 | Peter Pilgrim, or, A rambler's recollections |  |
MY FRIENDS
IN
THE MADHOUSE.
1. CHAPTER I.
A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM.
I HAVE always been of opinion that madmen
are by no means so mad as the world
usually supposes them—an idea which, if not
originally impressed, was strongly confirmed
on my mind by the conduct of a lunatic in a
certain Asylum, in which it was my chance
to be a rambler and a looker-on, at a period
when the visiting physician, was going his
rounds, with some five or six score of medical
students at his heels. Following this long
train of philanthropists through the wards, I
enjoyed (if so it could be called) an opportunity
of looking into many cells, thrown
open only to the medical attendants and their
pupils, upon the miserable tenants—victims
sometimes shocked, and always saddened, the
beholder.—Truly, we know nothing of the
extraordinary structure and tremendous energies
of the human mind, that grandest and
most amazing of created things, until we see
it in ruins.
A more agreeable—or to speak correctly,
less repulsive—spectacle, at least to me, was
twice or thrice presented in the persons of
lunatics whose malady was of such a harmless
character that they, instead of being confined
in cells, were allowed to ramble up and
down the wards as they pleased, talking with
the officers of the Asylum, sometimes even
assisting them in ministering to their fellow
maniacs, and, above all, enjoying themselves,
in conversation with such visiters as chance
threw in their way.
One of these unfortunates, seen on the present
occasion for the first time, was a young
man of spirited and humorous deportment,
who betrayed much satisfaction at the appearance
of the physician, shook him heartily by
the hand, gave him, without waiting to be asked,
his wrist to feel and his tongue to inspect,
and then demanded, with a very business-like
nod of the head, “Well now, Doctor, what
in the upper story?”
“Oh, certainly, John,” replied the physician—“doing
extremely well.” With which
he seemed disposed to pass on. But John
was not so easily satisfied.
“None of your quaker answers, if you
please, Doctor,” qouth he, with a knowing
grin; “answer to the point, like a gentleman,
and don't fob me off like one of your regular
madmen. I say, Doctor, what's your ideas
concerning the state of my cerebellum? Just
say the word—am I mad or not?”
“Mad? Oh, no, certainly,” said the physician,
smiling; “nobody could think such a
fine funny fellow as John mad.”
“I'll be hanged if you don't, though!” said
John, with the utmost coolness, “and I wonder
why you can't say so, like an honest fellow.
But I say, Doctor,” he continued, observing
the physician about to pass on a second
time, “just answer me another question
or two, before you go. All these young gentlemen
here are young doctors, a'n't they?”
To this the doctor replied in the affirmative;
whereupon John jumped upon a
chair, and looking round him with an air of
comical solicitude, exclaimed—“Well now,
doctors, just let's settle the question by vote.
I say, gentlemen,” he cried, “the Doctor
thinks I am mad, and I think I am not: Put
it to vote among you; for, being doctors, and
such a heap of you, you'll know all about it.—
Here I am, gentlemen, John Jones by name;—
mad, or not mad?”
To this demand several of the young men
answered smilingly, in the words of their preceptor,
by assuring John he was not mad.
“Gammon!” said John, “or why don't
you let me out? But I tell you what, my
gentlemen, you may think me as mad as you
please: all that I can say is, I think you just
as mad as myself, and—hang it—a great deal
madder; and, what's more, I can prove it.”
“Very well, John,” said the physician, who
seemed amused by the oddity of his patient,
and willing to humour him a little; “if you
can prove that, I shall clap them into the cells
forthwith, and make you their keeper.”
“It's a bargain,” said John, turning to the
students; whom he addressed in the following
terms, grinning all the time as if with the
triumph of anticipated victory.
“Here you are, a hundred or more ablebodied
young fellows, inhabitants of a country
greater demand than professional science and
dignity, always secure the rewards which
science does not—the independence and
wealth, which are the great aims of every
American. I hold you mad, first, because
you have deserted the fields you would
have passed useful and happy lives in tilling,
to enter upon a professional career in which
you will, if you don't starve outright, remain
poor unlucky drones for life: secondly, because,
if you must have a profession, you have
chosen the worst of all professions in the
world—the poorest in emolument, the lowest
in influence, the least in dignity. Had you
chosen the law, you might have gabbled and
cheated your way to fortune, and to Congress
into the bargain; with divinity, you might
have married rich wives and preached bad
sermons, in religious contentment to your dying
days. Whereas, as doctors, supposing
you don't prove, from sheer incompetency,
public murderers, you will waste your days
in works of humanity, for which you are only
half paid, and not thanked at all; besides being
deprived of all those side means of making a
fortune, which belong to the other professions.
Thirdly and finally, you are mad, because, if
and expense of studying the art; when the
world, and the American world in particular,
would have liked you just as well, and, indeed,
a great deal better, if you had begun to slash
and physic, without any study or preparation
whatever. Men must be mad, indeed, who will
study physic, when they can make a fortune
three times as fast by quackery!”
With these words, delivered I knew not
whether most to the edification or diversion
of the young doctors, who straightway took
their departure in search of new patients,
honest John descended from his chair, and,
clapping his hands into his pockets, began to
saunter up and down the passage, whistling
Yankee Doodle with great vigour and execution.
I felt desirous of making the acquaintance
of a lunatic so very methodical in his madness,
and accordingly stepped up to honest
John, and assuring him that his oration had
quite convinced me of his sanity, and the
utter distraction of his scientific hearers,
begged to be informed to what cause he
owed his incarceration in that abode of the
crack-brained.
“Oh,” said John, grinning with delight,
address,) and looking volumes of
sagacity—“we have a mode of accounting
for it here among us. The world is composed
of wise men and madmen, the latter
being in the majority—ay, sir, hang it! a
hundred to one, undoubtedly. Well, sir, what
can a few wise people do among a myriad of
mad ones? In short, sir, the mad fellows
have got the upper hand of us, the wise ones,
and—here we are in Bedlam!”
“The explanation,” said I, “is both simple
and striking. But the mad fellows could not
have imprisoned you, unless under some
pretext.”
“True,” said John, touching his nose;
“leave madmen alone for that: every body
knows they are cunning. The pretext is, of
course, that I am mad. But the truth is,
they clapped me in here on account of my
philanthropy, as shown in my extraordinary
invention.”
I took the liberty to ask what that invention
was; a question that seemed greatly to
surprise worthy John, as indicating a very
extraordinary degree of ignorance upon my
part. But this ignorance he hastened to remove
by informing me, that, both as a philanthropist
the quarrel betwixt the abolitionists and
slave-owners, which appeared to him to
threaten the very existence of the republic.
“Besides,” said he, “I was somewhat of an
abolitionist myself, quite desirous to see the
poor blackies as free as blackbirds; but then,
I saw clear enough, they never could be liberated,
without ruining their masters, as well
as all the agricultural interests of the South,
unless some means could be devised for supplying
their loss, by finding substitutes for
them. The substitutes once found, I had no
doubt every body would come round to abolition
in a moment, the Southerners in particular,
who, the Lord knows, are sick of the
bother of their labourers. Well, sir,” quoth
John, “to find these substitutes became the
problem to be solved; and I solved it, sir, by
the invention of my patent niggers to be
worked by horse-power—yes, sir, by the invention
(and a grand one it was,) of patent
niggers—men, sir, not of perishing and suffering
flesh and blood, but of wood, iron,
leather and canvass, so constructed as (by
means of horse-power to put them in motion)
to be a great deal better than the real niggers;
because, sir, they were to do all kinds
the cattle, (upon my soul, sir, I could never
make them do that,) and never get tired, or
sick, or sulky—never die, or run away, or
rise in insurrection—never require feeding,
nor clothing, nor physicking—in short, sir,
the best and cheapest niggers that human
wit ever imagined! With these, sir, my glorious
invention, I expected to free the blackies,
and make my own fortune; and accordingly
carried my models to the Abolition
Society, to get their recommendation; when,
sir, instead of the rapture and triumph which
I looked for among the members, rage and
jealousy took possession of their souls.
They could not bear that they should lose the
honour, and glory, and profit of completing
the great work of emancipation—that I, who
was not actually a professed member of their
society—or that any body, save themselves,
should reap the splendid reward; and, accordingly,
they knocked my models to pieces,
maltreated myself, and ended by charging
me with madness, and bringing me to this
place in a strait-jacket. These, sir, are the
true causes of their strange behaviour—jealousy
and envy: but it must be remembered,
they belong to the majority—that is, to the
that, in persecuting me, they were destroying
the negro's best friend.”
I expressed, as in civility and duty bound,
a great deal of surprise and indignation at
the hard and undeserved fate of honest John,
whose philanthropy was so poorly rewarded;
at which appearance of sympathy he was
vastly pleased, declared I was the clearest-headed
and sanest man he had ever known,
begged to swear eternal friendship with me,
and then, giving me to understand there were
many other wise and virtuous persons, the
victims of the world's malice or insanity,
confined like himself in the Asylum, proposed
to introduce me to their acquaintance; a proposal
to which—after having taken the advice
and secured the permission of the keepers
—I was glad to accede.
