Showing the great Difficulty Philosophers have had in peopling America—and how the Aborigines came to be begotten by Accident, to the great Relief and Satisfaction of the Author.
The next inquiry at which we arrive in the regular course
of our history, is to ascertain, if possible, how this country
was originally peopled; a point fruitful of incredible
embarrassments; for unless we prove that the aborigines
did absolutely come from somewhere, it will be immediately
asserted in this age of scepticism, that they did not
come at all; and if they did not come at all, then was this
country never populated—a conclusion perfectly agreeable
to the rules of logic, but wholly irreconcilable to every
feeling of humanity, inasmuch as it must syllogistically
prove fatal to the innumerable aborigines of this populous
region.
To avert so dire a sophism, and to rescue from logical
annihilation so many millions of fellow creatures, how
many wings of geese have been plundered! what oceans
of ink have been benevolently drained! and how many
capacious heads of learned historians have been addled
and for ever confounded! I pause with reverential awe,
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when I contemplate the ponderous tomes in different languages,
with which they have endeavoured to solve this
question, so important to the happiness of society but so
involved in clouds of inpenetrable obscurity. Historian
after historian has engaged in the endless circle of hypothetical
argument, and after leading us a weary chase
through octavos, quartos, and folios, has let us out, at the
end of his work, just as wise as we were at the beginning.
It was doubtless some philosophical wild-goose chase of
the kind, that made the old poet Macrobius rail in such a
passion at curiosity, which he anathematizes most heartily
as “an irksome, agonizing care, a superstitious industry
about unprofitable things, an itching humour to see what
is not to be seen, and to be doing what signifies nothing
when it is done.” But to proceed:
Of the claims of the children of Noah to the original
population of this country I shall say nothing, as they
have already been touched upon in my last chapter. The
claimants next in celebrity are the descendants of Abraham.
Thus Christoval Colon (vulgarly called Columbus,)
when he first discovered the gold mines of Hispaniola,
immediately concluded, with a shrewdness that would
have done honour to a philosopher, that he had found the
ancient Ophir, from whence Solomon procured the gold
for embellishing the temple at Jerusalem: nay, Colon
even imagined that he saw the remains of furnaces of veritable
Hebraic construction, employed in refining the
precious ore.
So golden a conjecture, tinctured with such fascinating
extravagance, was too tempting not to be immediately
snapped at by the gudgeons of learning; and accordingly,
there were divers profound writers, ready to swear to its
correctness, and bring in their usual load of authorities
and wise surmises, wherewithal to prop it up. Vatablus
and Robertus Stephens declared nothing could be more
clear: Arius Montanus, without the least hesitation, asserts
that Mexico was the true Ophir, and the Jews the
early settlers of the country: while Possevin, Becan, and
several other sagacious writers, lug in a supposed prophecy
of the fourth book of Esdras, which being inserted
in the mighty hypothesis, like the key stone of an arch,
gives it in their opinion perpetual durability.
Scarce, however, have they completed their goodly
superstructure than in trudges a phalanx of opposite authors,
with Hans de Laet, the great Dutchman, at their
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head; and at one blow tumbles the whole fabric about
their ears. Hans, in fact, contradicts outright all the
Israelitish claims to the first settlements of this country.
attributing all those equivocal symptoms, and traces of
Christianity and Judaism, which have been said to be
found in divers provinces of the New World, to the Devil,
who has always affected to counterfeit the worship of the
true Deity. “A remark,” says the knowing old Padre
d'Acosta, “made by all good authors who have spoken
of the religion of nations newly discovered, and founded
besides on the authority of the fathers of the church.”
Some writers again, among whom it is with great regret
I am compelled to mention Lopes de Gomora and Juan
de Leri, insinuate that the Cananites, being driven from
the land of promise by the Jews, were seized with such a
panic that they fled, without looking behind them, until
stopping to take breath, they found themselves safe in
America. As they brought neither their national language,
manners, nor features with them, it is supposed
they left them behind in the hurry of their flight. I
cannot give my faith to this opinon.
I pass over the supposition of the learned Grotius, who
being both an ambassador and a Dutchman to boot, is
entitled to great respect; that North America was peopled
by a strolling company of Norwegians, and that
Peru was founded by a colony from China—Manco, or
Mungo Capac, the first Incas, being himself a Chinese.
Nor shall I more than barely mention, that father Kircher
ascribes the settlement of America to the Egyptians,
Budbeck to the Scandinavians, Charron to the Gauls,
Juffredus Petri to a skating party from Friesland, Milius
to the Caltæ, Marinocus the Sicilian to the Romans,
Le Comte to the Phœnicians, Postel to the Moors, Martin
d' Angleria to the Abyssinians, together with the sage
surmise of De Laet, that England, Ireland and the Orcades
may contend for that honour.
Nor will I bestow any more attention or credit to the
idea that America is the fairy region of Zipangri, described
by that dreaming traveller Marco Polo the Venetian; or
that it comprises the visionary island of Atlantis, described
by Plato. Neither will I stop to investigate the heathenish
assertion of Paracelsus, that each hemisphere of the
globe was originally furnished with an Adam and Eve:
or the more flattering opinion of Dr. Romayne, supported
by many nameless authorities, that Adam was of the
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Indian race: or the startling conjecture of Buffon, Helvetius,
and Darwin, so highly honourable to mankind,
that the whole human species is accidentally descended
from a remarkable family of the monkeys!
This last conjecture, I must own, came upon me very
suddenly and very ungraciously. I have often beheld the
clown in a pantomime, while gazing in stupid wonder at
the extravagant gambols of a harlequin, all at once electrified
by a sudden stroke of the wooden sword across his
shoulders. Little did I think at such times that it would
ever fall to my lot to be treated with equal discourtesy,
and that while I was quietly beholding these grave philosophers
emulating the eccentric transformations of the
hero of pantomime, they would on a sudden turn upon me
and my readers, and with one hypothetical flourish metamorphose
us into beasts! I determined from that moment
not to burn my fingers with any more of their theories,
but content myself with detailing the different methods by
which they transported the descendants of these ancient
and respectable monkeys, to this great field of theoretical
warfare.
This was done either by migrations by land or transmigrations
by water. Thus Padre Joseph d'Acosto enumerates
three passages by land, first by the north of Europe,
secondly by the north of Asia, and thirdly by regions
southward of the straits of Magellan. The learned Grotius
marches his Norwegians by a pleasant route across
frozen rivers and arms of the sea, through Iceland, Greenland,
Estotiland, and Naremberga. And various writers,
among whom are Angleria, De Hornn, and Buffon, anxious
for the accommodation of these travellers, have fastened
the two continents together by a strong chain of deductions—
by which means they could pass over dryshod.
But should even this fail, Pinkerton, that industrious old
gentleman, who compiles books and manufactures Geographies,
has constructed a natural bridge of ice, from
continent to continent, at the distance of four or five miles
from Behring's straits—for which he is entitled to the
grateful thanks of all the wandering aborigines who ever
did or ever will pass over it.
It is an evil much to be lamented, that none of the worthy
writers above quoted, could ever commence his work,
without immediately declaring hostilities against every
writer who had treated on the same subject. In this particular,
authors may be compared to a certain sagacious
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bird, which in building its nest is sure to pull to pieces
the nests of all the birds in its neighbourhood. This unhappy
propensity tends grievously to impede the progress
of sound knowledge. Theories are at best but brittle
productions, and when once committed to the stream,
they should take care that like the notable pots which
were fellow voyagers, they do not crack each other.
For my part, when I beheld the sages I have quoted
gravely accounting for unaccountable things and discoursing
thus wisely about matters for ever hidden from their
eyes, like a blind man describing the glories of light, and
the beauty and harmony of colours, I fell back in astonishment
at the amazing extent of human ingenuity.
If, cried I to myself, these learned men can weave whole
systems out of nothing, what would be their productions
were they furnished with substantial materials—if they can
argue and dispute thus ingeniously about subjects beyond
their knowledge, what would be the profundity of their
observations, did they but know what they were talking
about! Should old Rhadamanthus, when he comes to
decide upon their conduct while on earth, have the least
idea of the usefulness of their labours, he will undoubtedly
class them with those notorious wise men of Gotham, who
milked a bull, twisted a rope of sand, and wove a velvet
purse from a sow's ear.
My chief surprise is, that among the many writers I
have noticed, no one has attempted to prove that this
country was peopled from the moon—or that the first inhabitants
floated hither on islands of ice, as white bears
cruise about the northern oceans—or that they were conveyed
hither by balloons, as modern aeronauts pass from
Dover to Calais—or by witchcraft, as Simon Magus
posted among the stars—or after the manner of the renowned
Scythian Abaris, who, like the New-England
witches on full blooded broomsticks made most unheard-of
journeys on the back of a golden arrow, given him by
the Hyperborean Apollo.
But there is still one mode left by which this country
could have been peopled, which I have reserved for the
last, because I consider it worth all the rest; it is—by
accident! Speaking of the islands of Solomon, New-Guinea,
and New-Holland, the profound father Charlevoix
observes, “in fine, all these countries are peopled,
and it is possible, some have been so by accident. Now
if it could have happened in that manner, why might it
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not have been at the same time, and by the same means,
with the other parts of the globe?” This ingenious mode
of deducing certain conclusions from possible premises, is
an improvement on syllogistic skill, and proves the good
father superior even to Archimedes, for he can turn the
world without any thing to rest his lever upon. It is only
surpassed by the dexterity with which the sturdy old Jesuit,
in another place, cuts the gordian knot—“Nothing,”
says he, “is more easy. The inhabitants of both hemispheres
are certainly the descendants of the same father.
The common father of mankind received an express order
from Heaven to people the world, and accordingly it has
been peopled. To bring this about, it was necessary to
overcome all difficulties in the way, and they have also
been overcome!” Pious Logician! How does he put all
the herd of laborious theorists to the blush, by explaining
in five words, what it has cost them volumes to prove
they know nothing about!
They have long been picking at the lock, and fretting
at the latch, but the honest father at once unlocks the door
by bursting it open, and when he has it once ajar, he is
at full liberty to pour in as many nations as he pleases.
This proves to a demonstration that a little piety is better
than a cart-load of philosophy, and is a practical illustration
of that scriptural promise—“By faith ye shall move
mountains.”
From all the authorities here quoted, and a variety of
others which I have consulted, but which are omitted
through fear of fatiguing the unlearned reader—I can
only draw the following conclusions, which, luckily however,
are sufficient for my purpose—First, That this part
of the world has actually been peopled (Q. E. D.:) to
support which we have living proofs in the numerous
tribes of Indians that inhabit it. Secondly, That it has
been peopled in five hundred different ways, as proved
by a cloud of authors, who from the positiveness of their
assertions, seem to have been eye-witness to the fact—
Thirdly, That the people of this country had a variety of
fathers, which as it may not be thought much to their
credit by the common run of readers, the less we say on
the subject the better. The question, therefore, I trust is
for ever at rest.
-- 250 -- p222-255
WOUTER VAN TWILLER.
[figure description] Page 250.[end figure description]
The renowned Wouter (or Walter) Van Twiller was
descended from a long line of Dutch burgomasters, who
had successively dozed away their lives, and grown fat
upon the bench of magistracy in Rotterdam; and who
had comported themselves with such singular wisdom and
propriety that they were never either heard or talked of—
which, next to being universally applauded, should be the
object of ambition to all sage magistrates and rulers.
His surname of Twiller is said to be a corruption of
the original Twijfler, which in English means doubter; a
name admirably descriptive of his deliberative habits.
For though he was a man shut up within himself like an
oyster, and of such a profoundly reflective turn that he
scarcely ever spoke except in monosyllables; yet did he
never make up his mind on any doubtful point. This
was clearly accounted for by his adherents, who affirmed
that he always conceived every subject on so comprehensive
a scale that he had not room in his head to turn it
over and examine both sides of it; so that he always remained
in doubt, merely in consequence of the astonishing
magnitude of his ideas!
There are two opposite ways by which some men get
into notice—one by talking a vast deal and thinking a little,
and the other by holding their tongues and not thinking
at all. By the first many a vapouring superficial
pretender acquires the reputation of a man of quick parts,—
by the other, many a vacant dunderpate like the owl,
the stupidest of birds, comes to be complimented by a
discerning world, with all the attributes of wisdom. This,
by the way, is a mere casual remark, which I would not
for the universe have it thought I apply to Governor Van
Twiller. On the contrary, he was a very wise Dutchman,
for he never said a foolish thing; and of such invincible
gravity that he was never known to laugh, or even to
smile, through the course of a long and prosperous life.
Certain, however, it is, there never was a matter proposed,
however simple, and on which your common narrow
minded mortals would rashly determine at the first glance,
but what the renowned Wouter put on a mighty mysterious,
vacant kind of look, shook his capacious head, and
having smoked for five minutes with redoubled
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earnestness, sagely observed, that “he had his doubts about
the matter;”—which, in process of time gained him the
character of a man slow of belief, and not easily imposed
on.
The person of this illustrious old gentleman was as regularly
formed, and nobly proportioned, as though it had
been moulded by the hands of some cunning Dutch statuary,
as a model of majesty and lordly grandeur. He
was exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet five
inches in circumference. His head was a perfect sphere,
far excelling in magnitude that of the great Pericles (who
was thence waggishly called Schenocephalus, or onion
head)—indeed, of such stupendous dimensions was it, that
dame Nature herself, with all her sex's ingenuity, would
have been puzzled to construct a neck capable of supporting
it; wherefore she wisely declined the attempt, and
settled it firmly on the top of his back-bone, just between
the shoulders; where it remained, as snugly bedded as a
ship of war in the mud of Potowmac. His body was
of an oblong form, particularly capacious at bottom; which
was wisely ordered by providence, seeing that he was a
man of sedentary habits, and very averse to the idle labour
of walking. His legs, though exceeding short, were
sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to sustain;
so that when erect he had not a little the appearance of
a robustious beer barrel, standing on skids. His face,
that infalliable index of the mind, presented a vast expanse
perfectly unfurrowed or deformed by any of those lines
and angles which disfigure the human countenance with
what is termed expression. Two small gray eyes twinkled
feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser magnitude,
in a hazy firmament; and his full-fed checks, which seemed
to have taken toll of every thing that went into his mouth,
were curiously mottled and streaked with dusky red, like a
Spitzemburg apple.
His habits were as regular as his person. He daily
took his four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour
to each; he smoked and doubted eight hours, and he slept
the remaining twelve of the four-and-twenty. Such was
the renowned Wouter Van Twiller—a true philosopher,
for his mind was either elevated above, or tranquilly settled
below, the cares and perplexities of this world. He
had lived in it for years, without feeling the least curiosity
to know whether the sun revolved around it, or it round
the sun; and he had even watched for at least half a
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century, the smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, without
once troubling his head with any of those numerous
theories, by which a philosopher would have perplexed his
brain, in accounting for its arising above the surrounding
atmosphere.
In his council he presided with great state and solemnity.
He sat in a huge chair of solid oak hewn in the
celebrated forest of the Hague, fabricated by an experienced
Timmerman of Amsterdam, and curiously carved
about the arms and feet, into exact imitations of gigantic
eagle's claws. Instead of a sceptre, he swayed a long
Turkish pipe, wrought with jasmin and amber, which had
been presented to a stadtholder of Holland at the conclusion
of a treaty with one of the petty Barbary powers.
In this stately chair would he sit, and this magnificent
pipe would he smoke, shaking his right knee with a constant
motion, and fixing his eyes for hours together upon
a little print of Amsterdam, which hung in a black frame
against the opposite wall of the council chamber. Nay,
it has even been said, that when any deliberation of extraordinary
length and intricacy was on the carpet, the
renowned Wouter would absolutely shut his eyes for full
two hours at a time, that he might not be disturbed by
external objects; and at such times the internal commotion
of his mind was evinced by certain regular guttural
sounds, which his admirers declared were merely the
noise of conflict made by his contending doubts and
opinions.
It is with infinite difficulty I have been enabled to collect
these biographical anecdotes of the great man under
consideration. The facts respecting him were so scattered
and vague, and divers of them so questionable in point
of authenticity, that I have had to give up the search after
many, and decline the admission of still more, which
would have tended to heighten the colouring of his portrait.
I have been the more anxious to delineate fully the
person and habits of the renowned Van Twiller, from the
consideration that he was not only the first, but also the
best governor that ever presided over this ancient and
respectable province; and so tranquil and benevolent was
his reign that I do not find, throughout the whole of it, a
single instance of any offender being brought to punishment;—
a most indubitable sign of a merciful governor
and a case unparalleled, excepting in the reign of the
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[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]
illustrious King Log, from whom, it is hinted, the renowned
Van Twiller was a lineal descendant.
The very outset of the career of this excellent magistrate,
like that of Solomon, or to speak more appropriately,
like that of the illustrious governor of Barataria,
was distinguished by an example of legal acumen, that
gave flattering presage of a wise and equitable administration.
