[B]Girard, it will be remembered, had but one eye. With that, however, he saw as much as many do with a full pair of eyes.
[B]Girard, it will be remembered, had but one eye. With that, however, he saw as much as many do with a full pair of eyes.
"Jacob!" bawled the landlord, to his sub., "bring out der ole hoss again, pefore he die mit de crows, in mine stable; now, you ole fool, you shall go vay pout your bishenish mit nossin to eat, mit yer hoss too!" said the landlord, with an evident rush of blood and beer to his head!
"Oh, veri well," patiently answered the old Frenchman, "veri well, sair, I sal go—but,"—shaking his finger very significantly at the landlord and lawyer, "I com' back to-morrow morning, I buy dis prop-er-tee; you, sir, sal make de deed in my name—I kick you out, sair, (to the landlord,) and to you (the lawyer), I sal like de goose. Booh!"
With this, the poor old Frenchman started for his gig, amid the "Haw! haw! haw! and ha! ha! he! he!" of the landlord and lawyer. "That for you," said the Frenchman, as he gave the surly Dutchman-hostler a real half-dollar, took the dirty "ribbons" and drove off. Now, the farmer, one of the three spectators present, had quietly watched the proceedings, and beinggiftedwith enough insight into human nature to see something more than "an old French barber" in the person and manner of the traveller; and, moreover, being interested in the Tavern property, followed the Frenchman; overtaking him, he at once offered him the hospitalities of his domicile, not far distant, where the traveller passed a most comfortable night, and where his host found out that he was entertaining no less a pecuniary miracle of his time—than Stephen Girard.
Early next morning, old Stephy, in his old andshadygig, accompanied by his entertainer, rode over to the two owners of the Tavern property, and with them sought thelawyer, the deeds were made out, the old Frenchmandrewon his own Bank for the $13,000, gave the farmer a ten years'leaseupon the place, paid the lawyer for his trouble, and as that worthy accompanied the millionaire to the door, and was very obsequiously bowing him out, old Stephy turned around on the steps, and looking sharp—with his one eye upon the lawyer, says he—
"Sair! Pooh! pooh!—Booh!" off he rode for the Tavern, where he and the landlord had ahaze, the landlord was notified toleave, short metre; and being fully revenged for the insult paid his millions, old Stephen Girard, the great Philadelphia financier, rode back to where he was better used for his money, and evidently better satisfied than ever, that money is mighty when brought to bear upon an object!
We have been, frequently, much amused with the manœuvring of some folks in trade. It's not your cute folks, who screw, twist and twirl over a smooth fourpence, or skin a flea for its hide and tallow, and spoil a knife that cost a shilling,—that come out first best in the long run. Some folks have a weakness for beating down shop-keepers, or anybody else they deal with, and so far have we seen thisinfirmitycarried, that we candidly believe we've known persons that would not stop short of cheapening the passage to kingdom come, if they thought a dollar and two cents might be saved in the fare! Now therationaleof the matter is this:—as soon as persons establish a reputation for meanness—beating down folks, they fall victims to all sorts of shaves and short commons, and have the fine Saxony drawn over their eyes—from the nose to the occiput; they get the meanest "bargains," offals, &c., that others would hardly have, even at a heavy discount. Then some folks are so wonderful sharp, too, that we wonder their very shadow does not often cut somebody. A friend of ours went to buy his wife a pair of gaiters; he brought them home; she found all manner of fault with them; among other drawbacks, she declared that for the price her better half had given for the gaiters,shecould have got the best article in Waxend's entire shop!Hesaidshehad better take them back and try. So she did, and poor Mr. Waxend had an hour of his precious time used up by the lady's attempt to get a more expensive pair of gaiters at a less price than those purchased by her husband. Waxend saw how matters stood, so he consented to adopt the maxim of—when Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war!
"Now, marm," said he, "here is a pair of gaiters I have made for Mrs. Heavypurse; they are just your fit, most expensive material, the best article in the shop; Mrs. Heavypurse will not expect them for a few days, and rather thanyoushould be disappointed, I will letyouhave them for the same price your husband paid for those common ones!"
Of course Mrs. —— took them, went home in great glee, and told her better half she'd never trust him to go shopping for her again—for they always cheated him. When the husband came to scrutinize his wife's bargain, lo! he detected the self-same gaiters—merely with a different quality of lacings in them! He, like a philosopher, grinned and said nothing. That illustrates one phase in the character of some people who "go it blind" on "bargains" and now, for the pith of our story—the way some folks have of going round "Robin Hood's barn" to come at a thing.
The other day we stopped into a friend's store to see how he was getting along, and presently in came a rural-district-looking customer.
"How'd do?" says he, to the storekeeper, who was busy, keeping the stove warm.
"Pretty well; how is it with you?"
"Well, so, so; how's all the folks?"
"Middling—middling, sir. How's all your folks?"
"Tolerable—yes, tolerable," says the rural gent. "How's trade?" he ventured to inquire.
"Dull, ray-ther dull," responded the storekeeper. "Come take a seat by the stove, Mr. Smallpotatoes."
"Thank you, I guess not," says the ruralite. "Your folks are all stirring, eh?" he added.
"Yes, stirring around a little, sir. How's your mother got?" the storekeeper inquired, for it appeared he knew the man.
"Poorly, dreadful poorly, yet," was the reply. "Cold weather, you see, sort o' sets the old lady back."
"I suppose so," responded our friend; and here, think's we, if there is anything important or business like on the man's mind, he must be near to its focus. But he started again—
"Ain't goin' to Californy, then, are you?" says Mr. Smallpotatoes.
"Guess not," said our friend. "You talked of going, I believe?"
"Well, ye-e-e-s, I did think of it," said the rural gent; "I did think of it last fall, but I kind o' gin it up."
Here anotherhiatusoccurred; the rural gent walked around, viewed the goods and chattels for some minutes; then says he—
"Guess I'll be movin'," and of course that called forth from our friend the venerated expression—
"What's your hurry?"
"Well, nothing 'special. Plaguy cold winter we've got!"
"That's a fact," answered the storekeeper. "How's sleighing out your way—good?"
"First rate; I guess the folks have had enough of it, this winter, by jolly. I hev, any how," says the rural gent. "Trade's dull, eh?"
"Very—veryslack."
"Dullest time of the year, I reckon, ain't it?"
"Pretty much so, indeed," says the storekeeper.
