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CHAPTER XVII.
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT WAS DONE WITH THE PIG; AND ALSO OF THE LECTURE
ON CRABBE, BY GILES SHERIDAN, AND VARIOUS THINGS.
WHEN Major Roger Potter reached his home, he found his wife Polly
waiting with eager desire to see the animal he had so vividly
described. "Pray to God, dear Polly," said he, embracing and kissing
his wife, as the mischievous boys set up a loud yell, "for our pig
is safe, and in him there is a fortune, which you shall share, and
he comforted." And having consigned the animal to the care of his
wife, who, although a strong minded woman in her way, looked at
first with no little distrust on the animal, but became favorably
impressed on seeing him cut certain curious capers round the room.
Indeed she soon began to congratulate herself on the possession of
so rare a creature, and to invoke certain ills on the head of the
parson for holding him so tight in his fingers. "Peace, dear Polly,"
enjoined the major, "for goodness belongs to our kind. The
nonresistant was right, (and right should have its right,) when he
advised me to use goodness as the most effectual weapon to demolish
an adversary. It becomes me, as it does all good christians, to
reverence and adore the Church; but I own it is not in me to
reverence those priests and deacons who affect to regale your palate
with truth, while splitting God's goodness into fragments, merely to
please those who have a terrible thirst to get to heaven over a road
no one else travels."
"As to that, my dear husband," responded the earnest woman, "I
cannot be a judge. But a major as famous as yourself, should be
careful how he mixes glory with his profanity; lest the public,
whose servant he is, set it down against him, and use it to his
injury on election day."
"Truly, wife," rejoined the major, assuming an air of great
self-complacency, "we military politicians had needs keep our wits
whetted, and be careful how much honey we mix with the brimstone.
But I must go look up my chickens; and if the devil, as some say,
regulates the future affairs of politicians, we may safely leave our
enemies to him." The good woman now brought food for the pig, when,
having devoured it with a keen appetite, the major, in order to test
his various talents, put him to a severe examination. It was found
that he could perform with wonderful agility numerous gymnastic
feats, such as jumping backward and forward, walking and vaulting
upon his hinder legs, and keeping time to certain tunes. He could
also distinguish between certain figures and letters of the
alphabet, to the latter of which he would, when directed, point with
his nose. Like some of our New York politicians, the pig was a
wondrous animal in various ways. In fine, so extraordinary was his
talent, that, as I have before said, the major resolved at once to
proceed with him to one of our great cities, where first rate
talent, whether of pigs or tragedians, was sure to find
appreciation. But before this could be carried out, it was necessary
that the services of Monsieur Pensin,, who gave lessons in
politeness to youths just entering society, be engaged to cultivate
and so polish his manners as to render him an acceptable member of
the Union Club, under the patronage of which institution, (generally
supposed to have been established for the cultivation of effeminacy
and other vices, common to the Dutch of New York,) he was sure to
become a lion. Monsieur Pensin, had figured in New York; was an
exile of unquestionable nobility; and if we can trust the Tribune, a
journal in high favor with foreign counts, a hero of enlarged
celebrity.
And now the sagacious animal, fatigued with the labors of his
examination, evinced an inclination to sleep, and to that end sought
a distant corner of the room. "We must treat him tenderly, dear
Polly, for he has wonderful instincts," said the major, casting a
look of endearing sympathy at the animal. The good woman pledged her
word not to be found wanting. Indeed so well did she appreciate the
instincts, and even the tastes of the animal, that, having at hand a
stray copy of the New York Express, and another of a very rare but
no less wonderful journal, called the Mirror, (whose editor was
famous for the immense amount of light and shade he threw into his
financial operations,) she spread them upon the floor for his bed.
And with an evident fellow feeling for those worthy journals, the
animal coiled himself down, casting an approving look at the good
woman as she covered him with an aged copy of the Herald. Seeing the
animal thus reconciled, the major declared, that so pure a native
American as Duncan could not have selected bed more appropriate,
though he was not quite sure how the Express editors would regard
the matter. Indeed, he was not quite sure that they would not,
feeling sorely grieved, dig up Duncan's ancestors, and thereby find
a means of damaging his character.
As the precious animal calmly went to sleep, the major sallied out,
having first drawn his sword to disperse the noisy boys who had
gathered about his door, and who hurled no few missiles at his head
before they were routed. He then set out for the church, where he
had an altercation with the sexton, which had resulted in blows but
for his courage giving out. Twice he lost his temper, and twice he
regained it. He at length got into the church, in search of his
chickens; and to his great surprise and mortification, found that
some political or military enemy (he would swear it was no one else)
had broken his coop, and set them loose among the pews. Indeed it
was high noon when the major got possession of his fowls, which he
did with the aid of the sexton and several mischievous boys. He then
secured them nicely in his coop, and having shouldered it, returned
to his wife, presenting her with another proof of the success of his
voyage, and relating how he got the advantage of Mrs. Trotbridge in
the trade of the Shanghais. After which he seated himself in a
chair, and for several minutes seemed absorbed in deep study. "Now,
I tell thee, my dear Polly," he suddenly broke out, "Major Potter
was born for no ordinary man. My enemies can inflict no injuries
that will discourage me, for I have got scars enough, heaven knows;
and scars are the proofs of a brave soldier. Major Potter never ran
from an enemy! And that is something for a man to say who has been
in the Mexican war. It was, as you know, by the merest slip in the
world that I did not succeed to fortune the two last times I was in
public life. And, dear Polly, I have now a better chance than ever,
having fallen in with a great politician in search of fame. By
joining our fortunes I will so manage it as to get the better of my
enemies; and with a little aid from my friends of the newspapers,
you will yet see me in power. I am a man of valor, I mix but little
honey with my brimstone; and let my enemies say what they will, take
my word for it, you shall yet see yourself the wife of a foreign
minister."
"As to your valor, dear husband," returned his affectionate wife,
"no one ever doubted it who knew you; and though there is nothing I
so much covet as to be the wife of a foreign minister, and to move
among great people abroad, and talk about it when I get home, our
family is growing up, and need all we can earn to get them bread.
And as they might become a town tax, while you were getting the
office, perhaps we had better thank heaven, and remain humble folks
until we can get to be fine ones without being sneered at."
"Indeed, Polly," said the major, in reply, "if any such mishap
should befall you while I am gone, you must pray heaven, and get
along as well as you can until I send relief. It is noble to
struggle on and wait for the reward, which always comes." The good
woman heard these words with tears in her eyes, and began to tax her
resolution for means to meet the emergency; for she saw clearly that
the major had got a freak into his head, and was about to give up
the business of peddling tin ware, at which he made an honest
living, and again lead the vagabond life of a politician.
And while this colloquy was proceeding between the major and his
wife, I had taken a seat in the reading-room of the "Independent
Temperance," where Giles Sheridan, the little deformed man, was
nervously pacing the floor, and pausing every few minutes either to
give me a few random sketches of his career in the world, or to
mutter his misgiving at the result of his lecture on Crabbe. In
truth, he had been waited upon several times during the morning by
persons regarded by the town as famous for their great learning, all
of whom said, if he had chosen a subject less remote, they would
have guaranteed a large house; as it was, they were not quite so
sure of the result. Soon the dapper figure of Bessie appeared in the
room. "Please, sir," she said, as her cheeks crimsoned with blushes,
"they say you came into town with that queer man they call Major
Potter?"
"And what of that, my child?" I replied, as another sentence
trembled upon her lips, which were as tempting as ripe cherries.
"Why, sir," she lisped, "you must know that although he now and then
talks like a sensible man, he is set down for a great fool. He
affords a deal of amusement for the boys, and never comes home but
what he keeps the whole town in an uproar. Being a great fool is
what got him elected Major of the Invincibles. And then he fancies
himself a great politician, and goes about the country delivering
lectures, as he calls them, and leaves his family to starve. Proceed
no farther with him; for I heard our minister say (and he never
profanes his calling) that the devil had run away with his brains.
He is always talking about his valor, and his military dignity; but
his poor distressed wife can tell you all about that." She was
proceeding to say much more, but was interrupted by the appearance
of the major, who, as he said, came to say, that as his wife was
sick of a fever, and the house in a somewhat disordered condition, I
must excuse his not giving me an invitation to dine with him. He
hoped, however, that sufficient proof had been given to convince me
of the high estimation in which he was held by Barnstable in
general. "Pardon what I may have said extravagant of myself, sir.
The rabble, you know, are always ready to get down a man of genius,
and to misconstrue his acts; but the thinking never fail, as they
have done with me, to give merit its due." Having said this with
refreshing self complacency, the major turned to Giles Sheridan,
(Bessie had left the room,) and as if to add to his discomfiture,
told him he had little to expect from his lecture on Crabbe, of whom
it was said that he could not be much of a poet, since the people of
Barnstable knew so little of him. Indeed he offered to wager two
dozen tin pints, a Shanghai chicken, and his military honor with the
little deformed man, that he would give an exhibition with his pig,
whose wonderful qualifications had already got noised over town, and
attract a greater audience. Indeed, as I have resolved never to
swerve from the truth in this history, it must be here acknowledged
that the pig had become quite as famous as his master.
The little deformed man was in nowise pleased with such a comparison
of his acquirements, and answered by saying, it did not become him
to hold argument with a man, however high his military position, who
would place genius in the scale with brute instinct. Seeing the pain
he had caused the little man, the major said he meant no offence,
and was ready to get upon his knees, dissolved in tears, if that
were necessary to a good and sufficient apology. In fine, it must be
said of the major, that, although he was at times emphatic in his
eccentric declarations, he would not knowingly wound the feelings of
those who had done him no harm. And, unlike some editors of New York
newspapers, he always held himself accountable according to the
strictest military rules, nor was he ever known to regard the
character of his fellow in arms as of so little worth, that he would
daily splinter it for the amusement of the public.
The major said he had come to see if I was comfortable, and to
inform me that he had thrown the editor of the Patriot a sly hint
about noticing the arrival of so distinguished a person as myself.
And the editor had assured him it would be properly recorded in his
columns, and so embroidered as to make it pleasant to his fancy. The
major now took leave of me, satisfied within himself of having
convinced me that he was a man of stupendous parts. I must not
forget to say that he promised to call again, and be present at the
lecture in the evening, inasmuch as his absence could not fail to be
seriously felt.
Night came on, and with it there gathered into the lecture room of
the Orthodox Church, an audience of many bonnets and much
respectability. Proverbially inquisitive, the people of the good old
town of Barnstable were on tip-toe, to see the man of whose curious
figure they had heard so much. And as if to gratify their curiosity,
Giles Sheridan now rose, frisked the little black scroll about in
his fingers, wiped the sweat nervously from his brow, and, in a
faltering voice, gave an interesting sketch of the early life of his
darling poet. This he continued for more than an hour, now warming
into eloquence, now subsiding into a low, desponding voice. But his
hearers sat unmoved, nor was one hand of applause raised to cheer
his too misgiving heart. They wondered, and listened, and looked at
one another, as was the custom of the country. The little deformed
man, however, took it as a proof that he had failed to interest
them; and this sorely taxed his sensitive nature. I ought also not
to forget to mention that the speaker was twice interrupted by the
major, who begged that he would state the exact quality of poetry
written by his friend, the poet. The audience took this interruption
very good naturedly, while the speaker gratified the major's
curiosity by reciting a number of verses written by him. The major
then said he was fully satisfied that this Mr. Crabbe must have been
a great poet; but he thought if the speaker had known one Sergeant
Milton, who wrote poetry in honor of the regiment he was major of
during the Mexican war, he would not have set Mr. Crabbe on so high
a horse. Indeed, according to what the major said, this Sergeant
Milton was the most wonderful poet that ever sung of the Mexican
War; and in addition to the gift of being a versifier, he was
celebrated for brewing an excellent whiskey punch, without which no
poet could hope for prosperity in New York, where punch begat
poetry, and foul linen seemed inseparable from poets.
The speaker smiled at the major's quaint remarks concerning his
friend, Sergeant Milton. But such was the failure he fancied himself
making, that he would gladly have given the fifteen dollars he was
to receive in pay for his lectures, and said not a word about the
victuals, to have got quietly out of town. But in truth he had not a
shilling in his pocket, and the money he was to receive of the
committee constituted the forlorn hope of his future fortunes. So,
with a heart overburdened with despondency, and an eye made liquid
with anxiety, he concluded in a faltering voice, and heaved a sigh.
And as no one came forward to congratulate him, and the very
atmosphere seemed to partake of the frigidity of the audience, he
watched his hearers disperse in silence, frisking his fingers, and
wondering if he had made them any wiser on the life of one Crabbe.
But a silent tongue is no proof of what the heart feels; nor does
the outward demonstration carry with it the stronger appreciation of
merit. And so it proved in this instance. It being the custom of the
country not to applaud on such occasions, the audience went home to
unbosom its approval, which was of the heartiest kind. On his way
home, the little man was joined by an elder of the church, who,
seeing his despondency, said unto him: "Permit me to congratulate
you, sir, for never was audience more interested in a lecture. You
did nobly, sir." The little man's heart was touched. He grasped the
speaker by the hand firmly, and as his enthusiasm broke its bounds,
he poured forth his gratitude in a rhapsody of thanks. Indeed, so
quickly did the word of consolation reinstate his confidence, that
he became like an overjoyed child, and in the innocence of his heart
invited the elder home with him, that they might enjoy a punch
together. In short, he not only convinced Barnstable that Mr. Crabbe
was a great poet, but so enlisted sympathy for himself, that the
benevolent ladies of the sewing circle, seeing the dilapidated state
of his raiment, made him up a purse, and presented it with an
intimation that Warren, the tailor, lived at the corner. I should
not forget to mention, that his second and third lectures proved
more successful than the first, and that Major Roger Potter looked
in at the "Independent Temperance" to compliment the little deformed
man on the very learned character of his lecture, much of which (so
he said) had so deeply interested him, that he had resolved to
incorporate it into his next political speech, which he intended
soon to make in opposition to that arch agitator, Thomas Benton,
Esq., and which the state of the nation demanded should be done at
no very distant day. Having said this, he called me aside, and
enjoining me to keep what he said a profound secret, whispered what
will be related in the next chapter, and took his departure.
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Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis
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