 | Rambles and reveries |  |
PET-NOTIONS.
Our loving tendencies, like Bob Acres' valor, sometime
ooze out, if not from the finger ends, yet in forms
the most various and fantastic imaginable. All of us
have our little oddities, minor loves and minor interests,
objects trifling, and perhaps ridiculous in themselves, and
yet were we at strict confessional, perchance, it would
appear that these pet-notions are as much heart-binders
as mightier things. For my part, I see nothing to be
ashamed of in the minute eccentricities of our wayward
hearts, restless minds, or fanciful idealities. I love to
see human nature vindicate itself, however quaintly. It
is a proof of the ethereal essence of the soul that when a
man is entombed between four bare walls, he will, like
poor Trenck, cherish amity with a dungeon mouse, or
love, like Pellico, of prison memory, to minister to the
pleasure of a spider. Pet-notions, like every other species
of the immense family of notions, are highly reprehensible
in their excess. When instead of serving their
appropriate office of nooks for the play of our little amiable
humors, they are made the sole fields for the free bounding
stocks wherein to cramp and pervert humanity. I would
fain believe that this is less the case than formerly. Here
and there only in the wide world, I ween, may the woman
now be found whose love has yielded up its sanctity,
and become concentrated in a poodle-dog or a parrot.
The pet-notions of our day, I take to be legitimate, and
not seldom interesting. They are what they should be,
tiny curious leaves, peeping out comically from among
the more umbrageous foliage of our love-bowers.
Few things minister more generally and appropriately
to the pet passions than flowers. Beautiful provision does
Flora make for our little loves. I marvel not that many
are touched with an universal affection for the entire contents
of the goddess's cornucopia; and, like Horace
Smith, merge in attachment to the delightful family their
partiality for an individual member, and exclaim, with that
fond bard,
Weep without wo, and blush without a crime!
O may I deeply learn and ne'er surrender
Your lore sublime!”
be petty and single, minute, and, as far as may be, unique.
Accordingly those who love flowers at all, generally love,
with especial affection, a particular species. Could the
truth be known, I think the above-named Horace is partial
to some bell-flower, he speaks so touchingly of the
And tolls its perfume on the passing air.”
But however that may be, it is an obvious fact that pet-flowers
are remarkably common. Witness the tributary
stanzas of the standard poets; and observe how individual
characteristics are shadowed forth even in pet-notions.
Who but poor Burus could have written so lovingly
of a mountain daisy? His deep, tender spirit of humanity
led him to cherish the wee bit flower as it did to
note the young castaway, with a sympathy surpassing
what gaudier flowers and more prosperous human beings
could inspire. Does not Wordsworth affect primroses because
they are so common and grow wild? Mrs. Hemans,
methinks, would scarcely have spoken of any but
a pet-flower as she has of the water-lily; and of a truth, I
know of few similitudes whereby her own sweet self
can be better typified. Graceful, lovely, and upward
gazing is the lily—and so was the poetess. A friend of
mine is passionately fond of pinks. In summer
you may know him among a thousand, by one of his little
favorites protruding from his button-hole or twirling
between his lips. There is an analogy between his pet-flower
and himself. He admires neatness, order, and
symmetry of arrangement. He suffers if a picture hangs
awry, and wherever he is, begs leave to right its position.
A smile lights up his countenance whenever a man of
well-arranged exterior presents himself. In a word, my
friend is `as neat as a pink.'
There are those who have so little of their proper
humanity remaining, that nature furnishes no little emblems
which please them by affinity; so, their pet notions
are confined to some trinket of rare materials or peculiar
precision of character unites not a little of superstition
and technicality—one of that class so admirably described
as `endeavoring to atone by microscopic accuracy for
imbecility in fundamental principles.' Carville's pet-notion
some time ago, was a very small and exquisitely wrought
death's head, which he carried in his waiscoat pocket, to
remind him, as he said, `of his coming change.' Now
he has the key of his tomb hung up above his writing desk
for the same purpose. I've heard of a gentleman who
carries a phrenological chart on the lid of his snuff-box.
This pet-notion ministers highly to his pleasure and advantage,
since all his brother mortals are, as soon as
seen, brought to trial, as his eye glances from his mull to
their craniums. Medals, coins, old china, and autographs,
are the pets of many.
The pet-notions of others are far more abstract than
these; they consist of words or phrases which have become,
from long use, inseparably associated with the individual.
They may have been first adopted from caprice;
but usually we find the person has, or fancies he
has, the tact of making them very expressive, or they
mean much in his estimation, suit his voice and air, or
indicate from his mouth a mystic profundity of knowledge,
wit, or sentiment. At all events, they are pet-notions,
as you may know from their frequent use, and the aim at
effect with which they are uttered. An acquaintance of
mine exclaims, `My dear fellow' every five minutes,
with an affectionateness which is touching in the extreme.
He knows it, and therefore has petted the phrase till now
the moving enunciation. A fashionable, conversable lady,
whom I have often heard talk, expresses her assent to
whatever views are promulgated to her by the term `decidedly,'
uttered with an intonation and nod superlatively
impressive. It was a decidedly pet-notion of hers to
introduce this word continually into her vivacious chattings.
I know a poetical dandy who used to accomplish
the same object by the phrase `true, true.' The articulation
of these words did not cost him much breath, of
which tight garments left him little to waste; there was
a dignity in their very brevity, and therefore were they
complacently adopted into his petty vocabulary.
My quondam friend in the city of — was a fine-hearted
old Italian bachelor, who had sojourned years by-gone
in this country. He spoke tolerable English, except
the accent and nasal melody with which the words
were connected at long intervals. Now the choice of a
phrase for a pet was of no small importance to the good
signor. In the first place, it ought to be a priori, of universal
applicability, in order to come in whenever his verbal
memory should fail—an accident by the way, of no
unfrequent occurrence—then it should have a latent wisdom,
for my old friend prided himself upon his knowledge
of the world, and delivered the most ordinary expressions
with an air of oriental gravity; therefore must
the phrase be rife with meaning. Whether these considerations
led to its selection, whether he gleaned it from
learned men of this land, consulted Dr. Johnson, or hit
upon it by a happy effort of his own genius, I cannot
or more fitting pet-notion furnished foreigner from
the bounteous bosom of our blessed vernacular. The
first time I heard it from the lips of the signor, I was
lost in admiration, and not doubting it was the precursor
of some profound discourse, I composed myself to listen
with an emotion of thankful expectancy; the second time,
I was taken less by surprise, and noted with new delight
the gesture, glance, and preparatory ahem; by and by, I
became accustomed to it, and never ascended the high
winding stairs which led to the old man's apartment,
without an indefinite anticipation, or descended them
without a lurking lingering sense of my friends pet-notion.
I seem even now to hear him. I admired to go
thither with novices, to witness the effect. It was astonishing
with what facility he introduced the phrase into
conversation, no matter what its nature or end. Whether
speaking of the latest political intelligence, of the weather,
of the opera, of dinner, of time past, present or future;
of this or that man, woman or child, of books
or beggars, of war or walking, of money or martyrdom;—still,
still would he gravely, solemnly, fondly
reiterate, `My dear sir, human nature has always been
the same.'
The natural interest in the principle of life which characterises
human beings, influences their pet-notions.
We instinctively love animation—the embodying of a
living, moving, self-actuating energy. Hence the most
generally cherished pet-notions are taken from the animal
world. And herein I again recognize a true humanity
called. I have found those who make an intimate of
some lone member of the feathered tribe, find companionship
in one of the canine species, or tenderly care for a
steed, generally prove, in the double and best sense of the
term, clever fellows. I know much is said of the dearth
of domestic attachment, of the folly of bestowing so much
care on a brute, &c.; but, when not over-indulged, such
pet-notions are usually discoverable in whole-hearted and
susceptible beings. I have heard of an eccentric Englishman
who petted an oyster many years, feeding it
with oat-meal till its size was prodigious. No less cheerful
are the little back yards of the French metropolis,
because at noon and eve the white-capped housewife provokes
the mocking-bird, whose cage hangs under the
vine leaves, by her endearing greetings, to echo every
note of the woodland. The favored dove that stoops at sunrise
to the window, and quaintly turns upward her sparkling
eye as she perches on the fair hand which has nourished
her; the spaniel who leaps to hail the return of his
master, despised old bachelor though he be; the tabby favorite
who purs forth her love in the lap of her whose
blessedness were otherwise indeed single; the pampered
gold fish in their glassy globe, and the froward kid who
looks in at the door,—indicate to the reflective observer
that the freshness and expansion of humanity have not
departed from the dwelling; that love is there, albeit some
of its overflowings fall soothingly even upon the soulless
brute.
It was no small amusement to Shelley, at Oxford, to
and feed his cat with oysters. Many a milliner's apprentice
cherishes a box of mignonette, and the poorest clerk
can afford to keep a geranium in his window—of which
the feel of the leaf, says Hunt `has a household warmth
in it somewhat analogous to clothing and comfort.' A
man in Germany, once collected a large number of
ropes with which criminals had been executed; and a
monk passed years in attempting to gather all the prints
of the Madonna ever issued.
Vaucluse was as odd and withal as affectionate as any
of the students at the university of —. I have seldom
known a more singular pet-notion, or one more fondly
petted than was his. He was romantic in the extreme,
and the mysterious appearance of his notion coupled with
a highly romantic era in its history, which I will relate,
combined to deepen the pride and interest with which he
cherished his pet. He was gazing thoughtfully from his
window, just as the sun beamed brightly upon the sill,
when bending his eye thither, from an aperture beneath,
he saw a young toad spring out and composedly seat himself
in the genial rays. Presently an unfortunate fly
sailing languidly by, was snapped at, and devoured in a
twinkling, by the speckled intruder, and this act of destructiveness
was repeated at intervals, until the shadows
darkened the sill, when the toad quietly retreated to his hole.
Vaucluse marked this for a white day in his monotonous
life. Already his heart yearned toward the independent
fly hunter. He found something singularly interesting
in his appearance and manners. There was a touch
dignity, a solitary quietude and an honest bachelorism
about the toad, that chimed in with the student's
humor. He determined to adopt and cherish him; and
accordingly was at the window, to welcome his pet-notion,
as soon as Sol brightened the sill, and joining in the fly
hunt, he daily surfeited the stomach of his favorite till he
looked, for all the world, like a Dutch alderman. Things
were in this state, when Vaucluse was disturbed in the
midst of his feeding operations, by the abrupt entrance of
the last man he wished to see, under such circumstances.
It was no other than Snider, a medical student, noted
for his sarcastic drollery, and prematurely, by complaisance,
ycleped doctor. The toad-fosterer prepared himself
for a wit-battering; but he looked upon the child of
his adoption and felt a martyr's courage nerve him.
What was his surprise to see his friend assume an expression
of sadness as his eye rested on the toad, and
then look mournfully in his face.
“What's the matter?” he enquired.
“Vaucluse,” he replied solemnly, “I'm sorry for you;”
and he drew out his handkerchief.
“For heaven's sake, explain yourself; this suspense is
insupportable.”
“Is it possible that a man of your intelligence has suffered
himself to be deceived?”
“My dear doctor, do, do, I pray you, speak.”
“Know then, Vaucluse, that your unwise pampering
has induced the incipient symptoms of apoplexy in yon
poor toad.”
“No; you are not in earnest”—
“I am. Mark his distended sides, his gasping breath,
his heavy eyes.—Vaucluse, he cannot survive the night,
but through the application of immediate medical aid.”
“Say not so. Can you, my dear doctor, can you cure
him?”
“If the case is unconditionally left with me.”
“Doctor, I fear to trust you; but there's no remedy.
Do what thou wilt, but do it quickly.”
“The eye of the young Esculapius brightened; the toad
was his first patient. Softly upheaving the sash, he gently
lifted the wheezing animal from his warm seat, and raising
him as if more nearly to inspect the gustatory organs, he
suddenly ejected from his mouth into the open maw of the
unfortunate toad, an immense quid of half-consumed
cavendish; then replacing him, he awaited only to see
him sneeze thrice, with a shudder swallow the pill, and
retire to his dark abode; then glancing at the confounded
and indignant Vaucluse, he made his exit, murmuring
the while—“emetic and cathartic—large dose—operation
protracted result—general reduction of the system.”
Why need I relate the vigils of a romantic student who
vainly watches for the coming of his pet-notion? Suffice
it to say that days, weeks, nay a whole month flew by, and
the toad greeted not the eyes of Vaucluse. “Hope darkened
into anxiety, anxiety into dread, and dread into despair.”
The solitary student observed the first monthly
anniversary of his pet's departure by unusual moodiness
and abstinence. When the sun kissed the white surface
of the window sill, he stood with a fixed eye, folded arms
dream? Something like a toad's head seemed protruding
from the hole. He rubbed his eyes; and with what emotions,
I leave the reader to imagine, beheld something
very like a toad, the outline, the shadow of his corpulent
pet, slowly creep forth and drag himself to his old position.
The speckled skin hung flabbily, the legs were perfect
anatomies; the toad seemed in the last stage of a consumption.
In vain his feeble jaws essayed to seize their
prey. His eye gleamed brilliantly. Vaucluse tearfully
opened the casement, placed the daintiest flies in the open
mouth of the convalescent, and ere many days beheld the
bright colours revive upon the epidermis, the sides and
back plump heartily out, and the fly-hunt proceed more
briskly than ever. He once more rejoiced in his pet-notion.
| Rambles and reveries | |