Modern chivalry containing the adventures of Captain John Farrago, and Teague Oregan, his servant |
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 | INTRODUCTION. |
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 | Modern chivalry |  |
INTRODUCTION.
Proceeding with my object; the
giving an example of a perfect stile in writing,
I come now to the third volume of
the work. I well know, that it will not
all at once, and by all persons, be thought
to be the model of a perfect stile, for it is
only the perfectly instructed, and delicately
discerning that can discover its beauties:
and perhaps none will be more apt to pass
them by than the learned of the academies,
and the most versed in grammar rules of
writing, for there is a greeness in the judgment
of the school critics with respect to
what is simple and natural in composition.
To illustrate this by anology. Let a
dancing master pass his judgment on the
movements of the best bred man in life;
and not finding in his position and attitudes,
an evident conformity to the lessons of the
salatory art, he will conclude that he has
not been taught to move with propriety.
He does not know that it is this very circumstance
that constitutes the excellence of
the movements of the easy and perfectly
him, it will never once come into
your mind that he thinks of his attitudes or
positions in the least; but that every movement
is just as it happens, and without any
intention on his part. Ars est celare artem.
To wit; It is the secret of good taste and
perfection in behavior to conceal that you
ever think of it at all. So it is the most
perfect proof of a good stile, that when you
read the composition, you think of nothing
but the sense; and are never struck with
the idea that it is any otherwise expressed
than every body would express it.
That stile, is not good, where it appears
that you have not dared to use a word
without thinking a long time whether you
ought to use it; that, in the disposition of
words, you have carefully studied which
ought to go first and which last; and, that
your sentence has a cadence which could
not come by chance; but is the effect of
design and art.
I acknowledge that no man will ever
write a good stile that has not well studied,
and exercised himself in writing, selecting
with a most perfect delicacy, in all cases;
the proper term; but he must go beyond
this, and be able to deceive the world, and
never let it come into their heads that he
it is not one in five hundred that is born
with that sensibility of nerve as to be able to
attain with the help of great instruction and
practice, a perfect judgment in the use of
words. It is for this reason that I am ambitious
of the praise of writing well so far
as respects language. For it requires no
uncommon structure of nerves, or organization
of the brain to produce good sense;
the mass of mankind is equal to this.
Language, as it is the peculiar gift, so
it is the highest glory of our species; and
the philologist is to be considered as cultivating
the most useful and ornamental of
all arts. Pursuing therefore solely the use
of words, I do not descend professedly to
think of sense; nevertheless, if at any time
there should be found ideas that have some
consistency and meaning, they may deserve
attention, as much as if it was the primary
object of my work to express them; for
it is not their fault if I set little store by
them, and think more of the dress that I
put upon them than I do of themselves.
I am happy to find that in the review of
this publication, given in Young's magazine,
my ideas of the merit of the stile, is
recognized, and fully justified. And as
my work may be well supposed, to have
live longer than that miscellaneous performance,
I have thought it not amiss, for
the honor of the critics to extract some part
of the observations which have been made
by them, and which are as follows:
“The author of the work before us,
is H. H. Brackenridge, well known in
the literary world for his treatise on the
œconomy of Rats, a satirical composition,
in which under the veil of allegory, he designates
the measures of the federal government;
as also for his history of Weazles,
in which the same strokes are given to those
at the helm of our affairs, in a different fable,
and narration. In the present work
which he entitles Modern Chivalry, he disowns
the idea of any moral or sentiment
whatsoever, and proposes stile only as the
object of the composition. And to this
object, in our opinion, he scrupulously
adheres; for though on some occasions,
there would seem to be a semblance of
idea, yet this we must attribute to the
imagination of the reader, just as in looking
upon a plaistered wall, attentively for
a long time, you will conceive the inequality
of the surface, or accidental scratchings,
to be the shape of birds and beasts, or
the letters of the alphabet. Yet as reason
bring to mind that there is really no character
or image there, there being none
intended; so on a perusal of the work in
question, looking a long time for sense,
you may at last conceive that you observe
some glimmerings of it, yet when you
recollect that you have it from the author
himself that he means none, you will be
sensible that it is nothing more than the accidental
combination of words which has
given this picture to the mind.
Stile, then, which is his object, must
also be ours, in our view of the publication.
For, to give a simile; if a manufacturer
of cloth, or a taylor that forms it into
vestments, should come forward, and produce
each his work, to be considered merely
as to the manufacture, or making up,
without regard to the materials of the
woof and warp in the one case, or the
wearing in the other, it would be absurd
to enquire of these when nothing was proposed
to you respecting them, by the artists
themselves.
Confining ourselves therefore to the
stile of this performance, we observe, that
it has what is the first characteristic of excellence;
viz. Simplicity. This consists
in the choice of the plainest and most familiar
the words in their natural order. There
is a great difference between a vulgar term,
or phrase, and that which is common,
and comes first upon the tongue, in easy
and familiar conversation. It is the mistake
of this distinction which leads some
writers to avoid the phrase that any one
would use, and seek out what is uncommon.
Hence there appears a variation in
the words they put upon paper, from
those which they themselves would use in
conversation. And why this? Ought not
language to be precisely the same whether
spoken or written.
Perspicuity is the natural result of simplicity,
and needs not to be laid down as a
different characteristic. For can there be
obscurity in that composition where the
most familiar word is used, and that word
put in its proper place. This brings to mind
the definition of stile by Swift; “proper
words in proper places.” There can
be nothing more easy than the composition
of our author, His writing savours of
the skill of an artificer who after many
years exercitation in his art, acquires a
power of accomplishing his work by a habit
of the fingers, independent of any application
of the mind. So that while in
of exertion, here there is what a superficial
observer would call carelessness,
but which the sound critic will discover to
be the result of a perfect mastery of all that
relates to language.
It is pretty generally believed that our
stile has been constantly degenerating from
the time of queen Anne, in whose reign
flourished those immortal penmen, Swift,
Addison, Arbuthnot, Tillotson, Bolinbroke.
&c. If the stile of Mr. Brackenridge
is examined, and compared with
those models, it will be found to be in the
same pure, simple attic taste. We shall
therefore not hesitate to recommend it as
a restorer of all that is correct and beautiful
in writing.” So far the reviewers.
I have said that I was happy to find that
these have had the good taste to find out
what I myself had thought of the composition.
But as I wish at all times to let
the reader, into a knowledge of my real
sentiments, I will confess that these are
merely words of course with me, and that
I was not happy to find my work praised
in any respect; because I wished to have a
quarrel with the critics; and this not because
I love war, abstractedly considered;
but because in this case I should have had
talents. Nay, expecting an attack, I
had prepared a number of good thoughts
in my mind, to be used in my contest with
them. What is more I had actually written
a copy of verses in the Hudibrastic
rhyme and manner, for their use, in which
I considered them as Muskitoes, or flies
of some kind, that were troublesome to
men; and though the occasion fails, yet
there can be no impropriety in giving to
the public those strokes of satire which lay
dormant in my mind. As these would
apply more particularly to an attack upon
me; yet the essay being in general
terms, it may appear without a particular
circumstance to call it forth; merely as a
specimen of what I could do had there been
occasion for it. And the insertion will
be excuseable, when it is considered how
painful it is to be frustrated in what we
propose as our pleasure. I have known a
good man wish to have bad news true,
merely because he had related them: and
we may conceive a saint vexed at not finding
a man dead, when he had digested a
funeral sermon in his mind, and was ready
to bury him. On this principle, therefore,
and in spite of the critics, I will have my
verses published: they are as follows:
And by his rules gave authors birth.
You may be ancient: critic, hark!
Were you with Noah in the ark?
In what compartment were you seen?
'Mongst creatures clean or the unclean?
The critic, sir's, the natural father
Of every snifling, snuffling author;
And when you nod or snore or sleep,
We shly on posteriors creep,
And rouse you to a bright exertion,
Of all your faculties; you whoreson.
How can there be idea of beauties,
Unless the critic genius shew't-us?
The angle of the sight obtuse,
Can see no more than doth a goose,
Whilst we with microscopic eye,
Examine as you would a fly,
See through the crevices of fancy,
As far as human eyesight can see,
Tell where there is or is not Grammar;
What phraseology wants hammer—
Or file to make the verse run smoother,
Where sound is harsh, or term uncouther.
I grant you see defects and errors,
Of those in genius your superiors:
The skin however smoothly curried,
To a flea's eye is deep and surrowed.
His optics may perceive a wart,
That grows upon the unseen part,
But for the beauty of the frame,
It is above the ken of them—
Thus critics tell that bard divine
Has a rough word in such a line,
Or that the sacred poem scarce
Can bear the trot of such a verse,
That feeble author in such sentence
Has not the vis, the spirit intense,
That Pegasus was lame when he rode,
They tell, but never felt the force,
Of genius in his rapid course.
What? did not Quintilian fully,
Develope all the praise of Tully?
And 'mongst the Greeks, the great Longinus,
Who may be justly stil'd his highness,
With critic judgment join the fire,
Of Heaven itself? who can go higher?
From your vile accusation whose's safe?
Not even the elder scaliger Joseph,
Who had a mind as big's a mountain,
Could all defects and beauties contain,
And shew'd that Homer was inferior,
And Virgil hit perfection nearer.
Have you the assurance sir to speak,
Against the Roman worth and Greek?
So much we hear I believe that no man's,
Tongue is still of Greeks and Romans;
For if dispute should rise past curing,
Which way 'tis best to make our urine,
And each should argue stiffly his way,
All must give up, the Greeks piss'd this way.
But there in modern times is Bently,
Who sung of Richard Blackmore daint'ly.
I grant it, critic, there's a thousand;
The list beginning has nor knows end.
They swarm in millions from the flood—
The Hebrew critics first drew blood;
And this is what is meant by Babel
Where all were critics that were able.
The Rabbin and the Talmudist,
Fought hand to hand and fist to fist,
About the pentateuch of Moses;
Their tales, the wildest stuff, God knows is.
If there has been some Grecian critic,
Above the offspring of a seed-tic;
Yet where is one in modern days
Who can deserve that share of praise?
Who can the various shapes determine.
And small and great are prone to mischief,
And every clan and sect has his chief.
They swarm like Caledonian cluster,
When the Mac Neils and Camrons muster;
Or as when house wife spreads her sugar,
With water mix'd, each insect bugar,
Relinquishes pots, tubs and pails,
And for the booty spreads his sails.
Thus all the race of critics gather,
Around the footsteps of an author,
Bite through his overalls and stocking,
And biting shins, you know's no joking.
Who now a days fits down to write
Uninterrupted by a bite?
Unless he takes good care and puts on,
A pair of leggins or has boots on.
They say of Reynard who loves geese,
That when oppress'd with swarm of fleas
He takes in's mouth a lock of wool,
And gradually retires to pool;
The fleas by secret instinct led,
Fly from the tail and trunk to head,
With speed each mother's son of them goes
To seek the promontory of nose,
And when no more remains abaft,
Fox shakes his head and leaves the raft.
Who could find out by book or sermon,
An equal way t' allude the vermin,
Would merit a rich premium more,
Than vers'd in philosophic lore,
The member who dissects a glow-worm,
To see if 'tis a beast and no worm,
I wish some virtuoso won'd,
Who natural history understood,
Dissect a critic, shew his jaw teeth,
Whether they are quite smooth or saw-teeth,
Resembling butterfly or asp,
And by the grinders edge determine,
Corn-eating or carnivrous vermin.
I'd give, myself, a golden medal,
To know if't has a brown or red tail,
And whether when it moves it goes on
An hundred feet or half a dozen;
But many glasses must be ground out,
Before these mysteries can be found out.
I leave it to some great Linæus,
Who may by this be fam'd as he was.
The reviewers in Young's Magazine,
may see from hence how well it was for
them, though unfortunate for me, that
they have dealt in approbation solely.
The prettiest part of the history of any author,
is his war with the critics; and as
that prince's reign, seems uninteresting
where we are not amused with sieges and
battles, so the life of an author is dull and
monotonous where we hear of no litigations
with a Bavius, or Mævius, a Dennis,
or a Colly Cibber.
It is true I have heard one observation
made, viz. that though my stile is excellent
of the kind; yet it is but of one kind,
and as Swift said of himself that he could
never rise to the stile of an oration or a
sermon, so it would seem to be the case
with me, that I am competent only to
that humble species of diction which suits
the dissertation, but rises not to the swell
I have used in the memoirs of the Captain;
because it is the stile which suits simple narrative.
Nevertheless, it is not with me
as it was with Swift; and in this respect,
I am his superior; for I can rise to the
swell of the highest pipe of diction. And
to evince this, I will here produce an oration
delivered by me about two years ago,
when I officiated in the capacity of Chaplain
to the light infantry company of Pittsburgh.
I produce it only as a sample of
stile; for as to other merit I will not answer
for it; and if the learned should not
think it, in point of sentiment, worthy
of my fame, let it be my apology that
the company at whose call I was, and
military discipline being strict, I was obliged
to obey at a short notice; the company
I say, having given me but about two
hours warning, the composition bears the
marks of haste, not having that condensation
of sentiment which deliberation gives
But of this let the public judge. I give it
as delivered.
The Oration.
“What is the object for which a soldier
justifiably draws his sword? the protection
of personal and social right. This is comprehended
under one word, LIBERTY.
By this we are to understand the natural
liberty of man, independent of government;
or liberty in a state of society,
and government. The first being but ideal,
it is the last to which our thoughts are directed
in the use of this word. What then
is liberty? It is the enjoying under some
form of government, an equality of rights:
an equal right to speak, and an equal right
to act: where no one can or dare arrogate
a superiority of power or privilege.
Who would not risk a life for such a blessing?
Who would not immolate a hecatomb
of foes who should dare to invade it.
Cæsar; I admire thy talents, I praise thy
virtues; but in the face of nations, on the
height of the world, thou daredst to usurp
a superiority over brave men. The soul of
Brutus, or of Casius could not brook it;
the soul of Cato or of Casta could not
brook it; every Roman felt the insult, and
approved the act, that took away thy life.
When understood and felt, what are
the charms of Liberty? When possessed
and enjoyed, what are its effects: greatness
of thought, and greatness of conduct.
Can the vassal think nobly? Can the dependent
mind act boldly? No, “there is
a lion in the way,” and cowardice benumbs
the faculties.
Are mankind sensible of this? There
have been those who have borne honorable
testimony of it. Shall I give you proofs?
I recur not to the academies to bring thence
the sentiments of philosophic men. I depict
not those who have fought for liberty.
I give you the sense of a people who had
enjoyed it; who had lost it, and who had
been restored to it. Stating the occasion,
I shall give it in the words of Plutarch.
“Philip and the Macedonians had subdued
the Grecian states. These calling in the
Romans, submitted to their authority, and
received garrisons in all their cities. Titus
Flaminius, who commanded the Roman
forces, beat the Macedonians, and
reduced them to their own territories.
The Grecian states were still enslaved, but
had changed their masters. The Ætolians
had thence taken occasion to ask them,
whether it were not matter of much consolation
that, though their chains weighed
heavier, yet they were now neater and
better polished than formerly? Whether
Titus were not deservedly admired by
them as their benefactor who had unshackled
the feet of Greece and tied her up by
her neck? Titus vexed hereat, made it his
request to the senate, and at last prevailed
in it, that the garrisons in these cities should
be no longer debtors to him, for a partial
but entire favor. The Isthmian games
were now renewed, and multitudes sat
crowded in the theatre to see the exercises;
for Greece, who of late days not only
found respite from war, and was in full possession
of peace, but entertained farther
hopes of regaining her liberty, made holiday
for it. As these were celebrating,
silence was commanded by sound of a trumpet,
and the cryer, stepping from amidst
the spectators; made proclamation, that
Titus Quintus, the proconsular general,
having vanquished king Philip and
the Macedonians, restored the Corinthians,
Locreans, Phoceans, Eubæans, Achæans,
Pthiotæans, Magnitians, Thessalians, and
Perribæans, to their own country, laws
and liberty; took off all impositions upon
them, and withdrew their garrisons
thence.” At the first, many heard not at
all, and others did not distinctly hear what
was said; but an odd kind of bustle and stir
there was in the theatre, some wondering,
some asking, some crying out to the cryer,
“Repeat that again, repeat that again.”
When therefore fresh silence was
made, the cryer raising his voice, his speech
The shout, which in that extacy of
joy they gave, was so incredibly great
that it was heard to sea. The people all
jumped upon their legs; there was no farther
regard to the diversions they came for,
but all fell a leaping and dancing, and
hugging one another; and all salute Titus
with the title of saviour and defender of
Greece. The strength there is in voices,
and the many relations we have of the
wonderful effects of it, were seen verified
upon this occasion: For the crows that
were then accidentally flying over the
stage, fell down dead upon the shout. For
the voices being numerous, and the acclamations
violent, and the parts of the air
separated from each other, they could no
longer give support to the birds, but let
them tumble; unless we should rather
imagine these crows to fall and die, shot
through with the noise as with a dart.”
Are the present inhabitants of that country
sensible of the value of liberty? They
are not. They are enslaved by the Ottoman
power. Could they be resuscitated
to a sense of this magic word; this extatic
sentiment, what would be their sensation?
What the acclamation? The Theban, the
Achean country would hear it, all Attica
and Corinthian seas would tremble.
Mount Olympus and Helicon would triumph.
The Gods on the one, and the
Muses on the other, would celebrate the
festival. But O! Poetic and philosophie
country, where my mind ranges every
day; whence I draw my best thoughts;
where I converse with the schools of wise
men, and solace myself with the company
of heroes, thou art lost in servitude, and
great must be the revolution that can extricate
thee thence.
Let me console myself with the prospect
of a nation, who, after more than a
thousand ages of barbarian conquest and
feudal tyranny, have emerged to liberty.
It is France I have in view. O glorious
people? Liberty descended not to you.
But it is your acquisition. You have broke
the fetters that enslave you, and tyranny
has been put under foot. The legislative
and judicial authority of your government
has been rendered independent of your
monarch, and the monarch reduced to a
simple executive power. Shall the sovereigns
of Europe conspire to reinstate him
in his absolute dominion? Shall they hope
to subdue a nation of brave men contending
for liberty: Why do the heathen rage
Sooner shall the clouds of the atmosphere
restrain the electric fluid, or the object
struck upon resist the electric shock: Sooner
shall the height of hills and the weight
of mountains repress the caverned air, and
earthquakes cease to burst, than the generous
flame of liberty in this enlightened
nation, can be extinguished and lost.
Noble nation, you do us too much honor
in saying that you drew from us the
inspiration of liberty. You drew it from
yourselves. The Montesquieus, the Rousseaus,
the Voltaires, the Abbe Raynalls
of your country. We felt the like spirit;
and resisted the British power, and were
aided by you in the conflict. May you
enjoy that liberty which you assisted us to
possess; may your example give that liberty
to surrounding kingdoms which you
yourselves enjoy. The mind contemplating
the subject is enlarged, and travels from
state to state, and from kingdom to kingdom
hailing the voice of liberty. It is not
in the nature of things that such a renovation
should take place at once. But the
day may not be far distant when Spain and
Sardinia, Sweden and Russia, Germany
and Poland may hear the voice of liberty;
when Turky in Europe, and the islands of
with an acclaim surpassing the Isthmean
voice, convulse the heavens with the impulse.
Pursuing the thought, what would be
the effect of such a resurrection of the
dead? The expression which I have incidently
used has given me a simile. It
would resemble the resuscitation of the
dead at the last day, when the inhabitants
of the earth recovering limbs and new bodies,
shall raise their voice. Great will
be their exultation; great their acclaim.
They will shout, and with an emulation
not unpleasing to the Almighty, struggle
to surpass his yet resounding trump itself.”
A copy of the preceding oration was
sent by me to the Abbe Gochin, with
whom I have been in habits of intimacy
these forty five years, and was by him
translated into elegant French. It was
the perusal of this that brought me acquainted
with the Jacobin clubs of that
kingdom, and induced Mr. Claviers to
make honorable mention of me at the bar
of the assembly.
The fact is, as may be seen from the
oration, I possess great versatility of stile,
and vast compass of sentiment and imagination.
Nature intended me for a writer,
and it has always been my ambition. How
where I have read histories, manners,
and anecdotes of Otway, Dryden,
and others, who have lived in the upper
stories of buildings, writing paragraphs,
or essays in prose or verse. I have lamented
my hard fate that I was not one of
these. Was I to go to London, of which
I have sometimes thought, my first object
would be to visit the aerial mansions of these
divine inhabitants. There is not a garret
where any of these have dwelt, or where
any of their descendents now dwells, that
I would not rummage to find papers, scraps
and remains, of what may be still there. I
would at any rate visit most of the present
men who live by their wits, and converse
with them, indulging that pleasure which
one takes in a consimilarity of genius.
It was on this principle that the last
time I was in the city of Philadelphia, I
made enquiry of the booksellers, if there
did not begin to be in that city some of
these garret people? I was told by Dobson
of a certain M`Comas, a Scotchman,
that had come over about two years ago,
and was in that way: that he had written
paragraphs for the gazettes, and occasionally
essays for the magazines; and that
he lived in such an alley, I forget the
for several weeks; and supposed he was
engaged in preparing some work for publication.
With the advantage of this hint,
setting out, I found the alley, and by description,
the house; when knocking at
the door, an old woman opened it, to
whom addressing myself, I enquired if Mr.
M`Comas, the author, did not live there?
He did live here, said the old lady, but
about two weeks ago he died, and left me
a quarter's rent unpaid, This is all a poor
woman gets by lousy authors and such
truck that keep writing night and day,
and biting their nails, and mumbling to
themselves, like witches or warlocks, that
I was frightened out of my wits many a
night, as he was tramping about in the
garret over my head and talking to himself.
I was struck with the undervaluing manner
in which this old lady spoke of the author,
and being in some passion, you old
jade said I, are you not sensible of the honor
done you in having a genius for your
tenant; a man that with a single stroke of
his pen could make you immortal. Ay
mortal, said she, I am a poor enough
mortal to want my quarter's rent, with
his writings and fangles; I would rather
have a person that would sit still, and hold
raving crazy brained creature like him,
that made more noise than the rats, and
was behind with his rent when he died,
not leaving a pair of breeches or an old
coat that would sell for the expence of
burying him. By this time I had a little
composed my mind, and suppressed my
resentment, and told her I would pay her
the quarter's rent for the honor of the
cloth, if she would give me leave to visit
the celestial mansion where the bard had
resided. Accordingly, depositing the
rent, which was two shillings and seven
pence, I was permitted to ascend or rather
climb up a ladder with broad steps of
plank, to the habitation which was the
second story, for it was a low building,
with two apartments, the one on the
lower, and the other on the upper flooring.
The roof was low, and did not permit
a tail man as I am, to stand upright
on my entrance. Looking about, by the
help of an opening in the weather-boarding
of the gable end, I discovered a few
papers, which I took to be manuscripts,
lying in a corner near a kind of stool, with
a board before it, nailed to the gable end,
on which he used to write, and making a
perquisite of these in lieu of my two shillings
have I any reason to repent of my visit,
or the sum paid, for amongst these I have
discovered some scraps of great merit, and
particularly a finished poem, of considerable
length, with the title of Cincinnatus,
in Hudibrastic verse; a kind of rhyme
of which I am fond. I shall not, therefore,
scruple here to insert the poem in
this introduction, as a specimen of what
this man's manner was.
I know it will immediately be surmised
by some, that the whole is a fiction, and
that I myself have written this poem, and
that the story of an author, &c. is an invention
to make it the more interesting to
the reader, and to keep myself out of
sight and behind the curtain; in the same
manner, as Cervantes, in his Don Quixotte,
pretends that his history is a translation
from a Moorish writer, Cid Hamed,
if I forget not; and the author of the Adventures
of a Guinea tells us of his tracing
the work to its repository in manuscript,
from a single sheet which he found, if I
remember right, wrapt round a pound of
pepper which he had bought at the shop of
a grocer. At any rate, though I may
not be accurate, as to the last circumstance,
yet I mean to say in general, that, as
to give them an air of truth and reality;
or to delight the reader by relating some
accidental manner of coming at what was
nearly lost, invent tales of finding shreds
and scraps of compositions, and thence
tracing to the source; or that by taking
lodgings that had been before occupied by
some poet or philosopher, they discover
in an old trunk, or elsewhere, the lucubrations
which they now offer to the public,
so I may be suspected of adopting a
common mode of introducing what I myself
have written; but the fact is as I
have stated. Indeed, upon the least reflection,
no one would suppose that I
could be the author of the poem; because,
though it is but a playful satire, and those
of the Cincinnati who are men of sense,
would only smile at the performance, yet
there are weak brethren, who might be
offended; and I should not wish to have
a sword run through my body, for all the
pleasure that a little mirth gives. But as
to the man that is dead, nothing can hurt
him; and therefore there can be no danger
in publishing what he wrote.
The scheme of the poem seems to be,
that of a member of the Cincinnati Society
with the badge at his breast coming into a
falling in with him occasionally, and
altercating with him respecting the demerits
of the institution, and the propriety of
the emblem which he wore. The introduction
is as follows.
CINCINNATUS.
A Poem.
With adversaries over seas,
And troops disbanded, it seem'd good,
To institute a brotherhood,
Among the chieftains of the war,
Of Cincinnati character,
Who now laid by their arms and came,
To seek an agricultural fame---
On territory they had sav'd;
For as together they had brav'd,
The toils of service, wish'd a tie,
At least upon the memory,
Of that companionship; hence 'twas,
The institution came to pass,
Of a society and badge.
At first it did provoke the rage,
Of several of the citizens,
Of a nobility of title;
And chevaliering here a little;
And hence, when one of these in's gate,
Came to a village of the state,
With badge dependant at his bosom,
It seem'd a singular rosy crozum,
And drew attention and surmise;
And every one that seem'd more wise,
Began discussion of th' affair.
A certain pedagogue was there,
Did first accost, and ask'd the rise,
And the intendment of device,
And why he wore a turkey there,
Effigies of a bird of the air,
And other such interrogatories.
The Cincinnat who heard the queries,
Explain'd the history of the club,
And effigy upon the bob;
Vidilicet, that having fought,
And put the adversar's to trot,
Retir'd from war, like Cincinnatus,
And were about to plant potatoes;
But first in memory of their warfare,
And individuals did most care for,
Had set up club and wore a badge.
And what bird have you in the cage,
Quoth pedagogue? is it a goose,
That you have chosen for your use?
Or a wild turkey or a swan?
Quoth he, I will not say you mean,
T' affront, and throw out with design,
This sarcasm on the badge we wear;
For 'tis an eagle of the air,
And emblematical of power,
As having dominion of the lower,
The fowls of the stack-yard and the grove;
And hence become the bird of Jove,
And is device upon the badge,
Which you and other fools with rage,
Decry and vilify and abuse,
As being without sense or use;
Because your ignorance is such,
You cannot comprehend it much,
The meaning of the hieroglyphic,
Or motto that is scientific,
Devis'd by scholars that were good,
And authors of similitude.
Quoth pedagogue, I own I saw
It had a bird's tail and a claw;
But never did so far encroach,
To look distinctly on the broach
Whether a grey goose or a drake,
That gives himself i' th' roost a shake,
But what resemblance is there here,
To him of Roman character;
Who wore no brochet at his button;
Or a remarkable escutcheon;
But when he quit the war and battle;
Without a goose-resembling bauble;
Or other bird or beast, could gabble,
A word of Latin or of Greek.
But what the phrase it seems to speak?
Relinquit omnia, servare
Rempublicam; by the lord Harry,
The Roman had not much to leave,
And would have laugh'd himself in's sleeve,
T' have had these words applied to him.
And you that are of modern time,
Were in the same predicament,
Before were to the warfare sent;
So that the point is not in this,
From whence eulogium takes its rise,
The having left a steer or two,
Or an old horse with which did plow;
But your returning to your place,
When armies had been sent to grass;
So that 'twere better you had made it,
Nunc victor ad aratrum redit:
Or some such phraseology,
Designating the eulogy,
Which really did belong to such,
As not ambitious over much,
Return'd from victory and war,
To till their ground, and take the care,
Of stock upon their farms; but wore,
No other ensign than before,
With barbarous Latin such as this,
Quoth Cincinnat, a great Quintilian,
You are, and have read books a million;
Can give a Latin word to teach us,
Which way the Romans pull'd up breeches;
Or how tobacco quid in cheek,
Was turn'd by the enlighten'd Greek;
You cough and grunt by syntax rules
Drawn from the prosody of schools;
But though I know not Cincinnatus,
Or other Roman that begat us,
The club nam'd after him is good
And I could shew it if I would;
But easier to dissolve the knot
By slitting nose or cutting throat;
Than talking about book or classic,
And reading till it makes the eyes ach;
For that my business is; this, yours;
Which sophistry, a hanger cures.
So say no more about the matter.
Meantime with ignorance and ill-nature,
There was a certain clergyman,
That took upon him to explain,
The meaning of the badge and use,
By reading history of the Jews;
Conceiv'd was an idolater,
That from the eastern climes came there
With native sparrow at his breast;
Or what else bird it was express'd;
Egyptian ibis or a stork,
In face of dictate that was given,
By decalogue that came from heaven,
Inhibiting the worshiping,
Of graven bird or beast or thing;
Or otherwise a great magician,
He was, and dangerous on the occasion;
For had a trinket of his own,
And abracadrabra writ thereon,
With some infernal spell or force,
Above a common Christian's powers.
The Cincinnat enrag'd to hear
Attack upon his character,
Addressed himself to the populace,
Were then assembled at the place.
Quoth he, though no great orator
Experience being more in war,
Yet sense of injury and wrong,
May loosen word-strings of my tongue;
Enable me to tell my tale
In way, perhaps, acceptable;
Especially as candour hears,
As is evinc'd by your drop'd ears.
For well aware that public lies,
Insinuation and surmise,
Had got the start of me, I fear'd,
I would not be with candour heard.
But to begin----'tis gone abroad,
That I have image of false god,
Hung at my breast; the effigy
Which idol grav'd in bit of gold,
Like the idolaters of old,
I worship, and put up a prayer,
Tho' but a wild fowl of the air.
The clergyman has given rise,
To this religious prejudice,
As natural to every mind,
To breed according to its kind;
But nothing more dissimilar,
Than that a soldier in the war,
Should worship God at all, or beast,
In effigy or shape express'd;
For seldom worship the true God,
Save when some danger comes the road;
Unless the swearing by the Lord,
Or zounds or zucks, or some such word,
May be accounted reverence,
Express'd to the Omnipotence;
And therefore much less probable
T' adore the visual beak or bill
Of this small eaglet that I wear.
As to idolatry am clear;
For though know nothing more about,
Religions that are set on foot
Than a grey goose; yet catholic,
Let all men worship till they're sick;
Nor interfere with church or psalm,
But be plain soldier as I am.
You that compose my audience,
And can with others set that right
Misrepresented by the wight,
And save my hard earn'd character,
And the good name I wish to bear.
There was a citizen just by,
Who listened to apology.
Quoth he it may not be the shape
Of bird or beast at which you gape,
For sake of reverence or of prayer;
But to distinguish what you are;
The only saviours of the cause;
It being not the truth; whereas
Are many others that have fought,
And taken the Hessians by the throat,
And may deserve more solid praise,
Than wearing that small thing of brass,
Unworthy even of you that chuse,
To have the ensign of the goose.
Is't not ridiculous that one,
Who in the service has been known,
As champion of a sober cause,
Which with it such advantage draws
As to secure our liberty,
And place the thirteen stripes on high
In this severe and ruggid clime,
Should turn his thoughts to such a whim
As savours of a ruder age,
When every light-head wore a badge;
And is no trophy or a spoil
But arbitrary honor made,
By some one of the brazier trade;
And is no special proof of worth;
There are so many to hold forth.
Pretension to the same device;
For the peculiar honor lies,
In being distinguish'd in desert.
Are you the only that merit,
In revolution brought about?
Or are there not amongst the croud,
Some others that have just pretence,
If not with sword, at least with brains,
To patriotism in the cause?
If not with arms they have withjaws
In councils of the several states,
Or by their writings in Gazettes,
Rebuff'd the British power and force
And militated with discourse;
And many who have spoke and wrote,
Have also on occasion fought.
And there are victims of the cause,
By operation of the laws;
In favor of the general good.
What think you of the multitude,
Reduc'd by fluctuating paper,
Estates vanishing like vapour,
And brought to beggary and loss:
For take the people in the gross,
And all have suffer'd more or less;
At least a bit of lead or pewter,
As their deservings are minuter,
And institute a club or so,
For what they did against the foe,
In their particular grades and places;
So that the multitude increases,
To an infinity of badges;
The honorary rights and wages,
Of the whole bulk of citizens.
In this there was but little sense,
To which the Cincinnat replied,
As having more reason on his side.
Quoth he, it is a small affair,
If at the period of the war,
We instituted this our club,
To recreate us after rub,
And wear a badge which some arraign
As visionary toy, and vain;
But is not fancy that supplies,
One half of things which are our choice;
And all beyond the dress and food,
Is but imaginary good?
The cut, the colour of the garb
Distinguishing the Jew from Ar'b;
And all kinds of appendages,
Of different tribes and nations dress
Have their foundation in caprice;
Not from necessity take rise.
The savages that are untaught
And nature sanctions the pursuit
By giving feathers to the brute.
The badge we wear is not a charm
Of Physical or moral harm;
But forcibly doth operate,
And in the human mind create
A love of fame and dignity,
By having this before the eye;
As, in the British isle, a star
And Garter, is reward of war;
And the St, Louis cross in France,
In other places like advance:
It is a small thing if from toil,
Of summers sun and winters soil,
Deficient in the stipend due,
We wear a thing distinct from you,
A trifling signet of our own,
Shall scarcely cost us half a crown,
Is there a law against the usage,
Proscribing it as a surplussage;
So that a writ of capias corpus
Can have the virtue to disturb us,
If there is neither rule of nature,
Or jurisprudence that can deter,
Why not just let the things go on,
In the same channel 'tis begun?
For though not great the excellence,
Yet have there not been men of sense
Among the Romans and the Greeks,
A bull or button at the breast;
Or elsewhere, that has well express'd,
The signal honor they had won,
By keeping adversaries down;
Or saving citizen at least;
And yet the thing not made a jest,
By persons that have talk'd like you?
Quoth citizen, it may be true;
And also in the modern days,
There have been found out many ways,
To tickle fancies of the fools.
There scarcely is a king but gulls,
His courtiers with appendages,
(At least when he is moneyless)
Of title, or some silly badge
With which they dance like birds in cage,
Proud of a feather that is red,
Or blue, because they take't in head,
It does them honor with the prince;
But here we have a little sense,
In these United States, and hate,
Such phantasy of a wrong pate;
And wish t' have merit of our own,
And not a mark to make it known,
Hung up like sign at tavern door,
Or barber's pole your nose before,
Evincing what there is within,
You could not other ways divine.
Besides why do you quote the Greeks,
There is a difference in the case;
For there, the people's suffrages,
Bestow'd the honor that was worn;
But here it would not serve your turn,
But you yourselves assum'd device.
Quoth Cincinnat, 'tis all damn'd lies;
We took it up, 'tis true, but yet,
It may be said the gift of the state,
Because the honor was our right,
And by deserving we came by 't.
Be that as't may the thing is safe,
And well befitting to the brave;
Quite innocent in name and nature;
Nor works a harm to single creature,
Is neither error, nor a sin,
T' offend a layman or divine.
At this the clergyman spoke out,
Who still was standing in the croud.
Quoth he, have said, and say it again
The thing is heathenish and vain,
And wearer an idolater,
Of whom there is just cause to fear,
Being some false prophet come to light
As is laid down in sacred writ,
That fell deceivers would arise,
In latter times to blind our eyes,
And draw us from the truth we hold;
For as to that same bit of gold,
What use? unless simbolical,
With rhyme that is engrav'd thereon?
If the mythology was known,
It might be found it was that gog,---
And magog that has lain incog,
So long in the apocalypse;
And now emerging from eclipse,
Has risen in such shape to men.
The Cincinnat to him again:
Quoth he, it ill becomes a priest,
To travel from his sphere, and jest,
About this trinket that I wear;
Against it roaring like a bear,
Who should be reasoning with the jew,
Wherever he can find a clue;
Or with the infidel, about,
The devil's horns and cloven foot.
