II.
A fine, clear day, unusually warm for the season, was the important fifth of November. Devoting the early hours to tedious travelling by the railroad, we drove up to the Prowley homestead soon after eleven o'clock. The Colonel and his sister received us with the old enthusiasm of hospitality,—Miss Prowley carrying Kate up-stairs for some fresh mystery of toilet, while her brother walked me up and down the piazza in a maze of inquiries and information.
I was glad to find that he cordially approved my resolution not to announce in advance the subject or manner of my evening performance. Professor Owlsdarck had said nothing of the particular theme of discourse selected for the trustees; and, indeed, it had often been the custom for the Foxden Lyceum to make no other announcement than the name of the lecturer. I was greatly relieved by this assurance, and was about to express as much, when my companion left me to greet a tall, ungainly-looking gentleman who came round the east corner of the house. This stranger was about forty years old, wore light-blue spectacles, and had a near-sighted, study-worn look about him that speedily suggested the essayist of cenotaphs. There was a gloomy rustiness in his countenance, a stiff protrusion of the head, and an apparent dryness about the joints, that made me feel, that, if he could be taken to pieces and thoroughly oiled, he would be much better for it.
"Let me have the pleasure of making two valued and dear friends of mine acquainted with each other!" exclaimed Colonel Prowley. "Professor Owlsdarck, permit me to"——and with flourishes of extravagant compliment the introduction was accomplished.
"Brother, brother, Captain Strype wants to see you a moment; he has gone into the back-parlor," called the voice of Miss Prowley from a window above.
Our host seemed a little annoyed; muttered something about the necessity of conciliating opposition editors; excused himself with elaborate apologies; and hurried into the house, leaving his two guests to ripen in acquaintance as they best might.
"Fine day, Sir," I remarked, after a deferential pause, to allow my companion to open the conversation, had he been so disposed.
"Fine for funerals," was the dismal response of Professor Owlsdarck.
"On the contrary," said I, "it seems to me one of those days when we are least able to realize our mortality."
"Then you think superficially," rejoined the Professor. "A warm day at this time of year induces people to leave off their flannels; and that, in our climate, is as good as a death-warrant."
"I confess, I never looked at it in that light."
"No, because you look at picturesqueness, while I look at statistics. Are you interested in mummies?"
I signified that in that direction my enthusiasm was limited.
"So I supposed," said Professor Owlsdarck. "And yet how can a man be said to know anything, who has not mastered this alphabet of our race? The naturalist or botanist studies the remains of extinct life in the rock or the gravel-pit. But how can the crumbling remnants of bygone brutes and plants compare in interest with the characteristic physical organization of ancient men? Remember, too, those natural and original peculiarities which distinguish every human body from myriads of its fellows. No, Sir, depend upon it, if Pope was right in declaring the proper study of mankind to be man, we must begin with mummies."
"But in these days," I pleaded, "education has become so varied, that, if we began at the beginning to study down, no man's lifetime would suffice to bring him within speaking distance of ordinary affairs."
"Education, as you call it, has become varied, but only because it has become shallow. Education is everywhere, and learning is wellnigh gone. Men sharpen their vulgar wits with a smattering of trifles; but fields of sober intellectual labor are neglected. What is the gain of surface to the fatal loss of depth in our acquirements!"
"For my own part," I said, "I have generally striven to inform myself upon topics connected with our own country."
"And such subjects are most interesting," replied the Professor, "if only the selection be proper and the study exhaustive. The bones," he continued, laying a pungent emphasis on the word,—"the bones of the Paugussetts, the Potatucks, and the Quinnipiacs are beneath our feet. The language of these extinct tribes clings to river, lake, and mountain. Coming from the contemplation of a people historically older, I have been refreshed in the proximity of these native objects of research. Consider the mysterious mounds on either side of the Ohio. What better reward for a life of scrutiny than to catch the slightest glimpse of the secret they have so long guarded!"
After this manner talked Professor Owlsdarck. Our conversation continued long enough to show me his complete adaptation to the admiring friendship of Colonel Prowley. He had the desperate, antiquarian dilettanteism of our host, with a really accurate knowledge in unpopular, and most people would think unprofitable, branches of learning. His love of what may be called the faded upholstery and tattered millinery of history was, indeed, remarkable. His imagination was decidedly less than that of Prowley, but his capacity for genuine rummaging in the dust of ages was vastly superior. Colonel Prowley (to borrow a happy illustration from Mr. Grant White) would much rather have had the pen with which Shakspeare wrote "Hamlet" than the wit to understand just what he meant by it. Owlsdarck, on the contrary, would have preferred to understand the anatomy and habits of life of the particular goose which furnished the quill, and the exact dimensions of the onions with which it was finally served. Yet, notwithstanding a quivering sensation produced by the mouldy nature of his contemplations, I found the Professor's conversation, within the narrow limits of his specialities, intelligent and profitable. He had none of the morbid horror of giving exact information sometimes encountered in more pretentious society; and I confess it is never disagreeable to me to meet a man whose objects of pursuit are not precisely those of that commonplace, highly respectable citizen we all hope to become.
It must have been an hour before Colonel Prowley rejoined us, and when he returned it was easy to see that something annoying had happened.
"Ah, my dear friend," he began, "here has been a sad mistake! Your wife has shown your address to the chief leader of the party which opposes your election. Captain Strype, editor of the "Foxden Weekly Regulator," did not come here for nothing. He sent me out of the room to get some beans to illustrate the Athenian manner of voting, and then he managed to get a sight of your manuscript."
"I hope it is no very serious blunder," said Kate, who had followed the Colonel to the piazza. "It was thoughtless, I admit; but the gentleman told me that he was an editor, and that it was always the custom to give the press information withheld from the general public. And then, he promised secrecy; and, after all, he had the manuscript only about five minutes,—just long enough to get an idea of the subject and its style of treatment; so I hope there's no great harm done."
"I should have thought you would have remembered Strype's connection with Howke and his Indian quackery," said I, a little irritated. "But it can be no great matter, since it will only give him an hour or two more to prepare the adverse criticism with which he will honor my performance."
"It is of much more matter than you think," said Colonel Prowley, sadly. "For the 'Regulator,' which appears to-morrow, goes to press this afternoon. Strype don't like to have it known, as it lessens the interest of the 'Latest Intelligence' column; but I happened to find it out some time ago."
"Then we are worsted indeed," I cried. "His eagerness is well explained; for, of course, any strictures he might make, on hearing the exercises this evening, would be useless for his purpose."
"A critique of the performance, purporting to come from an impartial auditor, will be printed in a thousand 'Regulators' before you open your lips in our Town Hall," said the Colonel, bitterly.
I knew for the first time that stinging indignation felt by all decent aspirants for public favor upon encountering the underhand knavery which dims the lustre of democratic politics. It is not the blunt, open abuse, my young republican, which you will find galling,—but the contemptible meanness of dastards who have not mettle enough to be charlatans. For an instant my blood ran fiery hot; I grasped my cane, and for a moment had an impulse to fly after Strype and favor him with an assault-and-battery case for his despicable journal. But the passion was speedily over; for, upon reflection, I saw that no real injury could be done me with those who witnessed the success I confidently expected. And—it is awkward to acknowledge it—I nearly regained my former complacency when my wife whispered that Strype had declared to her that Professor Owlsdarck had come upon a bootless errand; for the Wrexford Trustees would never provide their Academy with so dark and gloomy a Principal, though he carried the Astor Library in his head. Do not mistake the encouragement I derived from this announcement: there was in it not the slightest ill-will to the distinguished antiquary, but only a comfortable appreciation of my own sagacity in putting it out of the power of any mischievous person to oppose my election on similar grounds.
Soon after this I proposed to Kate to go to the arbor at the end of the garden, and hear, once more, the sensation-passages of my poem, to the end that I might be certain that all the proprieties of pause and emphasis we had agreed upon were fresh in my memory. It turned out that there was just time to do this satisfactorily before the bell rang for dinner. And I felt greatly relieved, when, upon reëntering the house, I closed the bothering production for the last time, and left it—where I could not fail to remember it—with my hat and gloves upon the entry-table.
You are apt to catch people in their freshness at a one o'clock dinner. Full of the half-finished schemes of the morning, they have much more individuality than at six. For, the work of the day fairly over, the clergyman, the merchant, the lawyer, and the doctor subside to a level of decent humanity, and leave out the salient contrasts of breeding which are worth noting.
Again those massive chairs, strong enough to bear a century of future guests, as they had borne a century of past ones, were ranged about the table. The great brass andirons, sparkling with recent rubbing, nearly made up for the spiritual life of the wood-fire that the day was too warm to admit. Mr. Clifton, the clergyman, a gentleman whose liberal and generous disposition could at times catch in the antiquarian ruts of his chief parishioners, was, as usual, the representative guest from the town. Kate and I, being expected to talk only just enough to pay for our admission, listened with much profit while the political question pending the next day, and many matters relevant and irrelevant thereto, underwent discussion.
"They say Howke's pills are growing in esteem of late; the names of many reverend brothers of yours are to be read in his advertisements as certifying the cure of some New-England ailment," observed our host.
"So I see," said Mr. Clifton; "and I regret to think that a class of men, unjustly accused of dogmatizing in those spiritual things they assuredly know, should lay themselves open to the suspicion, by testifying in those material matters whereof they are mostly ignorant. Not that I disallow that hackneyed tenth of Juvenal, "Orandum est ut sit mens sana," and the rest of it. But rather would I follow the Apostle, who, to the end that every man might possess his vessel in sanctification and honor, was content to prescribe temperance and chastity,—leaving the recommendation of plasters and sirups to those who had made them their special study.
"Yet in ancient times," remarked Professor Owlsdarck, "the offices of priest and physician were most happily combined. Among those lost children of Asia whom our fathers met in New England, the Powwows were the doctors of the body as well as the soul."
"For all that, I cannot believe that Shakspeare meant to indorse Indian medicine, as Strype says he did," said the Colonel.
We all looked surprise and incredulity at this unexpected assertion.
"You can't have read the last 'Regulator,' then," said Prowley, in explanation. "You know that Howke and Strype have long been endeavoring to find some motto from the great dramatist to print upon the boxes containing the Wigwam Pills; but, somehow, they never could discover one which seemed quite appropriate."
"'Familiar in their mouths as household words,'" suggested Mr. Clifton.
"Well, that might have done, to be sure; but they happened to miss it. So for the last month Strype has been studying the works of numerous ingenious commentators to see whether some of their happy emendations to the text might not meet the difficulty."
"But it must require the insertion of some entire speech or paragraph to make Shakspeare give his testimony in favor of savage pharmacy," said I, innocently.
"Not in the least necessary; it merely requires the slightest possible change in a single letter,—aided, of course, by a little intelligent commentary."
As we all looked rather doubtful, Colonel Prowley sent for the last number of Strype's valuable publication, and read as follows:—
"Important Literary Discovery. We learn by the last steamer from England that a certain distinguished Shakspearian Editor and Critic, who has already proved that the Mighty Bard was perfectly acquainted with the circulation of the blood, and distinctly prophesied iron-plated steamers and the potato-rot, has now discovered that the Swan of Avon fully comprehended the Indian System of Medicine, and urged its universal adoption. Our readers have doubtless puzzled over that exclamation in Macbeth which reads, in common editions of the poet, 'Throw physic to the dogs!' The slightest consideration of the circumstances shows the absurdity of this vulgar interpretation. Macbeth was deservedly disgusted with the practice of the regular family physician who confessed himself unable to relieve the case in hand. He would therefore request him to abandon his pretensions, not to the dogs, which is simply ridiculous, but in favor of some class of men more skilled in the potencies of medicine. The line, as it came from the pen of Shakspeare, undoubtedly read, 'Throw Physicke to the Powwows'; in other words, resign the healing art to the Indians, who alone are able to practise it with success. And now mark the perfectly simple method of accounting for the blunder. We have only to suppose that a careless copyist or tipsy type-setter managed to get one loop too many upon the 'P,'—thus transforming the passage into, 'Throw Physicke to the Bowwows.' The proof-reader, naturally taking this for an infantile expression for the canine race, changed the last word to 'dogs,' as it has ever since stood."