"I don't see's Californy goold gets much plentier, or business much better, nowhere."
To this bit of cogent reason our friend replied—
"Not much—that's a fact."
"I 'spect there's a good deal of humbug about the Californy goold mines, don't you?"
"The wealth of the country or the ease of coming at it," said the storekeeper, "is no doubt exaggerated some."
"That's my opinion on't too," said the agriculturist. "Some make money out there, and then agin some don't; I reckon more don't than does." To this bright inference the storekeeper ventured to say—
"I think it's highlyprobable."
"All your folks are lively, eh?" inquired Smallpotatoes.
"Pretty much so," said the storekeeper; "troubled a little with influenza, colds, &c.; nothing serious, however."
"Well, I'm glad to hear it."
"All your folks are well, I believe you said?" the storekeeper, in apparent solicitude, inquired, to be reassured of the fact.
"Ye-e-e-s, exceptin' the old lady."
Another pause; we began to feel convinced there was speculation in the rural gent's "eyes," and just for the fun of the thing—as we "were up" to such dodges—we determined to hang on and see how he come out.
"Well, I declare, I must be goin'!" suddenly said the rural gent, and actually made five steps towards the handle of the door.
"Don't be in a hurry," echoed the storekeeper. "When did you come in town?"
"I come in this mornin'."
"Any of the folks in with you?"
"No; my wife did want to come in, but concluded it was too cold; 'spected some of your folks out to see us durin' this good sleighing—why didn't you come?"
"Couldn't very well spare time," said the storekeeper.
"Well, we'd been glad to see you, and if you get time, and the sleighin' holds out, you must come and see us."
"I may—I can't promise for certain."
Now another pause took place, and thinks we—the climax has come, surely, after all that small talk. The country gent walked deliberately to the door; he actually took hold of the knob.
"You off?" says the storekeeper.
"B'lieve I'll be off"—opening the door, then rushes back again—semi-excited by the force of some pent up idea, says the rural gent—"O! Mr. ——,don't you want to buy some good fresh eggs?"
"Eggs? Yes, I do; been looking all around for some fresh eggs; how many have you?"
"Five dozen; thought you'd want some; so I come right in to see!"
We nearly catapillered! After all this circumlocution, the man came to thepint, and—sold his eggs in two minutes!
Either mankind or his constitution has changed since "the good old times," for we read in an old medicine book, that bleeding at the nose, and cramp, could be effectually prevented by wearing a dried toad in a bag at the pit of the stomach; while for rheumatism and consumption, a snake skin worn in the crown of your hat, was a sovereign remedy! Dried toads and snake skins are quite out of use around these settlements, and we think the Esculapius who would recommend such nostrums, would be looked upon as a poor devil with a fissure in his cranium, liable to cause his brains to become weather-beaten! We remember hearing of a learned old cuffy, who lived down "dar" near Tallahassee, who invariably recommended cayenne pepper in the eye to cure the toothache! Had this venerable old colored gem'n lived 200 years ago, he would doubtless have created a sensation in the medical circles!
In nearly all yarns or plays in which Yankees figure, they are supposed to be "a leetle teu darn'd ceute" for almost any body else, creating a heap of fun, and coming out clean ahead; but that even Connecticut Yankees—the cutest and all firedesttightcritters on the face of theyearth, when money or trade's in the question—are "done" now and then, upon the most scientific principles, we are going to prove.
It is generally known, in the newspaper world, that two or three Eastern men, a few years ago, started a paper in Philadelphia, upon the penny principle, and have since been rewarded as they deserved. They were, and are, men of great enterprise and liberality, as far as their business is concerned, and thereby they got ahead of all competition, and made theirpile. The proprietors were always "fly" for any new dodge, by which they could keep the lead of things, and monopolize thenewsmarket. The Telegraph had not "turned up" in the day of which we write—themails, and, now and then, express horse lines, were the media through whichGreat Excitements! Alarming Events!! Great Fires and Awful Calamities!!were come at. One morning, as one of these gentlemen was sitting in his office, a long, lank genius, with a visage as hatchet-faced and keen as any Connecticut Yankee's on record, came in, and inquired of one of the clerks for the proprietors of that institution. Being pointed out, the thin man made aleantowards him. After getting close up, and twisting and screwing around his head to see that nobody was listening or looking, the lean man sat down very gingerly upon the extreme verge of a chair, and leaning forward until his razor-made nose almost touched that of the publisher, in a low, nasal, anxious tone, says he,
"Air yeou one of the publishers of this paper?"
"I am, sir."
"Oh, yeou, sir!" said the visitor, again looking suspiciously around and about him.
"Did you ever hear tell of thePigeon Express?" he continued.
"The Pigeon Express?" echoed the publisher.
"Ya-a-s. Carrier pigeons—letters to their l-e-g-s and newspapers under their wings—trained to fly any where you warnt 'em."
"Carrier Pigeons," mused the publisher—"Carrier—pigeons trained to carry billets—bulletins and—"
"Go frum fifty to a hundred miles an hour!" chimed in the stranger.
"True, so they say, very true," continued the publisher, musingly.
"Elegant things for gettin' or sendin' noos head of every body else."
"Precisely: that's a fact, that's a fact," the other responded, rising from his chair and pacing the floor, as though rather and decidedlytakenby the novelty and feasibility of the operation.
"You'd have 'em all, Mister, dead as mutton, by a Pigeon Express."
"I like the idea; good, first rate!"
"Can't be beat, noheow!" said the stranger.
"But what would it cost?"
"Two hundred dollars, and a small wagon, to begin on."
"A small wagon?"
"Ya-a-s. Yeou see, Mister, the birds haff to be trained to fly from onepintto another!"
"Yes; well?"
"Wa-a-ll, yeou see the birds are put in a box, on the top of the bildin', for a spell, teu git thehangof things, and so on!"
"Yes, very well; go on."
"Then the birds are put in a cage, the trainer takes 'em into his wagon—ten miles at first—throws 'em up, and the birds go to the bildin'. Next day fifteen miles, and so forth; yeou see?"
"Perfectly; I understand; now, where can these birds be had?"
Putting his thin lips close to the publisher's opening ears, in a low, long way, says the stranger—
"I've got 'em!R-a-l-e Persian birds—be-e-utis!"
"You understand training them?" says the anxious publisher.
"Like a book," the stranger responded.
