 | THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. The soldier's bride and other tales |  |
THE PHILADELPHIA DUN.
One day, no matter when, a stranger was seen
riding slowly through the streets of a flourishing
town in Tennessee. He was a well dressed good
looking young man, mounted upon what in this
country would be called, “the best kind of a nag.”
His appearance, altogether, was respectable
enough; it was even, as respects exteriors, a touch
above what is common; and he would have passed
along unnoticed, had it not been for one thing,
which excited universal attention. Although the
streets were crowded with people, and the fronts of
the stores adorned with fine goods, and such fancy
articles as usually attract the eye—the stranger's
gaze was fixed on vacancy; he turned his head
neither to the right nor the left; he moved not lip
nor eye-lid; but rode forward, as if apparently unconscious,
as well of his own existence, as of the
presence of his fellow creatures.
It was court week, and an usual concourse of
people was collected. Here was the judge, with a
long train of lawyers. The candidates for office
were here, distributing smiles and kindnesses, and
practising all those popular arts, which are so well
understood in every republican country. Here was
the farmer, clad in his neatest homespun, and
mounted on his best horse. Here was the hunter
with his rifle. Here, in short, were the people; collected,
some for pleasure, and some for business,
exhibiting that excitement of feeling which crowds
always produce, with a good humour which is only
found in countries where all are free and equal.
The public square exhibited a scene which would
have been amusing to one unaccustomed to such
displays of character. At one spot were two
neighbours driving a bargain. Unlike the people
of other countries, who transact such business in
private, they were surrounded by a host of people,
who all occasionally threw in their comments. A
stranger, judging from the sly jokes, the loud bantering,
and the vociferous laughter which passed
round the circle, would not have supposed that any
serious business was in hand; a resident only would
infer, that before this little circle parted, a horse would
be swapped, a crop of tobacco sold, or a tract of land
conveyed. Not far off, was a set of politicians,
settling the affairs of the nation. But the most
amusing individuals, were some two or three, who
were cavorting. Now, if any lady or gentleman is
know what cavorting is, and if Webster's celebrated
quarto does not furnish the definition, it is necessary
that we explain, that it expresses the conduct
of an individual who fancies himself the smartest
and best man in the world. On the present
occasion, a fellow might be seen, dressed in a hunting
shirt, with a rifle on his shoulder, mounted, half
tipsy, upon a spirited horse, and dashing through
the crowd. Now he would force his spurs into his
horse's sides, and put him at full speed, or rein him
up until he reared on his hinder feet; and now he
would command him to stop, and the obedient animal
would stand and tremble. All the time he
was ranting and roaring in praise of himself, his
horse, and the United States of America. He
boasted that he was born in the woods, rocked in a
sugar trough, and suckled by a buffalo; that he
could tote a steamboat, and outrun a streak of
lightning; that his wife was as handsome as a pet
fawn, and his children real roarers. He bestowed
similar encomiums on his horse; and finally avowed
himself to be a friend to the United States of America—and
then he commenced again and went over
the same round, flourishing his rifle all the time,
and exerting his lungs to their utmost. Although
he often declared that he could whip any man in
the round world, except Col. C. that he fit under
at New Orleans, nobody accepted the challenge, or
took offence; the whole being considered as a matter
potations upon an illiterate man of ardent temperament,
who, when duly sober, was an honest, quiet,
and inoffensive citizen.
While the people were amused at the vagaries of
this wild hunter, or engaged in conversation, the
sun had gone down, and it was nearly dusk when
the moving automaton, described in the commencement
of this story, rode solemnly into the town. It
is customary in this country for persons who meet,
although unacquainted, to salute each other, and
this courtesy is especially practised towards strangers;
and although the new comer, on this occasion,
would not have been expected to address each
individual in a crowded street, yet, when those who
were nearest nodded or spoke, as they civilly opened
the way, they were surprised to see the horseman's
gaze fixed on vacancy, and his body remaining
as erect as if tied to a stake.
“That man's asleep,” said one;
“He's as blind as a bat,” said another;
“I reckon he's sort o' dead,” exclaimed a third:
“He rides an elegant nag,” remarked a fourth; and
all were surprised that a man, who was apparently
so good a judge of a horse, had not wit enough to
see where he was going, or to know who were
around him.
In the mean while our traveller moved proudly
on, until he reached the best inn; a fine brick
building, presenting every indication of neatness,
well fed athletic negroes, with visages like polished
ebony, and teeth as white as snow, rushed forth,
and while one seized his bridle, the other held his
stirrup as he dismounted. Still the automaton relaxed
not a muscle; but drawing up his body, moved
majestically towards the house. At the door he was
met by the landlord, a portly welldressed man, with a
fine open countenance, who had been honoured by
his fellow citizens with several civil appointments,
and had even commanded some of them in the
field, in times of peril. He touched his hat as he
welcomed the stranger, and invited him into his
house with an air of dignity and hospitality. A
servant took his surtout, and several gentlemen
who were seated round the fire, pushed back their
chairs to make way for the stranger. But all these
things moved not the automaton; the glazed eye
and compressed lip were still fixed, and the chin
remained in the cushion of an immense cravat.
After a momentary pause, the gentlemen in the
room resumed their conversation, the landlord applied
himself to the business of his house, and the
silent traveller was consigned to the oblivion which
he seemed to covet; and excited no more attention
except from an honest backwoodsman, who strolled
in to take a peep, and after gazing at him for a
quarter of an hour, suddenly clapped his hands,
and exclaimed to his companion, “It moves, Bill!
live.”
By this time candles were lighted, and the silent
gentleman seemed to grow weary of silence. He
now rose and strutted across the apartment with a
very important stride. He was a young man of
about two and twenty; of ordinary height, and less
than ordinary thickness. His person seemed to be
compressed with corsets, and his head was supported
by the ears upon a semicircle of stiffened linen,
which occupied the place of a shirt collar; and all
his habiliments announced him to the eyes of the
curious, as a genuine specimen of that singular
genus, the dandy. After taking several turns
through the apartment, he drew forth his gold repeater,
and opening his mouth for the first time,
exclaimed in a peremptory tone, “Landlord! I want
supper!” “You shall have it, sir,” said the landlord,
with a bow, and winking at the same time at
the other guests, “we had supped when you arrived,
but will not detain you many minutes.”
In a short time, supper was announced, and the
stranger was shown into a back room, handsomely
furnished, where a neat elderly matron presided at
the head of a table, spread with tea, coffee, bread,
cakes, beef, pork, bacon, venison, fowls, and all that
profusion of eatables with which western ladies delight
to entertain their guests. Near her sat a
young lady, modestly attired, in the bloom of youth
and beauty, whose easy manners and engaging appearance,
to the charms of native elegance. Now, indeed,
our dandy opened both mouth and eyes to some
purpose. Scarcely deigning to return the salutation
of his hostess, he commenced the work of
havoc—fish, flesh, and fowl vanished before him;
his eye roved from dish to dish, and then wandered
off to the young lady; now he gazed at a broiled
chicken, and now at the fair niece of the landlord
—but which he liked best, I am unable to say—
the chicken seemed to go off very well, but on the
subject of the damsel he never opened his mouth.
Returning again to the sitting apartment, he
found the same set of gentlemen whom he had left
there, still engaged in conversation. They were
the judge, the lawyers, and other intelligent men of
the country, who were not a little amused at the
airs of our dandy. Again they opened their circle
to receive him, but his eyes, his mouth, and his
heart, if he had one, were closed against every
thing but the contemplation of his own important
self. After drawing his boots, picking his teeth,
and puffing a segar, he again opened his mouth,
with, “Landlord! I want to go to bed!”
“Whenever you please, sir.”
“I want a room to myself, sir!”
“I do not know how that will be,” replied the
landlord, “my house is full, and I shall be compelled
to put you in the room with some of these
gentlemen.”
“I can't go it, sir!” replied the dandy, strutting
up and down; “never slept in a room with any
body in my life, sir! and never will! must have a
room, sir!”
The landlord now laughed outright at the airs of
the coxcomb, and then said, very good humouredly,
“Well, well, I'll go and talk with my wife, and see
what we can do.”
“My dear,” said the landlord, as he entered the
supper room, “here's a man who says he must have
a room to himself.”
“What, that greedy little man, in corsets?”
“The same.”
“Set him up with a room!” exclaimed the landlady.
“He is a trifling fellow,” said the landlord, “but
if we can accommodate the poor little man, we
had better do so.”
The lady professed her readiness to discharge
the rights of hospitality, but declared that there was
not a vacant apartment in the house.
“Give him my room, aunt,” said the pretty
niece, “I will sleep with the children, or any
where you please.” The young lady was a visitor, and
a great favourite; and the elder lady was altogether
opposed to putting her to any discomfort, particularly
on account of such a rude man. But the
niece carried her point, and arrangements were
made accordingly.
In a few minutes, the silent man was conducted
by the landlord to a very handsomely furnished
thing here was of the best and neatest kind. A
suit of curtains hung round the bed, the counterpane
was white as snow, and the bed linen was
fresh and fragrant. The dandy walked round the
room, examining every thing with the air of a man
who fancied his life in danger from some contagious
disease, or venomous reptile. He then threw open
the bed clothes, and after inspecting them, exclaimed,
“I can't sleep in that bed!”
“Why not, sir?” enquired the astonished landlord.
“It's not clean! I can't sleep in it!” repeated
the dandy, strutting up and down with the most
amusing air of self importance, “I wouldn't sleep
there for a thousand dollars!”
“Take care what you say,” said the landlord;
“you are not aware that I keep the best house in
all this country, and that my wife is famed for the
cleanliness of her house and beds!”
“Can't help it,” replied the dandy, very deliberately
surveying himself in a mirror, “very sorry,
sir—awkward business to be sure—but to be plain
with you, I wont sleep in a dirty bed to please any
man.”
“You won't, won't you?”
“No, sir, I will not.”
“Then I will make you,” said the landlord, and
seizing the astonished dandy by the back of the
neck, he led him to the bed, and forced his face
down upon it—“look at it,” continued the enraged
that bed dirty, you puppy!” Then going to the
door, he called to a servant to bring a horsewhip;
and informed the terrified dandy, that unless he
undressed and went to bed instantly, he should
order his negro to horsewhip him. In vain the
mortified youngster promised to do all that was required
of him; the landlord would trust nothing to
his word, but remained until his guest was disrobed,
corsets and all, and snugly nestled under the
snow-white counterpane.
It was nearly breakfast time when the crest fallen
stranger made his appearance in the morning.
To his surprise, his steed, who had evidently fared
as well as himself, stood ready saddled at the door.
“Pray, sir,” said he to his host, in a very humble
tone, and in a manner which showed him at a loss
how to begin the conversation, “pray, sir, at what
hour do you breakfast?”
“We breakfast at eight,” was the reply, “but
the question is one in which you can have little
interest; for you must seek a meal elsewhere.”
“Surely, my dear sir, you would not treat a gentleman
with such indignity—.”
“March!” said the landlord.
“My bill—.”
“You owe me nothing; I should think myself degraded
by receiving your money.”
In another moment, the self important mortal,
who, the evening before, had ridden through the
was galloping away, degraded, vexed, and humbled.
As he passed along, the same backwoodsman, who
had gone to ascertain the fact of his vitality on his
first arrival, met him, and pulling off his hat, said,
very civilly, “Stranger, your girth is under your
horse!” The dandy reined up his steed, jumped
off, and found that his girth was indeed under his
horse—where it ought to be.
“Do you mean to insult me?” exclaimed he,
turning fiercely upon the backwoodsman; but the
latter, instead of replying, coolly remarked to his
companions, “If it an't alive, I'll agree to be shot;”
and walked on.
“Who is that young man?” enquired the judge
of the circuit court, as the stranger rode off.
“He is a Philadelphia dun,” replied the landlord.
“I am no wiser than before,” said his honour.
“Have you lived in our country so long, and not
know this race of men? Sir, they are the collectors,
sent out by eastern merchants, to collect their
debts. Although they come from different cities,
they all go under one general denomination; some
of them are fine young men, but too many are like
yonder chap.”
“But how do you know this to be one of them?”
“Oh, bless you, I know them well. I read the history
of that youth, in his motions, before he was in
my house five minutes. One year ago he could
over a counter, and play as many tricks as a pet
monkey. He is just out of his apprenticeship, promoted
to the dignity of a dun, and mounted on a
fine horse, and you know the old proverb, “set a
beggar on horseback—”
“I understand the whole matter,” replied the
judge, and very gravely walked into the house,
while the younger members of the bar were roaring
with laughter at this odd adventure of the Philadelphia
dun.
| THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. The soldier's bride and other tales | |