Mr. Clifton smiled, and said, "Even if the emendation and inference could be accepted, the testimony of any man off the speciality he studied would only imply, not that the new school was perfect, but that he realized some imperfection in the old one. And this conviction I have had occasion to act upon, when my church has been shaken by spiritualism, abolitionism, and the like; for I knew that what was truly effective in a rival ministry must show what was defective in my own."
"If you speak of modern spiritualism," said Professor Owlsdarck, "you must allow it to be lamentably inferior to the same mystery of old. For how compare the best ghostly doings of these days, those at Stratford in Connecticut, for example, I will not say to the famous doings at Delphi and Dodona, but even to the Moodus Noises once heard at East Haddam in that State? The ancestors of some of these nervous media testify to roarings in the air, rumblings in the bowels of the mountain, explosions like volleys of musketry, the moving of heavy stones, and the violent shaking of houses. Ah, Sir, you should use effort to have put to type your reverend brother Bradley's memoir on this subject, whereof the sole copy is held by the Historical Society at Hartford."
"Every recent quackery is so overlaid with a veneering of science," said the clergyman, "that those who have not had sufficient training to know that they lack scientific methods of thought are often unable to draw the distinction between a fact and an inference. There is much practical shrewdness and intelligence here in Foxden; yet I am constantly surprised to see how few, in relation to any circumstance out of the daily routine of business-life, recognize the difference between possibility, probability, and demonstration. And, indeed, it is no easy matter to impart a sense of their deficiency to those who have only been accustomed to deal with the loose forms of ordinary language."
"If we may believe the Padre Clavigero," observed the Professor, "it will not be easy to find a language so fit for metaphysical subjects, and so abounding in abstract terms, as the ancient Mexican."
This remark seemed hardly to the purpose; for whatever the excellences of that tongue might have been, there were insuperable objections to its adoption as a vehicle of communication between Mr. Clifton and his parishioners. But the last-named gentleman, with generous tact, allowed the conversation to wander back to those primitive solidities whither it naturally tended. It did not take long to get to the Pharaohs, of whose domestic arrangements the Professor talked with the familiar air of a man who dined with them once a week. From these venerable potentates we soon came upon their irrepressible mummies, and here Owlsdarck was as thoroughly at home as if he had been brought up in a catacomb. Indeed, this singular person appeared fairly alive only when he surrounded himself with the deadest antiquities of the dimmest past. His remarks, as I have before admitted, had that interest which must belong to the careful investigation of anything; but I could not help thinking into how much worthier channels his powers of accurate investigation and indefatigable research might have been directed.
Colonel Prowley was of course delighted, and declared that every syllable his friend delivered was worthy to be recorded in that golden ink known to the Greeks and Romans; for, as he assured us, there were extant ancient manuscripts, written with a pigment of the precious metals, of which the matter was of far less importance than that conveyed by the learned utterances we had been privileged to hear.
Mr. Clifton showed no disposition to dispute this assertion, but kindly assisted by asking many intelligent questions, none having reference to anything later than b. c. 500. After dinner we adjourned to the library, and passed the afternoon in looking over collections of autographs and relics. We were also shown some volumes possessing an interest quite apart from their rarity, and some very choice engravings. In short, the hours went so pleasantly that we were all astonished when our host, looking at his watch, declared that it was time to order Tom to bring the carryall for Wrexford. Accordingly, Miss Prowley having rung the bell, whispered in the gentlest manner to the maid who answered the summons. A shrill feminine shouting was presently heard from the rear of the house, followed by the voice of Tom gruffly responsive from the distant barn. At this juncture Mr. Clifton took his leave, and Professor Owlsdarck retired to his chamber to bedeck himself for the trustees, parents, and pupils of the Wrexford Academy.