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Brackenridge, H. H. (Hugh Henry), 1748-1816 [1793], Modern chivalry: containing the adventures of Captain John Farrago, and Teague O'Regan, his servant. Part I. Volumes 1-3 (John M'Culloch, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf800].

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INTRODUCTION.

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Proceeding with my object; the
giving an example of a perfect &longs;tile in writing,
I come now to the third volume of
the work. I well know, that it will not
all at once, and by all per&longs;ons, be thought
to be the model of a perfect &longs;tile, for it is
only the perfectly in&longs;tructed, and delicately
di&longs;cerning that can di&longs;cover its beauties:
and perhaps none will be more apt to pa&longs;s
them by than the learned of the academies,
and the mo&longs;t ver&longs;ed in grammar rules of
writing, for there is a greene&longs;s in the judgment
of the &longs;chool critics with re&longs;pect to
what is &longs;imple and natural in compo&longs;ition.

To illu&longs;trate this by anology. Let a
dancing ma&longs;ter pa&longs;s his judgment on the
movements of the be&longs;t bred man in life;
and not finding in his po&longs;ition and attitudes,
an evident conformity to the le&longs;&longs;ons of the
&longs;alatory art, he will conclude that he has
not been taught to move with propriety.
He does not know that it is this very circumstance
that con&longs;titutes the excellence of
the movements of the ea&longs;y and perfectly

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genteelman; to wit, that when you observe
him, it will never once come into
your mind that he thinks of his attitudes or
po&longs;itions in the lea&longs;t; but that every movement
is ju&longs;t as it happens, and without any
intention on his part. Ars e&longs;t celare artem.
To wit; It is the &longs;ecret of good ta&longs;te and
perfection in behavior to conceal that you
ever think of it at all. So it is the mo&longs;t
perfect proof of a good &longs;tile, that when you
read the compo&longs;ition, you think of nothing
but the &longs;en&longs;e; and are never &longs;truck with
the idea that it is any otherwi&longs;e expre&longs;&longs;ed
than every body would expre&longs;s it.

That &longs;tile, is not good, where it appears
that you have not dared to u&longs;e a word
without thinking a long time whether you
ought to u&longs;e it; that, in the di&longs;po&longs;ition of
words, you have carefully &longs;tudied which
ought to go fir&longs;t and which la&longs;t; and, that
your &longs;entence has a cadence which could
not come by chance; but is the effect of
de&longs;ign and art.

I acknowledge that no man will ever
write a good &longs;tile that has not well &longs;tudied,
and exerci&longs;ed him&longs;elf in writing, &longs;electing
with a mo&longs;t perfect delicacy, in all ca&longs;es;
the proper term; but he mu&longs;t go beyond
this, and be able to deceive the world, and
never let it come into their heads that he

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hath &longs;pent a thought on the &longs;ubject. But
it is not one in five hundred that is born
with that &longs;en&longs;ibility of nerve as to be able to
attain with the help of great in&longs;truction and
practice, a perfect judgment in the u&longs;e of
words. It is for this rea&longs;on that I am ambitious
of the prai&longs;e of writing well &longs;o far
as re&longs;pects language. For it requires no
uncommon &longs;tructure of nerves, or organization
of the brain to produce good &longs;en&longs;e;
the ma&longs;s of mankind is equal to this.

Language, as it is the peculiar gift, &longs;o
it is the highe&longs;t glory of our &longs;pecies; and
the philologi&longs;t is to be con&longs;idered as cultivating
the mo&longs;t u&longs;eful and ornamental of
all arts. Pur&longs;uing therefore &longs;olely the u&longs;e
of words, I do not de&longs;cend profe&longs;&longs;edly to
think of &longs;en&longs;e; neverthele&longs;s, if at any time
there &longs;hould be found ideas that have &longs;ome
con&longs;i&longs;tency and meaning, they may de&longs;erve
attention, as much as if it was the primary
object of my work to expre&longs;s them; for
it is not their fault if I &longs;et little &longs;tore by
them, and think more of the dre&longs;s that I
put upon them than I do of them&longs;elves.

I am happy to find that in the review of
this publication, given in Young's magazine,
my ideas of the merit of the &longs;tile, is
recognized, and fully ju&longs;tified. And as
my work may be well &longs;uppo&longs;ed, to have

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a much more exten&longs;ive circulation, and to
live longer than that mi&longs;cellaneous performance,
I have thought it not ami&longs;s, for
the honor of the critics to extract &longs;ome part
of the ob&longs;ervations which have been made
by them, and which are as follows:

“The author of the work before us,
is H. H. Brackenridge, well known in
the literary world for his treati&longs;e on the
œconomy of Rats, a &longs;atirical compo&longs;ition,
in which under the veil of allegory, he designates
the mea&longs;ures of the federal government;
as al&longs;o for his hi&longs;tory of Weazles,
in which the &longs;ame &longs;trokes are given to tho&longs;e
at the helm of our affairs, in a different fable,
and narration. In the pre&longs;ent work
which he entitles Modern Chivalry, he disowns
the idea of any moral or &longs;entiment
what&longs;oever, and propo&longs;es &longs;tile only as the
object of the compo&longs;ition. And to this
object, in our opinion, he &longs;crupulou&longs;ly
adheres; for though on &longs;ome occa&longs;ions,
there would &longs;eem to be a &longs;emblance of
idea, yet this we mu&longs;t attribute to the
imagination of the reader, ju&longs;t as in looking
upon a plai&longs;tered wall, attentively for
a long time, you will conceive the inequality
of the &longs;urface, or accidental &longs;cratchings,
to be the &longs;hape of birds and bea&longs;ts, or
the letters of the alphabet. Yet as rea&longs;on

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in this ca&longs;e will correct the fancy, and
bring to mind that there is really no character
or image there, there being none
intended; &longs;o on a peru&longs;al of the work in
que&longs;tion, looking a long time for &longs;en&longs;e,
you may at la&longs;t conceive that you ob&longs;erve
&longs;ome glimmerings of it, yet when you
recollect that you have it from the author
him&longs;elf that he means none, you will be
&longs;en&longs;ible that it is nothing more than the accidental
combination of words which has
given this picture to the mind.

Stile, then, which is his object, mu&longs;t
al&longs;o be ours, in our view of the publication.
For, to give a &longs;imile; if a manufacturer
of cloth, or a taylor that forms it into
ve&longs;tments, &longs;hould come forward, and produce
each his work, to be con&longs;idered merely
as to the manufacture, or making up,
without regard to the materials of the
woof and warp in the one ca&longs;e, or the
wearing in the other, it would be ab&longs;urd
to enquire of the&longs;e when nothing was proposed
to you re&longs;pecting them, by the artists
them&longs;elves.

Confining our&longs;elves therefore to the
&longs;tile of this performance, we ob&longs;erve, that
it has what is the fir&longs;t characteri&longs;tic of excellence;
viz. Simplicity. This con&longs;i&longs;ts
in the choice of the plaine&longs;t and mo&longs;t

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familiar words, and in the arrangement of
the words in their natural order. There
is a great difference between a vulgar term,
or phra&longs;e, and that which is common,
and comes fir&longs;t upon the tongue, in ea&longs;y
and familiar conver&longs;ation. It is the mistake
of this di&longs;tinction which leads &longs;ome
writers to avoid the phra&longs;e that any one
would u&longs;e, and &longs;eek out what is uncommon.
Hence there appears a variation in
the words they put upon paper, from
tho&longs;e which they them&longs;elves would u&longs;e in
conver&longs;ation. And why this? Ought not
language to be preci&longs;ely the &longs;ame whether
&longs;poken or written.

Per&longs;picuity is the natural re&longs;ult of simplicity,
and needs not to be laid down as a
different characteri&longs;tic. For can there be
ob&longs;curity in that compo&longs;ition where the
mo&longs;t familiar word is u&longs;ed, and that word
put in its proper place. This brings to mind
the definition of &longs;tile by Swift; “proper
words in proper places.” There can
be nothing more ea&longs;y than the compo&longs;ition
of our author, His writing &longs;avours of
the &longs;kill of an artificer who after many
years exercitation in his art, acquires a
power of accompli&longs;hing his work by a habit
of the fingers, independent of any application
of the mind. So that while in

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the &longs;tile of others there is an appearance
of exertion, here there is what a superficial
ob&longs;erver would call carele&longs;&longs;ne&longs;s,
but which the &longs;ound critic will di&longs;cover to
be the re&longs;ult of a perfect ma&longs;tery of all that
relates to language.

It is pretty generally believed that our
&longs;tile has been con&longs;tantly degenerating from
the time of queen Anne, in who&longs;e reign
flouri&longs;hed tho&longs;e immortal penmen, Swift,
Addi&longs;on, Arbuthnot, Tillot&longs;on, Bolinbroke.
&c. If the &longs;tile of Mr. Brackenridge
is examined, and compared with
tho&longs;e models, it will be found to be in the
&longs;ame pure, &longs;imple attic ta&longs;te. We &longs;hall
therefore not he&longs;itate to recommend it as
a re&longs;torer of all that is correct and beautiful
in writing.” So far the reviewers.

I have &longs;aid that I was happy to find that
the&longs;e have had the good ta&longs;te to find out
what I my&longs;elf had thought of the composition.
But as I wi&longs;h at all times to let
the reader, into a knowledge of my real
&longs;entiments, I will confe&longs;s that the&longs;e are
merely words of cour&longs;e with me, and that
I was not happy to find my work prai&longs;ed
in any re&longs;pect; becau&longs;e I wi&longs;hed to have a
quarrel with the critics; and this not because
I love war, ab&longs;tractedly con&longs;idered;
but becau&longs;e in this ca&longs;e I &longs;hould have had

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an opportunity of &longs;hewing my polemic
talents. Nay, expecting an attack, I
had prepared a number of good thoughts
in my mind, to be u&longs;ed in my conte&longs;t with
them. What is more I had actually written
a copy of ver&longs;es in the Hudibra&longs;tic
rhyme and manner, for their u&longs;e, in which
I con&longs;idered them as Mu&longs;kitoes, or flies
of &longs;ome kind, that were trouble&longs;ome to
men; and though the occa&longs;ion fails, yet
there can be no impropriety in giving to
the public tho&longs;e &longs;trokes of &longs;atire which lay
dormant in my mind. As the&longs;e would
apply more particularly to an attack upon
me; yet the e&longs;&longs;ay being in general
terms, it may appear without a particular
circum&longs;tance to call it forth; merely as a
&longs;pecimen of what I could do had there been
occa&longs;ion for it. And the in&longs;ertion will
be excu&longs;eable, when it is con&longs;idered how
painful it is to be fru&longs;trated in what we
propo&longs;e as our plea&longs;ure. I have known a
good man wi&longs;h to have bad news true,
merely becau&longs;e he had related them: and
we may conceive a &longs;aint vexed at not finding
a man dead, when he had dige&longs;ted a
funeral &longs;ermon in his mind, and was ready
to bury him. On this principle, therefore,
and in &longs;pite of the critics, I will have my
ver&longs;es publi&longs;hed: they are as follows:

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THE critic fir&longs;t po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;'d the earth,
And by his rules gave authors birth.
You may be ancient: critic, hark!
Were you with Noah in the ark?
In what compartment were you &longs;een?
'Mong&longs;t creatures clean or the unclean?
The critic, &longs;ir's, the natural father
Of every &longs;nifling, &longs;nuffling author;
And when you nod or &longs;nore or &longs;leep,
We &longs;hly on po&longs;teriors creep,
And rou&longs;e you to a bright exertion,
Of all your faculties; you whore&longs;on.
How can there be idea of beauties,
Unle&longs;s the critic genius &longs;hew't-us?
The angle of the &longs;ight obtu&longs;e,
Can &longs;ee no more than doth a goo&longs;e,
Whil&longs;t we with micro&longs;copic eye,
Examine as you would a fly,
See through the crevices of fancy,
As far as human eye&longs;ight can &longs;ee,
Tell where there is or is not Grammar;
What phra&longs;eology wants hammer—
Or file to make the ver&longs;e run &longs;moother,
Where &longs;ound is har&longs;h, or term uncouther.
I grant you &longs;ee defects and errors,
Of tho&longs;e in genius your &longs;uperiors:
The &longs;kin however &longs;moothly curried,
To a flea's eye is deep and &longs;urrowed.
His optics may perceive a wart,
That grows upon the un&longs;een part,
But for the beauty of the frame,
It is above the ken of them—
Thus critics tell that bard divine
Has a rough word in &longs;uch a line,
Or that the &longs;acred poem &longs;carce
Can bear the trot of &longs;uch a ver&longs;e,
That feeble author in &longs;uch &longs;entence
Has not the vis, the &longs;pirit inten&longs;e,
That Pega&longs;us was lame when he rode,

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Over this or that dull period:
They tell, but never felt the force,
Of genius in his rapid cour&longs;e.
What? did not Quintilian fully,
Develope all the prai&longs;e of Tully?
And 'mong&longs;t the Greeks, the great Longinus,
Who may be ju&longs;tly &longs;til'd his highne&longs;s,
With critic judgment join the fire,
Of Heaven it&longs;elf? who can go higher?
From your vile accu&longs;ation who&longs;e's &longs;afe?
Not even the elder &longs;caliger Jo&longs;eph,
Who had a mind as big's a mountain,
Could all defects and beauties contain,
And &longs;hew'd that Homer was inferior,
And Virgil hit perfection nearer.
Have you the a&longs;&longs;urance &longs;ir to &longs;peak,
Again&longs;t the Roman worth and Greek?
So much we hear I believe that no man's,
Tongue is &longs;till of Greeks and Romans;
For if di&longs;pute &longs;hould ri&longs;e pa&longs;t curing,
Which way 'tis be&longs;t to make our urine,
And each &longs;hould argue &longs;tiffly his way,
All mu&longs;t give up, the Greeks pi&longs;s'd this way.
But there in modern times is Bently,
Who &longs;ung of Richard Blackmore daint'ly.
I grant it, critic, there's a thou&longs;and;
The li&longs;t beginning has nor knows end.
They &longs;warm in millions from the flood—
The Hebrew critics fir&longs;t drew blood;
And this is what is meant by Babel
Where all were critics that were able.
The Rabbin and the Talmudi&longs;t,
Fought hand to hand and fi&longs;t to fi&longs;t,
About the pentateuch of Mo&longs;es;
Their tales, the wilde&longs;t &longs;tuff, God knows is.
If there has been &longs;ome Grecian critic,
Above the offspring of a &longs;eed-tic;
Yet where is one in modern days
Who can de&longs;erve that &longs;hare of prai&longs;e?

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For metamorphos'd down to vermin,
Who can the various &longs;hapes determine.
And &longs;mall and great are prone to mi&longs;chief,
And every clan and &longs;ect has his chief.
They &longs;warm like Caledonian clu&longs;ter,
When the Mac Neils and Camrons mu&longs;ter;
Or as when hou&longs;e wife &longs;preads her &longs;ugar,
With water mix'd, each in&longs;ect bugar,
Relinqui&longs;hes pots, tubs and pails,
And for the booty &longs;preads his &longs;ails.
Thus all the race of critics gather,
Around the foot&longs;teps of an author,
Bite through his overalls and &longs;tocking,
And biting &longs;hins, you know's no joking.
Who now a days fits down to write
Uninterrupted by a bite?
Unle&longs;s he takes good care and puts on,
A pair of leggins or has boots on.
They &longs;ay of Reynard who loves gee&longs;e,
That when oppre&longs;s'd with &longs;warm of fleas
He takes in's mouth a lock of wool,
And gradually retires to pool;
The fleas by &longs;ecret in&longs;tinct led,
Fly from the tail and trunk to head,
With &longs;peed each mother's &longs;on of them goes
To &longs;eek the promontory of no&longs;e,
And when no more remains abaft,
Fox &longs;hakes his head and leaves the raft.
Who could find out by book or &longs;ermon,
An equal way t' allude the vermin,
Would merit a rich premium more,
Than vers'd in philo&longs;ophic lore,
The member who di&longs;&longs;ects a glow-worm,
To &longs;ee if 'tis a bea&longs;t and no worm,
I wi&longs;h &longs;ome virtuo&longs;o won'd,
Who natural hi&longs;tory under&longs;tood,
Di&longs;&longs;ect a critic, &longs;hew his jaw teeth,
Whether they are quite &longs;mooth or &longs;aw-teeth,
Re&longs;embling butterfly or a&longs;p,

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Or &longs;harp and pointed like a wa&longs;p;
And by the grinders edge determine,
Corn-eating or carnivrous vermin.
I'd give, my&longs;elf, a golden medal,
To know if't has a brown or red tail,
And whether when it moves it goes on
An hundred feet or half a dozen;
But many gla&longs;&longs;es mu&longs;t be ground out,
Before the&longs;e my&longs;teries can be found out.
I leave it to &longs;ome great Linæus,
Who may by this be fam'd as he was.

The reviewers in Young's Magazine,
may &longs;ee from hence how well it was for
them, though unfortunate for me, that
they have dealt in approbation &longs;olely.
The prettie&longs;t part of the hi&longs;tory of any author,
is his war with the critics; and as
that prince's reign, &longs;eems unintere&longs;ting
where we are not amu&longs;ed with &longs;ieges and
battles, &longs;o the life of an author is dull and
monotonous where we hear of no litigations
with a Bavius, or Mævius, a Dennis,
or a Colly Cibber.

It is true I have heard one ob&longs;ervation
made, viz. that though my &longs;tile is excellent
of the kind; yet it is but of one kind,
and as Swift &longs;aid of him&longs;elf that he could
never ri&longs;e to the &longs;tile of an oration or a
&longs;ermon, &longs;o it would &longs;eem to be the ca&longs;e
with me, that I am competent only to
that humble &longs;pecies of diction which &longs;uits
the di&longs;&longs;ertation, but ri&longs;es not to the &longs;well

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of lofty oratory. It is true this is the &longs;tile
I have u&longs;ed in the memoirs of the Captain;
becau&longs;e it is the &longs;tile which &longs;uits &longs;imple narrative.
Neverthele&longs;s, it is not with me
as it was with Swift; and in this re&longs;pect,
I am his &longs;uperior; for I can ri&longs;e to the
&longs;well of the highe&longs;t pipe of diction. And
to evince this, I will here produce an oration
delivered by me about two years ago,
when I officiated in the capacity of Chaplain
to the light infantry company of Pittsburgh.
I produce it only as a &longs;ample of
&longs;tile; for as to other merit I will not answer
for it; and if the learned &longs;hould not
think it, in point of &longs;entiment, worthy
of my fame, let it be my apology that
the company at who&longs;e call I was, and
military di&longs;cipline being &longs;trict, I was obliged
to obey at a &longs;hort notice; the company
I &longs;ay, having given me but about two
hours warning, the compo&longs;ition bears the
marks of ha&longs;te, not having that condensation
of &longs;entiment which deliberation gives
But of this let the public judge. I give it
as delivered.

The Oration.

“What is the object for which a &longs;oldier
ju&longs;tifiably draws his &longs;word? the protection
of per&longs;onal and &longs;ocial right. This is comprehended
under one word, LIBERTY.

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By this we are to under&longs;tand the natural
liberty of man, independent of government;
or liberty in a &longs;tate of &longs;ociety,
and government. The fir&longs;t being but ideal,
it is the la&longs;t to which our thoughts are directed
in the u&longs;e of this word. What then
is liberty? It is the enjoying under &longs;ome
form of government, an equality of rights:
an equal right to &longs;peak, and an equal right
to act: where no one can or dare arrogate
a &longs;uperiority of power or privilege.

Who would not ri&longs;k a life for &longs;uch a blessing?
Who would not immolate a hecatomb
of foes who &longs;hould dare to invade it.

Cæsar; I admire thy talents, I prai&longs;e thy
virtues; but in the face of nations, on the
height of the world, thou dared&longs;t to u&longs;urp
a &longs;uperiority over brave men. The &longs;oul of
Brutus, or of Ca&longs;ius could not brook it;
the &longs;oul of Cato or of Ca&longs;ta could not
brook it; every Roman felt the in&longs;ult, and
approved the act, that took away thy life.

When under&longs;tood and felt, what are
the charms of Liberty? When po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed
and enjoyed, what are its effects: greatness
of thought, and greatne&longs;s of conduct.
Can the va&longs;&longs;al think nobly? Can the dependent
mind act boldly? No, “there is
a lion in the way,” and cowardice benumbs
the faculties.

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Are mankind &longs;en&longs;ible of this? There
have been tho&longs;e who have borne honorable
te&longs;timony of it. Shall I give you proofs?
I recur not to the academies to bring thence
the &longs;entiments of philo&longs;ophic men. I depict
not tho&longs;e who have fought for liberty.
I give you the &longs;en&longs;e of a people who had
enjoyed it; who had lo&longs;t it, and who had
been re&longs;tored to it. Stating the occa&longs;ion,
I &longs;hall give it in the words of Plutarch.
“Philip and the Macedonians had &longs;ubdued
the Grecian &longs;tates. The&longs;e calling in the
Romans, &longs;ubmitted to their authority, and
received garri&longs;ons in all their cities. Titus
Flaminius, who commanded the Roman
forces, beat the Macedonians, and
reduced them to their own territories.
The Grecian &longs;tates were &longs;till en&longs;laved, but
had changed their ma&longs;ters. The Ætolians
had thence taken occa&longs;ion to a&longs;k them,
whether it were not matter of much consolation
that, though their chains weighed
heavier, yet they were now neater and
better poli&longs;hed than formerly? Whether
Titus were not de&longs;ervedly admired by
them as their benefactor who had unshackled
the feet of Greece and tied her up by
her neck? Titus vexed hereat, made it his
reque&longs;t to the &longs;enate, and at la&longs;t prevailed
in it, that the garri&longs;ons in the&longs;e cities &longs;hould

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be di&longs;charged, that &longs;o the Grecians might
be no longer debtors to him, for a partial
but entire favor. The I&longs;thmian games
were now renewed, and multitudes &longs;at
crowded in the theatre to &longs;ee the exerci&longs;es;
for Greece, who of late days not only
found re&longs;pite from war, and was in full possession
of peace, but entertained farther
hopes of regaining her liberty, made holiday
for it. As the&longs;e were celebrating,
&longs;ilence was commanded by &longs;ound of a trumpet,
and the cryer, &longs;tepping from amid&longs;t
the &longs;pectators; made proclamation, that
Titus Quintus, the procon&longs;ular general,
having vanqui&longs;hed king Philip and
the Macedonians, re&longs;tored the Corinthians,
Locreans, Phoceans, Eubæans, Achæans,
Pthiotæans, Magnitians, The&longs;&longs;alians, and
Perribæans, to their own country, laws
and liberty; took off all impo&longs;itions upon
them, and withdrew their garri&longs;ons
thence.” At the fir&longs;t, many heard not at
all, and others did not di&longs;tinctly hear what
was &longs;aid; but an odd kind of bu&longs;tle and &longs;tir
there was in the theatre, &longs;ome wondering,
&longs;ome a&longs;king, &longs;ome crying out to the cryer,
“Repeat that again, repeat that again.”
When therefore fre&longs;h &longs;ilence was
made, the cryer rai&longs;ing his voice, his &longs;peech

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more ea&longs;ily reached the ears of the company.
The &longs;hout, which in that extacy of
joy they gave, was &longs;o incredibly great
that it was heard to &longs;ea. The people all
jumped upon their legs; there was no farther
regard to the diver&longs;ions they came for,
but all fell a leaping and dancing, and
hugging one another; and all &longs;alute Titus
with the title of &longs;aviour and defender of
Greece. The &longs;trength there is in voices,
and the many relations we have of the
wonderful effects of it, were &longs;een verified
upon this occa&longs;ion: For the crows that
were then accidentally flying over the
&longs;tage, fell down dead upon the &longs;hout. For
the voices being numerous, and the acclamations
violent, and the parts of the air
&longs;eparated from each other, they could no
longer give &longs;upport to the birds, but let
them tumble; unle&longs;s we &longs;hould rather
imagine the&longs;e crows to fall and die, &longs;hot
through with the noi&longs;e as with a dart.”

Are the pre&longs;ent inhabitants of that country
&longs;en&longs;ible of the value of liberty? They
are not. They are en&longs;laved by the Ottoman
power. Could they be re&longs;u&longs;citated
to a &longs;en&longs;e of this magic word; this extatic
&longs;entiment, what would be their &longs;en&longs;ation?
What the acclamation? The Theban, the
Achean country would hear it, all Attica

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and Sparta would re&longs;ound. The Ægean
and Corinthian &longs;eas would tremble.
Mount Olympus and Helicon would triumph.
The Gods on the one, and the
Mu&longs;es on the other, would celebrate the
fe&longs;tival. But O! Poetic and philo&longs;ophie
country, where my mind ranges every
day; whence I draw my be&longs;t thoughts;
where I conver&longs;e with the &longs;chools of wi&longs;e
men, and &longs;olace my&longs;elf with the company
of heroes, thou art lo&longs;t in &longs;ervitude, and
great mu&longs;t be the revolution that can extricate
thee thence.

Let me con&longs;ole my&longs;elf with the pro&longs;pect
of a nation, who, after more than a
thou&longs;and ages of barbarian conque&longs;t and
feudal tyranny, have emerged to liberty.
It is France I have in view. O glorious
people? Liberty de&longs;cended not to you.
But it is your acqui&longs;ition. You have broke
the fetters that en&longs;lave you, and tyranny
has been put under foot. The legi&longs;lative
and judicial authority of your government
has been rendered independent of your
monarch, and the monarch reduced to a
&longs;imple executive power. Shall the sovereigns
of Europe con&longs;pire to rein&longs;tate him
in his ab&longs;olute dominion? Shall they hope
to &longs;ubdue a nation of brave men contending
for liberty: Why do the heathen rage

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and the people imagine vain things.”
Sooner &longs;hall the clouds of the atmo&longs;phere
re&longs;train the electric fluid, or the object
&longs;truck upon re&longs;i&longs;t the electric &longs;hock: Sooner
&longs;hall the height of hills and the weight
of mountains repre&longs;s the caverned air, and
earthquakes cea&longs;e to bur&longs;t, than the generous
flame of liberty in this enlightened
nation, can be extingui&longs;hed and lo&longs;t.

Noble nation, you do us too much honor
in &longs;aying that you drew from us the
in&longs;piration of liberty. You drew it from
your&longs;elves. The Monte&longs;quieus, the Rousseaus,
the Voltaires, the Abbe Raynalls
of your country. We felt the like &longs;pirit;
and re&longs;i&longs;ted the Briti&longs;h power, and were
aided by you in the conflict. May you
enjoy that liberty which you a&longs;&longs;i&longs;ted us to
po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s; may your example give that liberty
to &longs;urrounding kingdoms which you
your&longs;elves enjoy. The mind contemplating
the &longs;ubject is enlarged, and travels from
&longs;tate to &longs;tate, and from kingdom to kingdom
hailing the voice of liberty. It is not
in the nature of things that &longs;uch a renovation
&longs;hould take place at once. But the
day may not be far di&longs;tant when Spain and
Sardinia, Sweden and Ru&longs;&longs;ia, Germany
and Poland may hear the voice of liberty;
when Turky in Europe, and the i&longs;lands of

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the Archipelago may hear the &longs;ound, and
with an acclaim &longs;urpa&longs;sing the I&longs;thmean
voice, convul&longs;e the heavens with the impul&longs;e.

Pur&longs;uing the thought, what would be
the effect of &longs;uch a re&longs;urrection of the
dead? The expre&longs;&longs;ion which I have incidently
u&longs;ed has given me a &longs;imile. It
would re&longs;emble the re&longs;u&longs;citation of the
dead at the la&longs;t day, when the inhabitants
of the earth recovering limbs and new bodies,
&longs;hall rai&longs;e their voice. Great will
be their exultation; great their acclaim.
They will &longs;hout, and with an emulation
not unplea&longs;ing to the Almighty, &longs;truggle
to &longs;urpa&longs;s his yet re&longs;ounding trump it&longs;elf.”

A copy of the preceding oration was
&longs;ent by me to the Abbe Gochin, with
whom I have been in habits of intimacy
the&longs;e forty five years, and was by him
tran&longs;lated into elegant French. It was
the peru&longs;al of this that brought me acquainted
with the Jacobin clubs of that
kingdom, and induced Mr. Claviers to
make honorable mention of me at the bar
of the a&longs;&longs;embly.

The fact is, as may be &longs;een from the
oration, I po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s great ver&longs;atility of &longs;tile,
and va&longs;t compa&longs;s of &longs;entiment and imagination.
Nature intended me for a writer,
and it has always been my ambition. How

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often have I &longs;ighed for the garrets of London;
where I have read hi&longs;tories, manners,
and anecdotes of Otway, Dryden,
and others, who have lived in the upper
&longs;tories of buildings, writing paragraphs,
or e&longs;&longs;ays in pro&longs;e or ver&longs;e. I have lamented
my hard fate that I was not one of
the&longs;e. Was I to go to London, of which
I have &longs;ometimes thought, my fir&longs;t object
would be to vi&longs;it the aerial man&longs;ions of the&longs;e
divine inhabitants. There is not a garret
where any of the&longs;e have dwelt, or where
any of their de&longs;cendents now dwells, that
I would not rummage to find papers, &longs;craps
and remains, of what may be &longs;till there. I
would at any rate vi&longs;it mo&longs;t of the pre&longs;ent
men who live by their wits, and conver&longs;e
with them, indulging that plea&longs;ure which
one takes in a con&longs;imilarity of genius.

It was on this principle that the la&longs;t
time I was in the city of Philadelphia, I
made enquiry of the book&longs;ellers, if there
did not begin to be in that city &longs;ome of
the&longs;e garret people? I was told by Dobson
of a certain M`Comas, a Scotchman,
that had come over about two years ago,
and was in that way: that he had written
paragraphs for the gazettes, and occasionally
e&longs;&longs;ays for the magazines; and that
he lived in &longs;uch an alley, I forget the

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name of it, but that he had not &longs;een him
for &longs;everal weeks; and &longs;uppo&longs;ed he was
engaged in preparing &longs;ome work for publication.
With the advantage of this hint,
&longs;etting out, I found the alley, and by description,
the hou&longs;e; when knocking at
the door, an old woman opened it, to
whom addre&longs;&longs;ing my&longs;elf, I enquired if Mr.
M`Comas, the author, did not live there?
He did live here, &longs;aid the old lady, but
about two weeks ago he died, and left me
a quarter's rent unpaid, This is all a poor
woman gets by lou&longs;y authors and &longs;uch
truck that keep writing night and day,
and biting their nails, and mumbling to
them&longs;elves, like witches or warlocks, that
I was frightened out of my wits many a
night, as he was tramping about in the
garret over my head and talking to him&longs;elf.

I was &longs;truck with the undervaluing manner
in which this old lady &longs;poke of the author,
and being in &longs;ome pa&longs;&longs;ion, you old
jade &longs;aid I, are you not &longs;en&longs;ible of the honor
done you in having a genius for your
tenant; a man that with a &longs;ingle &longs;troke of
his pen could make you immortal. Ay
mortal, &longs;aid &longs;he, I am a poor enough
mortal to want my quarter's rent, with
his writings and fangles; I would rather
have a per&longs;on that would &longs;it &longs;till, and hold

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his tongue, and &longs;leep in my hou&longs;e, than a
raving crazy brained creature like him,
that made more noi&longs;e than the rats, and
was behind with his rent when he died,
not leaving a pair of breeches or an old
coat that would &longs;ell for the expence of
burying him. By this time I had a little
compo&longs;ed my mind, and &longs;uppre&longs;&longs;ed my
re&longs;entment, and told her I would pay her
the quarter's rent for the honor of the
cloth, if &longs;he would give me leave to vi&longs;it
the cele&longs;tial man&longs;ion where the bard had
re&longs;ided. Accordingly, depo&longs;iting the
rent, which was two &longs;hillings and &longs;even
pence, I was permitted to a&longs;cend or rather
climb up a ladder with broad &longs;teps of
plank, to the habitation which was the
&longs;econd &longs;tory, for it was a low building,
with two apartments, the one on the
lower, and the other on the upper flooring.
The roof was low, and did not permit
a tail man as I am, to &longs;tand upright
on my entrance. Looking about, by the
help of an opening in the weather-boarding
of the gable end, I di&longs;covered a few
papers, which I took to be manu&longs;cripts,
lying in a corner near a kind of &longs;tool, with
a board before it, nailed to the gable end,
on which he u&longs;ed to write, and making a
perqui&longs;ite of the&longs;e in lieu of my two

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shillings and &longs;even pence, I de&longs;cended: nor
have I any rea&longs;on to repent of my vi&longs;it,
or the &longs;um paid, for among&longs;t the&longs;e I have
di&longs;covered &longs;ome &longs;craps of great merit, and
particularly a fini&longs;hed poem, of considerable
length, with the title of Cincinnatus,
in Hudibra&longs;tic ver&longs;e; a kind of rhyme
of which I am fond. I &longs;hall not, therefore,
&longs;cruple here to in&longs;ert the poem in
this introduction, as a &longs;pecimen of what
this man's manner was.

I know it will immediately be &longs;urmi&longs;ed
by &longs;ome, that the whole is a fiction, and
that I my&longs;elf have written this poem, and
that the &longs;tory of an author, &c. is an invention
to make it the more intere&longs;ting to
the reader, and to keep my&longs;elf out of
&longs;ight and behind the curtain; in the &longs;ame
manner, as Cervantes, in his Don Quixotte,
pretends that his hi&longs;tory is a translation
from a Moori&longs;h writer, Cid Hamed,
if I forget not; and the author of the Adventures
of a Guinea tells us of his tracing
the work to its repo&longs;itory in manu&longs;cript,
from a &longs;ingle &longs;heet which he found, if I
remember right, wrapt round a pound of
pepper which he had bought at the &longs;hop of
a grocer. At any rate, though I may
not be accurate, as to the la&longs;t circum&longs;tance,
yet I mean to &longs;ay in general, that, as

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many writers of fictitious works, in order
to give them an air of truth and reality;
or to delight the reader by relating &longs;ome
accidental manner of coming at what was
nearly lo&longs;t, invent tales of finding &longs;hreds
and &longs;craps of compo&longs;itions, and thence
tracing to the &longs;ource; or that by taking
lodgings that had been before occupied by
&longs;ome poet or philo&longs;opher, they di&longs;cover
in an old trunk, or el&longs;ewhere, the lucubrations
which they now offer to the public,
&longs;o I may be &longs;u&longs;pected of adopting a
common mode of introducing what I myself
have written; but the fact is as I
have &longs;tated. Indeed, upon the lea&longs;t reflection,
no one would &longs;uppo&longs;e that I
could be the author of the poem; becau&longs;e,
though it is but a playful &longs;atire, and tho&longs;e
of the Cincinnati who are men of &longs;en&longs;e,
would only &longs;mile at the performance, yet
there are weak brethren, who might be
offended; and I &longs;hould not wi&longs;h to have
a &longs;word run through my body, for all the
plea&longs;ure that a little mirth gives. But as
to the man that is dead, nothing can hurt
him; and therefore there can be no danger
in publi&longs;hing what he wrote.

The &longs;cheme of the poem &longs;eems to be,
that of a member of the Cincinnati Society
with the badge at his brea&longs;t coming into a

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village, and the people of different descriptions
falling in with him occa&longs;ionally, and
altercating with him re&longs;pecting the demerits
of the in&longs;titution, and the propriety of
the emblem which he wore. The introduction
is as follows.

A Poem.

What time the States had &longs;ettled peace
With adver&longs;aries over &longs;eas,
And troops di&longs;banded, it &longs;eem'd good,
To in&longs;titute a brotherhood,
Among the chieftains of the war,
Of Cincinnati character,
Who now laid by their arms and came,
To &longs;eek an agricultural fame---
On territory they had &longs;av'd;
For as together they had brav'd,
The toils of &longs;ervice, wi&longs;h'd a tie,
At lea&longs;t upon the memory,
Of that companion&longs;hip; hence 'twas,
The in&longs;titution came to pa&longs;s,
Of a &longs;ociety and badge.
At fir&longs;t it did provoke the rage,
Of &longs;everal of the citizens,

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As being &longs;avouring of de&longs;igns,
Of a nobility of title;
And chevaliering here a little;
And hence, when one of the&longs;e in's gate,
Came to a village of the &longs;tate,
With badge dependant at his bo&longs;om,
It &longs;eem'd a &longs;ingular ro&longs;y crozum,
And drew attention and &longs;urmi&longs;e;
And every one that &longs;eem'd more wi&longs;e,
Began di&longs;cu&longs;&longs;ion of th' affair.
A certain pedagogue was there,
Did fir&longs;t acco&longs;t, and a&longs;k'd the ri&longs;e,
And the intendment of device,
And why he wore a turkey there,
Effigies of a bird of the air,
And other &longs;uch interrogatories.
The Cincinnat who heard the queries,
Explain'd the hi&longs;tory of the club,
And effigy upon the bob;
Vidilicet, that having fought,
And put the adver&longs;ar's to trot,
Retir'd from war, like Cincinnatus,
And were about to plant potatoes;
But fir&longs;t in memory of their warfare,
And individuals did mo&longs;t care for,
Had &longs;et up club and wore a badge.
And what bird have you in the cage,
Quoth pedagogue? is it a goo&longs;e,
That you have cho&longs;en for your u&longs;e?
Or a wild turkey or a &longs;wan?

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This hurt the Cincinnati man----
Quoth he, I will not &longs;ay you mean,
T' affront, and throw out with de&longs;ign,
This &longs;arca&longs;m on the badge we wear;
For 'tis an eagle of the air,
And emblematical of power,
As having dominion of the lower,
The fowls of the &longs;tack-yard and the grove;
And hence become the bird of Jove,
And is device upon the badge,
Which you and other fools with rage,
Decry and vilify and abu&longs;e,
As being without &longs;en&longs;e or u&longs;e;
Becau&longs;e your ignorance is &longs;uch,
You cannot comprehend it much,
The meaning of the hieroglyphic,
Or motto that is &longs;cientific,
Devis'd by &longs;cholars that were good,
And authors of &longs;imilitude.
Quoth pedagogue, I own I &longs;aw
It had a bird's tail and a claw;
But never did &longs;o far encroach,
To look di&longs;tinctly on the broach
Whether a grey goo&longs;e or a drake,
That gives him&longs;elf i' th' roo&longs;t a &longs;hake,
But what re&longs;emblance is there here,
To him of Roman character;
Who wore no brochet at his button;
Or a remarkable e&longs;cutcheon;
But when he quit the war and battle;

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Return'd t' his harrow and draft cattle,
Without a goo&longs;e-re&longs;embling bauble;
Or other bird or bea&longs;t, could gabble,
A word of Latin or of Greek.
But what the phra&longs;e it &longs;eems to &longs;peak?
Relinquit omnia, &longs;ervare
Rempublicam; by the lord Harry,
The Roman had not much to leave,
And would have laugh'd him&longs;elf in's &longs;leeve,
T' have had the&longs;e words applied to him.
And you that are of modern time,
Were in the &longs;ame predicament,
Before were to the warfare &longs;ent;
So that the point is not in this,
From whence eulogium takes its ri&longs;e,
The having left a &longs;teer or two,
Or an old hor&longs;e with which did plow;
But your returning to your place,
When armies had been &longs;ent to gra&longs;s;
So that 'twere better you had made it,
Nunc victor ad aratrum redit:
Or &longs;ome &longs;uch phra&longs;eology,
De&longs;ignating the eulogy,
Which really did belong to &longs;uch,
As not ambitious over much,
Return'd from victory and war,
To till their ground, and take the care,
Of &longs;tock upon their farms; but wore,
No other en&longs;ign than before,
With barbarous Latin &longs;uch as this,

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A&longs;&longs;um'd for their hypothe&longs;is.
Quoth Cincinnat, a great Quintilian,
You are, and have read books a million;
Can give a Latin word to teach us,
Which way the Romans pull'd up breeches;
Or how tobacco quid in cheek,
Was turn'd by the enlighten'd Greek;
You cough and grunt by &longs;yntax rules
Drawn from the pro&longs;ody of &longs;chools;
But though I know not Cincinnatus,
Or other Roman that begat us,
The club nam'd after him is good
And I could &longs;hew it if I would;
But ea&longs;ier to di&longs;&longs;olve the knot
By &longs;litting no&longs;e or cutting throat;
Than talking about book or cla&longs;&longs;ic,
And reading till it makes the eyes ach;
For that my bu&longs;ine&longs;s is; this, yours;
Which &longs;ophi&longs;try, a hanger cures.
So &longs;ay no more about the matter.
Meantime with ignorance and ill-nature,
There was a certain clergyman,
That took upon him to explain,
The meaning of the badge and u&longs;e,
By reading hi&longs;tory of the Jews;
Conceiv'd was an idolater,
That from the ea&longs;tern climes came there
With native &longs;parrow at his brea&longs;t;
Or what el&longs;e bird it was expre&longs;s'd;
Egyptian ibis or a &longs;tork,

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That did among the &longs;edges lurk,
In face of dictate that was given,
By decalogue that came from heaven,
Inhibiting the wor&longs;hiping,
Of graven bird or bea&longs;t or thing;
Or otherwi&longs;e a great magician,
He was, and dangerous on the occa&longs;ion;
For had a trinket of his own,
And abracadrabra writ thereon,
With &longs;ome infernal &longs;pell or force,
Above a common Chri&longs;tian's powers.
The Cincinnat enrag'd to hear
Attack upon his character,
Addre&longs;&longs;ed him&longs;elf to the populace,
Were then a&longs;&longs;embled at the place.
Quoth he, though no great orator
Experience being more in war,
Yet &longs;en&longs;e of injury and wrong,
May loo&longs;en word-&longs;trings of my tongue;
Enable me to tell my tale
In way, perhaps, acceptable;
E&longs;pecially as candour hears,
As is evinc'd by your drop'd ears.
For well aware that public lies,
In&longs;inuation and &longs;urmi&longs;e,
Had got the &longs;tart of me, I fear'd,
I would not be with candour heard.
But to begin----'tis gone abroad,
That I have image of fal&longs;e god,
Hung at my brea&longs;t; the effigy

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Of bird, or bea&longs;t, or fi&longs;h or fly;
Which idol grav'd in bit of gold,
Like the idolaters of old,
I wor&longs;hip, and put up a prayer,
Tho' but a wild fowl of the air.
The clergyman has given ri&longs;e,
To this religious prejudice,
As natural to every mind,
To breed according to its kind;
But nothing more di&longs;&longs;imilar,
Than that a &longs;oldier in the war,
Should wor&longs;hip God at all, or bea&longs;t,
In effigy or &longs;hape expre&longs;s'd;
For &longs;eldom wor&longs;hip the true God,
Save when &longs;ome danger comes the road;
Unle&longs;s the &longs;wearing by the Lord,
Or zounds or zucks, or &longs;ome &longs;uch word,
May be accounted reverence,
Expre&longs;s'd to the Omnipotence;
And therefore much le&longs;s probable
T' adore the vi&longs;ual beak or bill
Of this &longs;mall eaglet that I wear.
As to idolatry am clear;
For though know nothing more about,
Religions that are &longs;et on foot
Than a grey goo&longs;e; yet catholic,
Let all men wor&longs;hip till they're &longs;ick;
Nor interfere with church or p&longs;alm,
But be plain &longs;oldier as I am.
You that compo&longs;e my audience,

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Are per&longs;ons of &longs;uperior &longs;en&longs;e,
And can with others &longs;et that right
Mi&longs;repre&longs;ented by the wight,
And &longs;ave my hard earn'd character,
And the good name I wi&longs;h to bear.
There was a citizen ju&longs;t by,
Who li&longs;tened to apology.
Quoth he it may not be the &longs;hape
Of bird or bea&longs;t at which you gape,
For &longs;ake of reverence or of prayer;
But to di&longs;tingui&longs;h what you are;
The only &longs;aviours of the cau&longs;e;
It being not the truth; whereas
Are many others that have fought,
And taken the He&longs;&longs;ians by the throat,
And may de&longs;erve more &longs;olid prai&longs;e,
Than wearing that &longs;mall thing of bra&longs;s,
Unworthy even of you that chu&longs;e,
To have the en&longs;ign of the goo&longs;e.
Is't not ridiculous that one,
Who in the &longs;ervice has been known,
As champion of a &longs;ober cau&longs;e,
Which with it &longs;uch advantage draws
As to &longs;ecure our liberty,
And place the thirteen &longs;tripes on high
In this &longs;evere and ruggid clime,
Should turn his thoughts to &longs;uch a whim
As &longs;avours of a ruder age,
When every light-head wore a badge;
And is no trophy or a &longs;poil

-- xxxviii --

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The warrior earn'd, upon the &longs;oil,
But arbitrary honor made,
By &longs;ome one of the brazier trade;
And is no &longs;pecial proof of worth;
There are &longs;o many to hold forth.
Preten&longs;ion to the &longs;ame device;
For the peculiar honor lies,
In being di&longs;tingui&longs;h'd in de&longs;ert.
Are you the only that merit,
In revolution brought about?
Or are there not among&longs;t the croud,
Some others that have ju&longs;t pretence,
If not with &longs;word, at lea&longs;t with brains,
To patrioti&longs;m in the cau&longs;e?
If not with arms they have withjaws
In councils of the &longs;everal &longs;tates,
Or by their writings in Gazettes,
Rebuff'd the Briti&longs;h power and force
And militated with di&longs;cour&longs;e;
And many who have &longs;poke and wrote,
Have al&longs;o on occa&longs;ion fought.
And there are victims of the cau&longs;e,
By operation of the laws;
In favor of the general good.
What think you of the multitude,
Reduc'd by fluctuating paper,
E&longs;tates vani&longs;hing like vapour,
And brought to beggary and lo&longs;s:
For take the people in the gro&longs;s,
And all have &longs;uffer'd more or le&longs;s;

-- xxxix --

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And &longs;o may claim by &longs;ervices,
At lea&longs;t a bit of lead or pewter,
As their de&longs;ervings are minuter,
And in&longs;titute a club or &longs;o,
For what they did again&longs;t the foe,
In their particular grades and places;
So that the multitude increa&longs;es,
To an infinity of badges;
The honorary rights and wages,
Of the whole bulk of citizens.
In this there was but little &longs;ense,
To which the Cincinnat replied,
As having more rea&longs;on on his &longs;ide.
Quoth he, it is a &longs;mall affair,
If at the period of the war,
We in&longs;tituted this our club,
To recreate us after rub,
And wear a badge which &longs;ome arraign
As vi&longs;ionary toy, and vain;
But is not fancy that &longs;upplies,
One half of things which are our choice;
And all beyond the dre&longs;s and food,
Is but imaginary good?
The cut, the colour of the garb
Di&longs;tingui&longs;hing the Jew from Ar'b;
And all kinds of appendages,
Of different tribes and nations dre&longs;s
Have their foundation in caprice;
Not from nece&longs;&longs;ity take ri&longs;e.
The &longs;avages that are untaught

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Do wear their honors at the &longs;nout;
And nature &longs;anctions the pur&longs;uit
By giving feathers to the brute.
The badge we wear is not a charm
Of Phy&longs;ical or moral harm;
But forcibly doth operate,
And in the human mind create
A love of fame and dignity,
By having this before the eye;
As, in the Briti&longs;h i&longs;le, a &longs;tar
And Garter, is reward of war;
And the St, Louis cro&longs;s in France,
In other places like advance:
It is a &longs;mall thing if from toil,
Of &longs;ummers &longs;un and winters &longs;oil,
Deficient in the &longs;tipend due,
We wear a thing di&longs;tinct from you,
A trifling &longs;ignet of our own,
Shall &longs;carcely co&longs;t us half a crown,
Is there a law again&longs;t the u&longs;age,
Pro&longs;cribing it as a &longs;urplu&longs;&longs;age;
So that a writ of capias corpus
Can have the virtue to di&longs;turb us,
If there is neither rule of nature,
Or juri&longs;prudence that can deter,
Why not ju&longs;t let the things go on,
In the &longs;ame channel 'tis begun?
For though not great the excellence,
Yet have there not been men of &longs;en&longs;e
Among the Romans and the Greeks,

-- xli --

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That wore &longs;uch things about their necks?
A bull or button at the brea&longs;t;
Or el&longs;ewhere, that has well expre&longs;s'd,
The &longs;ignal honor they had won,
By keeping adver&longs;aries down;
Or &longs;aving citizen at lea&longs;t;
And yet the thing not made a je&longs;t,
By per&longs;ons that have talk'd like you?
Quoth citizen, it may be true;
And al&longs;o in the modern days,
There have been found out many ways,
To tickle fancies of the fools.
There &longs;carcely is a king but gulls,
His courtiers with appendages,
(At lea&longs;t when he is moneyle&longs;s)
Of title, or &longs;ome &longs;illy badge
With which they dance like birds in cage,
Proud of a feather that is red,
Or blue, becau&longs;e they take't in head,
It does them honor with the prince;
But here we have a little &longs;en&longs;e,
In the&longs;e United States, and hate,
Such phanta&longs;y of a wrong pate;
And wi&longs;h t' have merit of our own,
And not a mark to make it known,
Hung up like &longs;ign at tavern door,
Or barber's pole your no&longs;e before,
Evincing what there is within,
You could not other ways divine.
Be&longs;ides why do you quote the Greeks,

-- xlii --

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Or Romans that had like dogs tricks?
There is a difference in the ca&longs;e;
For there, the people's &longs;uffrages,
Be&longs;tow'd the honor that was worn;
But here it would not &longs;erve your turn,
But you your&longs;elves a&longs;&longs;um'd device.
Quoth Cincinnat, 'tis all damn'd lies;
We took it up, 'tis true, but yet,
It may be &longs;aid the gift of the &longs;tate,
Becau&longs;e the honor was our right,
And by de&longs;erving we came by 't.
Be that as't may the thing is &longs;afe,
And well befitting to the brave;
Quite innocent in name and nature;
Nor works a harm to &longs;ingle creature,
Is neither error, nor a &longs;in,
T' offend a layman or divine.
At this the clergyman &longs;poke out,
Who &longs;till was &longs;tanding in the croud.
Quoth he, have &longs;aid, and &longs;ay it again
The thing is heatheni&longs;h and vain,
And wearer an idolater,
Of whom there is ju&longs;t cau&longs;e to fear,
Being &longs;ome fal&longs;e prophet come to light
As is laid down in &longs;acred writ,
That fell deceivers would ari&longs;e,
In latter times to blind our eyes,
And draw us from the truth we hold;
For as to that &longs;ame bit of gold,
What u&longs;e? unle&longs;s &longs;imbolical,

-- xliii --

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Of &longs;omething bad and magical,
With rhyme that is engrav'd thereon?
If the mythology was known,
It might be found it was that gog,---
And magog that has lain incog,
So long in the apocalyp&longs;e;
And now emerging from eclip&longs;e,
Has ri&longs;en in &longs;uch &longs;hape to men.
The Cincinnat to him again:
Quoth he, it ill becomes a prie&longs;t,
To travel from his &longs;phere, and je&longs;t,
About this trinket that I wear;
Again&longs;t it roaring like a bear,
Who &longs;hould be rea&longs;oning with the jew,
Wherever he can find a clue;
Or with the infidel, about,
The devil's horns and cloven foot.
Is this the knowledge that you gather,
From every old and half dead father,
As Chry&longs;to&longs;tom or Poly-carp,
Who on a different &longs;tring did harp;
From you, about our in&longs;titutions,
In&longs;tead of prayers and ab&longs;olutions,
And teaching from the catechi&longs;m,
The origin of faith and &longs;chi&longs;m:
Which is unnatural and ab&longs;urd,
De&longs;erves to be cha&longs;tis'd and cur'd?
For have you not an ample &longs;cope;
Or as we &longs;ay, enough of rope,
To vent your rage and crudities,

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Again&longs;t the errors that ari&longs;e,
Of fools that are propen&longs;e to evil,
And lay the fault upon the devil,
As if he were a Jack o' lantern,
In every whole and corner &longs;auntering,
Who never yet was out of hell,
Or knew a &longs;ingle &longs;yllable,
About the matter laid t' his charge,
In pulpit oratory at large?
I'&longs;t not enough to &longs;plit your text:
(Till every hearer's heart is vex'd)
In forks and branches multiple,
And fir&longs;tlies, and &longs;o-forths at ill,
With heads and horns of Daniel's ram,
That in the prophet's vi&longs;ion came;
Or bring a &longs;ermon out of what
Has &longs;carce the &longs;emblance of a thought,
By twi&longs;ting, turning, proper phra&longs;e;
Or cloathing pri&longs;tine nakedne&longs;s,
With commentaries of the brain,
Which no man el&longs;e could find therein?
And have you not interminable,
Career to run as fa&longs;t as able,
Through all the &longs;y&longs;tems of the faith,
And variations that it hath,
Drawn from theology of &longs;chools,
Or &longs;elf-born of the preachers &longs;kulls,
And built upon the ab&longs;tract ba&longs;e;
Which was originally much le&longs;s:
For &longs;o exten&longs;ive is the flood,

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Of knowledge that is bad or good,
A man may &longs;ou&longs;e therein and to&longs;s,
Ju&longs;t as in ocean would a goo&longs;e,
And find no &longs;hore or bottom out
Of doctrines that are &longs;et on foot?
Why then nece&longs;&longs;ity to &longs;tretch,
Your legs upon us at a fetch,
As if you had not room at home
To canter on your hypodrome,
But mu&longs;t inveigh again&longs;t what is
But a mere &longs;ymbol and device,
And has no moral turpitude;
Or meaning that is bad or good,
Save ju&longs;t to &longs;hew the club we're of?
Quoth preacher, it is well enough
To put that face upon the matter,
To keep the world from knowing better,
Le&longs;t it &longs;hould do your club a damage.
But is it not an molten image
Which the commandment hath forbidden?
Quoth Cincinnat, are &longs;o prie&longs;t-ridden
That common &longs;en&longs;e has little place.
It may be molten, to u&longs;e phra&longs;e,
But what of that, if not the u&longs;e
Is a new god to introduce,
And wor&longs;hip &longs;emblance of a bea&longs;t,
Or bird that is upon the cre&longs;t?
It cannot give offence to Mo&longs;es,
Or hurt the decalogu's-probo&longs;cis,
Or you that are con&longs;ervators,

-- xlvi --

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Of all that in religion &longs;tirs.
So that it is unnece&longs;&longs;ary,
To make our club your adver&longs;ary
By thus mi&longs;con&longs;truing the badge,
By inuendoes that engage
The rabble to have prejudice.
Quoth clergyman the matter lies
Ju&longs;t here; the pagan deities,
False gods in Egypt or el&longs;ewhere
Did under &longs;ome &longs;uch &longs;hape appear;
And even we read among&longs;t the Jews
They fell &longs;ometimes to this abu&longs;e;
But chiefly wor&longs;hip'd calves and &longs;tocks;
For which were given them &longs;ore rebukes.
But pagani&longs;m wor&longs;hip'd fowls,
Eagles and pigeons and vile owls,
Which you would imitate by this
A &longs;ample of idolatries, ---
And whoredom people did commit,
And &longs;ins of the fle&longs;h in holy writ;
And hence were bani&longs;h'd from the earth
Which gave the &longs;everal nations birth.
Of Canaanites and after them,
The Phili&longs;tines that err'd the &longs;ame;
The Romans, Greeks, and other pagans,
That had their a&longs;tharoths, and dagons
And wor&longs;hip'd bulls, and goats and heifers;
And were your oracle believers;
Whichbrought the cur&longs;e of God upon them:
And hence it is that there is no man,

-- xlvii --

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Who &longs;ees affection that you have
For that which workmen did engrave,
But fears a judgment for the &longs;in,
And wickedne&longs;s that is there in;
So that I preach and pray and fa&longs;t---
Quoth Cincinat, not much of the la&longs;t;
At lea&longs;t may &longs;pare it, and take food,
As prayers can do but little good;
And all your exhortation, is
A rhap&longs;ode of ab&longs;urdities,
To make the &longs;imple people &longs;tare,
About this wild fowl of the air.
But as you &longs;eem to be a fool,
The be&longs;t way is to crack your &longs;kull
And let in light to give you &longs;en&longs;e
And make your &longs;oul like other mens;
Removing this enthu&longs;ia&longs;m,
That turns your brain to Jewi&longs;hi&longs;m.
With that he drew as if to &longs;trike;
But one among the people, quick,
Who was a great philo&longs;oper,
Though yet had made but little &longs;tir,
Put by the blow, and thus be&longs;poke;
Quoth he, your hot-born rage revoke,
Nor draw your &longs;word upon the cloth,
Becau&longs;e you are a little wroth;
And without rea&longs;on or ju&longs;t cau&longs;e,
what has been thrown out; whereas,
It is a general allegation,
And turns upon the whole profe&longs;&longs;ion

-- xlviii --

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Of club, which has &longs;o broad a ba&longs;e
It ea&longs;ily bears it, in this ca&longs;e,
And is not per&longs;onal alone,
To you on whom the thing is thrown;
And when a number are to bear
The ignominy of the affair,
It is as nothing to the whole.
Have you Don Quixotte in your &longs;kull,
And yet not recollect the &longs;peech,
He made t' a town within his reach,
Which had conceiv'd offence, becau&longs;e
His Sancho braying like an a&longs;s;
At which he was not any &longs;louch;
Did &longs;eem to &longs;ay they were ju&longs;t &longs;uch?
He tells them that no words can &longs;trike
Or hurt a body politic,
Becau&longs;e the offence has no ju&longs;t ba&longs;e
Of individual in the ca&longs;e.
Are not the learn'd profe&longs;&longs;ions known
To be ju&longs;t &longs;tring to harp upon?
We &longs;ay that lawyers are all rogues,
And preacher, that he but humbugs;
And of phy&longs;ician, that he kills;
More than he cures, with his damn'd pills,
And yet we have not on our backs,
The whole of the&longs;e like pedlars packs;
For the phy&longs;ician, lawyer, prie&longs;t,
I aughs at the matter, as a je&longs;t.
Why, then enrag'd, at any one,
For obloquy, that he has thrown,

-- xlix --

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Ju&longs;t for a theme of his di&longs;cour&longs;e,
To rai&longs;e a laugh among the boors'
Do they who write your wor&longs;t of &longs;atires,
And ironies and all &longs;uch matters,
Po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s a temper wor&longs;e than others,
Drawn from the nature of their mothers;
Or ju&longs;t to &longs;hew their wit, at times,
They &longs;cratch out paragraphs and rhymes;
Attack the elergy, or the bar;
Or with hypocrates make war;
Or chu&longs;e a country, or a town
To be the &longs;ubject of lampoon;
Who laugh and read the ridicule;
And only but a natural fool,
Would take in head to fight or fence;
Or 'gain&longs;t the &longs;lander break his &longs;hins.
But where there may be &longs;ome ju&longs;t ba&longs;e,
Of obloquy, in any ca&longs;e,
It more behooves to bear, as here,
Where though the matter may be clear,
You have a right to wear what badge,
You choo&longs;e; yet, there are who alledge,
It is a tre&longs;pa&longs;s to break heads;
For though the man is pleas'd who reads,
The hi&longs;tory of atchievment, yet,
Not him who feels the blow on's pate.
Un&longs;ea&longs;onable chivalry,
Does not with modern times agree;
Where law takes place of ancient prow'&longs;s,
puts a &longs;top to the abu&longs;e,

-- l --

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Nor troubles knights to knock down cows;
Or giants that have broke a hou&longs;e;
So that it is unnece&longs;&longs;ary;
To eudgel any adver&longs;ary,
E&longs;pecially a clergyman,
Who has his priviledge: again,----
Inglorious to make war with &longs;uch,
Not having honor very much,
Of victory, when it is obtain'd.----
There was a corporal by, hot-brain'd;
Who had been in the war, and fought;
But no bald eagle, yet had got;
Or was a partner of the club,
Which military had &longs;et up;
And took it much ami&longs;s that tho&longs;e,
Who equally had fac'd the foes,
Unworthily, were left i' the lurch,
To &longs;tand the back &longs;ide of the porch,
And though, were al&longs;o at the mu&longs;tering;
Yet had not at the brea&longs;t, or po&longs;tern,
A thing, &longs;ignificant of this----
For his part, he was wounded thrice,
While that &longs;ame officer that &longs;poke,
Had &longs;carcely ever &longs;een the &longs;moke.
But &longs;ince he was &longs;o hot to fight,
With clergyman, no man of might,
Had better turn to him a &longs;oldier,
Would make his blood a little colder;
And ea&longs;e him of intemperate pa&longs;&longs;ion;
Becau&longs;e the clergyman had rea&longs;on,

-- li --

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And others, to find fault, and blame,
The Cincinnat that left no fame,
To th' common &longs;oldier, and the &longs;ergeant,
But of their own accord, took charge on't;
And wore this honor as their own,
Appropriate to them&longs;elves alone.
The Cincinnat, who heard this, &longs;poke.
Quoth he, whether, in, or, out of &longs;moke;
Or where, the bullets flew, or fell;
And men, and mu&longs;kets, fought like hell;
No matter, to an officer,
Who only has a right to wear,
The emblem of the victory;
Becau&longs;e there mu&longs;t be low and high;
And what is better born and bread,
'Tis rea&longs;onable &longs;hould be the head.
For what our nature makes the foot,
Doth, in the inferior &longs;tation trot.
As, in this very body of ours,
We do not go, upon all fours;
So, it is rea&longs;onable, there &longs;hould,
Be a di&longs;tinction of the brood;
And tho&longs;e who have but little &longs;en&longs;e
And lower quality of brains,
Should occupy a &longs;phere beneath.
Is not the officer the head?
When we gave orders you obey'd,
So that 'tis proper you po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s
But the inferior grade and place;
And have no badge or in&longs;titution.

-- lii --

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The corporal felt his pa&longs;&longs;ion ru&longs;hing.---
Quoth he, have ju&longs;t as good a right,
As you, though thus you did come by't
To take to our&longs;elves and wear a badge.
The Cincinnat felt greater rage.
Quoth he, for&longs;ooth, becau&longs;e you fought,
Where battle was a little hot,
You claim the privilege with us,
To be o' th' in&longs;ide of the hou&longs;e,
To have in&longs;ignia at your brea&longs;t!
As well might an irrational bea&longs;t,
The hor&longs;e that draws artillery gun,
Or &longs;oldier had to ride upon,
Put in for heraldry, becau&longs;e,
Has &longs;ometimes been where dancer was.
What would you think to &longs;ee a ribbon
Or badge, hung at his tail, or hipbone!
A burle&longs;que on your appetite,
To have this matter made &longs;o light,
Which were a proper ridicule
When &longs;uch a Teague O'Regan fool
As you, would claim the e&longs;tabli&longs;hment.
The corporal's anger which was pent
Broke out.---It was not proof of &longs;en&longs;e,
Or other quality of brains,
Quoth he, that fabricated one,
An officer, and let alone,
The other, that was ju&longs;t as good;
But Congre&longs;s, that was in the mood;
For, had a comrade, in my hut,

-- --

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That would have made a perfect butt,
Of many that were officers,
Who had as little &longs;en&longs;e as bears---
And yet for&longs;ooth poor &longs;oldier dick,
May wi&longs;h for honor, till he's &longs;ick,
And get no knob, or bit of ribbon,
Hung at his bo&longs;om, or his hipbone,
As many of the codheads have,
Who did not &longs;hew them&longs;elves &longs;o brave,
In any battle that was fought.
At this, the Cincinnat, red hot,
Drew out his hanger, to &longs;hed blood,
And hew down corporal, as he &longs;tood:
But thought it be&longs;t, t' acco&longs;t him fir&longs;t,
Before the matter came to th' wor&longs;t.
As Homer, when he wages battle,
Between two of heroic cattle,
He has a parly, and a &longs;peech,
To know each other, which is which;
And, of what origin, they were;
And, how the devil, they came there:
Becau&longs;e, whoknows, but they were cou&longs;ins?
So &longs;hould not cut each others weazons;
But, turn to other combatants:
And even in the time of giants,
And champions, throughout chri&longs;tendom,
Before they, hand to hand, did come,
And actual cla&longs;hing of the &longs;words,
'Twas not unu&longs;ual to have words;
Though what was u&longs;ual to be &longs;aid,

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Have not at pre&longs;ent in my head:
But do, remember, very well,---
What from our Cincinnatus fell,
“Quoth he, if, &longs;o prepo&longs;terous,
T' have al&longs;o what they call a goo&longs;e,
Is your ambition, why not take,
God's name, and hang it at your neck;
Or at your breech, or back, or bo&longs;om;
Or like a turkey-cock, at no&longs;e o' 'im?
Some wooden peg, or pewter noggin,
To wear it as you are a joging;
Or copper ball, or piece of metal
Inferior, for the common cattle;
With &longs;omething on it like a bird
Or &longs;ign of poultry; whence infer'd,
That you have rob'd hen-roo&longs;ts, you rogue
Or &longs;tole a duck or drake incog;
When rations were a little &longs;carce,
This &longs;eem'd to make the thing a farce;
And a militia man ju&longs;t by,
Who li&longs;ten'd t' him attentively,
Was angry, and began to frown,
To &longs;ee the &longs;oldier &longs;o run down.
Quoth he, though but a common rat,
I am, and you a Cincinnat.
Great captain, that have &longs;poke &longs;o loud,
In your haranguing to the croud;
And, though I know the &longs;oldier would
Much rather have a fowl for food,
And eat the wing or rib of a goo&longs;e,

-- lv --

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Than &longs;mell its picture at his no&longs;e;
Yet take a part in his defence,
Becau&longs;e he &longs;peaks the better &longs;en&longs;e;
And undervaluing, you throughout
Hits me, and others in the croud,
Who being but militia per&longs;ons,
Who in the war have made exertions
Yet have no right to wear the badge,
As indirectly you alledge,
By title and the club a&longs;&longs;um'd---
By this time common fame had drum'd
The like ideas every where,
Among&longs;t the people that were there,
With &longs;uch exaggeration, as---
Is natural in the like ca&longs;e;
Videlicet, that the prognatus
Who then was there of Cincinnatus
Had ridicul'd all common people;
And blackguarded them like the devil,
Calling them all &longs;crubs and bodkins,
And habberda&longs;hers, and &longs;uch odd things:
How, that they ran away at York,
And left the regulars at the work;
And fled at Germantown and broke,
Whil&longs;t they were bu&longs;y in the &longs;moke:
At other places turn'd about,
And &longs;carcely ever &longs;hew'd their &longs;nout,
Where there was danger, or hot fire.
One of the people that was nigher,
Became the &longs;poke&longs;man of the re&longs;t;

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And rage now boiling in his brea&longs;t;
Quoth he, no doubt, we are but goats
And &longs;carce above the bea&longs;t that trots,
Compar'd with you, in what was done,
And &longs;ervices, you &longs;on of a gun;
Tag-rag and bob-tail, doubtle&longs;s, are
Compar'd with vet'ran officer:
Becau&longs;e we have not at our bo&longs;om
That thing of yours, a ro&longs;y crozum;
Are not embelli&longs;h'd with a broach,
At head or neck, or brea&longs;t, or crotch;
A Latin motto or an en&longs;ign,
Our toils, or &longs;ervices evincing;
Being but a vulgar &longs;ort of whigs,
That in the marches danc'd our jigs;
Nor help'd at Trenton to take He&longs;&longs;ians;
Or fought like you, on other occa&longs;ions;
Or at the Cowpens, made good battle;
And &longs;o are but a common cattle;
And you alone &longs;u&longs;tain'd the cau&longs;e,
While we like bears at home &longs;uck'd paws;
And cannot now advance a claim,
To hieroglyphic of your &longs;ame.
Quoth Cincinnat, the charge is fal&longs;e,
And of the nature of all tales,
Which contradict, and &longs;hew by proof,
Intrin&longs;ical, what they are of.
What? an American, by birth,
Degrade the military worth,
And le&longs;&longs;en the applau&longs;e,

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Of my compatriots, in the cau&longs;e,
Of tho&longs;e who fought, in front, or flank,
In regular, or militia rank.
My &longs;entiments are the rever&longs;e;
And never had in view t' a&longs;per&longs;e
The &longs;ignal honor you have won,
In order to advance my own.
The&longs;e words had rea&longs;on, but his voice
Was wholly buried in the noi&longs;e;
And as the clamour was, to beat
And cha&longs;ti&longs;e, this our Cincinnat,
His words could not re&longs;train the mob,
Or check the violence of hubbub.
For where a multitude convenes
To carry on &longs;ome hot de&longs;igns,
They mu&longs;t do &longs;omething, or &longs;eem &longs;lack,
Of &longs;kill and courage, for the attack.
So ru&longs;hing di&longs;compos'd, the throng,
Brought violence, and blows along:
Here one uprais'd a ponderous &longs;tone;
Another got an old hor&longs;e bone;
El&longs;ewhere, was &longs;een, a block of wood,
Portending to the knight no good;
And all around, the face of war
Appear'd, ju&longs;t gathering, in the air.
Say, &longs;hall he wage an equal fight;
And wound whole ranks, and kill outright;
Like val'rous Hector, at the &longs;iege,
Of Troy, compo&longs;e a perfect bridge,
Of bodies, upon which to tread,

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And &longs;well the rivers with the dead;
Or mow a whole battalion down,
Like Ajax, &longs;on of Telamon;
Con&longs;truct a rampart of the &longs;lain;
And &longs;trew with carca&longs;es the plain?
Or &longs;hall I bid him jump among,
The individuals of the throng;
Like Alexander when half crazy
He leapt the walls of Oxcydracy?
Or &longs;hall I render him expert
The various wiles of war t' exert;
And now give way, and now advance,
And &longs;pit a parcel on his lance?
Shall I de&longs;cribe a various fray,
And change the fortune of the day;
Now on the verge of a defeat;
And now, in turn, advantage get;
One while broke down, like very &longs;tubble;
Now ri&longs;e, and give the foe more trouble?
What wounds &longs;hall &longs;pecify; what heart,
Oppre&longs;s with javelin or dart?
What names relate, and characters
Of tho&longs;e who rag'd this day like bears?
I wave the arduous ta&longs;k of this;
Becau&longs;e narration would be lies;
For, ju&longs;t the naked truth expre&longs;s'd,
In hi&longs;tory, is always be&longs;t.
Hence &longs;hall relate what came to pa&longs;s;
And how the i&longs;&longs;ue really was;
Videlicet---but here again,

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I feel the ru&longs;hing epic vein,
To bring Minerva, from the clouds,
Down &longs;liding through aerial &longs;hrouds;
To make her vet'ran champion wi&longs;e,
And teach him that no honor lies
In waging battle, where the chance,
Of war, between the combatants,
Is &longs;o unequal, as this was;
For, had no head piece, made of bra&longs;s;
Or iron, adamant, or wood;
And let him do the be&longs;t he could;
Yet &longs;till, the number, and the weight,
Of blows, that mu&longs;t a&longs;&longs;ail the pate,
Would overpower his be&longs;t defence,
And wound him, or knock out his brains.
'Twas no Minerva, or a God,
From dome cele&longs;tial, or abode,
But, his own rea&longs;on, play'd the part,
And put di&longs;cretion in his heart.
For, &longs;eeing that the wild mi&longs;rule,
Of mob, as raging to the full,
As pedlars at an Ul&longs;ter fair,
With their &longs;hilelahs, &longs;wung in air,
Left him no hope of victory,
He thought the be&longs;t way was to fly,
And without waiting for the blows,
He turn'd the corner of a hou&longs;e;
E&longs;caping from the rioters:
As when a morning &longs;hadow &longs;tirs,
And hides it&longs;elf behind a wood,

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Before the &longs;un that would &longs;uck blood,
Pur&longs;uing, with his ri&longs;ing heat,
The thing that is not adequate,
To give him battle, and with&longs;tand
The numerous beams he has at hand:
To overpower it on the plains,
And maul it, and knock out its brains.
Retir'd, and to a tavern got,
Where &longs;uch di&longs;turbance there was not;
Fatigu'd with what had &longs;ung and &longs;aid,
Now on a &longs;ofa laid his head;
Becau&longs;e he did not wi&longs;h to trudge.
God Morpheus who does not begrudge
A dream, lent one to keep him quiet.
He &longs;aw a plain, and there e&longs;pied,
The champions of the former period,
And airy cour&longs;ers, on which they rode:
The cavalcade of ancient knight-hood?
A &longs;hew would do the very &longs;ight good;
Such, as the mon&longs;ters, had knock'd down;
And dwarfs, and giants, overthrown;
And fiery dragons of the air;
And pale-fac'd virgins that were there;
Whom they had re&longs;cued from the gra&longs;p,
Of ravi&longs;hers that did encla&longs;p
Their &longs;nowy bodies, in their arms;
And drank the lu&longs;tre of their charms;
Or knights them&longs;elves, who had been freed,
From oaken durance, where were tree'd;
Or bound in rocks, where by a &longs;pell,

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They had remained invi&longs;ible,
The Cincinnat approach'd the throng,
Who beckon'd him to come along;
As recognizing his advance,
To be that of no common man's;
But one who came to join the &longs;quad,
By that &longs;ame baublet that he had;
With en&longs;ign of the eagle's beak,
And motto in th' original Greek
Or Latin, knew not which it was:
For things had come to &longs;uch a pa&longs;s,
When the&longs;e knights flouri&longs;h'd, devil a one,
Had &longs;uch a thing as learning known;
But all depended on their &longs;la&longs;hing,
For fame, and for diurnal ration;
And cut and carv'd their &longs;u&longs;tenance,
By force of vig'rous arm and lance.
The Cincinnat addre&longs;s'd as ought,
With cho&longs;en words and &longs;elect thought.
Quoth he, my &longs;eniors, in the art,
Of chevalry's great ma&longs;ter part;
You &longs;ee me, of a junior breed;
A germ, &longs;prung from the &longs;elf &longs;ame &longs;eed,
Of predece&longs;&longs;ors in romance,
And orders that did flouri&longs;h once;
Profe&longs;&longs;ion now degenerate,
Reduc'd to the very lowe&longs;t &longs;tate;
For even the Cincinnati club
Which imitative is &longs;et up,
Is much traduce'd, and badge do wear

-- lxii --

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Is greatly undervalu'd here;
Particularly a pedagogue,
And clergyman that is in vogue,
And other cavilers, ju&longs;t now
I met with in a town came through;
Do lead a&longs;tray the populace,
Who have no judgment in the ca&longs;e.
A &longs;enior from the &longs;quad &longs;tep'd forth,
Of a &longs;uperior mein, and worth:
Quoth he, the more the degration,
Of chivalry, the more occa&longs;ion,
For an exertion of the brain,
To kindle up the thing again;
And doubtle&longs;s this &longs;ame club of yours,
Has, as't were added boots and &longs;purs,
To bring it to a trot once more
And re&longs;torate the days of yore.
And, if di&longs;couragements ari&longs;e,
In this the greater honor lies,
To overcome and per&longs;evere.
'Tis true, no dragons of the air,
Or fiery vultures do occur,
T' encounter with, and make a &longs;tir;
Or dam&longs;els ravi&longs;h'd in a wood;
Or giant to let out his blood:
Or an inchanter with his &longs;pell;
But yet there is the devil in hell
To pay with other villainies,
That in your modern days take ri&longs;e
Such as fal&longs;e notions of the right,

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Which it behooves a valourous knight
T' arraign with free born thought and &longs;peech
And tell the people which is which;
And no le&longs;s courage is requir'd,
To &longs;peak the truth with which are fir'd;
Than to knock down a cow at gra&longs;s,
Or mon&longs;ter that did come to pa&longs;s.
Meantime a me&longs;&longs;age had been &longs;ent
By Charlemagne to call from tent,
By trumpeter, the &longs;everal orders,
That lay upon th' enchanted borders,
Our hero look'd to &longs;ee where was,
Old Cincinnatus in the ca&longs;e.
In vain, for, in ely&longs;ium hous'd,
His mettle had not yet be rous'd;
But mixed, with the ignoble &longs;hades,
Did wander, idly in the glades;
And as in life, had been a plowman,
And wore no badge, or dre&longs;s uncommon;
So now he troubles not his herd,
With the&longs;e; but walks among the dead,
The Romans, or ob&longs;curer Greeks;
That wore no pendle at their necks.
At this the Cincinnat below,
Awaking as &longs;ome one came through,
Saw nothing but the &longs;tanding chairs,
And landlord coming down the &longs;tairs.

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It would &longs;eem a little &longs;trange, what
could have induced this bard, to have made
choice of the preceding &longs;ubject for his poem,
as not being an American; or at lea&longs;t,
long in America; and could not be much
intere&longs;ted, one would think, in the institution
of the Cincinnati Society. But it is
to be ob&longs;erved, that poets, chu&longs;e a &longs;ubject,
and ridicule, or prai&longs;e, not becau&longs;e they
care any thing about the matter; but because
there may be &longs;ome novelty or originality
in the &longs;ubject; and, &longs;o, what they
write, not altogether beaten and common.

It may be al&longs;o ju&longs;t to ob&longs;erve, that foreigners
were more alarmed at the institution
of the &longs;ociety than Americans, and
for this rea&longs;on, becau&longs;e, they &longs;aw at home
the orders of nobility with &longs;tars, garters,
cro&longs;&longs;es, &c. and felt the weight of superior
rank, of which the&longs;e were &longs;ometimes
the badges: and transferring the idea to
the Cincinnati, they con&longs;idered them in
the &longs;ame point of view. Hence, it was,
that Mirabeau, in France, was led to
compo&longs;e a treati&longs;e again&longs;t the in&longs;titution,
&longs;hewing it to be, as he conceived, unfavorable
to equality, and dangerous to the
liberty of the&longs;e &longs;tates. Burke has been
the only American that has written, professedly,
on the tendency of this club:

-- lxv --

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but, as his name imports, I take it he
mu&longs;t have been, originally, an Iri&longs;hman;
and had conceived, in that country, an
unfavorable idea of titled per&longs;ons, Sir
this, and Sir that one, &c. Probably
he has been of the Hearts of Oak, or
White Boys, who were of a levelling
principle, and oppo&longs;ed to all elevation
from the common ma&longs;s.

For my part, I could never &longs;ee that it
was of any con&longs;equence whether this institution
exi&longs;ted or not. For it mu&longs;t naturally
evaporate in a few years, the &longs;pirit
of the times being wholly changed, from
what it was in the days of chivalry, and
not capable of &longs;upporting an excre&longs;cene
which has no natural root, or foundation
in the opinion of the people.

The public may think what it will of
this little work of the unfortunate Scotchman;
but it appears to me, to have the
vivida vis, animi, in a very great degree;
and the ver&longs;ification, though carele&longs;s, is
&longs;pirited. The brokenne&longs;s and disjointings
of the ver&longs;es, one line running into, and
interlaced with another, carries it beyond
the monotous, though perhaps, more musical
imitators of Butler: among&longs;t whom,
Trumbull, of Connecticut, ea&longs;ily de&longs;erves
the fir&longs;t place; yet though in his &longs;imilies,

-- lxvi --

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and other excellencies of his compo&longs;ition,
he may &longs;urpa&longs;s the Cincinnatus of M`Comas;
neverthele&longs;s I mu&longs;t give the Scotch
bard the prai&longs;e of greater variety in the
&longs;tructure of his ver&longs;es. I &longs;hould have been
glad to have &longs;een him before his exit. I
have no doubt, that want of food, reducing
him to great weakne&longs;s, together with pain of
mind from his de&longs;olate &longs;ituation, in a new
country, where there were but few in the
&longs;ame line with him&longs;elf, with whom he
could &longs;hare his joys, or communicate his
griefs, might ha&longs;ten the di&longs;&longs;olution of his
frame, prematurely. For, from what I
have collected of the mode of life and private
hi&longs;tory, in general, of bards, and
tho&longs;e who live by their wits, in old countries,
I can ea&longs;ily conceive the plea&longs;ure
which they have with each other, when,
after a fortunate paragraph with one, or
a copy of ver&longs;es with another, they collect
a few &longs;hillings, and after &longs;tarving several
days in the garrets while they had
been writing the&longs;e, they now come together,
in an evening, to break their fa&longs;t,
with a few tripes, and a little ale, to exhilirate
their hearts.

Peace to the manes of M`Comas. He lies
buried in the Potter's-field; with a &longs;ingle
&longs;tone at his head, which I my&longs;elf, though

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I do not wi&longs;h to boa&longs;t of it, have put there,
with this in&longs;cription on it, and nothing
more, Sanders M`Comas. I hope there
will be no mi&longs;take, in future times, reading
it M`Comus, in&longs;tead of M`Comas:
becau&longs;e, it might be thought, to be a composition
of the name of the god of wit
among the Romans, which was Comus,
with the word Mac, put to it, which is a
Scoth adjective, which would puzzle antiquarians,
and be unintelligible: for the
fact is, he was a Scotchman, and his name
&longs;pelled, as I have written it.

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