University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
PREACHING OF THE POET—SNOBSON'S REPTURE WITH HIS
SWEETHEART.

It was on Monday, in the afternoon, and at night Walter was
to make his maiden speech before a thousand auditors. He
sat beside his mother near the parlor window, gazing thoughtfully
into the street.

“I am glad, Walter,” said his parent, referring to the
subject upon which they had been conversing, “that your
brave heart is not appalled at the picture I have drawn.”

“It will only stimulate me to greater efforts, mother. I
see, now, the necessity of exertion to supply the deficiencies
of fortune. My uncle, and even Aunt Wilsome, might be
applied to successfully; but it would be repugnant to my feelings
to demand assistance from either of them. Gusset will
endeavor to secure my uncle's fortune for herself, and my
aunt will marry; indeed, as I have told you, she would have
been married before this, if my friend had not been devoid of
the mercenary spirit which appears to have actuated Griselda.
The future, truly, seems to be dark enough. I cannot hope
to obtain Col. Oakdale's consent to wed Virginia. I am poor,
and his estate encumbered; and besides, his creditor, Roland,
the wealthy Roland, is in all probability a rival suitor. But
I will not despair. Never fear that. I will, perhaps, be
more thoughtful, and more observant of opportunities to make
my way in the world than formerly; but I shall continue to
be merry, nevertheless. I inherited it from you, mother, and
a more valuable heritage could not have been bequeathed me.”

“Yes. A merry heart is more likely to achieve success
than a despondent one.”

“I wish you could be present to-night! Burning thoughts
are flitting through my brain. I feel that I shall make an
impression on my hearers. No immediate benefit may result
from it; but it will serve to convince you that my education
was not in vain, and that depressing circumstances can never
subdue my spirit!”

“I have high hopes of you, Walter. And I shall believe
that whatever may be uttered by you to-night will come from
the heart.”

“It will, mother. I have long felt an urgent desire for an
opportunity to aid in the annihilation of false projects, started
by the demagogues to captivate the unreflecting understandings
of the multitude. To-night it will be afforded me. I
care not who may be offended, if I be the advocate of Truth,
and the enemy of fanatics and fools. If Roland takes offence,
Colonel Oakdale will be pleased. So in point of interest,
even,—which, however, I should not regard,—I can have
nothing to fear.”

“`Be just, and fear not,' you know, is the recommendation
of your favorite poet. But do not `set down aught in malice.”'

“I am no man's enemy. See! yonder comes my friend
Pollen! Mother, you know him. We will entertain him.
He comes this way. His hat is old—it was new but yesterday—and
his coat is soiled and buttoned up to the neck, as
when I first met him. He is in distress, mother; and he
might have been rich, but for his disinterested sense of propriety.
Pollen! how do you do, old fellow?”

“Not very well, in purse and stomach, if you would have
the truth; and nothing else can be extorted from me. May
I come in?”

“The door is open; if not, break it down, or come through
the window.”

The poet had most cordial salutations from both the
mother and the son. His hunger was satisfied, and he was
furnished with the same shirt of Walter's he had worn on a
former occasion, and which its owner had declared should
never be used by any one else.

“Oh that I were an apostle, or other accredited ambassador
of the Most High!” said the poet, upon occupying a

chair at the parlor window, and gazing at the people passing
from the boat.

“Why, Pollen?” demanded Walter.

“I would go into the street, and erect another altar to the
unknown God, and worship there. This generation of fools
have forgotten their Maker, and bow only to the golden calf.
Some think themselves honest and religious—and so did the
silly worshippers of the false god. But they had Moses and
Aaron to denounce their idol; whilst many of our monitors
never fail to share the treasure, and beg for more! The great
Creator made the gold; and if they worship the metal, instead
of its author, it follows that the true God must be unknown.
Therefore, I would erect another altar to the unknown God.”

“Go on, Pollen,” said Walter; “let your ideas flow freely
under the inspiration of the hour. I may avail myself of
some of them to-night.”

“Money, money! We see the image of human faces on
the coins and on the bank-bills. Wherefore? But I can see
money in men's faces! Poetry is seen in the frensied eye;
heroism in the calm lip and lofty brow; love in the languishing
gaze; hatred in the frown, and pleasure in the smile; and
as plainly as these are perceptible, I can distinguish the base
image of the dollar in the faces of nearly all. I see approaching
now a millionnaire. His face is very familiar. See his
harsh gesticulation, and his rapidly moving lips. Would you
not know his thoughts? I can read them.”

“Read them,” said Walter.

“He supposes himself to have been the most miserable
man among the passengers on the boat. He is a usurer, and
a speculator. Yesterday, if he had made a certain investment,
when the opportunity offered, his income would have
been greater than that of any man in the city. Now, the incomes
of two or three surpass his, and he is truly miserable.
But, fortunately, he has not the pride nor the happiness of
the poor merchant following him. The merchant, although
wielding thousands of money not belonging to him, is believed
here to be wealthy. To undeceive them, would be destruction.
In the city he expended $6,000 per annum—here, only
$2,000, and still maintains a better style than most of his
neighbors. Hence his happiness. Next comes a broker's
clerk, who will tell you all about the banks, and the sum total
of his disbursements yesterday. On a moderate salary, he

makes a better show, and is more respected than his landlord.
The next in order, the shopkeepers and the mechanics—are
more genteel in costume than the millionnaire. Their superiority
consists in the fact that they chance to have semi-rural
residences; while others of their class, less fortunate than
themselves, are compelled to drag out a monotonous life in
the city—ever languishing at their counters and benches.
But money, more or less, is distinguishable in the faces of
all. Where there is none, all is blank, or dark and gloomy.
No—I see a few exceptions.”

“The Quakers?” asked Walter.

“No, sir, no! I see, too, the approaching group of meek
and pious Friends. I have seen them often. Money has
made its deepest indentures on the faces of most of them.
On the boat, or in the cars, their thoughts and words refer
exclusively to the golden god. Buying and selling—the
prices of commodities—the profits or losses on certain operations—the
eagerness to acquire, the fear to lose; such are
their topics! Religious, yet regardless of the decalogue;
meek and inoffensive, yet practising usury; philanthropists,
yet contemning all laws, human and divine, which do not accord
with the secret promptings in their own breasts.”

“You say nothing of the ladies,” remarked Walter.

“It were best to say nothing. Pictures—mere pictures.
The good are in Heaven! I know one who is there! No
matter. Yonder doll will toss her head, and tell you her
father is a banker. She need say no more. Worshippers
will cast themselves at her feet,—I mean such as have a less
share of the golden calf than herself. But yonder comes one
who has more, and he ceases to worship her and turns away.”

“Snobson!” exclaimed Walter, seeing the young man approaching
alone. “But your exceptions, Pollen, who are
they?”

“The contented farmer, or student, or the gardener, who
delights in the perfect productions of nature—”

“Such is Dibble!”

“No matter. He is deservedly happy. The teacher, who
is contented with a moderate salary; the calm philosopher;
the innocent theorist; the man of imagination, who builds
castles in the air, and inhabits them himself, provided he has
a substantial larder; all who exercise the nobler impulses of
the heart, enfranchised from the restraints imposed by the

golden calf. And such can only be the case in rural districts,
where the air is uncontaminated. In the city, incessant
money-making must ever prevent the people from meditating
on loftier subjects. Thus, you see the difference between
town and country. Snobson is coming here.”

“Yes; come in, Snobson!” cried Walter. “Don't hesitate.
Pollen and I are alone.”

“I'm glad of it,” said Snobson, joining them. “I want
to tell you how I've been made a fool of.”

“Oh, you need not tell us that!” said Walter.

“Have you heard it already? No—it would be impossible.
But before I begin—it's all a lie, ain't it, about your
sister eloping with Mr. Lowe? I know it is, for I just now
saw Mr. Lowe enter his own door. The Arums and Crudles,
I suspect, raised the report.”

“Why, Snobson! how does it happen that you are so savage
on the Arums and Crudles?”

“I'll tell you all about it. I was completely taken in,
and fascinated, before I had time to think.”

“The artful nymphs!” said Pollen.

“You may say so—but they were outwitted at last, as you
shall hear. I was bewildered with their playing, their singing,
and their dressing. Don't they dress! And when they
flirted their pretty little feet, I could not help, accidentally
you know, seeing the magnificent borders of their petticoats!
Parke was cooler than me. He don't mind such things. But
I was carried by storm, as Sergeant Blore says. I was in a
quandary. I didn't know which to have. They settled it,
however. After a little hair-pulling in the next room, the
victorious one, the youngest, came to me, and waited until I
proposed. I was snapped up, and the matter was laid before
our parents, who were perfectly willing, provided the conditions
and terms could be made to suit them. What do you
think our fathers proposed?”

“Dollars,” said Pollen.

“You are not far wrong. My father authorized me to say
to Mr. Arum that my allowance of five hundred dollars per
annum would be continued, and that my wife would be introduced
into the society his family frequented—which is better
than that she has been accustomed to.”

“And what did her father propose?” asked Walter.

“Why, to defray one half the expense of furnishing a
house for us!”

“And you were to live on love?” asked Walter.

“No—dollars!” said Pollen.

“Yes; and they were to come all from one side. He required
my father to make me a partner in the banking-house,
with a capital of fifty thousand dollars, and to introduce my
wife and all his family to our friends! The expense of living
was to be defrayed by my share of the profits, and he was to
have one expensive daughter off his hands! That's what
my father says. So, seeing I would have nothing more than
my five hundred dollars—except the wife and the house—I
backed out. It is too small a sum for two, and you know I
have my boarding and lodging for nothing while single. I'll
stay single, till one or the other of the old governors drops
off.”

“But what did the lady say?” asked Walter.

“She was as willing as myself to be off, because she had
expected a large fortune all at once.”

Tea was now announced.