehend rather more distinctly than I

do myself. It is a translation, by my friend, Martin Van Buren Mavis,

(sometimes called the "Poughkeepsie Seer") of an odd-looking MS.

which I found, about a year ago, tightly corked up in a jug floating

in the Mare Tenebrarum -- a sea well described by the Nubian

geographer, but seldom visited now-a-days, except for the

transcendentalists and divers for crotchets.

Truly yours,

EDGAR A. POE

{this paragraph not in the volume--ED}

ON BOARD BALLOON "SKYLARK"

April, 1, 2848

NOW, my dear friend -- now, for your sins, you are to suffer the

infliction of a long gossiping letter. I tell you distinctly that I

am going to punish you for all your impertinences by being as

tedious, as discursive, as incoherent and as unsatisfactory as

possible. Besides, here I am, cooped up in a dirty balloon, with some

one or two hundred of the canaille, all bound on a pleasure

excursion, (what a funny idea some people have of pleasure!) and I

have no prospect of touching terra firma for a month at least. Nobody

to talk to. Nothing to do. When one has nothing to do, then is the

time to correspond with ones friends. You perceive, then, why it is

that I write you this letter -- it is on account of my ennui and your

sins.

Get ready your spectacles and make up your mind to be annoyed. I mean

to write at you every day during this odious voyage.

Heigho! when will any Invention visit the human pericranium? Are we

forever to be doomed to the thousand inconveniences of the balloon?

Will nobody contrive a more expeditious mode of progress? The

jog-trot movement, to my thinking, is little less than positive

torture. Upon my word we have not made more than a hundred miles the

hour since leaving home! The very birds beat us -- at least some of

them. I assure you that I do not exaggerate at all. Our motion, no

doubt, seems slower than it actually is -- this on account of our

having no objects about us by which to estimate our velocity, and on

account of our going with the wind. To be sure, whenever we meet a

balloon we have a chance of perceiving our rate, and then, I admit,

things do not appear so very bad. Accustomed as I am to this mode of

travelling, I cannot get over a kind of giddiness whenever a balloon

passes us in a current directly overhead. It always seems to me like

an immense bird of prey about to pounce upon us and carry us off in

its claws. One went over us this morning about sunrise, and so nearly

overhead that its drag-rope actually brushed the network suspending

our car, and caused us very serious apprehension. Our captain said

that if the material of the bag had been the trumpery varnished

"silk" of five hundred or a thousand years ago, we should inevitably

have been damaged. This silk, as he explained it to me, was a fabric

composed of the entrails of a species of earth-worm. The worm was

carefully fed on mulberries -- kind of fruit resembling a water-melon

-- and, when sufficiently fat, was crushed in a mill. The paste thus

arising was called papyrus in its primary state, and went through a

variety of processes until it finally became "silk." Singular to

relate, it was once much admired as an article of female dress!

Balloons were also very generally constructed from it. A better kind

of material, it appears, was subsequently found in the down

surrounding the seed-vessels of a plant vulgarly called euphorbium,

and at that time botanically termed milk-weed. This latter kind of

silk was designated as silk-buckingham, on account of its superior

durability, and was usually prepared for use by being varnished with

a solution of gum caoutchouc -- a substance which in some respects

must have resembled the gutta percha now in common use. This

caoutchouc was occasionally called Indian rubber or rubber of twist,

and was no doubt one of the numerous fungi. Never tell me again that

I am not at heart an antiquarian.

Talking of drag-ropes -- our own, it seems, has this moment knocked a

man overboard from one of the small magnetic propellers that swarm in

ocean below us -- a boat of about six thousand tons, and, from all

accounts, shamefully crowded. These diminutive barques should be

prohibited from carrying more than a definite number of passengers.

The man, of course, was not permitted to get on board again, and was

soon out of sight, he and his life-preserver. I rejoice, my dear

friend, that we live in an age so enlightened that no such a thing as

an individual is supposed to exist. It is the mass for which the true

Humanity cares. By-the-by, talking of Humanity, do you know that our

immortal Wiggins is not so original in his views of the Social

Condition and so forth, as his contemporaries are inclined to

suppose? Pundit assures me that the same ideas were put nearly in the

same way, about a thousand years ago, by an Irish philosopher called

Furrier, on account of his keeping a retail shop for cat peltries and

other furs. Pundit knows, you know; there can be no mistake about it.

How very wonderfully do we see verified every day, the profound

observation of the Hindoo Aries Tottle (as quoted by Pundit) -- "Thus

must we say that, not once or twice, or a few times, but with almost

infinite repetitions, the same opinions come round in a circle among

men."

April 2. -- Spoke to-day the magnetic cutter in charge of the middle

section of floating telegraph wires. I learn that when this species

of telegraph was first put into operation by Horse, it was considered

quite impossible to convey the wires over sea, but now we are at a

loss to comprehend where the difficulty lay! So wags the world.

Tempora mutantur -- excuse me for quoting the Etruscan. What would we

do without the Atalantic telegraph? (Pundit says Atlantic was the

ancient adjective.) We lay to a few minutes to ask the cutter some

questions, and learned, among other glorious news, that civil war is

raging in Africa, while the plague is doing its good work beautifully

both in Yurope and Ayesher. Is it not truly remarkable that, before

the magnificent light shed upon philosophy by Humanity, the world was

accustomed to regard War and Pestilence as calamities? Do you know

that prayers were actually offered up in the ancient temples to the

end that these evils (!) might not be visited upon mankind? Is it not

really difficult to comprehend upon what principle of interest our

forefathers acted? Were they so blind as not to perceive that the

destruction of a myriad of individuals is only so much positive

advantage to the mass!

April 3. -- It is really a very fine amusement to ascend the

rope-ladder leading to the summit of the balloon-bag, and thence

survey the surrounding world. From the car below you know the

prospect is not so comprehensive -- you can see little vertically.

But seated here (where I write this) in the luxuriously-cushioned

open piazza of the summit, one can see everything that is going on in

all directions. Just now there is quite a crowd of balloons in sight,

and they present a very animated appearance, while the air is

resonant with the hum of so many millions of human voices. I have

heard it asserted that when Yellow or (Pundit will have it) Violet,

who is supposed to have been the first aeronaut, maintained the

practicability of traversing the atmosphere in all directions, by

merely ascending or descending until a favorable current was

attained, he was scarcely hearkened to at all by his contemporaries,

who looked upon him as merely an ingenious sort of madman, because

the philosophers (?) of the day declared the thing impossible. Really

now it does seem to me quite unaccountable how any thing so obviously

feasible could have escaped the sagacity of the ancient savans. But

in all ages the great obstacles to advancement in Art have been

opposed by the so-called men of science. To be sure, our men of

science are not quite so bigoted as those of old: -- oh, I have

something so queer to tell you on this topic. Do you know that it is

not more than a thousand years ago since the metaphysicians consented

to relieve the people of the singular fancy that there existed but

two possible roads for the attainment of Truth! Believe it if you

can! It appears that long, long ago, in the night of Time, there

lived a Turkish philosopher (or Hindoo possibly) called Aries Tottle.

This person introduced, or at all events propagated what was termed

the deductive or a priori mode of investigation. He started with what

he maintained to be axioms or "self-evident truths," and thence

proceeded "logically" to results. His greatest disciples were one

Neuclid, and one Cant. Well, Aries Tottle flourished supreme until

advent of one Hog, surnamed the "Ettrick Shepherd," who preached an

entirely different system, which he called the a posteriori or

inductive. His plan referred altogether to Sensation. He proceeded by

observing, analyzing, and classifying facts-instantiae naturae, as

they were affectedly called -- into general laws. Aries Tottle's

mode, in a word, was based on noumena; Hog's on phenomena. Well, so

great was the admiration excited by this latter system that, at its

first introduction, Aries Tottle fell into disrepute; but finally he

recovered ground and was permitted to divide the realm of Truth with

his more modern rival. The savans now maintained the Aristotelian and

Baconian roads were the sole possible avenues to knowledge.

"Baconian," you must know, was an adjective invented as equivalent to

Hog-ian and more euphonious and dignified.

Now, my dear friend, I do assure you, most positively, that I

represent this matter fairly, on the soundest authority and you can

easily understand how a notion so absurd on its very face must have

operated to retard the progress of all true knowledge -- which makes

its advances almost invariably by intuitive bounds. The ancient idea

confined investigations to crawling; and for hundreds of years so

great was the infatuation about Hog especially, that a virtual end

was put to all thinking, properly so called. No man dared utter a

truth to which he felt himself indebted to his Soul alone. It

mattered not whether the truth was even demonstrably a truth, for the

bullet-headed savans of the time regarded only the road by which he

had attained it. They would not even look at the end. "Let us see the

means," they cried, "the means!" If, upon investigation of the means,

it was found to come under neither the category Aries (that is to say

Ram) nor under the category Hog, why then the savans went no farther,

but pronounced the "theorist" a fool, and would have nothing to do

with him or his truth.

Now, it cannot be maintained, even, that by the crawling system the

greatest amount of truth would be attained in any long series of

ages, for the repression of imagination was an evil not to be

compensated for by any superior certainty in the ancient modes of

investigation. The error of these Jurmains, these Vrinch, these

Inglitch, and these Amriccans (the latter, by the way, were our own

immediate progenitors), was an error quite analogous with that of the

wiseacre who fancies that he must necessarily see an object the

better the more closely he holds it to his eyes. These people blinded

themselves by details. When they proceeded Hoggishly, their "facts"

were by no means always facts -- a matter of little consequence had

it not been for assuming that they were facts and must be facts

because they appeared to be such. When they proceeded on the path of

the Ram, their course was scarcely as straight as a ram's horn, for

they never had an axiom which was an axiom at all. They must have

been very blind not to see this, even in their own day; for even in

their own day many of the long "established" axioms had been

rejected. For example -- "Ex nihilo nihil fit"; "a body cannot act

where it is not"; "there cannot exist antipodes"; "darkness cannot

come out of light" -- all these, and a dozen other similar

propositions, formerly admitted without hesitation as axioms, were,

even at the period of which I speak, seen to be untenable. How absurd

in these people, then, to persist in putting faith in "axioms" as

immutable bases of Truth! But even out of the mouths of their

soundest reasoners it is easy to demonstrate the futility, the

impalpability of their axioms in general. Who was the soundest of

their logicians? Let me see! I will go and ask Pundit and be back in

a minute.... Ah, here we have it! Here is a book written nearly a

thousand years ago and lately translated from the Inglitch -- which,

by the way, appears to have been the rudiment of the Amriccan. Pundit

says it is decidedly the cleverest ancient work on its topic, Logic.

The author (who was much thought of in his day) was one Miller, or

Mill; and we find it recorded of him, as a point of some importance,

that he had a mill-horse called Bentham. But let us glance at the

treatise!

Ah! -- "Ability or inability to conceive," says Mr. Mill, very

properly, "is in no case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic

truth." What modern in his senses would ever think of disputing this

truism? The only wonder with us must be, how it happened that Mr.

Mill conceived it necessary even to hint at any thing so obvious. So

far good -- but let us turn over another paper. What have we here? --

"Contradictories cannot both be true -- that is, cannot co-exist in

nature." Here Mr. Mill means, for example, that a tree must be either

a tree or not a tree -- that it cannot be at the same time a tree and

not a tree. Very well; but I ask him why. His reply is this -- and

never pretends to be any thing else than this -- "Because it is

impossible to conceive that contradictories can both be true." But

this is no answer at all, by his own showing, for has he not just

admitted as a truism that "ability or inability to conceive is in no

case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth."

Now I do not complain of these ancients so much because their logic

is, by their own showing, utterly baseless, worthless and fantastic

altogether, as because of their pompous and imbecile proscription of

all other roads of Truth, of all other means for its attainment than

the two preposterous paths -- the one of creeping and the one of

crawling -- to which they have dared to confine the Soul that loves

nothing so well as to soar.

By the by, my dear friend, do you not think it would have puzzled

these ancient dogmaticians to have determined by which of their two

roads it was that the most important and most sublime of all their

truths was, in effect, attained? I mean the truth of Gravitation.

Newton owed it to Kepler. Kepler admitted that his three laws were

guessed at -- these three laws of all laws which led the great

Inglitch mathematician to his principle, the basis of all physical

principle -- to go behind which we must enter the Kingdom of

Metaphysics. Kepler guessed -- that is to say imagined. He was

essentially a "theorist" -- that word now of so much sanctity,

formerly an epithet of contempt. Would it not have puzzled these old

moles too, to have explained by which of the two "roads" a

cryptographist unriddles a cryptograph of more than usual secrecy, or

by which of the two roads Champollion directed mankind to those

enduring and almost innumerable truths which resulted from his

deciphering the Hieroglyphics.

One word more on this topic and I will be done boring you. Is it not

passing strange that, with their eternal prattling about roads to

Truth, these bigoted people missed what we now so clearly perceive to

be the great highway -- that of Consistency? Does it not seem

singular how they should have failed to deduce from the works of God

the vital fact that a perfect consistency must be an absolute truth!

How plain has been our progress since the late announcement of this

proposition! Investigation has been taken out of the hands of the

ground-moles and given, as a task, to the true and only true

thinkers, the men of ardent imagination. These latter theorize. Can

you not fancy the shout of scorn with which my words would be

received by our progenitors were it possible for them to be now

looking over my shoulder? These men, I say, theorize; and their

theories are simply corrected, reduced, systematized -- cleared,

little by little, of their dross of inconsistency -- until, finally,

a perfect consistency stands apparent which even the most stolid

admit, because it is a consistency, to be an absolute and an

unquestionable truth.

April 4. -- The new gas is doing wonders, in conjunction with the new

improvement with gutta percha. How very safe, commodious, manageable,

and in every respect convenient are our modern balloons! Here is an

immense one approaching us at the rate of at least a hundred and

fifty miles an hour. It seems to be crowded with people -- perhaps

there are three or four hundred passengers -- and yet it soars to an

elevation of nearly a mile, looking down upon poor us with sovereign

contempt. Still a hundred or even two hundred miles an hour is slow

travelling after all. Do you remember our flight on the railroad

across the Kanadaw continent? -- fully three hundred miles the hour

-- that was travelling. Nothing to be seen though -- nothing to be

done but flirt, feast and dance in the magnificent saloons. Do you

remember what an odd sensation was experienced when, by chance, we

caught a glimpse of external objects while the cars were in full

flight? Every thing seemed unique -- in one mass. For my part, I

cannot say but that I preferred the travelling by the slow train of a

hundred miles the hour. Here we were permitted to have glass windows

-- even to have them open -- and something like a distinct view of

the country was attainable.... Pundit says that the route for the

great Kanadaw railroad must have been in some measure marked out

about nine hundred years ago! In fact, he goes so far as to assert

that actual traces of a road are still discernible -- traces

referable to a period quite as remote as that mentioned. The track,

it appears was double only; ours, you know, has twelve paths; and

three or four new ones are in preparation. The ancient rails were

very slight, and placed so close together as to be, according to

modern notions, quite frivolous, if not dangerous in the extreme. The

present width of track -- fifty feet -- is considered, indeed,

scarcely secure enough. For my part, I make no doubt that a track of

some sort must have existed in very remote times, as Pundit asserts;

for nothing can be clearer, to my mind, than that, at some period --

not less than seven centuries ago, certainly -- the Northern and

Southern Kanadaw continents were united; the Kanawdians, then, would

have been driven, by necessity, to a great railroad across the

continent.

April 5. -- I am almost devoured by ennui. Pundit is the only

conversible person on board; and he, poor soul! can speak of nothing

but antiquities. He has been occupied all the day in the attempt to

convince me that the ancient Amriccans governed themselves! -- did

ever anybody hear of such an absurdity? -- that they existed in a

sort of every-man-for-himself confederacy, after the fashion of the

"prairie dogs" that we read of in fable. He says that they started

with the queerest idea conceivable, viz: that all men are born free

and equal -- this in the very teeth of the laws of gradation so

visibly impressed upon all things both in the moral and physical

universe. Every man "voted," as they called it -- that is to say

meddled with public affairs -- until at length, it was discovered

that what is everybody's business is nobody's, and that the

"Republic" (so the absurd thing was called) was without a government

at all. It is related, however, that the first circumstance which

disturbed, very particularly, the self-complacency of the

philosophers who constructed this "Republic," was the startling

discovery that universal suffrage gave opportunity for fraudulent

schemes, by means of which any desired number of votes might at any

time be polled, without the possibility of prevention or even

detection, by any party which should be merely villainous enough not

to be ashamed of the fraud. A little reflection upon this discovery

sufficed to render evident the consequences, which were that

rascality must predominate -- in a word, that a republican government

could never be any thing but a rascally one. While the philosophers,

however, were busied in blushing at their stupidity in not having

foreseen these inevitable evils, and intent upon the invention of new

theories, the matter was put to an abrupt issue by a fellow of the

name of Mob, who took every thing into his own hands and set up a

despotism, in comparison with which those of the fabulous Zeros and

Hellofagabaluses were respectable and delectable. This Mob (a

foreigner, by-the-by), is said to have been the most odious of all

men that ever encumbered the earth. He was a giant in stature --

insolent, rapacious, filthy, had the gall of a bullock with the heart

of a hyena and the brains of a peacock. He died, at length, by dint

of his own energies, which exhausted him. Nevertheless, he had his

uses, as every thing has, however vile, and taught mankind a lesson

which to this day it is in no danger of forgetting -- never to run

directly contrary to the natural analogies. As for Republicanism, no

analogy could be found for it upon the face of the earth -- unless we

except the case of the "prairie dogs," an exception which seems to

demonstrate, if anything, that democracy is a very admirable form of

government -- for dogs.

April 6. -- Last night had a fine view of Alpha Lyrae, whose disk,

through our captain's spy-glass, subtends an angle of half a degree,

looking very much as our sun does to the naked eye on a misty day.

Alpha Lyrae, although so very much larger than our sun, by the by,

resembles him closely as regards its spots, its atmosphere, and in

many other particulars. It is only within the last century, Pundit

tells me, that the binary relation existing between these two orbs

began even to be suspected. The evident motion of our system in the

heavens was (strange to say!) referred to an orbit about a prodigious

star in the centre of the galaxy. About this star, or at all events

about a centre of gravity common to all the globes of the Milky Way

and supposed to be near Alcyone in the Pleiades, every one of these

globes was declared to be revolving, our own performing the circuit

in a period of 117,000,000 of years! We, with our present lights, our

vast telescopic improvements, and so forth, of course find it

difficult to comprehend the ground of an idea such as this. Its first

propagator was one Mudler. He was led, we must presume, to this wild

hypothesis by mere analogy in the first instance; but, this being the

case, he should have at least adhered to analogy in its development.

A great central orb was, in fact, suggested; so far Mudler was

consistent. This central orb, however, dynamically, should have been

greater than all its surrounding orbs taken together. The question

might then have been asked -- "Why do we not see it?" -- we,

especially, who occupy the mid region of the cluster -- the very

locality near which, at least, must be situated this inconceivable

central sun. The astronomer, perhaps, at this point, took refuge in

the suggestion of non-luminosity; and here analogy was suddenly let

fall. But even admitting the central orb non-luminous, how did he

manage to explain its failure to be rendered visible by the

incalculable host of glorious suns glaring in all directions about

it? No doubt what he finally maintained was merely a centre of

gravity common to all the revolving orbs -- but here again analogy

must have been let fall. Our system revolves, it is true, about a

common centre of gravity, but it does this in connection with and in

consequence of a material sun whose mass more than counterbalances

the rest of the system. The mathematical circle is a curve composed

of an infinity of straight lines; but this idea of the circle -- this

idea of it which, in regard to all earthly geometry, we consider as

merely the mathematical, in contradistinction from the practical,

idea -- is, in sober fact, the practical conception which alone we

have any right to entertain in respect to those Titanic circles with

which we have to deal, at least in fancy, when we suppose our system,

with its fellows, revolving about a point in the centre of the

galaxy. Let the most vigorous of human imaginations but attempt to

take a single step toward the comprehension of a circuit so

unutterable! I would scarcely be paradoxical to say that a flash of

lightning itself, travelling forever upon the circumference of this

inconceivable circle, would still forever be travelling in a straight

line. That the path of our sun along such a circumference -- that the

direction of our system in such an orbit -- would, to any human

perception, deviate in the slightest degree from a straight line even

in a million of years, is a proposition not to be entertained; and

yet these ancient astronomers were absolutely cajoled, it appears,

into believing that a decisive curvature had become apparent during

the brief period of their astronomical history -- during the mere

point -- during the utter nothingness of two or three thousand years!

How incomprehensible, that considerations such as this did not at

once indicate to them the true state of affairs -- that of the binary

revolution of our sun and Alpha Lyrae around a common centre of

gravity!

April 7. -- Continued last night our astronomical amusements. Had a

fine view of the five Neptunian asteroids, and watched with much

interest the putting up of a huge impost on a couple of lintels in

the new temple at Daphnis in the moon. It was amusing to think that

creatures so diminutive as the lunarians, and bearing so little

resemblance to humanity, yet evinced a mechanical ingenuity so much

superior to our own. One finds it difficult, too, to conceive the

vast masses which these people handle so easily, to be as light as

our own reason tells us they actually are.

April 8. -- Eureka! Pundit is in his glory. A balloon from Kanadaw

spoke us to-day and threw on board several late papers; they contain

some exceedingly curious information relative to Kanawdian or rather

Amriccan antiquities. You know, I presume, that laborers have for

some months been employed in preparing the ground for a new fountain

at Paradise, the Emperor's principal pleasure garden. Paradise, it

appears, has been, literally speaking, an island time out of mind --

that is to say, its northern boundary was always (as far back as any

record extends) a rivulet, or rather a very narrow arm of the sea.

This arm was gradually widened until it attained its present breadth

-- a mile. The whole length of the island is nine miles; the breadth

varies materially. The entire area (so Pundit says) was, about eight

hundred years ago, densely packed with houses, some of them twenty

stories high; land (for some most unaccountable reason) being

considered as especially precious just in this vicinity. The

disastrous earthquake, however, of the year 2050, so totally uprooted

and overwhelmed the town (for it was almost too large to be called a

village) that the most indefatigable of our antiquarians have never

yet been able to obtain from the site any sufficient data (in the

shape of coins, medals or inscriptions) wherewith to build up even

the ghost of a theory concerning the manners, customs, &c., &c., &c.,

of the aboriginal inhabitants. Nearly all that we have hitherto known

of them is, that they were a portion of the Knickerbocker tribe of

savages infesting the continent at its first discovery by Recorder

Riker, a knight of the Golden Fleece. They were by no means

uncivilized, however, but cultivated various arts and even sciences

after a fashion of their own. It is related of them that they were

acute in many respects, but were oddly afflicted with monomania for

building what, in the ancient Amriccan, was denominated "churches" --

a kind of pagoda instituted for the worship of two idols that went by

the names of Wealth and Fashion. In the end, it is said, the island

became, nine tenths of it, church. The women, too, it appears, were

oddly deformed by a natural protuberance of the region just below the

small of the back -- although, most unaccountably, this deformity was

looked upon altogether in the light of a beauty. One or two pictures

of these singular women have in fact, been miraculously preserved.

They look very odd, very -- like something between a turkey-cock and

a dromedary.

Well, these few details are nearly all that have descended to us

respecting the ancient Knickerbockers. It seems, however, that while

digging in the centre of the emperors garden, (which, you know,

covers the whole island), some of the workmen unearthed a cubical and

evidently chiseled block of granite, weighing several hundred pounds.

It was in good preservation, having received, apparently, little

injury from the convulsion which entombed it. On one of its surfaces

was a marble slab with (only think of it!) an inscription -- a

legible inscription. Pundit is in ecstacies. Upon detaching the slab,

a cavity appeared, containing a leaden box filled with various coins,

a long scroll of names, several documents which appear to resemble

newspapers, with other matters of intense interest to the

antiquarian! There can be no doubt that all these are genuine

Amriccan relics belonging to the tribe called Knickerbocker. The

papers thrown on board our balloon are filled with fac-similes of the

coins, MSS., typography, &c., &c. I copy for your amusement the

Knickerbocker inscription on the marble slab:-

This Corner Stone of a Monument to

The Memory of

GEORGE WASHINGTON

Was Laid With Appropriate Ceremonies

on the

19th Day of October, 1847

The anniversary of the surrender of

Lord Cornwallis

to General Washington at Yorktown

A. D. 1781

Under the Auspices of the

Washington Monument Association of

the city of New York

This, as I give it, is a verbatim translation done by Pundit himself,

so there can be no mistake about it. From the few words thus

preserved, we glean several important items of knowledge, not the

least interesting of which is the fact that a thousand years ago

actual monuments had fallen into disuse -- as was all very proper --

the people contenting themselves, as we do now, with a mere

indication of the design to erect a monument at some future time; a

corner-stone being cautiously laid by itself "solitary and alone"

(excuse me for quoting the great American poet Benton!), as a

guarantee of the magnanimous intention. We ascertain, too, very

distinctly, from this admirable inscription, the how as well as the

where and the what, of the great surrender in question. As to the

where, it was Yorktown (wherever that was), and as to the what, it

was General Cornwallis (no doubt some wealthy dealer in corn). He was

surrendered. The inscription commemorates the surrender of -- what?

why, "of Lord Cornwallis." The only question is what could the

savages wish him surrendered for. But when we remember that these

savages were undoubtedly cannibals, we are led to the conclusion that

they intended him for sausage. As to the how of the surrender, no

language can be more explicit. Lord Cornwallis was surrendered (for

sausage) "under the auspices of the Washington Monument Association"

-- no doubt a charitable institution for the depositing of

corner-stones. -- But, Heaven bless me! what is the matter? Ah, I see

-- the balloon has collapsed, and we shall have a tumble into the

sea. I have, therefore, only time enough to add that, from a hasty

inspection of the fac-similes of newspapers, &c., &c., I find that

the great men in those days among the Amriccans, were one John, a

smith, and one Zacchary, a tailor.