I was, accordingly, ushered into an enclosure
in the garden of the Asylum, where, it
appeared, such harmless persons as worthy
John were permitted to breathe the air, and
converse on such subjects as suited the tender
state of their intellects.
As I entered this place, of which the gate
was immediately locked behind me by a
keeper, who attended for the purpose, I perceived
men, some of whom sat on benches under the
trees, while others strolled to and fro along
the gravelled walks. The noise of our entrance,
and the appearance of honest John,
with whom all seemed to be perfectly well
acquainted, drew them about us; and they
were soon introduced to me by name—one
being the Honourable Timoleon Smash, an
ex-congressman, from Virginia; another, a
gentleman of the press, of which, he himself
informed me, he had been once a bright and
shining light; and others of other respectable
ranks and professions.
My friend, John Jones, having introduced
me, the ex-editor, Mr. Ticklum, for that was
his name, removing a pair of spectacles from
his nose, and crumpling into his pocket an old
newspaper which he had been reading,
begged to know if I was `a fellow in misfortune;'
a question I felt some little embarrassment
in replying to; when my friend John
removed the difficulty by declaring, “I was,
as he could bear witness, unfortunate like
themselves, in being in my senses among a
world of madmen; but had not yet been found
out by the world, and so had escaped being
made a prisoner; that I was a philanthropic
with them in their sorrows, and
came to learn of them those proofs of the
folly and injustice of the world which all
were so well able to speak.”
“I can require,” said I, “no better proof of
this than has been furnished in the history of
my friend Mr. Jones; whose sufferings, considered
as a punishment inflicted upon him
on account of his philanthropy, I esteem as
extraordinary as they are unjust. Truly, it
seems to me not merely surprising, but incredible,
that men should punish a fellow
creature for practising a virtue they so universally
commend.”
“Surprising!” said Mr. Ticklum, with a
stare of melancholy astonishment, while all
the rest looked at me with pity and a groan;
“why, sir, that's their way; and you must be
younger than you seem, and less experienced
than we should have supposed, sir, from your
sensible appearance, if you are surprised at
the inconsistency. Virtue, sir, is a thing man
loves best in the abstract; the practice of it
interferes with too many of his interests to
allow him to be friendly to its professor.
Really, sir, we are afraid you do not understand
the world; you have not yet been
rewarded in the world are its vices: avarice
and ambition, impudence and deceit, truckling
and time-serving, will win favour, fortune,
and distinction, when generosity and modesty,
integrity and independence, are repaid
with neglect, contempt, imposition—nay,
with vindictive hate. It is a truth, sir, that
can't be denied, that—as the world now
wags—a man can practise no virtue safely:
he may write about it, he may talk about it,
and gain credit thereby; but the acting of it
will assuredly bring him into trouble. There
is not a person here present who cannot
furnish you good proof of this. Know, sir,
that all of us around you are examples of the
world's injustice—the martyrs of principle,
the victims of our several virtues. We were
too good for the world, sir, and therefore the
world has clapped us into a madhouse. Sir,
you would scarce suppose it of an editor, but
we—even WE, Daniel Ticklum, as we stand
here—are a living monument of the world's
injustice. In US you behold a victim of our
virtue!”
With that, Mr. Ticklum wiped his eyes;
and all the rest groaned, except the Hon.
Mr. Smash—a very stately young personage,
forward, said,—“What my friend Ticklum
says is perfectly true. Man, a hypocrite
even to himself, and inconsistent alike in good
and evil, sets a bounty of praise on virtue,
which he fancies he desires, only to break the
bones of those who bring it to him! The
world has prated a long time of the excellency
of patriotism—a virtue which not lying
historians only, but the universal voice of society,
would seem to place among the highest,
purest, most honour-deserving of all virtues.
How much the world really likes patriotism
may be seen in my history; which, while my
friend Ticklum recovers his composure, I
shall be happy to relate for your edification.”
I expressed myself extremely desirous to
hear this curious relation, and Mr. Smash immediately
began his history in the following
terms.
2. CHAPTER II.
THE PATRIOT'S STORY.
“As I design relating only my political history,”
said Mr. Smash, “I shall say nothing
of my parentage, birth, or youth, except
that the first was highly respectable, as you
may perceive by the name, (I am of the
Smashes, sir, of Virginia,) that my birth happened
in one of the most patriotic counties of
the Ancient Dominion, and that my youth was,
as I may say, one long dream of public virtue.
I longed to serve my country, and approve
myself the worthiest of her sons—a
passion that grew with my growth, until, in
early manhood, it had banished every other
from my bosom. The love of pelf and of
pleasure, nay, even the love of woman, I
upon aspirations after renown, and wedding
my heart to the glories of my native
land. Happy, thought I, is he who can serve
his country, enjoying, in life, the digito monstrari
of a nation's approbation, in death, the
dulce et decorum of a nation's gratitude, carved
in immortal letters on his tomb.
“The great object of my wishes was, at
last, effected—I stumped through my district
and my fellow citizens sent me to Congress!
“Judge the delight with which I first trod
that glorious hall, thronged with the representatives
of a free people, each looking a
Cato or Aristides, and munching his tobacco
with the air of a ruler of the world. I threw
myself upon my chair, mounted my legs upon
my desk, took my quid of best James-River,
and enjoyed for a while the rapture and dignity
of my new situation. But this indulgence
did not last long: I remembered I was
there to serve my country—to perform the
great duties of a representative—which service
and duties I resolved to enter upon without
further loss of time. I began my patriotic
labours forthwith.
“The first thing I did was to make a
speech; and, as the quantity and quality
can only be shown by the length of his harangue,
I made my maiden effort as long as
the state of my health (which was weak from
hard work on the stump and at barbecues
during the canvass,) permitted. Having once
got the floor—which was no easy matter,
there being two or three hundred members
who were as ripe for proving their patriotism
as I,—I launched into a discourse, in which I
handled things both in general and particular,
and gave the whole history of Greece and
Rome. As to the subject then before the
house, I do not remember what it was—or
rather I never knew it; nor, indeed, was that
a matter of any consequence, the last week
of the session being the proper time to speak
to the point. I spoke for seven days, and
then concluded, my strength giving way sooner
than I expected. My speech was, nevertheless,
of very good length, and, I believe,
my constituents were satisfied. Indeed, upon
consideration, I think they had reason to
be; for my oration furnished matter (excluding
all other, saving a few editorial scraps
now and then) to The Watch-Tower of Freedom,
the weekly paper of my district, week
after week, during the whole winter; in fact,
of Freedom longer than I the hall of Liberty;
and, for aught I can tell, they may not have
finished it yet.
“This speech made a great sensation. The
thrilling eloquence, by which it was said to
be characterized, the fiery fervour, the scorching
sarcasm, the annihilating invective, the
bursts of sublimity and pathos, the keen wit,
the elegant humour, the classic style, the poetic
adornment, added to the graceful gesture,
the magnificent voice, the eye of fire, and
other congressional qualities which it enabled
me to develop, took the house by storm;
and I was at once pronounced a legislator of
the first grade—a master and ruling spirit—
a sun-born son of genius—a giant of intellect—
a Titan of oratory—in short, sir, a great man.
Compliments and congratulations fell upon
me like the leaves of November; the Speaker
shook me by the hand, the President invited me
to supper, and members of all parties sought
my acquaintance. In a word, I was raised to
the pinnacle of favour, and admitted to be
one of the first men in Congress.
“Having made my speech, I felt that I
had accomplished one of the great objects
for which I had been sent to the legislature.
and my mind released from the load of responsibility
that oppresses the unspoken
member, I was able to direct my energies to
other objects yet to be accomplished, and to
reflect what course it became me to take, as
a man of principle and true American patriotism,
in relation to my future career.
“And now I felt, even more strongly than
before, how deep and fervid was the flame
with which I burned to do my country
service; and during the two weeks which I
lay on my back, recovering from the toil of
my oration, I devoted every moment to the
consideration of the evils under which the
country was labouring, and the means of removing
them. In a word, I devised and digested
a plan of reform, which I resolved to
bring before Congress as soon as possible;
and, that my constituents might perceive I
was entering upon the work in earnest, and
without any partial views or inclinings, I determined
to begin at home—that is, in Congress
itself—and so attack abuses at the
fountain-head.
“Observing that two or three different
members, while I lay sick, had occupied the
house with uncommonly long speeches, I began
were all to claim the privilege of speaking
seven days on a stretch, as I had done myself.
I was shocked to discover, that, if only
two hundred should insist upon speaking that
length of time, and only once each, it would
require a session of three years and ten
months to enable them to get through, without
counting the time required for business.
“Struck with this discovery, I immediately
brought a proposition before the house to
amend its regulations so far as to secure attention
to the proper business of the nation.
The bill which I desired to introduce, provided
that no member should be allowed,
under any circumstances, (except while making
his maiden speech,) to speak longer upon
any business before the house, than half an
hour at a time.
