"Marry, our play is the most lamentable Comedy, and most cruel
death of Pyramus and Thisby."
PETER QUINCE.
Our task in the way of describing town society will soon be ended.
The gentlemen of the Effingham family had been invited to meet Sir
George Templemore at one or two dinners, to which the latter had been
invited in consequence of his letters, most of which were connected
with his pecuniary arrangements. As one of these entertainments was
like all the rest of the same character, a very brief account of it
will suffice to let the reader into the secret of the excellence of
the genus.
A well-spread board, excellent viands, highly respectable cookery,
and delicious wines, were every where met. Two rows of men clad in
dark dresses, a solitary female at the head of the table, or, if
fortunate, with a supporter of the same sex near her, invariably
composed the _convives_. The exaggerations of a province were seen
ludicrously in one particular custom. The host, or perhaps it might
have been the hostess, had been told there should be a contrast
between the duller light of the reception-room, and the brilliancy of
the table, and John Effingham actually hit his legs against a stool,
in floundering through the obscurity of the first drawing-room he
entered on one of the occasions in question.
When seated at table, the first great duty of restauration performed,
the conversation turned on the prices of lots, speculations in towns,
or the currency. After this came the regular assay of wines, during
which it was easy to fancy the master of the house a dealer, for he
usually sat either sucking a syphon or flourishing a cork-screw. The
discourse would now have done credit to the annual meeting and dinner
of the German exporters, assembled at Rudesheim to bid for the
article.
Sir George was certainly on the point of forming a very erroneous
judgment concerning the country, when Mr. Effingham extricated him
from this set, and introduced him properly into his own. Here,
indeed, while there was much to strike a European as peculiar, and
even provincial, the young baronet fared much better. He met with the
same quality of table, relieved by an intelligence that was always
respectable, and a manliness of tone which, if not unmixed, had the
great merit of a simplicity and nature that are not always found in
more sophisticated circles. The occasional incongruities struck them
all, more than the positive general faults and Sir George Templemore
did justice to the truth, by admitting frankly, the danger he had
been in of forming a too hasty opinion.
All this time, which occupied a month, the young baronet got to be
more and more intimate in Hudson Square, Eve gradually becoming more
frank and unreserved with him, as she grew sensible that he had
abandoned his hopes of success with herself, and Grace gradually more
cautious and timid, as she became conscious of his power to please,
and the interest he took in herself.
It might have been three days after the ball at Mrs. Houston's that
most of the family was engaged to look in on a Mrs. Legend, a lady of
what was called a literary turn, Sir George having been asked to make
one of their party. Aristabulus was already returned to his duty in
the country, where we shall shortly have occasion to join him, but an
invitation had been sent to Mr. Truck, under the general, erroneous
impression of his real character.
Taste, whether in the arts, literature, or any thing else, is a
natural impulse, like love. It is true both may be cultivated and
heightened by circumstances, but the impulses must be voluntary, and
the flow of feeling, or of soul, as it has become a law to style it,
is not to be forced, or commanded to come and go at will. This is the
reason that all premeditated enjoyments connected with the intellect,
are apt to baffle expectations, and why academies, literary clubs,
coteries and dinners are commonly dull. It is true that a body of
clever people may be brought together, and, if left to their own
impulses, the characters of their mind will show themselves; wit will
flash, and thought will answer thought spontaneously; but every
effort to make the stupid agreeable, by giving a direction of a
pretending intellectual nature to their efforts, is only rendering
dullness more conspicuous by exhibiting it in contrast with what it
ought to be to be clever, as a bad picture is rendered the more
conspicuous by an elaborate and gorgeous frame.
The latter was the fate of most of Mrs. Legend's literary evenings,
at which it was thought an illustration to understand even one
foreign language. But, it was known that Eve was skilled in most of
the European tongues, and, the good lady, not feeling that such
accomplishments are chiefly useful as a means, looked about her in
order to collect a set, among whom our heroine might find some one
with whom to converse in each of her dialects. Little was said about
it, it is true, but great efforts were made to cause this evening to
be memorable in the annals of _conversazioni_.
In carrying out this scheme, nearly all the wits, writers, artists
and _literati_, as the most incorrigible members of the book clubs
were styled, in New-York, were pressingly invited to be present.
Aristabulus had contrived to earn such a reputation for the captain,
on the night of the ball, that he was universally called a man of
letters, and an article had actually appeared in one of the papers,
speaking of the literary merits of the "Hon. and Rev. Mr. Truck, a
gentleman travelling in our country, from whose liberality and just
views, an account of our society was to be expected, that should, at
last, do justice to our national character." With such expectations,
then, every true American and Americaness, was expected to be at his
or her post, for the solemn occasion. It was a rally of literature,
in defence of the institutions--no, not of the institutions, for they
were left to take care of themselves--but of the social character of
the community.
Alas! it is easier to feel high aspirations on such subjects, in a
provincial town, than to succeed; for merely calling a place an
Emporium, is very far from giving it the independence, high tone,
condensed intelligence and tastes of a capital. Poor Mrs. Legend,
desirous of having all the tongues duly represented, was obliged to
invite certain dealers in gin from Holland, a German linen merchant
from Saxony, an Italian _Cavaliero_, who amused himself in selling
beads, and a Spanish master, who was born in Portugal, all of whom
had just one requisite for conversation in their respective
languages, and no more. But such assemblies were convened in Paris,
and why not in New-York?
We shall not stop to dwell on the awful sensations with which Mrs.
Legend heard the first ring at her door, on the eventful night in
question. It was the precursor of the entrance of Miss Annual, as
regular a devotee of letters as ever conned a primer. The meeting was
sentimental and affectionate. Before either had time, however, to
disburthen her mind of one half of its prepared phrases, ring upon
ring proclaimed more company, and the rooms were soon as much
sprinkled with talent, as a modern novel with jests. Among those who
came first, appeared all the foreign corps, for the refreshments
entered as something into the account with them; every blue of the
place, whose social position in the least entitled her to be seen in
such a house, Mrs. Legend belonging quite positively to good society.
The scene that succeeded was very characteristic. A professed genius
does nothing like other people, except in cases that require a
display of talents. In all minor matters he, or she, is _sui
generis_; for sentiment is in constant ebullition in their souls;
this being what is meant by the flow of that part of the human
system.
We might here very well adopt the Homeric method, and call the roll
of heroes and heroines, in what the French would term a _catalogue
raisonnée_; but our limits compel us to be less ambitions, and to
adopt a simpler mode of communicating facts. Among the ladies who now
figured in the drawing-room of Mrs. Legend, besides Miss Annual, were
Miss Monthly, Mrs. Economy, S.R.P., Marion, Longinus, Julietta,
Herodotus, D.O.V.E., and Mrs. Demonstration; besides many others of
less note; together with at least a dozen female Hajjis, whose claims
to appear in such society were pretty much dependent on the fact,
that having seen pictures and statues abroad, they necessarily must
have the means of talking of them at home. The list of men was still
more formidable in numbers, if not in talents. At its head stood
Steadfast Dodge, Esquire, whose fame as a male Hajji had so far
swollen since Mrs Jarvis's _réunion_, that, for the first time in his
life, he now entered one of the better houses of his own country.
Then there were the authors of "Lapis Lazuli," "The Aunts," "The
Reformed," "The Conformed," "The Transformed," and "The Deformed;"
with the editors of "The Hebdomad," "The Night Cap," "The Chrysalis,"
"The Real Maggot," and "The Seek no Further;" as also, "Junius,"
"Junius Brutus," "Lucius Junius Brutus," "Captain Kant," "Florio,"
the 'Author of the History of Billy Linkum Tweedle', the celebrated
Pottawattamie Prophet, "Single Rhyme," a genius who had prudently
rested his fame in verse, on a couplet composed of one line; besides
divers _amateurs_ and _connoisseurs_, Hajjis, who _must_ be men of
talents, as they had acquired all they knew, very much as American
Eclipse gained his laurels on the turf; that is to say, by a free use
of the whip and spur.
As Mrs. Legend sailed about her rooms amid such a circle, her mind
expanded, her thoughts diffused themselves among her guests on the
principle of Animal Magnetism, and her heart was melting with the
tender sympathies of congenial tastes. She felt herself to be at the
head of American talents, and, in the secret recesses of her reason,
she determined that, did even the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah menace
her native town, as some evil disposed persons had dared to insinuate
might one day be the case, here was enough to save it from
destruction.
It was just as the mistress of the mansion had come to this consoling
conclusion, that the party from Hudson Square rang. As few of her
guests came in carriages, Mrs. Legend, who heard the rolling of
wheels, felt persuaded that the lion of the night was now indeed at
hand; and with a view to a proper reception, she requested the
company to divide itself into two lines, in order that he might
enter, as it were, between lanes of genius.
