ODDS AND ENDS.
MR. EDITOR,—Many months having passed away since I last addressed you, I have flattered myself, as most old men are apt to do on such occasions, that you might very possibly begin to feel some little inclination to hear from me once more. Know then, my good sir, that I am still in the land of the living, and have collected several "odds and ends" of matters and things in general, which you may use or not, for your "Messenger," as the fancy strikes you.
Among the rest, I will proceed to give you a new classification of the Animal Kingdom—at least so far as our own race is concerned; a classification formed upon principles materially different from those adopted by the great father of Natural History—Linnæus, who you know, classed us with whales and bats, under the general term, Mammalia! Now, I have always thought this too bad—too degrading for the lords and masters (as we think ourselves) of all other animals on the face of the earth; and who deserve a distinct class to themselves, divided too into more orders than any other—nay, into separate orders for the two sexes. With much study, therefore, and not less labor, I have digested a system which assumes mental—instead of bodily distinctions, as much more certain and suitable guides in our researches. This may be applied without either stripping or partially exposing the person, as father Linnæus' plan would compel us to do, whenever we were at a loss to ascertain (no unfrequent occurrence by the way, in these days) whether the object before us was really one of the Mammalia class or not: for such are the marvellous, ever-varying metamorphoses wrought by modern fashions in the exteriors of our race, that the nicest observers among us would be entirely "at fault" on many occasions, to tell whether it was fish, flesh, or fowl that they saw. My plan, therefore, has at least one material advantage over the other; and it is quite sufficient, I hope, very soon to carry all votes in its favor.
With whales and bats we shall no longer be classed!—if your old friend can possibly help it; and he is not a little confident of his powers to do so; for he believes he can demonstrate that there is not a greater difference between the form, size and habits of the bats and whales themselves, than he can point out between the manners, customs, pursuits, and bodily and mental endowments of the different orders of mankind; and, therefore, ex necessitate rei, there should be a classification different from any yet made. The honor of this discovery, I here beg you to witness, that I claim for myself.
Before I proceed farther, I will respectfully suggest a new definition of man himself; as all heretofore attempted have been found defective. The Greeks, for example, called him "Anthropos"—an animal that turns his eyes upwards; forgetting (as it would seem) that all domestic fowls, especially turkeys, ducks and geese, frequently do the same thing; although it must be admitted, that the act in them is always accompanied by a certain twist of the head, such as man himself generally practices when he means to look particularly astute. One of their greatest philosophers—the illustrious Plato—perceiving the incorrectness of this definition, attempted another, and defined man to be "a two legged animal without feathers:" but this very inadequate description was soon "blown sky high" by the old cynic Diogenes, who, having picked a cock quite clean of his plumage, threw him into Plato's school, crying out at the same time, "Behold Plato's man!" True, this is an old story; but none the worse for that. This was such "a settler,"—to borrow a pugilistic term—as completely to discourage, for a long time, all farther attempts to succeed in this very difficult task; nor indeed, do I recollect, from that day to the present, any now worth mentioning. "The grand march of mind," however, has become of late years, so astoundingly rapid, and so many things heretofore pronounced to be unknowable, have been made as plain as the nose on our faces, that Man himself—the great discoverer of all these wonders, should no longer be suffered (if his own powers can prevent it) to be consorted, as he has so long been, with a class of living beings so vastly inferior to himself. To rescue him therefore from this degradation, shall be my humble task, since it is one of those attempts wherein—even to fail—must acquire some small share of glory.
I will define him then, to be A self-loving, self-destroying animal, and will maintain the correctness and perfectly exclusive character of the definition, against all impugners or objectors, until some one of them can point out to me among all the living beings on the face of the earth, either any beast, bird, fish, reptile, insect, or animalcula, that is distinguished by these very opposite and directly contradictory qualities. Man alone possesses—man alone displays them both; and is consequently distinguished from all the rest of animated nature in a way that gives him an indisputable right to a class of his own.
I will next proceed to enumerate the different orders into which this most wonderful class is divided. The females, God bless them, being entitled, by immemorial usage, to the first rank, shall receive the first notice; and I will rank in the first order all those who have unquestionable claims to pre-eminence.
Order 1st. The Loveables.—This order is very numerous, and forms by far the most important body in every community, being distinguished by all the qualities and endowments—both physical and intellectual—which can render our present state of existence most desirable—most happy. Their beauties charm—their virtues adorn every walk of life. All that is endearing in love and affection—either filial, conjugal, or parental: all that is soothing and consolatory in affliction; all that can best alleviate distress, cheer poverty, or mitigate anguish: every thing most disinterested, most enduring, most self-sacrificing in friendship—most exemplary in the performance of duty: all which is most delightful in mental intercourse, most attractive and permanently engaging in domestic life: in short, every thing that can best contribute to human happiness in this world, must be ascribed, either directly or indirectly, much more to their influence than to all other temporal causes put together; and would the rest of their sex only follow their admirable example, this wretched world of ours would soon become a secondary heaven.
Order 2d. The Conclamantes, which, for the benefit of your more English readers, I will remark, is a Latin word, meaning—those who clamor together. They possess two qualities or traits in common with certain birds, such as rooks, crows and blackbirds, that is, they are gregarious and marvellously noisy; for whenever they collect together, there is such a simultaneous and apparently causeless chattering in the highest key of their voices, as none could believe but those who have had the good or ill fortune (I will not say which) to hear it. But there is this marked characteristic difference. The latter utter sounds significant of sense, and perfectly intelligible, often very sprightly and agreeable too, when you can meet them one at a time; nor is juxta-position at all necessary to their being heard; for you will always be in ear-shot of them, although separated by the entire length or breadth of the largest entertaining-room any where to be found. Their proper element—the one wherein they shine, or rather sound most—is the atmosphere of a "sware-ree" party, or a squeeze: but as to the particular purpose for which Nature designed them, I must e'en plead ignorance; not, my good sir, that I would have you for one moment to suppose, that I mean any invidious insinuation by this excuse.