"Where are the birds?" the publisher inquired.
"I've got 'em down to the tavern, where I'm stoppin'."
"Bring them up; let me see them; let me see them!"
"Certainly, Mister, of course," responded the Pigeon express man, leaving the presence of the tickled-to-death publisher, who paced his office as full of effervescence as a jimmyjohn of spruce beer in dog days.
About this time pigeons were being trained, and in a few cases, now and then, really did carry messages for lottery ticket venders in Jersey City, to Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore; but these exploits rarely paid first cost, and did not amount to much, although some noise was made about the wonderful performance of certain Carrier Pigeons. But thepaperwas to have a new impulse—astonish all creation and the rest of mankind, by Pigeon Express. The publisher's partner was in New York, fishing for novelties, and he determined to astonish him, on his return home, by thebird business!A coop was fixed on the top of the "bildin'," as the great inventor of the express had suggested. The wagon was bought, and, with two hundred dollars in for funds, passed over to the pigeon express man, who, in the course of a few days, takes the birds into his wagon, to take them out some few miles, throw them up, and the publisher and a confidential friend were to be on top of the "bildin'," looking out for them.
They kept looking!—they saw something werry like a whale, but a good deal like a first-rate bad "Sell!" The lapse of a few days was quite sufficient to convince the publisher that he had been taken in and done for—regularlypicked upand done for,—upon the most approved and scientific principles. Rather than let the cat out of the bag, he made up his mind to pocket theshaveand keep shady, not even "letting on to his partner," who in the course of the following week returned from Gotham, evidently feeling as fine as silk, about something or other.
"Well, what's new in New York—got hold of any thing rich?" was the first interrogatory.
"Hi-i-i-sh! close the door!" was the reply, indicating something very important on thetapis.
"So; my dear fellow, I've got a concern, now, that will put the sixpennies to sleep as sound as rocks!"
"No. What have you started in Gotham?"
"Exactly. If you don't own up the corn, that the idea is grand—immense—I'll knock under."
"Good! I'm glad—particularly glad you've found something new and startling," responded the other. "Well, what is it?"
"Great!—wonderful!—Carrier Pigeons!"
"What! Pigeons?"
"Pigeons!"
"You don't pretend to say that—"
"Yes, sir, all arranged—luckiest fellows alive, we are—"
"Well, but—"
"Oh, don't be uneasy—I fixed it."
"Well, I'm hanged if this isn't rich!" muttered his partner, sticking his digits into his trowserloons—biting his lips and stamping around.
"Rich!elegant!In two weeks we'll be flying our birds and—"
"Flying! Why, do you—"
"Ha! ha! I knew I'd astonish you; Tom insisted on my keeping perfectlymum, until things were in regular working order; he then set the boys to work—we have large cages on top of the building—"
"Come up on top of this building," said the partner, solemnly. "There, do you see that bundle of laths and stuff?"
"Why—why, you don't pretend to say that—"
"I do exactly; a scamp came along here a week ago—talked nothing but Carrier Pigeons—Pigeon Expresses—I thought I'd surprise you, and—"
"Well, well—go on."
"And by thunder I was green enough to give the fellow $200—a horse and wagon—"
"Done!done!" roared the other, without waiting for further particulars—"$200 and a horse and wagon—just what Tom and I gave the scamp! ha! ha! ha!"
"Haw! haw! haw!" and the publishers roared under the force of thejoke.
Whatever became of the pigeon express man is not distinctly known; but he is supposed to have given up the bird business, and gone into the manufacture of woolly horses and cod-liver oil.
"Well, you must do it."
"Do it?"
"Do it, sir," reiterated the lady of Jipson, a man well enough todoin the world, chief clerk of a "sugar baker," and receiving his twenty hundred dollars a year, with no perquisites, however, and—plenty of New Hampshire contingencies, (to quote our beloved man of the million, Theodore Parker,) poor relations.
"But, my dear Betsey, do youknow, will you consider for once, that todoa thing of the kind—to splurge out like Tannersoil, one must expect—at least I do—to sink a fullquarterof my salary, for the current year; yes, a full quarter?"
"Oh! very well, if you are going to live up here" (Jipson had just moved up above "Bleecker street,")—"and bought your carriage, and engaged——"
"Two extra servant girls," chimed in Jipson.
"And a groom, sir," continued Mrs. J.
"And gone into at least six hundred to eight hundred dollars a year extra expenses, to—a——"
"To gratify yourself, and—a——"
"Your—a—a—your vanity, Madam, you should have said, my dear."
"Don't talk that way to me—to me—you brute; you know——"
"I know all about it, my dear."
"My dear—bah!" said the lady; "mydear!save that, Mr. Jipson, for some of your—a—a——"
What Mrs. J. might have said, we scarce could judge; but Jipson just then put in a "rejoinder" calculated to prevent the umpullaceous tone of Mrs. J.'s remarks, by saying, in a very humble strain—
"Mrs. Jipson, don't make an ass of yourself: we are too old to act like goslings, and too well acquainted, I hope, with the matters-of-fact of every-day life, to quarrel about things beyond our reach or control."
"If you talk of things beyond your control, Mr. Jipson, I mean beyond your reach, that your income will not permit us to live as other people live——"
"I wouldn't like to," interposed Jipson.
"What?" asked Mrs. Jipson.
"Live like other people—that is, some people, Mrs. Jipson, that I know of."
"You don't supposeI'mgoing to bury myself and my poor girls in this big house, and have those servants standing about me, their fingers in their mouths, with nothing to do but——"
"But what?"
"But cook, and worry, and slave, and keep shut up for a——"
"For what?"
"For a—a——"
But Mrs. J. was stuck. Jipson saw that; he divined what apointMrs. J. was about to, but could not conscientiously make, so he relieved her with—
"My dear Betsey, it's a popular fallacy, an exploded idea, a contemptible humbug, to live merely for your neighbors, the rabble world at large. Thousands do it, my dear, and I've no objection to their doing it; it's their own business, and none of mine. I have moved up town because I thought it would be more pleasant; I bought a modest kind of family carriage because I could afford it, and believed it would add to our recreations and health; the carriage and horses required care; I engaged a man to attend to them, fix up the garden, and be useful generally, and added a girl or two to your domestic departments, in order to lighten your own cares, &c. Now, all this, my dear woman, you ought to know, rests a very important responsibility upon my shoulders, health, life, and—two thousand dollars a year, and if you imagine it compatible with common sense, or consonant with my judgment, to make an ass or fool of myself, by going into the extravagances and tom-fooleries of Tannersoil, our neighbor over the way, who happens for the time to be 'under government,' with a salary of nothing to speak of, but with stealings equal to those of a successful freebooter, you—you—you have placed a—a bad estimate upon my common sense, Madam."
With this flaring burst of eloquence, Jipson seized his hat, gloves and cane, and soon might be seen an elderly, natty, well-shaved, slightly-flushed gentleman taking his seat in a down town boundbus, en route for the sugar bakery of the firm of Cutt, Comeagain, & Co. It was evident, however, from the frequency with which Jipson plied his knife and rubber to his "figgers" of the day's accounts, and the tremulousness with which he drove the porcupine quill, that Jipson was thinking of something else!
"Mr. Jipson, I wish you'd square up that account of Look, Sharp, & Co., to-day," said Mr. Cutt, entering the counting room.
"All folly!" said Jipson, scratching out a mistake from his day-book, and not heeding the remark, though he saw the person of his employer.
"Eh?" was the ejaculation of Cutt.
"All folly!"
"I don't understand you, sir!" said Cutt, in utter astonishment.
"Oh! I beg pardon, sir," said poor Jipson; "I beg pardon, sir. Engrossed in a little affair of my own, I quite overlooked your observation. I will attend to the account of Look, Sharp, & Co., at once, sir;" and while Jipson was at it, his employer went out, wondering what in faith could be the matter with Jipson, a man whose capacity and gentlemanly deportment the firm had tested to their satisfaction for many years previous. The littleincidentwas mentioned to the partner, Comeagain. The firm first laughed, then wondered what was up to disturb the usual equilibrium of Jipson, and ended by hoping he hadn't taken to drink or nothing!
"Guess I'd better do it," soliloquizes Jipson. "My wife is a good woman enough, but like most women, lets her vanity trip up her common sense, now and then; she feels cut down to know that Tannersoil's folks are plunging out with dinners and evening parties, troops of company, piano going, and bawling away their new fol-de-rol music. Yes, guess I'll do it.
"Mrs. Jipson little calculates the horrors—not only in a pecuniary, but domestic sense—that these dinners, suppers and parties to the rag-tag and bobtail, cost many honest-meaning people, whooughtto be ashamed of them.
"But, I'll do it, if it costs me the whole quarter's salary!"
A few days were sufficient to concoct details and arrange the programme. When Mrs. Jipson discovered, as she vainly supposed, the prevalence of "better sense" on the part of her husband, she was good as cranberry tart, and flew around in the best of humor, to hurry up the event that was to giveeclatto the new residence and family of the Jipsons, slightly dim the radiance or mushroom glory of the Tannersoil family, and create a commotion generally—above Bleecker street!
Jipsondrewon his employers, for a quarter's salary. The draft was honored, of course, but it led to somespeculationon the part of "the firm," as to what Jipson was up to, and whether he wasn't getting into evil habits, and decidedly bad economy in his old age. Jipson talked, Mrs. Jipson talked. Their almost—in fact, Mrs. J., like most ambitious mothers, thought,really—marriageable daughters dreamed and talked dinner parties for the full month, ere the great event of their lives came duly off.
One of the seeming difficulties was who to invite—who to get to come, andwhereto get them! Now, originally, the Jipsons were from the "Hills of New Hampshire, of poor but respectable" birth. Fifteen years in the great metropolis had not created a very extensive acquaintance among solid folks; in fact, New York society fluctuates, ebbs and flows at such a rate, that society—such as domestic people might recognize as unequivocally genteel—is hard to fasten to or find. But one of the Miss Jipsons possessed an acquaintance with a Miss Somebody else, whose brother was a young gentleman of verydistingueair, and who knew the entire "ropes" of fashionable life, and people who enjoyed that sort of existence in the gay metropolis.
Mr. Theophilus Smith, therefore, was eventually engaged. It was his, as many others' vocation, to arrange details, command the feast, select the company, and control the coming event. The Jipsons confined their invitations to the few, very few genteel of the family, and even the diminutiveness of the number invited was decimated by Mr. Smith, who was permitted to review the parties invited.
Few domiciles—of civilian, "above Bleecker st.,"—were better illuminated, set off and detailed than that of Jipson, on the evening of the ever-memorable dinner. Smith had volunteered to "engage" a whole set of silver from Tinplate & Co., who generously offer our ambitious citizens such opportunities to splurge, for a fair consideration; while china, porcelain, a dozen colored waiters in white aprons, with six plethoric fiddlers and tooters, were also in Smith's programme. Jipson at first was puzzled to know where he could find volunteers to fill two dozen chairs, but when night came, Mr. Theophilus Smith, by force of tactics truly wonderful, drummed in a force to face a gross of plates, napkins and wine glasses.
Mrs. Jipson was evidently astonished, the Misses J. not a little vexed at the "raft" of elegant ladies present, and the independent manner in which they monopolized attention and made themselves at home.
Jipson swore inwardly, and looked like "a sorry man." Smith was at home, in his element; he was head and foot of the party. Himself and friends soon led and ruled the feast. The band struck up; the corks flew, the winefizzed, the ceilings were spattered, and the walls tattooed with Burgundy, Claret and Champagne!
"To our host!" cries Smith.
"Yes—ah! 'ere's—ah! to our a—our host!" echoes another swell, already insolently "corned."
"Where the—a—where is our worthy host?" says another specimen of "above Bleecker street" genteel society. "I—a say, trot out your host, and let's give the old fellow a toast!"
"Ha! ha! b-wavo! b-wavo!" exclaimed a dozen shot-in-the-neck bloods, spilling their wine over the carpets, one another, and table covers.
"This is intolerable!" gasps poor Jipson, who was in the act of being keptcoolby his wife, in the drawing-room.
"Never mind, Jipson——"
"Ah! there's the old fellaw!" cries one of the swells.
"I-ah—say, Mister——"
"Old roostaw, I say——"
"Gentlemen!" roars Jipson, rushing forward, elevating his voice and fists.
"For heaven's sake! Jipson," cries the wife.
"Gentlemen, or bla'guards, as you are."
"Oh! oh! Jipson, will you hear me?" imploringly cries Mrs. Jipson.
"What—ah—are you at? Does he—ah——"
"Yes, what—ah—does old Jip say?"
"Who the deuce, old What's-your-name, do you call gentlemen?" chimes in a third.
"Bla'guards!" roars Jipson.
"Oh, veri well, veri well, old fellow, we—ah—are—ah—to blame for—ah—patronizing a snob," continues a swell.
"A what?" shouts Jipson.
"A plebeian!"
"A codfish—ah——"
"Villains! scoundrels! bla'guards!" shouts the outraged Jipson, rushing at the intoxicated swells, and hitting right and left, upsetting chairs, tables, and lamps.
"Murder!" cries a knocked down guest.
"E-e-e-e-e-e!" scream the ladies.
"Don't! E-e-e-e! don't kill my father!" screams the daughter.
Chairs and hats flew; the negro servants and Dutch fiddlers, only engaged for the occasion, taking no interest in a free fight, and not caring two cents who whipped, laid back and—
"Yaw! ha! ha! De lor'! Yaw! ha! ha!"
Mrs. Jipson fainted; ditto two others of the family; the men folks (!) began to travel; the ladies (!) screamed; called for their hats, shawls, andchaperones,—the most of the latter, however, werenon est, or too well "set up," to heed the common state of affairs.
Jipson finally cleared the house. Silence reigned within the walls for a week. In the interim, Mrs. Jipson and the daughters not only got over their hysterics, but ideas of gentility, as practised "above Bleecker street." It took poor Jipson an entire year to recuperate his financial "outs," while it took the whole family quite as long to get over their grand debut as followers of fashion in the great metropolis.
Deacon ——, who resides in a pleasant village inside of an hour's ride upon Fitchburg road, rejoices in a fondness for the long-tailedcrustacea, vulgarly known as lobsters. And, from messes therewith fulminated, bysomeof our professors of gastronomics that we have seen, we do not attach any wonder at all to the deacon's penchant for the aforesaid shell-fish. The deacon had been disappointed several times by assertions of the lobster merchants, who, in their overwhelming zeal to effect a sale, had been a little too sanguine of the precisetimesaid lobsters were caught and boiled; hence, after lugging home a ten pound specimen of the vasty deep, miles out into the quiet country, the deacon was often sorely vexed to find the lobster no better than it should be!
"Why don't you get them alive, deacon?" said a friend,—"get them alive and kicking, deacon; boil them yourself; be sure of their freshness, and have them cooked more carefully and properly."
"Well said," quoth the deacon; "so I can, for they sell them, I observe, near the depot,—right out of the boat. I'm much obliged for the notion."
The next visit of the good deacon to Boston,—as he was about to return home, he goes to the bridge and bargains for two live lobsters, fine, active, lusty-clawed fellows, alive and kicking, and no mistake!
"But what will I do with them?" says the deacon to the purveyor of thecrustacea, as he gazed wistfully upon the two sprawling, ugly, green and scratching lobsters, as they lay before him upon the planks at his feet.
"Do with 'em?" responded the lobster merchant,—"why, bile 'em and eat 'em! I bet you a dollar you never ate better lobsters 'n them, nohow, mister!"
The deacon looked anxiously and innocently at the speaker, as much as to say—"you don't say so?"
"I mean, friend, how shall I get them home?"
"O," says the lobster merchant, "that's easy enough; here, Saul," says he, calling up a frizzle-headed lad in blue pants—sanshat or boots, and but onegallowsto his breeches, "here, you, light upon these lobsters and carry 'em home for this old gentleman."
"Goodness, bless you," says the deacon; "why friend, I reside ten miles out in the country!"
"O, the blazes you do!" says the lobster merchant; "well, I tell you, Saul can carry 'em to the cars for you in this 'ere bag, if you're goin' out?"
"Truly, he can," quoth the deacon; "and Saul can go right along with me."
The lobsters were dashed into a piece of Manilla sack, thrown across the shoulders of the juvenile Saul, and away they went at the heels of the deacon, to the depot; here Saul dashed down the "poor creturs" until their bones or shells rattled most piteously, and as the deacon handed a "three cent piece" to Saul, the long and wicked claw of one of the lobsters protruded out of the bag—opened and shut with aclack, that made the deacon shudder!
"Those fellows are plaguy awkward to handle, are they not, my son?" says the deacon.
"Notwerry," says the boy; "they can't bite, cos you see they's got pegs down here—hallo!" As Saul poked his hand down towards the big claw lying partly out of the open-mouthed bag, the claw opened, andclackedat his fingers, ferocious as a mad dog.
"His peg's out," said the boy—"and I can't fasten it; but here's a chunk of twine; tie the bag and they can't get out, any how, and you kin put 'em into yer pot right out of the bag."
"Yes, yes," says the deacon; "I guess I will take care of them; bring them here; there, just place the bag right in under my seat; so, that will do."
Presently the cars began to fill up, as the minute of departure approached, and soon every seat around the worthy deacon was occupied. By-and-by, "a middle-aged lady," in front of the deacon, began tofussleabout and twist around, as if anxious to arrange the great amplitude of herdrapery, and look after something "bothering" her feet. In front of the lady, sat aslab-sidedgenusdandy, fat as a match and quite as good looking; between his legs sat a pale-face dog, with a flashing collar of brass and tinsel, quite as gaudy as his master's neck-choker; this canine gave an awful—
"Ihk!ow, yow! yow-oo—yow, ook! yow!yow!yow!"
"Lor' a massy!" cries the woman in front of the deacon, jumping up, and making a desperate splurge to get up on to the seats, and in the effort upsetting sundry bundles and parcels around her!
"Yow-ook!Yow-ook!" yelled the dog, jumping clear out of the grasp of the juvenileMantillini, and dashing himself on to the head and shoulders of the next seat occupants, one of whom was a sturdy civilized Irishman, who made "no bones" in grasping the sickly-looking dog, and to the horror and alarm of the entire female party present, he sung out:
"Whur-r-r ye about, ye brute! Is the divilmad?"
"Eee! Ee! O dear! O! O!" cries an anxious mother.
"O! O! O-o-o! save us from the dog!" cries another.
"Whur-r-r-r! yedivil!" cries the Irish gintilman, pinning the poor dog down between the seats, with a force that extracted another glorious yell.
"Ike! Ike! Ike! oo, ow! ow! Ike! Ike! Ike!"