Good-bye, until I see you again. Whether you ever get this letter or

not is point of little importance, as I write altogether for my own

amusement. I shall cork the MS. up in a bottle, however, and throw it

into the sea.

Yours everlastingly,

PUNDITA.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE DUC DE L'OMELETTE.

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

KEATS fell by a criticism. Who was it died of "The Andromache"? {*1}

Ignoble souls! -- De L'Omelette perished of an ortolan. L'histoire en

est breve. Assist me, Spirit of Apicius!

A golden cage bore the little winged wanderer, enamored, melting,

indolent, to the Chaussee D'Antin, from its home in far Peru. From

its queenly possessor La Bellissima, to the Duc De L'Omelette, six

peers of the empire conveyed the happy bird.

That night the Duc was to sup alone. In the privacy of his bureau he

reclined languidly on that ottoman for which he sacrificed his

loyalty in outbidding his king -- the notorious ottoman of Cadet.

He buries his face in the pillow. The clock strikes! Unable to

restrain his feelings, his Grace swallows an olive. At this moment

the door gently opens to the sound of soft music, and lo! the most

delicate of birds is before the most enamored of men! But what

inexpressible dismay now overshadows the countenance of the Duc? --

"Horreur! -- chien! -- Baptiste! -- l'oiseau! ah, bon Dieu! cet

oiseau modeste que tu as deshabille de ses plumes, et que tu as servi

sans papier!" It is superfluous to say more: -- the Duc expired in a

paroxysm of disgust.

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

"He! he! he!" replied the Devil faintly, drawing himself up with an

air of hauteur.

"Why, surely you are not serious," retorted De L'Omelette. "I have

sinned -- c'est vrai -- but, my good sir, consider! -- you have no

actual intention of putting such -- such barbarous threats into

execution."

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

"Strip, indeed! very pretty i' faith! no, sir, I shall not strip. Who

are you, pray, that I, Duc De L'Omelette, Prince de Foie-Gras, just

come of age, author of the 'Mazurkiad,' and Member of the Academy,

should divest myself at your bidding of the sweetest pantaloons ever

made by Bourdon, the daintiest robe-de-chambre ever put together by

Rombert -- to say nothing of the taking my hair out of paper -- not

to mention the trouble I should have in drawing off my gloves?"

"Who am I? -- ah, true! I am Baal-Zebub, Prince of the Fly. I took

thee, just now, from a rose-wood coffin inlaid with ivory. Thou wast

curiously scented, and labelled as per invoice. Belial sent thee, --

my Inspector of Cemeteries. The pantaloons, which thou sayest were

made by Bourdon, are an excellent pair of linen drawers, and thy

robe-de-chambre is a shroud of no scanty dimensions."

"Sir!" replied the Duc, "I am not to be insulted with impunity!- Sir!

I shall take the earliest opportunity of avenging this insult!- Sir!

you shall hear from me! in the meantime au revoir!" -- and the Duc

was bowing himself out of the Satanic presence, when he was

interrupted and brought back by a gentleman in waiting. Hereupon his

Grace rubbed his eyes, yawned, shrugged his shoulders, reflected.

Having become satisfied of his identity, he took a bird's eye view of

his whereabouts.

The apartment was superb. Even De L'Omelette pronounced it bien comme

il faut. It was not its length nor its breadth, -- but its height --

ah, that was appalling! -- There was no ceiling -- certainly none-

but a dense whirling mass of fiery-colored clouds. His Grace's brain

reeled as he glanced upward. From above, hung a chain of an unknown

blood-red metal -- its upper end lost, like the city of Boston, parmi

les nues. From its nether extremity swung a large cresset. The Duc

knew it to be a ruby; but from it there poured a light so intense, so

still, so terrible, Persia never worshipped such -- Gheber never

imagined such -- Mussulman never dreamed of such when, drugged with

opium, he has tottered to a bed of poppies, his back to the flowers,

and his face to the God Apollo. The Duc muttered a slight oath,

decidedly approbatory.

The corners of the room were rounded into niches. Three of these were

filled with statues of gigantic proportions. Their beauty was

Grecian, their deformity Egyptian, their tout ensemble French. In the

fourth niche the statue was veiled; it was not colossal. But then

there was a taper ankle, a sandalled foot. De L'Omelette pressed his

hand upon his heart, closed his eyes, raised them, and caught his

Satanic Majesty -- in a blush.

But the paintings! -- Kupris! Astarte! Astoreth! -- a thousand and

the same! And Rafaelle has beheld them! Yes, Rafaelle has been here,

for did he not paint the ---? and was he not consequently damned? The

paintings -- the paintings! O luxury! O love! -- who, gazing on those

forbidden beauties, shall have eyes for the dainty devices of the

golden frames that besprinkled, like stars, the hyacinth and the

porphyry walls?

But the Duc's heart is fainting within him. He is not, however, as

you suppose, dizzy with magnificence, nor drunk with the ecstatic

breath of those innumerable censers. C'est vrai que de toutes ces

choses il a pense beaucoup -- mais! The Duc De L'Omelette is

terror-stricken; for, through the lurid vista which a single

uncurtained window is affording, lo! gleams the most ghastly of all

fires!

Le pauvre Duc! He could not help imagining that the glorious, the

voluptuous, the never-dying melodies which pervaded that hall, as

they passed filtered and transmuted through the alchemy of the

enchanted window-panes, were the wailings and the howlings of the

hopeless and the damned! And there, too! -- there! -- upon the

ottoman! -- who could he be? -- he, the petitmaitre -- no, the Deity

-- who sat as if carved in marble, et qui sourit, with his pale

countenance, si amerement?

Mais il faut agir -- that is to say, a Frenchman never faints

outright. Besides, his Grace hated a scene -- De L'Omelette is

himself again. There were some foils upon a table -- some points

also. The Duc s'echapper. He measures two points, and, with a grace

inimitable, offers his Majesty the choice. Horreur! his Majesty does

not fence!

Mais il joue! -- how happy a thought! -- but his Grace had always an

excellent memory. He had dipped in the "Diable" of Abbe Gualtier.

Therein it is said "que le Diable n'ose pas refuser un jeu d'ecarte."

But the chances -- the chances! True -- desperate: but scarcely more

desperate than the Duc. Besides, was he not in the secret? -- had he

not skimmed over Pere Le Brun? -- was he not a member of the Club

Vingt-un? "Si je perds," said he, "je serai deux fois perdu -- I

shall be doubly dammed -- voila tout! (Here his Grace shrugged his

shoulders.) Si je gagne, je reviendrai a mes ortolans -- que les

cartes soient preparees!"

His Grace was all care, all attention -- his Majesty all confidence.

A spectator would have thought of Francis and Charles. His Grace

thought of his game. His Majesty did not think; he shuffled. The Duc

cut.

The cards were dealt. The trump is turned -- it is -- it is -- the

king! No -- it was the queen. His Majesty cursed her masculine

habiliments. De L'Omelette placed his hand upon his heart.

They play. The Duc counts. The hand is out. His Majesty counts

heavily, smiles, and is taking wine. The Duc slips a card.

"C'est a vous a faire," said his Majesty, cutting. His Grace bowed,

dealt, and arose from the table en presentant le Roi.

His Majesty looked chagrined.

Had Alexander not been Alexander, he would have been Diogenes; and

the Duc assured his antagonist in taking leave, "que s'il n'eut ete

De L'Omelette il n'aurait point d'objection d'etre le Diable."

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE OBLONG BOX.

SOME years ago, I engaged passage from Charleston, S. C, to the

city of New York, in the fine packet-ship "Independence," Captain

Hardy. We were to sail on the fifteenth of the month (June), weather

permitting; and on the fourteenth, I went on board to arrange some

matters in my state-room.

I found that we were to have a great many passengers, including a

more than usual number of ladies. On the list were several of my

acquaintances, and among other names, I was rejoiced to see that of

Mr. Cornelius Wyatt, a young artist, for whom I entertained feelings

of warm friendship. He had been with me a fellow-student at C --

University, where we were very much together. He had the ordinary

temperament of genius, and was a compound of misanthropy,

sensibility, and enthusiasm. To these qualities he united the warmest

and truest heart which ever beat in a human bosom.

I observed that his name was carded upon three state-rooms; and, upon

again referring to the list of passengers, I found that he had

engaged passage for himself, wife, and two sisters -- his own. The

state-rooms were sufficiently roomy, and each had two berths, one

above the other. These berths, to be sure, were so exceedingly narrow

as to be insufficient for more than one person; still, I could not

comprehend why there were three state-rooms for these four persons. I

was, just at that epoch, in one of those moody frames of mind which

make a man abnormally inquisitive about trifles: and I confess, with

shame, that I busied myself in a variety of ill-bred and preposterous

conjectures about this matter of the supernumerary state-room. It was

no business of mine, to be sure, but with none the less pertinacity

did I occupy myself in attempts to resolve the enigma. At last I

reached a conclusion which wrought in me great wonder why I had not

arrived at it before. "It is a servant of course," I said; "what a

fool I am, not sooner to have thought of so obvious a solution!" And

then I again repaired to the list -- but here I saw distinctly that

no servant was to come with the party, although, in fact, it had been

the original design to bring one -- for the words "and servant" had

been first written and then overscored. "Oh, extra baggage, to be

sure," I now said to myself -- "something he wishes not to be put in

the hold -- something to be kept under his own eye -- ah, I have it

-- a painting or so -- and this is what he has been bargaining about

with Nicolino, the Italian Jew." This idea satisfied me, and I

dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.

Wyatt's two sisters I knew very well, and most amiable and clever

girls they were. His wife he had newly married, and I had never yet

seen her. He had often talked about her in my presence, however, and

in his usual style of enthusiasm. He described her as of surpassing

beauty, wit, and accomplishment. I was, therefore, quite anxious to

make her acquaintance.

On the day in which I visited the ship (the fourteenth), Wyatt and

party were also to visit it -- so the captain informed me -- and I

waited on board an hour longer than I had designed, in hope of being

presented to the bride, but then an apology came. "Mrs. W. was a

little indisposed, and would decline coming on board until to-morrow,

at the hour of sailing."

The morrow having arrived, I was going from my hotel to the wharf,

when Captain Hardy met me and said that, "owing to circumstances" (a

stupid but convenient phrase), "he rather thought the 'Independence'

would not sail for a day or two, and that when all was ready, he

would send up and let me know." This I thought strange, for there was

a stiff southerly breeze; but as "the circumstances" were not

forthcoming, although I pumped for them with much perseverance, I had

nothing to do but to return home and digest my impatience at leisure.

I did not receive the expected message from the captain for nearly a

week. It came at length, however, and I immediately went on board.

The ship was crowded with passengers, and every thing was in the

bustle attendant upon making sail. Wyatt's party arrived in about ten

minutes after myself. There were the two sisters, the bride, and the

artist -- the latter in one of his customary fits of moody

misanthropy. I was too well used to these, however, to pay them any

special attention. He did not even introduce me to his wife -- this

courtesy devolving, per force, upon his sister Marian -- a very sweet

and intelligent girl, who, in a few hurried words, made us

acquainted.

Mrs. Wyatt had been closely veiled; and when she raised her veil, in

acknowledging my bow, I confess that I was very profoundly

astonished. I should have been much more so, however, had not long

experience advised me not to trust, with too implicit a reliance, the

enthusiastic descriptions of my friend, the artist, when indulging in

comments upon the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the theme, I

well knew with what facility he soared into the regions of the purely

ideal.

The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as a decidedly

plain-looking woman. If not positively ugly, she was not, I think,

very far from it. She was dressed, however, in exquisite taste -- and

then I had no doubt that she had captivated my friend's heart by the

more enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She said very few

words, and passed at once into her state-room with Mr. W.

My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was no servant -- that was

a settled point. I looked, therefore, for the extra baggage. After

some delay, a cart arrived at the wharf, with an oblong pine box,

which was every thing that seemed to be expected. Immediately upon

its arrival we made sail, and in a short time were safely over the

bar and standing out to sea.

The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was about six feet in

length by two and a half in breadth; I observed it attentively, and

like to be precise. Now this shape was peculiar; and no sooner had I

seen it, than I took credit to myself for the accuracy of my

guessing. I had reached the conclusion, it will be remembered, that

the extra baggage of my friend, the artist, would prove to be

pictures, or at least a picture; for I knew he had been for several

weeks in conference with Nicolino: -- and now here was a box, which,

from its shape, could possibly contain nothing in the world but a

copy of Leonardo's "Last Supper;" and a copy of this very "Last

Supper," done by Rubini the younger, at Florence, I had known, for

some time, to be in the possession of Nicolino. This point,

therefore, I considered as sufficiently settled. I chuckled

excessively when I thought of my acumen. It was the first time I had

ever known Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets; but

here he evidently intended to steal a march upon me, and smuggle a

fine picture to New York, under my very nose; expecting me to know

nothing of the matter. I resolved to quiz him well, now and

hereafter.

One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did not go into

the extra state-room. It was deposited in Wyatt's own; and there,

too, it remained, occupying very nearly the whole of the floor -- no

doubt to the exceeding discomfort of the artist and his wife; -- this

the more especially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in

sprawling capitals, emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to my fancy,

a peculiarly disgusting odor. On the lid were painted the words --

"Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, Albany, New York. Charge of Cornelius Wyatt,

Esq. This side up. To be handled with care."

Now, I was aware that Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, of Albany, was the

artist's wife's mother, -- but then I looked upon the whole address

as a mystification, intended especially for myself. I made up my

mind, of course, that the box and contents would never get farther

north than the studio of my misanthropic friend, in Chambers Street,

New York.

For the first three or four days we had fine weather, although the

wind was dead ahead; having chopped round to the northward,

immediately upon our losing sight of the coast. The passengers were,

consequently, in high spirits and disposed to be social. I must

except, however, Wyatt and his sisters, who behaved stiffly, and, I

could not help thinking, uncourteously to the rest of the party.

Wyatt's conduct I did not so much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond

his usual habit -- in fact he was morose -- but in him I was prepared

for eccentricity. For the sisters, however, I could make no excuse.

They secluded themselves in their staterooms during the greater part

of the passage, and absolutely refused, although I repeatedly urged

them, to hold communication with any person on board.

Mrs. Wyatt herself was far more agreeable. That is to say, she was

chatty; and to be chatty is no slight recommendation at sea. She

became excessively intimate with most of the ladies; and, to my

profound astonishment, evinced no equivocal disposition to coquet

with the men. She amused us all very much. I say "amused"- and

scarcely know how to explain myself. The truth is, I soon found that

Mrs. W. was far oftener laughed at than with. The gentlemen said

little about her; but the ladies, in a little while, pronounced her

"a good-hearted thing, rather indifferent looking, totally

uneducated, and decidedly vulgar." The great wonder was, how Wyatt

had been entrapped into such a match. Wealth was the general

solution- but this I knew to be no solution at all; for Wyatt had

told me that she neither brought him a dollar nor had any

expectations from any source whatever. "He had married," he said,

"for love, and for love only; and his bride was far more than worthy

of his love." When I thought of these expressions, on the part of my

friend, I confess that I felt indescribably puzzled. Could it be

possible that he was taking leave of his senses? What else could I

think? He, so refined, so intellectual, so fastidious, with so

exquisite a perception of the faulty, and so keen an appreciation of

the beautiful! To be sure, the lady seemed especially fond of him-

particularly so in his absence -- when she made herself ridiculous by

frequent quotations of what had been said by her "beloved husband,

Mr. Wyatt." The word "husband" seemed forever -- to use one of her

own delicate expressions- forever "on the tip of her tongue." In the

meantime, it was observed by all on board, that he avoided her in the

most pointed manner, and, for the most part, shut himself up alone in

his state-room, where, in fact, he might have been said to live

altogether, leaving his wife at full liberty to amuse herself as she

thought best, in the public society of the main cabin.

My conclusion, from what I saw and heard, was, that, the artist, by

some unaccountable freak of fate, or perhaps in some fit of

enthusiastic and fanciful passion, had been induced to unite himself

with a person altogether beneath him, and that the natural result,

entire and speedy disgust, had ensued. I pitied him from the bottom

of my heart -- but could not, for that reason, quite forgive his

incommunicativeness in the matter of the "Last Supper." For this I

resolved to have my revenge.

One day he came upon deck, and, taking his arm as had been my wont, I

sauntered with him backward and forward. His gloom, however (which I

considered quite natural under the circumstances), seemed entirely

unabated. He said little, and that moodily, and with evident effort.

I ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening attempt at a smile.

Poor fellow! -- as I thought of his wife, I wondered that he could

have heart to put on even the semblance of mirth. I determined to

commence a series of covert insinuations, or innuendoes, about the

oblong box -- just to let him perceive, gradually, that I was not

altogether the butt, or victim, of his little bit of pleasant

mystification. My first observation was by way of opening a masked

battery. I said something about the "peculiar shape of that box-,"

and, as I spoke the words, I smiled knowingly, winked, and touched

him gently with my forefinger in the ribs.

The manner in which Wyatt received this harmless pleasantry convinced

me, at once, that he was mad. At first he stared at me as if he found

it impossible to comprehend the witticism of my remark; but as its

point seemed slowly to make its way into his brain, his eyes, in the

same proportion, seemed protruding from their sockets. Then he grew

very red -- then hideously pale -- then, as if highly amused with

what I had insinuated, he began a loud and boisterous laugh, which,

to my astonishment, he kept up, with gradually increasing vigor, for

ten minutes or more. In conclusion, he fell flat and heavily upon the

deck. When I ran to uplift him, to all appearance he was dead.

I called assistance, and, with much difficulty, we brought him to

himself. Upon reviving he spoke incoherently for some time. At length

we bled him and put him to bed. The next morning he was quite

recovered, so far as regarded his mere bodily health. Of his mind I

say nothing, of course. I avoided him during the rest of the passage,

by advice of the captain, who seemed to coincide with me altogether

in my views of his insanity, but cautioned me to say nothing on this

head to any person on board.

Several circumstances occurred immediately after this fit of Wyatt

which contributed to heighten the curiosity with which I was already

possessed. Among other things, this: I had been nervous -- drank too

much strong green tea, and slept ill at night -- in fact, for two

nights I could not be properly said to sleep at all. Now, my

state-room opened into the main cabin, or dining-room, as did those

of all the single men on board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the

after-cabin, which was separated from the main one by a slight

sliding door, never locked even at night. As we were almost

constantly on a wind, and the breeze was not a little stiff, the ship

heeled to leeward very considerably; and whenever her starboard side

was to leeward, the sliding door between the cabins slid open, and so

remained, nobody taking the trouble to get up and shut it. But my

berth was in such a position, that when my own state-room door was

open, as well as the sliding door in question (and my own door was

always open on account of the heat,) I could see into the after-cabin

quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too, where were

situated the state-rooms of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two nights (not

consecutive) while I lay awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about eleven

o'clock upon each night, steal cautiously from the state-room of Mr.

W., and enter the extra room, where she remained until daybreak, when

she was called by her husband and went back. That they were virtually

separated was clear. They had separate apartments -- no doubt in

contemplation of a more permanent divorce; and here, after all I

thought was the mystery of the extra state-room.

There was another circumstance, too, which interested me much. During

the two wakeful nights in question, and immediately after the

disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the extra state-room, I was

attracted by certain singular cautious, subdued noises in that of her

husband. After listening to them for some time, with thoughtful

attention, I at length succeeded perfectly in translating their

import. They were sounds occasioned by the artist in prying open the

oblong box, by means of a chisel and mallet -- the latter being

apparently muffled, or deadened, by some soft woollen or cotton

substance in which its head was enveloped.

In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the precise moment when

he fairly disengaged the lid -- also, that I could determine when he

removed it altogether, and when he deposited it upon the lower berth

in his room; this latter point I knew, for example, by certain slight

taps which the lid made in striking against the wooden edges of the

berth, as he endeavored to lay it down very gently -- there being no

room for it on the floor. After this there was a dead stillness, and

I heard nothing more, upon either occasion, until nearly daybreak;

unless, perhaps, I may mention a low sobbing, or murmuring sound, so

very much suppressed as to be nearly inaudible -- if, indeed, the

whole of this latter noise were not rather produced by my own

imagination. I say it seemed to resemble sobbing or sighing- but, of

course, it could not have been either. I rather think it was a

ringing in my own ears. Mr. Wyatt, no doubt, according to custom, was

merely giving the rein to one of his hobbies -- indulging in one of

his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had opened his oblong box, in

order to feast his eyes on the pictorial treasure within. There was

nothing in this, however, to make him sob. I repeat, therefore, that

it must have been simply a freak of my own fancy, distempered by good

Captain Hardy's green tea. just before dawn, on each of the two

nights of which I speak, I distinctly heard Mr. Wyatt replace the lid

upon the oblong box, and force the nails into their old places by

means of the muffled mallet. Having done this, he issued from his

state-room, fully dressed, and proceeded to call Mrs. W. from hers.

We had been at sea seven days, and were now off Cape Hatteras, when

there came a tremendously heavy blow from the southwest. We were, in

a measure, prepared for it, however, as the weather had been holding

out threats for some time. Every thing was made snug, alow and aloft;

and as the wind steadily freshened, we lay to, at length, under

spanker and foretopsail, both double-reefed.

In this trim we rode safely enough for forty-eight hours -- the ship

proving herself an excellent sea-boat in many respects, and shipping

no water of any consequence. At the end of this period, however, the

gale had freshened into a hurricane, and our after -- sail split into

ribbons, bringing us so much in the trough of the water that we

shipped several prodigious seas, one immediately after the other. By

this accident we lost three men overboard with the caboose, and

nearly the whole of the larboard bulwarks. Scarcely had we recovered

our senses, before the foretopsail went into shreds, when we got up a

storm stay -- sail and with this did pretty well for some hours, the

ship heading the sea much more steadily than before.

The gale still held on, however, and we saw no signs of its abating.

The rigging was found to be ill-fitted, and greatly strained; and on

the third day of the blow, about five in the afternoon, our

mizzen-mast, in a heavy lurch to windward, went by the board. For an

hour or more, we tried in vain to get rid of it, on account of the

prodigious rolling of the ship; and, before we had succeeded, the

carpenter came aft and announced four feet of water in the hold. To

add to our dilemma, we found the pumps choked and nearly useless.

All was now confusion and despair -- but an effort was made to

lighten the ship by throwing overboard as much of her cargo as could

be reached, and by cutting away the two masts that remained. This we

at last accomplished -- but we were still unable to do any thing at

the pumps; and, in the meantime, the leak gained on us very fast.

At sundown, the gale had sensibly diminished in violence, and as the

sea went down with it, we still entertained faint hopes of saving

ourselves in the boats. At eight P. M., the clouds broke away to

windward, and we had the advantage of a full moon -- a piece of good

fortune which served wonderfully to cheer our drooping spirits.

After incredible labor we succeeded, at length, in getting the

longboat over the side without material accident, and into this we

crowded the whole of the crew and most of the passengers. This party

made off immediately, and, after undergoing much suffering, finally

arrived, in safety, at Ocracoke Inlet, on the third day after the

wreck.

Fourteen passengers, with the captain, remained on board, resolving

to trust their fortunes to the jolly-boat at the stern. We lowered it

without difficulty, although it was only by a miracle that we

prevented it from swamping as it touched the water. It contained,

when afloat, the captain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and party, a Mexican

officer, wife, four children, and myself, with a negro valet.

We had no room, of course, for any thing except a few positively

necessary instruments, some provisions, and the clothes upon our

backs. No one had thought of even attempting to save any thing more.

What must have been the astonishment of all, then, when having

proceeded a few fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt stood up in the

stern-sheets, and coolly demanded of Captain Hardy that the boat

should be put back for the purpose of taking in his oblong box!

"Sit down, Mr. Wyatt," replied the captain, somewhat sternly, "you

will capsize us if you do not sit quite still. Our gunwhale is almost

in the water now."

"The box!" vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still standing -- "the box, I say!

Captain Hardy, you cannot, you will not refuse me. Its weight will be

but a trifle -- it is nothing- mere nothing. By the mother who bore

you -- for the love of Heaven -- by your hope of salvation, I implore

you to put back for the box!"

The captain, for a moment, seemed touched by the earnest appeal of

the artist, but he regained his stern composure, and merely said:

"Mr. Wyatt, you are mad. I cannot listen to you. Sit down, I say, or

you will swamp the boat. Stay -- hold him -- seize him! -- he is

about to spring overboard! There -- I knew it -- he is over!"

As the captain said this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact, sprang from the boat,

and, as we were yet in the lee of the wreck, succeeded, by almost

superhuman exertion, in getting hold of a rope which hung from the

fore-chains. In another moment he was on board, and rushing

frantically down into the cabin.

In the meantime, we had been swept astern of the ship, and being

quite out of her lee, were at the mercy of the tremendous sea which

was still running. We made a determined effort to put back, but our

little boat was like a feather in the breath of the tempest. We saw

at a glance that the doom of the unfortunate artist was sealed.

As our distance from the wreck rapidly increased, the madman (for as

such only could we regard him) was seen to emerge from the companion

-- way, up which by dint of strength that appeared gigantic, he

dragged, bodily, the oblong box. While we gazed in the extremity of

astonishment, he passed, rapidly, several turns of a three-inch rope,

first around the box and then around his body. In another instant

both body and box were in the sea -- disappearing suddenly, at once

and forever.

We lingered awhile sadly upon our oars, with our eyes riveted upon

the spot. At length we pulled away. The silence remained unbroken for

an hour. Finally, I hazarded a remark.