The very morning after he had been solemnly installed
in office, and at the moment that he was making
his breakfast from a prodigious earthen dish, filled with
milk and Indian pudding, he was suddenly interrupted by
the appearance of one Wandle Schoonhoven, a very important
old burgher of New-Amsterdam, who complained
bitterly of one Barent Bleecker, inasmuch as he fraudulently
refused to come to a settlement of accounts, seeing
that there was a heavy balance in favour of the said Wandle.
Governor Van Twiller, as I have already observed,
was a man of few words; he was likewise a mortal
enemy to multiplying writings, or being disturbed at his
breakfast. Having listened attentively to the statement
of Wandle Schoonhoven, giving an occasionable grunt, as
he shovelled a mighty spoonful of Indian pudding into
his mouth—either as a sign that he relished the dish, or
comprehended the story: he called unto him his constable,
and pulling out of his breeches pocket a huge jackknife,
despatched it after the defendant as a summons,
accompanied by his tobacco box as a warrant.
This summary process was as effectual in those simple
days as was the seal ring of the great Haroun Alraschid
among the true believers. The two parties, being confronted
before him, each produced a book of accounts,
written in a language and character that would have puzzled
any but a high Dutch commentator, or a learned decipherer
of Egyptian obelisks, to understand. The sage
Wouter took them one after the other, and having poised
them in his hands, and attentiveiy counted over the number
of leaves, fell straightway into a very great doubt, and
smoked for half an hour without saying a word; at length,
laying his finger beside his nose, and shutting his eyes for
a moment, with the air of a man who has just caught a
subtle idea by the tail, he slowly took his pipe from his
mouth, puffed forth a column of tobacco smoke, and with
marvellous gravity and solemnity pronounced—that having
carefully counted over the leaves, and weighed the
books, it was found, that one was just as thick and as
-- 254 -- p222-259
[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]
heavy as the other—therefore it was the final opinion of
the court, that the accounts were equally balanced—therefore
Wandle should give Barent a receipt, and Barent
should give Wandle a receipt—and the constable should
pay the costs.
This decision being straightway made known, diffused
general joy throughout New-Amsterdam; for the people
immediately perceived, that they had a very wise and
equitable magistrate to rule over them. But its happiest
effect was, that not another lawsuit took place throughout
the whole of his administration; and the office of constable
fell into such decay, that there was not one of those
losel scouts known in the province for many years. I am
the more particular in dwelling on this transaction, not
only because I deem it one of the most sage and righteous
judgments on record, and well worthy the attention of
modern magistrates, but because it was a miraculous event
in the history of the renowned Wouter—being the only
time he was ever known to come to a decision, in the
whole course of his life.
The Grand Council of New-Amsterdam—with Reasons why an Alderman should be Fat.
To assist the doubtful Wouter in the arduous business of
legislation, a board of magistrates was appointed, which
presided immediately over the police. This potent body
consisted of a schout or bailiff, with powers between those
of the present mayor and sheriff; five burgermeesters, who
were equivalent to aldermen; and five schepens, who officiated
as scrubs, sub-devils, or bottle-holders, to the burgermeesters,
in the same manner as do assistant alderman
to their principals at the present day—it being their duty
to fill the pipes of the lordly burgermeesters, hunt the
markets for delicacies for corporation dinners, and to discharge
such other little offices of kindness, as were occasionally
required. It was, moreover, tacitly understood,
though not specifically enjoined, that they should consider
themselves as butts for the blunt wits of the burgermeesters,
and should laugh most heartily at all their
jokes; but this last was a duty as rarely called in action
in those days as it is at present, and was shortly remitted,
in consequence of the tragical death of a fat little schepen,
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who actually died of suffocation in an unsuccessful effort
to force a laugh at one of burgermeester Van Zandt's
best jokes.
In return for these humble services, they were permitted
to say, yes and no at the council board, and to have that
enviable privilege, the run of the public kitchen; being
graciously permitted to eat, and drink, and smoke, at all
those snug junkettings, and public gormandizings, for
which the ancient magistrates were equally famous with
their more modern successors. The post of schepen, therefore,
like that of assistant alderman, was eagerly coveted
by all your burghers of a certain description, who have a
huge relish for good feeding, and an humble ambition to
be great men in a small way—who thirst after a little
brief authority, that shall render them the terror of the
alms-house and the bridewell—that shall enable them to
lord it over obsequious poverty, vagrant vice, outcast prostitution,
and hunger-driven dishonesty—that shall place
in their hands the lesser, but galling scourge of the law,
and give to their beck a houndlike pack of catchpoles and
bum-bailiffs—tenfold greater rogues than the culprits they
hunt down!—My readers will excuse this sudden warmth,
which I confess is unbecoming of a grave historian; but
I have a mortal antipathy to catchpoles, bum-bailiffs, and
little great men.
The ancient magistrates of this city corresponded with
those of the present time no less in form, magnitude, and
intellect, than in prerogative and privilege. The burgomasters,
like our aldermen, were generally chosen by
weight; and not only the weight of the body, but likewise
the weight of the head. It is a maxim practically observed
in all honest, plain thinking, regular cities, that an alderman
should be fat—and the wisdom of this can be proved
to a certainty. That the body is in some measure an
image of the mind, or rather that the mind is moulded to
the body, like melted lead to the clay in which it is cast,
has been insisted on by many men of science, who have
made human nature their peculiar study. For as a learned
gentleman of our own city observes, “there is a constant
relation between the moral character of all intelligent creatures
and their physical constitution—between their habits
and the structure of their bodies.” Thus we see, that a
lean, spare, diminutive body is generally accompanied by
a petulant, restless, meddling mind. Either the mind wears
down the body by its continual motion; or else the body,
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[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]
not affording the mind sufficient house-room, keeps it
continually in a state of fretfulness, tossing and worrying
about, from the uneasiness of its situation. Whereas your
round, sleek, fat, unwieldy periphery is ever attended by a
mind like itself, tranquil, torpid, and at ease; and we may
always observe, that your well-fed, robustious burghers are
in general very tenacious of their ease and comfort; being
great enemies to noise, discord, and disturbance: and
surely none are more likely to study the public tranquillity
than those who are so careful of their own. Whoever
hears of fat men heading a riot, or herding together in
turbulent mobs?—No—no—it is your lean, hungry men,
who are continually worrying society, and setting the whole
community by the ears.
