University of Virginia Library

2. II.
My Uncle Solomon.

MR. SOLOMON FUDGE is not a man to be
sneered at. His friends all know it; and he
knows it better than his friends. I have referred
to him already. At present, I mean to draw his
portrait. He will be flattered, doubtless; this is
natural in nephews and in artists.

He will feel flattered also; yet I have no doubt
that he will meet me in a very indignant manner,
and say to me, with a great show of dignity—perhaps
adjusting his shirt-collar meantime—“Tony,
you should have known better than this; you should
have considered, sir, our family position. Mrs.
Fudge, sir, your aunt (before referred to as a stout
woman), is a lady of delicacy; great delicacy, I may
say.”

I expect this, and am prepared for it. I shall
reply:

“Uncle Solomon, you know you are glad to be
noticed: you know that you possess a cheerful fondness
for distinction. You are not to be blamed. No
man is: you are worthy of it.”

Whereupon my uncle Solomon will take off his
gold spectacles, pass them from one hand to the
other, in an eccentric yet methodical manner, which
is a way he has of collecting his thoughts.

“Tony,” he will continue, “I beg you will be discreet.
Ridicule, sir, I shall not bear, even from a
Fudge.”

To which I shall reply, in a kind way:

“Uncle Solomon—Fudge!”

I now proceed with my portrait.

Mr. Solomon Fudge is a stout man, with white
hair. He usually wears a white cravat; a clean
one every morning, as he has himself told me, and
an extra one when he invites a friend to dine with
him. He is a merchant, and lives in the Avenue;
he has also a country-seat at Astoria. If he were
to die—I hope he will not—he would be mentioned
by the Wall street journals (for the first time) as an
eminent merchant; liberal, distinguished, and leaving
a large family, inconsolable.

He began life as errand-boy in a large jobbing

establishment: he swept out the store at sunrise;
he has often told me of it; not very often, however,
of late years. I am of the opinion that it is only
latterly that he has begun to form proper notions
about family dignity.

At the time of his being alderman for the first
time, he seemed proud of his rise in the world. He
is now above being alderman. He looks upon
aldermen generally as moderate men. He has once
been mayor; he now regards even mayors as mere
city contingencies. Still, however, he often refers
to the year when he was in authority; a remarkable
year he thinks it was, for clean streets and good
order. Most retired mayors, I observe, hold the same
opinion in regard to the period of their mayorship.

Mr. Solomon Fudge, is a bank-officer in Wall-street.
You may see him on discount-days, luxuriating
in a stuffed chair and easy posture. One arm
will very likely be stretched out upon the table; the
other will fall carelessly upon the elbow of his chair.
He appears to enjoy the sunshine. His gold-bowed
spectacles will be raised upon the upper part of his
forehead, and rest with great apparent security over
that portion of the brain where phrenologists usually
locate the bump of benevolence. As I remarked,
the bump does not interfere with my uncle's
spectacles.

His words are slow and measured, as becomes a
man of his grave aspect and undoubted family. He
is cautious in his expression of opinion; and only
ventures upon decided approval of “accommodation
paper” when he is very sure of his man, or when
the applicant's wife has been in a position to show
favors to Mr. Solomon Fudge's wife. Uneasy and
anxious-looking men, full of business, and in need
of loans, he regards with a very proper degree of
distaste.

Few visitors can call my Uncle Solomon from his
chair, or—what is a still stronger mark of deference
—occasion the withdrawal of the gold-bowed spectacles
from the secure position already hinted at.
If I were to except any, it would be a certain dashing
broker, of whom Mr. Fudge has a trifling fear,
or some grey-headed curmudgeon who is a federal
officer, or some visiting English merchant; or, yet
again, some old lawyer of reputation.

The newspapers he reads with a kindly and
patronizing interest, having little respect, however,
for anything smaller than the huge folios of Wall
street. All young men and new men in the province
of journalism, are very properly treated with contempt.
He makes an exception in favor of one of the
small morning newspapers, which is distinguished for
its advocacy of the tariff. He hopes it may “eventuate”

(that is his style of language) in something
practical. The truth is, my uncle Solomon has no
inconsiderable interest in a manufacturing establishment
in the country, which is just now running at
half-time, and with very small show of profits. If
he could sell at a fair figure, I think he would subscribe,
without solicitude, to the tenets of the Journal
of Commerce.

He is usually a cautious man, and rarely makes a
false step. Just now, indeed, he is feeling a little
sore in respect of a large purchase of the Dauphin
stock. The affair, however, came so well recommended,
with such distinguished patronage, and the
sample-coal burned with such a cheerful flame, that
he thought it little worth his while to examine into
the nature of the veins, or the probability of very
frequent and surprising “faults.” The consequence
is, he is down for some fifteen thousand present
valuation, which I greatly fear may stand him in
some two-score.

My uncle Solomon is a vestry-man; and though
not a church member, he has a most respectable
opinion of the whole scheme of religion: he believes
it ought to be supported; he means to do it. He
pays a high price for his pew; he invites the clergyman
to dine with him; he foregoes his extra bottle
of wine on such days; he feels a better man for it;

he humors his wife in a fat subscription to the indigent
orphan asylum; he subscribes for the Churchman;
he sometimes reads it. He is the proprietor
of one of the most magnificent Bibles upon the
Avenue, to say nothing of a set of prayer-books,
with solid gold clasps, guaranteed as such by Mr.
Appleton the senior, and corroborated by actual
inspection of Ball, Tompkins, and Black.

His charities, notwithstanding what I have hinted
about the spectacles and the organ of benevolence,
are upon that large scale which is such a favorite
with the established gentlemen of the town. By
established gentlemen, I refer to such as have a
great reputation for respectability, wealth, white
cravats, dignity, composure, and good taste in wives
and wines. By the large scale of charities, I refer
to those mission societies which publish yearly lists
of distinguished donors to public dinners, aid to
political enterprises, Union committees, and purchase
of ten per cent. bonds of western railways
(secured by mortgage on timber lands), which are
represented to be in a needy condition, and worthy
objects of eastern charity.

Indigent men about town—I do not here refer to
myself—and poor cousins, do not stir to any considerable
degree Mr. Solomon Fudge's benevolence.
He has good reason to show why. He thinks every

man should take care of himself. What is true of
men is true of women. He thinks there is great
reason to apprehend imposture. He has known
repeated instances of the grossest imposture. He
fears that the poor do not go to church. He thinks
men should be cautious. He is cautious—saving
the Dauphin speculation.

Upon the whole, Mr. Solomon Fudge is what
people call an estimable man. Jemima and Bridget
both regard him with considerable awe. Street-folk
generally look up to him. There is not a man in
the whole city—and on this point I challenge investigation—who
is treated with more deference by his
coachman and his grocer.

I have myself considerable esteem for my uncle.
He is a portly man, calculated to impress. He
does not dress shabbily, saving rather too much
dandruff on his coat-collar. I have recommended a
wash: he slighted it. His wines are good, with the
exception of the last lot, purchased “at a bargain”
from the Messrs. Leeds. He has a few boxes left
of some mild old Havanas, the gift of a tenant, who
begged a month's deferment of quarter-day, and ran
off in the interval. Mr. Solomon Fudge has a small
opinion of the cigars: I insist that they are good.

Mrs. Fudge, the wife of my uncle Solomon, and
naturally my aunt—by marriage—I entertain a

cheerful regard for. I am of opinion that she entertains
much the same feeling for me. Neither her
person nor character can be digested hastily. She
will fill a chapter.