 | Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques |  |
REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.
PREPARED BY JOHN PHŒNIX.
Life and Times of Joseph Bowers the Elder. Collated from
Unpublished Papers of the Late John P. Squibob. By
J. Bowers, Jr. Vallecitos: Hyde & Seekim, 1854.
Many of your readers will doubtless remember to have been
occasionally mystified, when, struck by the remarkable beauty
of some passing female stranger, or by the flashes of wit
sparkling from the lips of some gentlemanly unknown, on
making the inquiry, “Who is that?” the reply has been given,
`Oh that is one of old Joe Bowers' girls,” or boys, as the
case may have been; and they will also remember that when
about to propound the naturally succeeding question, “Who
is Old Joe Bowers?” they have been deterred from so doing,
by a peculiar smile, and an indefinable glance of the eye, approximating
to what is vulgarly termed a wink, on the part
of their informant.
Such persons, and indeed all who seek to improve their
minds by indulging a wholesome curiosity as to the private
history of the good and great of earth, will be glad to hear
that this question of “Who is Joseph Bowers?” is about to
be definitely answered.
Through the kindness of Messrs. Hyde and Seekim of Vallecitos,
we have been permitted to glance over the proof-sheets
of their forthcoming work, the title of which is given above,
and to make therefrom such selections as we may deem sufficient
to interest the public in promoting the filial design of
the younger Bowers, to transmit the name and virtues of his
honored sire to posterity.
Joseph Bowers the elder (or as he is familiarly known,
“Old Joe Bowers”), we learn from this history, was born
in Ypsilanti, Washtenaw county, Michigan, on the first day
of April, 1776, of “poor but honest parents.” His father,
during the troubles of the revolutionary struggle, was engaged
in business as a malefactor in western New York, from
which part of the country he was compelled to emigrate, by
the prejudices and annoyances of the bigoted settlers among
whom he had for many years conducted his operations. Emigrating
suddenly, in fact “with such precipitation,” says the
narrator, “that my grandfather took nothing with him of his
large property, but a single shirt, which he happened to have
about him at the time he formed his resolution,” he found
himself after a journey of several days, of vicissitude and suffering,
upon the summit of a hill overlooking a beautiful valley
in the fertile State of Michigan. Struck by the beauty
enthusiasm, and cracking his heels twice together while in
the air (“by which” says the narrator, with much naïveté,
“my grandfather didn't mean anything, it was just a way
he'd got”), he uttered the stirring cry of “Yip!—silanti!”
from which memorable circumstance the place thereafter took
its name. Here he finally settled, and marrying afterward a
young lady whom the author somewhat obscurely speaks of
as “one of 'em,” had issue, the subject of this narrative, and
finally ended his career of usefulness, by falling from a cart
in which he had been standing, addressing a numerous audience,
and in which fall he unfortunately broke his neck.
Our limits will not permit us at present to do more than
glance hastily over the stirring incidents in the life of the
elder Bowers. He appears to have been connected in some
way with almost every prominent event of the times in which
he lived. We find him a servant and afterwards a confidential
friend and adviser of Gen. Cass; consulted on matters
of religion by Gen. Jackson; an admirer of one of Col. Dick
Johnson's daughters (by the way it was Bowers who slew
Tecumseh!), an ardent admirer and intimate friend of Mr.
Tyler; Gen. Pillow's military adviser; special messenger
from Mr. Polk to Santa Anna; professional adviser of Mr.
Corwin in the matter of the Gardner Claim; the first to
nominate Mr. Pierce for the Presidency, and after his arrival
in California, the agent of Limantour; friend and Secretary
of Pio Pico; adviser of Walker; amanuensis for Peck;
owner of a great part of the extended Water Front of San
on Long Wharf, with a Branch in Washington street. His
literary labors and success have been great; few of your
readers but have seen his signature (Anon.) in Newspapers,
Magazines, the New Reader and First Class Books; he has
edited several of our City papers, and we add it in a whisper,
is
The author of Idealina.