The divine Plato, whose doctrines are not sufficiently
attended to by Philosophers of the present age, allows to
every man three souls: one immortal and rational, seated
in the brain, that it may overlook and regulate the body—
a second consisting of the surly and irrascible passions,
which, like belligerent powers, lie encamped around the
heart—a third mortal and sensual, destitute of reason,
gross and brutal in its propensities, and enchained in the
belly, that it may not disturb the divine soul, by its ravenous
howlings. Now, according to this excellent theory,
what can be more clear, than that your fat alderman is
most likely to have the most regular and well conditioned
mind. His head is like a huge, spherical chamber, containing
a prodigious mass of soft brains, whereon the rational
soul lies softly and snugly couched, as on a feather
bed; and the eyes, which are the windows of the bedchamber,
are usually half closed, that its slumberings may
not be disturbed by external objects. A mind thus comfortably
lodged, and protected from disturbance, is manifestly
most likely to perform its functions with regularity
and ease. By dint of good feeding, morever, the mortal
and malignant soul, which is confined in the belly, and
which by its raging and roaring, puts the irritable soul in
the neighbourhood of the heart in an intolerable passion,
and thus renders men crusty and quarrelsome when hungry—
is completely pacified, silenced, and put to rest:
whereupon a host of honest good-fellow qualities, and
kindhearted affections, which had laid in perdue, slily
peeping out of the loopholes of the heart, finding this Cerberus
asleep, do pluck up their spirits, turn out one and all
in their holiday suits, and gambol up and down the
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[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]
diaphraghm—disposing their possessor to laughter, good humour,
and a thousand friendly offices towards his fellow
mortals.
As a board of magistrates, formed on this model, think
but very little, they are less likely to differ and wrangle
about favourite opinions; and as they generally transact
business upon a hearty dinner, they are naturally disposed
to be lenient and indulgent in the administration of their
duties. Charlemagne was conscious of this, and therefore
(a pitiful measure, for which I can never forgive him,)
ordered in his cartularies, that no judge should hold a
court of justice, except in the morning, on an empty stomach.—
A rule which, I warrant, bore hard upon all the
poor culprits in his kingdom. The more enlightened and
humane generation of the present day have taken an opposite
course, and have so managed that the alderman
are the best fed men in the community; feasting lustily
on the fat things of the land, and gorging so heartily oysters
and turtles, that in process of time they acquire the
activity of the one, and the form, the waddle, and the
green fat of the other. The consequence is, as I have
just said; these luxurious feastings do produce such a
dulcet equanimity and repose of the soul, rational and
irrational, that their transactions are proverbial for unvarying
monotony; and the profound laws, which they enact
in their dozing moments, amid the labours of digestion,
are quietly suffered to remain as dead letters, and never
enforced, when awake. In a word, your fair round bellied
burgomaster, like a full fed mastiff, dozes quietly at
the house door, always at home, and always at hand to
watch over its safety: but as to electing a lean, meddling
candidate to the office, as has now and then been done, I
would as lief put a greyhound to watch the house, or a race-horse
to drag an ox-waggon.
The burgomasters then, as I have already mentioned,
were wisely chosen by weight, and the schepens or assistant
Alderman, were appointed to attend upon them, and
help them to eat; but the latter in the course of time, when
they have been fed and fattened into sufficient bulk of body
and drowsiness of brain, became very eligible candidates
for the burgomasters' chair; have fairly eaten themselves
into office, as a mouse eats its way into a comfortable lodgment
in a goodly blue-nosed, skimmed milk, New-England
cheese.
-- 258 -- p222-263
ICHABOD CRANE AND THE GALLOPING HESSIAN.
[figure description] Page 258.[end figure description]
From the Sketch-Book.
It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod,
heavy-hearted, and crest-fallen, pursued his travel homewards,
along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above
Tarry-Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in
the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself.
Far below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and
indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall
mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land.
In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the
barking of the watch-dog from the opposite shore of the
Hudson! but it was so vague and faint as only to give
an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of
man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a
cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off,
from some farm-house away among the hills—but it was
like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred
near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of
a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog,
from a neighbouring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably,
and turning suddenly in his bed.
All the storeis of ghosts and goblins that he had heard
in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollection.
The night grew darker and darker; the stars
seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally
hid them from his sight. He had never felt
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so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching
the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost
stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an
enormous tulip tree, which towered like a giant above all
the other trees of the neighbourhood, and formed a kind
of land-mark. Its limbs were gnarled, and fantastic,
large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting
down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air.
It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate
André, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and
was universally known by the name of Major André's
tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of
respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the
fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales
of strange sights, and doleful lamentations told concerning
it.
As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to
whistle: he thought his whistle was answered; it was
but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry banches.
As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something
white, hanging in the midst of the tree; he paused
and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly,
perceived that it was a place where the tree had been
scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare.
Suddenly he heard a groan—his teeth chattered, and his
knees smote against the saddle: It was but the rubbing
of one huge branch upon another, as they were swayed
about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but
new perils lay before him.
About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook
crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly wooded
glen, known by the name of Wiley's swamp. A few
rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this
stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered
the wood, a group of oaks and chesnuts, matted
thick with wild grape vines, threw a cavernous gloom
over it. To pass this bridge, was the severest trial. It
was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André
was captured, and under the covert of those chesnuts
and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised
him. This has ever since been considered a haunted
stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who
has to pass it alone after dark.
As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump;
he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his
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horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to
dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of starting
forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement,
and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod,
whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on
the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot;
it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was
only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a
thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster
now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling
ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling
and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge with
a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling
over his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by
the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod.
In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the
brook, he beheld something huge and misshapen, black
and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in
gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon
the traveller.
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his
head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and
fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there
of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could
ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore,
a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents—
“Who are you?” He received no reply. He
repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still
there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the inflexible
sides of old Gunpowder, and shutting his eyes,
broke forth with involuntary fervour into a psalm tune.
Just then the shadowy object of alarm put himself in motion,
and with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in
the middle of the road. Though the night was dark
and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in
some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman
of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse
of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or
sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging
along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now
got over his flight and waywardness.
Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight
companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of
Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened
his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The
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[figure description] Page 261.[end figure description]
stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod
pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind—
the other did the same. His heart began to sink
within him; he endeavoured to resume his psalm tune,
but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth,
and he could not utter a stave. There was something
in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious
companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was
soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising
ground, which brought the figure of his fellow traveller
in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled
in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving that
he was headless!—but his horror was still more increased,
on observing that the head, which should have rested
on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel
of the saddle; his terror rose to desperation; he rained a
shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by
a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip—but
the spectre started full jump with him. Away then
they dashed, through thick and thin; stones flying, and
sparks flashing, at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments
fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank
body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his
flight.
They had now reached the road which turns off to
Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed
with a demon, instead of keeping up to it, made an opposite
turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This
road leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for
about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous
in goblin story, and just beyond swells the green
knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.
As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful
rider an apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he
had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the
saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him.
He seized it by the pommel, and endeavoured to hold it
firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by
clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle
fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot
by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van
Ripper's wrath passed across his mind—for it was his
Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the
goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskilful rider
that he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat;
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[figure description] Page 262.[end figure description]
sometimes slipping on one side, and sometimes on another,
and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's
back bone, with a violence that he verily feared would
cleave him asunder.
An opening of the trees now cheered him with the
hopes that the Church bridge was at hand. The wavering
reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook
told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls
of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He
recollected the place where Brom Bones' ghostly competitor
had disappeared. “If I can but reach that
bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he
heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind
him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another
convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder
sprung upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding
planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod
cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish,
according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just
then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the
very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavoured
to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It
encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash—he
was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder,
the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a
whirlwind.
The next morning the old horse was found without
his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly
cropping the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not
make his appearance at breakfast—dinner-hour came,
but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse,
and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no
schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some
uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle.
An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation
they came upon his traces. In one part of the road
leading to the church, was found the saddle trampled in
the dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented on the
road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the
bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the
brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found
the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a
shattered pumpkin.
The brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster
was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper,
-- 263 --
[figure description] Page 263.[end figure description]
as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which contained
all his worldly effects. They consisted of two
shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two
of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes;
a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes, full of
dog's ears; and a broken pitch-pipe. As to the books
and furniture of the schoolhouse, they belonged to the
community, excepting Cotton Mather's History of Witch-craft,
a New-England Almanack, and a book of dreams
and fortune telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap
much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts
to make a copy of verses in honour of the heiress of Van
Tassel. These magic books and the poetic scrawl were
forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans Van Ripper;
who from that time forward determined to send his children
no more to school; observing, that he never knew
any good come of this same reading and writing. Whatever
money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had received
his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must
have had about his person at the time of his disappearance.
The mysterious event caused much speculation at the
church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and
gossips were collected in the church-yard, at the bridge,
and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been
found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole
budget of others were called to mind; and when they
had diligently considered them all, and compared them
with the symptoms of the present case, they shook their
heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been
carried off by the galoping Hessian. As he was a bachelor,
and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any
more about him; the school was removed to a different
quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in his
stead.
It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New-York
on a visit several years after, and from whom this
account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought
home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive;
that he had left the neighbourhood partly through fear of
the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification
at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress;
that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the
country; had kept school and studied law at the same
time; had been admitted to the bar, turned politician,
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[figure description] Page 264.[end figure description]
electioneered, written for the newspapers, and finally had
been made a justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones
too, who shortly after his rival's disappearance, conducted
the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed
to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story
of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty
laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led some to
suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose
to tell.
ON GREATNESS.
We have more than once, in the course of our work,
been most jocosely familiar with great personages; and,
in truth, treated them with as little ceremony, respect,
and consideration, as if they had been our most particular
friends. Now, we would not suffer the mortification
of having our readers even suspect us of an intimacy of the
kind; assuring them we are extremely choice in our intimates,
and uncommonly circumspect in avoiding connections
with all doubtful characters; particularly pimps, bailiffs,
lottery-brokers, chevaliers of industry, and great men.
The world in general is pretty well aware of what is to be
understood by the former classes of delinquents: but as
the latter has never, I believe been specifically defined, and
as we are determined to instruct our readers to the extent
of our abilities, and their limited comprehension, it may
not be amiss here to let them know what we understand by
a great man.
First, therefore, let us (editors and kings are always plural)
premise, that there are two kinds of greatness;—one
conferred by heaven—the exalted nobility of the soul;—
the other, a spurious distinction, engendered by the mob,
and lavished upon its favourites. The former of these distinctions
we have already contemplated with reverence;
the latter we will take this opportunity to strip naked before
our unenlightened readers; so that if by chance any of
them are held in ignominious thraldom by this base circulation
of false coin, they may forthwith emancipate themselves
from such inglorious delusion.
It is a fictitious value given to individuals by public
caprice, as bankers give an impression to a worthless slip
of paper, thereby giving it a currency for infinitely more
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[figure description] Page 265.[end figure description]
than its intrinsic value. Every nation has its peculiar
coin, and peculiar great men; neither of which will, for
the most part, pass current out of the country where they
are stamped. Your true mob-created great man is like
a note of one of the little New-England banks, and his
value depreciates in proportion to the distance from home.
In England, a great man is he who has most ribands and
gew-gaws on his coat, most horses in his carriage, most
slaves in his retinue, or most toad-eaters at his table; in
France, he who can most dexterously flourish his heels
above his head—Duport is most incontestibly the greatest
man in France!—when the Emperor is absent. The
greatest man in China is he who can trace his ancestry
up to the moon; and in this country our great men may
generally hunt down their pedigree until it burrows in
the dirt like a rabbit. To be concise; our great men are
those who are most expert at crawling on all-fours, and
have the happiest facility in dragging and winding themselves
along in the dirt like very reptiles. This may seem
a paradox to many of my readers, who with great good
nature be it hinted, are too stupid to look beyond the mere
surface of our invaluable writings; and often pass over
the knowing allusion, and poignant meaning, that is slyly
couching beneath. It is for the benefit of such helpless
ignorants, who have no other creed but the opinion of the
mob, that I shall trace, as far as it is possible to follow him
in his ascent from insignificance,—the rise, progress, and
completion of a little great man.
In a logocracy, to use the sage Mustapha's phrase, it
is not absolutely necessary to the formation of a great
man that he should be either wise or valiant, upright or
honourable. On the contrary, daily experience shows
that these qualities rather impede his preferment, inasmuch
as they are prone to render him too inflexibly erect,
and are directly at variance with that willowy suppleness
which enables a man to wind, and twist, through all the
nooks and turns and dark winding passages that lead to
greatness. The grand requisite for climbing the rugged
hill of popularity,—the summit of which is the seat of
power,—is to be useful. And here once more, for the
sake of our readers, who are of course not so wise as ourselves,
I must explain what we understand by usefulness.
The horse, in his native state, is wild, swift, impetuous,
full of majesty, and of a most generous spirit. It is then
the animal is noble, exalted and useless. But entrap him,
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[figure description] Page 266.[end figure description]
manacle him, cudgel him, break down his lofty spirit, put
the curb into his mouth, the load upon his back, and reduce
him into servile obedience to the bridle and the lash, and
it is then he becomes useful. Your jackass is one of the
most useful animals in existence. If my readers do not
now understand what I mean by usefulness, I give them
all up for most absolute nincoms.
To rise in this country a man must first descend. The
aspiring politician may be compared to that indefatigable
insect called the tumbler, pronounced by a distinguished
personage to be the only industrious animal in Virginia;
which buries itself in filth, and works ignobly in the dirt,
until it forms a little ball of dirt, which it rolls laboriously
along, like Diogenes in his tub; sometimes head,
sometimes tail foremost, pilfering from every rat and mud
hole, and encreasing its ball of greatness by the contributions
of the kennel. Just so the candidate for greatness:—
he plunges into that mass of obscenity, the mob; labours
in dirt and oblivion, and makes unto himself the rudiments
of a popular name from the admiration and praises
of rogues, ignoramuses, and blackguards. His name
once started, onward he goes struggling and puffing, and
pushing it before him; collecting new tributes from the
dregs and offals of the land as he proceeds, until having
gathered together a mighty mass of popularity, he mounts
it in triumph, is hoisted into office, and becomes a great
man, and a ruler in the land.—All this will be clearly
illustrated by a sketch of a worthy of the kind, who
sprung up under my eye, and was hatched from pollution
by the broad rays of popularity, which, like the sun, can
“breed maggots in a dead dog.”
Timothy Dabble was a young man of very promising
talents; for he wrote a fair hand, and had thrice won
the silver medal at a country academy; he was also
an orator, for he talked with emphatic volubility, and
could argue a full hour without taking either side, or
advancing a single opinion; he had still farther requisites
for eloquence; for he made very handsome gestures,
had dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, and enunciated
most harmoniously through his nose. In short, nature
had certainly marked him out for a great man; for
though he was not tall, yet he added at least half an
inch to his stature by elevating his head, and assumed an
amazing expression of dignity by turning up his nose and
curling his nostrils in a style of conscious superiority.
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Convinced by these unequivocal appearances, Dabble's
friends, in full caucus, one and all declared that he was
undoubtedly born to be a great man, and it would be his
own fault if he were not one. Dabble was tickled with
an opinion which coincided so happily with his own,—
for vanity, in a confidential whisper, had given him the
like intimation; and he reverenced the judgment of his
friends because they thought so highly of himself;—accordingly
he set out with a determination to become a
great man, and to start in the scrub-race for honour and
renown. How to attain the desired prizes was however
the question. He knew, by a kind of instinctive feeling,
which seems peculiar to grovelling minds, that honour,
and its better part—profit, would never seek him out;
that they would never knock at his door and crave admittance;
but must be courted, and toiled after, and
earned. He therefore strutted forth in the highways,
the market-places, and the assemblies of the people;
ranted like a true cockerel orator about virtue, and patriotism,
and liberty, and equality, and himself. Full
many a political windmill did he battle with; and full
many a time did he talk himself out of breath, and his
hearers out of their patience. But Dabble found to his
vast astonishment, that there was not a notorious political
pimp at a ward meeting but could out-talk him;—
and what was still more mortifying, there was not a notorious
political pimp but was more noticed and caressed
than himself. The reason was simple enough; while he
harangued about principles, the others ranted about men;
where he reprobated a political error, they blasted a
political character:—they were, consequently, the most
useful; for the great object of our political disputes is not
who shall have the honour of emancipating the community
from the leading-strings of delusion, but who shall
have the profit of holding the strings and leading the
community by the nose.
Dabble was likewise very loud in his professions of
integrity, incorruptibility, and disinterestedness; words,
which, from being filtered and refined through newspapers
and election hand-bills, have lost their original
signification; and in the political dictionary are synonymous
with empty pockets, itching palms, and interested
ambition. He, in addition to all this, declared
that he would support none but honest men; but unluckily
as but few of these offered themselves to be
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supported, Dabble's services were seldom required. He
pledged himself never to engage in party schemes, or
party politics, but to stand up solely for the broad interests
of his country;—so he stood alone and what is
the same thing, he stood still; for, in this country, he
who does not side with either party is like a body in a
vacuum between two planets, and must for ever remain
motionless.
Dabble was immeasurably surprised that a man so
honest, so disinterested, and so sagacious withal, and
one too who had the good of his country so much at
heart should thus remain unnoticed and unapplauded.
A little worldly advice, whispered in his ear by a
shrewd old politician, at once explained the whole mystery.
“He who would become great,” said he, “must
serve an apprenticeship to greatness; and rise by regular
gradation, like the master of a vessel, who commences by
being scrub and cabin-boy. He must fag in the train of
great men, echo all their sentiments, become their toad-eater
and parasite,—laugh at all their jokes; and, above
all, endeavour to make them laugh; if you only now
and then make a man laugh, your fortune is made. Look
but about you, youngster, and you will not see a single
little great man of the day but has his miserable herd of
retainers, who yelp at his heels, come at his whistle,
worry whoever he points his finger at, and think themselves
fully rewarded by sometimes snapping up a crumb
that falls from the great man's table. Talk of patriotism,
virtue and incorruptibility! tut, man! they are the
very qualities that scare munificence, and keep patronage
at a distance. You might as well attempt to entice crows
with red rags and gunpowder. Lay all these scarecrow
virtues aside, and let this be your maxim, that a candidate
for political eminence is like a dried herring; he
never becomes luminous until he is corrupt.”
Dabble caught with hungry avidity these congenial
doctrines, and turned into his predestined channel of
action with the force and rapidity of a stream which
has for a while been restrained from its natural course.
He became what nature had fitted him to be;—his
tone softened down from arrogant self-sufficiency to the
whine of fawning solicitation. He mingled in the caucusses
of the sovereign people; adapted his dress to a
similitude of dirty raggedness; argued most logically
with those who were of his own opinion; and slandered,
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with all the malice of impotence, exalted characters
whose orbit he despaired ever to approach:—just as
that scoundrel midnight thief, the owl, hoots at the
blessed light of the sun, whose glorious lustre he dares
never contemplate. He likewise applied himself to
discharging faithfully the honourable duties of a partizan;
he poached about for private slanders, and ribald
anecdotes; he folded hand-bills—he even wrote one or
two himself, which he carried about in his pocket and
read to every body; he became a secretary at ward-meetings,
set his hand to divers resolutions of patriotic
import, and even once went so far as to make a speech,
in which he proved that patriotism was a virtue;—
the reigning bashaw a great man;—that this was a free
country, and he himself an arrant and incontestable buzzard!
Dabble was now very frequent and devout in his visits
to those temples of politics, popularity, and smoke, the
ward porter-houses; those true dens of equality, where
all ranks, ages, and talents, are brought down to the
dead level of rude familiarity.—'Twas here his talents
expanded, and his genius swelled up to its proper size;
like the loathsome toad, which shrinking from balmy
airs, and jocund sunshine, funds his congenial home in
caves and dungeons, and there nourishes his venom, and
bloats his deformity. 'Twas here he revelled with the
swinish multitude in their debauches on patriotism and
porter; and it became an even chance whether Dabble
would turn out a great man or a great drunkard.—But
Dabble in all this kept steadily in his eye the only deity
he ever worshiped—his interest. Having by his familiarity
ingratiated himself with the mob, he became
wonderfully potent and industrious at elections: knew
all the dens and cellars of profligacy and intemperance;
brought more negroes to the polls, and knew to a greater
certainty where votes could be bought for beer, than any
of his contemporaries. His exertions in the cause, his
persevering industry, his degrading compliance, his unresisting
humility, his steadfast dependence, at length
caught the attention of one of the leaders of the party;
who was pleased to observe that Dabble was a very
useful fellow, who would go all lengths. From that
moment his fortune was made;—he was hand and glove
with orators and slang-whangers; basked in the sunshine
of great men's smiles, and had the honour, sundry
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times, of shaking hands with dignitaries, and drinking
out of the same pot with them at a porter-house!!
I will not fatigue myself with tracing this caterpillar
in his slimy progress from worm to butterfly; suffice
it that Dabble bowed and bowed, and fawned, and
sneaked, and smirked, and libelled, until one would
have thought perseverance itself would have settled down
into despair. There was no knowing how long he might
have lingered at a distance from his hopes, had he not
luckily got tarred and feathered for some of his election
eering manœuvres—this was the making of him! Let
not my readers stare—tarring and feathering here is
equal to pillory and cropped ears in England; and either
of these kinds of martyrdom will ensure a patriot the
sympathy and suffrages of a faction. His partizans, for
even he had his partizans, took his case into consideration—
he had been kicked and cuffed, and disgraced, and dishonoured
in the cause—he had licked the dust at the feet
of the mob—he was a faithful drudge, slow to anger, of
invincible patience, of incessant assiduity—a thorough
going tool, who could be curbed, and spurred, and directed
at pleasure—in short he had all the important qualifications
for a little great man, and he was accordingly
ushered into office amid the acclamations of the party.
The leading men complimented his usefulness, the multitude
his republican simplicity, and the slang-whangers
vouched for his patriotism. Since his elevation he has
discovered indubitable signs of having been destined for a
great man. His nose has acquired an additional elevation
of several degrees, so that now he appears to have
bidden adieu to this world, and to have set his thoughts
altogether on things above; and he has swelled and inflated
himself to such a degree, that his friends are under
apprehensions that he will one day or other explode and
blow up like a torpedo.
THE END.