"Murder! mur-r-r-der!" bawls another victim in the rear of the deacon, leaping up in his seat, and rubbing his leg vigorously.
"What on airth's loose?" exclaims one.
"Halloo! what's that?" cries another, hastily vacating his seat and crowding towards the door.
"O dear, O! O!" anxiously cries a delicate young lady.
"What? who? where?" screamed a dozen at once.
"Goodconscience!" exclaims the deacon, as he dropped his newspaper, in the midst of the din—noise and confusion; and with a most singular and spasmodic effort to dance a "highland fling," he hustled out of his seat, exclaiming:
"Good conscience, I really believe they're out."
"Eh? What—what's out?" cries one.
"Snakes!" echoes an old gentleman, grasping a cane.
"Snappin' turtles, Mister?" inquire several.
"Snakes!" cried a dozen.
"Snappers!" echoes a like quantity of the dismayed.
"Snapper-r-r-r-rs!"
"Snake-e-e-es!" O what a din!
"Halloo! here, what's all this? What's the matter?" says the conductor, coming to the rescue.
"That man's got snakes in the car!" roar several at once.
"And snappin' turtles, too, consarn him!" says one, while all eyes were directed, tongues wagging, and hands gesticulating furiously at the astonished deacon.
"Take care of them! Take care of them! I believe I'm bitten clear through my boot—catch them, Mr. Swallow!" cries the deacon.
"Swallow 'em, Mr. Catcher!" echoes the frightened dandy.
"What? where?" says the excited conductor, looking around.
"Here, here, in under these seats, sir,—my lobsters, sir," says the deacon, standing aloof to let the conductor and the man with the cane get at thereptiles, as the latter insisted.
"Darn 'em, are they only lobsters!"
"Pooh! Lobsters!" says young Mantillini, with a mock heroic shrug of his shoulders, and looking fierce as two cents!
"Come out here!" says the conductor, feeling for them.
"Take care!" says the deacon, "the plaguy things have got their pins out!"
"Why, they arealive, and crawling around; hear the old fellow,—take care, Mr. Swaller—he's cross as sin!" says the man with the cane—"wasn't that asnap? Take care! You got him?" that indefatigable assistant continued, rattling his tongue and cane.
"I've got them!" cries the conductor.
"Put them in the bag, here, sir," says the deacon.
"Take them out of this car!" cries everybody.
"Plaguy things," says the deacon. "I sha'n't never buy anotherlive lobster!"
Order was restored, passengers took their seats, but when young Mantillini looked for his dog, he had vamosed with theIrishman, at "the last stopping place," in his excitement, leaving a quart jug of whiskey in lieu of the dandy's dog.
"Well, well, drum no more about it, for mercy's sake; if you must go, you mustgo, that's all."
"Yes, just like you, Fitzfaddle"—pettishly reiterates the lady of the middle-aged man of business; "mention any thing that would be gratifying to the children—"
"The children—umph!"
"Yes, the children; only mention taking the dear, tied-up souls to, to—to the Springs—"
"Haven'tthey been to Saratoga?Didn'tI spend a month of my precious time and a thousand of my precious dollars there, four years ago, to be physicked, cheated, robbed, worried, starved, and—laughed at?" Fitzfaddle responds.
"Or, to the sea-side—" continued the lady.
"Sea-side! good conscience!" exclaims Fitzfaddle; "my dear Sook—"
"Don't call meSook, Fitzfaddle;Sook!I'm notinthe kitchen, norofthe kitchen, you'll please remember, Fitzfaddle!" said the lady, with evident feeling.
"O," echoed Fitz, "God bless me, Mrs. Fitzfaddle, don't be so rabid; don't be foolish, in your old days; my dear, we've spent the happiest of our days in the kitchen; when we were first married,Susan, when our whole stock in trade consisted of five ricketty chairs—"
"Well, that's enough about it—" interposed the lady.
"A plain old pine breakfast table—" continued Fitz.
"I'd stop, justthere—" scowlingly said Mrs. Fitz.
"My father's old chest, and your mother's old corner cupboard—" persevered the indefatigable monster.
"I'd go through the whole inventory—" angrily cried Mrs. Fitz—"clean down to—"
"The few broken pots, pans, and dishes we had—"
"Don't you—don't you feel ashamed of yourself?" exclaims Mrs. Fitz, about as full of anger as she could well contain; but Fitz keeps the even tenor of his way.
"Not at all, my dear; Heaven forbid that I should ever forget a jot of the real happiness of any portion of my life. When you and I, dear Sook (an awful scowl, and a sudden change of her position, on her costly rocking chair. Fitz looked askance at Mrs. Fitz, and proceeded); when you and I,Susan, lived in Dowdy's little eight by ten 'blue frame,' down in Pigginsborough; not a yard of carpet, or piece of mahogany, or silver, or silk, or satin, or flummery of any sort, the five old chairs—"
"Good conscience! are you going to have that over again?" cries Mrs. Fitz, with the utmost chagrin.
"The old white pine table—"
Mrs. Fitz starts in horror.
"My father's old chest, and your mother's old corner cupboard!"
Mrs. Fitz, in an agony, walks the floor!
"The few broken or cracked pots, pans and dishes, we had—"
Nature quite "gin eout"—the exhausted Mrs. Fitzfaddle throws herself down upon the sumptuousconversazione, and absorbs her grief in the ample folds of a lace-wrought handkerchief (bought at Warren's—cost the entire profits of ten quintals of Fitzfaddle & Co.'s A No. 1 cod!), while the imperturbable Fitz drives on—
"Your mother's old cooking stove, Susan—the time and again, Susan, I've sat in that little kitchen—"
Mrs. Fitzfaddle shudders all over. Each reminiscence, so dear to Fitzfaddle, seems a dagger to her.
"With little Nanny—"
"You—you brute! You—you vulgar—you—you Fitzfaddle. Nanny! to call your daughter N-Nanny!"
"Nanny! why, yes, Nanny—" says the matter-of-fact head of the firm of Fitzfaddle & Co. "I believe we did intend to call the girl Nancy; wedidcall her Nanny, Mrs. Fitzfaddle; but, like all the rest, by your innovations, things have kept changing no better fast. I believe my soul that girl has had five changes in her name before you concluded it was up to the highest point of modern respectability. From Nancy you had it Nannette, from Nannette to Ninna, from Ninna to Naomi, and finally it was rested at Anna Antoinette De Orville Fitzfaddle! Such a mess of nonsense tohandlemy plain name."