Is this the knowledge that you gather,
From every old and half dead father,
As Chrystostom or Poly-carp,
Who on a different string did harp;
From you, about our institutions,
Instead of prayers and absolutions,
And teaching from the catechism,
The origin of faith and schism:
Which is unnatural and absurd,
Deserves to be chastis'd and cur'd?
For have you not an ample scope;
Or as we say, enough of rope,
To vent your rage and crudities,
Of fools that are propense to evil,
And lay the fault upon the devil,
As if he were a Jack o' lantern,
In every whole and corner sauntering,
Who never yet was out of hell,
Or knew a single syllable,
About the matter laid t' his charge,
In pulpit oratory at large?
I'st not enough to split your text:
(Till every hearer's heart is vex'd)
In forks and branches multiple,
And firstlies, and so-forths at ill,
With heads and horns of Daniel's ram,
That in the prophet's vision came;
Or bring a sermon out of what
Has scarce the semblance of a thought,
By twisting, turning, proper phrase;
Or cloathing pristine nakedness,
With commentaries of the brain,
Which no man else could find therein?
And have you not interminable,
Career to run as fast as able,
Through all the systems of the faith,
And variations that it hath,
Drawn from theology of schools,
Or self-born of the preachers skulls,
And built upon the abstract base;
Which was originally much less:
For so extensive is the flood,
A man may souse therein and toss,
Just as in ocean would a goose,
And find no shore or bottom out
Of doctrines that are set on foot?
Why then necessity to stretch,
Your legs upon us at a fetch,
As if you had not room at home
To canter on your hypodrome,
But must inveigh against what is
But a mere symbol and device,
And has no moral turpitude;
Or meaning that is bad or good,
Save just to shew the club we're of?
Quoth preacher, it is well enough
To put that face upon the matter,
To keep the world from knowing better,
Lest it should do your club a damage.
But is it not an molten image
Which the commandment hath forbidden?
Quoth Cincinnat, are so priest-ridden
That common sense has little place.
It may be molten, to use phrase,
But what of that, if not the use
Is a new god to introduce,
And worship semblance of a beast,
Or bird that is upon the crest?
It cannot give offence to Moses,
Or hurt the decalogu's-proboscis,
Or you that are conservators,
So that it is unnecessary,
To make our club your adversary
By thus misconstruing the badge,
By inuendoes that engage
The rabble to have prejudice.
Quoth clergyman the matter lies
Just here; the pagan deities,
False gods in Egypt or elsewhere
Did under some such shape appear;
And even we read amongst the Jews
They fell sometimes to this abuse;
But chiefly worship'd calves and stocks;
For which were given them sore rebukes.
But paganism worship'd fowls,
Eagles and pigeons and vile owls,
Which you would imitate by this
A sample of idolatries, ---
And whoredom people did commit,
And sins of the flesh in holy writ;
And hence were banish'd from the earth
Which gave the several nations birth.
Of Canaanites and after them,
The Philistines that err'd the same;
The Romans, Greeks, and other pagans,
That had their astharoths, and dagons
And worship'd bulls, and goats and heifers;
And were your oracle believers;
Whichbrought the curse of God upon them:
And hence it is that there is no man,
For that which workmen did engrave,
But fears a judgment for the sin,
And wickedness that is there in;
So that I preach and pray and fast---
Quoth Cincinat, not much of the last;
At least may spare it, and take food,
As prayers can do but little good;
And all your exhortation, is
A rhapsode of absurdities,
To make the simple people stare,
About this wild fowl of the air.
But as you seem to be a fool,
The best way is to crack your skull
And let in light to give you sense
And make your soul like other mens;
Removing this enthusiasm,
That turns your brain to Jewishism.
With that he drew as if to strike;
But one among the people, quick,
Who was a great philosoper,
Though yet had made but little stir,
Put by the blow, and thus bespoke;
Quoth he, your hot-born rage revoke,
Nor draw your sword upon the cloth,
Because you are a little wroth;
And without reason or just cause,
what has been thrown out; whereas,
It is a general allegation,
And turns upon the whole profession
It easily bears it, in this case,
And is not personal alone,
To you on whom the thing is thrown;
And when a number are to bear
The ignominy of the affair,
It is as nothing to the whole.
Have you Don Quixotte in your skull,
And yet not recollect the speech,
He made t' a town within his reach,
Which had conceiv'd offence, because
His Sancho braying like an ass;
At which he was not any slouch;
Did seem to say they were just such?
He tells them that no words can strike
Or hurt a body politic,
Because the offence has no just base
Of individual in the case.
Are not the learn'd professions known
To be just string to harp upon?
We say that lawyers are all rogues,
And preacher, that he but humbugs;
And of physician, that he kills;
More than he cures, with his damn'd pills,
And yet we have not on our backs,
The whole of these like pedlars packs;
For the physician, lawyer, priest,
I aughs at the matter, as a jest.
Why, then enrag'd, at any one,
For obloquy, that he has thrown,
To raise a laugh among the boors'
Do they who write your worst of satires,
And ironies and all such matters,
Possess a temper worse than others,
Drawn from the nature of their mothers;
Or just to shew their wit, at times,
They scratch out paragraphs and rhymes;
Attack the elergy, or the bar;
Or with hypocrates make war;
Or chuse a country, or a town
To be the subject of lampoon;
Who laugh and read the ridicule;
And only but a natural fool,
Would take in head to fight or fence;
Or 'gainst the slander break his shins.
But where there may be some just base,
Of obloquy, in any case,
It more behooves to bear, as here,
Where though the matter may be clear,
You have a right to wear what badge,
You choose; yet, there are who alledge,
It is a trespass to break heads;
For though the man is pleas'd who reads,
The history of atchievment, yet,
Not him who feels the blow on's pate.
Unseasonable chivalry,
Does not with modern times agree;
Where law takes place of ancient prow'ss,
puts a stop to the abuse,
Or giants that have broke a house;
So that it is unnecessary;
To eudgel any adversary,
Especially a clergyman,
Who has his priviledge: again,----
Inglorious to make war with such,
Not having honor very much,
Of victory, when it is obtain'd.----
There was a corporal by, hot-brain'd;
Who had been in the war, and fought;
But no bald eagle, yet had got;
Or was a partner of the club,
Which military had set up;
And took it much amiss that those,
Who equally had fac'd the foes,
Unworthily, were left i' the lurch,
To stand the back side of the porch,
And though, were also at the mustering;
Yet had not at the breast, or postern,
A thing, significant of this----
For his part, he was wounded thrice,
While that same officer that spoke,
Had scarcely ever seen the smoke.
But since he was so hot to fight,
With clergyman, no man of might,
Had better turn to him a soldier,
Would make his blood a little colder;
And ease him of intemperate passion;
Because the clergyman had reason,
The Cincinnat that left no fame,
To th' common soldier, and the sergeant,
But of their own accord, took charge on't;
And wore this honor as their own,
Appropriate to themselves alone.
The Cincinnat, who heard this, spoke.
Quoth he, whether, in, or, out of smoke;
Or where, the bullets flew, or fell;
And men, and muskets, fought like hell;
No matter, to an officer,
Who only has a right to wear,
The emblem of the victory;
Because there must be low and high;
And what is better born and bread,
'Tis reasonable should be the head.
For what our nature makes the foot,
Doth, in the inferior station trot.
As, in this very body of ours,
We do not go, upon all fours;
So, it is reasonable, there should,
Be a distinction of the brood;
And those who have but little sense
And lower quality of brains,
Should occupy a sphere beneath.
Is not the officer the head?
When we gave orders you obey'd,
So that 'tis proper you possess
But the inferior grade and place;
And have no badge or institution.
Quoth he, have just as good a right,
As you, though thus you did come by't
To take to ourselves and wear a badge.
The Cincinnat felt greater rage.
Quoth he, forsooth, because you fought,
Where battle was a little hot,
You claim the privilege with us,
To be o' th' inside of the house,
To have insignia at your breast!
As well might an irrational beast,
The horse that draws artillery gun,
Or soldier had to ride upon,
Put in for heraldry, because,
Has sometimes been where dancer was.
What would you think to see a ribbon
Or badge, hung at his tail, or hipbone!
A burlesque on your appetite,
To have this matter made so light,
Which were a proper ridicule
When such a Teague O'Regan fool
As you, would claim the establishment.
The corporal's anger which was pent
Broke out.---It was not proof of sense,
Or other quality of brains,
Quoth he, that fabricated one,
An officer, and let alone,
The other, that was just as good;
But Congress, that was in the mood;
For, had a comrade, in my hut,
Of many that were officers,
Who had as little sense as bears---
And yet forsooth poor soldier dick,
May wish for honor, till he's sick,
And get no knob, or bit of ribbon,
Hung at his bosom, or his hipbone,
As many of the codheads have,
Who did not shew themselves so brave,
In any battle that was fought.
At this, the Cincinnat, red hot,
Drew out his hanger, to shed blood,
And hew down corporal, as he stood:
But thought it best, t' accost him first,
Before the matter came to th' worst.
As Homer, when he wages battle,
Between two of heroic cattle,
He has a parly, and a speech,
To know each other, which is which;
And, of what origin, they were;
And, how the devil, they came there:
Because, whoknows, but they were cousins?
So should not cut each others weazons;
But, turn to other combatants:
And even in the time of giants,
And champions, throughout christendom,
Before they, hand to hand, did come,
And actual clashing of the swords,
'Twas not unusual to have words;
Though what was usual to be said,
But do, remember, very well,---
What from our Cincinnatus fell,
“Quoth he, if, so preposterous,
T' have also what they call a goose,
Is your ambition, why not take,
God's name, and hang it at your neck;
Or at your breech, or back, or bosom;
Or like a turkey-cock, at nose o' 'im?
Some wooden peg, or pewter noggin,
To wear it as you are a joging;
Or copper ball, or piece of metal
Inferior, for the common cattle;
With something on it like a bird
Or sign of poultry; whence infer'd,
That you have rob'd hen-roosts, you rogue
Or stole a duck or drake incog;
When rations were a little scarce,
This seem'd to make the thing a farce;
And a militia man just by,
Who listen'd t' him attentively,
Was angry, and began to frown,
To see the soldier so run down.
Quoth he, though but a common rat,
I am, and you a Cincinnat.
Great captain, that have spoke so loud,
In your haranguing to the croud;
And, though I know the soldier would
Much rather have a fowl for food,
And eat the wing or rib of a goose,
Yet take a part in his defence,
Because he speaks the better sense;
And undervaluing, you throughout
Hits me, and others in the croud,
Who being but militia persons,
Who in the war have made exertions
Yet have no right to wear the badge,
As indirectly you alledge,
By title and the club assum'd---
By this time common fame had drum'd
The like ideas every where,
Amongst the people that were there,
With such exaggeration, as---
Is natural in the like case;
Videlicet, that the prognatus
Who then was there of Cincinnatus
Had ridicul'd all common people;
And blackguarded them like the devil,
Calling them all scrubs and bodkins,
And habberdashers, and such odd things:
How, that they ran away at York,
And left the regulars at the work;
And fled at Germantown and broke,
Whilst they were busy in the smoke:
At other places turn'd about,
And scarcely ever shew'd their snout,
Where there was danger, or hot fire.
One of the people that was nigher,
Became the spokesman of the rest;
Quoth he, no doubt, we are but goats
And scarce above the beast that trots,
Compar'd with you, in what was done,
And services, you son of a gun;
Tag-rag and bob-tail, doubtless, are
Compar'd with vet'ran officer:
Because we have not at our bosom
That thing of yours, a rosy crozum;
Are not embellish'd with a broach,
At head or neck, or breast, or crotch;
A Latin motto or an ensign,
Our toils, or services evincing;
Being but a vulgar sort of whigs,
That in the marches danc'd our jigs;
Nor help'd at Trenton to take Hessians;
Or fought like you, on other occasions;
Or at the Cowpens, made good battle;
And so are but a common cattle;
And you alone sustain'd the cause,
While we like bears at home suck'd paws;
And cannot now advance a claim,
To hieroglyphic of your same.
Quoth Cincinnat, the charge is false,
And of the nature of all tales,
Which contradict, and shew by proof,
Intrinsical, what they are of.
What? an American, by birth,
Degrade the military worth,
And lessen the applause,
Of those who fought, in front, or flank,
In regular, or militia rank.
My sentiments are the reverse;
And never had in view t' asperse
The signal honor you have won,
In order to advance my own.
These words had reason, but his voice
Was wholly buried in the noise;
And as the clamour was, to beat
And chastise, this our Cincinnat,
His words could not restrain the mob,
Or check the violence of hubbub.
For where a multitude convenes
To carry on some hot designs,
They must do something, or seem slack,
Of skill and courage, for the attack.
So rushing discompos'd, the throng,
Brought violence, and blows along:
Here one uprais'd a ponderous stone;
Another got an old horse bone;
Elsewhere, was seen, a block of wood,
Portending to the knight no good;
And all around, the face of war
Appear'd, just gathering, in the air.
Say, shall he wage an equal fight;
And wound whole ranks, and kill outright;
Like val'rous Hector, at the siege,
Of Troy, compose a perfect bridge,
Of bodies, upon which to tread,
Or mow a whole battalion down,
Like Ajax, son of Telamon;
Construct a rampart of the slain;
And strew with carcases the plain?
Or shall I bid him jump among,
The individuals of the throng;
Like Alexander when half crazy
He leapt the walls of Oxcydracy?
Or shall I render him expert
The various wiles of war t' exert;
And now give way, and now advance,
And spit a parcel on his lance?
Shall I describe a various fray,
And change the fortune of the day;
Now on the verge of a defeat;
And now, in turn, advantage get;
One while broke down, like very stubble;
Now rise, and give the foe more trouble?
What wounds shall specify; what heart,
Oppress with javelin or dart?
What names relate, and characters
Of those who rag'd this day like bears?
I wave the arduous task of this;
Because narration would be lies;
For, just the naked truth express'd,
In history, is always best.
Hence shall relate what came to pass;
And how the issue really was;
Videlicet---but here again,
To bring Minerva, from the clouds,
Down sliding through aerial shrouds;
To make her vet'ran champion wise,
And teach him that no honor lies
In waging battle, where the chance,
Of war, between the combatants,
Is so unequal, as this was;
For, had no head piece, made of brass;
Or iron, adamant, or wood;
And let him do the best he could;
Yet still, the number, and the weight,
Of blows, that must assail the pate,
Would overpower his best defence,
And wound him, or knock out his brains.
'Twas no Minerva, or a God,
From dome celestial, or abode,
But, his own reason, play'd the part,
And put discretion in his heart.
For, seeing that the wild misrule,
Of mob, as raging to the full,
As pedlars at an Ulster fair,
With their shilelahs, swung in air,
Left him no hope of victory,
He thought the best way was to fly,
And without waiting for the blows,
He turn'd the corner of a house;
Escaping from the rioters:
As when a morning shadow stirs,
And hides itself behind a wood,
Pursuing, with his rising heat,
The thing that is not adequate,
To give him battle, and withstand
The numerous beams he has at hand:
To overpower it on the plains,
And maul it, and knock out its brains.
Retir'd, and to a tavern got,
Where such disturbance there was not;
Fatigu'd with what had sung and said,
Now on a sofa laid his head;
Because he did not wish to trudge.
God Morpheus who does not begrudge
A dream, lent one to keep him quiet.
He saw a plain, and there espied,
The champions of the former period,
And airy coursers, on which they rode:
The cavalcade of ancient knight-hood?
A shew would do the very sight good;
Such, as the monsters, had knock'd down;
And dwarfs, and giants, overthrown;
And fiery dragons of the air;
And pale-fac'd virgins that were there;
Whom they had rescued from the grasp,
Of ravishers that did enclasp
Their snowy bodies, in their arms;
And drank the lustre of their charms;
Or knights themselves, who had been freed,
From oaken durance, where were tree'd;
Or bound in rocks, where by a spell,
The Cincinnat approach'd the throng,
Who beckon'd him to come along;
As recognizing his advance,
To be that of no common man's;
But one who came to join the squad,
By that same baublet that he had;
With ensign of the eagle's beak,
And motto in th' original Greek
Or Latin, knew not which it was:
For things had come to such a pass,
When these knights flourish'd, devil a one,
Had such a thing as learning known;
But all depended on their slashing,
For fame, and for diurnal ration;
And cut and carv'd their sustenance,
By force of vig'rous arm and lance.
The Cincinnat address'd as ought,
With chosen words and select thought.
Quoth he, my seniors, in the art,
Of chevalry's great master part;
You see me, of a junior breed;
A germ, sprung from the self same seed,
Of predecessors in romance,
And orders that did flourish once;
Profession now degenerate,
Reduc'd to the very lowest state;
For even the Cincinnati club
Which imitative is set up,
Is much traduce'd, and badge do wear
Particularly a pedagogue,
And clergyman that is in vogue,
And other cavilers, just now
I met with in a town came through;
Do lead astray the populace,
Who have no judgment in the case.
A senior from the squad step'd forth,
Of a superior mein, and worth:
Quoth he, the more the degration,
Of chivalry, the more occasion,
For an exertion of the brain,
To kindle up the thing again;
And doubtless this same club of yours,
Has, as't were added boots and spurs,
To bring it to a trot once more
And restorate the days of yore.
And, if discouragements arise,
In this the greater honor lies,
To overcome and persevere.
'Tis true, no dragons of the air,
Or fiery vultures do occur,
T' encounter with, and make a stir;
Or damsels ravish'd in a wood;
Or giant to let out his blood:
Or an inchanter with his spell;
But yet there is the devil in hell
To pay with other villainies,
That in your modern days take rise
Such as false notions of the right,
T' arraign with free born thought and speech
And tell the people which is which;
And no less courage is requir'd,
To speak the truth with which are fir'd;
Than to knock down a cow at grass,
Or monster that did come to pass.
Meantime a message had been sent
By Charlemagne to call from tent,
By trumpeter, the several orders,
That lay upon th' enchanted borders,
Our hero look'd to see where was,
Old Cincinnatus in the case.
In vain, for, in elysium hous'd,
His mettle had not yet be rous'd;
But mixed, with the ignoble shades,
Did wander, idly in the glades;
And as in life, had been a plowman,
And wore no badge, or dress uncommon;
So now he troubles not his herd,
With these; but walks among the dead,
The Romans, or obscurer Greeks;
That wore no pendle at their necks.
At this the Cincinnat below,
Awaking as some one came through,
Saw nothing but the standing chairs,
And landlord coming down the stairs.
It would seem a little strange, what
could have induced this bard, to have made
choice of the preceding subject for his poem,
as not being an American; or at least,
long in America; and could not be much
interested, one would think, in the institution
of the Cincinnati Society. But it is
to be observed, that poets, chuse a subject,
and ridicule, or praise, not because they
care any thing about the matter; but because
there may be some novelty or originality
in the subject; and, so, what they
write, not altogether beaten and common.
It may be also just to observe, that foreigners
were more alarmed at the institution
of the society than Americans, and
for this reason, because, they saw at home
the orders of nobility with stars, garters,
crosses, &c. and felt the weight of superior
rank, of which these were sometimes
the badges: and transferring the idea to
the Cincinnati, they considered them in
the same point of view. Hence, it was,
that Mirabeau, in France, was led to
compose a treatise against the institution,
shewing it to be, as he conceived, unfavorable
to equality, and dangerous to the
liberty of these states. Burke has been
the only American that has written, professedly,
on the tendency of this club:
must have been, originally, an Irishman;
and had conceived, in that country, an
unfavorable idea of titled persons, Sir
this, and Sir that one, &c. Probably
he has been of the Hearts of Oak, or
White Boys, who were of a levelling
principle, and opposed to all elevation
from the common mass.
For my part, I could never see that it
was of any consequence whether this institution
existed or not. For it must naturally
evaporate in a few years, the spirit
of the times being wholly changed, from
what it was in the days of chivalry, and
not capable of supporting an excrescene
which has no natural root, or foundation
in the opinion of the people.
The public may think what it will of
this little work of the unfortunate Scotchman;
but it appears to me, to have the
vivida vis, animi, in a very great degree;
and the versification, though careless, is
spirited. The brokenness and disjointings
of the verses, one line running into, and
interlaced with another, carries it beyond
the monotous, though perhaps, more musical
imitators of Butler: amongst whom,
Trumbull, of Connecticut, easily deserves
the first place; yet though in his similies,
he may surpass the Cincinnatus of M`Comas;
nevertheless I must give the Scotch
bard the praise of greater variety in the
structure of his verses. I should have been
glad to have seen him before his exit. I
have no doubt, that want of food, reducing
him to great weakness, together with pain of
mind from his desolate situation, in a new
country, where there were but few in the
same line with himself, with whom he
could share his joys, or communicate his
griefs, might hasten the dissolution of his
frame, prematurely. For, from what I
have collected of the mode of life and private
history, in general, of bards, and
those who live by their wits, in old countries,
I can easily conceive the pleasure
which they have with each other, when,
after a fortunate paragraph with one, or
a copy of verses with another, they collect
a few shillings, and after starving several
days in the garrets while they had
been writing these, they now come together,
in an evening, to break their fast,
with a few tripes, and a little ale, to exhilirate
their hearts.
Peace to the manes of M`Comas. He lies
buried in the Potter's-field; with a single
stone at his head, which I myself, though
with this inscription on it, and nothing
more, Sanders M`Comas. I hope there
will be no mistake, in future times, reading
it M`Comus, instead of M`Comas:
because, it might be thought, to be a composition
of the name of the god of wit
among the Romans, which was Comus,
with the word Mac, put to it, which is a
Scoth adjective, which would puzzle antiquarians,
and be unintelligible: for the
fact is, he was a Scotchman, and his name
spelled, as I have written it.
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