Order 3d. The Ineffables.—I almost despair of finding language to describe—even the general appearance of this order, much less those mental peculiarities by which they are to be distinguished from the rest of their sex. But I must at least strive to redeem my pledge, and therefore proceed to state, that they rarely ever seem to be more than half alive: that their countenances always indicate (or are designed to do so) a languor of body scarcely bearable, and the most touching—the most exquisite sensibility of soul; that even the most balmy breezes of spring, should they accidentally find access to them, would visit them much too roughly: that to speak above a low murmur would almost be agony, and to eat such gross food as ordinary mortals feed upon would be certain death. As to their voices, I am utterly hopeless of giving the faintest idea, unless permitted both to resort to supposition and to borrow Nic Bottom's most felicitous epithet of "a sucking dove." You have only to imagine such a thing, (it is no greater stretch of fancy than writers often call upon us to make) and then to imagine what kind of tones "a sucking-dove" would elicit; and you will certainly have quite as good an idea of the voice of an Ineffable as you could possibly have, without actually hearing it. No comparison drawn from any familiar sounds can give the faintest idea of it, for it is unique and sui generis. This order serves the admirable moral purpose of continually teaching, in the best practicable manner, the virtue of patience to all—who have anything to do with it.
Order 4th. The Tongue-tied, or Monosyllabic.—This order can scarcely be described—unless by negations; for they say little or nothing themselves, and, therefore, but little or nothing can be said of them; unless it were in the Yankee mode of guessing; which, to say the least of it, would be rather unbecoming in so scientific a work as I design mine to be. The famous Logadian Art of extracting sun-beams from cucumbers would be quite easy in practice compared with the art of extracting anything from these good souls beyond a "yes" or a "no," as all have found to their cost, who ever tried to keep up the ball of conversation among them; the labor of Sysiphus was child's play to it. They serve however one highly useful purpose, and that is, to furnish a perpetual refutation of the base slander which one of the old English poets has uttered against the whole sex in these often quoted lines—
| "I think, quoth Thomas, women's tongues Of aspen-leaves are made." |
Order 5th. In vivid and startling contrast to the preceding order, I introduce—The hoidening Tom-Boys. These are a kind of "Joan D'Arkies," (if I may coin such a term), female in appearance, but male in impudence, in action, in general deportment. They set at naught all customary forms, all public sentiment, all those long established canons, sanctioned by both sexes, for regulating female conduct; and they practise, with utter disregard of consequences, all such masculine feats and reckless pranks, as must unsex them, so far as behavior can possibly do it. They affect to despise the company of their own sex; to associate chiefly with ours, but with the most worthless part of them, provided only, they be young, wild, prodigal and in common parlance—fashionable, and alike regardless of what may be thought or said of them. The more delicate their figures, the more apparently frail their constitutions, the greater seems to be their rage for exhibiting the afflicting contrast between masculine actions performed with powers fully adequate to achieve them, and attempted—apparently at the risk of the limbs, if not the lives, of the rash and nearly frantic female adventurers. Egregiously mistaking eccentricity for genius—outrages upon public sentiment for independence of spirit, and actions which should disgrace a man, or render him perfectly ridiculous, for the best means of catching a husband, they make themselves the pity of the wise and good, the scorn and derision of all the other orders of the community, who see through the flimsy and ridiculous veil of their conduct, the true motives from which it proceeds.
Order 6th. The Hydrophobists.—These are, at all times, such haters of water—especially if that unsavory article called soap be mixed with it—that insanity is by no means necessary, as in the case of animals affected by canine madness, to elicit their characteristic feeling. Their persons and their houses too, when they have any, all present ocular proofs of it; proofs, alas! which nothing but the luckless objects of their hatred can "expunge," if I may borrow a term lately become very fashionable. Whether this antipathy be natural or superinduced by the dread of catching cold, I can not pretend to say; but its effects are too notorious, too often matters of the most common observation, for its existence to be doubted. The striking contrast, however, which it exhibits to that admirable quality—cleanliness, aids much in teaching others the duty of acquiring and constantly practising the latter.
Order 7th. The Bustlers.—The difference between this order and the last mentioned is so great, so radical, so constantly forced upon our notice, that they might almost be ranked in distinct classes: for the members of the order now under consideration, are such dear lovers of both the articles which the others hate, as to keep them in almost ceaseless appliance. At such times, neither the members of their families, nor their guests, can count, for many minutes together, upon remaining safe from involuntary sprinklings and ablutions. And what—with their usual accompaniments of dusters, brooms, mops, and scrubbing brushes, if you find any secure place either to sit or stand, you will owe it more to your good luck than to any preconcerted exemption between the mistresses and their operatives. "Fiat cleaning up, ruat cælum," is both their law and their practice. After all however, they are, in general, well meaning, good hearted souls; those only excepted among them, whose perpetual motion is kept up by a modicum of the Xantippe blood, which developes its quality in such outward appliances to the heads, backs and ears of their servants—as key-handles, sticks, switches, boxings and scoldings.
