_Ups and Downs in the Life of a Distressed Gentleman. By the author of
“Tales and Sketches, such as they are.” New York: Leavitt, Lord & Co._
This book is a public imposition. It is a duodecimo volume, of the
usual novel size, bound in the customary muslin cover with a gilt
stamp on the back, and containing 225 pages of letter press. Its
price, in the bookstores, is, we believe, a dollar. Although we are in
the habit of reading with great deliberation, not unfrequently
perusing individual passages more than two or three times, we were
occupied _little better than one hour_ in getting through with the
whole of the “_Ups and Downs_.” A full page of the book—that is, a
page in which there are no breaks in the matter occasioned by
paragraphs, or otherwise, embraces precisely 150 words—an average page
about 130. A full page of this our Magazine, will be found to contain
1544 words—an average page about 1600, owing to the occasional notes
in a smaller type than that generally used. It follows that nearly
thirteen pages of such a volume as the “_Ups and Downs_” are required
to make one of our own, and that in about fourteen pages such as we
are writing, (if we consider the sixteen blank half-pages at the
beginning of each chapter in the “_Ups and Downs_,” with the four
pages of index) the whole of the one dollar duodecimo we are now
called upon to review, might be laid conveniently before the public—in
other words, that we could print nearly six of them in one of our
ordinary numbers, (that for March for instance) the price of which is
little more than forty cents. We give the amount of six such volumes
then for forty cents—of one of them for very little more than a
_fi'penny bit_. And as its price is a dollar, it is clear either that
the matter of which the said “_Ups and Downs_” is composed, is sixteen
times as good in quality as our own matter, and that of such Magazines
in general, or that the author of the “_Ups and Downs_” supposes it so
to be, or that the author of the “_Ups and Downs_” is unreasonable in
his exactions upon the public, and is presuming very largely upon
their excessive patience, gullibility, and good nature. We will take
the liberty of analyzing the narrative, with a view of letting our
readers see for themselves whether the author (or publisher) is quite
right in estimating it at sixteen times the value of the ordinary run
of compositions.
The volume commences with a Dedication “_To all Doating Parents_.” We
then have four pages occupied with a content table, under the
appellation of a “Bill of Lading.” This is well thought of. The future
man of letters might, without some assistance of this nature, meet
with no little trouble in searching for any particular chapter through
so dense a mass of matter as the “_Ups and Downs_.” The “Introduction”
fills four pages more, and in spite of the unjustifiable use of the
word “_predicated_,” whose meaning is obviously misunderstood, is by
much the best portion of the work—so much so, indeed, that we fancy it
written by some kind, good-natured friend of the author. We now come
to _Chapter I_, which proves to be Introduction the Second, and
extends over seven pages farther. This is called “A Disquisition on
Circles,” in which we are informed that “the motion produced by the
_centripetal_ and _centrifugal_ forces, seems to be that of
nature”—that “it is very true that the _periphery_ of the circles
traversed by some objects is greater than that of others”—that “cast a
stone into a lake or a mill-pond, and it will produce a succession of
motions, circle following circle in order, and extending the radius
until they disappear in the distance”—that “Time wings his flight in
circles, and every year rolls round within itself”—that “the sun turns
round upon his own axis, and the moon changes monthly”—that “the other
celestial bodies all wheel their courses in circles around the common
centre”—that “the moons of Jupiter revolve around him in circles, and
he carries them along with him in his periodical circuit around the
sun”—that “Saturn always moves within his rings”—that “a ship on the
ocean, though apparently bounding over a plain of waters, rides in
fact upon the circumference of a circle around the arch of the earth's
diameter”—that “the lunar circle betokens a tempest”—that “those
German principalities which are represented in the Diet are
denominated circles”—and that “modern writers on pneumatics affirm
every breeze that blows to be a whirlwind.”
But now commences the “_Ups and Downs_” in good earnest. The hero of
the narrative is Mr. Wheelwright, and the author begs leave to assure
the reader that Mr. W. is no fictitious personage, that “with the
single abatement that names are changed, and places not precisely
designated, every essential incident that he has recorded actually
occurred, much as he has related it, to a person who, if not now
living, certainly was once, and most of them under his own
observation.”