“The reader who does not trouble himself
about journals of Congress, and who skips the
reports of debates in his newspaper, will be
surprised to hear that this motion, which I
considered the most patriotic I could make,
since it deprived me of the right of delivering
ten other speeches, which I at first meditated,
was met by angry remonstrance and the
fiercest opposition. Two hundred honourable
charged me with an attack upon their privileges,
a design to subvert the liberty of
speech. `What did they come there for?'
they asked: `to maintain the rights of their
constituents, and defend their own.' `Was
that,' they cried, `the temple of Liberty, the
hall of Freedom, and were members to be
gagged at the very altar? If the honourable
member brought padlocks for their lips, why
not fetters for their limbs, whips for their
backs, daggers for their throats? They
could tell me, and they could tell Mr. Speaker
—they could tell the world, which surveyed
their proceedings—that the representatives
of American freemen were themselves freemen,
who would resist the approaches of the
enemy of liberty to the last, and die in the
breach, or, as some of them said, `in the
ditch,' (which is no proper place for a gentleman's
death-bed,) under the ruins of the
constitution.
“In short, there was a deal of eloquent
speeches made, and a torrent of indignation
poured upon my proposition, and on me. It
was in vain that I called the attention of
members to the discovery I had made, the
surprising fact, that, if we should all speak as
the session must be necessarily prolonged
through a term of four years; which
was just twice as long as we had a right to
sit, and in direct contravention of the obligation
imposed on Congress to hold four different
sessions within that period. I was answered,
`the right of speech was sacred, and
should not be invaded.' I appealed to their
good-sense, and the Speaker called me to
order; I addressed myself to their reason,
and a member asked me, `if I meant to insult
the house?' while another—a man whom
I before was disposed to regard as of quite a
patriotic turn, though born so far north as
Pennsylvania—told me, `if I had come to
that house with reason in my pocket, I had
brought my wares to the wrong market.'
“In truth, my proposition was a bomb-shell,
(I use the Congressional figure, as
striking for its expressiveness as it is venerable
for its age,) cast upon the floor at the feet
of members. It produced a commotion even
in the galleries; the reporters, its only friends,
received it with frenzies of approbation, so
that the Sergeant-at-Arms was ordered to
expel them: and this is the reason why there
of that debate in the newspapers.
“The motion was lost by a tremendous
majority, no one voting in its favour except
myself and a member from Down East, who
was tongue-tied, and therefore hated long
speeches. It caused the members pretty
generally to regard me with coolness and ill-will;
and, what afflicted me greatly, the
Southern members seemed to be the most
displeased of all. Nevertheless, I had taken
my stand, and opposition only determined
me the more strongly to devote myself to
the cause of my country. I said to myself,
`if I fail in my efforts, if I sacrifice myself on
the altar of the republic, I shall be remembered
as the friend of freedom, and placed
among the brightest of its martyrs.' I determined
to persevere in the path pointed out
by reason and patriotism together; and I resolved,
in order to be virtuous on the largest
scale, to tear all sectional feelings from my
bosom, to forget that Virginia lay on one
side of Mason and Dixon's line and Massachusetts
on the other, and remember only,
as Washington had done before me, that I
was an American.
“My second proposition, being rather of
and contingent, at least, as to its effects
on the national purse, but immediate,
certain, and highly advantageous as to its
effects on the national character, I was of
opinion would be received with favour and
applause by all. It was a measure designed
to remove from our government a stain
charged to attach to all republics, and which,
there was good reason to suppose, had a
very palpable existence on the fair face of
our own. I desired to introduce a bill in
which it was resolved, preambulatorily,
(though there is no such word in Walker,)
`that the nation was, of right ought to be, and
through time would be, grateful to all its
citizens who contributed to its glory and
weal,' and provided, sectionally, (which is as
new a word as the other,) `that its gratitude
should be extended not only to those who
lost legs and arms in its service, but to all
who, by valuable discoveries and improvements
in art and science, by the foundation
of philanthropic institutions, the dissemination
of moral principles, and the production
of works of genius, might be pronounced the
benefactors of their country.' On such
worthies of the republic I proposed we
together with such honours as it consisted
with the character of our institutions to
allow; and I advised, moreover, that we
should begin the work of gratitude by erecting,
without a moment's delay, the divers
tombs and monuments which Congress had
long since voted to deceased heroes of the
Revolution, without voting appropriations to
build them.
“This proposition, I am grieved to say,
produced a hubbub full as great as the other,
and caused a still more violent outcry against
myself. `What!' cried an honourable member
from the neighbourhood of the Rocky
Mountains, `waste the people's money! my
constituents' money? Mr. Speaker, if that
ar'nt flat treason, I don't know what ar'. I
say, if there ar' to be any pensions for improvements,
rat all the arts and sciences, and
call 'em improvements on land, and I stick in
a claim for my constituents. But I go ag'in
the whole measure. I reckon the honourable
feller—that is, the honourable gentleman
from Virginnee—thinks money grows among
us, out in the West, like deer skins and dirt;
but it don't.' `Extravagance! wilful, criminal,
shocking, extravagance!' cried others by
money seemed to strike all with horror; some
were petrified, many aghast; and one member,
rising up, was so overcome with dismay
that he could not speak a word, but looking
at the speaker, and then at me, and then at
the speaker again, he tapped his finger
against his forehead three times, and then
sat down. What he meant, if he meant any
thing, I did not then know; but I have since
had an idea, he thought I had lost my senses.
I endeavoured to satisfy the honourable members
that a few thousand dollars taken annually
from an exchequer rolling over with
a surplus of twenty or thirty millions a year,
would not affect the credit of the government,
nor reduce a single citizen to bankruptcy;
that the American people were not, as they
seemed to think them, a nation of heartless
niggards and misers; that we, the representatives
of the only truly popular government
in the world, owed it to mankind and ourselves,
to the interests of our country and
the institutions we affected to prize, to show
our fellow creatures we knew how to appreciate
and reward the merit of our citizens,
and to reward them at least as wisely and
generously as kings and princes were wont
endeavoured to satisfy honourable members
on these points, and others that occurred to
me; but I endeavoured in vain. Honourable
members insisted that the people's money
was sacred—that their constituents were
misers and niggards—and that it was our
duty, as far as the world and mankind were
concerned, to let them take care of themselves,
we, the representatives of the United
States, taking care of their money. Nay,
and one fellow (as I am not now in Congress,
I am not obliged to call him `gentleman,')
got up and insinuated, `that, as every body
could see I was a patriot, I was getting up
the measure with a view to my own future
benefit.'
“As a Virginian and a gentleman, I could
not stand so gross an insult; I therefore pronounced
the man a scoundrel, and called the
Speaker to bear witness I should blow his
brains out, the moment the house adjourned.
As it began to be a serious matter, the Speaker
called us to order; the insulter thereupon
assured the house he meant nothing personal
in the remark; and I, in consequence, acknowledging
the same in relation to my threat, the
matter blew over without a fight; which was
the nation's business. The quarrel was settled;
and so was my patriotic proposition.
There were but ten men sufficiently alive to
the honour and interests of their country to
vote for it. No one, indeed, objected to the
preamble, namely, that the nation was, ought
to be, and would be, grateful to all its good
citizens that deserved gratitude; and that part
of the bill passed nem. con.; but the paying
sections, which were the gist of the affair,
went by the board. And so it was resolved
that the republic of America should be as ungrateful
as those of Greece and Rome of
yore, and ten times more so.
“My next attempt to arouse my colleagues
to a sense of their duty was equally unfortunate.
Perceiving that our vast frontiers, both
inland and maritime, east, west, north, and
south, lay as open and unprotected as the
common-lands of a village, so that it would
be easy, at any moment, for a curious person,
or persons, of covetous propensities, to steal
into the land, and help themselves to a few
towns and cities, together with as many of
the militia as they could catch, I thought it
my duty to bring the matter before Congress;
and I introduced it accordingly, accompanied
special committee. By this bill it was provided
that the standing army of the United
States should be increased so far as to allow
to each fortress on the frontier a garrison to
consist of one private and one non-commissioned
officer, both well armed.
“The reading of this bill was like throwing
two bomb-shells among the members. Convulsions
of horror and wrath seized instantly
upon all. `Increase the standing army!'
they cried; `put our liberties in the keeping of
an armed soldiery! A conspiracy, rank conspiracy!
a conspiracy against our freedom!'
“In short, there never was such an uproar
in the House before or since; and I was myself
almost frighted at the terror I had created.
Nothing was seen in my proposal but
a design, as audacious in conception as it
must prove diabolical in effect, to reduce the
nation to bondage, to batter down the Capitol
with artillery, and bring the bayonets of
the myrmidons of power against the throats
of honourable members where they stood.
But the terror of honourable members was
equalled by their heroism; and again, as in
a previous instance, they declared, that, come
the usurper and despot when he would, as
would oppose him face to face, foot to foot,
hand to hand, perish in their chains, like the
Roman senators under the swords of the
savage Brennus, fall with decent dignity like
Julius Cæsar, or, snatching up arms, strike a
last blow for freedom, and die—as before—
`in a ditch.'
“There never was such an uproar, as I
said before; and every word I pronounced, in
the effort to allay it, only made matters worse.
An honourable member boasting that our
frontiers required no guards beyond `our gallant
and glorious militia,' I had the effrontery
(as it was called,) to tell him that, with all
my respect for the militia, I thought they
were a very uncertain set of personages; at
which insult to the yeomanry of America, he
—the aforesaid honourable member—fell into
a fit, and was carried off in a dangerous condition
to his lodgings. Nay, this expression
of mine leading to a debate, in which, as is
usual on such occasions, remarks were made
on all such subjects connected and unconnected
with the question before the House, I had
the misfortune to give offence by two other
declarations, which a sense of honesty called
on me to make—namely, first, that the
and, secondly, (but this I offered rather as an
opinion than a positive declaration,) that foreigners
of six-months residence in the country
were not citizens. The first assertion,
though it caused faint murmurs of approbation
from some Yankee members, was met
by others with scornful cries of `Eccentricity!'
and the Speaker decided that it was
out of order. The second produced a furious
and universal explosion, and a hundred voices,
at least, charged me with a design to revive
those accursed inventions of tyranny and the
devil, the Alien and Sedition laws.—In fine,
my bill went to the tomb of the Capulets;
and it was the general opinion, I would soon
follow it.
“That evening, I was waited upon by the
delegation of the state I represented, who,
after reproaching me, in a formal manner, for
deserting (so they called it,) the principles of
the South, assumed a more friendly tone, and
remonstrated affectionately against the novel
and dangerous course I was taking, assuring
me `there was no use in being so honest.'
They declared I had entered Congress with
the finest prospects in the world, but that I
was defeating them.
“Gentlemen,” said I, with dignity, “I came
here, not to exalt myself, but to serve my
country.”
“You did!” said they, and all looked astonished.—“Your
constituents, you mean, my
dear Mr. Smash,” said the eldest of the party,
giving me a serious look.
“Sir,” said I, “my constituents are my
country, my state, and the good people of my
district; to all of whom I owe allegiance, but
to the first in the highest degree. When I
can serve the people of my district, without
striking at the interests of the state, I will do
so; when I can serve the commonwealth,
without infringing the interests of the nation,
the commonwealth shall be served; when I
can serve my country, I must do so, and without
asking whether the interests of my state
or district suffer or not.”
“Heavens and earth!” cried the delegation,
“this is flat federalism!”
“No, gentlemen,” said I “it is patriotism.”
“Federalism! consolidation! aristocratical!
monarchical! anti-republican!”
“My gentlemen fell into a rage, but were
called to order by the Nestor of the delegation,
who took them aside, and having counselled
with them awhile returned, and grasping
countenance, while the others sat
nodding their heads ominously at one another,
and looking on with a doleful stare,—
“You are a young man, Mr. Smash, quite
a young man—a very promising talented
man, Mr. Smash; but young—young and inexperienced,
Mr. Smash. May rise to the
first honours in the land, Mr. Smash, if only
a little cautious, and prudent—a little prudent
Mr. Smash. Take my advice, Mr. Smash:
your health is infirm, you have a nervous
temperment, a great deal of enthusiasm,
Mr. Smash; you allow yourself to be excited,
and then, you know, a man says strange
things, and does strange things, Mr. Smash.
Now take my advice: keep your mind tranquil,
Mr. Smash; stay at home a few days,
and live low—very low, Mr. Smash; avoid
all speaking, don't engage in debate for a
whole month—not for a whole month, Mr.
Smash: do take care of yourself, or you don't
know what may happen, Mr. Smash. The
brain, Mr. Smash, the brain is a very tender
and delicate organ—a very, very tender organ,
Mr. Smash.”
“I smiled at the old gentleman's fears, assured
him I found myself in uncommon
they were displeased at the freedom and boldness
of my course; but, as my conscience and
common-sense told me I was right, I resolved
to persevere, and serve my country, whether
Congress would or not. I perceived in them
a strong example of the effect of sectional
and party feeling in warping the minds of
honourable men from the path of duty; and I
resolved the more firmly that my spirit should
hold fast to its integrity.
3. CHAPTER III.
THE PATRIOT'S STORY CONTINUED.
“The next day, a measure was brought before
Congress, the success of which was universally
allowed to be of vital importance to
the nation; but, as it was proposed and supported
by administration members, the party
in opposition felt themselves called upon to
oppose it with all their strength. I should
have told the reader, that the freemen of my
district were anti-administration almost to a
man, and that I was therefore of the opposition
party. I resolved to prove my independence
and patriotism, by voting for this measure,
which reason and common-sense told me
should be supported; and I did so.
“Horrible was the effect. My old associates,
apostacy, reviled me, as far as the Speaker
would permit, as a renegade from the party;
while the newspapers, (that is, on our side,)
which had hitherto treated me with uncommon
courtesy, now burst out into a frenzy of
rage and vituperation, some calling me Judas
Iscariot, others Benedict Arnold, and all agreeing
I was a monster of perfidy and baseness,
a traitor to my principles, the murderer
of my country. Some spoke of tar and
feathers, while others hinted there were daggers
in the hands of freemen to reward the
betrayer of their rights. Vials—or rather
demijohns—of wrath were poured on my
head, and tempests of scorn and vilification
were let loose about my ears. In a word, had
I descended into Pandemonium itself, which
many wise persons think lies no lower than a
few feet below the foundations of the Capitol,
I could not have found myself beset by a
more fire-fingered, venom-tongued, unrelenting
set of persecutors than a single act of
patriotism now brought against me. I was
not merely an apostate and assassin—I was a
fool and madman. The very papers which, a
month before, had lauded to the skies my extraordinary
genius, my incomparable eloquence,
single talent—that I was a tiresome, bombastic,
contemptible speaker, with no merit beyond
the long wind and loquacity of an old
woman—in short, that I was a booby, and
the greatest one in Congress.
“It is true, what I lost on one side I
gained on the other. The administration
prints, which had been, at first, rather blind
to my merits, now burst into fervid panegyrics,
eulogizing my genius, my intrepidity,
my integrity, my patriotic union with the
friends of the nation; and the President's
chief cook, coming to me by night in his
best coat, offered me my choice betwixt a
land office in the West, an Indian agency, or
a ministry to Jerusalem.
“Who would think that my proud and patriotic
rejection of a share in the spoils of
office, offered by a grateful executive, should
have only exposed me, when known, as it
speedily was, to fresh attacks of indignation?
Honourable members were incensed that I
should presume to greater disinterestedness
than themselves—that I should profess a
code of morals superior to that which experience
and custom had shown to be most
convenient for a Congressman. They abused
they laughed at my `romantic honour,' my
`political sentimentality;' while some, still
more uncharitable, heaped sarcasm on the
wisdom that had prevented my accepting `a
reward which, I knew, the superior branch of
Congress would not have sanctioned.'—Alas
for the man, who, in this enlightened age, in
this unsophisticated country, has the audacity
to play the patriot!
“My next effort had the good effect to
restore me to the favour of the party; but it
lost me the friendship of the chief cook. In
the honesty of my heart, and under the persuasion
that the measure I then proposed
would meet the approbation of all, I introduced
a bill providing for the dismission
from the public service of all office-holders
who meddled in elections, or played the
demagogue at political meetings or in newspapers.
For this the opposition pretty generally
voted; but it was treated with the greatest
contumely by the friends of power, and
strangled without ceremony. They charged
me indignantly with my desertion of their
party, though, heaven knows, I had never
joined it—with my fickleness of mind, my
natural perfidy of spirit, &c. &c.; and concluded
on the rights of citizens; whereas, on
the contrary, my sole intention, as I declare
on my conscience, was to defend the rights
of citizens. The papers on that side of the
question took up the cudgels, and, as it was
generally admitted they knew how to use
them, I received such a basting for my tergiversation,
wrong-headedness, black heartedness,
&c., as broke all the bones of my
spirit—though, happily, not my spirit itself.
The wrath on that side of the question extended
even to my friend, the chief cook,
who clapped into the governmental journal
an article written by his own hand, in which
it was insinuated I had taken a bribe from
the Emperor of the Turks, who was at that
time suspected to be in the country, buying
patriots at the highest prices; though what
his sublime highness wanted with them was
never discovered.
“My next act destroyed all the good
effect, as far as I was personally concerned,
wrought by the preceding; and, indeed, I was
from this moment a falling man, a sinking
patriot, a martyr to my principles and my
love of country. As Aristides fell, so fell I,
detested for my justness. Timoleon and the
own families to the interests of their countries;
and their countries voted them a brace
of unnatural murderers and numskulls, as, it
is probable, they were. My own fate was
somewhat similar; I sinned with the same
disinterestedness, and was rewarded with
equal gratitude.
“My sins—for so they were accounted,
though posterity I hope will judge otherwise
—I intend recording in as few words as
possible, that I may get the sooner to their
reward. I voted for a northern measure, and
thought it was patriotic to do so. But from
that moment my friends of the south considered
me a madman, and my constituents
began to take the alarm. This was committing
the seven deadly sins all at once, and
forgiveness was impossible. I then, in a harangue
which I made on the subject of patriotism,
to enlighten the honourable members,
who, I perceived, did not know what patriotism
was, succeeded in inflaming the rage of
both parties, by assuring them (which was
a thing I thought they all firmly believed,)
that America had never produced more than
one Washington, and that he was not born
in Virginia, but in America. I say, I offended
seems, insisted that their chief was a second
Washington; and my fellow Virginians considered,
and, indeed, pronounced it `impiety'
itself, to admit that George Washington was
any thing less than a Virginian.
“My next sin of patriotism was a declaration,
which I made only after deep reflection,
viz. that the right of nullifying the laws
enacted in that Congress existed in no individual
or body of individuals in the United
States, saving only in the Supreme Court
thereof; which opinion was immediately pronounced
`Blasphemy,' amid groans and shricks
of indignation.
“I then, being somewhat tired of the eternal
croaking honourable members made
against the aristocracy—that is, the foolish
ladies and gentlemen of the land—as being
the foes of democracy and liberty, ventured
to express a belief, founded on the house-burnings,
riots, lynchings, &c., at that time
somewhat prevalent in the democratic circle,
that liberty was in less danger from the aristocracy,
or foolish ladies and gentlemen as
aforesaid, than from the democracy itself;
which declaration was unanimously pronounced
`the most astonishing sample of
compelled to listen;' and indeed it produced
such a thrill of horror in the assembly that
one gentlemen fell into fits, and was carried
to his lodgings in an extremely dangerous
condition.
“My next—my last and greatest, sin grew
directly out of that declaration; for honourable
members starting up in fury, and bidding
me `know, that the democracy of my district,
the honest and confiding constituents whom
I had betrayed, would exact of me a severe
penalty for my misdeeds; that they had already
called a public meeting in the district
to express their indignation at the course I
had pursued, and would in a short time send
me instructions to change it, or resign my
seat in that house:—I say, these innuendoes
and menaces being sternly flung in my teeth,
I rose and called the house to witness, `that
I held myself to be a rational being, the servant
and factor of my constituents, sent to
that house to legislate for their benefit and
that of the nation; and not the tool of their
caprices, to pander away honesty, honour,
and common sense to their whims and passions—and,
in a word, that I utterly denied
their right to instruct me to any act opposed
to the dictates of my own reason.
“`Treason and madness!' cried every soul
in the house, save one, whom the awfulness
of my heresy had shocked into an apoplexy,
and who was afterwards, when the house adjourned,
found sitting at his desk stone-dead;
`treason and madness! madness and treason!
treason and madness!' And so they went
on exclaiming against me, until the house adjourned.
“There was more meaning in these expressions
than I had at any time suspected. A
storm was brooding over me, of which I did
not dream, until that last patriotic confession
(for surely the resolution that gave it utterance
came not more from personal independence
than a love of country,) caused it suddenly
to burst in thunder over my head. As
I passed from the house, I was suddenly
seized upon by six strong men, (the members
of the house, with at least twenty Senators,
who were present, looking coolly on, and refusing
me help,) clapped into a carriage,
driven rapidly away, and in due course of
time, deposited—ay, by the faith of an honest
man and Congressman!—in the madhouse
in which you find me.
“Such was the reward of public virtue! I
served in that way in America; but it has been,
I believe, ever since, a standing rule in Congress
to vote any member a madman who
betrays the slightest symptoms of patriotism.
“In this Asylum, and particularly in the
solitude of the dungeon to which I was first
consigned, I have had leisure to review my
Congressional career, and ponder on the truths
with which it has made me acquainted. I
perceive that the days for Timoleons and
Washingtons have gone by, and that the
world, however much it may stand in need of
their services, is determined to do without
them. The cruel reception my patriotism
had met from my brother legislators, I had
good reason to know, was sanctioned by the
people at large, who, in these days, actually
seem to entertain the most cordial hatred of
all public men who will not condescend to
cheat them. That my fellow labourers in the
legislature should array themselves against
me was not, perhaps, very surprising or inexplicable;
but it was a grievous wound to
my spirit to find the people for whom I laboured,
siding, as (if I am to judge from the
public prints) they all did against me. Before
I left my dungeon, I discovered, in a
left in the room, an account of my constituents
having burned me in effigy in various
places throughout the district; with some
remarks of the editor highly approbatory of
that just expression of popular indignation.
The people (I mean all the 'ocracies together,)
were therefore as unwilling to be served by,
as their delegates were to serve with patriots.
They required, not men of integrity and
talent—upright and experienced sages—to
watch over the interests of the nation; but
truckling parasites, the slaves of their sovereign
passions, the tools of their imperial
whims, to `play their hand,' (as the blacklegs
have it,) in the gambling contest of interest
against interest, section against section, party
against party, which they have chosen to
dignify with the title of legislation.
“I have now learned to understand the
meaning of the saying often droned into the
minds of youth, without being always appreciated—that
virtue is its own reward. Well,
indeed, should it be its own reward, since,
commonly, it has no other.”
With these words, and a heavy sigh, the
patriot finished his story.
“A very hard case,” said the editor,
thing of you to be so patriotic; but we can't
blame you: men do say very fine things of
patriotism—indeed we believe we have said
them ourself; so that it is not surprising a
young man should be sometimes misled.
However, we have been just as foolish, and,
like you, a martyr to principle. Patriotism
—as a sentiment, or poetic fiction, or historical
remembrance—is dear to the imaginations
of all men, and its praises are ever
on their lips; but if we consult the records of
nations, we shall find that patriots, in general,
have had but a scurvy time of it. It is the
same with other virtues, as I said before:
they are the apples of Sodom, that men admire
as long as they merely look at them,
but loathe and cast from them, the moment
they have tasted. Yes,” continued Mr.
Ticklum, turning again to me—“we also are
the victim of our virtue!”
With that, he wiped his eyes a second
time, and I, sympathizing in his grief, and
being curious to know what that virtue was,
which a journalist could practise consistently
with his editorial duties, and how it had
reduced him to his present condition, begged
he would do me the favour to relate his
history.
4. CHAPTER IV.
THE EDITOR'S STORY.
“Sir,” said Mr. Ticklum, “we were editor
and proprietor of the Light of the People—
more commonly and familiarly called the
People's Light—a paper, sir, extremely well
known, and, when it came into our hands,
and indeed, as we may justly say, for some
years after, of the highest repute in the world
of letters. Sir, it was a vigorous paper, and
it had seven thousand subscribers; more than
one half of whom were good pay. It was a
rich paper, therefore, as well as a good one,
and we were making our fortune by it.
“Sir—when we became the editor of the
People's Light, we were acknowledged to be
the ablest hand that had ever conducted it;
modesty; as an editor, sir, we have a right
to praise ourself. Besides our natural abilities,
sir, we enjoyed the advantage of an extensive
acquaintance with the public tastes.
Our predecessor was an experienced man,
and our friend; and when we bought him out,
he gave us a deal of instruction on the true
principles of nasiduction.”
“Nasiduction?” said I, interrupting the
gentleman; “what is that?”
“Sir,” said Mr. Ticklum, “it is a word
used among editors, to express their art, that
being otherwise without a name. It means,
sir, to lead by the nose—or nose-leading; and
is thus expressive of the object of the art
editorial, which is to manage the public.
“Our predecessor gave us the results of
his experience on the subject of nasiduction;
and, thus accomplished, we entered upon the
duties of the People's Light with the skill, the
power, and the success of a veteran. We
became a shining light in the party—that is,
the party we belonged to—and were soon esteemed
its chief organ. As a politician, we
flatter ourself, our abilities were undeniable;
and in the other spheres of editorial avocation
we were not found wanting. Our talent
we abused our opponents with a zeal that
gained us the love and respect of every
member of our faction. If a reputation was
to be blasted, a spirit wounded to the quick,
a doubtful friend to be held up to contempt,
or an incautious enemy to execration, who
was so ready, who so able, to wield the lash
of punishment? Nay, if the party itself was
to be humbugged, if the interests of the
leaders, our great patrons, required a little
dust to be thrown in the eyes of our readers,
who could effect the purpose with equal address?
Sir, we knew how to inflame the
rage, and disturb the fears, of our subscribers;
we knew how to awaken their self-love,
their vanity, their pride, and thus lead them
to deeds of glory. In short, sir, we were a
first-rate editor, a man of reputation, sir, a
man of power, a man of money—we were
making our fortune, and—no thanks to virtue
—with none of her assistance. We were a
happy man, sir: we sat under our own vine
and fig-tree, we warmed ourself at our own
fire, we rode our own horse, we fattened on
our own chickens, and we endured the scolding
of our wife, and the squalling of our
children, with equanimity, for we endured
we were making our fortune: we had a
thousand friends to help us spend it.
“Behold how virtue—sir, we say virtue, for
virtue it was—crept betwixt us and the sunshine
of prosperity; hacked to pieces our
vine and fig-tree, put out our fire, spavined
our horse, killed our chickens, and brought the
sheriff's surliest deputy into our best parlour.
“We had the misfortune, one night, to
dream that the devil came to our bed-side,
bidding us get up and follow him. This we
did, (that is, we dreamed we did,) for we saw
he was a person not to be trifled with; but
we must confess, sir, it was with fear and
trembling. We ventured, however, as he led
us into the street, to ask whither he was carrying
us. `To your appointed place,' said
he, looking as black as midnight, but wagging
his tail, as if pleased with our company.
Then taking us by the hand, he made a spring
into the air at least ten feet high, and flinging
up his legs, and ours too, as we reached that
height, he made a dive headlong into the
pavement, which, instead of dashing out our
brains, as we expected, yielded to the shock,
and away we went through flag-stones and
gravel, gas-pipes and culverts, the solid earth
infernal dominions about two miles below.
Here, sir, we saw sights that made our hair
stand on end; and it is our purpose, on some
future occasion, to commit an account of them
to the press: but at present we shall speak of
them briefly, and of such only as are illustrative
of our own story.
“Pray, sir,” said the Honourable Mr.
Smash, here interrupting the story, “allow
me to ask if you can't speak of them in the
first person singular? I don't wish to be
critical or impertinent; but, really, after what
I have suffered from the press, I assure you
I never hear that grand editorial WE, without
feeling as if again undergoing the pangs of
castigation; and, upon my honour, sir, the
fancy is quite uncomfortable.”
“Any thing to gratify our patrons—that
is, I mean, to oblige a friend,” said Mr. Ticklum,
descending from the style professional
to the humbler phrase of individuality. With
which proof of his condescension and good
nature, he resumed his relation, as follows.
“A very strange and dismal-looking place
into which I was led by the devil, my conductor,
attracted my curiosity; and asking him
what place it was, he told me, The Place of
interest I displayed in his concerns, he proceeded
to show me the rarities of his realm,
with which I was wonderfully struck. `This
province of my dominions, containing my
good Public Spirits,' said he, `is divided into
several departments, or hells, very methodieally
arranged, each containing a peculiar
genus of the damned. For example—you
are now passing through the Hell of Politicians;
consisting of two rooms, the one containing
the politic by ambition—or those who
went into public life for the noble purpose
of rising to distinction and power; the other
appropriated to the politic by covetousness—
your base dogs who served nations with the
view of picking their pockets.'
“With that, I looked about me in the first
room, a great grotto lighted by fires that were
stirred up by imps, and saw the ambitious
gentry hung up by the heels against the ceiling,
like so many bats in a cave, smoking and
broiling, and seeming ever on the point of
dropping into the fires below; of which there
was the more danger, as each had his bundle
of peccadilloes tied to his neck, weighing him
down, and the little imps of the fire every
now and then saluted them with a volley of
from their holds. In the next chamber, a
cavern similar to the first, were the politic by
covetousness—fat placemen boiling in caldrons
of molten gold and silver, bubbling up
and down like so many tormented bullfrogs,
with little scullion imps that sat stirring the
pots, and occasionally tapping each seething
sinner over the head, with red-hot pokers.
“`Truly,' said I, surprised at the sight, `I
thought politicians were more virtuous people.
Have you any of our American patriots
here?'
“`Oh,' said the devil, `a plenty of them.'
“With that, we passed into a third grot,
where were a number of souls, some in great
sieves, in which they were searced along with
pitchforks and cannon-balls at a white heat;
others roasting in heaps, for all the world like
heaps of ore roasting at a furnace; and some
again being mashed under fulling-hammers,
that ground them to atoms at every blow; while
others were flaming in refining-pots with
white and black flux, that kept them sputtering
and flashing in a manner marvellous to behold.
“I asked, what kind of public spirits these
were that were handled so roughly.
“`Oh,' said the devil, `they are Reformers
a process to reform their own qualities
—a matter which, in their eagerness to amend
their neighbours, they entirely forgot to attend
to in the world above.'
“The next thing that struck me was a
multitude of souls, some grovelling along the
floors of a dark passage which we walked
through, others cowering away in corners as
if to hide them from sight, but all, as I could
perceive, having their heads strown over with
live coals, and vipers fastened on their
breasts. I asked my satanic guide, `who
these unlucky wretches might be.'
“`What,' said he, `don't you know them?
and some of your own work, too? These are
all small game—the tools and victims of the
good fellows you have been looking at.'
“Upon which, rapping some dozen or two
of them over the shoulders with a stout bamboo
he carried, they started up and displayed
the countenances of individuals I very well
remembered, some of them poor devils that,
being in want of public places, had been employed
to do the dirty work of the party, by
way of deserving them, as well as their own
damnation; some, not place-hunters, but
sovereign citizens, who, by a little drumming
to do the same thing, under the impression
they were playing the parts of good
and honest citizens; besides sundry persons
of better note, some of them men of promise,
ambitious to serve the public, whom, having
become obnoxious to, or put themselves in
the way of the party, I had helped to bring
under the lash of correction, or drive into the
shades of obscurity, where there was little
fear of our ever being troubled by them
again.
“The sight of these latter personages
caused me some concern. Until that moment,
it had never occurred to me, that calling
a man in the public papers `traitor,'
`hireling,' `villain,' and so on, and teaching
society to think him so, was doing him any
mischief, except a political one; but the embers
upon the head, and the worm at the
heart, struck me with both dismay and compunction.
Nor were these feelings much
diminished, when my conductor whipped up
sundry other sufferers, who fell foul of me
with their tongues, upbraiding me with numerous
other sins of which I had never made
much account before. Some charged me
with having made them the victims of
designed for no purpose but to gull numskulls.
Here was a soul who accused me of
cheating him out of his dollars, by recommending
to purchasers some swindler's ware,
of which I knew nothing, except that it was
good-natured to commend; while a hundred
and fifty opened upon me full mouth as their
murderer, for having lauded the excellency of
a steamboat, by which they were all blown
into eternity.
“But the most grievous part of the spectacle
was the multitudes, the very herds of
people who laid their deaths at my door, because
of the quack medicines they had
taken on my recommendation; for though, in
an argument with the devil on the subject, I
insisted that the notices of nostrums in my
paper were puffs written by the proprietors,
and printed and paid for as advertisements,
and that, therefore, I had no share in commending
them; he declared I was entirely
mistaken, that the giving publicity to such
things was in itself a recommendation, and I
was as much chargeable with their effects as
if I had accepted an agency from the compounder,
and, myself, supplied the public with
death, at a dollar a bottle.
“Having settled this matter, much more
to his own liking than mine, Diabolus bade
me `never mind such small ware, (meaning
the tools and victims,) but come along and see
something of greater importance.' And giving
me a jerk, he dragged me onwards, until
the passage we trod terminated in a great
chamber, the floor of which, sinking down like
the sweeping sides of an amphitheatre, ended
at last in a great bog or quagmire; while at the
top, where we paused, were long ranges of
galleries running all around. In these galleries
lounged a great variety of devils, looking
down with interest upon what passed below;
while in the quagmire, floundering in it up to
the knees, were multitudes of men, great and
small, engaged with marvellous earnestness
pelting one another with mud. `Upon my
word,' said I, `I don't understand this at all.
What kind of public spirits are these? and
what place is it?'
“The devil looked amazed. `Is it possible,'
said he, `you don't know? that you don't
recognise your friends from their amusement?
Zounds, sir, this is the hell of editors!' Upon
my word, I could not help laughing, it all
looked so natural. There they were, indeed,
my learned and able contemporaries, bedaubing
such zeal and energy as if the weal of a universe
depended upon their pastime. Thinks
I to myself, `if a certain place that I know of
is no worse than this, it is not so bad, after
all.' `Don't be too sure of that,' said Old
Nick, reading my thoughts; `it is all fine fun
for a while, but no such pleasant life to lead
for ever.' And, indeed, as I looked, and
observed one gentleman get a ball in the eye,
another a pellet on the cheek, a third a whole
mountain of mud on his back, I began to
grow melancholy at the thought that the
Lights of the World should be so unworthily
engaged thus wasting their energies on one
another. Nor was this feeling but a little increased,
when Diabolus took occasion to observe,
`he was fond of editors: with other
sinners,' said he, `I have a deal of trouble,
and am obliged, on the average, to appropriate
the services of at least one imp among
a thousand, for the purpose of tormenting
them. Editors, fortunately, know how to
torment themselves.—And now, Mr. Daniel
Ticklum, of the People's Light,' said he, `you
know your place—descend.'
“With that he seized me by the nape of
the neck, and tossed me into the thick of my
of mud-balls, which, for all of their softness,
had such an effect upon my feelings
that I considered myself murdered outright,
and opened my mouth to cry for quarter,
which I received in the shape of a second
volley from the whole company. At that
moment, I awoke, and found it was all a
dream.
“It was a dream, sir; but the more I revolved
it in my mind, the more it troubled
and perplexed me. At last, however, I became
persuaded it was a vision of warning,
sent me by some good angel, (for one would
not think the devil so benevolent,) which it
became me to improve. I became a new
man. Sir, would you believe it? I began to
think, that, in accommodating my principles to
those of my patrons, in toiling to please the
party and my neighbours, at the sacrifice of
some truth and more independence, I was
doing wrong. I resolved to change my course,
and act the part that became a high-minded,
conscientious man—I had no idea of going to
the devil for my subscribers. I resolved to turn
over a new leaf, and pursue that fearless,
honest, independent course, for which so many
of my worthy fellow-citizens were calling:
throughout the land, in my day,
that we had so few editors of high, fearless,
independent spirit.
“Sir, when I made that resolution I had
seven thousand subscribers: a week after I
had put it into execution, I had but two thousand!
My first independent remark was the
signal of my ruin. And what was that remark?
Why, sir, a compliment to an enemy,
an opposition candidate—an admission
that he was an honest and able man, in many
respects superior even to our own candidate,
and worthy of confidence and honour. A
few more truths ended the matter. `Stop
my paper!' was echoed in my ears by two
thousand voices, and thrown before my eyes
in as many epistolary missives. Nay, sir, one
half even of the three thousand subscribers
who never paid their dues, fell into the like
anger, and bade me `stop their papers.'—In
short, sir, it was a lost case with me, my subscribers
left me, my creditors put their accounts
into the hands of lawyers, and my
friends, not knowing how else to dispose of
me, clapped me into this Asylum.
“Draw your own moral from my story: it
is a true one. As long as I was willing to
and wrong, to forget my principles, to devote
the energies of my mind to flatter the whims
and passions of my patrons, I enjoyed their
favour, and prospered; the moment I became
a man of principle, I lost it.—I say again,
that men love virtue best in the abstract.
The dignity of independence, the beauty of
honour, the excellence of principle, are ever
in the mouths of men, nine-tenths of whom
will conspire together to ruin the editor who
reduces them to practice.
“But here is my young friend and contemporary,
Slasher, a brother of the press,
and, like me, a victim of his virtue: he can
substantiate every thing I say.
5. CHAPTER V.
THE STORIES OF THE HONEST CRITIC, THE
DUELLIST, AND THE MAN OF TRUTH.
“My friend Ticklum mistakes,” said Mr.
Slasher, a smart young gentleman, who, instead
of listening with respect to gather wisdom
as it fell from the lips of his senior, whistled
fol-de-rol-dol all the time, but now made me
a bow and began: “I owe my downfall less
to my virtues than to a display of them highly
imprudent in my situation. My idea of virtue
is, that a man likes it well enough, even
in practice, so long as it is exercised only at
the expense of his neighbours; and this
opinion I consider susceptible of proof. Thus,
being a critic, (for, you must know, I was
junior editor and sole censor of a literary
with the honesty that served them up
an author, handsomely roasted and well done,
every week: for I have long observed that the
world has as natural a hankering after author-baitings
as after the baitings of bulls and bears.
This idea I was confirmed in by finding, that
although I, in pursuance of the system I had
begun, puffed all and every thing brought
before me with all my might, our paper, indifferently
countenanced at the first, grew poorer
in patronage every day; so that the principal
conductor at last deserted it entirely, and I
was advanced to his vacant chair. I resolved
as my friend Ticklum says, to turn over a new
leaf, and strike a sensation, by impaling every
scribbler I could lay hands on;—and, that I
might at once get a reputation for impartiality,
which I thought would be useful, I began the
campaign by demolishing a book written
by one of my own friends who had often lamented
that books were praised too indiscriminately.
The book was an uncommonly bad
one, and, as I may say, I did no more than
tell the truth of it. But that truth killed me.
It was thought so extraordinary, first that a
critic should, in these days, treat a book according
to its merits, and, secondly, that he
there was no way of accounting for the phenomenon,
except by supposing I had had a
quarrel with the gentleman; or, in failure of
that, that I had suddenly lost my senses. It
was proved that the author had never offended
me. The inference was therefore inevitable;
and here I am.
“If you can suppose the impartiality that
arose from selfish considerations a virtue,
why then, it must be admitted, the world
treated me ungenerously. But my own
opinion,” added the graceless critic, “is that
it was a proper punishment for my folly.
Critics and authors have a common interest,
and should hunt in couples, bamboozling mankind
together. If you will have a proper
confirmation of Ticklum's doctrine on the
subject of virtue, apply to my friend Lawless
there, who can discourse feelingly on the
subject.”
“He says the truth,” said Mr. Lawless, a
lugubrious looking person, who now took up
the thread of his discourse. “Society flattered
me into a virtue, and drove me into a
vice, for daring to practise which I was, in
both cases, equally punished.
“My story is short and simple. My father
upright, and religious, and instilled into my
mind, from the earliest days, his own lofty
principles. He taught me to be patient under
wrong, to forgive offence, to forbear revenge;
and the world itself told me, that to do so
was magnanimity and religion. What my
father had inculcated, what society insisted
on, I found sanctioned and supported by own
feelings. I, therefore, when my principles
were brought to a trial, did what I had no
doubt the world expected of me—I held fast
to them. I was a man of peace, and sought
to pass blameless through the world. But I
could not avoid the contests and bickerings
incident to all who mingle with their fellows:
I had no protection against the wrath of the
bully and the injuries of the ill-tempered.
“It was my misfortune to quarrel with a
man, who was emboldened by a knowledge
of my peaceful principles, (for I had acted on
them, though not under such urgent circumstances,
before,) to treat me with the greatest
insult, and even violence; and, not content
with having thus disgraced me, he even proceeded
to the length of challenging me to a
duel. My feelings, sir, were as keen, my
sense of the outrage as bitter, my sufferings
have been; but I could not shed the blood of
the wronger. I thought of the instructions
of my father, I thought of the precepts of my
religion, I thought of the testimony society
had so long and so loudly borne against the
duellist, and I refused to take vengeance.
This, I had been told before, was magnanimity
and true courage: society now, to my
surprise, told me it was cowardice.
“I do not believe I am, or ever was, a
coward—but that is no matter. But grant
that it was cowardice—what was there in it
to require, or authorize, punishment? Does
cowardice commit murder? does it steal? does
it burn? does it defraud? It is, certainly,
not a crime; yet what crime is punished with
greater severity? Contempt is to man's spirit
what the scourge is to his body; and contempt
is the lash with which the world arms
itself against the man convicted of the felony
of fear. We are brave or timid as God
makes us. If courage be a virtue, why not
fear? It is an agent, and a powerful one, in
repressing evil, and, therefore, given to man
for his good. How absurd to punish that to
which both religion and law address themselves,
to win the human race from crime!
the absence of a quality that man
boasts in common with beasts of prey.
“But it is not my object to refine on this
subject. I leave it to philosophers to determine
in what degree, and in what way, turpitude
is involved in timidity. Granting that
I was a craven, (for it is now indifferent to
me what imputation may rest on my name,)
what right had society to punish me for
doing a thing it had so long inculcated as a
duty and virtue? I was called a coward, and
was deemed so; my friends looked upon me
with disdain, my late associates repelled me
with scorn. Men sneered openly in my face,
and even woman—the very maid who had at
first swooned with terror at the thought of
my danger in combat—now turned from me
as a creature too dishonourable for notice.
I was posted, blazoned upon the corners, as
a dastard; I was assaulted, too, in the street;
and, my adversary being a man of strength
greater than my own, I was — But why
should I speak it? As far as a man could be
disgraced by the villany of another, I was
disgraced; and the world, which should have
sympathized and pitied, accepted the last
outrage only as a signal for harsher persecution.
protection of the law. The very counsellor
received me with contempt, told me that, in
a case like mine, `no gentleman need be advised
what to do,' and recommended me, `if
I designed carrying my complaint before a
legal tribunal, to seek the assistance of some
pettifogger, whose ideas of honour and duty
corresponded with my own.'—I perceived
that I could obtain no redress, that I could
not even protect myself from future violence,
without incurring additional disgrace.
“Conceive my feelings, conceive what was
my situation. The respect of my fellows
was to me as the breath of life; and I had
lost it. I was a ruined man—rejected, despised,
derided, trampled on—and all because
I had not imbrued my hands in blood—because
I had not committed a crime which the
finger of Heaven and the hearts of man had
pronounced the greatest a mortal could commit.
If my forbearance was a virtue, let
society take the blame of blasting it. Deficient
in spirit or not, I certainly had not
courage to endure universal scorn, to be
pointed at as a branded felon. I sought my
adversary;—I fought him—I killed him.
“I was no longer a coward; but I was a
the sin of the homicide was inexpiable. The
moment my enemy fell, society became wise
and moral, and I was exiled from its presence
for ever. The latter verdict was just, yet
what produced the crime? Ask yourselves
what encouragement the world gives to the
virtues it so constantly eulogizes? I am the
victim of worldly inconsistency. Society
drove me from my principles, and then punished
me for the dereliction.”
With these words, the unfortunate narrator
made an end of his story, and immediately
after walked away to conceal his agitation,
which appeared to be getting the
mastery of him. His story touched the
tender feelings of Mr. Ticklum, who again
applied to his handkerchief, and declared
with a sob, “the world was mad, and he was
sorry he had ever taken the trouble to edit a
paper for it.” With that, he called upon a
fifth gentleman, a very agreeable, honest-looking
personage, whom he called Frankman,
to relate his experience of the real encouragement
given by mankind to the practice
of virtue.
“In me,” said Mr. Frankman, making me
a polite bow, and laying his hand pathetically
truth. Truth being a virtue which men universally
pretend to love, as the foundation of
all that is excellent in morals and useful in
science, you may suppose that I, who made
it the rule and pole-star of my existence, was
a special favourite of the world. I assure
you, however, on the contrary, that nobody
who ever lived in the world endured more
constant ill-treatment than I.
