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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
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|Transcriber's note: |
| |
|In this text a macron over letters has been |
|represented by [=au], and a breve over a letter |
|by [)i]. |
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IF, YES, AND PERHAPS.
Four Possibilities and Six Exaggerations, with Some Bits of Fact.
by
EDWARD E. HALE.
Boston:
Fields, Osgood, & Co.,
Successors To Ticknor and Fields.
1869.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
Ticknor and Fields,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge.
DEDICATION.
I dedicate this book to the youngest of my friends, now two hours old.
Fun, fact, and fancy,--may his fresh life mix the three in their just
proportions.
MILTON, June 6, 1868.
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.
The title to this book has met with general opprobrium, except in a few
quarters, where it was fortunately regarded as beneath contempt. Colonel
Ingham even exacted an explanation by telegraph from the Editor, when he
learned from the Governor-General of Northern Siberia what the title
was. This explanation the Editor gave in the following note. It is,
however, impossible to change the title, as he proposes. For reasons
known to all statesmen, it is out of the question to swap horses in
crossing a river; and all publishers know that it is equally impossible
to change titles under those circumstances.
BOSTON, October 17, 1868.
MY DEAR COLONEL INGHAM:--
I have your note complaining of the sensational title, "somewhat
affected," as you think, which I gave to our little story-book. Of
course I am sorry you do not like the name; but, while you strike,
I beg you to hear.
I readily acceded to your original title, and called the book in
manuscript as you bade me,--
"A Few Short Sketches taken from Ancient History, Modern Travel,
and the Realm of Imagination, Illustrative of the Poetry of the
Bible, the History of Christianity, the Manners of the Times, and
the Politics of the Present and Past Generations."
This title would, I admit, meet the views of most of our present
critics. But I abandoned it on my own responsibility,--you being
then beyond the telegraph, at the mouth of the Oby River,--because
it occurred to me, that, under the catalogue rules of Panizzi and
the lamented Jewett, we should be indexed and catalogued at "Few."
I did not think that a good omen.
Relinquishing, therefore, the effort at description of subject, I
tried description of object, and determined on this:--
"Moral Sketches of Human Society, in the Past, the Present, and
Imagined Worlds." By F. I., &c., &c., &c.
But, as I slept and waked on this, I said, "Who knows that these
are _moral_ sketches?" We wished them to be moral, but Ingham's
have been attacked by such patient critics as read them as being
immoral, while many of the sketches seem to have no moral at all.
Who are we, to claim that we have attained a moral standard?
Waking and sleeping once more, I asked myself, "What are the
things,--poor, nameless heathen children, that can get no sponsor
and no Christian baptism?"
I said, in reply, that at least one of them was the living truth,
so far as it could be squeezed out of blue books and the most
proper of documents. Others might have been true, if the destinies
had so willed. Others would have been true, had they not been
untrue. Others should have been true, had poetical justice been the
working rule of a vulgar world.
"Might, Could, Would, or Should," then, would have been an
available name for most of them,--unless one took from the older
grammars the title of "The Potential Mood."
But, you observe, my dear Ingham, that our little story-book is
destined mostly for young readers, who know no more of "The
Potential Mood" than they know of the surrender of Cornwallis (this
day celebrated). And, besides, we have some facts in the treatise
which are not hypothetical. Why ignore them? Do you not see that
your miserable suggestion of "The Potential Mood" is as worthless
as it is sensational and fails as not comprehensive, inadequate,
unintelligible, and not true?
For these reasons I settled on the plain, straightforward title of
unadorned truth, viz. "Four Possibilities, Six Exaggerations, and
some Bits of Fact"; and with this we went to the publisher. But, as
I entered his shop, a boy from Dutton's rushed in with his
order-book, and cried:--
"I want seventy _Chimes_ and ninety _Ivanhoe_."
"What," said I, "if, by any good fortune, it had been our
story-book that was wanted, this boy would then have called for
"'Seventy Four Possibilities.' Can there be so many in a world
which runs in grooves? Will he even get the number that he needs of
our treatises? Alexander a robber! Let me reflect."
Reflecting thus, I determined that the title of a book must be,--
1. Brief.
2. Intelligible.
3. Suggestive.
4. It must not begin with a numeral.
I took a Tremont Street car and returned home.
"What," I said in the night-watches, "is the brief expression of a
possibility? Surely it is in the word PERHAPS.
"What of a fact?
"Surely it is YES.
"What of an exaggeration? Why, it is that which would be true If it
had not been overstated. Our title then, clearly, is
"PERHAPS, YES, AND IF."
I see that the critics would have been better satisfied with this.
But, on the principle of the little elephants sacrificing
themselves in the passage of a river, Mr. Fields and I determined
to start the smallest word first, and thus to drive a gentle wedge
into the close chasm of the public favor. Sensitive, however, as I
am, dear Ingham, to your criticism, I will at the earliest
opportunity consult with him as to a return to the original
title:--
"A Few Sketches * * * Illustrative," &c., &c., &c.
Or might we not let the one word "Etcetera" stand alone? Or thus,
with the stars, "* * * &c., &c., &c."?
Truly yours,
E. E. HALE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC 1
A PIECE OF POSSIBLE HISTORY 58
THE SOUTH AMERICAN EDITOR 78
THE OLD AND THE NEW, FACE TO FACE 100
THE DOT AND LINE ALPHABET 116
THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE RESOLUTE 130
MY DOUBLE, AND HOW HE UNDID ME 171
THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY 199
THE LAST OF THE FLORIDA 242
THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET 253
CHRISTMAS WAITS IN BOSTON 270
THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC.
[This story originated in the advertisement of the humbug which it
describes. Some fifteen or twenty years since, when gift
enterprises rose to one of their climaxes, a gift of a large sum of
money, I think $10,000, was offered in New York to the most
successful ticket-holder in some scheme, and one of $5,000 to the
second. It was arranged that one of these parties should be a man
and the other a woman; and the amiable suggestion was added, on the
part of the undertaker of the enterprise, that if the gentleman and
lady who drew these prizes liked each other sufficiently well when
the distribution was made, they might regard the decision as a
match made for them in Heaven, and take the money as the dowry of
the bride. This thoroughly practical, and, at the same time,
thoroughly absurd suggestion, arrested the attention of a
distinguished story-teller, a dear friend of mine, who proposed to
me that we should each of us write the history of one of the two
successful parties, to be woven together by their union at the end.
The plan, however, lay latent for years,--the gift enterprise of
course blew up,--and it was not until the summer of 1862 that I
wrote my half of the proposed story, with the hope of eliciting the
other half. My friend's more important engagements, however, have
thus far kept Fausta's detailed biography from the light. I sent my
half to Mr. Frank Leslie, in competition for a premium offered by
him, as is stated in the second chapter of the story. And the story
found such favor in the eyes of the judges, that it received one of
his second premiums. The first was very properly awarded to Miss
Louisa Alcott, for a story of great spirit and power. "The
Children of the Public" was printed in Frank Leslie's Illustrated
Newspaper for January 24 and January 31, 1863. The moral which it
tries to illustrate, which is, I believe, an important one, was
thus commended to the attention of the very large circle of the
readers of that journal,--a journal to which I am eager to say I
think this nation has been very largely indebted for the loyalty,
the good sense, and the high tone which seem always to characterize
it. During the war, the pictorial journals had immense influence in
the army, and they used this influence with an undeviating regard
to the true honor of the country.]
CHAPTER I.
THE PORK-BARREL.
"Felix," said my wife to me, as I came home to-night, "you will have to
go to the pork-barrel."
"Are you quite sure," said I,--"quite sure? 'Woe to him,' says the
oracle, 'who goes to the pork-barrel before the moment of his need.'"
"And woe to him, say I," replied my brave wife,--"woe and disaster to
him; but the moment of our need has come. The figures are here, and you
shall see. I have it all in black and in white."
And so it proved, indeed, that when Miss Sampson, the nurse, was paid
for her month's service, and when the boys had their winter boots, and
when my life-insurance assessment was provided for, and the new payment
for the insurance on the house,--when the taxes were settled with the
collector (and my wife had to lay aside double for the war),--when the
pew-rent was paid for the year, and the water-rate,--we must have to
start with, on the 1st of January, one hundred dollars. This, as we
live, would pay, in cash, the butcher, and the grocer, and the baker,
and all the dealers in things that perish, and would buy the omnibus
tickets, and recompense Bridget till the 1st of April. And at my house,
if we can see forward three months we are satisfied. But, at my house,
we are never satisfied if there is a credit at any store for us. We are
sworn to pay as we go. We owe no man anything.
So it was that my wife said: "Felix, you will have to go to the
pork-barrel."
This is the story of the pork-barrel.
It happened once, in a little parish in the Green Mountains, that the
deacon reported to Parson Plunkett, that, as he rode to meeting by
Chung-a-baug Pond, he saw Michael Stowers fishing for pickerel through a
hole in the ice on the Sabbath day. The parson made note of the
complaint, and that afternoon drove over to the pond in his "one-horse
shay." He made his visit, not unacceptable, on the poor Stowers
household, and then crossed lots to the place where he saw poor Michael
hoeing. He told Michael that he was charged with Sabbath breaking, and
bade him plead to the charge. And poor Mike, like a man, plead guilty;
but, in extenuation, he said that there was nothing to eat in the
house, and rather than see wife and children faint, he had cut a hole in
the ice, had put in his hook again and again, and yet again, and coming
home had delighted the waiting family with an unexpected breakfast. The
good parson made no rebuke, nodded pensive, and drove straightway to the
deacon's door.
"Deacon," said he, "what meat did you eat for breakfast yesterday?"
The deacon's family had eaten salt pork, fried.
"And where did you get the pork, Deacon?"
The Deacon stared, but said he had taken it from his pork-barrel.
"Yes, Deacon," said the old man; "I supposed so. I have been to see
Brother Stowers, to talk to him about his Sabbath-breaking; and, Deacon,
I find the pond is his pork-barrel."
The story is a favorite with me and with Fausta. But "woe," says the
oracle, "to him who goes to the pork-barrel before the moment of his
need." And to that "woe" both Fausta and I say "amen." For we know that
there is no fish in our pond for spendthrifts or for lazy-bones; none
for people who wear gold chains or Attleborough jewelry; none for people
who are ashamed of cheap carpets or wooden mantelpieces. Not for those
who run in debt will the fish bite; nor for those who pretend to be
richer or better or wiser than they are. No! But we have found, in our
lives, that in a great democracy there reigns a great and gracious
sovereign. We have found that this sovereign, in a reckless and
unconscious way, is, all the time, making the most profuse provision for
all the citizens. We have found that those who are not too grand to
trust him fare as well as they deserve. We have found, on the other
hand, that those who lick his feet or flatter his follies fare worst of
living men. We find that those who work honestly, and only seek a man's
fair average of life, or a woman's, get that average, though sometimes
by the most singular experiences in the long run. And thus we find that,
when an extraordinary contingency arises in life, as just now in ours,
we have only to go to our pork-barrel, and the fish rises to our hook or
spear.
The sovereign brings this about in all sorts of ways, but he does not
fail, if, without flattering him, you trust him. Of this sovereign the
name is--"the Public." Fausta and I are apt to call ourselves his
children, and so I name this story of our lives,
"THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC."