he asked for his shoes, but lo! they could nowhere be found;
and seeing, close by, the old ones of Abul Cassim, he naturally
concluded this latter person had purloined his. So the Cadi was
greatly enraged; and ordering Abul Cassim to be brought before him,
he accused him of stealing shoes out of baths, imprisoned him two or
three days, and fined him.
Abul Cassim on his release said to himself: 'These shoes have
dishonored me, and I have been severely punished for their sake;'
so with revengeful feelings he threw them into the Tigris. Two days
afterward some fishermen, on drawing their seines out of that river,
found a pair of old shoes in them, which they immediately recognized
as those of Abul Cassim. One of them remarked that perhaps he had
fallen into the river; and taking the shoes in his hand, carried
them to Abul Cassim's house, and finding its door closed, he threw
them in at a window which was open. Unfortunately the shoes fell on
the shelf where the bottles of rose-water were ranged, so that it
was thrown down, the bottles broken, and all the rose-water was lost.
When Cassim returned to his house, he opened the door and beheld the
loss he had sustained. He tore his hair and beard with grief, wept
aloud, and charged the shoes with being his ruin. To be free from
farther misfortune on their part, 'I will bury them,' said he, 'in
a corner of my house, and then all will end.' So the same night he
arose and commenced digging a hole in a corner of his dwelling; but
his neighbors hearing the noise, thought he was undermining their
house; and rising in affright, they complained to the governor of
the city, who sent and apprehended Cassim, and threw him in prison,
from which he was released only on the payment of a fine.
After this Cassim returned to his house, overwhelmed with grief,
and taking his old shoes, he threw them into the sluice of a
neighboring caravansary. In the course of a few days, the sluice
being stopped, it overran its banks, and workmen having been called
to clean it out, lo! Cassim's shoes were found to be the cause of
the inconvenience. So the governor again threw him in prison, and
fined him to a large amount.
Abul Cassim, now perfectly in despair, took his old shoes, and after
washing them clean, laid them on the terrace of his house, with the
intention, after they were well dried, to burn them, and so put an
end to all shame and misfortune on their account. But it happened
that while the shoes were drying, a neighbor's dog passing over the
terrace saw them, and mistaking them for dried meat, took one in his
mouth, sprang from one terrace to the other, and in doing so let it
fall. The neighbor's wife was _enciente_, and as she happened to
be sitting at the foot of the wall, the shoe fell upon her, and in
her alarm she was prematurely brought to bed. Her husband, in great
anger, complained to the governor, and Abul Cassim was once more
thrown into prison and made to pay a fine.
Abul Cassim now tore his hair and beard with grief, and accusing
the shoes of being the cause of all his misfortunes, he took them
in his hand, and going before the Cadi of Bagdad, related to him
all that had befallen him. 'I beg you,' added he, 'to receive my
declaration, and I hope all these Mussulmans will bear witness that
I now break off all farther relation between me and these shoes, and
have no longer any thing to do with them. I ask also a certificate
showing that I am free from them, and they free from me; so that
if henceforth there are any punishments or fines to be incurred,
questions to be asked or answers to be given, that they may take
them all upon themselves.
The Cadi, much amused with what he heard, gave the desired
certificate, and added a present to Abul Cassim. Behold in this tale
to what misfortunes the avaricious subject themselves!
TO A HUMMING-BIRD.
BY H. W. ROCKWELL.
I.
BRIGHT stranger from the South! who with the cool
Light airs of Summer visitest the sweet
Soft twilight that o'erspreads the shaded pool,
And the young river-flowers that faint with heat:
Welcome art thou to the cold North again,
With thy dark glossy hood, and emerald wings;
And pleasant be thy way along the glen,
Where the brown wood-thrush in the thicket sings,
Or where to prostrate trees the nodding wild flower clings.
II.
Thy silver beak, which late from Southern flowers
Sipped GOD'S good bounty, here, where green leaves meet
And shed their coolness through the long sweet hours
Of the bright noontide, shalt find blooms as sweet;
The juicy clover in the meadow-grass
Shall give thee honey from its crimson cells,
And thou shalt take, where curling eddies pass,
Thy supper in the dewy mountain-bells,
When the meek evening-wind amid the forest swells.
III.
Waters shall catch thine image; thy green wings
Fanning with music the sweet forest airs,
Shall bear thee where the reddening wood-rose springs
Amid the moss and sunshine. Thou shalt fare
Upon the glossy seeds when they are ripe
On their long stems, beside the streamlet's bed,
And on thy scarlet jacket thou shalt wipe
Thy shining bill when thou hast freely fed
Upon the river-plum and mountain-cherry red.
IV.
Welcome thou art unto my lattice; here
In safety thou may'st smooth thy velvet hood,
And sip the summer-sweets without a fear,
With the sweet winds thy gentle sisterhood.
Ay! thou art welcome; nor would I in vain
Take lesson from thine own meek history;
But when the hazy summer comes again
To these wide woods, may'st thou no stranger be
Among those friends which are my best society.
_Utica, August, 1843._
LITERARY NOTICES.
THE POLITICIANS, A COMEDY: in Five Acts. By CORNELIUS MATHEWS.
pp. 118. New-York: Printed for the Author.
POEMS ON MAN, IN HIS VARIOUS ASPECTS UNDER THE AMERICAN
REPUBLIC. By CORNELIUS MATHEWS. In one volume, pp. 112.
New-York: Printed for the Author, and for sale at WILEY AND
PUTNAM'S and other metropolitan Book-stores.
THE CAREER OF PUFFER HOPKINS. Published in the 'serial form,'
from the office of the 'BROTHER JONATHAN.'
In a notice some four years since in these pages of the 'Motley
Book'[2] by the author of the above-named productions, we expressed
our conviction, and gave the grounds for our belief, that Mr.
MATHEWS had mistaken his vocation; that he exhibited a mind
capacious enough of vague dreams and dim similitudes of humor,
but that there was no naturalness in his descriptions, and no
distinctness in his pictures; that his observation of men and things
was cursory and superficial, and that his style was of such a
character that the reader was often led to doubt whether he always
affixed any very precise idea to the language which he employed.
We excepted from these remarks, we remember, a serious sketch or
two of the writer, 'The Potters'-Field,' and 'The Unburied Bones,'
as evincing a degree of spirit and pathos, which justified us in
counselling him, if he must needs write, to confine his literary
efforts to that species of composition. Since the period to which
we have referred, Mr. MATHEWS has continued to write and print,
with great industry and perseverance, what he must have considered
works of humor and satire; but we are sorry to be compelled to
add, without exhibiting the slightest improvement. Like MICHAEL
CASSIO, Mr. MATHEWS, when he sits down to pen, ink, and paper,
'sees a mass of objects, but nothing _distinctly_.' He has a large
grasp of small things, without selection and without cohesion; his
ideas, if they may be _called_ ideas, are often diffuse, pointless,
and apparently aimless; and it is impossible for any intelligent
reader to resist the conclusion that his 'wit's diseased,' in one
sense, at least. Let us take, as an illustration of the justice of
our animadversions, the 'Comedy' whose title stands first at the
head of this notice. From the strutting boldness of the language
in the preface, the reader is led to conclude, evidently with the
author, that an 'American dramatist' has at last arisen, who is to
present the proof that 'America contains within itself material
quite adequate for any class of literary productions;' that there
is 'no lack of materials for comedy in our country and among
ourselves;' and that here we have a dramatic attempt which is to
furnish 'countenance to the Cause of true National Literature.' In
consonance with Mr. MATHEWS'S own opinions of his 'Comedy,' is his
modest request that nobody should 'interfere with his privileges as
its author, or prevent him from deriving such emoluments from its
representation as are equitably his due.' Probability rather favors
the conclusion, we think, that no person ever did! The writer adds,
also, that he 'would be greatly rejoiced' if the play should be 'the
thing' to awaken the National Legislature to a 'realizing sense'
of its duty in the matter of international copy-right! Such is the
character of the introduction to the public of the 'Comedy' before
us. Now for a taste of its quality.
[2] SEE the KNICKERBOCKER for December, 1838.
The first act opens with a dialogue between a political candidate
and his 'chum' touching 'the use of a church-bell' to bring out the
voters, who are to be wrought upon by an announcement of the fact
that 'the steeple is in the hands of their party,' whose ticket is
to be 'spread on the weather-cock.' After a discussion of various
modes of catching voters, which we should be glad to have the reader
_see_, but which we must 'respectfully decline' to _quote_, we come
to the annexed characteristic specimen of our author's wit. Stand
aside, reader; for the text says: 'Enter BOTCH:'
BOTCH. Have you heard this rumor, Sir?
GUDGEON. What rumor, for Heaven's sake? They haven't bought up
all the large flags in the ward?
BOTCH. No, Sir.
GUDGEON. Have they got in a new barrel of beer? or hired
Blaster, the popular trumpeter? I spoke to him myself last
night. They haven't engaged Murphy's two starved horses, that
always operate so on the popular sympathies and bring up so many
voters?
BOTCH. None of these, Sir!
GUDGEON. What then, Botch? Be quick--what then?
BOTCH. Why, Sir, the Brisk party is going to use the belfry of
the church to distribute tickets from, and they intend to employ
the sexton to read prayers every morning of the election from
the small window in the steeple.
GUDGEON. This must be counteracted: it will have an overwhelming
effect. We shall have the whole religious community moving
against us in platoons, pew by pew!
BOTCH. Something must be done, Sir; I see clearly something must
be done. What shall it be, Sir?
GUDGEON. Yes, something must be done.
BOTCH. Certainly; something must be done.
GUDGEON. What then, in the name of Heaven, shall it be? Couldn't
we get Glib to climb the steeple above the window and deliver
an harangue? It might do away with the evil influence of the
proceedings below, and give us a tremendous ascendency at once.
BOTCH. I doubt whether Mr. Glib would undertake it, even if
he could snatch a notary's commission from the weathercock,
as the chances of being made a martyr of by stoning would be
considerable.
In the fourth scene there is a new effect given to stage
song-singing, by a Mr. BLANDING, one of the characters, which should
neither be lost to dramatic writers, theatrical persons, nor to 'the
world.' A fragment will suffice, we suspect:
BLANDING. (_From within._) Fol-la--_my heart_--andino--_has
gently_--sa--_felt_--allegro--allegro--_sweet Kate_--piano--_the
sharp and sure revenge of fate_--La-mi-fol-sa.
CRUMB. The fit is coming upon him.
BLANDING. _Oh smile upon the gloomy wave
That bears me to a gloomier grave._
That goes badly in andante--so-fa-me-fi-so.
BLANDING. _And fly_--too slow--_and fly_--allegro--allegro,
_And fly with me._ Prestissimo.
CRUMB. (_Breaking in._) Heigh-ho! how is this, Sir? Are you
trying to set a runaway match to music?
BLANDING. I beg your pardon, Sir--but--
CRUMB. You may well do that, and the pardon of the whole city
council, if you please. Meditating a rhymed elopement with Miss
Brisk, daughter of John Brisk, candidate for alderman of the
ward! Why this is an audacious breach of ordinance.
Pass we now to the second act, wherein we find Mr. and Mrs.
GUDGEON engaged in a remarkably humorous colloquy. He informs her
that a committee has been appointed to 'have his own portrait
of his individual self, ROBERT GUDGEON' taken; whereupon, among
other things, Mrs. GUDGEON is led to remark, that now she has
a presentiment that his election is safe. To which, 'thus then
GUDGEON:'
GUDGEON. And so have I. Some great event is clearly at hand. We
have had a meteor the other night that whizzed round the sky,
like a large Catharine-wheel; then there has been a school of
sixty whale cast ashore off Barnegat; and the Rain-King, only
last Week, caught a storm on a lightning-rod, and held it there
two days, notwithstanding the entreaties of the neighboring
county, that was suffering sorely under a drouth. What do these
things mean? what do they refer to? The approach of the comet
foretold in the Farmer's Almanac; or, it may be so, (for I
recollect the birth of my father's five-legged calf, in Danbury,
was brought on by an early sun-rise,) the election of Robert
Gudgeon as alderman.
Is not the wit of this undeniable? Does it not 'fortify like a
cordial?' Yet it is not more striking than the humor of many other
portions of the 'Comedy;' not more so indeed than several passages
in the third act, especially in the dialogue between CROWDER and
the committee-men, concerning the means by which the candidate is
to recommend himself to his constituents, though it were to 'run a
_sewer_ through his pocket (!) and drain it to the last cent.' The
committee do not 'sit' in their room at a tavern without 'creature
comforts.' Observe: the landlord is called:
LANDLORD. (_From without._) Coming!
CROWDER. We want your bill. That will bring him up with it,
short and quick.
LANDLORD. (_From without._) It's e'en a'most made out; only a
few items to add.
_Enter_ LANDLORD.
CROWDER. Come, read it off, jolly Job Works, in a good clear
half-price voice; by particulars, and it's cash on the nail.
Begin!
LANDLORD. That I likes; 'four sperm candle'; Nothing like the
ready metal; 'Two quarts beer, with snuffers.'
CROWDER. Well, he has a fine throat of his own; it smacks of the
spigot.
LANDLORD. Room-hire, cigars, and two juleps, with benches.
CROWDER. Well.
LANDLORD. A small pig with lemon.
CROWDER. A pig with lemon!
LANDLORD. Two plates pickled beans, two rolls twisted bread, and
beer extra.
CROWDER. Beans, bread, and beer!
LANDLORD. Six lobster and two pound sage-cheese; likewise a
splendid pork-pie made of chops.
CROWDER. A splendid pork-pie made of chops!
LANDLORD. And a suet pudding.
CROWDER. Nothing else?
LANDLORD. Nothing else.
The landlord declares, in answer to a little grumbling, that
'the things' named in the bill were 'sent down for' from the
committee-room by way of the chimney, in a stone-bottle 'as big-as
my two-fist,' which struck his cook, 'poor hunch-back JENNY, in the
small, or rather I should say in the big of her back, as she was
stooping over a dish of _prawns_ (?) for Tom Lug!' CROWDER pays, of
course, in the usual way; but his rival is not to be outdone by such
liberality. He 'bears a charmed life:' for Mrs. GUDGEON has 'told
him to buy fresh chick-weed and goose-grass to carry in his pocket,
because they say it draws voters!'
But enough. If our readers desire more of Mr. MATHEWS' 'Comedy,'
they must seek it elsewhere. We have selected the liveliest
passages we could find: for there is a calm placidity of emptiness,
diversified with a bustling inanity of thought, in _other_ portions
of this performance, which we have small desire to illustrate by
examples; since they would not fail to produce at least twenty yawns
to a page; a soporific that neither watchman not sick-nurse could
support.
We come next in order to the poems on '_Man, in his Various Aspects
under the American Republic_;' a very comprehensive title to much
incomprehensible rhyme with little reason. As a poet, Mr. MATHEWS
cannot reasonably expect to take the exalted order of rank which he
holds as a dramatist. That indeed were expecting quite too much! To
use the illustration of a nautical critic, his plan of writing-verse
would seem to be, to 'fire away with the high-soundingest words
he can get, whereby his meaning looms larger than it is, like a
fishing-boat in a fog.' Where there is such a ground-swell of
language, there can be no great depth of ideas. Yet there _are_ good
ideas in some of the lines in these ten-score of pages, borne down
though they be, and almost smothered, with words. For the most part,
however, the volume presents but a farrago of crude expressions,
ideas, and pictures, some poetical and others 'quite the reverse,'
aggregated in a rude and undigested mass. The writer treats, under
nineteen divisions, of Man as child, father, teacher, citizen,
farmer, mechanic, merchant, soldier, statesman, etc.; and from
some of these we propose to select a few examples of Mr. MATHEWS'S
thoughts and style poetical. The following stanza is taken from the
advice given to 'the father' of an infant:
'A soul distinct and sphered, its own true star,
Shining and _axled_ for a separate way.'
An 'axled soul' is good, as POLONIUS would say; but it is not much
better than one or two equally original expressions which ensue:
'BE thou a Heaven of truth and cheerful hope,
Clear as the clear round midnight at its full;
And he, the Earth beneath that elder cope--
And each 'gainst each for highest mastery pull:
The child and father, each shall fitly be--
Hope in the evening vanward paling down,
The one--the other younger Hope upspringing,
With the glancing morning for its crown.'
The writer counsels 'the citizen' not to 'overstalk' his brother,
but to show in his mien 'each motion _forthright_, calm, and free;'
and he farther advises in the words following, to wit:
'FEEL well with the poised ballot in thy hand,
Thine unmatched sovereignty of right and wrong:
'Tis thine to bless or blast the waiting land,
_To shorten up its life or make it long_.'
In the annexed stanza there is an assortment of similes, the like
of which one seldom encounters in so brief a compass. The lines
are addressed to 'the farmer;' and we are acquainted with several
excellent persons among that indispensable class of the community,
to whom we should like to hear Mr. MATHEWS _read_ them! It would be
a 'rich treat' to hear their opinion of such pellucid poetry:
'WHEN cloud-like whirling through the stormy State
Fierce Revolutions rush in wild-orbed haste,
On the still highway stay their darkling course,
And soothe with gentle airs their fiery breast;
Slaking the anger of their chariot-wheels
In the cool flowings of the mountain brook,
While from the cloud the heavenward prophet casts
His mantle's peace, and _shines his better look_.'
Cloud-like revolutions stopping on the highway to slake their
chariot-wheels in a mountain-brook! If that isn't 'original poetry'
we know not what is. Now the opening of the piece from which
the above stanza is taken we have no doubt is considered by the
writer quite inferior to it; but to our conception, the nature
and simplicity which it preserves for a moment are worth all the
striking figures to which we have alluded. 'The mechanic,' whose
business is to 'shape and _finish forth_ iron and wood,' comes in
for his share of rythmical counsel:
'LET consecrate, whate'er it strikes, each blow,
From the small whisper of the tinkling smith,
Up to the big-voiced sledge that heaving slow
Roars 'gainst the massy bar, and tears
Its entrail, glowing, as with angry teeth--
Anchors that hold a world should thus-wise grow.'
Observe the felicitousness of the foregoing poetical terms. The
'tinkling smith,' and the 'big-voiced sledge' _roaring_ against
an iron bar, and tearing out its _entrails_ with angry _teeth_!
Could appropriateness and power of metaphor reach much beyond this?
'Not good,' we suspect. We thought to have given our friends, 'the
merchants,' a lift with Mr. MATHEWS'S moral instruction; but we can
only remind them, with his assistance, that
'Undimmed _the man_ should through _the trader_ shine,
And show the soul _unbabied_ by his craft.'
'Next comes the soldier,' to whom Mr. MATHEWS thus addresses himself:
'With grounded arms, and silent as the mountains,
Pause for thy quarrel at the _marbled sea_.'
'Marbled sea' is good; as good as 'the mobled queen.' It might
perhaps assist the effect a little, if the reader knew what it
meant. Possibly the writer knows; yet we doubt it. The next stanza
presents a cloudy vision of the sublime obscure:
'THOUGH sleeps the war-blade in the _amorous_ sheath,
And the dumb cannon stretches at _his leisure_--
When strikes the shore a hostile foot--out-breathe
Ye grim, loud guns--ye fierce swords work your pleasure!
And sternly, in your stubborn socket set,
For life or death--_your hilt upon the stedfast land_,
Your glance upon the foe, thou sure-set bayonet,
Firm 'gainst a world's shock in your _fastness_ stand!'
'The statesman' is not less felicitously 'touched off' than the
soldier:
'DEEPER to feel, than quickly to express,
And then alone in the consummate act;
_Reaps not the ocean, nor the free air tills_,
But keeps within his own peculiar tract;
Confirms the State in all its needful right,
Nor strives to draw within its general bound;
For gain or loss, for glory or distress,
The rich man's hoard, the _poor man's patchy ground_.'
'Hold, enough!' doubtless exclaims the reader. Yet could we go on to
the end of the volume with just such 'poetry' as this. We must ask
the farther attention of 'the curious' to be directed to the work
itself, while we proceed to glance for a moment at the production
last cited at the head of this notice.