_Chapter II_, treats of the birth and parentage of the hero. Mr.
Daniel Wheelwright originally came from New Jersey, but resides at the
opening of the story, in the beautiful valley of the Mohawk “on the
banks of the river, and in a town alike celebrated for the taste of
its people in architecture, and distinguished as a seat of learning.”
He was early instructed by his father in the “elementary principles of
his trade,” which was coach-making. “He was also taught in some
branches of household carpentry work, which proved of no disadvantage
to him in the end.” “Full of good nature he was always popular with
the boys,” and we are told “was never so industrious as when
manufacturing to their order little writing desks, fancy boxes, and
other trifling articles not beyond the scope of his mechanical
ingenuity.” We are also assured that the young gentleman was
excessively fond of oysters.
In _Chapter III_, Daniel Wheelwright “grows up a tall and stately
youth.” His mother “discovers a genius in him requiring only means and
opportunity to wing an eagle-flight.” “An arrangement therefore is
effected” by which our hero is sent to school to a “man whom the
mother had previously known in New Jersey, and whose occupation was
that of teaching young ideas how to shoot—not grouse and woodcock—but
to shoot forth into scions of learning.” This is a new and excellent
joke—but by no means so good as the one immediately {456} following,
where we are told that “notwithstanding the natural indolence of his
character, our hero knew that he must know something before he could
enter college, and that in case of a failure, he must again cultivate
more acquaintance with the _felloes_ of the shop than with the
_fellows_ of the university.” He is sent to college, however, having
“read _Cornelius Nepos_ and three books of the Æneid, thumbed over the
Greek Grammar, and gone through the Gospel of St. John.”
_Chapter IV_, commences with two quotations from Shakspeare. Our hero
is herein elected a member of the _Philo-Peithologicalethian
Institute_, commences his debates with a “Mr. President, I _are_ in
favor of the negative of that are question,” is “read off” at the
close of every quarter, “advances one grade higher” in his classic
course every year, and when about to take his degree, is “announced
for a poem” in the _proces verbal_ of the commencement, and (one of
the professors, if we comprehend, being called _Nott_) distinguishes
himself by the following satirical verses—
The warrior fights, and dies for fame—
The empty glories of a name;—
But we who linger round this spot,
The warrior's guerdon covet Nott.
Nott for the miser's glittering heap
Within these walls is bartered sleep;
The humble scholar's quiet lot
With dreams of wealth is troubled Nott.
While poring o'er the midnight lamp,
In rooms too cold, and sometimes damp,
O man, who land and cash hast got,
Thy life of ease we envy Nott.
Our troubles here are light and few;—
An empty purse when bills fall due,
A locker, without e'er a shot,—
Hard recitations, or a Knot-
Ty problem, which we can't untie—
Our only shirt hung out to dry,—
A chum who never pays his scot,—
Such ills as these we value Nott.
O, cherished *****! learning's home,
Where'er the fates may bid us roam,
Though friends and kindred be forgot,
Be sure we shall forget thee Nott.
For years of peaceful, calm content,
To science and hard study lent,
Though others thy good name may blot,
T'were wondrous if we loved thee Nott.
For this happy effort he is admitted _ad gradum in artibus_, and thus
closes chapter the fourth.
_Chapter V_, is also headed with two sentences from Shakspeare. The
parents of Mr. W. are now inclined to make him a clergyman, being “not
only conscientious people, but sincerely religious, and really
desirous of doing good.” This project is dismissed, however, upon our
hero's giving no evidence of piety, and Daniel is “entered in the
office of an eminent medical gentleman, in one of the most beautiful
cities which adorn the banks of the majestic Hudson.” Our author
cannot be prevailed upon to state the precise place—but gives us
another excellent joke by way of indemnification. “Although,” says he,
“like Byron, I have no fear of being taken for the hero of my own
tale, yet were I to bring matters too near their homes, but too many
of the real characters of my narrative might be identified. Suffice
it, then, to say of the location—_Ilium fuit_.” Daniel now becomes
Doctor Wheelwright, reads the first chapter of _Cheselden's Anatomy_,
visits New York, attends the lectures of Hosack and Post, “presses
into his goblet the grapes of wisdom clustering around the tongue of
Mitchill, and acquires the principles of surgery from the lips, and
the skilful use of the knife from the untrembling hand, of Mott.”
At the close of his second year our hero, having completed only half
of Cheselden's article on Osteology, relinquishes the study of
medicine in despair, and turns merchant—purchasing “the odds and ends
of a fashionable fancy and jobbing concern in Albany.” He is gulled
however, by a confidential clerk, one John Smith, his store takes fire
and burns down, and both himself and father, who indorsed for him, are
ruined.
Mr. Wheelwright now retrieves his fortune by the accidental possession
of a claim against government, taken by way of payment for a bad debt.
But going to Washington to receive his money, he is inveigled into a
lottery speculation—that is to say, he spends the whole amount of his
claim in lottery-tickets—the manager fails—and our adventurer is again
undone. This lottery adventure ends with the excellent joke that in
regard to our hero there “were five _outs_ to one _in_, viz.—_out_ of
money, and _out_ of clothes; _out_ at the heels, and _out_ at the
toes; _out_ of credit and _in_ debt!” Mr. Wheelwright now returns to
New York, and is thrown into prison by Messieurs Roe and Doe. In this
emergency he sends for his friend the narrator, who, of course,
relieves his distresses, and opens the doors of his jail.
_Chapter IX_, and indeed every ensuing chapter, commences with two
sentences from Shakspeare. Mr. Wheelwright now becomes agent for a
steamboat company on Lake George—but fortune still frowns, and the
steamboat takes fire, and is burnt up, on the eve of her first trip,
thus again ruining our hero.
“What a moment!” exclaims the author, “and what a spectacle for a
lover of the ‘sublime and beautiful!’ Could Burke have visited such a
scene of mingled magnificence, and grandeur and terror, what a vivid
illustration would he not have added to his inimitable treatise on
that subject! The fire raged with amazing fury and power—stimulated to
madness, as it were, by the pitch and tar and dried timbers, and other
combustible materials used in the construction of the boat. The
nightbird screamed in terror, and the beasts of prey fled in wild
affright into the deep and visible darkness beyond. This is truly a
gloomy place for a lone person to stand in of a dark
night—particularly if he has a touch of superstition. There have been
fierce conflicts on this spot—sieges and battles and fearful
massacres. Here hath mailed Mars sat on his altar, up to his ears in
blood, smiling grimly at the music of echoing cannons, the shrill
trump, and all the rude din of arms, until like the waters of Egypt,
the lake became red as the crimson flowers that blossom upon its
margin!” At the word margin is the following explanatory note.
“_Lobelia Cardinalis_, commonly called the _Indian Eye-bright_. It is
a beautiful blossom, and is frequently met with in this region. The
writer has seen large clusters of it blooming upon the margin of the
‘Bloody Pond’ in this neighborhood—so called from the circumstance of
the slain being thrown into this pond, after the defeat of Baron
Dieskau, by Sir William Johnson. The ancients would have constructed a
beautiful legend from this incident, and sanctified the sanguinary
flower.”
In _Chapter X_, Mr. Wheelwright marries an heiress—a rich widow worth
thirty thousand pound sterling in prospectu—in _Chapter XI_, sets up a
_Philomathian Institute_, the whole of the chapter being occupied with
his {457} advertisement—in _Chapter XII_, his wife affronts the
scholars, by “swearing by the powers she would be afther clearing them
out—the spalpeens!—that's what she would, honies!” The school is
broken up in consequence, and Mrs. Wheelwright herself turns out to be
nothing more than “one of the unmarried wives of the lamented Captain
Scarlett,” the legal representatives being in secure possession of the
thirty thousand pounds sterling in prospectu.
In _Chapter XIII_, Mr. Wheelwright is again in distress, and applies,
of course, to the humane author of the “_Ups and Downs_,” who gives
him, we are assured, “an overcoat, and a little basket of provisions.”
In _Chapter XIV_, the author continues his benevolence—gives a crow,
(_cock-a-doodle doo!_) and concludes with “there _is_ no more
charitable people than those of New York!” which means when translated
into good English—“there never was a more charitable man than the wise
and learned author of the ‘_Ups and Downs_.’”
_Chapter XV_, is in a somewhat better vein, and embraces some
tolerable incidents in relation to the pawnbrokers' shops of New York.
We give an extract—believing it to be one of the best passages in the
book.
To one who would study human nature, especially in its darker
features, there is no better field of observation than among these
pawn-brokers' shops.
In a frequented establishment, each day unfolds an ample catalogue of
sorrow, misery, and guilt, developed in forms and combinations almost
innumerable; and if the history of each customer could be known, the
result would be such a catalogue as would scarcely be surpassed, even
by the records of a police-office or a prison. Even my brief stay
while arranging for the redemption of Dr. Wheelwright's personals,
afforded materials, as indicated in the last chapter, for much and
painful meditation.
I had scarcely made my business known, at the first of “my uncle's”
establishments to which I had been directed, when a middle-aged man
entered with a bundle, on which he asked a small advance, and which,
on being opened, was found to contain a shawl and two or three other
articles of female apparel. The man was stout and sturdy, and, as I
judged from his appearance, a mechanic; but the mark of the destroyer
was on his bloated countenance, and in his heavy, stupid eyes.
Intemperance had marked him for his own. The pawn-broker was yet
examining the offered pledge, when a woman, whose pale face and
attenuated form bespoke long and intimate acquaintance with sorrow,
came hastily into the shop, and with the single exclamation, “O,
Robert!” darted, rather than ran, to that part of the counter where
the man was standing. Words were not wanted to explain her story. Her
miserable husband, not satisfied with wasting his own earnings, and
leaving her to starve with her children, had descended to the meanness
of plundering even her scanty wardrobe, and the pittance for the
obtaining of which this robbery would furnish means, was destined to
be squandered at the tippling-house. A blush of shame arose even upon
his degraded face, but it quickly passed away; the brutal appetite
prevailed, and the better feeling that had apparently stirred within
him for the moment, soon gave way before its diseased and insatiate
cravings.
“Go home,” was his harsh and angry exclamation; “what brings you here,
running after me with your everlasting scolding? go home, and mind
your own business.”
“O Robert, dear Robert!” answered the unhappy wife, “don't pawn my
shawl. Our children are crying for bread, and I have none to give
them. Or let me have the money; it is hard to part with that shawl,
for it was my mother's gift; but I will let it go, rather than see my
children starve. Give me the money, Robert, and don't leave us to
perish.”
I watched the face of the pawn-broker to see what effect this appeal
would have upon him, but I watched in vain. He was hardened to
distress, and had no sympathy to throw away. “Twelve shillings on
these things,” he said, tossing them back to the drunkard, with a look
of perfect indifference.
“Only twelve shillings!” murmured the heart-broken wife, in a tone of
despair. “O Robert, don't let them go for twelve shillings. Let me try
some where else.”
“Nonsense,” answered the brute. “It's as much as they're worth, I
suppose. Here, Mr. Crimp, give us the change.”
The money was placed before him, and the bundle consigned to a drawer.
The poor woman reached forth her hand toward the silver, but the
movement was anticipated by her husband. “There Mary,” he said, giving
her half a dollar, “there, go home now, and don't make a fuss. I'm
going a little way up the street, and perhaps I'll bring you something
from market, when I come home.”
The hopeless look of the poor woman, as she meekly turned to the door,
told plainly enough how little she trusted to this ambiguous promise.
They went on their way, she to her famishing children, and he to
squander the dollar he had retained, at the next den of intemperance.
_Chapter XVI_, is entitled the “end of this eventful history.” Mr.
Wheelwright is rescued from the hands of the watch by the author of
the “_Ups and Downs_”—turns his wife, very justly, out of doors—and
finally returns to his parental occupation of coach-making.
We have given the entire pith and marrow of the book. The term _flat_,
is the only general expression which would apply to it. It is written,
we believe, by Col. Stone of the New York Commercial Advertiser, and
should have been printed among the quack advertisements, in a spare
corner of his paper.