"Did you observe, captain, how suddenly they sank? Was not that an

exceedingly singular thing? I confess that I entertained some feeble

hope of his final deliverance, when I saw him lash himself to the

box, and commit himself to the sea."

"They sank as a matter of course," replied the captain, "and that

like a shot. They will soon rise again, however -- but not till the

salt melts."

"The salt!" I ejaculated.

"Hush!" said the captain, pointing to the wife and sisters of the

deceased. "We must talk of these things at some more appropriate

time."

We suffered much, and made a narrow escape, but fortune befriended

us, as well as our mates in the long-boat. We landed, in fine, more

dead than alive, after four days of intense distress, upon the beach

opposite Roanoke Island. We remained here a week, were not

ill-treated by the wreckers, and at length obtained a passage to New

York.

About a month after the loss of the "Independence," I happened to

meet Captain Hardy in Broadway. Our conversation turned, naturally,

upon the disaster, and especially upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I

thus learned the following particulars.

The artist had engaged passage for himself, wife, two sisters and a

servant. His wife was, indeed, as she had been represented, a most

lovely, and most accomplished woman. On the morning of the fourteenth

of June (the day in which I first visited the ship), the lady

suddenly sickened and died. The young husband was frantic with grief

-- but circumstances imperatively forbade the deferring his voyage to

New York. It was necessary to take to her mother the corpse of his

adored wife, and, on the other hand, the universal prejudice which

would prevent his doing so openly was well known. Nine-tenths of the

passengers would have abandoned the ship rather than take passage

with a dead body.

In this dilemma, Captain Hardy arranged that the corpse, being first

partially embalmed, and packed, with a large quantity of salt, in a

box of suitable dimensions, should be conveyed on board as

merchandise. Nothing was to be said of the lady's decease; and, as it

was well understood that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage for his wife,

it became necessary that some person should personate her during the

voyage. This the deceased lady's-maid was easily prevailed on to do.

The extra state-room, originally engaged for this girl during her

mistress' life, was now merely retained. In this state-room the

pseudo-wife, slept, of course, every night. In the daytime she

performed, to the best of her ability, the part of her mistress --

whose person, it had been carefully ascertained, was unknown to any

of the passengers on board.

My own mistake arose, naturally enough, through too careless, too

inquisitive, and too impulsive a temperament. But of late, it is a

rare thing that I sleep soundly at night. There is a countenance

which haunts me, turn as I will. There is an hysterical laugh which

will forever ring within my ears.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

LOSS OF BREATH

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

THE MOST notorious ill-fortune must in the end yield to the untiring

courage of philosophy -- as the most stubborn city to the ceaseless

vigilance of an enemy. Shalmanezer, as we have it in holy writings,

lay three years before Samaria; yet it fell. Sardanapalus -- see

Diodorus -- maintained himself seven in Nineveh; but to no purpose.

Troy expired at the close of the second lustrum; and Azoth, as

Aristaeus declares upon his honour as a gentleman, opened at last her

gates to Psammetichus, after having barred them for the fifth part of

a century....

"Thou wretch! -- thou vixen! -- thou shrew!" said I to my wife on the

morning after our wedding; "thou witch! -- thou hag! -- thou

whippersnapper -- thou sink of iniquity! -- thou fiery-faced

quintessence of all that is abominable! -- thou -- thou-" here

standing upon tiptoe, seizing her by the throat, and placing my mouth

close to her ear, I was preparing to launch forth a new and more

decided epithet of opprobrium, which should not fail, if ejaculated,

to convince her of her insignificance, when to my extreme horror and

astonishment I discovered that I had lost my breath.

The phrases "I am out of breath," "I have lost my breath," etc., are

often enough repeated in common conversation; but it had never

occurred to me that the terrible accident of which I speak could bona

fide and actually happen! Imagine -- that is if you have a fanciful

turn -- imagine, I say, my wonder -- my consternation -- my despair!

There is a good genius, however, which has never entirely deserted

me. In my most ungovernable moods I still retain a sense of

propriety, et le chemin des passions me conduit -- as Lord Edouard in

the "Julie" says it did him -- a la philosophie veritable.

Although I could not at first precisely ascertain to what degree the

occurence had affected me, I determined at all events to conceal the

matter from my wife, until further experience should discover to me

the extent of this my unheard of calamity. Altering my countenance,

therefore, in a moment, from its bepuffed and distorted appearance,

to an expression of arch and coquettish benignity, I gave my lady a

pat on the one cheek, and a kiss on the other, and without saying one

syllable (Furies! I could not), left her astonished at my drollery,

as I pirouetted out of the room in a Pas de Zephyr.

Behold me then safely ensconced in my private boudoir, a fearful

instance of the ill consequences attending upon irascibility --

alive, with the qualifications of the dead -- dead, with the

propensities of the living -- an anomaly on the face of the earth --

being very calm, yet breathless.

Yes! breathless. I am serious in asserting that my breath was

entirely gone. I could not have stirred with it a feather if my life

had been at issue, or sullied even the delicacy of a mirror. Hard

fate! -- yet there was some alleviation to the first overwhelming

paroxysm of my sorrow. I found, upon trial, that the powers of

utterance which, upon my inability to proceed in the conversation

with my wife, I then concluded to be totally destroyed, were in fact

only partially impeded, and I discovered that had I, at that

interesting crisis, dropped my voice to a singularly deep guttural, I

might still have continued to her the communication of my sentiments;

this pitch of voice (the guttural) depending, I find, not upon the

current of the breath, but upon a certain spasmodic action of the

muscles of the throat.

Throwing myself upon a chair, I remained for some time absorbed in

meditation. My reflections, be sure, were of no consolatory kind. A

thousand vague and lachrymatory fancies took possesion of my soul --

and even the idea of suicide flitted across my brain; but it is a

trait in the perversity of human nature to reject the obvious and the

ready, for the far-distant and equivocal. Thus I shuddered at

self-murder as the most decided of atrocities while the tabby cat

purred strenuously upon the rug, and the very water dog wheezed

assiduously under the table, each taking to itself much merit for the

strength of its lungs, and all obviously done in derision of my own

pulmonary incapacity.

Oppressed with a tumult of vague hopes and fears, I at length heard

the footsteps of my wife descending the staircase. Being now assured

of her absence, I returned with a palpitating heart to the scene of

my disaster.

Carefully locking the door on the inside, I commenced a vigorous

search. It was possible, I thought, that, concealed in some obscure

corner, or lurking in some closet or drawer, might be found the lost

object of my inquiry. It might have a vapory -- it might even have a

tangible form. Most philosophers, upon many points of philosophy, are

still very unphilosophical. William Godwin, however, says in his

"Mandeville," that "invisible things are the only realities," and

this, all will allow, is a case in point. I would have the judicious

reader pause before accusing such asseverations of an undue quantum

of absurdity. Anaxagoras, it will be remembered, maintained that snow

is black, and this I have since found to be the case.

Long and earnestly did I continue the investigation: but the

contemptible reward of my industry and perseverance proved to be only

a set of false teeth, two pair of hips, an eye, and a bundle of

billets-doux from Mr. Windenough to my wife. I might as well here

observe that this confirmation of my lady's partiality for Mr. W.

occasioned me little uneasiness. That Mrs. Lackobreath should admire

anything so dissimilar to myself was a natural and necessary evil. I

am, it is well known, of a robust and corpulent appearance, and at

the same time somewhat diminutive in stature. What wonder, then, that

the lath-like tenuity of my acquaintance, and his altitude, which has

grown into a proverb, should have met with all due estimation in the

eyes of Mrs. Lackobreath. But to return.

My exertions, as I have before said, proved fruitless. Closet after

closet -- drawer after drawer -- corner after corner -- were

scrutinized to no purpose. At one time, however, I thought myself

sure of my prize, having, in rummaging a dressing-case, accidentally

demolished a bottle of Grandjean's Oil of Archangels -- which, as an

agreeable perfume, I here take the liberty of recommending.

With a heavy heart I returned to my boudoir -- there to ponder upon

some method of eluding my wife's penetration, until I could make

arrangements prior to my leaving the country, for to this I had

already made up my mind. In a foreign climate, being unknown, I

might, with some probability of success, endeavor to conceal my

unhappy calamity -- a calamity calculated, even more than beggary, to

estrange the affections of the multitude, and to draw down upon the

wretch the well-merited indignation of the virtuous and the happy. I

was not long in hesitation. Being naturally quick, I committed to

memory the entire tragedy of "Metamora." I had the good fortune to

recollect that in the accentuation of this drama, or at least of such

portion of it as is allotted to the hero, the tones of voice in which

I found myself deficient were altogether unnecessary, and the deep

guttural was expected to reign monotonously throughout.

I practised for some time by the borders of a well frequented marsh;

-- herein, however, having no reference to a similar proceeding of

Demosthenes, but from a design peculiarly and conscientiously my own.

Thus armed at all points, I determined to make my wife believe that I

was suddenly smitten with a passion for the stage. In this, I

succeeded to a miracle; and to every question or suggestion found

myself at liberty to reply in my most frog-like and sepulchral tones

with some passage from the tragedy -- any portion of which, as I soon

took great pleasure in observing, would apply equally well to any

particular subject. It is not to be supposed, however, that in the

delivery of such passages I was found at all deficient in the looking

asquint -- the showing my teeth -- the working my knees -- the

shuffling my feet -- or in any of those unmentionable graces which

are now justly considered the characteristics of a popular performer.

To be sure they spoke of confining me in a strait-jacket -- but, good

God! they never suspected me of having lost my breath.

Having at length put my affairs in order, I took my seat very early

one morning in the mail stage for --, giving it to be understood,

among my acquaintances, that business of the last importance required

my immediate personal attendance in that city.

The coach was crammed to repletion; but in the uncertain twilight the

features of my companions could not be distinguished. Without making

any effectual resistance, I suffered myself to be placed between two

gentlemen of colossal dimensions; while a third, of a size larger,

requesting pardon for the liberty he was about to take, threw himself

upon my body at full length, and falling asleep in an instant,

drowned all my guttural ejaculations for relief, in a snore which

would have put to blush the roarings of the bull of Phalaris. Happily

the state of my respiratory faculties rendered suffocation an

accident entirely out of the question.

As, however, the day broke more distinctly in our approach to the

outskirts of the city, my tormentor, arising and adjusting his

shirt-collar, thanked me in a very friendly manner for my civility.

Seeing that I remained motionless (all my limbs were dislocated and

my head twisted on one side), his apprehensions began to be excited;

and arousing the rest of the passengers, he communicated, in a very

decided manner, his opinion that a dead man had been palmed upon them

during the night for a living and responsible fellow-traveller; here

giving me a thump on the right eye, by way of demonstrating the truth

of his suggestion.

Hereupon all, one after another (there were nine in company),

believed it their duty to pull me by the ear. A young practising

physician, too, having applied a pocket-mirror to my mouth, and found

me without breath, the assertion of my persecutor was pronounced a

true bill; and the whole party expressed a determination to endure

tamely no such impositions for the future, and to proceed no farther

with any such carcasses for the present.

I was here, accordingly, thrown out at the sign of the "Crow" (by

which tavern the coach happened to be passing), without meeting with

any farther accident than the breaking of both my arms, under the

left hind wheel of the vehicle. I must besides do the driver the

justice to state that he did not forget to throw after me the largest

of my trunks, which, unfortunately falling on my head, fractured my

skull in a manner at once interesting and extraordinary.

The landlord of the "Crow," who is a hospitable man, finding that my

trunk contained sufficient to indemnify him for any little trouble he

might take in my behalf, sent forthwith for a surgeon of his

acquaintance, and delivered me to his care with a bill and receipt

for ten dollars.

The purchaser took me to his apartments and commenced operations

immediately. Having cut off my ears, however, he discovered signs of

animation. He now rang the bell, and sent for a neighboring

apothecary with whom to consult in the emergency. In case of his

suspicions with regard to my existence proving ultimately correct,

he, in the meantime, made an incision in my stomach, and removed

several of my viscera for private dissection.

The apothecary had an idea that I was actually dead. This idea I

endeavored to confute, kicking and plunging with all my might, and

making the most furious contortions -- for the operations of the

surgeon had, in a measure, restored me to the possession of my

faculties. All, however, was attributed to the effects of a new

galvanic battery, wherewith the apothecary, who is really a man of

information, performed several curious experiments, in which, from my

personal share in their fulfillment, I could not help feeling deeply

interested. It was a course of mortification to me, nevertheless,

that although I made several attempts at conversation, my powers of

speech were so entirely in abeyance, that I could not even open my

mouth; much less, then, make reply to some ingenious but fanciful

theories of which, under other circumstances, my minute acquaintance

with the Hippocratian pathology would have afforded me a ready

confutation.

Not being able to arrive at a conclusion, the practitioners remanded

me for farther examination. I was taken up into a garret; and the

surgeon's lady having accommodated me with drawers and stockings, the

surgeon himself fastened my hands, and tied up my jaws with a

pocket-handkerchief -- then bolted the door on the outside as he

hurried to his dinner, leaving me alone to silence and to meditation.

I now discovered to my extreme delight that I could have spoken had

not my mouth been tied up with the pocket-handkerchief. Consoling

myself with this reflection, I was mentally repeating some passages

of the "Omnipresence of the Deity," as is my custom before resigning

myself to sleep, when two cats, of a greedy and vituperative turn,

entering at a hole in the wall, leaped up with a flourish a la

Catalani, and alighting opposite one another on my visage, betook

themselves to indecorous contention for the paltry consideration of

my nose.

But, as the loss of his ears proved the means of elevating to the

throne of Cyrus, the Magian or Mige-Gush of Persia, and as the

cutting off his nose gave Zopyrus possession of Babylon, so the loss

of a few ounces of my countenance proved the salvation of my body.

Aroused by the pain, and burning with indignation, I burst, at a

single effort, the fastenings and the bandage. Stalking across the

room I cast a glance of contempt at the belligerents, and throwing

open the sash to their extreme horror and disappointment,

precipitated myself, very dexterously, from the window. this moment

passing from the city jail to the scaffold erected for his execution

in the suburbs. His extreme infirmity and long continued ill health

had obtained him the privilege of remaining unmanacled; and habited

in his gallows costume -- one very similar to my own, -- he lay at

full length in the bottom of the hangman's cart (which happened to be

under the windows of the surgeon at the moment of my precipitation)

without any other guard than the driver, who was asleep, and two

recruits of the sixth infantry, who were drunk.

As ill-luck would have it, I alit upon my feet within the vehicle.

immediately, he bolted out behind, and turning down an alley, was out

of sight in the twinkling of an eye. The recruits, aroused by the

bustle, could not exactly comprehend the merits of the transaction.

Seeing, however, a man, the precise counterpart of the felon,

standing upright in the cart before their eyes, they were of (so they

expressed themselves,) and, having communicated this opinion to one

another, they took each a dram, and then knocked me down with the

butt-ends of their muskets.

It was not long ere we arrived at the place of destination. Of course

nothing could be said in my defence. Hanging was my inevitable fate.

I resigned myself thereto with a feeling half stupid, half

acrimonious. Being little of a cynic, I had all the sentiments of a

dog. The hangman, however, adjusted the noose about my neck. The drop

fell.

I forbear to depict my sensations upon the gallows; although here,

undoubtedly, I could speak to the point, and it is a topic upon which

nothing has been well said. In fact, to write upon such a theme it is

necessary to have been hanged. Every author should confine himself to

matters of experience. Thus Mark Antony composed a treatise upon

getting drunk.

I may just mention, however, that die I did not. My body was, but I

had no breath to be, suspended; and but for the knot under my left

ear (which had the feel of a military stock) I dare say that I should

have experienced very little inconvenience. As for the jerk given to

my neck upon the falling of the drop, it merely proved a corrective

to the twist afforded me by the fat gentleman in the coach.

For good reasons, however, I did my best to give the crowd the worth

of their trouble. My convulsions were said to be extraordinary. My

spasms it would have been difficult to beat. The populace encored.

Several gentlemen swooned; and a multitude of ladies were carried

home in hysterics. Pinxit availed himself of the opportunity to

retouch, from a sketch taken upon the spot, his admirable painting of

the "Marsyas flayed alive."

When I had afforded sufficient amusement, it was thought proper to

remove my body from the gallows; -- this the more especially as the

real culprit had in the meantime been retaken and recognized, a fact

which I was so unlucky as not to know.

Much sympathy was, of course, exercised in my behalf, and as no one

made claim to my corpse, it was ordered that I should be interred in

a public vault.

Here, after due interval, I was deposited. The sexton departed, and I

was left alone. A line of Marston's "Malcontent"-

Death's a good fellow and keeps open house -- struck me at that

moment as a palpable lie.

I knocked off, however, the lid of my coffin, and stepped out. The

place was dreadfully dreary and damp, and I became troubled with

ennui. By way of amusement, I felt my way among the numerous coffins

ranged in order around. I lifted them down, one by one, and breaking

open their lids, busied myself in speculations about the mortality

within.

"This," I soliloquized, tumbling over a carcass, puffy, bloated, and

rotund -- "this has been, no doubt, in every sense of the word, an

unhappy -- an unfortunate man. It has been his terrible lot not to

walk but to waddle -- to pass through life not like a human being,

but like an elephant -- not like a man, but like a rhinoceros.

"His attempts at getting on have been mere abortions, and his

circumgyratory proceedings a palpable failure. Taking a step forward,

it has been his misfortune to take two toward the right, and three

toward the left. His studies have been confined to the poetry of

Crabbe. He can have no idea of the wonder of a pirouette. To him a

pas de papillon has been an abstract conception. He has never

ascended the summit of a hill. He has never viewed from any steeple

the glories of a metropolis. Heat has been his mortal enemy. In the

dog-days his days have been the days of a dog. Therein, he has

dreamed of flames and suffocation -- of mountains upon mountains --

of Pelion upon Ossa. He was short of breath -- to say all in a word,

he was short of breath. He thought it extravagant to play upon wind

instruments. He was the inventor of self-moving fans, wind-sails, and

ventilators. He patronized Du Pont the bellows-maker, and he died

miserably in attempting to smoke a cigar. His was a case in which I

feel a deep interest -- a lot in which I sincerely sympathize.

"But here," -- said I -- "here" -- and I dragged spitefully from its

receptacle a gaunt, tall and peculiar-looking form, whose remarkable

appearance struck me with a sense of unwelcome familiarity -- "here

is a wretch entitled to no earthly commiseration." Thus saying, in

order to obtain a more distinct view of my subject, I applied my

thumb and forefinger to its nose, and causing it to assume a sitting

position upon the ground, held it thus, at the length of my arm,

while I continued my soliloquy.

-"Entitled," I repeated, "to no earthly commiseration. Who indeed

would think of compassioning a shadow? Besides, has he not had his

full share of the blessings of mortality? He was the originator of

tall monuments -- shot-towers -- lightning-rods -- Lombardy poplars.

His treatise upon "Shades and Shadows" has immortalized him. He

edited with distinguished ability the last edition of "South on the

Bones." He went early to college and studied pneumatics. He then came

home, talked eternally, and played upon the French-horn. He

patronized the bagpipes. Captain Barclay, who walked against Time,

would not walk against him. Windham and Allbreath were his favorite

writers, -- his favorite artist, Phiz. He died gloriously while

inhaling gas -- levique flatu corrupitur, like the fama pudicitae in

Hieronymus. {*1} He was indubitably a"--

"How can you? -- how -- can -- you?" -- interrupted the object of my

animadversions, gasping for breath, and tearing off, with a desperate

exertion, the bandage around its jaws -- "how can you, Mr.

Lackobreath, be so infernally cruel as to pinch me in that manner by

the nose? Did you not see how they had fastened up my mouth -- and

you must know -- if you know any thing -- how vast a superfluity of

breath I have to dispose of! If you do not know, however, sit down

and you shall see. In my situation it is really a great relief to be

able to open ones mouth -- to be able to expatiate -- to be able to

communicate with a person like yourself, who do not think yourself

called upon at every period to interrupt the thread of a gentleman's

discourse. Interruptions are annoying and should undoubtedly be

abolished -- don't you think so? -- no reply, I beg you, -- one

person is enough to be speaking at a time. -- I shall be done by and

by, and then you may begin. -- How the devil sir, did you get into

this place? -- not a word I beseech you -- been here some time myself

-- terrible accident! -- heard of it, I suppose? -- awful calamity!

-- walking under your windows -- some short while ago -- about the

time you were stage-struck -- horrible occurrence! -- heard of

"catching one's breath," eh? -- hold your tongue I tell you! -- I

caught somebody elses! -- had always too much of my own -- met Blab

at the corner of the street -- wouldn't give me a chance for a word

-- couldn't get in a syllable edgeways -- attacked, consequently,

with epilepsis -- Blab made his escape -- damn all fools! -- they

took me up for dead, and put me in this place -- pretty doings all of

them! -- heard all you said about me -- every word a lie -- horrible!

-- wonderful -- outrageous! -- hideous! -- incomprehensible! -- et

cetera -- et cetera -- et cetera -- et cetera-"

It is impossible to conceive my astonishment at so unexpected a

discourse, or the joy with which I became gradually convinced that

the breath so fortunately caught by the gentleman (whom I soon

recognized as my neighbor Windenough) was, in fact, the identical

expiration mislaid by myself in the conversation with my wife. Time,

place, and circumstances rendered it a matter beyond question. I did

not at least during the long period in which the inventor of Lombardy

poplars continued to favor me with his explanations.

In this respect I was actuated by that habitual prudence which has

ever been my predominating trait. I reflected that many difficulties

might still lie in the path of my preservation which only extreme

exertion on my part would be able to surmount. Many persons, I

considered, are prone to estimate commodities in their possession --

however valueless to the then proprietor -- however troublesome, or

distressing -- in direct ratio with the advantages to be derived by

others from their attainment, or by themselves from their

abandonment. Might not this be the case with Mr. Windenough? In

displaying anxiety for the breath of which he was at present so

willing to get rid, might I not lay myself open to the exactions of

his avarice? There are scoundrels in this world, I remembered with a

sigh, who will not scruple to take unfair opportunities with even a

next door neighbor, and (this remark is from Epictetus) it is

precisely at that time when men are most anxious to throw off the

burden of their own calamities that they feel the least desirous of

relieving them in others.

Upon considerations similar to these, and still retaining my grasp

upon the nose of Mr. W., I accordingly thought proper to model my

reply.

"Monster!" I began in a tone of the deepest indignation -- "monster

and double-winded idiot! -- dost thou, whom for thine iniquities it

has pleased heaven to accurse with a two-fold respimtion -- dost

thou, I say, presume to address me in the familiar language of an old

acquaintance? -- 'I lie,' forsooth! and 'hold my tongue,' to be sure!

-- pretty conversation indeed, to a gentleman with a single breath!

-- all this, too, when I have it in my power to relieve the calamity

under which thou dost so justly suffer -- to curtail the

superfluities of thine unhappy respiration."

Like Brutus, I paused for a reply -- with which, like a tornado, Mr.

Windenough immediately overwhelmed me. Protestation followed upon

protestation, and apology upon apology. There were no terms with

which he was unwilling to comply, and there were none of which I

failed to take the fullest advantage.

Preliminaries being at length arranged, my acquaintance delivered me

the respiration; for which (having carefully examined it) I gave him

afterward a receipt.

I am aware that by many I shall be held to blame for speaking in a

manner so cursory, of a transaction so impalpable. It will be thought

that I should have entered more minutely, into the details of an

occurrence by which -- and this is very true -- much new light might

be thrown upon a highly interesting branch of physical philosophy.

To all this I am sorry that I cannot reply. A hint is the only answer

which I am permitted to make. There were circumstances -- but I think

it much safer upon consideration to say as little as possible about

an affair so delicate -- so delicate, I repeat, and at the time

involving the interests of a third party whose sulphurous resentment

I have not the least desire, at this moment, of incurring.

We were not long after this necessary arrangement in effecting an

escape from the dungeons of the sepulchre. The united strength of our

resuscitated voices was soon sufficiently apparent. Scissors, the

Whig editor, republished a treatise upon "the nature and origin of

subterranean noises." A reply -- rejoinder -- confutation -- and

justification -- followed in the columns of a Democratic Gazette. It

was not until the opening of the vault to decide the controversy,

that the appearance of Mr. Windenough and myself proved both parties

to have been decidedly in the wrong.

I cannot conclude these details of some very singular passages in a

life at all times sufficiently eventful, without again recalling to

the attention of the reader the merits of that indiscriminate

philosophy which is a sure and ready shield against those shafts of

calamity which can neither be seen, felt nor fully understood. It was

in the spirit of this wisdom that, among the ancient Hebrews, it was

believed the gates of Heaven would be inevitably opened to that

sinner, or saint, who, with good lungs and implicit confidence,

should vociferate the word "Amen!" It was in the spirit of this

wisdom that, when a great plague raged at Athens, and every means had

been in vain attempted for its removal, Epimenides, as Laertius

relates, in his second book, of that philosopher, advised the

erection of a shrine and temple "to the proper God."

LYTTLETON BARRY.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE MAN THAT WAS USED UP.

A TALE OF THE LATE BUGABOO AND KICKAPOO CAMPAIGN.

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

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

CORNEILLE.

I CANNOT just now remember when or where I first made the

acquaintance of that truly fine-looking fellow, Brevet Brigadier

General John A. B. C. Smith.  Some one _did_ introduce me to the

gentleman, I am sure - at some public meeting, I know very well -

held about something of great importance, no doubt - at some place or

other, I feel convinced, - whose name I have unaccountably forgotten.

The truth is - that the introduction was attended, upon my part, with

a degree of anxious embarrassment which operated to prevent any

definite impressions of either time or place.  I am constitutionally

nervous - this, with me, is a family failing, and I can't help it.