We may hereafter revert to these incidents in his eventful
life; at present, as we before remarked, our limits forbid
our enlarging upon them, as we wish to make room for a few
extracts from the work, which, exhibiting the great man's
manner of thought and expression, will do more toward giving
our readers an insight into his character, than would
pages of his biography,—we quote from p. 45, vol. 1:
“My father had been much annoyed by reading certain letters
from New York to the Alta California, signed `W.' The
plagiarisms and egotistic remarks of which they were made up
disgusted him. They remind me, he said—expectorating upon the
carpet, a habit he had when much offended—of the back of a
lady's dress; they are all hooks and I's. I ventured to ask him,
why he did not reply to them? Sir, said he, making a beautiful
adaptation that I have never heard equalled, `Where impudence
is wit, 'tis folly to reply!”'
Comment is unnecessary; let us proceed, p. 47, vol. 1.
“On arriving at Nevada, we unsaddled and turned out our
horses, and taking our saddles and blankets beneath our arms, repaired
journey, and hastened to throw himself into the first chair that
offered. As he did so, I thoughtlessly drew the chair from under
him, and much to my sorrow and chagrin he fell with great violence
upon the floor. The shock with which he came down discomposed
him not a little, and a paper of pump tacks which had
fallen from the table and scattered over the floor exactly where
he was seated, materially increased his uneasiness.
“I shall not soon forget his indignant reproof. `Joseph, my
son,' said he, `never, never again attempt a practical joke; it is
a false, unfeeling, traitorous amusement. Remember, sir,' said
he, as he painfully rose, and reached to the table for a small claw
hammer to draw the tacks, `remember the fate of the first practical
joker and profit thereby;' I ventured humbly to ask him
who this was; `Judas Iscariot,' he replied with bitterness, `he
sold his master, and you know well what came of it.' I was
overpowered with remorse.”
This is very affecting. On p. 49, we find the following:
“We were much disturbed during the night by the hoarse
braying of a donkey in the stable-yard. I remarked to my father
that he (the donkey) was suffering with a bronchial complaint;
and on his inquiring why, replied, that he had an ass-ma, subsequently
explaining the intended play upon the word asthma.
Upon comprehending with some difficulty my meaning, my father
immediately rose, and taking his blanket, in indignant silence
left the room and the house, passing the night, as I afterwards
learned, in angry meditation beneath a tree in the Plaza.”
Very properly we think. The following is rather amusing,
p. 108, vol. 1:
“After his second interview with Senator Peck, I endeavored
to learn from my father the result of his proposal. `Peck talks
going to do; or to what side he belongs. In fact I begin to believe
he is all talk and no cider!”'
Precisely the opinion expressed by a number of others.
Turning back to page 82, vol. 1, we find the following:
“I turned to my father and asked him why it was that women
were so frequently robbed by pick-pockets, in public carriages;
`they must,' I observed, `be conscious that the rogues are feeling
about them.' `Yes,' he replied, `but `a fellow feeling makes
them wondrous kind.” I was struck by the force of this remark.”
Probably. Thus much for young Joe. On taking up the
second volume, we find it mainly filled with incidents in the
life of the elder Bowers, from the pen of the lamented J. P.
Squibob, who, it appears, during his life, contemplated getting
up, himself, the work which young Bowers has completed.
We make a few extracts in which the style of the lamented
S. will be readily recognized.
“`No man,' said Bowers, sententiously, `should indulge in
more than one bad habit at a time. If I am a drunkard, it is no
reason why I should ruin my character by gambling or licentionsness;
or, if I love the ladies inordinately,' and here the old fellow
looked indescribably waggish, `why should I add to the
enormity by indulging also in cards and liquor? No,' added he,
`one bad habit is enough for any man to indulge in.”'
“`And why, Mr. Bowers,' said Jones, `have you given up
smoking?'
“`Because I chews,' replied the old fellow, with a quiet
chuckle, `and therein I carry out my principle.”
“Jones pondered a minute, but he couldn't `see it,' and shaking
his head musingly, he slowly dispersed.”
—p. 19.
Mr. Bowers mentioned to me as deserving the commiseration
of the charitable and benevolent, the distressing case of
a journeyman shoemaker who had lost his little awl.—p. 31,
vol. 2.