Order 8th. The Peace-Sappers.—These, like the underground artists, after whom I have ventured in part to name them, always work secretly; but whereas, the sappers employed in war, confine their humane labors solely to the immediate destruction of walls, fortifications and houses, with all their inhabitants, thereby putting the latter out of their misery at once; the peace-sappers make the excellence of their art to consist in causing the sufferings which they inflict to be protracted—even to the end of life, be that long or short. The master spirits of this order view with ineffable scorn such of their formidable sisterhood as are incapable, from actual stupidity, of exciting any other kind of family and neighborhood quarrels, than those plain, common-place matters which soon come to an explanation, and end in a renewal of friendly intercourse and a reciprocation of good offices. They despise—utterly despise—such petty game; and never attempt sapping but with a confident belief—not only that its authors will escape all suspicion, but that its effects will be deeply and most painfully felt—probably during the entire lives of all its devoted victims. Their powers of flattery and skill in every species of gossipping, gain them an easy admittance, before they are found out, into most families wherein they have set their hearts upon becoming visiters. There they are always eager listeners to every thing that may be said in the careless, innocent hours of domestic intercourse; and being entirely unsuspected plotters of mischief, they treasure up as a miser would his gold, every single word or expression that can possibly be so tortured as to embroil their confiding hosts with some one or all of their neighbors. If no word nor expression has been heard during a long intercourse which can either fairly or falsely be imputed to envy, jealousy or ill-will towards others; absolute falsehoods will most artfully be fabricated to attain their never-forgotten, never-neglected purpose: for they sicken at the very sight of family peace—of neighborhood-harmony; and "the gall of bitterness," that incessantly rankles in their bosoms can find no other vent—no other alleviation—than in laboring to destroy every thing of the kind. Their communications being always conveyed under the strongest injunctions of secrecy—the most solemn protestations of particular regard and friendship for the depositaries of these secrets, it often happens that entire neighborhoods are set in a flame, and most of the families in it rendered bitter enemies to each other, without a single one knowing, or even suspecting what has made them so.
The Romans had a most useful custom of tying a wisp of hay around the horns of all their mischievous and dangerous cattle, by way of caveat to all beholders to keep out of their way: and could some similar contrivance be adopted for distinguishing the Peace-Sappers, as far off as they could be seen, the inventor thereof would well deserve the united thanks and blessings of every civilized community.
Order 9th. The Linguis Bellicosæ, or Tongue Warriors.—The distinguishing characteristic of this order is, an insatiable passion for rendering their faculty of speech the greatest possible annoyance to all of their own race—whether men, women or children, who come in their way: and few there are who can always keep out of it, however assiduously they may strive to do so. Most of them are very early risers, for the unruly evil, as St. James calls it, is a great enemy to sleep. When once on their feet, but a few minutes will elapse before you hear their tongues ringing the matutinal peal to their servants and families. But far, very far, different is it from that of the church-going bell, which is a cheering signal of approaching attempts to do good to the souls of men; whereas the tongue-warrior's peal is a summons for all concerned to prepare for as much harm being done to their bodies as external sounds, in their utmost discord, can possibly inflict. Nothing that is said or done can extort a word even of approbation much less of applause; for the feeling that would produce it does not exist; but a cataract is continually poured forth of personal abuse, invective and objurgation, which, if it be not quite as loud and overwhelming as that of Niagara, is attributable more to the want of power, than of the will to make it so. It has been with much fear and trembling, my good sir, that I have ventured to give you the foregoing description; nor should I have done it, had I not confided fully in your determination not to betray me to these hornets in petticoats.
Having done with the description of the female orders of our race, as far as I can, at present recollect their number and distinctive characters, I now proceed to that of my own sex.
Order 1st. The Great and Good Operatives.—Although in counting this order I will not venture quite as far as the Latin poet who asserted, that "they were scarce as numerous as the gates of Thebes, or the mouths of the Nile," it must be admitted that the number is most deplorably small, compared with that of the other orders. The multum in parvo, however, applies with peculiar force to the Great and Good Operatives. All the orders certainly have intellects of some kind, which they exercise after fashions of their own—sometimes beneficially to themselves and others; then again injuriously, if not destructively to both. But only the individuals of this order always make the use of their mental powers for which they were bestowed; and hence it is that I have distinguished them as I have done. How far this distinction is appropriate, others must decide, after an impartial examination of the grounds upon which I mean to assert the justice of its claim to be adopted. Here they are. It is to this order we must ascribe all which is truly glorious in war, or morally and politically beneficial in peace: to the exercise of their talents, their knowledge and their virtues, we are indebted for every thing beneficent in government or legislation; and by their agency, either direct or indirect, are all things accomplished which can most conduce to the good and happiness of mankind; unless it be that large portion of the god-like work which can better be achieved by the first order of the other sex.
Order 2d. Ipomœa Quamoclit, or the Busy Bodies.—These, like the little plants after which I have ventured to name them, have a surprising facility at creeping or running, either under, through, around, or over any obstacles in their way. Their ruling passion consists in a most inordinate and unexplainable desire to pry into and become thoroughly acquainted with every person's private concerns, but their own; to the slightest care or examination of which, they have apparently an invincible antipathy. Has any person a quarrel or misunderstanding with one or more of his neighbors, they will worm out, by hook or by crook, all the particulars; not with any view, even the most distant, of reconciling the parties, (for peace-making is no business of theirs), but for the indescribable pleasure of gaining a secret, which all their friends, as the whole of their acquaintance are called, will be invited, as fast as they are found, to aid them in keeping. Is any man or woman much in debt, the neighboring busy-bodies will very soon be able to give a better account of the amount than the debtors themselves; but it will always be communicated with such earnest injunctions of secrecy from the alleged fear of injuring the credit of the parties, as to destroy that credit quite as effectually as a publication of bankruptcy would do. Does the sparse population of a country neighborhood afford so rare and titillating a subject as a courtship, it furnishes one of the highest treats a busy-body can possibly have; and it not unfrequently happens that this courtship is, at least interrupted, if not entirely broken off, by the exuberant outpourings and embellishments of his delight at possessing such a secret, and at the prospect of participating in all the customary junketings and feastings upon such joyous occasions. The whole of this order are great carriers and fetchers of every species of country intelligence; great intimates (according to their account) of all great people; and above all—great locomotives. But, unlike their namesakes, the machines so called, they rarely if ever move straightforward; having a decided preference for that kind of zig-zag, hither and thither course, which takes them, in a time inconceivably short, into every inhabited hole and corner within their visiting circle, which is always large enough to keep them continually on the pad.
N.B. There is an order of the other sex so nearly resembling the one just described, that I am in a great quandary whether I should not have united them, since the principal difference which I can discover, after much study is, that the former wears petticoats and the latter pantaloons. You and your readers must settle it, for Oliver Oldschool can not.