In especial, the slightest appearance of mystery - of any point I

cannot exactly comprehend - puts me at once into a pitiable state of

agitation.

There was something, as it were, remarkable - yes, _remarkable_,

although this is but a feeble term to express my full meaning - about

the entire individuality of the personage in question. He was,

perhaps, six feet in height, and of a presence singularly commanding.

There was an _air distingué_ pervading the whole man, which spoke of

high breeding, and hinted at high birth.  Upon this topic - the topic

of Smith's personal appearance - I have a kind of melancholy

satisfaction in being minute.  His head of hair would have done honor

to a Brutus ; - nothing could be more richly flowing, or possess a

brighter gloss.  It was of a jetty black ; - which was also the

color, or more  properly the no color of his unimaginable whiskers.

You perceive I cannot speak of these latter without enthusiasm ; it

is not too much to say that they were the handsomest pair of whiskers

under the sun.  At all events, they encircled, and at times partially

overshadowed, a mouth utterly unequalled. Here were the most entirely

even, and the most brilliantly white of all conceivable teeth.  From

between them, upon every proper occasion, issued a voice of

surpassing clearness, melody, and strength.  In the matter of eyes,

also, my acquaintance was pre-eminently endowed.  Either one of such

a pair was worth a couple of the ordinary ocular organs.  They were

of a deep hazel, exceedingly large and lustrous ; and there was

perceptible about them, ever and anon, just that amount of

interesting obliquity which gives pregnancy to expression.

The bust of the General was unquestionably the finest bust I ever

saw.  For your life you could not have found a fault with its

wonderful proportion.  This rare peculiarity set off to great

advantage a pair of shoulders which would have called up a blush of

conscious inferiority into the countenance of the marble Apollo.  I

have a passion for fine shoulders, and may say that I never beheld

them in perfection before.  The arms altogether were admirably

modelled.  Nor were the lower limbs less superb.  These were, indeed,

the _ne plus ultra_ of good legs.  Every connoisseur in such matters

admitted the legs to be good.  There was neither too much flesh, nor

too little, - neither rudeness nor fragility.  I could not imagine a

more graceful curve than that of the _os femoris_, and there was just

that due gentle prominence in the rear of the _fibula_ which goes to

the conformation of a properly proportioned calf.  I wish to God my

young and talented friend Chiponchipino, the sculptor, had but seen

the legs of Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith.

But although men so absolutely fine-looking are neither as plenty

as reasons or blackberries, still I could not bring myself to believe

that _the remarkable_ something to which I alluded just now, - that

the odd air of _je ne sais quoi_ which hung about my new

acquaintance, - lay altogether, or indeed at all, in the supreme

excellence of his bodily endowments.  Perhaps it might be traced to

the _manner_ ; - yet here again I could not pretend to  be positive.

There _was_ a primness, not to say stiffness, in his carriage - a

degree of measured, and, if I may so express it, of rectangular

precision, attending his every movement, which, observed in a more

diminutive figure, would have had the least little savor in the

world, of affectation, pomposity or constraint, but which noticed in

a gentleman of his undoubted dimensions, was readily placed to the

account of reserve, _hauteur_ - of a commendable sense, in short, of

what is due to the dignity of colossal proportion.

The kind friend who presented me to General Smith whispered in my

ear some few words of comment upon the man.  He was a _remarkable_

man - a _very_ remarkable man - indeed one of the _most_ remarkable

men of the age.  He was an especial favorite, too, with the ladies -

chiefly on account of his high reputation for courage.

"In _that_ point he is unrivalled - indeed he is a perfect

desperado - a down-right fire-eater, and no mistake," said my friend,

here dropping his voice excessively low, and thrilling me with the

mystery of his tone.

"A downright fire-eater, and _no_ mistake.  Showed _that_, I

should say, to some purpose, in the late tremendous swamp-fight away

down South, with the Bugaboo and Kickapoo Indians." [Here my friend

opened his eyes to some extent.] "Bless my soul  !  - blood and

thunder, and all that  !  - _prodigies_ of valor  !  - heard of him

of course ? - you know he's the man" ---

"Man alive, how _do_ you do ?  why, how _are_ ye ?  _very_ glad

to see ye, indeed !" here interrupted the General himself, seizing my

companion by the hand as he drew near, and bowing stiffly, but

profoundly, as I was presented.  I then thought, (and I think so

still,) that I never heard a clearer nor a stronger voice, nor beheld

a finer set of teeth : but I _must_ say that I was sorry for the

interruption just at that moment, as, owing to the whispers and

insinuations aforesaid, my interest had been greatly excited in the

hero of the Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign.

However, the delightfully luminous conversation of Brevet

Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith soon completely dissipated this

chagrin.  My friend leaving us immediately, we had  quite a long

_tête-à-tête_, and I was not only pleased but _really_ - instructed.

I never heard a more fluent talker, or a man of greater general

information.  With becoming modesty, he forebore, nevertheless, to

touch upon the theme I had just then most at heart - I mean the

mysterious circumstances attending the Bugaboo war - and, on my own

part, what I conceive to be a proper sense of delicacy forbade me to

broach the subject ; although, in truth, I was exceedingly tempted to

do so.  I perceived, too, that the gallant soldier preferred topics

of philosophical interest, and that he delighted, especially, in

commenting upon the rapid march of mechanical invention.  Indeed,

lead him where I would, this was a point to which he invariably came

back.

"There is nothing at all like it," he would say; "we are a

wonderful people, and live in a wonderful age.  Parachutes and

rail-roads - man-traps and spring-guns  !  Our steam-boats are upon

every sea, and the Nassau balloon packet is about to run regular

trips (fare either way only twenty pounds sterling) between London

and Timbuctoo.  And who shall calculate the immense influence upon

social life - upon arts - upon commerce - upon literature - which

will be the immediate result of the great principles of electro

magnetics  !  Nor, is this all, let me assure you  !  There is really

no end to the march of invention.  The most wonderful - the most

ingenious - and let me add, Mr.  - Mr.  - Thompson, I believe, is

your name - let me add, I say, the most _useful_ - the most truly

_useful_ mechanical contrivances, are daily springing up like

mushrooms, if I may so express myself, or, more figuratively, like -

ah - grasshoppers - like grasshoppers, Mr.  Thompson - about us and

ah - ah - ah - around us !"

Thompson, to be sure, is not my name ; but it is needless to say

that I left General Smith with a heightened interest in the man, with

an exalted opinion of his conversational powers, and a deep sense of

the valuable privileges we enjoy in living in this age of mechanical

invention.  My curiosity, however, had not been altogether satisfied,

and I resolved to prosecute immediate inquiry among my acquaintances

touching the Brevet Brigadier General himself, and particularly

respecting the tremendous  events _quorum pars magna fuit_, during

the Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign.

The first opportunity which presented itself, and which

(_horresco referens_) I did not in the least scruple to seize,

occurred at the Church of the Reverend Doctor Drummummupp, where I

found myself established, one Sunday, just at sermon time, not only

in the pew, but by the side, of that worthy and communicative little

friend of mine, Miss Tabitha T.  Thus seated, I congratulated myself,

and with much reason, upon the very flattering state of affairs.  If

any person knew anything about Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C.

Smith, that person, it was clear to me, was Miss Tabitha T.  We

telegraphed a few signals, and then commenced, _soto voce_, a brisk

_tête-à-tête_.

"Smith !" said she, in reply to my very earnest inquiry; "Smith

!  - why, not General John A. B. C. ?  Bless me, I thought you _knew_

all about _him !_ This is a wonderfully inventive age  !  Horrid

affair that  !  - a bloody set of wretches, those Kickapoos  !  -

fought like a hero - prodigies of valor - immortal renown.  Smith  !

- Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. !  why, you know he's the

man" ---

"Man," here broke in Doctor Drummummupp, at the top of his voice,

and with a thump that came near knocking the pulpit about our ears ;

"man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live ; he

cometh up and is cut down like a flower !" I started to the extremity

of the pew, and perceived by the animated looks of the divine, that

the wrath which had nearly proved fatal to the pulpit had been

excited by the whispers of the lady and myself.  There was no help

for it ; so I submitted with a good grace, and listened, in all the

martyrdom of dignified silence, to the balance of that very capital

discourse.

Next evening found me a somewhat late visitor at the Rantipole

theatre, where I felt sure of satisfying my curiosity at once, by

merely stepping into the box of those exquisite specimens of

affability and omniscience, the Misses Arabella and Miranda

Cognoscenti. That fine tragedian, Climax, was doing Iago to a very

crowded house, and I experienced some little difficulty in making my

wishes understood ; especially, as our box was next the slips, and

completely overlooked the stage.

"Smith ?" said Miss Arabella, as she at length comprehended the

purport of my query ; "Smith  ?  - why, not General John A. B. C. ?"

"Smith ?" inquired Miranda, musingly.  "God bless me, did you

ever behold a finer figure ?"

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

"Or so inimitable grace ?"

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

"Or so just an appreciation of stage effect ?"

"Madam !"

"Or a more delicate sense of the true beauties of Shakespeare  ?

Be so good as to look at that leg !"

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

"Smith ?" said she, "why, not General John A. B. C. ? Horrid

affair that, wasn't it  ?  - great wretches, those Bugaboos - savage

and so on - but we live in a wonderfully inventive age  !  - Smith  !

- O yes  !  great man  !  - perfect desperado - immortal renown -

prodigies of valor  !  _Never heard !_" [This was given in a scream.]

"Bless my soul ! why, he's the man" ---

"----- mandragora

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world

Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep

Which thou owd'st yesterday !"

here roared our Climax just in my ear, and shaking his fist in my

face all the time, in a way that I _couldn't_ stand, and I

_wouldn't_. I left the Misses Cognoscenti immediately, went behind

the scenes forthwith, and gave the beggarly scoundrel such a

thrashing as I trust he will remember to the day of his death.

At the _soirée_ of the lovely widow, Mrs. Kathleen O'Trump, I was

confident that I should meet with no similar disappointment.

Accordingly, I was no sooner seated at the card-table, with my pretty

hostess for a _vis-à-vis_, than I propounded those questions the

solution of which had become a matter so essential to my peace.

"Smith ?" said my partner, "why, not General John A. B. C. ?

Horrid affair that, wasn't it  ?  - diamonds, did you say  ?  -

terrible wretches those Kickapoos  !  - we are playing _whist_, if

you please, Mr. Tattle - however, this is the age of invention, most

certainly   _the_ age, one may say - _the_ age _par excellence_ -

speak French  ?  - oh, quite a hero - perfect desperado ! - _no

hearts_, Mr.  Tattle  ?  I don't believe it  !  - immortal renown and

all that  !  - prodigies of valor  !  _Never heard  !!_ - why, bless

me, he's the man" ---

"Mann  ?  - _Captain_ Mann ?" here screamed some little feminine

interloper from the farthest corner of the room.  "Are you talking

about Captain Mann and the duel  ?  - oh, I _must_ hear - do tell -

go on, Mrs. O'Trump  !  - do now go on !" And go on Mrs.  O'Trump did

- all about a certain Captain Mann, who was either shot or hung, or

should have been both shot and hung.  Yes  !  Mrs. O'Trump, she went

on, and I - I went off.  There was no chance of hearing anything

farther that evening in regard to Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.

C. Smith.

Still I consoled myself with the reflection that the tide of ill

luck would not run against me forever, and so determined to make a

bold push for information at the rout of that bewitching little

angel, the graceful Mrs.  Pirouette.

"Smith ?" said Mrs. P., as we twirled about together in a _pas de

zephyr_, "Smith  ?  - why, not General John A. B. C. ?  Dreadful

business that of the Bugaboos, wasn't it  ?  - dreadful creatures,

those Indians  !  - _do_ turn out your toes  !  I really am ashamed

of you - man of great courage, poor fellow  !  - but this is a

wonderful age for invention - O dear me, I'm out of breath - quite a

desperado - prodigies of valor - _never heard  !!_ - can't believe it

- I shall have to sit down and enlighten you - Smith  !  why, he's

the man" ---

"Man-_Fred_, I tell you !" here bawled out Miss Bas-Bleu, as I

led Mrs. Pirouette to a seat.  "Did ever anybody hear the like  ?

It's Man-_Fred_, I say, and not at all by any means Man-_Friday_."

Here Miss Bas-Bleu beckoned to me in a very peremptory manner ; and I

was obliged, will I nill I, to leave Mrs. P.  for the purpose of

deciding a dispute touching the title of a certain poetical drama of

Lord Byron's. Although I pronounced, with great promptness, that the

true title was Man-_Friday_, and not by any means Man-_Fred_, yet

when I returned to seek Mrs. Pirouette she was not to be discovered,

and I made my retreat from the house in a very bitter spirit of

animosity against the whole race of the Bas-Bleus.

Matters had now assumed a really serious aspect, and I resolved

to call at once upon my particular friend, Mr.  Theodore Sinivate ;

for I knew that here at least I should get something like definite

information.

"Smith ?" said he, in his well-known peculiar way of drawling out

his syllables ; "Smith  ?  - why, not General John A. B. C. ? Savage

affair that with the Kickapo-o-o-os, wasn't it  ?  Say  !  don't you

think so  ?  - perfect despera-a-ado - great pity, 'pon my honor  !

- wonderfully inventive age  !  - pro-o-odigies of valor  !  By the

by, did you ever hear about Captain Ma-a-a-a-n ?"

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

story."

"Hem  !  - oh well  !  - quite _la même cho-o-ose_, as we say in

France.  Smith, eh  ?  Brigadier-General John A. B. C. ?  I say" -

[here Mr. S. thought proper to put his finger to the side of his

nose] - "I say, you don't mean to insinuate now, really and truly,

and conscientiously, that you don't know all about that affair of

Smith's, as well as I do, eh  ?  Smith  ?  John A-B-C.  ?  Why, bless

me, he's the ma-a-an" ---

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

mask ?"

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

This reply I considered a pointed and positive insult, and so

left the house at once in high dudgeon, with a firm resolve to call

my friend, Mr.  Sinivate, to a speedy account for his ungentlemanly

conduct and ill-breeding.

In the meantime, however, I had no notion of being thwarted

touching the information I desired.  There was one resource left me

yet.  I would go to the fountain-head.  I would call forthwith upon

the General himself, and demand, in explicit terms, a solution of

this abominable piece of mystery.  Here, at least, there should be no

chance for equivocation. I would be plain, positive, peremptory - as

short as pie-crust - as concise as Tacitus or Montesquieu.

It was early when I called, and the General was dressing; but I

pleaded urgent business, and was shown at once into his bed-room by

an old negro valet, who remained in attendance during my visit.  As I

entered the chamber, I looked about, of  course, for the occupant,

but did not immediately perceive him.  There was a large and

exceedingly odd-looking bundle of something which lay close by my

feet on the floor, and, as I was not in the best humor in the world,

I gave it a kick out of the way.

"Hem  !  ahem  !  rather civil that, I should say !" said the

bundle, in one of the smallest, and altogether the funniest little

voices, between a squeak and a whistle, that I ever heard in all the

days of my existence.

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

I fairly shouted with terror, and made off, at a tangent, into

the farthest extremity of the room.

"God bless me  !  my dear fellow," here again whistled the

bundle, "what - what - what - why, what _is_ the matter  ?  I really

believe you don't know me at all."

What _could_ I say to all this - what _could_ I  ?  I staggered

into an arm-chair, and, with staring eyes and open mouth, awaited the

solution of the wonder.

"Strange you shouldn't know me though, isn't it ?" presently

re-squeaked the nondescript, which I now perceived was performing,

upon the floor, some inexplicable evolution, very analogous to the

drawing on of a stocking.  There was only a single leg, however,

apparent.

"Strange you shouldn't know me, though, isn't it ? Pompey, bring

me that leg !" Here Pompey handed the bundle, a very capital cork

leg, already dressed, which it screwed on in a trice ; and then it

stood up before my eyes.

"And a bloody action it _was_," continued the thing, as if in a

soliloquy ; "but then one mustn't fight with the Bugaboos and

Kickapoos, and think of coming off with a mere scratch.  Pompey, I'll

thank you now for that arm.  Thomas" [turning to me] "is decidedly

the best hand at a cork leg ; but if you should ever want an arm, my

dear fellow, you must really let me recommend you to Bishop." Here

Pompey screwed on an arm.

"We had rather hot work of it, that you may say. Now, you dog,

slip on my shoulders and bosom  !  Pettitt makes the best shoulders,

but for a bosom you will have to go to Ducrow."

"Bosom !" said I.

"Pompey, will you _never_ be ready with that wig  ?  Scalping  is

a rough process after all ; but then you can procure such a capital

scratch at De L'Orme's."

"Scratch !"

"Now, you nigger, my teeth  !  For a _good_ set of these you had

better go to Parmly's at once ; high prices, but excellent work.  I

swallowed some very capital articles, though, when the big Bugaboo

rammed me down with the butt end of his rifle."

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

"O yes, by-the-by, my eye - here, Pompey, you scamp, screw it in

!  Those Kickapoos are not so very slow at a gouge ; but he's a

belied man, that Dr. Williams, after all ; you can't imagine how well

I see with the eyes of his make."

I now began very clearly to perceive that the object before me

was nothing more nor less than my new acquaintance, Brevet Brigadier

General John A. B. C. Smith.  The manipulations of Pompey had made, I

must confess, a very striking difference in the appearance of the

personal man. The voice, however, still puzzled me no little ; but

even this apparent mystery was speedily cleared up.

"Pompey, you black rascal," squeaked the General, "I really do

believe you would let me go out without my palate."

Hereupon, the negro, grumbling out an apology, went up to his

master, opened his mouth with the knowing air of a horse-jockey, and

adjusted therein a somewhat singular-looking machine, in a very

dexterous manner, that I could not altogether comprehend.  The

alteration, however, in the entire expression of the General's

countenance was instantaneous and surprising.  When he again spoke,

his voice had resumed all that rich melody and strength which I had

noticed upon our original introduction.

"D--n the vagabonds !" said he, in so clear a tone that I

positively started at the change, "D--n the vagabonds  !  they not

only knocked in the roof of my mouth, but took the trouble to cut off

at least seven-eighths of my tongue.  There isn't Bonfanti's equal,

however, in America, for really good articles of this description.  I

can recommend you to him with confidence," [here the General bowed,]

" and assure you that I have the greatest pleasure in so doing."

I acknowledged his kindness in my best manner, and took leave of

him at once, with a perfect understanding of the true state of

affairs - with a full comprehension of the mystery which had troubled

me so long.  It was evident.  It was a clear case.  Brevet Brigadier

General John A. B. C. Smith was the man --- was _the man that was

used up_.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE BUSINESS MAN

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

I AM a business man. I am a methodical man. Method is the thing,

after all. But there are no people I more heartily despise than your

eccentric fools who prate about method without understanding it;

attending strictly to its letter, and violating its spirit. These

fellows are always doing the most out-of-the-way things in what they

call an orderly manner. Now here, I conceive, is a positive paradox.

True method appertains to the ordinary and the obvious alone, and

cannot be applied to the outre. What definite idea can a body attach

to such expressions as "methodical Jack o' Dandy," or "a systematical

Will o' the Wisp"?

My notions upon this head might not have been so clear as they are,

but for a fortunate accident which happened to me when I was a very

little boy. A good-hearted old Irish nurse (whom I shall not forget

in my will) took me up one day by the heels, when I was making more

noise than was necessary, and swinging me round two or knocked my

head into a cocked hat against the bedpost. This, I say, decided my

fate, and made my fortune. A bump arose at once on my sinciput, and

turned out to be as pretty an organ of order as one shall see on a

summer's day. Hence that positive appetite for system and regularity

which has made me the distinguished man of business that I am.

If there is any thing on earth I hate, it is a genius. Your geniuses

are all arrant asses -- the greater the genius the greater the ass --

and to this rule there is no exception whatever. Especially, you

cannot make a man of business out of a genius, any more than money

out of a Jew, or the best nutmegs out of pine-knots. The creatures

are always going off at a tangent into some fantastic employment, or

ridiculous speculation, entirely at variance with the "fitness of

things," and having no business whatever to be considered as a

business at all. Thus you may tell these characters immediately by

the nature of their occupations. If you ever perceive a man setting

up as a merchant or a manufacturer, or going into the cotton or

tobacco trade, or any of those eccentric pursuits; or getting to be a

drygoods dealer, or soap-boiler, or something of that kind; or

pretending to be a lawyer, or a blacksmith, or a physician -- any

thing out of the usual way -- you may set him down at once as a

genius, and then, according to the rule-of-three, he's an ass.

Now I am not in any respect a genius, but a regular business man. My

Day-book and Ledger will evince this in a minute. They are well kept,

though I say it myself; and, in my general habits of accuracy and

punctuality, I am not to be beat by a clock. Moreover, my occupations

have been always made to chime in with the ordinary habitudes of my

fellowmen. Not that I feel the least indebted, upon this score, to my

exceedingly weak-minded parents, who, beyond doubt, would have made

an arrant genius of me at last, if my guardian angel had not come, in

good time, to the rescue. In biography the truth is every thing, and

in autobiography it is especially so -- yet I scarcely hope to be

believed when I state, however solemnly, that my poor father put me,

when I was about fifteen years of age, into the counting-house of

what be termed "a respectable hardware and commission merchant doing

a capital bit of business!" A capital bit of fiddlestick! However,

the consequence of this folly was, that in two or three days, I had

to be sent home to my button-headed family in a high state of fever,

and with a most violent and dangerous pain in the sinciput, all

around about my organ of order. It was nearly a gone case with me

then -- just touch-and-go for six weeks -- the physicians giving me

up and all that sort of thing. But, although I suffered much, I was a

thankful boy in the main. I was saved from being a "respectable

hardware and commission merchant, doing a capital bit of business,"

and I felt grateful to the protuberance which had been the means of

my salvation, as well as to the kindhearted female who had originally

put these means within my reach.

The most of boys run away from home at ten or twelve years of age,

but I waited till I was sixteen. I don't know that I should have gone

even then, if I had not happened to hear my old mother talk about

setting me up on my own hook in the grocery way. The grocery way! --

only think of that! I resolved to be off forthwith, and try and

establish myself in some decent occupation, without dancing

attendance any longer upon the caprices of these eccentric old

people, and running the risk of being made a genius of in the end. In

this project I succeeded perfectly well at the first effort, and by

the time I was fairly eighteen, found myself doing an extensive and

profitable business in the Tailor's Walking-Advertisement line.

I was enabled to discharge the onerous duties of this profession,

only by that rigid adherence to system which formed the leading

feature of my mind. A scrupulous method characterized my actions as

well as my accounts. In my case it was method -- not money -- which

made the man: at least all of him that was not made by the tailor

whom I served. At nine, every morning, I called upon that individual

for the clothes of the day. Ten o'clock found me in some fashionable

promenade or other place of public amusement. The precise regularity

with which I turned my handsome person about, so as to bring

successively into view every portion of the suit upon my back, was

the admiration of all the knowing men in the trade. Noon never passed

without my bringing home a customer to the house of my employers,

Messrs. Cut & Comeagain. I say this proudly, but with tears in my

eyes -- for the firm proved themselves the basest of ingrates. The

little account, about which we quarreled and finally parted, cannot,

in any item, be thought overcharged, by gentlemen really conversant

with the nature of the business. Upon this point, however, I feel a

degree of proud satisfaction in permitting the reader to judge for

himself. My bill ran thus:

Messrs. Cut & Comeagain, Merchant Tailors.

To Peter Proffit, Walking Advertiser, Drs.

JULY 10. -- to promenade, as usual and customer brought home... $00

25

JULY 11. -- To do do do 25

JULY 12. -- To one lie, second class; damaged black cloth sold for

invisible green............................................... 25

JULY 13. -- To one lie, first class, extra quality and size;

recommended milled satinet as broadcloth...................... 75

JULY 20. -- To purchasing bran new paper shirt collar or dickey, to

set off gray Petersham..................................... 02

AUG. 15. -- To wearing double-padded bobtail frock, (thermometer 106

in the shade)............................................. 25

AUG. 16. -- Standing on one leg three hours, to show off new-style

strapped pants at 12 1/2 cents per leg per hour............. 37 1/2

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

man)..................................................... 50

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

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

TOTAL [sic] $2 95 1/2

The item chiefly disputed in this bill was the very moderate charge

of two pennies for the dickey. Upon my word of honor, this was not an

unreasonable price for that dickey. It was one of the cleanest and

prettiest little dickeys I ever saw; and I have good reason to

believe that it effected the sale of three Petershams. The elder

partner of the firm, however, would allow me only one penny of the

charge, and took it upon himself to show in what manner four of the

same sized conveniences could be got out of a sheet of foolscap. But

it is needless to say that I stood upon the principle of the thing.

Business is business, and should be done in a business way. There was

no system whatever in swindling me out of a penny -- a clear fraud of

fifty per cent -- no method in any respect. I left at once the

employment of Messrs. Cut & Comeagain, and set up in the Eye-Sore

line by myself -- one of the most lucrative, respectable, and

independent of the ordinary occupations.

My strict integrity, economy, and rigorous business habits, here

again came into play. I found myself driving a flourishing trade, and

soon became a marked man upon 'Change. The truth is, I never dabbled

in flashy matters, but jogged on in the good old sober routine of the

calling -- a calling in which I should, no doubt, have remained to

the present hour, but for a little accident which happened to me in

the prosecution of one of the usual business operations of the

profession. Whenever a rich old hunks or prodigal heir or bankrupt

corporation gets into the notion of putting up a palace, there is no

such thing in the world as stopping either of them, and this every

intelligent person knows. The fact in question is indeed the basis of

the Eye-Sore trade. As soon, therefore, as a building-project is

fairly afoot by one of these parties, we merchants secure a nice

corner of the lot in contemplation, or a prime little situation just

adjoining, or tight in front. This done, we wait until the palace is

half-way up, and then we pay some tasty architect to run us up an

ornamental mud hovel, right against it; or a Down-East or Dutch

Pagoda, or a pig-sty, or an ingenious little bit of fancy work,

either Esquimau, Kickapoo, or Hottentot. Of course we can't afford to

take these structures down under a bonus of five hundred per cent

upon the prime cost of our lot and plaster. Can we? I ask the

question. I ask it of business men. It would be irrational to suppose

that we can. And yet there was a rascally corporation which asked me

to do this very thing -- this very thing! I did not reply to their

absurd proposition, of course; but I felt it a duty to go that same

night, and lamp-black the whole of their palace. For this the

unreasonable villains clapped me into jail; and the gentlemen of the

Eye-Sore trade could not well avoid cutting my connection when I came

out.

The Assault-and-Battery business, into which I was now forced to

adventure for a livelihood, was somewhat ill-adapted to the delicate

nature of my constitution; but I went to work in it with a good

heart, and found my account here, as heretofore, in those stern

habits of methodical accuracy which had been thumped into me by that

delightful old nurse -- I would indeed be the basest of men not to

remember her well in my will. By observing, as I say, the strictest

system in all my dealings, and keeping a well-regulated set of books,

I was enabled to get over many serious difficulties, and, in the end,

to establish myself very decently in the profession. The truth is,

that few individuals, in any line, did a snugger little business than

I. I will just copy a page or so out of my Day-Book; and this will

save me the necessity of blowing my own trumpet -- a contemptible

practice of which no high-minded man will be guilty. Now, the

Day-Book is a thing that don't lie.

"Jan. 1. -- New Year's Day. Met Snap in the street, groggy. Mem --

he'll do. Met Gruff shortly afterward, blind drunk. Mem -- he'll

answer, too. Entered both gentlemen in my Ledger, and opened a

running account with each.

"Jan. 2. -- Saw Snap at the Exchange, and went up and trod on his

toe. Doubled his fist and knocked me down. Good! -- got up again.

Some trifling difficulty with Bag, my attorney. I want the damages at

a thousand, but he says that for so simple a knock down we can't lay

them at more than five hundred. Mem -- must get rid of Bag -- no

system at all.

"Jan. 3 -- Went to the theatre, to look for Gruff. Saw him sitting in

a side box, in the second tier, between a fat lady and a lean one.

Quizzed the whole party through an opera-glass, till I saw the fat

lady blush and whisper to G. Went round, then, into the box, and put

my nose within reach of his hand. Wouldn't pull it -- no go. Blew it,

and tried again -- no go. Sat down then, and winked at the lean lady,

when I had the high satisfaction of finding him lift me up by the

nape of the neck, and fling me over into the pit. Neck dislocated,

and right leg capitally splintered. Went home in high glee, drank a

bottle of champagne, and booked the young man for five thousand. Bag

says it'll do.

"Feb. 15 -- Compromised the case of Mr. Snap. Amount entered in

Journal -- fifty cents -- which see.

"Feb. 16. -- Cast by that ruffian, Gruff, who made me a present of

five dollars. Costs of suit, four dollars and twenty-five cents. Nett

profit, -- see Journal,- seventy-five cents."

Now, here is a clear gain, in a very brief period, of no less than

one dollar and twenty-five cents -- this is in the mere cases of Snap

and Gruff; and I solemnly assure the reader that these extracts are

taken at random from my Day-Book.

It's an old saying, and a true one, however, that money is nothing in

comparison with health. I found the exactions of the profession

somewhat too much for my delicate state of body; and, discovering, at

last, that I was knocked all out of shape, so that I didn't know very

well what to make of the matter, and so that my friends, when they

met me in the street, couldn't tell that I was Peter Proffit at all,

it occurred to me that the best expedient I could adopt was to alter

my line of business. I turned my attention, therefore, to

Mud-Dabbling, and continued it for some years.

The worst of this occupation is, that too many people take a fancy to

it, and the competition is in consequence excessive. Every ignoramus

of a fellow who finds that he hasn't brains in sufficient quantity to

make his way as a walking advertiser, or an eye-sore prig, or a

salt-and-batter man, thinks, of course, that he'll answer very well

as a dabbler of mud. But there never was entertained a more erroneous

idea than that it requires no brains to mud-dabble. Especially, there

is nothing to be made in this way without method. I did only a retail

business myself, but my old habits of system carried me swimmingly

along. I selected my street-crossing, in the first place, with great

deliberation, and I never put down a broom in any part of the town

but that. I took care, too, to have a nice little puddle at hand,

which I could get at in a minute. By these means I got to be well

known as a man to be trusted; and this is one-half the battle, let me

tell you, in trade. Nobody ever failed to pitch me a copper, and got

over my crossing with a clean pair of pantaloons. And, as my business

habits, in this respect, were sufficiently understood, I never met

with any attempt at imposition. I wouldn't have put up with it, if I

had. Never imposing upon any one myself, I suffered no one to play

the possum with me. The frauds of the banks of course I couldn't

help. Their suspension put me to ruinous inconvenience. These,

however, are not individuals, but corporations; and corporations, it

is very well known, have neither bodies to be kicked nor souls to be

damned.

I was making money at this business when, in an evil moment, I was

induced to merge it in the Cur-Spattering -- a somewhat analogous,

but, by no means, so respectable a profession. My location, to be

sure, was an excellent one, being central, and I had capital blacking

and brushes. My little dog, too, was quite fat and up to all

varieties of snuff. He had been in the trade a long time, and, I may

say, understood it. Our general routine was this: -- Pompey, having

rolled himself well in the mud, sat upon end at the shop door, until

he observed a dandy approaching in bright boots. He then proceeded to

meet him, and gave the Wellingtons a rub or two with his wool. Then

the dandy swore very much, and looked about for a boot-black. There I

was, full in his view, with blacking and brushes. It was only a

minute's work, and then came a sixpence. This did moderately well for

a time; -- in fact, I was not avaricious, but my dog was. I allowed

him a third of the profit, but he was advised to insist upon half.

This I couldn't stand -- so we quarrelled and parted.

I next tried my hand at the Organ-Grinding for a while, and may say

that I made out pretty well. It is a plain, straightforward business,

and requires no particular abilities. You can get a music-mill for a

mere song, and to put it in order, you have but to open the works,

and give them three or four smart raps with a hammer. In improves the

tone of the thing, for business purposes, more than you can imagine.

This done, you have only to stroll along, with the mill on your back,

until you see tanbark in the street, and a knocker wrapped up in

buckskin. Then you stop and grind; looking as if you meant to stop

and grind till doomsday. Presently a window opens, and somebody

pitches you a sixpence, with a request to "Hush up and go on," etc. I

am aware that some grinders have actually afforded to "go on" for

this sum; but for my part, I found the necessary outlay of capital

too great to permit of my "going on" under a shilling.

At this occupation I did a good deal; but, somehow, I was not quite

satisfied, and so finally abandoned it. The truth is, I labored under

the disadvantage of having no monkey -- and American streets are so

muddy, and a Democratic rabble is so obstrusive, and so full of

demnition mischievous little boys.

I was now out of employment for some months, but at length succeeded,

by dint of great interest, in procuring a situation in the Sham-Post.

The duties, here, are simple, and not altogether unprofitable. For

example: -- very early in the morning I had to make up my packet of

sham letters. Upon the inside of each of these I had to scrawl a few

lines on any subject which occurred to me as sufficiently mysterious

-- signing all the epistles Tom Dobson, or Bobby Tompkins, or

anything in that way. Having folded and sealed all, and stamped them

with sham postmarks -- New Orleans, Bengal, Botany Bay, or any other

place a great way off- I set out, forthwith, upon my daily route, as

if in a very great hurry. I always called at the big houses to

deliver the letters, and receive the postage. Nobody hesitates at

paying for a letter -- especially for a double one -- people are such

fools- and it was no trouble to get round a corner before there was

time to open the epistles. The worst of this profession was, that I

had to walk so much and so fast; and so frequently to vary my route.

Besides, I had serious scruples of conscience. I can't bear to hear

innocent individuals abused -- and the way the whole town took to

cursing Tom Dobson and Bobby Tompkins was really awful to hear. I

washed my hands of the matter in disgust.

My eighth and last speculation has been in the Cat-Growing way. I

have found that a most pleasant and lucrative business, and, really,

no trouble at all. The country, it is well known, has become infested

with cats -- so much so of late, that a petition for relief, most

numerously and respectably signed, was brought before the Legislature

at its late memorable session. The Assembly, at this epoch, was

unusually well-informed, and, having passed many other wise and

wholesome enactments, it crowned all with the Cat-Act. In its

original form, this law offered a premium for cat-heads (fourpence

a-piece), but the Senate succeeded in amending the main clause, so as

to substitute the word "tails" for "heads." This amendment was so

obviously proper, that the House concurred in it nem. con.

As soon as the governor had signed the bill, I invested my whole

estate in the purchase of Toms and Tabbies. At first I could only

afford to feed them upon mice (which are cheap), but they fulfilled

the scriptural injunction at so marvellous a rate, that I at length

considered it my best policy to be liberal, and so indulged them in

oysters and turtle. Their tails, at a legislative price, now bring me

in a good income; for I have discovered a way, in which, by means of

Macassar oil, I can force three crops in a year. It delights me to

find, too, that the animals soon get accustomed to the thing, and

would rather have the appendages cut off than otherwise. I consider

myself, therefore, a made man, and am bargaining for a country seat

on the Hudson.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN

The garden like a lady fair was cut

That lay as if she slumbered in delight,

And to the open skies her eyes did shut;

The azure fields of heaven were 'sembled right

In a large round set with flow'rs of light:

The flowers de luce and the round sparks of dew

That hung upon their azure leaves, did show

Like twinkling stars that sparkle in the ev'ning blue.

-- GILES FLETCHER

NO MORE remarkable man ever lived than my friend, the young Ellison.

He was remarkable in the entire and continuous profusion of good

gifts ever lavished upon him by fortune. From his cradle to his

grave, a gale of the blandest prosperity bore him along. Nor do I use

the word Prosperity in its mere wordly or external sense. I mean it

as synonymous with happiness. The person of whom I speak, seemed born

for the purpose of foreshadowing the wild doctrines of Turgot, Price,

Priestley, and Condorcet -- of exemplifying, by individual instance,

what has been deemed the mere chimera of the perfectionists. In the

brief existence of Ellison, I fancy, that I have seen refuted the

dogma -- that in man's physical and spiritual nature, lies some

hidden principle, the antagonist of Bliss. An intimate and anxious

examination of his career, has taught me to understand that, in

general, from the violation of a few simple laws of Humanity, arises

the Wretchedness of mankind; that, as a species, we have in our

possession the as yet unwrought elements of Content, -- and that even

now, in the present blindness and darkness of all idea on the great

question of the Social Condition, it is not impossible that Man, the

individual, under certain unusual and highly fortuitous conditions,

may be happy.

With opinions such as these was my young friend fully imbued; and

thus is it especially worthy of observation that the uninterrupted

enjoyment which distinguished his life was in great part the result

of preconcert. It is, indeed evident, that with less of the

instinctive philosophy which, now and then, stands so well in the

stead of experience, Mr. Ellison would have found himself

precipitated, by the very extraordinary successes of his life, into

the common vortex of Unhappiness which yawns for those of preeminent

endowments. But it is by no means my present object to pen an essay

on Happiness. The ideas of my friend may be summed up in a few words.

He admitted but four unvarying laws, or rather elementary principles,

of Bliss. That which he considered chief, was (strange to say!) the

simple and purely physical one of free exercise in the open air. "The

health," he said, "attainable by other means than this is scarcely

worth the name." He pointed to the tillers of the earth -- the only

people who, as a class, are proverbially more happy than others --

and then he instanced the high ecstasies of the fox-hunter. His

second principle was the love of woman. His third was the contempt of

ambition. His fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held

that, other things being equal, the extent of happiness was

proportioned to the spirituality of this object.

I have said that Ellison was remarkable in the continuous profusion

of good gifts lavished upon him by Fortune. In personal grace and

beauty he exceeded all men. His intellect was of that order to which

the attainment of knowledge is less a labor than a necessity and an

intuition. His family was one of the most illustrious of the empire.

His bride was the loveliest and most devoted of women. His

possessions had been always ample; but, upon the attainment of his

one and twentieth year, it was discovered that one of those

extraordinary freaks of Fate had been played in his behalf which

startle the whole social world amid which they occur, and seldom fail

radically to alter the entire moral constitution of those who are

their objects. It appears that about one hundred years prior to Mr.

Ellison's attainment of his majority, there had died, in a remote

province, one Mr. Seabright Ellison. This gentlemen had amassed a

princely fortune, and, having no very immediate connexions, conceived

the whim of suffering his wealth to accumulate for a century after

his decease. Minutely and sagaciously directing the various modes of

investment, he bequeathed the aggregate amount to the nearest of

blood, bearing the name Ellison, who should be alive at the end of

the hundred years. Many futile attempts had been made to set aside

this singular bequest; their ex post facto character rendered them

abortive; but the attention of a jealous government was aroused, and

a decree finally obtained, forbidding all similar accumulations. This

act did not prevent young Ellison, upon his twenty-first birth-day,

from entering into possession, as the heir of his ancestor,

Seabright, of a fortune of four hundred and fifty millions of

dollars. {*1}

When it had become definitely known that such was the enormous wealth

inherited, there were, of course, many speculations as to the mode of

its disposal. The gigantic magnitude and the immediately available

nature of the sum, dazzled and bewildered all who thought upon the

topic. The possessor of any appreciable amount of money might have

been imagined to perform any one of a thousand things. With riches

merely surpassing those of any citizen, it would have been easy to

suppose him engaging to supreme excess in the fashionable

extravagances of his time; or busying himself with political

intrigues; or aiming at ministerial power, or purchasing increase of

nobility, or devising gorgeous architectural piles; or collecting

large specimens of Virtu; or playing the munificent patron of Letters

and Art; or endowing and bestowing his name upon extensive

institutions of charity. But, for the inconceivable wealth in the

actual possession of the young heir, these objects and all ordinary

objects were felt to be inadequate. Recourse was had to figures; and

figures but sufficed to confound. It was seen, that even at three per

cent, the annual income of the inheritance amounted to no less than

thirteen millions and five hundred thousand dollars; which was one

million and one hundred and twenty-five thousand per month; or

thirty-six thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six per day, or one

thousand five hundred and forty-one per hour, or six and twenty

dollars for every minute that flew. Thus the usual track of

supposition was thoroughly broken up. Men knew not what to imagine.

There were some who even conceived that Mr. Ellison would divest

himself forthwith of at least two-thirds of his fortune as of utterly

superfluous opulence; enriching whole troops of his relatives by

division of his superabundance.

I was not surprised, however, to perceive that he had long made up

his mind upon a topic which had occasioned so much of discussion to

his friends. Nor was I greatly astonished at the nature of his

decision. In the widest and noblest sense, he was a poet. He

comprehended, moreover, the true character, the august aims, the

supreme majesty and dignity of the poetic sentiment. The proper

gratification of the sentiment he instinctively felt to lie in the

creation of novel forms of Beauty. Some peculiarities, either in his

early education, or in the nature of his intellect, had tinged with

what is termed materialism the whole cast of his ethical

speculations; and it was this bias, perhaps, which imperceptibly led

him to perceive that the most advantageous, if not the sole

legitimate field for the exercise of the poetic sentiment, was to be

found in the creation of novel moods of purely physical loveliness.

Thus it happened that he became neither musician nor poet; if we use

this latter term in its every -- day acceptation. Or it might have

been that he became neither the one nor the other, in pursuance of an

idea of his which I have already mentioned -- the idea, that in the

contempt of ambition lay one of the essential principles of happiness

on earth. Is it not, indeed, possible that while a high order of

genius is necessarily ambitious, the highest is invariably above that

which is termed ambition? And may it not thus happen that many far

greater than Milton, have contentedly remained "mute and inglorious?"

I believe the world has never yet seen, and that, unless through some

series of accidents goading the noblest order of mind into

distasteful exertion, the world will never behold, that full extent

of triumphant execution, in the richer productions of Art, of which

the human nature is absolutely capable.

Mr. Ellison became neither musician nor poet; although no man lived

more profoundly enamored both of Music and the Muse. Under other

circumstances than those which invested him, it is not impossible

that he would have become a painter. The field of sculpture, although

in its nature rigidly poetical, was too limited in its extent and in

its consequences, to have occupied, at any time, much of his

attention. And I have now mentioned all the provinces in which even

the most liberal understanding of the poetic sentiment has declared

this sentiment capable of expatiating. I mean the most liberal public

or recognized conception of the idea involved in the phrase "poetic

sentiment." But Mr. Ellison imagined that the richest, and altogether

the most natural and most suitable province, had been blindly

neglected. No definition had spoken of the Landscape-Gardener, as of

the poet; yet my friend could not fail to perceive that the creation

of the Landscape-Garden offered to the true muse the most magnificent

of opportunities. Here was, indeed, the fairest field for the display

of invention, or imagination, in the endless combining of forms of

novel Beauty; the elements which should enter into combination being,

at all times, and by a vast superiority, the most glorious which the

earth could afford. In the multiform of the tree, and in the

multicolor of the flower, he recognized the most direct and the most

energetic efforts of Nature at physical loveliness. And in the

direction or concentration of this effort, or, still more properly,

in its adaption to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth, he

perceived that he should be employing the best means -- laboring to

the greatest advantage -- in the fulfilment of his destiny as Poet.

"Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth." In

his explanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much towards

solving what has always seemed to me an enigma. I mean the fact

(which none but the ignorant dispute,) that no such combinations of

scenery exist in Nature as the painter of genius has in his power to

produce. No such Paradises are to be found in reality as have glowed

upon the canvass of Claude. In the most enchanting of natural

landscapes, there will always be found a defect or an excess -- many

excesses and defects. While the component parts may exceed,

individually, the highest skill of the artist, the arrangement of the

parts will always be susceptible of improvement. In short, no

position can be attained, from which an artistical eye, looking

steadily, will not find matter of offence, in what is technically

termed the composition of a natural landscape. And yet how

unintelligible is this! In all other matters we are justly instructed

to regard Nature as supreme. With her details we shrink from

competition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or

to improve the proportions of the lily of the valley? The criticism

which says, of sculpture or of portraiture, that "Nature is to be

exalted rather than imitated," is in error. No pictorial or

sculptural combinations of points of human loveliness, do more than

approach the living and breathing human beauty as it gladdens our

daily path. Byron, who often erred, erred not in saying,

I've seen more living beauty, ripe and real,

Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal. In landscape alone is the

principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth here, it is

but the headlong spirit of generalization which has induced him to

pronounce it true throughout all the domains of Art. Having, I say,

felt its truth here. For the feeling is no affectation or chimera.

The mathematics afford no more absolute demonstrations, than the

sentiment of his Art yields to the artist. He not only believes, but

positively knows, that such and such apparently arbitrary

arrangements of matter, or form, constitute, and alone constitute,

the true Beauty. Yet his reasons have not yet been matured into

expression. It remains for a more profound analysis than the world

has yet seen, fully to investigate and express them. Nevertheless is

he confirmed in his instinctive opinions, by the concurrence of all

his compeers. Let a composition be defective, let an emendation be

wrought in its mere arrangement of form; let this emendation be

submitted to every artist in the world; by each will its necessity be

admitted. And even far more than this, in remedy of the defective

composition, each insulated member of the fraternity will suggest the

identical emendation.

I repeat that in landscape arrangements, or collocations alone, is

the physical Nature susceptible of "exaltation" and that, therefore,

her susceptibility of improvement at this one point, was a mystery

which, hitherto I had been unable to solve. It was Mr. Ellison who

first suggested the idea that what we regarded as improvement or

exaltation of the natural beauty, was really such, as respected only

the mortal or human point of view; that each alteration or

disturbance of the primitive scenery might possibly effect a blemish

in the picture, if we could suppose this picture viewed at large from

some remote point in the heavens. "It is easily understood," says Mr.

Ellison, "that what might improve a closely scrutinized detail,

might, at the same time, injure a general and more distantly --

observed effect." He spoke upon this topic with warmth: regarding not

so much its immediate or obvious importance, (which is little,) as

the character of the conclusions to which it might lead, or of the

collateral propositions which it might serve to corroborate or

sustain. There might be a class of beings, human once, but now to

humanity invisible, for whose scrutiny and for whose refined

appreciation of the beautiful, more especially than for our own, had

been set in order by God the great landscape-garden of the whole

earth.

In the course of our discussion, my young friend took occasion to

quote some passages from a writer who has been supposed to have well

treated this theme.

"There are, properly," he writes, "but two styles of

landscape-gardening, the natural and the artificial. One seeks to

recall the original beauty of the country, by adapting its means to

the surrounding scenery; cultivating trees in harmony with the hills

or plain of the neighboring land; detecting and bringing into

practice those nice relations of size, proportion and color which,

hid from the common observer, are revealed everywhere to the

experienced student of nature. The result of the natural style of

gardening, is seen rather in the absence of all defects and

incongruities -- in the prevalence of a beautiful harmony and order,

than in the creation of any special wonders or miracles. The

artificial style has as many varieties as there are different tastes

to gratify. It has a certain general relation to the various styles

of building. There are the stately avenues and retirements of

Versailles; Italian terraces; and a various mixed old English style,

which bears some relation to the domestic Gothic or English

Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said against the abuses of

the artificial landscape-gardening, a mixture of pure art in a garden

scene, adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to the eye,

by the show of order and design, and partly moral. A terrace, with an

old moss-covered balustrade, calls up at once to the eye, the fair

forms that have passed there in other days. The slightest exhibition

of art is an evidence of care and human interest."

"From what I have already observed," said Mr. Ellison, "you will

understand that I reject the idea, here expressed, of 'recalling the

original beauty of the country.' The original beauty is never so

great as that which may be introduced. Of course, much depends upon

the selection of a spot with capabilities. What is said in respect to

the 'detecting and bringing into practice those nice relations of

size, proportion and color,' is a mere vagueness of speech, which may

mean much, or little, or nothing, and which guides in no degree. That

the true 'result of the natural style of gardening is seen rather in

the absence of all defects and incongruities, than in the creation of

any special wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suited to

the grovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of

the man of genius. The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and

appertains to that hobbling criticism which, in letters, would

elevate Addison into apotheosis. In truth, while that merit which

consists in the mere avoiding demerit, appeals directly to the

understanding, and can thus be foreshadowed in Rule, the loftier

merit, which breathes and flames in invention or creation, can be

apprehended solely in its results. Rule applies but to the

excellences of avoidance -- to the virtues which deny or refrain.

Beyond these the critical art can but suggest. We may be instructed

to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain that we are told how to

conceive a 'Tempest,' an 'Inferno,' a 'Prometheus Bound,' a

'Nightingale,' such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' of

Shelley. But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished, and the

capacity for apprehension becomes universal. The sophists of the

negative school, who, through inability to create, have scoffed at

creation, are now found the loudest in applause. What, in its

chrysalis condition of principle, affronted their demure reason,

never fails, in its maturity of accomplishment, to extort admiration

from their instinct of the beautiful or of the sublime.

"Our author's observations on the artificial style of gardening,"

continued Mr. Ellison, "are less objectionable. 'A mixture of pure

art in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty.' This is just; and

the reference to the sense of human interest is equally so. I repeat

that the principle here expressed, is incontrovertible; but there may

be something even beyond it. There may be an object in full keeping

with the principle suggested -- an object unattainable by the means

ordinarily in possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would

lend a charm to the landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that

which a merely human interest could bestow. The true poet possessed

of very unusual pecuniary resources, might possibly, while retaining

the necessary idea of art or interest or culture, so imbue his

designs at once with extent and novelty of Beauty, as to convey the

sentiment of spiritual interference. It will be seen that, in

bringing about such result, he secures all the advantages of interest

or design, while relieving his work of all the harshness and

technicality of Art. In the most rugged of wildernesses -- in the

most savage of the scenes of pure Nature -- there is apparent the art

of a Creator; yet is this art apparent only to reflection; in no

respect has it the obvious force of a feeling. Now, if we imagine

this sense of the Almighty Design to be harmonized in a measurable

degree, if we suppose a landscape whose combined strangeness,

vastness, definitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the idea of

culture, or care, or superintendence, on the part of intelligences

superior yet akin to humanity -- then the sentiment of interest is

preserved, while the Art is made to assume the air of an intermediate

or secondary Nature -- a Nature which is not God, nor an emanation of

God, but which still is Nature, in the sense that it is the handiwork

of the angels that hover between man and God."

It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practical embodiment of

a vision such as this -- in the free exercise in the open air, which

resulted from personal direction of his plans -- in the continuous

and unceasing object which these plans afford -- in the contempt of

ambition which it enabled him more to feel than to affect -- and,

lastly, it was in the companionship and sympathy of a devoted wife,

that Ellison thought to find, and found, an exemption from the

ordinary cares of Humanity, with a far greater amount of positive

happiness than ever glowed in the rapt day-dreams of De Stael.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

Maelzel's Chess-Player

PERHAPS no exhibition of the kind has ever elicited so general

attention as the Chess-Player of Maelzel. Wherever seen it has been

an object of intense curiosity, to all persons who think. Yet the

question of its _modus operandi is _still undetermined. Nothing has

been written on this topic which can be considered as decisive--and

accordingly we find every where men of mechanical genius, of great

general acuteness, and discriminative understanding, who make no

scruple in pronouncing the Automaton a _pure machine, _unconnected

with human agency in its movements, and consequently, beyond all

comparison, the most astonishing of the inventions of mankind. And

such it would undoubtedly be, were they right in their supposition.

Assuming this hypothesis, it would be grossly absurd to compare with

the Chess-Player, any similar thing of either modern or ancient days.

Yet there have been many and wonderful automata. In Brewster's

Letters on Natural Magic, we have an account of the most remarkable.

Among these may be mentioned, as having beyond doubt existed,

firstly, the coach invented by M. Camus for the amusement of Louis

XIV when a child. A table, about four feet square, was introduced,

into the room appropriated for the exhibition. Upon this table was

placed a carriage, six inches in length, made of wood, and drawn by

two horses of the same material. One window being down, a lady was

seen on the back seat. A coachman held the reins on the box, and a

footman and page were in their places behind. M. Camus now touched a

spring; whereupon the coachman smacked his whip, and the horses

proceeded in a natural manner, along the edge of the table, drawing

after them the carriage. Having gone as far as possible in this

direction, a sudden turn was made to the left, and the vehicle was

driven at right angles to its former course, and still closely along

the edge of the table. In this way the coach proceeded until it

arrived opposite the chair of the young prince. It then stopped, the

page descended and opened the door, the lady alighted, and presented

a petition to her sovereign. She then re-entered. The page put up the

steps, closed the door, and resumed his station. The coachman whipped

his horses, and the carriage was driven back to its original

position.

The magician of M. Maillardet is also worthy of notice. We copy the

following account of it from the _Letters _before mentioned of Dr.

B., who derived his information principal!

from the Edinburgh Encyclopaedia.

"One of the most popular pieces of mechanism which we have seen, Is

the Magician constructed by M. Maillardet, for the purpose of

answering certain given questions. A figure, dressed like a magician,

appears seated at the bottom of a wall, holding a wand in one hand,

and a book in the other A number of questions, ready prepared, are

inscribed on oval medallions, and the spectator takes any of these he

chooses and to which he wishes an answer, and having placed it in a

drawer ready to receive it, the drawer shuts with a spring till the

answer is returned. The magician then arises from his seat, bows his

head, describes circles with his wand, and consulting the book as If

in deep thought, he lifts it towards his face. Having thus appeared

to ponder over the proposed question he raises his wand, and striking

with it the wall above his head, two folding doors fly open, and

display an appropriate answer to the question. The doors again close,

the magician resumes his original position, and the drawer opens to

return the medallion. There are twenty of these medallions, all

containing different questions, to which the magician returns the

most suitable and striking answers. The medallions are thin plates of

brass, of an elliptical form, exactly resembling each other. Some of

the medallions have a question inscribed on each side, both of which

the magician answered in succession. If the drawer is shut without a

medallion being put into it, the magician rises, consults his book,

shakes his head, and resumes his seat. The folding doors remain shut,

and the drawer is returned empty. If two medallions are put into the

drawer together, an answer is returned only to the lower one. When

the machinery is wound up, the movements continue about an hour,

during which time about fifty questions may be answered. The inventor

stated that the means by which the different medallions acted upon

the machinery, so as to produce the proper answers to the questions

which they contained, were extremely simple."

The duck of Vaucanson was still more remarkable. It was _of _the size

of life, and so perfect an imitation of the living animal that all

the spectators were deceived. It executed, says Brewster, all the

natural movements and gestures, it ate and drank with avidity,

performed all the quick motions of the head and throat which are

peculiar to the duck, and like it muddled the water which it drank

with its bill. It produced also the sound of quacking in the most

natural manner. In the anatomical structure the artist exhibited the

highest skill. Every bone in the real duck had its representative In

the automaton, and its wings were anatomically exact. Every cavity,

apophysis, and curvature was imitated, and each bone executed its

proper movements. When corn was thrown down before it, the duck

stretched out its neck to pick it up, swallowed, and digested it.

{*1}

But if these machines were ingenious, what shall we think of the

calculating machine of Mr. Babbage? What shall we think of an engine

of wood and metal which can not only compute astronomical and

navigation tables to any given extent, but render the exactitude of

its operations mathematically certain through its power of correcting

its possible errors? What shall we think of a machine which can not

only accomplish all this, but actually print off its elaborate

results, when obtained, without the slightest intervention of the

intellect of man? It will, perhaps, be said, in reply, that a machine

such as we have described is altogether above comparison with the

Chess-Player of Maelzel. By no means--it is altogether beneath

it--that is to say provided we assume(what should never for a moment

be assumed) that the Chess-Player is a _pure machine, _and performs

its operations without any immediate human agency. Arithmetical or

algebraical calculations are, from their very nature, fixed and

determinate. Certain _data _being given, certain results necessarily

and inevitably follow. These results have dependence upon nothing,

and are influenced by nothing but the _data _originally given. And

the question to be solved proceeds, or should proceed, to its final

determination, by a succession of unerring steps liable to no change,

and subject to no modification. This being the case, we can without

difficulty conceive the _possibility _of so arranging a piece of

mechanism, that upon starting In accordance with the _data _of the

question to be solved, it should continue its movements regularly,

progressively, and undeviatingly towards the required solution, since

these movements, however complex, are never imagined to be otherwise

than finite and determinate. But the case is widely different with

the Chess-Player. With him there is no determinate progression. No

one move in chess necessarily follows upon any one other. From no

particular disposition of the men at one period of a game can we

predicate their disposition at a different period. Let us place the

_first move _in a game of chess, in juxta-position with the _data _of

an algebraical question, and their great difference will be

immediately perceived. From the latter--from the _data--_the second

step of the question, dependent thereupon, inevitably follows. It is

modelled by the _data. _It must be _thus _and not otherwise. But from

the first move in the game of chess no especial second move follows

of necessity. In the algebraical question, as it proceeds towards

solution, the _certainty _of its operations remains altogether

unimpaired. The second step having been a consequence of the _data,

_the third step is equally a consequence of the second, the fourth of

the third, the fifth of the fourth, and so on, _and not possibly

otherwise, _to the end. But in proportion to the progress made in a

game of chess, is the _uncertainty _of each ensuing move. A few moves

having been made, _no _step is certain. Different spectators of the

game would advise different moves. All is then dependent upon the

variable judgment of the players. Now even granting (what should not

be granted) that the movements of the Automaton Chess-Player were in

themselves determinate, they would be necessarily interrupted and

disarranged by the indeterminate will of his antagonist. There is

then no analogy whatever between the operations of the Chess-Player,

and those of the calculating machine of Mr. Babbage, and if we choose

to call the former a _pure machine _we must be prepared to admit that

it is, beyond all comparison, the most wonderful of the inventions of

mankind. Its original projector, however, Baron Kempelen, had no

scruple in declaring it to be a "very ordinary piece of mechanism--a

_bagatelle _whose effects appeared so marvellous only from the

boldness of the conception, and the fortunate choice of the methods

adopted for promoting the illusion." But it is needless to dwell upon

this point. It is quite certain that the operations of the Automaton

are regulated by _mind, _and by nothing else. Indeed this matter is

susceptible of a mathematical demonstration, _a priori. _The only

question then is of the _manner _in which human agency is brought to

bear. Before entering upon this subject it would be as well to give a

brief history and description of the Chess-Player for the benefit of

such of our readers as may never have had an opportunity of

witnessing Mr. Maelzel's exhibition.

The Automaton Chess-Player was invented in 1769, by Baron Kempelen, a

nobleman of Presburg, in Hungary, who afterwards disposed of it,

together with the secret of its operations, to its present possessor.

{2*} Soon after its completion it was exhibited in Presburg, Paris,

Vienna, and other continental cities. In 1783 and 1784, it was taken

to London by Mr. Maelzel. Of late years it has visited the principal

towns in the United States. Wherever seen, the most intense curiosity

was excited by its appearance, and numerous have been the attempts,

by men of all classes, to fathom the mystery of its evolutions. The

cut on this page gives a tolerable representation of the figure as

seen by the citizens of Richmond a few weeks ago. The right arm,

however, should lie more at length upon the box, a chess-board should

appear upon it, and the cushion should not be seen while the pipe is

held. Some immaterial alterations have been made in the costume of

the player since it came into the possession of Maelzel--the plume,

for example, was not originally worn. {image of automaton}

At the hour appointed for exhibition, a curtain is withdrawn, or

folding doors are thrown open, and the machine rolled to within about

twelve feet of the nearest of the spectators, between whom and it

(the machine) a rope is stretched. A figure is seen habited as a

Turk, and seated, with its legs crossed, at a large box apparently of

maple wood, which serves it as a table. The exhibiter will, if

requested, roll the machine to any portion of the room, suffer it to

remain altogether on any designated spot, or even shift its location

repeatedly during the progress of a game. The bottom of the box is

elevated considerably above the floor by means of the castors or

brazen rollers on which it moves, a clear view of the surface

immediately beneath the Automaton being thus afforded to the

spectators. The chair on which the figure sits is affixed permanently

to the box. On the top of this latter is a chess-board, also

permanently affixed. The right arm of the Chess-Player is extended at

full length before him, at right angles with his body, and lying, in

an apparently careless position, by the side of the board. The back

of the hand is upwards. The board itself is eighteen inches square.

The left arm of the figure is bent at the elbow, and in the left hand

is a pipe. A green drapery conceals the back of the Turk, and falls

partially over the front of both shoulders. To judge from the

external appearance of the box, it is divided into five

compartments--three cupboards of equal dimensions, and two drawers

occupying that portion of the chest lying beneath the cupboards. The

foregoing observations apply to the appearance of the Automaton upon

its first introduction into the presence of the spectators.

Maelzel now informs the company that he will disclose to their view

the mechanism of the machine. Taking from his pocket a bunch of keys

he unlocks with one of them, door marked ~ in the cut above, and

throws the cupboard fully open to the inspection of all present. Its

whole interior is apparently filled with wheels, pinions, levers, and

other machinery, crowded very closely together, so that the eye can

penetrate but a little distance into the mass. Leaving this door open

to its full extent, he goes now round to the back of the box, and

raising the drapery of the figure, opens another door situated

precisely in the rear of the one first opened. Holding a lighted

candle at this door, and shifting the position of the whole machine

repeatedly at the same time, a bright light is thrown entirely

through the cupboard, which is now clearly seen to be full,

completely full, of machinery. The spectators being satisfied of this

fact, Maelzel closes the back door, locks it, takes the key from the

lock, lets fall the drapery of the figure, and comes round to the

front. The door marked I, it will be remembered, is still open. The

exhibiter now proceeds to open the drawer which lies beneath the

cupboards at the bottom of the box--for although there are apparently

two drawers, there is really only one--the two handles and two key

holes being intended merely for ornament. Having opened this drawer

to its full extent, a small cushion, and a set of chessmen, fixed in

a frame work made to support them perpendicularly, are discovered.

Leaving this drawer, as well as cupboard No. 1 open, Maelzel now

unlocks door No. 2, and door No. 3, which are discovered to be

folding doors, opening into one and the same compartment. To the

right of this compartment, however, (that is to say the spectators'

right) a small division, six inches wide, and filled with machinery,

is partitioned off. The main compartment itself (in speaking of that

portion of the box visible upon opening doors 2 and 3, we shall

always call it the main compartment) is lined with dark cloth and

contains no machinery whatever beyond two pieces of steel,

quadrant-shaped, and situated one in each of the rear top corners of

the compartment. A small protuberance about eight inches square, and

also covered with dark cloth, lies on the floor of the compartment

near the rear corner on the spectators' left hand. Leaving doors No.

2 and No. 3 open as well as the drawer, and door No. I, the exhibiter

now goes round to the back of the main compartment, and, unlocking

another door there, displays clearly all the interior of the main

compartment, by introducing a candle behind it and within it. The

whole box being thus apparently disclosed to the scrutiny of the

company, Maelzel, still leaving the doors and drawer open, rolls the

Automaton entirely round, and exposes the back of the Turk by lifting

up the drapery. A door about ten inches square is thrown open in the

loins of the figure, and a smaller one also in the left thigh. The

interior of the figure, as seen through these apertures, appears to

be crowded with machinery. In general, every spectator is now

thoroughly satisfied of having beheld and completely scrutinized, at

one and the same time, every individual portion of the Automaton, and

the idea of any person being concealed in the interior, during so

complete an exhibition of that interior, if ever entertained, is

immediately dismissed as preposterous in the extreme.

M. Maelzel, having rolled the machine back into its original

position, now informs the company that the Automaton will play a game

of chess with any one disposed to encounter him. This challenge being

accepted, a small table is prepared for the antagonist, and placed

close by the rope, but on the spectators' side of it, and so situated

as not to prevent the company from obtaining a full view of the

Automaton. From a drawer in this table is taken a set of chess-men,

and Maelzel arranges them generally, but not always, with his own

hands, on the chess board, which consists merely of the usual number

of squares painted upon the table. The antagonist having taken his

seat, the exhibiter approaches the drawer of the box, and takes

therefrom the cushion, which, after removing the pipe from the hand

of the Automaton, he places under its left arm as a support. Then

taking also from the drawer the Automaton's set of chess-men, he

arranges them upon the chessboard before the figure. He now proceeds

to close the doors and to lock them--leaving the bunch of keys in

door No. 1. He also closes the drawer, and, finally, winds up the

machine, by applying a key to an aperture in the left end (the

spectators' left) of the box. The game now commences--the Automaton

taking the first move. The duration of the contest is usually limited

to half an hour, but if it be not finished at the expiration of this

period, and the antagonist still contend that he can beat the

Automaton, M. Maelzel has seldom any objection to continue it. Not to

weary the company, is the ostensible, and no doubt the real object of

the limitation. It Wits of course be understood that when a move is

made at his own table, by the antagonist, the corresponding move is

made at the box of the Automaton, by Maelzel himself, who then acts

as the representative of the antagonist. On the other hand, when the

Turk moves, the corresponding move is made at the table of the

antagonist, also by M. Maelzel, who then acts as the representative

of the Automaton. In this manner it is necessary that the exhibiter

should often pass from one table to the other. He also frequently

goes in rear of the figure to remove the chess-men which it has

taken, and which it deposits, when taken, on the box to the left (to

its own left) of the board. When the Automaton hesitates in relation

to its move, the exhibiter is occasionally seen to place himself very

near its right side, and to lay his hand, now and then, in a careless

manner upon the box. He has also a peculiar shuffle with his feet,

calculated to induce suspicion of collusion with the machine in minds

which are more cunning than sagacious. These peculiarities are, no

doubt, mere mannerisms of M. Maelzel, or, if he is aware of them at

all, he puts them in practice with a view of exciting in the

spectators a false idea of the pure mechanism in the Automaton.

The Turk plays with his left hand. All the movements of the arm are

at right angles. In this manner, the hand (which is gloved and bent

in a natural way,) being brought directly above the piece to be

moved, descends finally upon it, the fingers receiving it, in most

cases, without difficulty. Occasionally, however, when the piece is

not precisely in its proper situation, the Automaton fails in his

attempt at seizing it. When this occurs, no second effort is made,

but the arm continues its movement in the direction originally

intended, precisely as if the piece were in the fingers. Having thus

designated the spot whither the move should have been made, the arm

returns to its cushion, and Maelzel performs the evolution which the

Automaton pointed out. At every movement of the figure machinery is

heard in motion. During the progress of the game, the figure now and

then rolls its eyes, as if surveying the board, moves its head, and

pronounces the word _echec _(check) when necessary. {*3} If a false

move be made by his antagonist, he raps briskly on the box with the

fingers of his right hand, shakes his head roughly, and replacing the

piece falsely moved, in its former situation, assumes the next move

himself. Upon beating the game, he waves his head with an air of

triumph, looks round complacently upon the spectators, and drawing

his left arm farther back than usual, suffers his fingers alone to

rest upon the cushion. In general, the Turk is victorious--once or

twice he has been beaten. The game being ended, Maelzel will again if

desired, exhibit the mechanism of the box, in the same manner as

before. The machine is then rolled back, and a curtain hides it from

the view of the company.

There have been many attempts at solving the mystery of the

Automaton. The most general opinion in relation to it, an opinion too

not unfrequently adopted by men who should have known better, was, as

we have before said, that no immediate human agency was employed--in

other words, that the machine was purely a machine and nothing else.

Many, however maintained that the exhibiter himself regulated the

movements of the figure by mechanical means operating through the

feet of the box. Others again, spoke confidently of a magnet. Of the

first of these opinions we shall say nothing at present more than we

have already said. In relation to the second it is only necessary to

repeat what we have before stated, that the machine is rolled about

on castors, and will, at the request of a spectator, be moved to and

fro to any portion of the room, even during the progress of a game.

The supposition of the magnet is also untenable--for if a magnet were

the agent, any other magnet in the pocket of a spectator would

disarrange the entire mechanism. The exhibiter, however, will suffer

the most powerful loadstone to remain even upon the box during the

whole of the exhibition.

The first attempt at a written explanation of the secret, at least

the first attempt of which we ourselves have any knowledge, was made

in a large pamphlet printed at Paris in 1785. The author's hypothesis

amounted to this--that a dwarf actuated the machine. This dwarf he

supposed to conceal himself during the opening of the box by

thrusting his legs into two hollow cylinders, which were represented

to be (but which are not) among the machinery in the cupboard No. I,

while his body was out of the box entirely, and covered by the

drapery of the Turk. When the doors were shut, the dwarf was enabled

to bring his body within the box--the noise produced by some portion

of the machinery allowing him to do so unheard, and also to close the

door by which he entered. The interior of the automaton being then

exhibited, and no person discovered, the spectators, says the author

of this pamphlet, are satisfied that no one is within any portion of

the machine. This whole hypothesis was too obviously absurd to

require comment, or refutation, and accordingly we find that it

attracted very little attention.

In 1789 a book was published at Dresden by M. I. F. Freyhere in which

another endeavor was made to unravel the mystery. Mr. Freyhere's book

was a pretty large one, and copiously illustrated by colored

engravings. His supposition was that "a well-taught boy very thin and

tall of his age (sufficiently so that he could be concealed in a

drawer almost immediately under the chess-board") played the game of

chess and effected all the evolutions of the Automaton. This idea,

although even more silly than that of the Parisian author, met with a

better reception, and was in some measure believed to be the true

solution of the wonder, until the inventor put an end to the

discussion by suffering a close examination of the top of the box.

These bizarre attempts at explanation were followed by others equally

bizarre. Of late years however, an anonymous writer, by a course of

reasoning exceedingly unphilosophical, has contrived to blunder upon

a plausible solution--although we cannot consider it altogether the

true one. His Essay was first published in a Baltimore weekly paper,

was illustrated by cuts, and was entitled "An attempt to analyze the

Automaton Chess-Player of M. Maelzel." This Essay we suppose to have

been the original of the _pamphlet to _which Sir David Brewster

alludes in his letters on Natural Magic, and which he has no

hesitation in declaring a thorough and satisfactory explanation. The

_results _of the analysis are undoubtedly, in the main, just; but we

can only account for Brewster's pronouncing the Essay a thorough and

satisfactory explanation, by supposing him to have bestowed upon it a

very cursory and inattentive perusal. In the compendium of the Essay,

made use of in the Letters on Natural Magic, it is quite impossible

to arrive at any distinct conclusion in regard to the adequacy or

inadequacy of the analysis, on account of the gross misarrangement

and deficiency of the letters of reference employed. The same fault

is to be found in the '`Attempt &c.," as we originally saw it. The

solution consists in a series of minute explanations, (accompanied by

wood-cuts, the whole occupying many pages) in which the object is to

show the _possibility _of _so shifting the partitions _of the box, as

to allow a human being, concealed in the interior, to move portions

of his body from one part of the box to another, during the

exhibition of the mechanism--thus eluding the scrutiny of the

spectators. There can be no doubt, as we have before observed, and as

we will presently endeavor to show, that the principle, or rather the

result, of this solution is the true one. Some person is concealed in

the box during the whole time of exhibiting the interior. We object,

however, to the whole verbose description of the _manner _in which

the partitions are shifted, to accommodate the movements of the

person concealed. We object to it as a mere theory assumed in the

first place, and to which circumstances are afterwards made to adapt

themselves. It was not, and could not have been, arrived at by any

inductive reasoning. In whatever way the shifting is managed, it is

of course concealed at every step from observation. To show that

certain movements might possibly be effected in a certain way, is

very far from showing that they are actually so effected. There may

be an infinity of other methods by which the same results may be

obtained. The probability of the one assumed proving the correct one

is then as unity to infinity. But, in reality, this particular point,

the shifting of the partitions, is of no consequence whatever. It was

altogether unnecessary to devote seven or eight pages for the purpose

of proving what no one in his senses would deny--viz: that the

wonderful mechanical genius of Baron Kempelen could invent the

necessary means for shutting a door or slipping aside a pannel, with

a human agent too at his service in actual contact with the pannel or

the door, and the whole operations carried on, as the author of the

Essay himself shows, and as we shall attempt to show more fully

hereafter, entirely out of reach of the observation of the

spectators.

In attempting ourselves an explanation of the Automaton, we will, in

the first place, endeavor to show how its operations are effected,

and afterwards describe, as briefly as possible, the nature of the

_observations _from which we have deduced our result.

It will be necessary for a proper understanding of the subject, that

we repeat here in a few words, the routine adopted by the exhibiter

in disclosing the interior of the box--a routine from which he _never

_deviates in any material particular. In the first place he opens the

door No. I. Leaving this open, he goes round to the rear of the box,

and opens a door precisely at the back of door No. I. To this back

door he holds a lighted candle. He then _closes the back door, _locks

it, and, coming round to the front, opens the drawer to its full

extent. This done, he opens the doors No. 2 and No. 3, (the folding

doors) and displays the interior of the main compartment. Leaving

open the main compartment, the drawer, and the front door of cupboard

No. I, he now goes to the rear again, and throws open the back door

of the main compartment. In shutting up the box no particular order

is observed, except that the folding doors are always closed before

the drawer.

Now, let us suppose that when the machine is first rolled into the

presence of the spectators, a man is already within it. His body is

situated behind the dense machinery in cupboard No. T. (the rear

portion of which machinery is so contrived as to slip _en masse,

_from the main compartment to the cupboard No. I, as occasion may

require,) and his legs lie at full length in the main compartment.

When Maelzel opens the door No. I, the man within is not in any

danger of discovery, for the keenest eve cannot penetrate more than

about two inches into the darkness within. But the case is otherwise

when the back door of the cupboard No. I, is opened. A bright light

then pervades the cupboard, and the body of the man would be

discovered if it were there. But it is not. The putting the key in

the lock of the back door was a signal on hearing which the person

concealed brought his body forward to an angle as acute as

possible--throwing it altogether, or nearly so, into the main

compartment. This, however, is a painful position, and cannot be long

maintained. Accordingly we find that Maelzel _closes the back door.

_This being done, there is no reason why the body of the man may not

resume its former situation--for the cupboard is again so dark as to

defy scrutiny. The drawer is now opened, and the legs of the person

within drop down behind it in the space it formerly occupied. {*4}

There is, consequently, now no longer any part of the man in the main

compartment--his body being behind the machinery in cupboard No. 1,

and his legs in the space occupied by the drawer. The exhibiter,

therefore, finds himself at liberty to display the main compartment.

This he does--opening both its back and front doors--and no person Is

discovered. The spectators are now satisfied that the whole of the

box is exposed to view--and exposed too, all portions of it at one

and the same time. But of course this is not the case. They neither

see the space behind the drawer, nor the interior of cupboard No. 1

--the front door of which latter the exhibiter virtually shuts in

shutting its back door. Maelzel, having now rolled the machine

around, lifted up the drapery of the Turk, opened the doors in his

back and thigh, and shown his trunk to be full of machinery, brings

the whole back into its original position, and closes the doors. The

man within is now at liberty to move about. He gets up into the body

of the Turk just so high as to bring his eyes above the level of the

chess-board. It is very probable that he seats himself upon the

little square block or protuberance which is seen in a corner of the

main compartment when the doors are open. In this position he sees

the chess-board through the bosom of the Turk which is of gauze.

Bringing his right arm across his breast he actuates the little

machinery necessary to guide the left arm and the fingers of the

figure. This machinery is situated just beneath the left shoulder of

the Turk, and is consequently easily reached by the right hand of the

man concealed, if we suppose his right arm brought across the breast.

The motions of the head and eyes, and of the right arm of the figure,

as well as the sound _echec _are produced by other mechanism in the

interior, and actuated at will by the man within. The whole of this

mechanism--that is to say all the mechanism essential to the

machine--is most probably contained within the little cupboard (of

about six inches in breadth) partitioned off at the right (the

spectators' right) of the main compartment.

In this analysis of the operations of the Automaton, we have

purposely avoided any allusion to the manner in which the partitions

are shifted, and it will now be readily comprehended that this point

is a matter of no importance, since, by mechanism within the ability

of any common carpenter, it might be effected in an infinity of

different ways, and since we have shown that, however performed, it

is performed out of the view of the spectators. Our result is founded

upon the following _observations _taken during frequent visits to the

exhibition of Maelzel. {*5}

I. The moves of the Turk are not made at regular intervals of time,

but accommodate themselves to the moves of the antagonist--although

this point (of regularity) so important in all kinds of mechanical

contrivance, might have been readily brought about by limiting the

time allowed for the moves of the antagonist. For example, if this

limit were three minutes, the moves of the Automaton might be made at

any given intervals longer than three minutes. The fact then of

irregularity, when regularity might have been so easily attained,

goes to prove that regularity is unimportant to the action of the

Automaton--in other words, that the Automaton is not a _pure

machine._

2. When the Automaton is about to move a piece, a distinct motion is

observable just beneath the left shoulder, and which motion agitates

in a slight degree, the drapery covering the front of the left

shoulder. This motion invariably precedes, by about two seconds, the

movement of the arm itself--and the arm never, in any instance, moves

without this preparatory motion in the shoulder. Now let the

antagonist move a piece, and let the corresponding move be made by

Maelzel, as usual, upon the board of the Automaton. Then let the

antagonist narrowly watch the Automaton, until he detect the

preparatory motion in the shoulder. Immediately upon detecting this

motion, and before the arm itself begins to move, let him withdraw

his piece, as if perceiving an error in his manoeuvre. It will then

be seen that the movement of the arm, which, in all other cases,

immediately succeeds the motion in the shoulder, is withheld--is not

made--although Maelzel has not yet performed, on the board of the

Automaton, any move corresponding to the withdrawal of the

antagonist. In this case, that the Automaton was about to move is

evident--and that he did not move, was an effect plainly produced by

the withdrawal of the antagonist, and without any intervention of

Maelzel.

This fact fully proves, ~--that the intervention of Maelzel, in

performing the moves of the antagonist on the board of the Automaton,

is not essential to the movements of the Automaton, 2--that its

movements are regulated by _mind--_by some person who sees the board

of the antagonist, 3--that its movements are not regulated by the

mind of Maelzel, whose back was turned towards the antagonist at the

withdrawal of his move.

3. The Automaton does not invariably win the game. Were the machine a

pure machine this would not be the case--it would always win. The

_principle _being discovered by which a machine can be made to _play

_a game of chess, an extension of the same principle would enable it

to win a game--a farther extension would enable it to win _all

_games--that is, to beat any possible game of an antagonist. A little

consideration will convince any one that the difficulty of making a

machine beat all games, Is not in the least degree greater, as

regards the principle of the operations necessary, than that of

making it beat a single game. If then we regard the Chess-Player as a

machine, we must suppose, (what is highly improbable,) that its

inventor preferred leaving it incomplete to perfecting it-- a

supposition rendered still more absurd, when we reflect that the

leaving it incomplete would afford an argument against the

possibility of its being a pure machine--the very argument we now

adduce.

4. When the situation of the game is difficult or complex, we never

perceive the Turk either shake his head or roll his eyes. It is only

when his next move is obvious, or when the game is so circumstanced

that to a man in the Automaton's place there would be no necessity

for reflection. Now these peculiar movements of the head and eves are

movements customary with persons engaged in meditation, and the

ingenious Baron Kempelen would have adapted these movements (were the

machine a pure machine) to occasions proper for their display--that

is, to occasions of complexity. But the reverse is seen to be the

case, and this reverse applies precisely to our supposition of a man

in the interior. When engaged in meditation about the game he has no

time to think of setting in motion the mechanism of the Automaton by

which are moved the head and the eyes. When the game, however, is

obvious, he has time to look about hirn, and, accordingly, we see the

head shake and the eyes roll.

5. When the machine is rolled round to allow the spectators an

examination of the back of the Turk, and when his drapery is lifted

up and the doors in the trunk and thigh thrown open, the interior of

the trunk is seen to be crowded with machinery. In scrutinizing this

machinery while the Automaton was in motion, that is to say while the

whole machine was moving on the castors, it appeared to us that

certain portions of the mechanism changed their shape and position in

a degree too great to be accounted for by the simple laws of

perspective; and subsequent examinations convinced us that these

undue alterations were attributable to mirrors in the interior of the

trunk. The introduction of mirrors among the machinery could not have

been intended to influence, in any degree, the machinery itself.

Their operation, whatever that operation should prove to be, must

necessarily have reference to the eve of the spectator. We at once

concluded that these mirrors were so placed to multiply to the vision

some few pieces of machinery within the trunk so as to give it the

appearance of being crowded with mechanism. Now the direct inference

from this is that the machine is not a pure machine. For if it were,

the inventor, so far from wishing its mechanism to appear complex,

and using deception for the purpose of giving it this appearance,

would have been especially desirous of convincing those who witnessed

his exhibition, of the _simplicity _of the means by which results so

wonderful were brought about.

6. The external appearance, and, especially, the deportment of the

Turk, are, when we consider them as imitations of _life, _but very

indifferent imitations. The countenance evinces no ingenuity, and is

surpassed, in its resemblance to the human face, by the very

commonest of wax-works. The eyes roll unnaturally in the head,

without any corresponding motions of the lids or brows. The arm,

particularly, performs its operations in an exceedingly stiff,

awkward, jerking, and rectangular manner. Now, all this is the result

either of inability in Maelzel to do better, or of intentional

neglect--accidental neglect being out of the question, when we

consider that the whole time of the ingenious proprietor is occupied

in the improvement of his machines. Most assuredly we must not refer

the unlife-like appearances to inability--for all the rest of

Maelzel's automata are evidence of his full ability to copy the

motions and peculiarities of life with the most wonderful exactitude.

The rope-dancers, for example, are inimitable. When the clown laughs,

his lips, his eyes, his eye-brows, and eyelids--indeed, all the

features of his countenance--are imbued with their appropriate

expressions. In both him and his companion, every gesture is so

entirely easy, and free from the semblance of artificiality, that,

were it not for the diminutiveness of their size, and the fact of

their being passed from one spectator to another previous to their

exhibition on the rope, it would be difficult to convince any

assemblage of persons that these wooden automata were not living

creatures. We cannot, therefore, doubt Mr. Maelzel's ability, and we

must necessarily suppose that he intentionally suffered his Chess

Player to remain the same artificial and unnatural figure which Baron

Kempelen (no doubt also through design) originally made it. What this

design was it is not difficult to conceive. Were the Automaton

life-like in its motions, the spectator would be more apt to

attribute its operations to their true cause, (that is, to human

agency within) than he is now, when the awkward and rectangular

manoeuvres convey the idea of pure and unaided mechanism.

7. When, a short time previous to the commencement of the game, the

Automaton is wound up by the exhibiter as usual, an ear in any degree

accustomed to the sounds produced in winding up a system of

machinery, will not fail to discover, instantaneously, that the axis

turned by the key in the box of the Chess-Player, cannot possibly be

connected with either a weight, a spring, or any system of machinery

whatever. The inference here is the same as in our last observation.

The winding up is inessential to the operations of the Automaton, and

is performed with the design of exciting in the spectators the false

idea of mechanism.

8. When the question is demanded explicitly of Maelzel-- "Is the

Automaton a pure machine or not?" his reply is invariably the

same--"I will say nothing about it." Now the notoriety of the

Automaton, and the great curiosity it has every where excited, are

owing more especially to the prevalent opinion that it is a pure

machine, than to any other circumstance. Of course, then, it is the

interest of the proprietor to represent it as a pure machine. And

what more obvious, and more effectual method could there be of

impressing the spectators with this desired idea, than a positive and

explicit declaration to that effect? On the other hand, what more

obvious and effectual method could there be of exciting a disbelief

in the Automaton's being a pure machine, than by withholding such

explicit declaration? For, people will naturally reason thus,--It is

Maelzel's interest to represent this thing a pure machine--he refuses

to do so, directly, in words, although he does not scruple, and is

evidently anxious to do so, indirectly by actions--were it actually

what he wishes to represent it by actions, he would gladly avail

himself of the more direct testimony of words--the inference is, that

a consciousness of its not being a pure machine, is the reason of his

silence--his actions cannot implicate him in a falsehood--his words

may.

9. When, in exhibiting the interior of the box, Maelzel has thrown

open the door No. I, and also the door immediately behind it, he

holds a lighted candle at the back door (as mentioned above) and

moves the entire machine to and fro with a view of convincing the

company that the cupboard No. 1 is entirely filled with machinery.

When the machine is thus moved about, it will be apparent to any

careful observer, that whereas that portion of the machinery near the

front door No. 1, is perfectly steady and unwavering, the portion

farther within fluctuates, in a very slight degree, with the

movements of the machine. This circumstance first aroused in us the

suspicion that the more remote portion of the machinery was so

arranged as to be easily slipped, _en masse, _from its position when

occasion should require it. This occasion we have already stated to

occur when the man concealed within brings his body into an erect

position upon the closing of the back door.

10. Sir David Brewster states the figure of the Turk to be of the

size of life--but in fact it is far above the ordinary size. Nothing

is more easy than to err in our notions of magnitude. The body of the

Automaton is generally insulated, and, having no means of immediately

comparing it with any human form, we suffer ourselves to consider it

as of ordinary dimensions. This mistake may, however, be corrected by

observing the Chess-Player when, as is sometimes the case, the

exhibiter approaches it. Mr. Maelzel, to be sure, is not very tall,

but upon drawing near the machine, his head will be found at least

eighteen inches below the head of the Turk, although the latter, it

will be remembered, is in a sitting position.

11. The box behind which the Automaton is placed, is precisely three

feet six inches long, two feet four inches deep, and two feet six

inches high. These dimensions are fully sufficient for the

accommodation of a man very much above the common size--and the main

compartment alone is capable of holding any ordinary man in the

position we have mentioned as assumed by the person concealed. As

these are facts, which any one who doubts them may prove by actual

calculation, we deem it unnecessary to dwell upon them. We will only

suggest that, although the top of the box is apparently a board of

about three inches in thickness, the spectator may satisfy himself by

stooping and looking up at it when the main compartment is open, that

it is in reality very thin. The height of the drawer also will be

misconceived by those who examine it in a cursory manner. There is a

space of about three inches between the top of the drawer as seen

from the exterior, and the bottom of the cupboard--a space which must

be included in the height of the drawer. These contrivances to make

the room within the box appear less than it actually is, are

referrible to a design on the part of the inventor, to impress the

company again with a false idea, viz. that no human being can be

accommodated within the box.

12. The interior of the main compartment is lined throughout with

_cloth. _This cloth we suppose to have a twofold object. A portion of

_it _may form, when tightly stretched, the only partitions which

there is anv necessity for removing during the changes of the man's

position, viz: the partition between the rear of the main compartment

and the rear of the cupboard No. 1, and the partition between the

main compartment, and the space behind the drawer when open. If we

imagine this to be the case, the difficulty of shifting the

partitions vanishes at once, if indeed any such difficulty could be

supposed under any circumstances to exist. The second object of the

cloth is to deaden and render indistinct all sounds occasioned by the

movements of the person within.

13. The antagonist (as we have before observed) is not suffered to

play at the board of the Automaton, but is seated at some distance

from the machine. The reason which, most probably, would be assigned

for this circumstance, if the question were demanded, is, that were

the antagonist otherwise situated, his person would intervene between

the machine and the spectators, and preclude the latter from a

distinct view. But this difficulty might be easily obviated, either

by elevating the seats of the company, or by turning the end of the

box towards them during the game. The true cause of the restriction

is, perhaps, very different. Were the antagonist seated in contact

with the box, the secret would be liable to discovery, by his

detecting, with the aid of a quick car, the breathings of the man

concealed.

14. Although M. Maelzel, in disclosing the interior of the machine,

sometimes slightly deviates from the _routine _which we have pointed

out, yet _reeler in _any instance does he _so _deviate from it as to

interfere with our solution. For example, he has been known to open,

first of all, the drawer--but he never opens the main compartment

without first closing the back door of cupboard No. 1--he never opens

the main compartment without first pulling out the drawer--he never

shuts the drawer without first shutting the main compartment--he

never opens the back door of cupboard No. 1 while the main

compartment is open--and the game of chess is never commenced until

the whole machine is closed. Now if it were observed that _never, in

any single instance, _did M. Maelzel differ from the routine we have

pointed out as necessary to our solution, it would be one of the

strongest possible arguments in corroboration of it--but the argument

becomes infinitely strengthened if we duly consider the circumstance

that he _does occasionally _deviate from the routine but never does

_so _deviate as to falsify the solution.

15. There are six candles on the board of the Automaton during

exhibition. The question naturally arises--"Why are so many employed,

when a single candle, or, at farthest, two, would have been amply

sufficient to afford the spectators a clear view of the board, in a

room otherwise so well lit up as the exhibition room always is--when,

moreover, if we suppose the machine a _pure machine, _there can be no

necessity for so much light, or indeed any light at all, to enable

_it _to perform its operations--and when, especially, only a single

candle is placed upon the table of the antagonist?" The first and

most obvious inference is, that so strong a light is requisite to

enable the man within to see through the transparent material

(probably fine gauze) of which the breast of the Turk is composed.

But when we consider the arrangement of the candles, another reason

immediately presents itself. There are six lights (as we have said

before) in all. Three of these are on each side of the figure. Those

most remote from the spectators are the longest--those in the middle

are about two inches shorter--and those nearest the company about two

inches shorter still--and the candles on one side differ in height

from the candles respectively opposite on the other, by a ratio

different from two inches--that is to say, the longest candle on one

side is about three inches shorter than the longest candle on the

other, and so on. Thus it will be seen that no two of the candles are

of the same height, and thus also the difficulty of ascertaining the

_material _of the breast of the figure (against which the light is

especially directed) is greatly augmented by the dazzling effect of

the complicated crossings of the rays--crossings which are brought

about by placing the centres of radiation all upon different levels.

16. While the Chess-Player was in possession of Baron Kempelen, it

was more than once observed, first, that an Italian in the suite of

the Baron was never visible during the playing of a game at chess by

the Turk, and, secondly, that the Italian being taken seriously ill,

the exhibition was suspended until his recovery. This Italian

professed a _total _ignorance of the game of chess, although all

others of the suite played well. Similar observations have been made

since the Automaton has been purchased by Maelzel. There is a man,

_Schlumber0er, _who attends him wherever he goes, but who has no

ostensible occupation other than that of assisting in the packing and

unpacking of the automata. This man is about the medium size, and has

a remarkable stoop in the shoulders. Whether he professes to play

chess or not, we are not informed. It is quite certain, however, that

he is never to be seen during the exhibition of the Chess-Player,

although frequently visible just before and just after the

exhibition. Moreover, some years ago Maelzel visited Richmond with

his automata, and exhibited them, we believe, in the house now

occupied by M. Bossieux as a Dancing Academy. _Schlumberg_er was

suddenly taken ill, and during his illness there was no exhibition of

the Chess-Player. These facts are well known to many of our citizens.

The reason assigned for the suspension of the Chess-Player's

performances, was _not _the illness of _Schlumberger. _The inferences

from all this we leave, without farther comment, to the reader.

17. The Turk plays with his _left _arm. A circumstance so remarkable

cannot be whatever. beyond a accidental. Brewster takes no notice of

it whatever beyond a mere statement, we believe, that such is the

fact. The early writers of treatises on the Automaton, seem not to

have observed the matter at all, and have no reference to it. The

author of the pamphlet alluded to by Brewster, mentions it, but

acknowledges his inability to account for it. Yet it is obviously

from such prominent discrepancies or incongruities as this that

deductions are to be made (if made at all) which shall lead us to the

truth.

The circumstance of the Automaton's playing with his left hand cannot

have connexion with the operations of the machine, considered merely

as such. Any mechanical arrangement which would cause the figure to

move, in any given manner, the left arm--could, if reversed, cause it

to move, in the same manner, the right. But these principles cannot

be extended to the human organization, wherein there is a marked and

radical difference in the construction, and, at all events, in the

powers, of the right and left arms. Reflecting upon this latter fact,

we naturally refer the incongruity noticeable in the Chess-Player to

this peculiarity in the human organization. If so, we must imagine

some _reversion--_for the Chess-Player plays precisely as a man

_would not. _These ideas, once entertained, are sufficient of

themselves, to suggest the notion of a man in the interior. A few

more imperceptible steps lead us, finally, to the result. The

Automaton plays with his left arm, because under no other

circumstances could the man within play with his right--a

_desideratum _of course. Let us, for example, imagine the Automaton

to play with his right arm. To reach the machinery which moves the

arm, and which we have before explained to lie just beneath the

shoulder, it would be necessary for the man within either to use his

right arm in an exceedingly painful and awkward position, (viz.

brought up close to his body and tightly compressed between his body

and the side of the Automaton,) or else to use his left arm brought

across his breast. In neither case could he act with the requisite

ease or precision. On the contrary, the Automaton playing, as it

actually does, with the left arm, all difficulties vanish. The right

arm of the man within is brought across his breast, and his right

fingers act, without any constraint, upon tile machinery in the

shoulder of the figure.

We do not believe that any reasonable objections can be urged against

this solution of the Automaton Chess-Player.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE POWER OF WORDS

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

immortality!

AGATHOS. You have spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be

demanded. Not even here is knowledge thing of intuition. For wisdom,

ask of the angels freely, that it may be given!

OINOS. But in this existence, I dreamed that I should be at once

cognizant of all things, and thus at once be happy in being cognizant

of all.

AGATHOS. Ah, not in knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of

knowledge! In for ever knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know

all were the curse of a fiend.

OINOS. But does not The Most High know all?

AGATHOS. That (since he is The Most Happy) must be still the one

thing unknown even to Him.

OINOS. But, since we grow hourly in knowledge, must not at last all

things be known?

AGATHOS. Look down into the abysmal distances! -- attempt to force

the gaze down the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep

slowly through them thus -- and thus -- and thus! Even the spiritual

vision, is it not at all points arrested by the continuous golden

walls of the universe? -- the walls of the myriads of the shining

bodies that mere number has appeared to blend into unity?

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

AGATHOS. There are no dreams in Aidenn -- but it is here whispered

that, of this infinity of matter, the sole purpose is to afford

infinite springs, at which the soul may allay the thirst to know,

which is for ever unquenchable within it -- since to quench it, would

be to extinguish the soul's self. Question me then, my Oinos, freely

and without fear. Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of

the Pleiades, and swoop outward from the throne into the starry

meadows beyond Orion, where, for pansies and violets, and heart's --

ease, are the beds of the triplicate and triple -- tinted suns.

OINOS. And now, Agathos, as we proceed, instruct me! -- speak to me

in the earth's familiar tones. I understand not what you hinted to

me, just now, of the modes or of the method of what, during

mortality, we were accustomed to call Creation. Do you mean to say

that the Creator is not God?

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

OINOS. Explain.

AGATHOS. In the beginning only, he created. The seeming creatures

which are now, throughout the universe, so perpetually springing into

being, can only be considered as the mediate or indirect, not as the

direct or immediate results of the Divine creative power.

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

in the extreme.

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

OINOS. I can comprehend you thus far -- that certain operations of

what we term Nature, or the natural laws, will, under certain

conditions, give rise to that which has all the appearance of

creation. Shortly before the final overthrow of the earth, there

were, I well remember, many very successful experiments in what some

philosophers were weak enough to denominate the creation of

animalculae.

AGATHOS. The cases of which you speak were, in fact, instances of the

secondary creation -- and of the only species of creation which has

ever been, since the first word spoke into existence the first law.

OINOS. Are not the starry worlds that, from the abyss of nonentity,

burst hourly forth into the heavens -- are not these stars, Agathos,

the immediate handiwork of the King?

AGATHOS. Let me endeavor, my Oinos, to lead you, step by step, to the

conception I intend. You are well aware that, as no thought can

perish, so no act is without infinite result. We moved our hands, for

example, when we were dwellers on the earth, and, in so doing, gave

vibration to the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was

indefinitely extended, till it gave impulse to every particle of the

earth's air, which thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the

one movement of the hand. This fact the mathematicians of our globe

well knew. They made the special effects, indeed, wrought in the

fluid by special impulses, the subject of exact calculation -- so

that it became easy to determine in what precise period an impulse of

given extent would engirdle the orb, and impress (for ever) every

atom of the atmosphere circumambient. Retrograding, they found no

difficulty, from a given effect, under given conditions, in

determining the value of the original impulse. Now the mathematicians

who saw that the results of any given impulse were absolutely endless

-- and who saw that a portion of these results were accurately

traceable through the agency of algebraic analysis -- who saw, too,

the facility of the retrogradation -- these men saw, at the same

time, that this species of analysis itself, had within itself a

capacity for indefinite progress -- that there were no bounds

conceivable to its advancement and applicability, except within the

intellect of him who advanced or applied it. But at this point our

mathematicians paused.

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

AGATHOS. Because there were some considerations of deep interest

beyond. It was deducible from what they knew, that to a being of

infinite understanding -- one to whom the perfection of the algebraic

analysis lay unfolded -- there could be no difficulty in tracing

every impulse given the air -- and the ether through the air -- to

the remotest consequences at any even infinitely remote epoch of

time. It is indeed demonstrable that every such impulse given the

air, must, in the end, impress every individual thing that exists

within the universe; -- and the being of infinite understanding --

the being whom we have imagined -- might trace the remote undulations

of the impulse -- trace them upward and onward in their influences

upon all particles of an matter -- upward and onward for ever in

their modifications of old forms -- or, in other words, in their

creation of new -- until he found them reflected -- unimpressive at

last -- back from the throne of the Godhead. And not only could such

a thing do this, but at any epoch, should a given result be afforded

him -- should one of these numberless comets, for example, be

presented to his inspection -- he could have no difficulty in

determining, by the analytic retrogradation, to what original impulse

it was due. This power of retrogradation in its absolute fulness and

perfection -- this faculty of referring at all epochs, all effects to

all causes -- is of course the prerogative of the Deity alone -- but

in every variety of degree, short of the absolute perfection, is the

power itself exercised by the whole host of the Angelic

intelligences.

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

AGATHOS. In speaking of the air, I referred only to the earth; but

the general proposition has reference to impulses upon the ether --

which, since it pervades, and alone pervades all space, is thus the

great medium of creation.

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

AGATHOS. It must: but a true philosophy has long taught that the

source of all motion is thought -- and the source of all thought is-

OINOS. God.

AGATHOS. I have spoken to you, Oinos, as to a child of the fair Earth

which lately perished -- of impulses upon the atmosphere of the

Earth.

OINOS. You did.

AGATHOS. And while I thus spoke, did there not cross your mind some

thought of the physical power of words? Is not every word an impulse

on the air?

OINOS. But why, Agathos, do you weep -- and why, oh why do your wings

droop as we hover above this fair star -- which is the greenest and

yet most terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its

brilliant flowers look like a fairy dream -- but its fierce volcanoes

like the passions of a turbulent heart.

AGATHOS. They are! -- they are! This wild star -- it is now three

centuries since, with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the

feet of my beloved -- I spoke it -- with a few passionate sentences

-- into birth. Its brilliant flowers are the dearest of all

unfulfilled dreams, and its raging volcanoes are the passions of the

most turbulent and unhallowed of hearts.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA

9,88@<J" J"LJ"

_ Sophocles - Antig _:

"These; things are in the future."

_ Una._ "Born again?"

_ Monos._ Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, "born again." These

were the words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered,

rejecting the explanations of the priesthood, until Death himself

resolved for me the secret.

_Una._ Death!

_Monos._ How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my words! I observe,

too, a vacillation in your step - a joyous inquietude in your eyes.

You are confused and oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life

Eternal. Yes, it was of Death I spoke. And here how singularly sounds

that word which of old was wont to bring terror to all hearts -

throwing a mildew upon all pleasures!

_ Una._ Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all feasts! How

often, Monos, did we lose ourselves in speculations upon its nature!

How mysteriously did it act as a check to human bliss - saying unto

it "thus far, and no farther!" That earnest mutual love, my own

Monos, which burned within our bosoms how vainly did we flatter

ourselves, feeling happy in its first up-springing, that our

happiness would strengthen with its strength! Alas! as it grew, so

grew in our hearts the dread of that evil hour which was hurrying to

separate us forever! Thus, in time, it became painful to love. Hate

would have been mercy then.

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

forever now!

_ Una._ But the memory of past sorrow - is it not present joy? I

have much to say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I burn

to know the incidents of your own passage through the dark Valley and

Shadow.

_ Monos._ And when did the radiant Una ask anything of her Monos

in vain? I will be minute in relating all - but at what point shall

the weird narrative begin?

_Una._ At what point?

_Monos._ You have said.

_Una._ Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the

propensity of man to define the indefinable. I will not say, then,

commence with the moment of life's cessation - but commence with that

sad, sad instant when, the fever having abandoned you, you sank into

a breathless and motionless torpor, and I pressed down your pallid

eyelids with the passionate fingers of love.

_ Monos._ One word first, my Una, in regard to man's general

condition at this epoch. You will remember that one or two of the

wise among our forefathers - wise in fact, although not in the

world's esteem - had ventured to doubt the propriety of the term

"improvement," as applied to the progress of our civilization. There

were periods in each of the five or six centuries immediately

preceding our dissolution, when arose some vigorous intellect, boldly

contending for those principles whose truth appears now, to our

disenfranchised reason, so utterly obvious - principles which should

have taught our race to submit to the guidance of the natural laws,

rather than attempt their control. At long intervals some masterminds

appeared, looking upon each advance in practical science as a

retro-gradation in the true utility. Occasionally the poetic

intellect - that intellect which we now feel to have been the most

exalted of all - since those truths which to us were of the most

enduring importance could only be reached by that analogywhich speaks

in proof tones to the imagination alone and to the unaided reason

bears no weight - occasionally did this poetic intellect proceed a

step farther in the evolving of the vague idea of the philosophic,

and find in the mystic parable that tells of the tree of knowledge,

and of its forbidden fruit, death-producing, a distinct intimation

that knowledge was not meet for man in the infant condition of his

soul. And these men - the poets - living and perishing amid the scorn

of the "utilitarians" - of rough pedants, who arrogated to themselves

a title which could have been properly applied only to the scorned -

these men, the poets, pondered piningly, yet not unwisely, upon the

ancient days when our wants were not more simple than our enjoyments

were keen - days when mirth was a word unknown, so solemnly

deep-toned was happiness - holy, august and blissful days, when blue

rivers ran undammed, between hills unhewn, into far forest solitudes,

primæval, odorous, and unexplored.

Yet these noble exceptions from the general misrule served but to

strengthen it by opposition. Alas! we had fallen upon the most evil

of all our evil days. The great "movement" - that was the cant term -

went on: a diseased commotion, moral and physical. Art - the Arts -

arose supreme, and, once enthroned, cast chains upon the intellect

which had elevated them to power. Man, because he could not but

acknowledge the majesty of Nature, fell into childish exultation at

his acquired and still-increasing dominion over her elements. Even

while he stalked a God in his own fancy, an infantine imbecility came

over him. As might be supposed from the origin of his disorder, he

grew infected with system, and with abstraction. He enwrapped himself

in generalities. Among other odd ideas, that of universal equality

gained ground; and in the face of analogy and of God - in despite of

the loud warning voice of the laws of gradation so visibly pervading

all things in Earth an Heaven - wild attempts at an omni-prevalent

Democracy were made. Yet this evil sprang necessarily from the

leading evil, Knowledge. Man could not both know and succumb.

Meantime huge smoking cities arose, innumerable. Green leaves shrank

before the hot breath of furnaces. The fair face of Nature was

deformed as with the ravages of some loathsome disease. And methinks,

sweet Una, even our slumbering sense of the forced and of the

far-fetched might have arrested us here. But now it appears that we

had worked out our own destruction in the perversion of our taste, or

rather in the blind neglect of its culture in the schools. For, in

truth, it was at this crisis that taste alone - that faculty which,

holding a middle position between the pure intellect and the moral

sense, could never safely have been disregarded - it was now that

taste alone could have led us gently back to Beauty, to Nature, and

to Life. But alas for the pure contemplative spirit and majestic

intuition of Plato! Alas for the which he justly regarded as an

all-sufficient education for the soul! Alas for him and for it! -

since both were most desperately needed when both were most entirely

forgotten or despised. {*1}

Pascal, a philosopher whom we both love, has said, how truly! -

"que tout notre raisonnement se rèduit à céder au sentiment;" and it

is not impossible that the sentiment of the natural, had time

permitted it, would have regained its old ascendancy over the harsh

mathematical reason of the schools. But this thing was not to be.

Prematurely induced by intemperance of knowledge the old age of the

world drew on. This the mass of mankind saw not, or, living lustily

although unhappily, affected not to see. But, for myself, the Earth's

records had taught me to look for widest ruin as the price of highest

civilization. I had imbibed a prescience of our Fate from comparison

of China the simple and enduring, with Assyria the architect, with

Egypt the astrologer, with Nubia, more crafty than either, the

turbulent mother of all Arts. In history {*2} of these regions I met

with a ray from the  Future. The individual artificialities of the

three latter were local diseases of the Earth, and in their

individual overthrows we had seen local remedies applied; but for the

infected world at large I could anticipate no regeneration save in

death. That man, as a race, should not become extinct, I saw that he

must be "born again."

And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we wrapped our spirits,

daily, in dreams. Now it was that, in twilight, we discoursed of the

days to come, when the Art-scarred surface of the Earth, having

undergone that purification {*3} which alone could efface its

rectangular obscenities, should clothe itself anew in the verdure and

the mountain-slopes and the smiling waters of Paradise, and be

rendered at length a fit dwelling-place for man: - for man the Death

purged - for man to whose now exalted intellect there should be

poison in knowledge no more - for the redeemed, regenerated,

blissful, and now immortal, but still for the material, man.

_Una._ Well do I remember these conversations, dear Monos; but

the epoch of the fiery overthrow was not so near at hand as we

believed, and as the corruption you indicate did surely warrant us in

believing. Men lived; and died individually. You yourself sickened,

and passed into the grave; and thither your constant Una speedily

followed you. And though the century which has since elapsed, and

whose conclusion brings us thus together once more, tortured our

slumbering senses with no impatience of duration, yet, my Monos, it

was a century still.

_Monos._ Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity.

Unquestionably, it was in the Earth's dotage that I died. Wearied at

heart with anxieties which had their origin in the general turmoil

and decay, I succumbed to the fierce fever. After some few days of

pain, and many of dreamy delirium replete with ecstasy, the

manifestations of which you mistook for pain, while I longed but was

impotent to undeceive you - after some days there came upon me, as

you have said, a breathless and motionless torpor; and this was

termed Death by those who stood around me.

Words are vague things. My condition did not deprive me of

sentience. It appeared to me not greatly dissimilar to the extreme

quiescence of him, who, having slumbered long and profoundly, lying

motionless and fully prostrate in a midsummer noon, begins to steal

slowly back into consciousness, through the mere sufficiency of his

sleep, and without being awakened by external disturbances.

I breathed no longer. The pulses were still. The heart had ceased

to beat. Volition had not departed, but was powerless. The senses

were unusually active, although eccentrically so - assuming often

each other's functions at random. The taste and the smell were

inextricably confounded, and became one sentiment, abnormal and

intense. The rose-water with which your tenderness had moistened my

lips to the last, affected me with sweet fancies of flowers -

fantastic flowers, far more lovely than any of the old Earth, but

whose prototypes we have here blooming around us. The eyelids,

transparent and bloodless, offered no complete impediment to vision.

As volition was in abeyance, the balls could not roll in their

sockets but all objects within the range of the visual hemisphere

were seen with more or less distinctness; the rays which fell upon

the external retina, or into the corner of the eye, producing a more

vivid effect than those which struck the front or interior surface.

Yet, in the former instance, this effect was so far anomalous that I

appreciated it only as sound - sound sweet or discordant as the

matters presenting themselves at my side were light or dark in shade

- curved or angular in outline. The hearing, at the same time,

although excited in degree, was not irregular in action - estimating

real sounds with an extravagance of precision, not less than of

sensibility. Touch had undergone a modification more peculiar. Its

impressions were tardily received, but pertinaciously retained, and

resulted always in the highest physical pleasure. Thus the pressure

of your sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at first only recognised

through vision, at length, long after their removal, filled my whole

being with a sensual delight immeasurable. I say with a sensual

delight. All my perceptions were purely sensual. The materials

furnished the passive brain by the senses were not in the least

degree wrought into shape by the deceased understanding. Of pain

there was some little; of pleasure there was much; but of moral pain

or pleasure none at all. Thus your wild sobs floated into my ear with

all their mournful cadences, and were appreciated in their every

variation of sad tone; but they were soft musical sounds and no more;

they conveyed to the extinct reason no intimation of the sorrows

which gave them birth; while the large and constant tears which fell

upon my face, telling the bystanders of a heart which broke, thrilled

every fibre of my frame with ecstasy alone. And this was in truth the

Death of which these bystanders spoke reverently, in low whispers -

you, sweet Una, gaspingly, with loud cries.

They attired me for the coffin - three or four dark figures which

flitted busily to and fro. As these crossed the direct line of my

vision they affected me as forms; but upon passing to my side their

images impressed me with the idea of shrieks, groans, and other

dismal expressions of terror, of horror, or of wo. You alone, habited

in a white robe, passed in all directions musically about me.

The day waned; and, as its light faded away, I became possessed

by a vague uneasiness - an anxiety such as the sleeper feels when sad

real sounds fall continuously within his ear - low distant

bell-tones, solemn, at long but equal intervals, and mingling with

melancholy dreams. Night arrived; and with its shadows a heavy

discomfort. It oppressed my limbs with the oppression of some dull

weight, and was palpable. There was also a moaning sound, not unlike

the distant reverberation of surf, but more continuous, which,

beginning with the first twilight, had grown in strength with the

darkness. Suddenly lights were brought into the room, and this

reverberation became forthwith interrupted into frequent unequal

bursts of the same sound, but less dreary and less distinct. The

ponderous oppression was in a great measure relieved; and, issuing

from the flame of each lamp, (for there were many,) there flowed

unbrokenly into my ears a strain of melodious monotone. And when now,

dear Una, approaching the bed upon which I lay outstretched, you sat

gently by my side, breathing odor from your sweet lips, and pressing

them upon my brow, there arose tremulously within my bosom, and

mingling with the merely physical sensations which circumstances had

called forth, a something akin to sentiment itself - a  feeling that,

half appreciating, half responded to your earnest love and sorrow;

but this feeling took no root in the pulseless heart, and seemed

indeed rather a shadow than a reality, and faded quickly away, first

into extreme quiescence, and then into a purely sensual pleasure as

before.

And now, from the wreck and the chaos of the usual senses, there

appeared to have arisen within me a sixth, all perfect. In its

exercise I found a wild delight - yet a delight still physical,

inasmuch as the understanding had in it no part. Motion in the animal

frame had fully ceased. No muscle quivered; no nerve thrilled; no

artery throbbed. But there seemed to have sprung up in the brain,

that of which no words could convey to the merely human intelligence

even an indistinct conception. Let me term it a mental pendulous

pulsation. It was the moral embodiment of man's abstract idea of

Time. By the absolute equalization of this movement - or of such as

this - had the cycles of the firmamental orbs themselves, been

adjusted. By its aid I measured the irregularities of the clock upon

the mantel, and of the watches of the attendants. Their tickings came

sonorously to my ears. The slightest deviations from the true

proportion - and these deviations were omni-prævalent - affected me

just as violations of abstract truth were wont, on earth, to affect

the moral sense. Although no two of the time-pieces in the chamber

struck the individual seconds accurately together, yet I had no

difficulty in holding steadily in mind the tones, and the respective

momentary errors of each. And this - this keen, perfect,

self-existing sentiment of duration - this sentiment existing (as man

could not possibly have conceived it to exist) independently of any

succession of events - this idea - this sixth sense, upspringing from

the ashes of the rest, was the first obvious and certain step of the

intemporal soul upon the threshold of the temporal Eternity.

It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. All others had

departed from the chamber of Death. They had deposited me in the

coffin. The lamps burned flickeringly; for this I knew by the

tremulousness of the monotonous strains. But, suddenly these strains

diminished in distinctness and in volume. Finally they ceased. The

perfume in my nostrils died away. Forms affected my vision no longer.

The oppression of the Darkness uplifted itself from my bosom. A dull

shock like that of electricity pervaded my frame, and was followed by

total loss of the idea of contact. All of what man has termed sense

was merged in the sole consciousness of entity, and in the one

abiding sentiment of duration. The mortal body had been at length

stricken with the hand of the deadly Decay.

Yet had not all of sentience departed; for the consciousness and

the sentiment remaining supplied some of its functions by a lethargic

intuition. I appreciated the direful change now in operation upon the

flesh, and, as the dreamer is sometimes aware of the bodily presence

of one who leans over him, so, sweet Una, I still dully felt that you

sat by my side. So, too, when the noon of the second day came, I was

not unconscious of those movements which displaced you from my side,

which confined me within the coffin, which deposited me within the

hearse, which bore me to the grave, which lowered me within it, which

heaped heavily the mould upon me, and which thus left me, in

blackness and corruption, to my sad and solemn slumbers with the

worm.

And here, in the prison-house which has few secrets to disclose,

there rolled away days and weeks and months; and the soul watched

narrowly each second as it flew, and, without effort, took record of

its flight - without effort and without object.

A year passed. The consciousness of being had grown hourly more

indistinct, and that of mere locality had, in great measure, usurped

its position. The idea of entity was becoming merged in that of

place. The narrow space immediately surrounding what had been the

body, was now growing to be the body itself. At length, as often

happens to the sleeper (by sleep and its world alone is Death imaged)

- at length, as sometimes happened on Earth to the deep slumberer,

when some flitting light half startled him into awaking, yet left him

half enveloped in dreams - so to me, in the strict embrace of the

Shadow came that light which alone might have had power to startle -

the light of enduring Love. Men toiled at the grave in which I lay

darkling. They upthrew the damp earth. Upon my mouldering bones there

descended the coffin of Una.

And now again all was void. That nebulous light had been

extinguished. That feeble thrill had vibrated itself into quiescence.

Many lustra had supervened. Dust had returned to dust. The worm had

food no more. The sense of being had at length utterly departed, and

there reigned in its stead - instead of all things - dominant and

perpetual - the autocrats Place and Time. For that which was not -

for that which had no form - for that which had no thought - for that

which had no sentience - for that which was soulless, yet of which

matter formed no portion - for all this nothingness, yet for all this

immortality, the grave was still a home, and the corrosive hours,

co-mates.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

THE

CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION

ALD F@J BD@F@JFT

I will bring fire to thee.

_Euripides - Androm:_

EIROS.

WHY do you call me Eiros?

CHARMION

So henceforward will you always be called. You must forget too,

my earthly name, and speak to me as Charmion.

EIROS.

This is indeed no dream!

CHARMION.

Dreams are with us no more; - but of these mysteries anon. I

rejoice to see you looking life-like and rational. The film of the

shadow has already passed from off your eyes. Be of heart and fear

nothing. Your allotted days of stupor have expired and, to-morrow, I

will myself induct you into the full joys and wonders of your novel

existence.

EIROS.

True - I feel no stupor - none at all. The wild sickness and the

terrible darkness have left me, and I hear no longer that mad,

rushing, horrible sound, like the "voice of many waters." Yet my

senses are bewildered, Charmion, with the keenness of their

perception of the new.

CHARMION.

A few days will remove all this; - but I fully understand you,

and feel for you. It is now ten earthly years since I underwent what

you undergo - yet the remembrance of it hangs by me still. You have

now suffered all of pain, however, which you will suffer in Aidenn.

EIROS.

In Aidenn?

CHARMION.

In Aidenn.

EIROS.

Oh God! - pity me, Charmion! - I am overburthened with the

majesty of all things - of the unknown now known - of the speculative

Future merged in the august and certain Present.

CHARMION.

Grapple not now with such thoughts. To-morrow we will speak of

this. Your mind wavers, and its agitation will find relief in the

exercise of simple memories. Look not around, nor forward - but back.

I am burning with anxiety to hear the details of that stupendous

event which threw you among us. Tell me of it. Let us converse of

familiar things, in the old familiar language of the world which has

so fearfully perished.

EIROS.

Most fearfully, fearfully! - this is indeed no dream.

CHARMION.

Dreams are no more. Was I much mourned, my Eiros?

EIROS.

Mourned, Charmion? - oh deeply. To that last hour of all, there

hung a cloud of intense gloom and devout sorrow over your household.

CHARMION.

And that last hour - speak of it. Remember that, beyond the naked

fact of the catastrophe itself, I know nothing. When, coming out from

among mankind, I passed into Night through the Grave - at that

period, if I remember aright, the calamity which overwhelmed you was

utterly unanticipated. But, indeed, I knew little of the speculative

philosophy of the day.

EIROS.

The individual calamity was as you say entirely unanticipated;

but analogous misfortunes had been long a subject of discussion with

astronomers. I need scarce tell you, my friend, that, even when you

left us, men had agreed to understand those passages in the most holy

writings which speak of the final destruction of all things by fire,

as having reference to the orb of the earth alone. But in regard to

the immediate agency of the ruin, speculation had been at fault from

that epoch in astronomical knowledge in which the comets were

divested of the terrors of flame. The very moderate density of these

bodies had been well established. They had been observed to pass

among the satellites of Jupiter, without bringing about any sensible

alteration either in the masses or in the orbits of these secondary

planets. We had long regarded the wanderers as vapory creations of

inconceivable tenuity, and as altogether incapable of doing injury to

our substantial globe, even in the event of contact. But contact was

not in any degree dreaded; for the elements of all the comets were

accurately known. That among them we should look for the agency of

the threatened fiery destruction had been for many years considered

an inadmissible idea. But wonders and wild fancies had been, of late

days, strangely rife among mankind; and, although it was only with a

few of the ignorant that actual apprehension prevailed, upon the

announcement by astronomers of a new comet, yet this announcement was

generally received with I know not what of agitation and mistrust.

The elements of the strange orb were immediately calculated, and

it was at once conceded by all observers, that its path, at

perihelion, would bring it into very close proximity with the earth.

There were two or three astronomers, of secondary note, who

resolutely maintained that a contact was inevitable. I cannot very

well express to you the effect of this intelligence upon the people.

For a few short days they would not believe an assertion which their

intellect so long employed among worldly considerations could not in

any manner grasp. But the truth of a vitally important fact soon

makes its way into the understanding of even the most stolid.

Finally, all men saw that astronomical knowledge lied not, and they

awaited the comet. Its approach was not, at first, seemingly rapid;

nor was its appearance of  very unusual character. It was of a dull

red, and had little perceptible train. For seven or eight days we saw

no material increase in its apparent diameter, and but a partial

alteration in its color. Meantime, the ordinary affairs of men were

discarded and all interests absorbed in a growing discussion,

instituted by the philosophic, in respect to the cometary nature.

Even the grossly ignorant aroused their sluggish capacities to such

considerations. The learned now gave their intellect - their soul -

to no such points as the allaying of fear, or to the sustenance of

loved theory. They sought -- they panted for right views. They

groaned for perfected knowledge. Truth arose in the purity of her

strength and exceeding majesty, and the wise bowed down and adored.

That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants would

result from the apprehended contact, was an opinion which hourly lost

ground among the wise; and the wise were now freely permitted to rule

the reason and the fancy of the crowd. It was demonstrated, that the

density of the comet's nucleus was far less than that of our rarest

gas; and the harmless passage of a similar visitor among the

satellites of Jupiter was a point strongly insisted upon, and which

served greatly to allay terror. Theologists with an earnestness

fear-enkindled, dwelt upon the biblical prophecies, and expounded

them to the people with a directness and simplicity of which no

previous instance had been known. That the final destruction of the

earth must be brought about by the agency of fire, was urged with a

spirit that enforced every where conviction; and that the comets were

of no fiery nature (as all men now knew) was a truth which relieved

all, in a great measure, from the apprehension of the great calamity

foretold. It is noticeable that the popular prejudices and vulgar

errors in regard to pestilences and wars - errors which were wont to

prevail upon every appearance of a comet - were now altogether

unknown. As if by some sudden convulsive exertion, reason had at once

hurled superstition from her throne. The feeblest intellect had

derived vigor from excessive interest.

What minor evils might arise from the contact were points of

elaborate question. The learned spoke of slight geological

disturbances, of probable alterations in climate, and consequently in

vegetation, of possible magnetic and electric influences. Many  held

that no visible or perceptible effect would in any manner be

produced. While such discussions were going on, their subject

gradually approached, growing larger in apparent diameter, and of a

more brilliant lustre. Mankind grew paler as it came. All human

operations were suspended.

There was an epoch in the course of the general sentiment when

the comet had attained, at length, a size surpassing that of any

previously recorded visitation. The people now, dismissing any

lingering hope that the astronomers were wrong, experienced all the

certainty of evil. The chimerical aspect of their terror was gone.

The hearts of the stoutest of our race beat violently within their

bosoms. A very few days sufficed, however, to merge even such

feelings in sentiments more unendurable We could no longer apply to

the strange orb any accustomedthoughts. Its historical attributes had

disappeared. It oppressed us with a hideous novelty of emotion. We

saw it not as an astronomical phenomenon in the heavens, but as an

incubus upon our hearts, and a shadow upon our brains. It had taken,

with inconceivable rapidity, the character of a gigantic mantle of

rare flame, extending from horizon to horizon.

Yet a day, and men breathed with greater freedom. It was clear

that we were already within the influence of the comet; yet we lived.

We even felt an unusual elasticity of frame and vivacity of mind. The

exceeding tenuity of the object of our dread was apparent; for all

heavenly objects were plainly visible through it. Meantime, our

vegetation had perceptibly altered; and we gained faith, from this

predicted circumstance, in the foresight of the wise. A wild

luxuriance of foliage, utterly unknown before, burst out upon every

vegetable thing.

Yet another day - and the evil was not altogether upon us. It was

now evident that its nucleus would first reach us. A wild change had

come over all men; and the first sense of pain was the wild signal

for general lamentation and horror. This first sense of pain lay in a

rigorous constriction of the breast and lungs, and an insufferable

dryness of the skin. It could not be denied that our atmosphere was

radically affected; the conformation of this atmosphere and the

possible modifications to which it might be subjected, were now the

topics of discussion. The result  of investigation sent an electric

thrill of the intensest terror through the universal heart of man.

It had been long known that the air which encircled us was a

compound of oxygen and nitrogen gases, in the proportion of twenty-

one measures of oxygen, and seventy-nine of nitrogen in every one

hundred of the atmosphere. Oxygen, which was the principle of

combustion, and the vehicle of heat, was absolutely necessary to the

support of animal life, and was the most powerful and energetic agent

in nature. Nitrogen, on the contrary, was incapable of supporting

either animal life or flame. An unnatural excess of oxygen would

result, it had been ascertained in just such an elevation of the

animal spirits as we had latterly experienced. It was the pursuit,

the extension of the idea, which had engendered awe. What would be

the result of a total extraction of the nitrogen? A combustion

irresistible, all-devouring, omni-prevalent, immediate; - the entire

fulfilment, in all their minute and terrible details, of the fiery

and horror-inspiring denunciations of the prophecies of the Holy

Book.

Why need I paint, Charmion, the now disenchained frenzy of

mankind? That tenuity in the comet which had previously inspired us

with hope, was now the source of the bitterness of despair. In its

impalpable gaseous character we clearly perceived the consummation of

Fate. Meantime a day again passed - bearing away with it the last

shadow of Hope. We gasped in the rapid modification of the air. The

red blood bounded tumultuously through its strict channels. A furious

delirium possessed all men; and, with arms rigidly outstretched

towards the threatening heavens, they trembled and shrieked aloud.

But the nucleus of the destroyer was now upon us; - even here in

Aidenn, I shudder while I speak. Let me be brief - brief as the ruin

that overwhelmed. For a moment there was a wild lurid light alone,

visiting and penetrating all things. Then - let us bow down Charmion,

before the excessive majesty of the great God! - then, there came a

shouting and pervading sound, as if from the mouth itself of HIM;

while the whole incumbent mass of ether in which we existed, burst at

once into a species of intense flame, for whose surpassing brilliancy

and all-fervid heat even the angels in the high Heaven of pure

knowledge have no name. Thus ended all.

~~~ End of Text ~~~

======

SHADOW -- A PARABLE

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Shadow:

-- Psalm of David.

YE who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have

long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange

things shall happen, and secret things be known, and many centuries

shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And, when seen,

there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few

who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with

a stylus of iron.

The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than

terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies

and signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the

black wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those,

nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the

heavens wore an aspect of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among

others, it was evident that now had arrived the alternation of that

seven hundred and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of Aries,

the planet Jupiter is conjoined with the red ring of the terrible

Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the skies, if I mistake not greatly,

made itself manifest, not only in the physical orb of the earth, but

in the souls, imaginations, and meditations of mankind.

Over some flasks of the red Chian wine, within the walls of a noble

hall, in a dim city called Ptolemais, we sat, at night, a company of

seven. And to our chamber there was no entrance save by a lofty door

of brass: and the door was fashioned by the artisan Corinnos, and,

being of rare workmanship, was fastened from within. Black draperies,

likewise, in the gloomy room, shut out from our view the moon, the

lurid stars, and the peopleless streets -- but the boding and the

memory of Evil they would not be so excluded. There were things

around us and about of which I can render no distinct account --

things material and spiritual -- heaviness in the atmosphere -- a

sense of suffocation -- anxiety -- and, above all, that terrible

state of existence which the nervous experience when the senses are

keenly living and awake, and meanwhile the powers of thought lie

dormant. A dead weight hung upon us. It hung upon our limbs -- upon

the household furniture -- upon the goblets from which we drank; and

all things were depressed, and borne down thereby -- all things save

only the flames of the seven lamps which illumined our revel.

Uprearing themselves in tall slender lines of light, they thus

remained burning all pallid and motionless; and in the mirror which

their lustre formed upon the round table of ebony at which we sat,

each of us there assembled beheld the pallor of his own countenance,

and the unquiet glare in the downcast eyes of his companions. Yet we

laughed and were merry in our proper way -- which was hysterical; and

sang the songs of Anacreon -- which are madness; and drank deeply --

although the purple wine reminded us of blood. For there was yet

another tenant of our chamber in the person of young Zoilus. Dead,

and at full length he lay, enshrouded; the genius and the demon of

the scene. Alas! he bore no portion in our mirth, save that his

countenance, distorted with the plague, and his eyes, in which Death

had but half extinguished the fire of the pestilence, seemed to take

such interest in our merriment as the dead may haply take in the

merriment of those who are to die. But although I, Oinos, felt that

the eyes of the departed were upon me, still I forced myself not to

perceive the bitterness of their expression, and gazing down steadily

into the depths of the ebony mirror, sang with a loud and sonorous

voice the songs of the son of Teios. But gradually my songs they

ceased, and their echoes, rolling afar off among the sable draperies

of the chamber, became weak, and undistinguishable, and so faded

away. And lo! from among those sable draperies where the sounds of

the song departed, there came forth a dark and undefined shadow -- a

shadow such as the moon, when low in heaven, might fashion from the

figure of a man: but it was the shadow neither of man nor of God, nor

of any familiar thing. And quivering awhile among the draperies of

the room, it at length rested in full view upon the surface of the

door of brass. But the shadow was vague, and formless, and

indefinite, and was the shadow neither of man nor of God -- neither

God of Greece, nor God of Chaldaea, nor any Egyptian God. And the

shadow rested upon the brazen doorway, and under the arch of the

entablature of the door, and moved not, nor spoke any word, but there

became stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the shadow

rested was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the young

Zoilus enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having seen the

shadow as it came out from among the draperies, dared not steadily

behold it, but cast down our eyes, and gazed continually into the

depths of the mirror of ebony. And at length I, Oinos, speaking some

low words, demanded of the shadow its dwelling and its appellation.

And the shadow answered, "I am SHADOW, and my dwelling is near to the

Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim plains of Helusion

which border upon the foul Charonian canal." And then did we, the

seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand trembling, and

shuddering, and aghast, for the tones in the voice of the shadow were

not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of beings, and,

varying in their cadences from syllable to syllable fell duskly upon

our ears in the well-remembered and familiar accents of many thousand

departed friends.

End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Works of Edgar Allan Poe V. 4