"Anna Antoinette De Orville"—said Mrs. Fitz, suddenly rallying, "isa name, only madeplainby your ugly and countryfied prefix. De Orville is a name," said the lady.
"I should like to know," said the old gentleman, "upon what pretext, Mrs. Fitzfaddle, you lay claim to such a Frenchy and flighty name or title as De Orville?"
"Wasn't it my family name, you brute?" cried Mrs. Fitz.
"Ho! ho! ho! Sook, Sook,Sook," says Fitzfaddle.
"Sook!" almost screams Mrs. Fitz.
"Yes,Sook, SookScovill, daughter of a good old-fashioned, patriotic farmer—Timothy Scovill, of Tanner's Mills, in the county of Tuggs—down East. And when I married Sook (Mrs. Fitz jumped up, a rustling of silk is heard—a door slams, and the old gentleman finishes his domestic narrative,solus!), she was as fine a gal as the State ever produced. We were poor, and we knew it; wasn't discouraged or put out, on the account of our poverty. We started in the world square; happy as clams, nothing but what was useful around us; it is a happy reflection to look back upon those old chairs, pine table, my father's old chest, and Sook's mother's old corner cupboard—the cracked pots and pans—the old stove—Sook as ruddy and bright as a full-blown rose, as she bent over the hot stove in our parlor, dining room, and kitchen—turning her slap-jacks, frying, baking and boiling, and I often by her side, with our first child, Nanny, on my—"
"Well, I hope by this time you're over your vulgar Pigginsborough recollections, Fitzfaddle!" exclaims Mrs. Fitz, re-entering the parlor.
"I was just concluding, my dear, the happy time when I sat and read to you, or held Nanny, while you—"
"Fitzfaddle, for goodness' sake—"
"While you—ruddy and bright, my dear, as the full-blown rose, bent over your mother's old cook stove—"
"Are you crazy, Fitz, or do you want to craze me?" cried the reallytriedwoman.
"Turning your slap-jacks," continues Fitz, suiting the action to the word.
"Fitzfaddle!" cries Mrs. Fitz, in the most sublimated paroxysm of pity and indignation, but Fitz let it come.
"While I dandled Nanny on my knee!"
A pause ensues; Fitzfaddle, in contemplation of the past, and Mrs. Fitz fortifying herself for the opening of a campaign to come. At length, after a deal of "dicker," Fitz remembering only the bad dinners, small rooms, large bills, sick, parboiled state of the children, clash and clamor of his trips to the Springs, sea-side and mountain resorts; and Mrs. Fitz dwelling over the strong opposition (show and extravagance) she had run against the many ambitious shop-keepers' wives, tradesmen's, lawyers' and doctors' daughters—Mrs. Fitz gained her point, and the family,—Mrs. Fitz, the two now marriageable daughters—Anna Antoinette De Orville, and Eugenia Heloise De Orville, and Alexander Montressor De Orville, and two servants—start in style, for the famed city of Hull!
It was yet early in the season, and Fitzfaddle had secured, upon accommodating terms, rooms &c., of Mrs. Fitzfaddle's own choosing. With the diplomacy of five prime ministers, and with all the pride, pomp and circumstance of a fine-looking woman of two-and-forty,—husband rich, and indulgent at that; armed with two "marriageable daughters," you may—if at all familiar with life at a "watering-place," fancy Mrs. Fitzfaddle's feelings, and perhaps, also, about a third of theswarthshe cut. The first evident opposition Mrs. Fitz encountered, was from the wife of a wine merchant. This lady made herentreeat —— House, with a pair of bays and "body servant," two poodles, and an immensity of band boxes, patent leather trunks, and—her husband. The first day Mrs. Oldport sat at table, her new style of dress, and her European jewels, were the afternoon talk; but at tea, the Fitzfaddlesspread, and Mrs. Oldport was bedimmed, easy; the next day, however, "turned up" an artist's wife and daughter, whose unique elegance of dress and proficiency in music took down the entire collection! Mrs. Michael Angelo Smythe and daughter captivated two of Mrs. Fitzfaddle's "circle"—a young naval gent and a 'quasi Southern planter, much to her chagrin and Fitzfaddle's pecuniary suffering; for next evening Mrs. F. got up,—to get back her two recruits—a grand privatehop, at a cost of $130! And the close of the week brought such a cloud of beauty, jewels, marriageable daughters and ambitious mothers, wives, &c., that Mrs. Fitzfaddle got into such a worry with her diplomatic arrangements, her competitions, stratagems,—her fuss, her jewels, silks, satins and feathers, that a nervous-headache preceded a typhus fever, and the unfortunate lady was forced to retire from the field of her glory at the end of the third week, entirely prostrated; and poor Jonas Fitzfaddle out of pocket—more or less—five hundred dollars!The last we heard of Fitzfaddle, he was apostrophizing the good old times when he rejoiced in five old chairs—cook stove—slap-jacks, &c.!
Human nature doubtless has a great many weak points, and no few bipeds have a great itching after notoriety and fame. Fame, I am credibly informed, is not unlike a greased pig, always hard chased, but too eternal slippery for every body to hold on to! I have never cared a tinker's curse for glory myself; the satisfaction of getting quietly along, while in pursuit of bread, comfort and knowledge, has sufficed to engross my individual attention; but I've often "had my joke" by observing the various grand dashes made by cords of folks, from snob to nob, patrician to plebeian, in their gyrations to form a circle, in which they might be the centre pin! This desire, or feeling, is a part and parcel of human nature; you will observe it every where—among the dusky and man-eating citizens of the Fejee Islands—the dog-eating population of China—the beef-eaters of England, and their descendants, yeYankoosof the new world; all, all have a tendency for lionization.
This veryinnocentpastime finds a great many supporters, too; toadyism is the main prop that sustains and exalteth the vain glory of man; if you can only get atoady—themorethe better—you can the sooner and firmer fix your digits upon the greased pig of fame; but as thrift must always follow fawning, or toadyism, it is most essentially necessary that you be possessed of a greater or lesser quantity of the goods and chattels of this world, or some kind of tangible effects, to grease the wheels of your emollient supporters; otherwise you will soon find all your air-built castles, dignity and glory, dissolve into mere gas, and your stern in the gravel immediately.