Order 3d. Noli me tangere, or Touch me not.—These are so super-eminently sensitive and irritable, that should you but crook your finger at them apparently by way of slight, nothing but your blood can expiate the deadly offence: and whether that blood is to be extracted by a bout at fisty cuffs or cudgelling, or by the more genteel instrumentality of dirk, sword or pistol, must depend upon the relative rank and station of the parties concerned. If you belong not to that tribe embraced by the very comprehensive but rather equivocal term—gentlemen, you may hope to escape with only a few bruises or scarifications; but should your luckless destiny have placed you among them, death or decrepitude must be your portion, unless you should have the fortune to inflict it on your adversary.
Order 4th. The Gastronomes.—The description of this order requires but few words. Their only object in life seems to be—to tickle their palates, and to provide the ways and means of provoking and gratifying their gormandizing appetites. They would travel fifty miles to eat a good dinner, sooner than move fifty inches to do a benevolent action; and would sacrifice fame, fortune and friends, rather than forego what they call the pleasures of the table. They show industry in nothing but catering for their meals; animation in nothing but discussions on the qualities and cookery of different dishes; and the only strong passion they ever evince is, that which reduces them merely to the level of beasts of prey. During the brief period of their degraded existence, they live despised and scoffed at by all but their associates, and die victims to dropsy, gout, palsy and apoplexy.
Order 5th. The Brain Stealers.—The chief difference between this and the preceding order is, that the former steal their own brains by eating, the latter by drinking. For the idea conveyed by the term brain-stealers, I acknowledge myself indebted to Cassio in the play of Othello, where, in a fit of remorse for getting drunk, he is made to exclaim, "Oh! that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!" This order may well follow its predecessor in dignity, or rather in uselessness, since the greatest optimist ever born would be puzzled to find out the way in which either can render any real, essential service to mankind. Although the alleged excuse for their practice—so long as they retain sense enough to offer any—is to cheer the spirits—to gladden the heart, the undeniable effect of that practice is, to depress the one, and to pain the other. Melancholy expels merriment, and the solitary feeling banishes the social; for the intolerable shame inspired by the consciousness of the self-larceny they are continually committing, drives them into secret places for its perpetration; and into solitude during the short intervals between their self-destructive acts, to brood over their own indelible disgrace, the hopeless misery they inflict on all their friends and relatives, and the damning guilt they incur if there be any truth in Holy Writ—any such thing as eternal punishment in another world, for deeds voluntarily perpetrated in our present state of existence. But these are matters which never for a moment seem to arrest their desperate course. During the few intervals of sanity which chance rather than design seems to afford them, the retrospect is so full of self-condemnation, agonizing remorse, and awful anticipations of future retribution, of future and eternal punishment, that they recklessly hasten to drown all feeling—all consciousness of existence in the deadly draughts which they continually swallow. Thus they linger out their brief and pitiable lives in a kind of comatose stupor—a wretched burden and disgrace to themselves and a misery beyond description to all connected with them.
Order 6th. The Devilish Good Fellows.—These possess, in an eminent degree, the art of concealing much thorough selfishness under the guise of what are called companionable qualities; for although loud professors of sociality and great company keepers, (except that of the ladies, which they never voluntarily seek,) they mix in society rather oftener at other people's expense than their own. Their money is lavished chiefly on themselves, except the modicum most skilfully expended in purchasing a character for generosity, and that which in common parlance is miscalled good fellowship. This is easily and often most profitably done, by giving a few well-timed dinners, suppers, and card-parties to their select companions and bosom friends, whose money they scruple not to win on such occasions to the last cent; having first made these dear objects of their disinterested regard drunk, while they kept sober for the purpose, although apparently encountering a similar risk of intoxication. All they do is for effect—for gulling others to their own advantage, rather than for any particular pleasure which they themselves derive from their own actions. Thus they become uproarious at the convivial board, not so much from impulse as design; not to excite themselves but their companions; and frequently clamor for "pushing the bottle," (for they are brain stealers) more to stultify others than to exhilirate their own feelings. They are great depositaries and retailers of all such anecdotes and stories as are called good, but rather on account of their obscenity than their genuine humor or wit. Now and then they incontinently perpetrate puns; make practical jokes; and are always merry in appearance, (whatever the real feelings may be) so far as antic contortions of the risible muscles can make them so. But they are utter strangers to that genuine hilarity of heart which imparts perennial cheerfulness to the countenances of all who are blessed with it, and which springs from a consciousness—both of good motives and good actions. Their lives are spent in a feverish course of sensuality—often of the lowest, the very grossest kind; and they generally die of a miserable old age, just as truly rational, temperate and moral people reach the prime of life.
Order 7th. The Philo-Mammonites, or Money Lovers.—Although this term would comprehend a most numerous and motley host, if the mere existence of the passion itself were deemed a sufficient distinction, yet I mean to apply the designation only to such abortions of our race as love money for itself alone, independently as it would seem, both of its real and adventitiously exchangeable value. Others burn with affection for the beloved article, only as a means to attain the ends which they most passionately desire. These ends are as countless as the sands; some, for example, make it the grand object of their temporal existence to buy fine clothes, others fine equipages; others again fine houses, fine furniture, fine pictures, fine books—in short, fine any thing which the world calls so, whatever they themselves may think of it; for, as Dr. Franklin most truly says, "other peoples' eyes cost us more than our own." The exclusive money-lovers despise what others love; with "the fleshly lusts that war against the souls" of other men, and cost money, they have nothing to do—no, not they! and even the common necessaries and comforts of life are all rejected for the sake of making, hoarding, and contemplating the dear—all-absorbing object of the only affection they are capable of feeling. In this respect, the money lover differs entirely, not only from all other human beings, but from every race of brutes, reptiles, and insects yet discovered. They, for instance, accumulate the food which they love, evidently for use, and not solely to look at, to gloat upon, as the ultimate, the exclusive source of gratification. Their accumulation, therefore, is but the means of attaining the end—consumption, from which all their real enjoyment seems to be anticipated. The propensity to collect for future use, which is called instinct in the latter, is identical with what is deemed the love of money, as it operates upon all the orders of mankind, except the Philo Mammonites. With the former, it is not the money they love, but something for which they have a passionate regard, that they know their money can procure: with the latter, the sole enjoyment (if indeed they may be thought capable of any) seems to consist in the mere looking at their hoards, and in the consciousness of being able to exclaim—"all this is mine, nothing but the inexorable tyrant death can take it away. Let others call it pleasure and happiness to spend money, if they are fools enough to do so; we deem it the only pleasure and happiness to make and keep it." To such men, the common feelings of humanity—the ordinary ties that bind together families and communities, are things utterly incomprehensible; and consequently neither the sufferings of their fellow men, nor their utmost miseries are ever permitted, for one moment, to interfere with that darling object which occupies their souls, to the exclusion of all others. This they for ever pursue, with an ardor that no discouragement can check; a recklessness of public sentiment that defies all shame; and often with a degree of self-inflicted want, both of food and raiment, which must be witnessed to be believed.
Order 8th. The Confiscators.—In this order must be included (strange as it may seem) not only all thieves, pickpockets, swindlers, robbers and professional gamblers, but even many others, who, although professing most sanctimonious horror at the bare idea of violating the letter of the laws relative to property, scruple not to disregard their spirit, whenever pelf is to be made by it. To make money is the great end of their existence; but the means are left to time and circumstances to suggest—always, however, to be used according to the law-verbal, in such cases made and provided. The general title indicates rather the wills than the deeds of the whole order; the former being permanent, intense, and liable to no change—whereas the latter terminate, now and then, in such uncomfortable results as loss of character, imprisonment, and hanging. Self-appropriation, without parting with any equivalent, without incurring any loss that can possibly be avoided, is the cardinal, the paramount law with every grade: they differ only in the "modus operandi." Some, for example, work by fraud—others by force; some by superior skill, or exclusive knowledge—while hosts of others rely for success upon practising on the passions and vices, or the innocence and gullibility of their fellow-men. To do this the more effectually, they make much use of the terms justice, honesty, fair-dealing, in their discourse, but take special care to exclude them from their practice; for they are to prosper, even should the Devil take all at whose expense that prosperity has been achieved, if, indeed, he deemed them worth taking, after their dear friends, the confiscators, have done with them.
Order 9th. The Blatterers.—Although this word is now nearly obsolete, or degraded to the rank of vulgarisms, in company with many other good old terms of great force and fitness, once deemed of sterling value, I venture to use it here, because I know, in our whole language, no other so perfectly descriptive of this order; nor, indeed, any other which conveys the same idea. And here (if you will pardon another digression) I cannot forbear to express my regret at being compelled, as it were, to take leave of so many old acquaintances in our mother tongue, who have been expelled from modern parlance and writing. Our literary tastes and language will require but very little more sublimation—little more polishing and refining, to render that tongue scarcely intelligible to persons whose misfortune it was to be educated some half century ago, unless, indeed, they will go to school again. To call things by their right names, is among the "mala prohibita" in the canons of modern criticism; the strength, fitness, and power of old words, must give way to the indispensable euphony of new ones; and all the qualities once deemed essential to good style, must now be sacrificed, or, at least, hold a far inferior rank to mere smoothness, polish, and harmony of diction. I might give you quite a long catalogue of highly respectable and significant old words, once the legal currency of discourse, which have long since been turned out of doors, to make room for their modern correlatives; but neither my time nor space will permit me to mention more than the following, out of some hundreds. For instance, my old acquaintance, and perhaps yours, the word "breeches," has been dismissed for "unmentionables," or "inexpressibles;"—"shifts" and "petticoats" are now yclept "under dress;" and even "hell" itself, according to the authority of a highly polished Divine, perhaps now living, must hereafter be softened and amplified into the phrase, "a place which politeness forbids to mention." But let me return to the description of the Blattering order.
To say, as I was very near doing, that their peculiar trait is "to have words at will," would have conveyed a very false notion; for that phrase is properly applicable only to such persons as can talk or be silent—can restrain or pour out their discourse at pleasure. But the Blatterers, although their words are as countless as the sands, seem to exercise no volition over them whatever, any more than a sieve can be said to do over the water that may be poured into it. Through and through the liquid will and must run, be the consequences what they may; and out of the mouths of the Blatterers must their words issue, let what will happen. So invariable is this the case, that we might almost say of their discourse as the Latin poet has so happily said of the stream of Time:
"Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum."
They will unconsciously talk to themselves, if they can find no one else to talk to; but this soliloquizing they are rarely forced to perform—for so great are their diligence and tact in hunting up some unlucky wight or other upon whom to vent their words, that they are seldom unsuccessful in their search. Horace, in one of his epistles, has most pathetically described, in his own person, the sufferings of all those who are so luckless as to be caught by one of these very benevolent tormentors of their species; and he has hit off, most admirably, their multiform powers of inflicting annoyance. But many ways and means, never "dreamt of in his philosophy," have since been discovered, which it devolves upon others, far his inferiors, to describe. In regard, for instance, to the choice of subjects, if a Blatterer may be deemed capable of choosing, our modern logocracies have opened a field of almost boundless extent, which, in Horace's day, was a "terra incognita." Their loquacity would utterly shame that ancient braggart, whose boast it was, that he could extemporize two hundred Latin verses, while standing on one leg; and their matchless talents for political mistification—for comminuting, and spreading out all sorts of materials susceptible of being used for party purposes, were never called forth, and consequently never developed, until many a century after Horace was in his grave. The present age—I may say, the present times, may justly claim the distinguished honor not only of furnishing more aliment for the nurture of the Blattering order than any other age or times—but, on the political economy principle, that, "demand will always beget supply," to them must be awarded the exclusive merit of furnishing a much greater number of such patriotic operatives than ever could be found before, since our father Noah left his ark. In proof of this assertion, I would ask, where is there now any hole or corner, either in public or private life, in which Blatterers may not often be heard? Where is there any electioneering ground—any hustings to hold an election—any forensic assemblage, or legislative halls, exempt entirely from these most successful confounders and despisers of all grammatical and rhetorical rules—of all the plainest dictates of common sense? As every thing they utter seems the result rather of chance than design, it might be supposed that the former would occasionally lead them, (especially when acting as public functionaries,) at least into some approximation towards argument or eloquence; but, alas! no such chance ever befalls them. By a kind of fatality, apparently unsusceptible of change or "shadow of turning," all their efforts at either eloquence or argument, turn out most pitiable or ridiculous abortions; for they invariably mistake assertion for the latter, and empty, bombastic declamation and gasconading for the former. Vociferation they always mistake for sense, and personal abuse of every body opposed to them, for the best means of promoting what they understand by the term, "public good"—meaning, thereby, the good of whatever party they take under their special care.
Order 10th. The Would Be's, or Preposterous Imitators.—This, probably, is the most numerous of all the orders of our class, although very far from comprehending the whole human race, as that witty satyrist Horace would have us believe, with his "Nemo contentus vivat." But it includes all, who by their array and management of "the outward man," would pass themselves off, upon society, for something upon which nature has put her irrevocable veto. Some few of the brute creation have been charged (falsely as I humbly conceive) with this warring against her absolute decrees; for, as far as we can judge, they are all perfectly content with their own forms and conditions, and live out their respective times without apeing, or manifesting any desire to ape, either the appearance or manners of their fellow-brutes, as we so often and abortively do those of our fellow-men. It is true that the monkey, one of the accused parties, seems to possess no small talent in this way; but if the exercise of it were fully understood, it appears probable that we should always find it to be done at our expense, and in derision of those only who are continually aping something above their powers—as much as to say, (had they the gift of speech) "Risum teneatis Amici?"—see what fools ye are, to labor so hard and so vainly, in efforts to do what we can do better than yourselves! If we consider their tricks and their travesties in any other point of view, we shall commit the same ludicrous blunder that one of our Would Be's of the olden time was said once to have committed at a certain foreign court, "in mistaking a sarcasm for a compliment," to the great amusement of all who had cognizance of the fact, except the poor Americans, of whom he was rather an unlucky sample.
The poor frog has also been accused of this preposterous mimicry; but it is only a single case, much at war with our knowledge of this apparently unambitious quadruped or reptile, (I am not naturalist enough to know which to call it)—much at war, too, with the chivalric principles of attacking none incapable of self-defence; and moreover, it is related by a professed inventor of fables, with whose professional license of fibbing we have all been familiar from our childhood, and are therefore prepared to estimate at its true value. I allude, as you must suppose, to our school-boy tale, wherein it is asserted (believe it who can) that a poor frog, demented by vanity, burst himself open, and of course perished, in his impracticable efforts to swell himself to the unattainable size of the portly ox. Why this far-fetched and incredible story should ever have been invented for illustrating a matter of frequent occurrence among ourselves, I never could well understand. The constant puffings and swellings-out of thousands and tens of thousands of our own class, to attain dimensions which nothing but gum-elastic minds and bodies, or something still more expansive, could qualify them to attain, are quite sufficient, manifest, and ridiculous, to render useless all resort to the invention of fabulous tales—all appeal to the imagined follies and gratuitously assumed vices of brute-beasts, reptiles and insects, for the laudable purpose of proving that man himself is no better than a brute in many of his propensities and habits. As to his particular folly of trying to change himself into something which he never can be, why should fabulists or any others attempt to drag the poor monkeys, frogs, and other animals into such a co-partnery, without a solitary authenticated fact to warrant the imputation, when innumerable facts are daily occurring among ourselves, to satisfy even the most sceptical, both in regard to the indigenous growth of this folly, and of man's exclusive right to it. The Would Be's, in fact, are to be seen almost in every place, and in all the walks of life; but especially in villages, towns, cities, and at medicinal springs, for in these the chances of attracting notice being generally proportioned to the population, there will always be more notice-seekers—in other words, more Would Be's than elsewhere.
Streets and public squares constitute the great outdoor theatre for their multiform exhibitions. The first you meet perhaps, is one who is enacting the profound thinker, although, probably, if the truth were known, not three ideas that could lead to any useful result, have ever crossed his brain, once a year, since he was born. His pace is slow, but somewhat irregular and zig-zag; his eyes are generally fixed on the ground, as it were geologizing; the tip of his fore-finger is on his nose, or his upper lip compressed between that finger and his thumb; the other hand and arm unconsciously swung behind his back; and so deep is his abstraction, that, should you be meeting him, you must step aside, or risk a concussion of bodies, which must end either in a fight or mutual apologies.
The next sample, probably, may be in quite a different style, although equally burlesque and preposterous. This one may be striving to play the gentleman of high official station, or great celebrity for talents, learning, or some other attainment which deservedly elevates him in the estimation of mankind. But mistaking exterior appearances for sure manifestations of internal qualities and endowments, which he is incapable of acquiring, he foolishly imagines that by means of the former he can pass himself off for what he wishes. Thus you will meet him, strutting and swaggering along, most majestically, with head erect, elevated chest, and perpendicular body—with a face, the owl-like solemnity of which nothing but the look of that sapient animal itself can equal, and a pomposity of air and manner which says, as far as pantomime can express words—"Who but I—I myself—I; look at me, ye mean and contemptible fellows, one and all!"
Pass him as soon as you have had your laugh out, and you will not go far before you will meet some other, probably quite dissimilar to both the others, although actuated by the same indomitable passion for conquering nature. The two former moved at a rate such as would suit a funeral procession; but your next man may be seen hurrying along with the speed of a courier despatched after an accoucheur, or for a doctor to one at the point of death. His legs are moving with the utmost rapidity short of running, and his feet are thrown forward with a kind of sling, as if he were trying to kick off his shoes; while his arms, from the shoulder joint to the extremities, are alternately swung with a force and quickness of motion, as if he expected from them the same service that a boatman does from his oars. This worthy gentleman's highest ambition is, to be mistaken for a man nearly overwhelmed with business so multifarious and important, as scarcely to allow him time to eat or sleep, when it is very probable that he either has none at all, or none which would prevent him from moving quite as slowly as he pleased.
When tired with contemplating what I will venture to call the physiognomy of walking, you may betake yourself to some large dinner party, should your good fortune have furnished you with an invitation. There you will rarely fail to have an in-door treat quite equal, if not superior to the former, in witnessing other modes developed by speech, in which "the Would Be's" betray their ruling passion—a treat, by the way, which some travesty wag has most maliciously called "the feast of reason and the flow of soul," when all who have ever tried it, perfectly well know, that in nineteen cases out of twenty, it is very little more than the flow of good liquor, and the feast of good viands—not that I, Mr. Editor, mean to object to either, when used in a way to heighten all the innocent enjoyments of social intercourse, without endangering health or shortening life, as they are too often made to do. But having been always accustomed to deem it very disgraceful for rational beings to rank either eating or drinking to excess among these enjoyments, I cannot forbear to enter my protest against any such misnomer. Might I be permitted here to say what should be the chief object of all social parties whatever, I would decide that it should be mutual improvement, and that the individuals who compose them should consider themselves as members of a kind of joint stock company, met, on such occasions, to perfect each other in their parts, as performers in the great drama of human life—that whenever called on to act, they might acquit themselves most naturally, agreeably, and usefully, both to themselves and others. Few indeed, "and far between," will be the dinner parties answering this description; for, in general, there are no social meetings at which you will find a greater assemblage of the Would Be's. Here you will often find very garrulous and deep critics in wine, who if the truth were known, would probably vastly prefer a drink of fourth proof whiskey, gin or brandy, to the choicest products of the best vineyards in the world. Occasionally you may also see exquisite amateurs of music, who, would they be candid, must plead guilty of utter ignorance on the subject, or confess a decided preference for some such old acquaintance as "Poor Betty Martin tip toe fine," or "Yankee Doodle," on a jews-harp or hurdy-gurdy, to the finest compositions of the most celebrated masters, performed by themselves, in their highest style, on their favorite instruments. A good assortment too of gormandizers is rarely wanting at such places; men whose gift of speech is never exercised but in praise of good cookery—whose mouths seem formed for little else than to eat and drink, and whose stomachs may truly be called "omnibuses," being depositories for full as great a variety of dead eatable substances, as the vehicles properly so called are of living bodies. The chief difference consists in the latter moving on four wheels—the former on two legs! There, likewise, may sometimes be seen the Virtuoso, "rara avis in terris," at least in our land, whose affected skill in ancient relics transcends, a sightless distance, that of the renowned Dr. Cornelius Scriblerus, the antiquary, rendered so famous by mistaking a barber's old rusty basin for an antique shield of some long deceased warrior.
Although science and literature are articles generally in very bad odor, if not actually contraband in such assemblages, (bodies and not minds being the thing to be fed,) still both are now and then introduced, and rare work are made of them by the would be scholars. To the real scholar—the well educated gentleman, there cannot well be any more severe trial of his politeness and self-command, than is afforded by their ridiculous attempts to display their taste and erudition. But the farce, incomparably the best of the whole, will usually be enacted by the little party politicians, who almost always constitute a considerable portion of a dinner party in these times. With these the settling of their dinners is quite a secondary affair to the settling of our national affairs, a most important part of which duty they most patriotically take upon themselves. Ex necessitate rei, their vehement volubility, their ardent zeal, constantly blazes out with an intensity of heat in full proportion to the self-imputed share of each in our national concerns. With this volcanic fire burning in their bosoms, cotemporaneously with so large a portion of the government of fifteen millions of human beings pressing on their shoulders—gigantic though they be—it is truly amazing with what alacrity and perseverance they at the same time talk, eat, and decide on the most difficult problems in political science—the most complex and really doubtful measures of national policy and legislation—when their whole outfit for so arduous a work consists, in all human probability, of a few hours of weekly reading in some party newspaper, edited by some man equally conceited, ignorant, and opinionated with themselves.
All this while, although the entertainer and a portion of his guests may be well qualified to sustain conversation both highly improving and interesting, fashion has vetoed the attempt—and they must either be silent, or join in the usual frivolous, desultory, and useless verbosity generally uttered on such occasions. Alas! that man, made after God's own image, and endowed with the noble gifts of speech, intellect, judgment, and taste, should so often and so deplorably abuse them.
When satiated with the dinner party, should you still wish to see more of the Would Be's, hasten to the Soirée or the Squeeze, and you will there find fresh and most titillating food for your moral palate, if you will pardon the figure. All that is most exquisitely ridiculous, either in attitude, gesture, or language, may, not unfrequently, be there witnessed in its most comic, most laugh-provoking form. There you may often witness nearly every possible disguise under which vulgarity apes gentility—every imaginable grimace and gesticulation that can be mistaken for graceful ease of manner—and every style of conversation or casual remark which "the Would Be's" may imagine best calculated to substitute their counterfeit currency for that which is genuine and acceptable to all. In these motley assemblages you may prepare to behold, among other sights, the now universally prevalent walk for fashionable ladies, in its highest style. This consists in a kind of indescribable twitching of the body, alternately to the right and left, which the gazing green-horns, not in the secret that fashion commands it, would surely mistake for the annoyance occasioned by certain pins in their dresses having worked out of place, and would accordingly commiserate rather than admire the supposed sufferers.
But to cap the climax of these abortive contests against nature, you must move about until you come to the rocking-chairs, those articles which, in bygone times, were used only by our decrepid old ladies, or the nurses of infant children; but which, in our more refined age, are now deemed indispensable appendages of every room for entertaining company. When you come to one of these former depositories for nearly superannuated women and nurses of infants, instead of similar occupants to those of the olden time, you will find them sometimes occupied by those of "the woman kind" who are making their first fishing parties after "a tang-lang,"1 and who have been taught to believe that a well turned ankle and pretty foot are very pretty things, the sight of which it would be quite unreasonable and selfish that the possessor should monopolize. But generally, the operatives in these quasi-cradles for decrepitude and helpless infancy, will be found to be youths of the male sex scarcely of age, and surrounded often by ladies old enough to be their mothers, and wanting seats—but wanting them in vain. These exquisite young gentlemen will always be found, when thus self-motive, so entirely absorbed, as to have forgotten completely not only the established rule, even in our rudest society, of offering our seat to any standing lady, but almost their own personal identity, which is frequently any thing but prepossessing. Rocking away at rail road speed, self-satisfied beyond the power of language to describe, with head thrown back, and protruded chin, "bearded like the pard," as much as to say, "Ladies, did you ever behold so kissable a face?—pray come try it"—they rock on to the infinite amusement, pity, or contempt of all beholders.
1 "Tang-lang." For this term and the little story in which it is introduced, I am indebted to that admirable writer Oliver Goldsmith; but before I give the tale itself, I must beseech your readers not for a moment to suspect me of any such treasonable design against the fair sex, as to represent all young ladies, upon their first entrance into company, as fishing for tang-langs. My purpose is merely to supply them with a few very useful moral hints, in the highly entertaining language of an author, who being "old fashioned," may probably be little known to many of them. But now for the story.
"In a winding of the river Amidar, just before it falls into the Caspian sea, there lies an island unfrequented by the inhabitants of the continent. In this seclusion, blest with all that wild, uncultivated nature could bestow, lived a princess and her two daughters. She had been wrecked upon the coast while her children as yet were infants, who, of consequence, though grown up, were entirely unacquainted with man. Yet, inexperienced as the young ladies were in the opposite sex, both early discovered symptoms, the one of prudery, the other of being a coquet. The eldest was ever learning maxims of wisdom and discretion from her mamma, whilst the youngest employed all her hours in gazing at her own face in a neighboring fountain.
"Their usual amusement in this solitude was fishing. Their mother had taught them all the secrets of the art: she showed them which were the most likely places to throw out the line, what baits were most proper for the various seasons, and the best manner to draw up the finny prey, when they had hooked it. In this manner they spent their time, easy and innocent, till one day the princess being indisposed, desired them to go and catch her a sturgeon or a shark for supper, which she fancied might sit easy on her stomach. The daughters obeyed, and clapping on a goldfish, the usual bait on these occasions, went and sat upon one of the rocks, letting the gilded hooks glide down the stream.
"On the opposite shore, farther down at the mouth of the river lived a diver for pearls, a youth who, by long habit in his trade, was almost grown amphibious; so that he could remain whole hours at the bottom of the water, without ever fetching breath. He happened to be at that very instant diving, when the ladies were fishing with a gilded hook. Seeing therefore the bait, which to him had the appearance of real gold, he was resolved to seize the prize; but both hands being already filled with pearl-oysters, he found himself obliged to snap at it with his mouth; the consequence is easily imagined; the hook, before unperceived, was instantly fastened in his jaw; nor could he, with all his efforts or his floundering, get free.
"Sister, cries the youngest princess, I have certainly caught a monstrous fish; I never perceived anything struggle so at the end of my line before; come and help me to draw it in. They both now, therefore, assisted in fishing up the diver on shore; but nothing could equal their surprize upon seeing him. Bless my eyes! cries the prude, what have we got here? This is a very odd fish to be sure; I never saw any thing in my life look so queer; what eyes—what terrible claws—what a monstrous snout! I have read of this monster somewhere before, it certainly must be a tang-lang that eats women; let us throw it back into the sea where we found it.
"The diver in the mean time stood upon the beach, at the end of the line, with the hook in his mouth, using every art that he thought could best excite pity, and particularly looking extremely tender, which is usual in such circumstances. The coquet, therefore, in some measure influenced by the innocence of his looks, ventured to contradict her companion. Upon my word, sister, says she, I see nothing in the animal so very terrible as you are pleased to apprehend; I think it may serve well enough for a change. Always sharks, and sturgeons, and lobsters, and craw-fish, make me quite sick. I fancy a slice of this nicely grilled, and dressed up with shrimp sauce would be very pretty eating. I fancy too mamma would like a bit with pickles above all things in the world; and if it should not sit easy on her stomach, it will be time enough to discontinue it, when found disagreeable, you know. Horrid! cries the prude, would the girl be poisoned? I tell you it is a tang-lang; I have read of it in twenty places. It is every where described as the most pernicious animal that ever infested the ocean. I am certain it is the most insidious, ravenous creature in the world; and is certain destruction, if taken internally. The youngest sister was now, therefore, obliged to submit: both assisted in drawing the hook with some violence from the diver's jaw; and he, finding himself at liberty, bent his breast against the broad wave, and disappeared in an instant.
"Just at this juncture, the mother came down to the beach, to know the cause of her daughters' delay: they told her every circumstance, describing the monster they had caught. The old lady was one of the most discreet women in the world; she was called the black-eyed princess, from two black eyes she had received in her youth, being a little addicted to boxing in her liquor. Alas! my children, cries she, what have you done? The fish you caught was a man-fish, one of the most tame domestic animals in the world. We could have let him run and play about the garden, and he would have been twenty times more entertaining than our squirrel or monkey. If that be all, says the young coquet, we will fish for him again. If that be all, I'll hold three tooth-picks to one pound of snuff, I catch him whenever I please. Accordingly they threw in their lines once more, but with all their gliding, and paddling, and assiduity, they could never after catch the diver. In this state of solitude and disappointment they continued for many years, still fishing, but without success; till, at last, the Genius of the place, in pity to their distress, changed the prude into a shrimp, and the coquet into an oyster."
But in tender mercy to your own patience and that of your readers, both of which I have so severely taxed, I will conclude for the present, and remain your friend,
OLIVER OLDSCHOOL.