The following smacks, to us, slightly of “Jeems:”
“It was on a lovely morning in the sweet spring time, when
`two horsemen might have been seen' slowly descending one of
the gentle acclivities that environ the picturesque village of San
Diego. It was a bright and a sunny day, and the shrubbery and
trees around were alive with the harmonious warbling of the
feathered songsters of the grove. `And oh!' sighed the younger
of the twain, `would that my existence might be like that of
these fair birds—one constant, unwearying dream of love.'
`Aye,' responded the elder, a man of years and of experience,
known to the readers of this history as Joseph Bowers the elder,
`Aye, my brave youth, they are indeed a happy race, and the
spring is to them their happiest season, for they are now engaged
in pairing.'
“`And where, my father,' inquired the curious youth, `do
they go to pair?'
“`Up into the pear-trees, probably,' rejoined old Joe, with a
quaint smile.
“The son, with the air of one who has acquired a curious and
useful piece of information, rode quietly on, and the silence that
ensued was unbroken, but by his asking his parent for the
tobacco, until they arrived at the village.”
—p. 47.
Young Bowers was reading to the author of his existence,
some passages from Lickspittle's life of General Pierce, of
whom (the general, not the author) old Joe is a great admirer.
General in bestowing a cent upon a forlorn boy to enable him
to purchase candy like his playmates, Bowers commanded his
offspring to pause. Young Joe reverently obeyed.
“`The General,' said Joseph dogmatically, `should never have
mentioned that circumstance, never.”
“`And why, my father?' asked his son.
“`Because,' replied the philosopher, `Silence gives a cent, or
I've read my Bible to very little purpose.'
“And acknowledging the application of Scripture by a concurring
nod, young Joe resumed his literary labors, and his father
the pipe, which he had withdrawn for the enunciation of his
sentiments.”
—p. 81, vol. 2.
With the following exquisite morceau from the pen of old
Joe Bowers himself, it being the commencement of a tale,
which concludes the book, we must conclude our extracts.
The tale is entitled “The Dum Filly of Arkansas, or
Thereby Hangs a Tail.”
“Many a long year ago, when the `Child's Own Book' was
all true—when fairies peopled every moonlit glen, and animals
enjoyed the power of conversation, in a sequestered dell, beneath
the shadow of a mighty oak, upon a carpet of the springiest and
most verdant moss, disported a noble horse of Arabian blood,
and his snow-white bride, `The Lily of the Prairie.'
“`And oh! my noble lover,' said the Lily, as in playful tenderness
she seized and shook between her teeth, a lock of his coal-black
mane, `may I indeed believe thy vows? Hast thou forgotten
for aye, the dun filly of Arkansas? And wilt thou ever, ever
be faithless to me again?'
“`Nay, dearest,' he replied.
“And she neighed.”
From these extracts, the reader will get an idea of the
nature of the forthcoming work, which we trust will find a
place on their centre-tables, in their libraries and reading-rooms.
We subjoin a few notices from the southern press,
handed us by Mr. Bowers; the marks in the margin of each
having been made with a pencil, probably by himself:
“The most elegant book of the season—with greater attractions
for the eye of taste and the enlightened mind than any
other.”
—Vallecitos Sentinel. $1,25, pd.
“These volumes will have a permanent and increasing value,
and will adorn the libraries and centre-tables of American families
as long as American literature continues to be read.”—San
Isabel Vaquero. $3 pd. for two insertions, and another notice for
two bottles of whiskey.”
—J. B.
“This superb and elegant affair is the book of the season unquestionably.—
Penasquitas Picaron. 4s. two drinks, and invited
him to dinner.”
—J. B.
“The typography of these volumes is all that could be desired.
Nothing superior to it has been issued from the American
Press. Bowers will be among American classics, what Goldsmith
is among those of Fatherland. It is an elegant edition of the
works of our foremost writer in the belles lettres department of
literature.”
—Soledad Filibuster. $5, drink, string of fish, and
half-pig when I kill.—J. B.
| Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques | |