CHAPTER II.
Accordingly the Charming Serpent, holding me
by the hand, led me up the stairs. His steps were
steady. It was evident that his libations had excited
his brain, and instead of weakening gave him
strength.
“What's your name,” said he to me kindly.
“William Russell, Sir.”
“Do you know me, my little fellow?”
“Yes, sir, you're Mr. Patterson, the great
lawyer.”
“Ah, ha! they call me the great lawyer! What
else do they say?”
“That you're the greatest orator in the country,”
I replied, for what I had drank made me
bold, too.
“They do—I know they do, my little fellow—
I believe, in fact, that I could have stood up in the
Areopagus of old, in favor of human rights, and
faced the best of them. Yes, sir, I too could have
fulminated over Greece. But we are not Grecians
now—we are Pawnees.”
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“Stop, stop, Mr. Pawnee,” called out some one
from the crowd; “Short was to go, he is the tallest
man.”
“The tallest man!” re-echoed Patterson, speaking
in his natural tone. “The judge, sir, has
already decided that by just legal construction
Short is short, no matter how long he is, and if he
claims to be long, sir, I can just inform him that
Lord Bacon says, `that tall men are like tall
houses, the upper story is the worst furnished.'”
Here every eye was turned on Short, and there
was a shout of laughter.
“If,” continued Patterson, and it was evident
his potations were doing their work—“if it be
true, I will just say to you, sir, Dr. Watts was
a very small man, and he said, and I repeat it, of
all small men—
`Had I the height to reach the pole,
Or mete the ocean with my span,
I would be measured by my soul—
The mind's the standard of the man.'
“There, gentlemen of the jury, if that be true,
I opine that the tallest man in the crowd is addressing
you. But I forget, I am a Pawnee.
“Brothers: the tall grass is swept by the fire,
while the flint endureth the flames of the stake.
The loftiest trees of the forest snap like a reed in
the whirlwind, and the bird that builds there leaves
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her eggs unhatched. The highest peak of the
mountain is always the bleakest and barest; in the
valley are the sweet waters and pleasant places.
Gentlemen,” said he, speaking in his proper person,
for he began to forget his personation, “why
do we value the gem—
`Ask why God made the gem so small,
And why so huge the granite?
Because he meant mankind should set
The higher value on it.'
“That's Burns, an illustrious name, gentlemen.
When I was minister abroad, I stood beside the
peasant-poet's grave, and thanked God that he had
given me the faculties to appreciate him. Suppose
that he had been born in this land of ours, sirs,
all we who think ourselves lights in law and statesmanship
would have seen our stars paled—paled,
sirs, as the fire of the prairie grows dim when
the eye of the Great Spirit looks forth from its
eastern gates—ba! that's Ossian, and not Pawnee—
upon it in its fierceness.
`Thou the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight—thou shinest not on my soul.'
That's Byron—I knew him well—handsome fellow.
`Thou shinest not on my soul' — no, but thou
shinest on the prairie.”
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“The usher!—Dogberry—let's have Dogberry!”
called out several of the students.
“Ha!” exclaimed Patterson, “Dogberry!
He's Goldsmith's village teacher. that caused the
wonder—
`That one small head could carry all he knew.'
Dogberry!—Dogberry!—but that sounds Shakspearian.
`Reading and writing come by nature.'
Those certainly are not his sentiments, I mean the
defendant's; were they, he should throw away the
usher's rod, and betake himself to something else;
for if these things come by nature, then is Dogberry's
occupation gone. Yes, he had better betake
himself to the constableship—the night watch.
Come, my little friend—come, son of the Pawnee,
and we will arouse the pale-face.” Obeying Mr.
Patterson, we ascended to the little platform in
front of Dogberry's door, at which he rapped
three times distinctly. “Who's there?” cried out
a voice from within. Dogberry must of course
have been awake for at least half an hour.
“Pale-face,” said the Pawnee chief, “thou
hast not followed the example of the great chief
of the pale-faces; the string of thy latch is pulled
in. Upon my word, this is certainly the attic
story,” he continued in a low voice, “are you attic,
too, Dogberry?”
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“No, sir, I am rheumatic. Gentlemen, unless
your business be pressing—”
“Pressing! Pale-face, the Pawnees have lighted
their council-fire, and invite thee to drink with
them the fire-water, and smoke the pipe of peace.”
“Thank you, gentlemen, I never drink,” responded
Dogberry, in an impatient tone.
“Never drink! Pale-face, thou liest! Who
made the fire-water, and gave it to my people, but
thee and thine? Lo! before it, though they once
covered the land, they have melted away like snow
beneath the sun.”
“I belong to the temperance society,” cried out
Dogberry from within.
“Dogberry,” exclaimed Patterson, whose patience
like that of the crowd below, who were calling
for the usher as if they were at a town meeting,
and expected him to speak, was becoming
exhausted; “Dogberry, compel me not, as your
great namesake would say, to commit either `perjury'
or `burglary,' and break the door open. You
remember in `Marmion,' Dogberry, that the chief,
speaking of the insult that had been put to him,
said:—
`I'll right such wrongs where'er they're given,
Though in the very court of heaven.'
Now I will not say that I would make you drink
wherever the old chief would `right his wrongs,'
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but this I will say, that whenever I, Burbage Patterson,
get drunk, I think you can come forth and
take a stirrup-cup with him; he leaves for the
Supreme Court to-morrow, to encounter the giant
of the North.”
“Mr. Patterson,” said Dogberry, coming towards
the door, “your character can stand it; it
can stand anything; mine can't.”
“There's truth in that,” said Mr. Patterson
aside to me.
“Gentlemen, let us leave the pedagogue to his
reflection; and now it occurs to me that we had
better not uncage him, for, boys, he would be a witness
against you; more, witness, judge, jury, and
executioner; by the by, clear against law. Were
I in your place I would appeal, and for every stripe
he gives you, should the judgment be reversed, do
you give him two.”
Here a sprightly fellow, one of the scholars
named Morris, from Long Green, ran up the steps
and said to Mr. Patterson:—
“Do, sir, have him out; for if we get him into
the frolic too, we are as safe, sir, as if we were all
in our beds. He has seen us all through some infernal
crack or other.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Patterson, in a low tone to
Morris, “he has been playing Cowper, has he;
looking from the loop-holes of retreat, seeing the
Babel and not feeling the stir?”
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“Yes, sir, but he'll make a stir about it to-morrow.”
“He shall come forth, then,” said Mr. Patterson;
“Dogberry, open the door; they speak of
removing Sears, and why don't you come forth
and greet your friends? We have an idea of getting
the appointment for you.”
This flattery took instant effect; for we heard
Dogberry bustling to the door, and in a moment it
was opened about half-way, and the usher put his
head out, and said, but with an evident wish that
his invitation should be refused, “Will you come
in, sir? Why, William Russell!” to me in surprise.
“Pale-face, this is a youthful brave, to whom I
want the pale-face to teach the arts of his race.
Behold! I am the Charming Serpent. Come forth
and taste of the fire-water.”
As Mr. Patterson spoke, he took Dogberry by
the hand and pulled him on the platform. The
usher was greeted by loud acclamations and
laughter. He, however, did not relish it, and was
frightened out of his wits. He really looked the
personification of a caricature. His head was
covered with an old flannel nightcap, notwithstanding
it was warm weather, and his trowsers
were held up by his hips, while his suspenders
dangled about his knees. On his right leg he had
an old boot, and on his left foot an old shoe; he
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was without coat or vest. As Mr. Patterson held
up the light, so that the crowd below could see him,
there was such a yelling as had not been heard on
the spot since those whose characters the crowd
were assuming had left it.
Dogberry hastily withdrew into his room, but
followed by Mr. Patterson and myself, each bearing
a light. When we entered, the crowd rushed
up the steps.
“For God's sake, sir, for the sake of my character
and situation, don't let them come in
here.”
“They shall not, if you will promise to drink
with me. Pale-face, speak, will you drink with
the Pawnee?”
“Yes, sir,” said Dogberry, faintly.
The Charming Serpent here went to the door,
and said—
“Brothers, the Charming Serpent would hold a
private talk with the chief of the pale-faces. Ere
long, he will be with you. Let the Big Bull (one
of the lawyers was named Bull, and he was very
humorous) pass round the fire-water and the
calumet, and by that time the Charming Serpent
will come forth. Brothers, give unto the Charming
Serpent some of the fire-water, that he may work
his spells.”
A dozen handed up bottles of different wines
and liquors. The Charming Serpent gave
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Dogberry the candles to hold, took a bottle of Champagne,
and handed me another. Then shutting the
door he said, “This is the fire-water that hath no
evil in it. It courses through the veins like a
silvery lake through the prairie, where the wild
grass waves green and glorious, and it makes the
heart merry like the merriment of birds in springtime,
and not with the fierce fires of the dark lake,
like the strong fire-water, that glows red as the
living coal. Brothers, we will drink.”
Dogberry's apartment was indeed an humble
one. Only in the centre of it could you stand upright.
Over our heads were the rafters and bare
shingles, formed exactly in the shape of the capital
letter V inverted. Opposite the door was a little
window of four panes of glass, and under it, or
rather beside it, in the corner, was a little bedstead,
with a straw mattress upon it. A small
table, with a tumbler and broken pitcher, and a
candle in a tin candlestick, stood opposite the bed.
A board nailed across from rafter to rafter, held
a few books, and beside it, on nails, were a few articles
of clothing. There were besides in the apartment
two chairs, and a wooden chest in the corner
by the door.
“Come, drink, my old boy,” exclaimed Patterson.
“Thank you, Mr. Patterson; your character can
stand it, I tell you, but mine can't.”
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“Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,” reiterated
Patterson, offering Dogberry the glass.
“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, I would not choose
any,” said he.
“You can't but choose, Dogberry; there is no
alternative. Do you remember what the poet beautifully
says of the Roman daughter, who sustained
her imprisoned father from her own breast?
`Drink, drink and live, old man;
Heaven's realm holds no such tide.'
Do you remember it? I bid you drink, then; and
I say to you Hebe or Ganymede never offered to
the immortals purer wine than that; I imported it
for my own use. Drink; here's to you, Dogberry,
and to your speedy promotion;” and Mr. Patterson
swallowed every drop in the glass, and refilling it
handed it to the usher.
“How do you like the letter, Mr. Dogberry?”
asked Patterson of the pedagogue.
“What letter, sir? I must say this is a strange
proceeding; I don't know, sir, to what you
allude.”
“Don't know to what I allude! Why the letter
wishing to know if you would take the academy
at the same price at which Sears now holds it.”
“Sir, I have no such letter. I certainly would,
sir, if it was thought that I was—”
“Was competent. Merit is always modest;
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you're the most competent of the two, sir—take
some.”
So saying, Mr. Patterson filled up the tumbler,
and Dogberry swallowed the wine and the compliment
together, and fixed his eyes on the rafters
with an exulting look.
While he was so gazing, the lawyer filled his
glass, and observed, “Come, drink, and let me
open this other bottle; I want a glass myself.”
Down went the wine, and, with a smack of his lips,
Dogberry handed the glass to Mr. Patterson.
“Capital, ain't it, eh?”
“Capital,” re-echoed Dogberry. The wine and
his supposed honors had roused the brain of the
pedagogue in a manner which seemed to awake
him to a new existence.
While Mr. Patterson was striking the top from
the other bottle, Dogberry handed me the candle
which he held, the other he had put in his candlestick,
taking out his own candle, when he first
drank, and lifting the tumbler he stood ready.
Again he quaffed a bumper. The effect of these
potations on him was electrical. He had a long
face, with a snipe-like nose, which was subject to
a nervous twitching, whenever its owner was excited.
It now danced about seemingly, all over
his face, while his naturally cadaverous countenance,
under the excitement turned to a glowing
red, and his small ferret eyes looked both dignified
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and dancing, merry and important. “So,” he
exclaimed, “I am to be principal of the academy;
ha-ha-ha! O Lord! William Russell, I would reprove
you on the spot, but that you are in such
distinguished company.”
Whether Dogberry meant only Mr. Patterson
or included himself, I do not know; but as he spoke
he arose, and paced his apartment with a proud
tread, forgetting what a figure he cut, with his
suspenders dangling about his knees, and his nightcap
on, and forgetting, also, that his attic was not
high enough to admit his head to be carried at its
present altitude. The consequence was that he
struck it against one of the rafters, with a violence
which threatened injury to the rafter, if not to the
head. He stooped down and rubbed the injured
part, when Mr. Patterson said to him, “`Pro-digi-ous,
' as Dominie Sampson, one of you, said,
ain't it? Hang Franklin's notion about stooping
in this world. Come, we'll finish this bottle and
then go forth. The scholars are all rejoiced at
your promotion, and are all assembled without to
do you honor. They have made a complete saturnalia
of it. They marvel why you treat them
with so much reserve.”
“Gad, I'll do it,” exclaimed Dogberry, taking
the tumbler and swallowing the contents.
“Just put your blanket around you,” said
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Patterson to him, “and let your nightcap remain; it
becomes you.”
“No, it don't indeed, eh?”
“It does 'pon honor. That's it. Now, pale-face,
come forth; the eloquence of the Charming
Serpent has prevailed.”
So speaking, Mr. Patterson opened the door,
and we stepped upon the platform.
The scene without was grotesque in the extreme.
In front of us, I suppose to the number of a hundred
persons, were the frolickers, composed of
lawyers, students, and town's people, all seated in
a circle; while Mr. Patterson's client from the
West, dressed in costume, was giving the Pawnee
war-dance. This client was a rough uneducated
man, but full of originality, and whim. Mr. Patterson
had gained a suit for him, in which the
title to an estate in the neighborhood was involved,
worth sixty thousand dollars. The whole bar
believed that the suit could not be sustained by
Patterson, but his luminous mind had detected the
clue through the labyrinths of litigation, where
they saw nothing but confusion and defeat. His
client was overjoyed at the result, as every one
had croaked defeat to him. He gave Mr. Patterson
fifteen thousand dollars, five more than he had
promised, and had made him a present of the
splendid Indian dress, in which, as a bit of fun,
before the frolic commenced, he had decked
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himself, under the supervision of his client, who acted
as his costumer, and afterwards dressed himself in
the same way. The client had a great many
Indian dresses, which he had selected with a great
deal of care, and on this occasion he had thrown
open his trunks, and supplied nearly the whole
bar.
The name of Mr. Patterson's client was Blackwood,
and the admiration which he excited seemed
to give him no little pleasure. Most of the
lawyers in the circle had something Indian on
them, while the boys, who could not appear in
costume, and were determined to appear wild, had
turned their jackets wrong side out, and swopped
with each other, the big ones with the little, so
that one wore his neighbor's jacket, the waist of
which came up under his arms, and exhibited the
back of the vest, while the other wore a coat, the
hip buttons of which were at his knees.
On the outskirts of the assembly could be seen,
here and there, a negro, who might be said at once
to contribute to the darkness that surrounded the
scene, and to reflect light upon it; for their black
skins were as ebon as night, while their broad
grins certainly had something luminous about
them, as their white teeth shone forth.
We stood about a minute admiring the dance;
when it was concluded, some one spied us, and
pointed us out to the rest. We, or rather, I should
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say, Dogberry was greeted with three times three.
I have never seen, for the size of the assembly,
such an uproarious outbreak of bacchanalian merriment.
After the cheers were given, many of the
boys threw themselves on the grass and rolled over
and over, shouting as they rolled. Others jerked
their fellow's hats off and threw them in the air.
Prettyman stood with his arms folded, as if he did
not know what to make of it, and then, deliberately
spreading his blanket on the ground, he took a
seat in the centre of it, and, like an amateur at
play, enjoyed the scene. Morris held his sides,
stooped down his head, and glancing sideways
cunningly at Dogberry, threw himself back every
now and then, with a sudden jerk, while loud explosive
bursts of laughter, from his very heart,
echoed through the village above every other
sound.
“A speech from Dogberry,” exclaimed Prettyman.
“Ay, a speech!” shouted Morris, “a speech!”
“No, gentlemen, not now,” exclaimed Richardson,
the proprietor of one of the hotels; “I sent
down to my house an hour ago, and have had a
collation served. Mr. Patterson, and gentlemen,
and students all, I invite you to partake with
me.”
“Silence!” called out Mr. Patterson. All were
silent. “Students of the Bel-Air Academy, and
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citizens generally, I have the honor to announce to
you, that my friend, Mr. Dogberry, is about to supersede
Mr. Sears. We must form a procession
and place him in our midst, the post of honor, and
then to mine host's.” So speaking, Mr. Patterson
descended, followed by Dogberry and myself. The
students gave their candles to the negroes to hold,
joined hands, and danced round Dogberry with the
wildest glee, while he received it all in drunken
dignity.
When I have seen since in Chapman's floating
theatre, or in a barn or shed, in the far West, some
lubberly, drunken son of the sock and buskin enact
Macbeth, with the witches about him, I have recalled
this scene, and thought that the boys looked
like the witches, and Dogberry like the Thane,
when the witches greet him—
“All hail, Macbeth, that shall be king hereafter!”
The procession was at length formed. Surrounded
by the boys, who rent the air with shouts,
with his nightcap on his head and his blanket
around him, with one boot and one shoe, Dogberry,
following immediately after the judges, proceeded
with them to Richardson's hotel. Whenever there
was a silence of a minute or two, some boy or other
would ask Dogberry not to remember on the morrow
that he saw them out that night.
“No, boys, no, certainly not; this thing, I
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understand, is done in honor of me. I shan't take
Sears in, even as an assistant. Boys, he has not
used me well.”
We arrived at Richardson's as well as we could,
having business on both sides of the street. His
dining-room was a very large one, and he had a
very fine collation set out, with plenty of wines
and other liquors. Judge Willard took the head
of the table, and Judge Noland the foot. Dogberry
was to the right of Judge Willard, and Mr.
Patterson to the left. He made me sit beside him.
The eating was soon dispatched, and it silenced us
all a little, while it laid the groundwork for standing
another supply of wine, which was soon sparkling
in our glasses, and we were now all more excited
than ever. It was amusing to see the merry
faces of my schoolmates twinkling about among
the crowd, trying to catch and comprehend whatever
was said by the lawyers, particularly those
that were distinguished.
Songs were sung, sentiments given, and Indian
talks held by the quantity. Dogberry looked the
while first at the boys, then at the lawyers, and
then at himself, not knowing whether the scene
before him was a reality or a dream. The great
respect which the boys showed him, and Patterson
making an occasional remark to him, seemed at
least, not only fully to impress him with the reality,
but also with a full, if not a sober conviction of his
own importance.
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“A song! a song!” was shouted by a dozen of
the larger students; “a song from Morris. Give
us `Down with the pedagogue Sears.' Hurrah
for old Dogberry! Dogberry forever!”
“No,” cried out others, “a speech from Mr.
Patterson—no, from the Pawnee. You're finable
for not speaking in character.”
Here Prettyman took Mr. Patterson courteously
by the hand, and said something to him in a
whisper.
“Ah, ha!” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “so it
shall be; I like Morris. Come, my good fellow,
sing us the song you wrote; come, Dogberry's star
is now in the ascendant. `Down with the pedagogue
Sears'—let's have it.”
Nothing loth, Morris was placed on the table,
while the students gathered round him, ready to
join in the chorus. Taking a preparatory glass of
wine, while Mr. Patterson rapped on the table, by
way of commanding silence, Morris placed himself
in an attitude and sang the following, which he
had written on some rebellious occasion or other:—
SONG.
You may talk of the sway of imperial power,
And tell how its subjects must fawn, cringe, and cower,
And offer the incense of tears;
But I tell you at once that there's none can compare
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With the tyrant that rules o'er the lads of Bel-Air;
So down with the pedagogue Sears.
Chorus—Down, down,
So down with the pedagogue Sears.
Down, down, &c.
The serf has his Sunday: the negroes tell o'er
Their Christmas, the Fourth, ay, and many days more,
When they feel themselves fully our peers;
But we're tasked night and day by the line and the rule,
And Sunday's no Sunday for there's Sunday-school;
So down with the pedagogue Sears.
Down, down,
So down with the pedagogue Sears.
So here's to the lad who can talk to his lass,
And here's to the lad who can take down his glass,
And is only a lad in his years:
Who can stand up and act a bold part like a man,
And do just whatever another man can;
So down with the pedagogue Sears.
Down, down,
So down with the pedagogue Sears.
Down, down, &c.
“Hip, hip, hurrah—once more,” shouted Morris.
“Now then—”
While the whole room was in uproarious chorussing,
who should enter but Sears himself. He
looked round with stern dignity and surprise, at
first uncertain on whom to fix his indignation, when
his eye lit on Dogberry, who, the most elated and
inebriated of all, was flourishing his nightcap over
his head, and shouting at the top of his voice,
“Down with the pedagogue Sears.”
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As soon as Sears caught a view of Dogberry, he
advanced towards him, as if determined to inflict
personal chastisement on the usher. At first, Dogberry
again prepared to vociferate the chorus, but
when he met the eye of Sears his voice failed him,
and he moved hastily towards Mr. Patterson, who
slapped him on the shoulders and cried out,
“Dogberry, be true to yourself.”
“I am true to myself. Yes, my old boy, old
Sears, you're no longer head devil at Bel-Air
Academy. You're no devil at all; or if you are,
old boy, you're a poor devil, and be hanged to
you?”
“You're a drunken outcast, sir,” exclaimed
Sears. “Never let me see your face again; I
dismiss you from my service, from Bel-Air Academy;”
and so speaking he took a note-book from
his pocket, and began hastily to take down the
names of the students. The Big Bull saw this, and
caught it from his hand.
“Sir, sir,” exclaimed Sears, enraged, “My vocation,
and not any respect I bear you, prevents my
infliction of personal chastisement upon you. Boys,
young gentlemen, leave instantly for your respective
boarding-houses.”
During this, Patterson was clapping Dogberry
on the shoulder, evidently to inspire him with
courage.
“Tell him yourself,” I overheard Dogberry say.
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“No, no,” replied Patterson, “it's your place.”
“Well, then, I'll tell you at once; Sears, you're
no longer principal of this academy; you're dished.
Mr. Patterson, sir, will tell you so.”
“Mr. Patterson!” exclaimed Sears, for the first
time recognizing in the semblance of the Indian
chief the distinguished lawyer and statesman.
“Sir, I am more than astonished.”
“Sir,” rejoined Patterson, drawing himself up
with dignity, “I am a Pawnee brave; more, a redman
eloquent, or a pale-face eloquent, as it pleases
me; but, sir, under all circumstances, I respect
your craft and calling. What more dignified than
such? A poor, unfriended boy, I was taken by
the hand by an humble teacher of a country school,
and here I stand, let me say, sir, high in the councils
of a great people, a leader among leaders in
the senate hall of nations; and I owe it to him.
Peace to old Playfair's ashes. The old philosopher,
like Porson, loved his cups, and like Parr, loved his
pipe; but, sir, he was a ripe scholar, and a noble
spirit; and I have so said, sir, in the humble monument
which I am proud, sir, I was enabled, through
the education he gave me, to build over him—
`After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well.'
Yes, as some one says, he was `my friend before
I had flatteres.' How proud he was of me. I
remember well catching his eye in making my first
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speech, and the approving nod he gave me had
more gratification to me than the approbation of
bench, bar, and audience. Glorious old Playfair!
Mr. Sears, you were his pupil too. Many a time
have I heard him speak of you; he said, of all his
pupils you were the one to wear his mantle. And
sir, that was the highest compliment he could pay
you—the highest, Mr. Speaker, for he esteemed
himself of the class of the philosophers, the teachers
of youth. Sir, Mr. Sears, I propose to you that,
in testimony of our life-long respect for him, we
drink to his memory.”
This was said so eloquently, and withal so naturally,
that Sears, forgetful of his whereabouts,
took the glass which Mr. Patterson offered him,
and drank its contents reverently to the memory
of his old teacher.
“Sir,” resumed Patterson, “how glorious is
your vocation! But, tell me, do you subscribe to
the sentiments of Don Juan?
“`O, ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations—
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye, flog them upon all occasions—
It mends their morals—never mind the pain.'”
The appropriate quotation caused a thrill to run
through the assembled students, while they cast
ominous looks at each other. For the life of him,
Sears could not resist a smile.
-- 174 --
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At this, Mr. Patterson glanced at us with a
quiet meaning, and turning to Mr. Sears, he continued:
“The elder Adams taught school — he
whose eloquence Jefferson has so loudly lauded—
the man who was for liberty or death, and so expressed
himself in that beautiful letter to his wife.
Do you not remember that passage, sir, where he
speaks of the Fourth being greeted thereafter with
bonfires and illuminations? His son, Johnny Q.,
taught school. My dark-eyed friend Webster,
who is now figuring so gloriously in the halls of
Congress, and in the Supreme Court, and whom I
meet to-morrow, taught school. Judge Rowan, of
Kentucky, a master-spirit too, taught school. Who
was that
“`Who passed the flaming bounds of time and space
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble as they gaze;
Who saw, but, blasted with excess of light,
Closed his eyes in endless night—'
Who was he?—Milton, the glorious, the sublime;
who, in his aspirations for human liberty, prayed
to the great Spirit, who, as he himself says, sends
forth the fire from his altar, to touch and purify
the lips of whom he pleaseth. Milton, the schoolmaster.
“`If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues,
Milton appealed to the avenger, Time:
If Time, the avenger, execrates his wrongs,
And makes the word `Miltonic' mean `sublime.'
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“`He deigned not to belie his soul in songs,
Nor turn his very talent to a crime;
He did not loathe the sire to laud the son,
But closed the tyrant-hater he begun.
“`Think'st thou, could he—the blind old man—arise
Like Samuel, from the grave, to freeze once more
The blood of monarchs with his prophecies,
Or be alive again—again all hoar,
With time, and trials, and those helpless eyes
And heartless daughters, worn, and pale, and poor'—
“Would he not be proud of his vocation, when he
reflected how many great spirits had followed his
example? The schoolmaster is indeed abroad.
Mr. Sears, let us drink the health of the blind old
man eloquent.”
“Thank you, Mr. Patterson, thank you; but
before my scholars, under the circumstances, it
would be setting a bad example, when existing circumstances
prove they need a good one. Sir, it
was thought I should not return from Baltimore
until to-morrow, and this advantage has been taken
of my absence. But, Mr. Patterson, when such
distinguished gentlemen as yourself set the example,
I know not what to say.”
“Forgive them, sir, forgive them,” said Mr.
Patterson, in his blandest tones.
“Let them repair to their homes, then, instantly.
Mr. Patterson, your eloquent conversation has
made me forget myself; I don't wonder they
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should have forgotten themselves. Let them
depart.”
“There, boys,” exclaimed Mr. Patterson, “I
have a greater opinion of my oratorical powers than
ever. Be ye all dismissed until I again appear as
a Pawnee brave, which I fear will be a long time,
for 'tis not every day that such men as my western
client are picked up. But, Mr. Sears, what do
you say about Dogberry? He must be where he
was; to-morrow must type yesterday. Dogberry,
how is Verges?”
“I don't know him,” said Dogberry, doggedly.
“Why, sir, he is the associate of your namesake
in Shakspeare's immortal page. Let this
play to-night, Mr. Sears, be like that in which
Dogberry's namesake appeared—let it be `Much
ado about Nothing.'”
Sears smiled, and nodded his head approvingly.
“Then be the court adjourned,” exclaimed Mr.
Patterson. “Dogberry, you and my friend Sears
are still together, and you must remember in the
premises, what your namesake said to Verges.
`An' two men ride of a horse, one man must
ride behind.'”
Giving three cheers for Mr. Patterson, we boys
separated, and the next day found us betimes in
the academy, where mum was the word between
all parties.
-- -- p717-178
Thomas, Frederick William, 1806-1866 [1853], John Randolph, of Roanoke; and other sketches of character, including William Wirt; together with tales of real life (A. Hart, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf717T].
