like a bird there; the days seemed no more than minutes; they were
coming, and they were gone. Events, emotions, changes of belief,
transformations of character, succeeded each other with magical
rapidity. Every thing was transacted at the wildest speed of dreams; and
yet, what was strangest of all, every thing went smoothly and naturally;
nothing excited astonishment. In a few days, or a few seconds, whatever
the period of time might have been, Father Higgins enjoyed being
Divinity Higgins.
"I think it best for the eventual spiritual interests av me paple that
they should continue to worship me for a while longer," he said to
Heller. "Human nature in a savage state, ye see, wont go at wan jump
from a log av wood to the thrue Deity. I'm playin' the part av a
steppin'-stone betwixt the two. Afther they've larned to lift their
sowls to Higgins, they'll be able to go a bit higher, say to the saints
first, an' thin to the blissid Vargin, an' so on, wan step at a time,
till they've got the whole av it. But it'll be mortial slow, I'm
doubtin'. I may have to bear an' forbear as I am for an intire
gineration av the poor crachurs."
"Certainly," assented the professor. "Nothing so injurious to weak eyes
as too much light."
"Y' 'ave put it in a nutshell," replied the priest. "Sure an' that's
the rason we're opposed to gineral schoolin', an' to readin' the Bible
to the children. Y' are a masther mind, Heller, an' ought to been in
howly ordhers. An' that brings me to another idee av high importince.
There should be somebody to run about with howly wather an' exthrame
unction, an' the like. Now that business wouldn't shuit me pheesical
conformation, an' nayther would it shuit the character I have to bear.
It's betther that you should do the outside trampin', Heller. Ye know
the tradditions an' docthrines av the Church well enough, an' y' are a
dab at Latin. As for yer not bein' av the prastely office, I'll jist lay
hands on ye an' qualify ye for the same. If it happens to be a bit
irregular, why, the ind justifies the manes, ye remimber, or the ancient
Fathers are all wrong, which is onpossible. An' now, Heller, do tell
these poor, benighted, lazy loons that I must have me coky-nuts fresh,
an' as great a variety av fish as can be procured in these wathers. The
chap that preshumes to bring me an owld coky-nut I'll curse his basket
an' his shtore."
After a brief missionary effort, Heller reported that the whole
population of the island, barring a few obstinate seniors, had been
baptized.
"That's well, me son," replied Father Higgins. "I s'pose y' 'ave done it
rather on the wholesale, sprinklin' a hundred or so at a fling, but I've
no doubt y' 'ave done it the best ye could in the time y' 'ave had; and
surely it's a great work, no matter how done. As for the apostates--I
mane the fellows that stick to their owld haythinism--it might be well
to make an example av a few av thim, jist for the encouragemint av the
faithful. Suppose ye should organize an inquisition, or howly office,
Heller, an' conduct the proceedin's yerself intirely, be way av seein'
that they are regular an' effective? Y' are parfectly able for it, wid
your knowledge av Church history."
It was not long before Heller was able to state that all the old fogies
and silver-grays who remained alive had been converted.
"Ah, but isn't that blissid news!" responded Father Higgins, joyfully.
"An' wouldn't me brethren, the other biships, be glad to hear that same
concernin' their dioceses! That's betther nor coky-nuts--of which,
be-the-way, I'm gettin' a bit tired. I wondher, Heller, if some av
these other islands wouldn't furnish us a change of diet? If we could
find pataties an' grapes, it ud be a blessin' to body an' sowl. Surely
it ud be a good deed to bring all this archypilago into the thrue faith.
Couldn't the chafe, now, take an army out in his doubled-barrelled
canoes, an' commince the work av convarsion? Tell him if he'll do that
same, I'll grant him all the indulgences he can think av."
Another magical moment of these lightning-like days brought about
important events. With an armament of scores of canoes and hundreds of
warriors the chief invaded a large island, and was beaten in a bloody
battle by its painim inhabitants, escaping with but a remnant of his
followers. Then came a counter invasion. The worshippers of Father
Higgins fought for their deity under his eye; the unbelievers were
defeated and driven with great slaughter to their dug-outs. But as the
hostile fleet still held command of the sea and hovered menacingly off
the coast, keeping the faithful under arms and preventing them from
fishing, the good Father decided that peace was necessary.
"This livin' on coky-nuts and bread-fruits intirely is bad for the
stomich, Heller," he observed. "We must come to an ondherstandin' wid
these raskilly infidels an' idolaters. See if ye can't make tarms wid
um."
The adroit Heller soon arranged a secret treaty with the enemy to the
following effect: Their chief, Umbaho, was to be universal king and his
orthodox rival, Patoo-patoo, was to be beheaded; polygamy, cannibalism,
and the use of the sacred poison were to continue in force; both islands
were to adore Father Higgins and bring him sacrifices.
"Seems to me they're mighty sevare tarms," commented the Father. "I'd 'a
been glad to get howld av a bit av timporal sovereighnty, don't you see?
Moreover, I'm sorry about that poor divil, Patoo-patoo; he was my first
convart. Annyway, I'll give um full absolution, so that death can't hurt
um sariously, an' I'll canonize him as a martyr. Saint Patoo-patoo! If
that don't satisfy um, an' if he ain't willin' to die for the extinsion
av the faith, he's no thrue belayver, and desarves no pity. So jist see
to gettin' um off aisy."
After another brief period of time, such as periods of time were in
these mysterious islands, Father Higgins found himself the acknowledged
divinity of the whole archipelago.
"This cannebalism an' polygamy an' the like greatly distresses me,
however," he confessed to Heller. "Be moments I'm timpted to unfold the
naked truth, an' bring these paple square up to the canons of the Church
at wanst. But it ud be risky. We read av times, ye know, Heller, that
God winked at. No doubt it's me duty, as a divinity, to go on winkin' at
these polygamies an' cannebalisms a bit longer. Slow an' aisy is me
motto, an' I've noticed it's the way of Providence mostly. Sure it was
so at home in Sableburg, ye know, Heller; we didn't average a convart in
twinty years."
Now ensued an event which troubled the holy Father more than any thing
that had yet occurred during his episcopate. Two German priests, Heller
informed him, had landed on one of the islands of the archipelago, and
were preaching the pure doctrines of the Christian faith, denouncing
cannibalism and polygamy, and otherwise sapping the established
religion.
"Some av the New Catholics, I'll warrant ye!" exclaimed Higgins,
indignantly. "Some of thim blatherskites av the Döllinger school, come
over here to stir up sedition in the Church, as though they hadn't made
worry enough in the owld counthries. An' what business has Dutchmen
here, annyway, whin an Irishman has begun the good worrk? They've no
right to take the labor of convartin' these haythins out of me hands
that a-way. Me conscience won't allow me to permit such distarbances an'
innovations. See if ye can't get um to lave the islands peaceable,
Heller. If they won't, I shall have to let Umbaho settle wid um afther
his fashion."
An embassy to the missionaries having obtained from them no other
response than that they would welcome martyrdom rather than relinquish
their labors, Umbaho was dispatched against them at the head of a
sufficient army, with instructions to treat them as enemies of Feejee
and of the unity of the Church.
But instead of slaughtering the missionaries, Umbaho was converted by
them. He renounced cannibalism, polygamy, and the sacred poison; he
denied Father Higgins. Accompanied by one of the Germans, he returned to
Feejee at the head of his army, bent on establishing the true Christian
faith.
"We must press a lot av min, an' beat um," responded the good Father,
when Heller informed him of the approach and purposes of the chief.
"Tell the faithful to give no quarter; tell um to desthroy ivery wan of
these schismatics; an' as for the Dutchman, burrn him at the stake, as
they used to do in the good owld times."
A great battle ensued; the adherents of Higginsism were defeated and
dispersed; the door of the temple opened to Umbaho and the German.
Father Higgins, by this time a helpless mass of fat, swaying perilously
on his unsteady platform, looked down upon them with terror through the
smoke of his altar.
"Sacrilegious wretch!" cried the German, God has put an end to thy mad
and selfish and wicked dominion."
"I wish I had niver been a biship!" screamed Father Higgins at the top
of his voice, as he rolled off the platform.
All the way from the Cannibal Islands he fell and tumbled and dropped,
until, with a dull thump, he alighted upon the floor of his own study.
"There! y' 'ave rolled out av yer chair agen, Father Higgins," said his
housekeeper, who at that moment entered the room to order him to bed, as
was her merciful custom.
"So I have," returned the Father, picking himself up. "An' sarved me
right, too. I thought I was the biggest raskil on the face av the earth.
I wondher if it's true. The Lord presarve me from the timptation av
great power, or I'll abuse it, an' abuse me felly-men and the
Church!"--_Harper's Magazine_, May, 1872.
JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE.
(BORN, 1827.)
* * * * *
FRED TROVER'S LITTLE IRON-CLAD.
Did I never tell you the story? Is it possible? Draw up your chair.
Stick of wood, Harry. Smoke?
You've heard of my Uncle Popworth, though. Why, yes! You've seen
him;--the eminently respectable elderly gentleman who came one day last
summer just as you were going; book under his arm, you remember; weed on
his hat; dry smile on bland countenance; tall, lank individual in very
seedy black. With him my tale begins; for if I had never indulged in an
Uncle Popworth I should never have sported an Iron-Clad.
Quite right, sir; his arrival _was_ a surprise to me. To know how great
a surprise, you must understand why I left city, friends, business, and
settled down in this quiet village. It was chiefly, sir, to escape the
fascinations of that worthy old gentleman that I bought this place, and
took refuge here with my wife and little ones. Here we had respite,
respite and nepenthe from our memories of Uncle Popworth; here we used
to sit down in the evening and talk of the past with grateful and
tranquil emotions, as people speak of awful things endured in days that
are no more. To us the height of human happiness was raising green corn
and strawberries, in a retired neighborhood where uncles were unknown.
But, sir, when that Phantom, that Vampire, that Fate, loomed before my
vision that day, if you had said, "Trover, I'll give ye sixpence for
this neat little box of yours," I should have said, "Done!" with the
trifling proviso that you should take my uncle in the bargain.
The matter with him? What indeed could invest human flesh with such
terrors,--what but this? he was--he is--let me shriek it in your ear--a
bore--a BORE! of the most malignant type; an intolerable, terrible,
unmitigated BORE!
That book under his arm was a volume of his own sermons;--nine hundred
and ninety-nine octavo pages, O Heaven! It wasn't enough for him to
preach and re-preach those appalling discourses, but then the ruthless
man must go and print 'em! When I consider what booksellers--worthy men,
no doubt, many of them, deserving well of their kind--he must have
talked nearly into a state of syncope before ever he found one to give
way, in a moment of weakness, of utter exhaustion and despair, and
consent to publish him; and when I reflect what numbers of inoffensive
persons, in the quiet walks of life, have been made to suffer the
infliction of that Bore's Own Book, I pause, I stand aghast at the
inscrutability of Divine Providence.
Don't think me profane, and don't for a moment imagine I underrate the
function of the preacher. There's nothing better than a good
sermon,--one that puts new life into you. But what of a sermon that
takes life out of you? instead of a spiritual fountain, a spiritual
sponge that absorbs your powers of body and soul, so that the longer you
listen the more you are impoverished? A merely poor sermon isn't so bad;
you will find, if you are the right kind of a hearer, that it will
suggest something better than itself; a good hen will lay to a bit of
earthen. But the discourse of your ministerial vampire, fastening by
some mystical process upon the hearer who has life of his own,--though
not every one has that,--sucks and sucks and sucks; and he is exhausted
while the preacher is refreshed. So it happens that your born bore is
never weary of his own boring; he thrives upon it; while he seems to be
giving, he is mysteriously taking in--he is drinking your blood.
But you say nobody is obliged to _read_ a sermon. O my unsophisticated
friend! if a man will put his thoughts--or his words, if thoughts are
lacking--between covers,--spread his banquet, and respectfully invite
Public Taste to partake of it, Public Taste being free to decline, then
your observation is sound. If an author quietly buries himself in his
book,--very good! hic jacet; peace to his ashes!
"The times have been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end; but now they rise again,"
as Macbeth observes, with some confusion of syntax, excusable in a
person of his circumstances. Now, suppose they--or he--the man whose
brains are out--goes about with his coffin under his arm, like my worthy
uncle? and suppose he blandly, politely, relentlessly insists upon
reading to you, out of that octavo sarcophagus, passages which in his
opinion prove that he is not only not dead, but immortal? If such a man
be a stranger, snub him; if a casual acquaintance, met in an evil hour,
there is still hope,--doors have locks, and there are two sides to a
street, and nearsightedness is a blessing, and (as a last resort)
buttons may be sacrificed (you remember Lamb's story of Coleridge), and
left in the clutch of the fatal fingers. But one of your own kindred,
and very respectable, adding the claim of misfortune to his other claims
upon you,--pachydermatous to slights, smilingly persuasive, gently
persistent,--as imperturbable as a ship's wooden figurehead through all
the ups and downs of the voyage of life, and as insensible to cold
water;--in short, an uncle like my uncle, whom there was no getting rid
of;--what the deuce would you do?
Exactly; run away as I did. There was nothing else to be done, unless,
indeed, I had throttled the old gentleman; in which case I am confident
that one of our modern model juries would have brought in the popular
verdict of justifiable insanity. But, being a peaceable man, I was
averse to extreme measures. So I did the next best thing,--consulted my
wife, and retired to this village.
Then consider the shock to my feelings when I looked up that day and saw
the enemy of our peace stalking into our little Paradise with his book
under his arm and his carpet-bag in his hand! coming with his sermons
and his shirts, prepared to stay a week--that is to say a year--that is
to say forever, if we would suffer him,--and how was he to be hindered
by any desperate measures short of burning the house down!
"My dear nephew!" says he, striding toward me with eager steps, as you
perhaps remember, smiling his eternally dry, leathery smile,--"Nephew
Frederick!"--and he held out both hands to me, book in one and bag in
t'other,--"I am rejoiced! One would almost think you had tried to hide
away from your old uncle! for I've been three days hunting you up. And
how is Dolly? she ought to be glad to see me, after all the trouble I've
had in finding you! And, Nephew Frederick!--h'm!--can you lend me three
dollars for the hackman? for I don't happen to have--thank you! I should
have been saved this if you had only known I was stopping last night at
a public house in the next village, for I know how delighted you would
have been to drive over and fetch me!"
If you were not already out of hearing, you may have noticed that I made
no reply to this affecting speech. The old gentleman has grown quite
deaf of late years,--an infirmity which was once a source of untold
misery to his friends, to whom he was constantly appealing for their
opinions, which they were obliged to shout in his ear. But now, happily,
the world has about ceased responding to him, and he has almost ceased
to expect responses from the world. He just catches your eye, and, when
he says, "Don't you think so, sir?" or, "What is your opinion, sir?" an
approving nod does your business.
The hackman paid, my dear uncle accompanied me to the house, unfolding
the catalogue of his woes by the way. For he is one of those worthy,
unoffending persons, whom an ungrateful world jostles and tramples
upon,--whom unmerciful disaster follows fast and follows faster. In his
younger days, he was settled over I don't know how many different
parishes; but secret enmity pursued him everywhere, poisoning the
parochial mind against him, and driving him relentlessly from place to
place. Then he relapsed into agencies, and went through a long list of
them, each terminating in flat failure, to his ever-recurring
surprise,--the simple old soul never suspecting, to this day, who his
one great, tireless, terrible enemy is!
I got him into the library, and went to talk over this unexpected
visit--or visitation--with Dolly. She bore up under it more cheerfully
than could have been expected,--suppressed a sigh,--and said she would
go down and meet him. She received him with a hospitable smile (I verily
believe that more of the world's hypocrisy proceeds from too much
good-nature than from too little), and listened patiently to his
explanations.
"You will observe that I have brought my bag," says he, "for I knew you
wouldn't let me off for a day or two,--though I must positively leave in
a week,--in two weeks, at the latest. I have brought my volume, too, for
I am contemplating a new edition" (he is always contemplating a new
edition, making that a pretext for lugging the book about with him),
"and I wish to enjoy the advantages of your and Frederick's
criticism;--I anticipate some good, comfortable, old-time talks over the
old book, Frederick!"
We had invited some village friends to come in and eat strawberries and
cream with us that afternoon; and the question arose, what should be
done with the old gentleman? Harry, who is a lad of a rather lively
fancy, coming in while we were taking advantage of his great uncle's
deafness to discuss the subject in his presence, proposed a pleasant
expedient. "Trot him out into the cornfield, introduce him to the
scarecrow, and let him talk to that," says he, grinning up into the
visitor's face, who grinned down at him, no doubt thinking what a
wonderfully charming boy he was! If he were as blind as he is deaf, he
might have been disposed of very comfortably in some such ingenious
way;--the scarecrow, or any other lay figure, might have served to
engage him in one of his immortal monologues. As it was, the suggestion
bore fruit later, as you will see.
While we were consulting--keeping up our scattering fire of small-arms
under the old talker's heavy guns--our parish minister called,--old
Doctor Wortleby, for whom we have a great liking and respect. Of course
we had to introduce him to Uncle Popworth,--for they met face to face;
and of course Uncle Popworth fastened at once upon the brother
clergyman. Being my guest, Wortleby could do no less than listen to
Popworth, who is my uncle. He listened with interest and sympathy for
the first half-hour; and then continued listening for another half-hour,
after his interest and sympathy were exhausted. Then, attempting to go,
he got his hat, and sat with it in his hand half an hour longer. Then he
stood half an hour on his poor old gouty feet, desperately edging toward
the door.
"Ah, certainly," says he, with a weary smile, repeatedly endeavoring to
break the spell that bound him. "I shall be most happy to hear the
conclusion of your remarks at some future time" (even ministers can lie
out of politeness); "but just now--"
"One word more, and I am done," cries my Uncle Popworth, for the
fiftieth time; and Wortleby, in despair, sat down again.
Then our friends arrived.
Dolly and I, who had all the while been benevolently wishing Wortleby
would go, and trying to help him off, now selfishly hoped he would
remain and share our entertainment--and our Uncle Popworth.
"I ought to have gone two hours ago," he said, with a plaintive smile,
in reply to our invitation; "but, really, I am feeling the need of a
cup of tea" (and no wonder!) "and I think I will stay."
We cruelly wished that he might continue to engage my uncle in
conversation; but that would have been too much to hope from the sublime
endurance of a martyr,--if ever there was one more patient than he.
Seeing the Lintons and the Greggs arrive, he craftily awaited his
opportunity, and slipped off, to give them a turn on the gridiron. First
Linton was secured; and you should have seen him roll his mute,
appealing orbs, as he settled helplessly down under the infliction.
Suddenly he made a dash. "I am ignorant of these matters," said he; "but
Gregg understands them;--Gregg will talk with you." But Gregg took
refuge behind the ladies. The ladies receiving a hint from poor
distressed Dolly, scattered. But no artifice availed against the
dreadful man. Piazza, parlor, garden,--he ranged everywhere, and was
sure to seize a victim.
At last tea was ready, and we all went in. The Lintons and Greggs are
people of the world, who would hardly have cared to wait for a blessing
on such lovely heaps of strawberries and mugs of cream as they saw
before them; but, there being two clergymen at the table, the ceremony
was evidently expected. We were placidly seated; there was a hush,
agreeably filled with the fragrance of the delicious fruit: even my
uncle Popworth, from long habit, turned off his talk at that suggestive
moment: when I did what I thought a shrewd thing. I knew too well my
relative's long-windedness at his devotions, as at everything else (I
wonder if Heaven itself isn't bored by such fellows!)--I had suffered, I
had seen my guests suffer, too much from him already,--to think of
deliberately yielding him a fearful advantage over us; so I coolly
passed him by, and gave an expressive nod to the old Doctor.
Wortleby began; and I was congratulating myself on my adroit management
of a delicate matter, when--conceive my consternation!--Popworth--not to
speak it profanely--followed suit! The reverend egotist couldn't take in
the possibility of anybody but himself being invited to say grace at our
table, he being present;--he hadn't noticed my nod to the Doctor, and
the Doctor's low, earnest voice didn't reach him;--and there, with one
blessing going on one side of the table, he, as I said, pitched in on
the other! His eyes shut, his hands spread over his plate, his elbows on
the board, his head bowed, he took care that grace should abound with us
for once! His mill started, I knew there was no stopping it, and I hoped
Wortleby would desist. But he didn't know his man. He seemed to feel
that he had the stroke-oar, and he pulled away manfully. As Popworth
lifted up his loud, nasal voice, the old Doctor raised his voice, in the
vain hope, I suppose, of making himself heard by his lusty competitor.
If you have never had two blessings running opposition at your table, in
the presence of invited guests, you can never imagine how astounding,
how killingly ludicrous it was! I felt that both Linton and Gregg were
ready to tumble over, each in an apoplexy of suppressed emotions; while
I had recourse to my handkerchief to hide my tears. At length, poor
Wortleby yielded to fate,--withdrew from the unequal contest--hauled
off--for repairs; and the old seventy-two gun-ship thundered away in
triumph.