It may be necessary to explain, at this point of our narrative, that
John Effingham was perfectly aware of the error which existed in
relation to the real character of Captain Truck, wherein he thought
great injustice had been done the honest seaman; and, the old man
intending to sail for London next morning, had persuaded him to
accept this invitation, in order that the public mind might be
disabused in a matter of so much importance. With a view that this
might be done naturally and without fuss, however, he did not explain
the mistake to his nautical friend, believing it most probable that
this could be better done incidentally, as it were, in the course of
the evening; and feeling certain of the force of that wholesome
apothegm, which says that "truth is powerful and must prevail" "If
this be so," added John Effingham, in his explanations to Eve, "there
can be no place where the sacred quality will be so likely to assert
itself, as in a galaxy of geniuses, whose distinctive characteristic
is 'an intuitive perception of things in their real colours."
When the door of Mrs. Legend's drawing-room opened, in the usual
noiseless manner, Mademoiselle Viefville, who led the way, was
startled at finding herself in the precise situation of one who is
condemned to run the gauntlet. Fortunately, she caught a glimpse of
Mrs. Legend, posted at the other end of the proud array, inviting
her, with smiles, to approach. The invitation had been to a
"_literary fête_," and Mademoiselle Viefville was too much of a
Frenchwoman to be totally disconcerted at a little scenic effect on
the occasion of a _fête_ of any sort. Supposing she was now a witness
of an American ceremony for the first time, for the want of
_representation_ in the country had been rather a subject of
animadversion with her, she advanced steadily towards the mistress of
the house, bestowing smile for smile, this being a part of the
_programme_ at which a _Parisienne_ was not easily outdone. Eve
followed, as usual, _sola_; Grace came next; then Sir George; then
John Effingham; the captain bringing up the rear. There had been a
friendly contest, for the precedency, between the two last, each
desiring to yield it to the other on the score of merit; but the
captain prevailed, by declaring "that he was navigating an unknown
sea, and that he could do nothing wiser than to sail in the wake of
so good a pilot as Mr. John Effingham."
As Hajjis of approved experience, the persons who led the advance in
this little procession, were subjects of a proper attention and
respect; but as the admiration of mere vulgar travelling would in
itself be vulgar, care was taken to reserve the condensed feeling of
the company for the celebrated English writer and wit, who was known
to bring up the rear. This was not a common house, in which dollars
had place, or _belles_ rioted, but the temple of genius; and every
one felt an ardent desire to manifest a proper homage to the
abilities of the established foreign writer, that should be in exact
proportion to their indifference to the twenty thousand a year of
John Effingham, and to the nearly equal amount of Eve's expectations.
The personal appearance of the honest tar was well adapted to the
character he was thus called on so unexpectedly to support. His hair
had long been getting grey, but the intense anxiety of the chase, of
the wreck, and of his other recent adventures, had rapidly, but
effectually, increased this mark of time; and his head was now nearly
as white as snow. The hale, fresh, red of his features, which was in
truth the result of exposure, might very well pass for the tint of
port, and his tread, which had always a little of the quarterdeck
swing about it, might quite easily be mistaken by a tyro, for the
human frame staggering under a load of learning. Unfortunately for
those who dislike mystifications, the captain had consulted John
Effingham on the subject of the toilette, and that kind and indulgent
friend had suggested the propriety of appearing in black small-
clothes for the occasion, a costume that he often wore himself of an
evening. Reality, in this instance, then, did not disappoint
expectation, and the burst of applause with which the captain was
received, was accompanied by a general murmur in commendation of the
admirable manner in which he "looked the character."
"What a Byronic head," whispered the author of "The Transformed" to
D.O.V.E.; "and was there ever such a curl of the lip, before, to
mortal man!"
The truth is, the captain had thrust his tobacco into "an aside," as
a monkey is known to _empocher_ a spare nut, or a lump of sugar.
"Do you think him Byronic?--To my eye, the cast of his head is
Shaksperian, rather; though I confess there is a little of Milton
about the forehead!"
"Pray," said Miss Annual, to Lucius Junius Brutus, "which is commonly
thought to be the best of his works; that on a--a--a,--or that on e--
e--e?"
Now, so it happened, that not a soul in the room, but the lion
himself, had any idea what books he had written, and he knew only of
some fifteen or twenty log-books. It was generally understood, that
he was a great English writer, and this was more than sufficient.
"I believe the world generally prefers the a--a--a," said Lucius
Junius Brutus; "but the few give a decided preference to the e--e--
e----"
"Oh! out of all question preferable!" exclaimed half a dozen, in
hearing.
"With what a classical modesty he pays his compliments to Mrs.
Legend," observed "S. R. P."--"One can always tell a man of real
genius, by his _tenu_!"
"He is so English!" cried Florio. "Ah! _they_ are the only people,
after all!"
This Florio was one of those geniuses who sigh most for the things
that they least possess.
By this time Captain Truck had got through with listening to the
compliments of Mrs. Legend, when he, was seized upon by a circle of
rabid literati, who badgered him with questions concerning his
opinions, notions, inferences, experiences, associations, sensations,
sentiments and intentions, in a way that soon threw the old man into
a profuse perspiration. Fifty times did he wish, from the bottom of
his soul, that soul which the crowd around him fancied dwelt so nigh
in the clouds, that he was seated quietly by the side of Mrs. Hawker,
who, he mentally swore, was worth all the _literati_ in Christendom.
But fate had decreed otherwise, and we shall leave him to his
fortune, for a time, and return to our heroine and her party.
As soon as Mrs. Legend had got through with her introductory
compliments to the captain, she sought Eve and Grace, with a
consciousness that a few civilities were now their due.
"I fear, Miss Effingham, after the elaborate _soirées_ of the
literary circles in Paris, you will find our _réunions_ of the same
sort, a little dull; and yet I flatter myself with having assembled
most of the talents of New-York on this memorable occasion, to do
honour to your friend. Are you acquainted with many of the company?"
Now, Eve had never seen nor ever heard of a single being in the room,
with the exception of Mr. Dodge and her own party, before this night,
although most of them had been so laboriously employed in puffing
each other into celebrity, for many weary years; and, as for
elaborate _soirées_, she thought she had never seen one half as
elaborate as this of Mrs. Legend's. As it would not very well do,
however, to express all this in words, she civilly desired the lady
to point out to her some of the most distinguished of the company.
"With the greatest pleasure, Miss Effingham," Mrs. Legend taking
pride in dwelling on the merits of her guests.--"This heavy, grand-
looking personage, in whose air one sees refinement and modesty at a
glance, is Captain Kant, the editor of one of our most decidedly
pious newspapers. His mind is distinguished for its intuitive
perception of all that is delicate, reserved and finished in the
intellectual world, while, in opposition to this quality, which is
almost feminine, his character is just as remarkable for its
unflinching love of truth. He was never known to publish a falsehood,
and of his foreign correspondence, in particular, he is so
exceedingly careful, that he assures me he has every word of it
written under his own eye."
"On the subject of his religious scruples," added John Effingham, "he
is so fastidiously exact, that I hear he 'says grace' over every
thing that goes _from_ his press, and 'returns thanks' for every
thing that comes _to_ it."
"You know him, Mr. Effingham, by this remark? Is he not, truly, a man
of a vocation?"
"That, indeed, he is, ma'am. He may be succinctly said to have a
newspaper mind, as he reduces every thing in nature or art to news,
and commonly imparts to it so much of his own peculiar character,
that it loses all identity with the subjects to which it originally
belonged. One scarcely knows which to admire most about this man, the
atmospheric transparency of his motives, for he is so disinterested
as seldom even to think of paying for a dinner when travelling, and
yet so conscientious as always to say something obliging of the
tavern as soon as he gets home--his rigid regard to facts; or the
exquisite refinement and delicacy that he imparts to every thing he
touches. Over all this, too, he throws a beautiful halo of morality
and religion, never even prevaricating in the hottest discussion,
unless with the unction of a saint!"
"Do you happen to know Florio?" asked Mrs. Legend, a little
distrusting John Effingham's account of Captain Kant.
"If I do, it must indeed be by accident. What are his chief
characteristics, ma'am?"
"Sentiment, pathos, delicacy, and all in rhyme, too. You no doubt,
have heard of his triumph over Lord Byron, Miss Effingham?"
Eve was obliged to confess that it was new to her.
"Why, Byron wrote an ode to Greece, commencing with 'The Isles of
Greece! the Isles of Greece!' a very feeble line, as any one will
see, for it contained a useless and an unmeaning repetition."
"And you might add vulgar, too, Mrs. Legend," said John Effingham,
"since it made a palpable allusion to all those vulgar incidents that
associate themselves in the mind, with these said common-place isles.
The arts, philosophy, poetry, eloquence, and even old Homer, are
brought unpleasantly to one's recollection, by such an indiscreet
invocation."
"So Florio thought, and, by way of letting the world perceive the
essential difference between the base and the pure coin, _he_ wrote
an ode on England, which commenced as such an ode _should_!"
"Do you happen to recollect any of it, ma'am?"
"Only the first line, which I greatly regret, as the rhyme is
Florio's chief merit. But this line is, of itself, sufficient to
immortalize a man."
"Do not keep us in torment, dear Mrs. Legend, but let us have it, of
heaven's sake!"
"It began in this sublime strain, sir--'Beyond the wave!--Beyond the
wave!' Now, Miss Effingham, that is what _I_ call poetry!"
"And well you may, ma'am," returned the gentleman, who perceived Eve
could scarce refrain from breaking out in a very unsentimental
manner--"So much pathos."
"And so sententious and flowing!"
"Condensing a journey of three thousand miles, as it might be, into
three words, and a note of admiration. I trust it was printed with a
note of admiration, Mrs. Legend?"
"Yes, sir, with two--one behind each wave--and such waves, Mr.
Effingham!"
"Indeed, ma'am, you may say so. One really gets a grand idea of them,
England lying beyond each."
"So much expressed in so few syllables!"
"I think I see every shoal, current, ripple, rock, island, and whale,
between Sandy Hook and the Land's End."
"He hints at an epic."
"Pray God he may execute one. Let him make haste, too, or he may get
'behind the age,' 'behind the age.'"
Here the lady was called away to receive a guest.
"Cousin Jack!"
"Eve Effingham?"
"Do you not sometimes fear offending?"
"Not a woman who begins with expressing her admiration of such a
sublime thing as this. You are safe with such a person, any where
short of a tweak of the nose."
"_Mais, tout ceci est bien drôle!_"
"You never were more mistaken in your life, Mademoiselle; every body
here looks upon it as a matter of life and death."
The new guest was Mr. Pindar, one of those careless, unsentimental
fellows, that occasionally throw off an ode that passes through
Christendom, as dollars are known to pass from China to Norway, and
yet, who never fancied spectacles necessary to his appearance,
solemnity to his face, nor _soirées_ to his renown. After quitting
Mrs. Legend, he approached Eve, to whom he was slightly known, and
accosted her.
"This is the region of taste, Miss Effingham," he said, with a shrug
of the jaw, if such a member can shrug; "and I do not wonder at
finding you here."
He then chatted pleasantly a moment, with the party, and passed on,
giving an ominous gape, as he drew nearer to the _oi polloi_ of
literature. A moment after appeared Mr. Gray, a man who needed
nothing but taste in the public, and the encouragement that would
follow such a taste, to stand at, or certainty near, the head of the
poets of our own time. He, too, looked shily at the galaxy, and took
refuge in a corner. Mr. Pith followed; a man whose caustic wit needs
only a sphere for its exercise, manners to portray, and a society
with strong points about it to illustrate, in order to enrol his name
high on the catalogue of satirists. Another ring announced Mr. Fun, a
writer of exquisite humour, and of finished periods, but who, having
perpetrated a little too much sentiment, was instantly seized upon by
all the ultra ladies who were addicted to the same taste in that way,
in the room.
These persons came late, like those who had already been too often
dosed in the same way, to be impatient of repetitions. The three
first soon got together in a corner, and Eve fancied they were
laughing at the rest of the company; whereas, in fact, they were
merely laughing at a bad joke of their own; their quick perception of
the ludicrous having pointed out a hundred odd combinations and
absurdities, that would have escaped duller minds.
"Who, in the name of the twelve Caesars, has Mrs. Legend got to
lionize, yonder, with the white summit and the dark base?' asked the
writer of odes.
"Some English pamphleteer, by what I can learn," answered he of
satire; "some fellow who has achieved a pert review, or written a
Minerva Pressism, and who now flourishes like a bay tree among us. A
modern Horace, or a Juvenal on his travels."
"Fun is well badgered," observed Mr. Gray.--"Do you not see that Miss
Annual, Miss Monthly, and that young alphabet D.O.V.E., have got him
within the circle of their petticoats, where he will be martyred on a
sigh?"
"He casts tanging looks this way; he wishes you to go to his rescue,
Pith."
"I!--Let him take his fill of sentiment! I am no homoepathist in such
matters. Large doses in quick succession will soonest work a cure.
Here comes the lion and he breaks loose from his cage, like a beast
that has been poked up with sticks."
"Good evening, gentlemen," said Captain Truck, wiping his face
intensely, and who having made his escape from a throng of admirers,
took refuge in the first port that offered. "You seem to be enjoying
yourselves here in a rational and agreeable way. Quite cool and
refreshing in this corner."
"And yet we have no doubt that both our reason and our amusement will
receive a large increase from the addition of your society, sir,"
returned Mr. Pith.--"Do us the favour to take a seat, I beg of you,
and rest yourself."
"With all my heart, gentlemen; for, to own the truth, these ladies
make warm work about a stranger. I have just got out of what I call a
category."
"You appear to have escaped with life, sir," observed Pindar, taking
a cool survey of the other's person.
"Yes, thank God, I have done that, and it is pretty much all,"
answered the captain, wiping his face. "I served in the French war--
Truxtun's war, as we call it--and I had a touch with the English in
the privateer trade, between twelve and fifteen; and here, quite
lately, I was in an encounter with the savage Arabs down on the coast
of Africa; and I account them all as so much snow-balling, compared
with the yard-arm and yard-arm work of this very night. I wonder if
it is permitted to try a cigar at these conversation-onies,
gentlemen?"
"I believe it is, sir," returned Pindar, coolly. "Shall I help you to
a light?"
"Oh! Mr. Truck!" cried Mrs. Legend, following the chafed animal to
his corner, as one would pursue any other runaway, "instinct has
brought you into this good company. You are, now, in the very focus
of American talents."
"Having just escaped from the focus of American talons," whispered
Pith.
"I must be permitted to introduce you myself. Mr. Truck, Mr. Pindar--
Mr. Pith--- Mr. Gray--gentlemen, you must be so happy to be
acquainted, being, as it were, engaged in the same pursuits!"
The captain rose and shook each of the gentlemen cordially by the
hand, for he had, at least, the consolation of a great many
introductions that night. Mrs. Legend disappeared to say something to
some other prodigy.
"Happy to meet you, gentlemen," said the captain "In what trade do
you sail?"
"By whatever name we may call it," answered Mr. Pindar--"we can
scarcely be said to go before the wind."
"Not in the Injee business, then, or the monsoons would keep the
stun'sails set, at least."
"No, sir.--But yonder is Mr. Moccasin, who has lately set up,
_secundum artem_, in the Indian business, having written two novels
in that way already, and begun a third."
"Are you all regularly employed, gentlemen?"
"As regularly as inspiration points," said Mr. Pith. "Men of our
occupation must make fair weather of it, or we had better be doing
nothing."
"So I often tell my owners, but 'go ahead' is the order. When I was a
youngster, a ship remained in port for a fair wind; but, now, she
goes to work and makes one. The world seems to get young, as I get
old."
"This is a _rum litterateur_," Gray whispered to Pindar.
"It is an obvious mystification," was the answer; "poor Mrs. Legend
has picked up some straggling porpoise, and converted him, by a touch
of her magical wand, into a Boanerges of literature. The thing is as
clear as day, for the worthy fellow smells of tar and cigar smoke. I
perceive that Mr. Effingham is laughing out of the corner of his
eyes, and will step across the room, and get the truth, in a minute."
The rogue was as good as his word, and was soon back again, and
contrived to let his friends understand the real state of the case. A
knowledge of the captain's true character encouraged this trio in the
benevolent purpose of aiding the honest old seaman in his wish to
smoke, and Pith managed to give him a lighted paper, without becoming
an open accessary to the plot.
"Will you take a cigar yourself, sir," said the captain, offering his
box to Mr. Pindar.
"I thank you, Mr. Truck, I never smoke, but am a profound admirer of
the flavour. Let me entreat you to begin as soon as possible."
Thus encouraged, Captain Truck drew two or three whiffs, when the
rooms were immediately filled with the fragrance of a real Havana. At
the first discovery, the whole literary pack went off on the scent.
As for Mr. Fun, he managed to profit by the agitation that followed,
in order to escape to the three wags in the corner, who were enjoying
the scene, with the gravity of so many dervishes.
"As I live," cried Lucius Junius Brutus, "there is the author of a--
a--a--actually smoking a cigar!--How excessively _piquant!_"
"Do my eyes deceive me, or is not that the writer of e--e--e--
fumigating us all!" whispered Miss Annual.
"Nay, this cannot certainly be right," put in Florio, with a
dogmatical manner. "All the periodicals agree that smoking is
ungenteel in England."
"You never were more mistaken, dear Florio," replied D.O.V.E. in a
cooing tone. "The very last novel of society has a chapter in which
the hero and heroine smoke in the declaration scene."
"Do they, indeed!--That alters the case. Really, one would not wish
to get behind so great a nation, nor yet go much before it. Pray,
Captain Kant, what do your friends in Canada say; is, or is not
smoking permitted in good society there? the Canadians must, at
least, be ahead of us."
"Not at all, sir," returned the editor in his softest tones; "it is
revolutionary and jacobinical."
But the ladies prevailed, and, by a process that is rather peculiar
to what may be called a "credulous" state of society, they carried
the day. This process was simply to make one fiction authority for
another. The fact that smoking was now carried so far in England,
that the clergy actually used cigars in the pulpits, was affirmed on
the authority of Mr. Truck himself, and, coupled with his present
occupation, the point was deemed to be settled. Even Florio yielded,
and his plastic mind soon saw a thousand beauties in the usage, that
had hitherto escaped it. All the literati drew round the captain in a
circle, to enjoy the spectacle, though the honest old mariner
contrived to throw out such volumes of vapour as to keep them at a
safe distance. His four demure-looking neighbours got behind the
barrier of smoke, where they deemed themselves entrenched against the
assaults of sentimental petticoats, for a time, at least.
"Pray, Mr. Truck," inquired S.R.P., "is it commonly thought in the
English literary circles, that Byron was a developement of
Shakspeare, or Shakspeare a shadowing forth of Byron?"
"Both, marm," said the captain, with a coolness that would have done
credit to Aristabulus, for he had been fairly badgered into
impudence, profiting by the occasion to knock the ashes off his
cigar; "all incline to the first opinion, and most to the last."
"What finesse!" murmured one. "How delicate!" whispered a second. "A
dignified reserve!" ejaculated a third. "So English!" exclaimed
Florio.
"Do you think, Mr. Truck," asked D.O.V.E. "that the profane songs of
Little have more pathos than the sacred songs of Moore; or that the
sacred songs of Moore have more sentiment than the profane songs of
Little?"
"A good deal of both, marm, and something to spare. I think there is
little in one, and more in the other."
"Pray, sir," said J.R.P., "do you pronounce the name of Byron's lady-
love, Guy-kee-oh-_ly_, or, Gwy-ky-o-_lee_?"
"That depends on how the wind is. If on shore, I am apt to say 'oh-
lee;' and if off shore, 'oh-lie.'"
"That's capital!" cried Florio, in an extasy of admiration. "What man
in this country could have said as crack a thing as that?"
"Indeed it is very witty," added Miss Monthly--"what does it mean?"
"Mean! More than is seen or felt by common minds. Ah! the English are
truly a great nation!--How delightfully he smokes!"
"I think he is much the most interesting man we have had out here,"
observed Miss Annual, "since the last bust of Scott!"
"Ask him, dear D.O.V.E.," whispered Julietta, who was timid, from the
circumstance of never having published, "which he thinks the most
ecstatic feeling, hope or despair?"
The question was put by the more experienced lady, according to
request, though she first said, in a hurried tone, to her youthful
sister--"you can have felt but little, child, or you would know that
it is despair, as a matter of course."
The honest captain, however, did not treat the matter so lightly, for
he improved the opportunity to light a fresh cigar, throwing the
still smoking stump into Mrs. Legend's grate, through a lane of
literati, as he afterwards boasted, as coolly as he could have thrown
it overboard, under other circumstances. Luckily for his reputation
for sentiment, he mistook "ecstatic," a word he had never heard
before, for "erratic;" and recollecting sundry roving maniacs that he
had seen, he answered promptly--
"Despair, out and out."
"I knew it," said one.
"It's in nature," added a second.
"All can feel its truth," rejoined a third.
"This point may now be set down as established," cried Florio, "and I
hope no more will be said about it."
"This is encouragement to the searchers after truth," put in Captain
Kant.
"Pray, Hon. and Rev. Mr. Truck," asked Lucius Junius Brutus, at the
joint suggestion of Junius Brutus and Brutus, "does the Princess
Victoria smoke?"
"If she did not, sir, where would be the use in being a princess. I
suppose you know that all the tobacco seized in England, after a
deduction to informers, goes to the crown."
"I object to this usage," remarked Captain Kant, "as irreligious,
French, and tending to _sans-culotteism_. I am willing to admit of
this distinguished instance as an exception; but on all other
grounds, I shall maintain that it savours of infidelity to smoke. The
Prussian government, much the best of our times, never smokes."
"This man thinks he has a monopoly of the puffing, himself," Pindar
whispered into the captain's ear; "whiff away, my dear sir, and
you'll soon throw him into the shade."
The captain winked, drew out his box, lighted another cigar, and, by
way of reply to the envious remark, he put one in each corner of his
mouth, and soon had both in full blast, a state in which he kept them
for near a minute.
"This is the very picturesque of social enjoyment," exclaimed Florio,
holding up both hands in a glow of rapture. "It is absolutely
Homeric, in the way of usages! Ah! the English are a great nation!"
"I should like to know excessively if there was really such a person
as Baron Mun-chaw-sen?" said Julietta, gathering courage from the
success of her last question.
"There was, Miss," returned the captain, through his teeth, and
nodding his head in the affirmative. "A regular traveller, that; and
one who knew him well, swore to me that he hadn't related one half of
what befel him."
"How very delightful to learn this from the highest quarter!"
exclaimed Miss Monthly.
"Is Gatty (Goethe) really dead?" inquired Longinus, "or, is the
account we have had to that effect, merely a metaphysical apotheosis
of his mighty soul?"
"Dead, marm--stone dead--dead as a door-nail," returned the captain,
who saw a relief in killing as many as possible.
"You have been in France, Mr. Truck, beyond question?" observed
Lucius Junius Brutus, in the way one puts a question.
"France!--I was in France before I was ten years old. I know every
foot of the coast, from Havre de Grace to Marseilles."
"Will you then have the goodness to explain to us whether the soul of
Chat-_to_-bri-_ong_ is more expanded than his reason, or his reason
more expanded than his soul?"
Captain Truck had a very tolerable notion of Baron Munchausen and of
his particular merits; but Chateaubriant was a writer of whom he knew
nothing. After pondering a moment, and feeling persuaded that a
confession of ignorance might undo him; for the old man had got to be
influenced by the atmosphere of the place; he answered coolly--
"Oh! Chat-_to_-bri-_ong_, is it you mean?--As whole-souled a fellow
as I know. All soul, sir, and lots of reason, besides."
"How simple and unaffected!"
"Crack!" exclaimed Florio.
"A thorough Jacobin!" growled Captain Kant, who was always offended
when any one but himself took liberties with the truth.
Here the four wags in the corner observed that head went to head in
the crowd, and that the rear rank of the company began to disappear,
while Mrs. Legend was in evident distress. In a few minutes, all the
Romans were off; Florio soon after vanished, grating his teeth in a
poetical frenzy; and even Captain Kant, albeit so used to look truth
in the face, beat a retreat. The alphabet followed, and even the
Annual and the Monthly retired, with leave-takings so solemn and
precise, that poor Mrs. Legend was in total despair.
Eve, foreseeing something unpleasant, had gone away first, and, in a
few minutes, Mr. Dodge, who had been very active in the crowd,
whispering and gesticulating, made his bow also. The envy of this man
had, in fact, become so intolerable, that he had let the cat out of
the bag. No one now remained but the party entrenched behind the
smoke, and the mistress of the house. Pindar solemnly proposed to the
captain that they should go and enjoy an oyster-supper, in company;
and, the proposal being cordially accepted, they rose in a body, to
take leave.
"A most delightful evening, Mrs. Legend," said Pindar, with perfect
truth, "much the pleasantest I ever passed in a house, where one
passes so many that are agreeable."
"I cannot properly express my thanks for the obligation you have
conferred by making me acquainted with Mr. Truck," added Gray. "I
shall cultivate it as far as in my power, for a more capital fellow
never breathed."
"Really, Mrs. Legend, this has been a Byronic night!" observed Pith,
as he made his bow. "I shall long remember it, and I think it
deserves to be commemorated in verse"
Fun endeavoured to look sympathetic and sentimental, though the
spirit within could scarcely refrain from grinning in Mrs. Legend's
face. He stammered out a few compliments, however, and disappeared.
"Well, good night, marm," said Captain Truck, offering his hand
cordially. "This has been a pleasant evening, altogether, though it
was warm work at first. If you like ships, I should be glad to show
you the Montauk's cabins when we get back; and if you ever think of
Europe, let me recommend the London line as none of the worst. We'll
try to make you comfortable, and trust to me to choose a state-room,
a thing I am experienced in."
Not one of the wags laughed until they were fairly confronted with
the oysters. Then, indeed, they burst out into a general and long fit
of exuberant merriment, returning to it, between the courses from the
kitchen, like the _refrain_ of a song. Captain Truck, who was
uncommonly well satisfied with himself, did not understand the
meaning of all this boyishness, but he has often declared since, that
a heartier or a funnier set of fellows he never fell in with, than
his four companions proved to be that night.
As for the literary _soirée_, the most profound silence has been
maintained concerning it, neither of the wits there assembled having
seen fit to celebrate it in rhyme, and Florio having actually torn up
an impromptu for the occasion, that he had been all the previous day
writing.