“My misfortunes commenced in the earliest
childhood, and were all attributable to a
love of truth instilled into me by my father;
who, while drumming it into my head with
one hand, laboured hard to beat it out with
the other. Thus, I remember, that for every
infantile fib I told, I got a liberal correction,
which served to make fibbing hateful to me;
and for every truth, the same being commonly
a confession of a cat killed, a hen-roost
robbed, or some of the neighbours' children
hit with a pebble in the eye, I had an abundant
birching, which would have made truth-telling
just as abhorrent, had not my father
been at the pains to assure me he castigated,
not my confessions, but my faults, which
would have met with punishment twice as
them.
“In this way, my mind got a bias in favour
of truth, which will last me through life.
I carried it to school with me, where, had it
not already become a part and parcel of my
nature, it must have been whipped out of me,
the whole school conspiring against me for
that purpose. Besides confessing all my own
peccadilloes, when called upon to do so by
the master, who invariably flogged me for
them, I felt a similar impulse to confess those
of my schoolmates, who rewarded me in the
same way; and, what with the masters and
boys together, I think there was scarce a
day, for five years together, Sundays and
holydays excepted, that I could not boast at
least one sound buffeting; and that, too, not
for my sins, but the sins of other people.
Sir, it is inexpressible how much my schoolmates
thumped me! They all declared they
hated liars; but, it was evident, their affection
for truth, if that followed as a corollary, was
extremely theoretical. I know, they heartily
hated me in practice.
“The love of truth cost me a fortune, as
it did the fair Cordelia before me. I had an
old aunt, who was somewhat of Lear's complexion;
she assembled her two dozen nephews, to select
a Benjamin, and note him down for the
lion's portion. I was the old lady's favourite;
she loved my love of truth, as she continually
assured me; and a lie would have sealed me
in her heart for ever. `Johnny, my dear,' said
she, giving me a kiss, `if I should leave you
all I am worth in the world, you would be
glad when I died, would'nt you?' `I would,
aunt Sally,' said I: and I told her the truth;
for she was rich as a Jew, and I knew the
value of money. But the truth did not please
the admirer of truth. She turned me out of
the house, and left her money to my cousin
Tommy Whapper, who was the greatest
bouncer I ever knew.'
“The love of truth cost me also a mistress,
and, as my fate would have it, a rich
one; for, having asked me one day, `if I did
not think her nose was crooked,' (that having
been hinted to her by an ill natured friend;)
I told her it was; which was nothing more
than truth; but the consequence was, that she
utterly discarded, and would never more speak
to me.
“In short, sir, the love of truth has caused
me more misfortunes than you can well imagine;
varied grief it has entailed upon me, I should
occupy your attention for a week. It interfered
with all my plans of life; for my father
being too honest a man to have any thing to
leave me, I was early driven into the world
to shift for myself. I made sundry attempts
while yet a lad, to procure employment in a
counting-house, considering myself well fitted
for the life of a merchant, but was uniformly
rejected for giving too honest an account
of my qualifications. I was kicked out of
the house of a worthy mechanic who had received
me as an apprentice, for telling him a
disagreeable fact in relation to my mistress;
and another, who was a member of a church
and an enemy of my wronger, having received
me into his employ, turned me out neck
and heels, of a winter's day, for confessing
that he cheated his customers.
“How I got along in life, carrying such a
dead weight as veracity on my shoulders, you
may well wonder; as I now do myself. Yet
I have contrived, being of an ingenious turn,
and full of speculations, to mount from my
original humble station on a tailor's board to
avocations of a much more dignified character;
and, as I may say, I have tried my hand
no great success in any. I once set up a
shop, but ruined myself by telling my customers
my goods were not of the best quality;
and I lost an opportunity of making a great
fortune, by admitting to a gentleman, who, in
a great speculation I proposed, was to provide
the means, that his money might, perhaps,
go to Jerusalem.
“I picked up a knowledge of engineering,
and lost my first rail-road by estimating the
cost at the full amount; which caused my
President and Directors to turn me off as an
extravagant dog; while a rival, who reduced
the estimate one half, got the appointment
and ruined the company.
“I began business as a lawyer, and destroyed
all my prospects, by admitting, in my
first cause, that my client was a knave, and
his claim good for nothing; all of which was
exceedingly true; but I never had an opportunity
to admit the same thing of a second.
“I clapped an M. D. to my name, but offended
the few patients who at first encouraged
me, by assuring them their complaints
were trifling, and could be cured without
physic.
“Nay, sir, I even tried my hand at divinity,
for life, had I not shocked my congregation
by declaring that creeds, dogmas, and doctrines
had nothing to do with religion, that
good works were better than strong faith, and
that the only duty of the just man was to revere
Heaven and love his neighbours. For this
frank admission, I was discarded by my flock,
and excommunicated by the society.
“Sir, there is no end to the persecutions I
have endured for truth's sake. I have been
slandered and vilified, ridiculed and beaten—
twice caned, four times horse-whipped, and
my nose pulled times without number—and
all because I practised a virtue commended
by every living soul, instilled into children at
the fire-side and in the school-house, inculcated
from the pulpit, and recommended by the
reprobation so universally adjudged to its antagonist
vice. You may ask what cause
brought me to this place, since it must be a
very extraordinary truth that can deserve the
imputation of madness. I know not how that
may be. It is possible, my truths were all
moderate in their character, but it was their
number my friends pleaded against me. They
did not call me a madman, but they were
certain I was—a fool. That, I suppose, was
my past life, to marvel at the folly, injustice,
and inconsistency of man, and to wonder why
he should dignify with the name of virtues
the qualities to which he awards the penalties
of vices.—But this inconsistency is exemplified
more or less strongly in the story
of every unlucky person here present—perhaps
of every inmate of this Asylum. I
would venture a wager in any sum you please
—provided I had it—that we might single
out any person we pleased from among the
multitude, with the certain assurance that his
story, truly told, would be one more illustration
added to the many you have heard, of
the inconsistency of mankind on this particular
subject.”
“No doubt of it,” said Mr. Ticklum; “and
here, as it chances, comes a new companion
in misery, upon whom we may try the experiment.—There,
you see, Simpkins, the raseally
keeper, is turning the poor gentleman into
the yard among us.”
It was as Mr. Ticklum said. At that moment,
the gate was opened by one
of the
keepers, who thrust into the enclosure a very
sad and solemn-looking stranger, who, approaching,
dropt us a profound congee, and
bury his woes in the remotest nook of the
garden.
“Sir,” said Mr. Ticklum, arresting him,
“you are welcome to this place of captivity,
where all are martyrs together. Sir,” he
added, putting on again the state of an editor,
“we are an enemy of ceremony—Pray, sir,
allow us to ask who you are?”
“I am,” said the stranger, laying his hand
on his heart very mournfully, “the most
miserable man in the world.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Ticklum, making the new
comer a bow, and looking as pathetic as he,
“we are not in the habit of contradicting a
gentleman by word of mouth: but allow us to
say, you are mistaken. We, sir, are the most
miserable man in the world!”
And as he spoke, he laid his hand on his
breast.
“Upon my word, Mr. Ticklum,” said the
ex-member of Congress, interfering, with dignity,
“you entirely forget yourself—It is I
who am the most miserable man in the
world.”
“Except me,” cried Mr. Frankman, looking
very much offended: “I beg leave to
say—”
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” exclaimed
the duellist, whom the controversy roused
from his silent bench, and brought again
among us; “I thought I had long since satisfied
you on that score. It is I, and I alone,
who am the most miserable of men.”
“It is I, sir,” cried another; and the exclamation
was echoed by half a dozen others,
who came crowding up in confusion, preferring
their claims to the distinction of misery.
It seemed, indeed, as if the stranger's confession
of sorrows, with which, I fancy, he
hoped to propitiate favour, possessed a virtue
of another kind, and, like the pebble cast
by Jason among the sons of the dragon's
teeth, was only destined to set my new
friends by the ears.
It is not an uncommon thing for a man
to boast, and even pride himself on, his
woes; but I had no idea that absolute rivalry
in affliction, the competition for its honours
and advantages, ever extended beyond mendicants
and poetasters, to whom sorrow and
anguish are as the breath of their nostrils.
My friends of the madhouse taught
me the contrary, by insisting, each with increasing
vehemence, that the glory of being
the most miserable man in the world belonged
first, a controversy extremely hot and vociferous,
and then, notwithstanding my friendly
endeavours to keep the peace, a furious
contest, in which the editor knocked the
congressman down, the critic pulled the duellist's
nose, and honest John, my introducer,
who had taken advantage of the story-telling
to snatch a comfortable nap, started up, and
called Mr. Frankman by a name highly insulting
to a lover of the truth. In fact, I believe,
they would soon have torn one another
to pieces, and perhaps me too, had not the
uproar brought the keepers into the yard to
compose the quarrel:—a turn of affairs of
which I took advantage by making my escape,
the moment the gate was opened, from
the enclosure and my friends.
| Peter Pilgrim, or, A rambler's recollections | |