Such is the pursuit of glory, and such its supporters, their gas and human weakness. I have said that I never sought distinction, but I have had it thrust upon me more than once, and the last effort of the kind was so particularlysalubrious, that I must relate to you,confidentiallyof course, how it came about.
When I first came to Boston, as a matter of course, I spent much of my time in surveying "the lions," dipping into this, and peeping into that; promenading the Common and climbing the stupendous stairway of Bunker Hill; ransacking the forts, islands, beautiful Auburn, &c., &c.
Finally, I went into the State House, but as this notable building was undergoing some repairs, placards were tacked up about the doors, prohibiting persons from strolling about the capitol. The attendant was very polite, and told me, and several others desirous to see the building inside, that if we called in the course of a few days, we could be gratified, but for the present no one but those engaged about the work, were allowed to enter. I persisted so closely in my desire to examine the interior, while on the spot, that the man, when the rest of the visitors had gone, relented, and I was not only allowed to see what I should see, but hetotedme "round."
We sauntered into the Assembly Chamber, surveyed and learned all the particulars of that, peered into the side-rooms, closets, &c., and then came to the Senate Chamber. This you know is something finer than the country meeting house, or circus-looking Assembly Chamber, where the "fresh-men," or green members from Hard-Scrabble, Hull, Squantum, etc.,—incipient Demostheneses, and sucking Ciceros, first tap their gasometers "in the haouse." Here I found the venerable pictures of the ancientmugs, who have figured as Governors, &c., of the commonwealth, from the days of Puritan Winthrop to the ever-memorable Morton, who, strange as it may appear, was really elected Governor, though a double-distilled Democrat. Bucklers, swords, drums and muskets, that doubtless rattled and banged away upon Bunker Hill, were duly, carefully and critically examined, and as a finale to my debut in the Senate, I mounted the Speaker's stand, and spouted about three feet of Webster's first oration at Bunker Hill. To be sure, my audience wassmall, butitwas duly attentive, and as I waved my hands aloft, and thumped my ribs, after the most approved system of patriotic vehemence of the day, he—my audience—opened his mouth, and stretched his eyes to the size of dinner plates, at my prodigious slaps at eloquence; the very ears of thecanvasedgovernors seemed pricked up, and I descended the stand big as Mogul, insinuated "a quarter" into the palm of the polite attendant, informed him I should call in a few days to take a view from the top of the dome, &c. He bowed and I took myself off.
Several days afterwards I found myself in the vicinity of the State House; so, thinks I, I'll just drop in, and go up to the top of the dome and get a view of the city and suburbs.
My chaperon was on hand, and he no sooner clapped eyes upon me, than he pitched into all manner of highfernooten flub-dubs, bowed and scraped, and regretted that the day was so misty and dull, as I would not be enabled to have half a chance to get a view.
"I wouldn't try it to-day, sir," said he.
"What's the reason?" asked I.
"Oh," replied he, "you'll not see half the outline of the city and the villages around, and you'll want to get them all down distinct."
"Get them alldowndistinct?" quoth I.
"Yes, sir; and the day is so dull and cloudy that you'll not see half the prominent buildings, never mind the whole of the former and not so easily seen houses. You intend taking a full view, don't you, sir?"
"Why, yes, I would like to," says I, partly lost to conceive what caused such a sudden and unaccountable ebullition of the man's great interest in my getting "a first rate notice" of matters and things from the top of the capitol! But up I went, in spite of my attentive friend's fears of my not getting quite so clear and distinct a view as he could wish. Having gratified myself with such a view as the weather and the height of the capitol afforded (and in clear weather you can get far the best survey of Boston and the environs from the top of the State House than from any other promontory about), I descended again. At the foot of the stairway my assiduous cicerone again beset me, introduced several other miscellaneous-looking chaps to me, and, in short, was making of me, why or wherefore I knew not, quite a lion!
"Well, sir," said he, "what do you think of it, sir? Could you get the outline?"
"Not very well," said I, "but the view is very fine."
"O, yes, sir," said he; "but as soon as you wish to begin, sir, let me know, and I'll lock the upper doors when you go up, and you'll not be disturbed, sir."
"Lock the doors?" said I, in some amazement.
"Yes, sir," quoth he, "but it would be best to come as early in the morning as possible, or, if convenient, before the visitors begin to come up; they'd disturb you, you know!"
"Disturbme!Why, I don't know how they would do that?"
"Why, sir, when Mr. Smith—you know Mr. Smith, sir, I suppose?"
"Why, yes; the name strikes me assomewhatfamiliar; do you refer toJohn Smith?" I observed, beginning to participate in the joke, which began todevelopitself pretty distinctly.
"Yes, sir; I believe his name is John—John R. Smith; he's a splendid artist, sir;hissketch or panorama is a beauty! Sir! did you ever see his panorama?"
"I think I did, in New York," I replied.
By this time some dozen or two visitors had congregated around us, and I was the centre of a considerable circle, and from the whispers, and pointing of fingers, I felt duly sensible, that, great or small, I was alion! Under what auspices, I was in too dense a fog to make out; to me it was an unaccountable mist'ry.
"I'll tell you what I can do, sir," continued my toady; "I can have a small platform erected, outside of the cupola, for you, to place yourdesignsor sketches on, and you'll not be so liable to be disturbed. Mr. Smith, he had a platform made, sir."
I beckoned the man to step aside, in the Senate Chamber.
"Now, sir," said I, "you will please inform me, who the devil do you take me for?"
"Oh, I knew who you were, the moment you came in, sir," said he, with a very knowing leer out of his half-squinting eyes.
"Did you? Well then I must certainly give you credit for devilish keen perception; but, if it's a fair question," I continued, "what do you mean by fixing a platform for mydesigns? You don't think I'm going to fly, jump or deliver orations from the cupola, do you?"
"No, I don't; but you're to draw a grand panorama of Boston, ain't you?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you; ain't your name Mr. Banvard?"
"Oh, yes, yes—I understand—you've found me out, but keep dark—mum's the word—you understand?" said I, winkingly.
"Yes, sir; I'll fix it all right; you'll want the platform outside, I guess."
"Yes; out with it, andkeep dark until I come!"
I skeeted down them steps into the Common to let off my corked up risibilities.—Whether the man actually did prepare a platform for my designs, or whether Banvard ever went to take his designs there, I am unable to say, as I went South a few days afterward, and did not return for some time.