University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

If one were to judge the traits of the vulgar
from the indulgence they exhibit towards certain
vices, or certain instances of their occurrence, it
would be easy to show that man is, at bottom, a
good-natured animal. It is certain that he betrays
an extraordinary leniency in the case of a vice
which all unite, in the abstract, to condemn; and
that many men derive an importance from the
sacrifice of reputation and mind to the Imp of the
Bottle, which they might have failed to purchase
by a life of wisdom and sobriety. It is not uncommon
to find, in some rural districts, men of
gross and degraded habits, whom a rational creature
would spurn from him with contempt, and
who are indeed the butts of ridicule or objects of
commiseration, even among their own immediate
neighbours; but who, strange to say, are regarded
with a species of admiration, growing directly out
of their profligacy. Such, we are sorry to say,
are some of the rustic professors of law and physic,

who, possessing a little talent, but no industry,
prefer whiling the period of probationary idleness
at the door, or in the bar-room, of the village
tavern, to devoting it in the closet to that labour
which is the only stepping-stone to distinction and
fortune; and thus contracting a love for something
more than idleness, and slipping, little by little, towards
the bottom of the hill, are seen at last,
downdraughts, with swollen visages and seedy
garments, mingling among the coarse and base,
themselves perhaps the coarsest and basest. You
will see such a man gibed and laughed at by the
lowest of his companions, as something that even
they can despise; for whatever may be the hatred
with which the humble regard the more lofty, they
are the first to appreciate the degradation of a
downfall; but the next moment you will hear
them talk of him with praise. Is it `the poor doctor
at the Cross-Roads?' `Oh, he is a ruined man,
to be sure, and a sot; but he cures, when another
man fails; somewhat dangerous now and then,
when too `far in for it,' but a marvellous hand at
`rheumatisms and the fever.' Is it `crusty Ned
Jones, the lawyer?' `Drinks like a fish, but with
more sharp stuff in his brain than all the bar beside;
a devil of a fellow to corner a witness, break
a will, pick a flaw in an indictment, and set a jury
a-sobbing: great pity he drinks,—but he's a tremendous
orator, and all the better for a glass or
two, in a hard case.' We have heard of a lawyer,
a lover of his glass, who reformed his habits, and
lost his practice.

The worthy Affidavy, who played so prominent
a part in the jury of inquest, was one of this unfortunate
class of beings, although he had commenced
the world with as fair prospects as could
be derived from a moderate share of talent, and
some native energy of character, and was yet in

the prime of his years. He had sunk into poverty
and neglect, was any man's fellow, and every
man's scorn; yet the lower he sunk, the loftier became
men's opinions of his natural parts and his
professional knowledge; and Squire Schlachtenschlager
was wont to say, `he pelieved Affidafy
mate petter speeches now than he tidt afore, fen
he fas a soper man.' While such generous opinions
prevailed, the lawyer had still `something to do'
in the way of his profession; but the sad condition
of his outward man showed that this was
far from being profitable. Indeed, if the truth
must be told, his admirers, though of humours sufficiently
litigious, were oftener inclined to employ
than able to pay; and those of better estates, however
they marvelled at the sagacity, and applauded
the speeches of the man of buckram, were rather
shy of applying to him for assistance, until they
felt their cases to be growing desperate. The consequence
of this state of things was, that Mr.
Theophilus Affidavy was compelled to resort to
many shifts to obtain a subsistence, that added little
to his reputation; and would indeed have been
hooted from the county, had he not been protected
by the armour of imputed genius, which his habits
seemed to fasten around him.

The account he received of the wealth of the
unfortunate Hyland produced a strong effect upon
his acquisitive propensities; and he saw at a
glance, that if his counsel could be of no benefit
to the prisoner, it might undoubtedly be of some
to himself. “He is a Hawk of the Hollow,” he
muttered to himself, “and so every one will be
against him. Good! There will be much apparent
merit therefore in undertaking his defence. His
case is bad,—awful bad—better! To volunteer in
such a case, will infer at once the possession of
extraordinary skill, worthy of extraordinary reward.

He has money—excellent! But, botheration,
the other Jack-brains will find that out, and
dive at him before me. Must have Schlachtenschlager's
horse, if I have to steal him—nobody
else will lend me one. An old ass; but can twist
him round my thumb as easily as a tape of tobacco.”

Such were the reflections of the attorney, as
with his brother jurors, one of whom had given
him a seat in his little Jersey wagon, he followed
Schlachtenschlager, to share the feast this worthy
had prepared for his associates at the Green Tree.

The soliloquy of the lawyer seemed to infer a
doubt of the performance of the promise Schlachtenschlager
had so generously made of lending
him a horse. This doubt was engendered by a
sudden change in the sky, which, from having
been perfectly clear and placid, suddenly began to
be covered with clouds, and these of an appearance
so gloomy and menacing that full half the
jurors became alarmed, and, excusing themselves
from accepting the proffered hospitality, hurried
to their homes, leaving the revels to be shared by
those who dwelt in the Squire's immediate neighbourhood.
The attorney, wonderful to be said,
had as strong an impulse to be gone as others, although
fully sensible of the excellence of the magistrate's
potables, and of the painful sacrifice he
should make in tearing himself away; but on the
other hand, he perceived that a violent thunderstorm
was brewing, and he knew the Squire to
be a prudent man, who loved his beast as he loved
his wife, and indeed a great deal better, and would
be loath to lend him after the storm had once set
in. For this reason, as soon as he had reached
the inn, he reminded the Squire of his promise,
swore he would drink but a single glass, and then
be off, without waiting for the rain.

The Squire scratched his head, and replied,

“Vy, Mr. Affidafy, I don't know. The veather
vill be padt, and I don't like it: it vill pe padt
on the horse. So, Affidafy, ve vill vait a little and
see; and, pesides, my poy,” added the dignitary,
clapping him on the shoulder, as if to atone by
condescension for the disappointment he inflicted,
“ve fill not forget the dtrinking, and the jolly-making.
Py mine heart, my poy, ve fill have petter
fun for you than trampling about in the rain
mit a stumpling horse. Fat, man, fy we're all
Deutschers put you! Here's Jake Musser, and
Hans Fackeltrager, and Alberick Klappermuhle,
and Franz Beschwerlich, and Simson Kleiber, and
mineself; and then there's you. Mine Gott, ve
fill be jolly; for I will proach a parrel of Nierensteiner,—mine
soul! it is as goodt as any in the
whole Rheingau! and I do keep it for mineself.
And ve fill dtrink and ve fill sing, as if ve fas all
in the Rheingau itself; for my voman, Gott pless
her, she is cone to the fillage, and the poys is out
a looking after the ploodty Hawks. Aha, Affidafy,
my poy! you shall see fat it is to dtrink Rhine
wine, mit six goodt Deutschers to help you. Fat
do you say, poys? can you sing the Rheinweinlied
in a t'under-storm? Aha, you see, Affidafy!
Fell, if ve are few, vy ve fill be merry.”

It was in vain to pursue his desire, at such a moment;
and indeed the attorney's blood tingled
with joy at the thought of the flowing bowls, offered
in such an oration. “Very well, you old fool,”
he muttered to himself, “I will drink till your
cursed sour old cider trash, that you call Rhine
wine, has opened your heart; and then, botheration,
I will bubble you out of the best horse in your
stable. Well, it is well it's no worse: it will rain,
and that cats and dogs.”

The indications of the weather were not falsified

by the event. In less than half an hour after all
were safely housed, the heavens were covered with
pitchy clouds, from which were discharged dazzling
thunderbolts. Then came a terrific blast of
wind, rending boughts from the trees, and making
the chimneys rock on the housetop; and this again
was followed by a furious driving rain, falling in
such torrents as promised in a few hours to swell
the smallest brooks into impassable rivers. This
continued until nightfall, and was then only terminated
to be succeeded by deceitful intervals of
calm, broken in upon, even when least expected,
by violent gusts of wind and rain.

It is not our design to pursue the conversation,
nor to describe the revels of the six Deutschers
and their American companion, under the roof of
the Herr Schlachtenschlager. Secure from the
tempest, they defied its rage, and made even the
roar of the thunder and the plash of the rain contribute
to their enjoyment. Armstrong has described,
in a few lines that find a responsive chord
in every bosom, the luxurious addition to the comfort
of a warm bed, produced by the tumult of a
midnight tempest:

The same cause is said by those who are philosophic
in such matters, to add peculiar zest to the
hissing of the tea-kettle, and the rattle of the punchbowl.
Perhaps, then, it was the violence of the
storm, rather than the excellence of the liquor,
which betrayed the worthy Sclachtenschlager and
his guests into a degree of conviviality somewhat
inconsistent with the melancholy duties they had
just rendered to the commonwealth and the dead.
But whatever was the cause, it is very certain
they forgot the dead and the commonwealth together,
and by nightfall were seven of the happiest
men in all the rebellious colonies of America. By
that time Affidavy was as glorified in his spirit as
the rest; and suddenly starting up in the midst of
a crashing peal of thunder, he hiccuped, and then
roared,

“Success to the Rhine wine, sweet or sour!
and the devil take him that won't sing its praises
as loudly as e'er a rascal of the Rheingau itself!
So up, you German pigs, and let's sing! up, you
Hanz, Franz, Alberick, Jake, and Simson! up, you
old rogue Schlachtenschlager, for you can sing
like a cherubim! and up, you jolly dog, Teff Affidavy,
who is up already, and can sing as well as
the best! join hands, bring flowers, crown the cup,
and sing the Rheinweinlied like seven angels—the
Rheinweinlied, you hard-headed, jolly dogs, in
broad Deutsch! and after that, we'll sing it in my
own translation, botheration, which is better than
the original, for all that ass, Jingleum, says he
made it. Are you ready?”

“Ready!” responded the happy six; and in an
instant every man was singing, at the top of his
voice, the famous Rheinweinlied—a song of such
noble and heart-stirring capacity, at least so far as
the music is concerned, that if it be objected to it,
that it has sometimes set a singer beside himself,
it may be wondered how any one can hear it and
keep sober at all. The winds blew, the rain fell,
and the lightning flashed, while this jolly company
rose round the table, and sang in concert the praises
of old father Rhine.

“Bravo! bravissimo! bravississimo!” cried
Affidavy. “Here's to you, you dogs—` Ihr Herren
Zecher!' And now for my paraphrase. All you
that don't know it, why you may sing the German
lingo over again: the two will go very well together.”

So saying, he burst forth on the following rifacimento
of the original; the others, in general,
holding fast to their own more sonorous expressions;
the effect of which Babel-like intermixture
of languages was to increase the noise, if it did not
add to the spirit of the author.

It may be supposed that Affidavy had long since,
in the joy of revelry, discharged from his mind all

memory of the case which had so inflamed his
fancy, and was content to leave it to be snapped
up by a more fortunate rival. How far this was
from the truth may be inferred from a phenomenon
that presented itself about an hour after nightfall,
at which period he appeared on the porch,
followed by Schlachtenschlager and the rest, all
singing with as much zeal as before, but vastly out
of time and tune. A saddled horse stood at the
door, on whose back some assisted the attorney to
clamber, while others were seen holding by railing
and pillar, and venting much good counsel with a
deal of bad music. The Squire himself stood embracing
a pillar, now poking forth his bare noddle
to the drops trickling from the porch-roof, and now
withdrawing it, to utter divers `teufels!' and `donners!'
as the cold element profaned his visage of
dignity, yet still maintaining his stand, and expatiating
on the merit of the service he was rendering
his guest.

“You see, Affidafy, man,” he cried, “I'm a
goodt-natured fellow: put there's my horse, my
pest horse, and it's a padt night; and, Affidafy,
man, you're as dtrunk as a chudge, poor man.
But ho, ho! that's no matter, for ve're all so:

Very goodt that, Affidafy!—Fell, ve're all mortal
sinners; and, mine Gott, there is but little left in
mine parrel, and Nierensteiner costs money. Fell!
goodt pye, Affidafy, my poy, goodt night. Take
goodt care of the horse, for he's my pest horse,
Affidafy, for I'm a goodt-natured fellow as ever it
vas. Goodt night, Affidafy!”—And “Goodt
night, Affidafy!” muttered all, as the attorney,
fetching a desperate reel in the saddle, waved a

graceful adieu, and turned to depart. Instead of
replying, however, to the farewell, he burst out
again with
and the others obeying the invitation, again opened
their lips, and chanted Bekränzt mit Laub, till he
was out of sight. Then they staggered back into
the house, to continue their orgies; where we will
leave them, to follow the course of the attorney.