IN WHICH WILL BE FOUND SEVERAL THINGS COMMON TO MILITARY
POLITICIANS; ALSO, A CURIOUS HISTORY OF THE CRITICS, AS RELATED BY
MR. TICKLER.
HAVING given his order to the servant, General Potter turned to Mr.
Tickler, and with great politeness said, "I may say to you in
confidence, seeing that I shall be all right when I take a bottle or
two of Townsend's Sarsaparilla, that my friends made me a General
last night; and as experience teaches me that this title will do me
great service, pray make it convenient to address me accordingly."
Mr. Tickler at once promised to scrupulously regard this admonition,
as well as to hold the general's person in profound respect.
And now, as many inquiries were made after his health by persons of
distinction, he desired the host to send them away, saying he was
doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. And when
the gentlemen who retired at Mr. Tickler's request reentered the
room, they were surprised and astonished to find the man they had
supposed on the point of death restored to perfect health, and weak
only from the blood taken from him by the skillful physician. He
was, indeed, speaking as good English as needs be, and earnestly
debating a question of state policy with Mr. Tickler over an
excellent punch. On making inquiries about his pains, he good
naturedly assured them he was a much sounder man than before, except
that he had a slight itching in one of his toes, which could be
readily removed with a bottle or two of Dr. Townsend's Sarsaparilla.
They were not a little diverted at the quaintness of the remark, and
went away satisfied that he was at least the most remarkable man of
the age, if not the wisest.
Not a thought was given to old Battle during all this time, which
was the strangest thing of all, considering the affection he bore
him. Having drained his glass, the general (which he must henceforth
be called) gave Mr. Tickler wonderful account of his mission, and
the prospects that were held out to him. "I see, sir," said he,
addressing Tickler, "that you are a man of uncommon ability; and as
I stand in great need of just such a gentleman's services, to write
my speeches, and do an elegant correspondence, you have but to say
you will join me, and I promise you such a share of the rewards as
will make you a happy man for the rest of your life. My speeches are
not difficult, but my correspondence is extensive and curious
enough, God knows."
"An office that will better my condition will not stand long waiting
my acceptance, as you shall have reason to know, sir, when you make
me the offer. Mind ye, I have followed the wretched life of a critic
so long that I am compelled to cheat my tailor, and depend on a
friend to invite me to dinner. As to my accomplishments, you will
find them out by inquiring at the Press Club, which is composed of
as nice gentlemen as any lady of taste could wish; and I swear, sir,
they have so much learning that they have killed several magazines
of great respectability." Mr. Tickler said this with an air of
superlative dignity; and having a beard and mustache of exquisite
growth, he drew a delicate comb from his pocket, and commenced
curling them with great care. In truth, Mr. Orlando Tickler was
something of an exquisite, and as much a fixture at the opera as the
empty chair of a stockholder. What was more, he leveled an opera
glass worth sixty dollars at the belles.
"Really, sir," replied the general with a smile, "you talk like a
gentleman of profound wisdom. I perhaps ought to tell you, that a
clever young gentleman, who did me the service I desire of you,
being ambitious, left me, and set up for a lawyer. And it was in
vain I promisd him a seat in Congress in two years, if he would
remain with me. It is also said of him, that he has taken to writing
my history, which an honest bookseller has engaged to publish out of
sheer respect to the severe and very uncharitable things he had said
of me and my wife, Polly Potter." The general now begged Mr. Tickler
to give him a more detailed account of these critics, of whom he he
had spoken so strangely.
"Faith, sir, it gives me pleasure to impart knowledge to others,"
rejoined Mr. Tickler; "and as I have no great love for any of them,
I will, to be brief, tell you that you may divide them under four
heads: The wise critics, the fashionable society critics, the
correspondent critics, and the critics at large. The wise critic is
generally a dilapidated parson, who, having vacated the pulpit for
want of morals, brings into literature the spirit of the viper,
which he manifests toward his brother craftsmen with peculiar
unction. He preserves a sort of clerical air, wears a white
neckcloth, spectacles, and a shabby coat; and in addition to foul
linen, he has a great passion for sending poets and novel writers to
the devil. He affects to despise a literature not well savored with
religious sentiment, but will at times condescend to lavish
unmeasured praise upon a book of loose morals. The wise critic
generally has lodging with some pious lady in Fourth Street,
breakfasts on rolls and coffee at Peteler's, dines three times a
week with his female literary friends, and for the rest takes rice
and milk at Savery's, in Beekman Street. Being literary editor of
two or more daily papers, publishers hold him in great respect, and
employ him at reading the novels of ambitious school girls, which he
will aid them in cramming down the spacious throat of the public. It
would not do to offer a wise critic pay for his services; but the
accepting of presents he regards in the light of exchanges of love
between a friend served and a friend admired. He has numerous
affairs of ceremony with gifted widows, who write very excellent
sensation books in behalf of downtrodden humanity, and who never
fail to express their admiration of his great learning; and this
high consideration he repays with ponderous eulogies on their books.
His carping he reserves for the devil, and such authors as Prescott,
Bryant, and Longfellow.
"The fashionable critic belongs to the Press Club, from which it may
be inferred that he is an excellent judge of Cologne and hair oil. I
say this, sir, seeing how large a a quantity of these excellent
articles are used by the nice persons who constitute that club. In
dress, the fashionable critic is quite up to Fifth Avenue, and in
manners he is rather above it. He is in high favor with certain aged
dowagers of doubtful ancestry, who never think of giving an evening
party without one or two of the best cravatted. He has a wonderful
relish for light literature, and affects to speak numerous tongues.
In truth, if there be a tongue he is not familiar with, he will tell
you most patronizingly that it is a tongue not known in fashionable
society. He writes articles for magazines, turns the brains of
certain young damsels at boarding schools, and at the end of the
year fancies himself a Byron. Now and then he gathers his stray
effusions together, and gives them to the forgiving world in a book
that sends a titillation of joy to the hearts of his numerous
admirers, and also sets every fashionable critic to praising it as
the most wonderful work of the age; for unlike the wise critic, the
fashionable critic eschews envy, and invariably puffs the bantlings
of his fellows. In fine, the fashionable critic is always tied to
some lady friend, who has written a book he is about to notice in
Putnam, a journal he has nearly choked to death with his great
learning. If you would know how he lives I will tell you. He has
three dollar lodgings with Mrs. Sponge, in Amity Street, which is
fashionable enough for any body. But being a sharp fellow, he takes
a dinner or two at the Brevort House, which enables him to indite
all his epistles therefrom, so, to his friends, he is at the Brevort
House. And, believe me, sir, for I say it more in pity than anger,
he is a man much given to appropriating to himself the coats and
breeches of his friends, and going uninvited to balls.
"The correspondent critic is generally an energetic gentleman of
foreign extraction and doubtful ancestry. Being without means or
business, he sets up for a critic of books. He will correspond
gratis for papers in Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, Cincinnati,
and other large cities. Having "got his newspapers," he forms an
extensive acquaintance with authors, publishers, and actors-in a
word, with any one in need of puffing, the force of which he gauges
according to the amount paid. Although the wise critic holds him in
utter contempt, he affects a knowledge of books quite as profound,
and can completely outshine him in his style of adulation. As for
new books, no enterprising publisher would deign to send him less
than two copies, which may be found at a book stall the very next
morning. As, however, his sense of feeling is so delicate that he
only wants to feel a book to decide upon its merits, this disposing
of the books fortunately does not debar him from giving a ten dollar
opinion of it in one of his newspapers. When, however, his puffs are
not squared according to the publisher's liking, he is sent about
his business; sometimes threatened with an exposé of the
peculiarities of his trade. He has free drinks and dinners at
various first class hotels, which he invariably recommends in his
'articles.' Doctor Thompson's purgative powders, Lubin's perfumery,
and the Home Journal, are severally victims of his profound respect.
"The correspondent critic has small apartments at first class
hotels, which he changes frequently, out of sheer respect, as he
says, to economy. But I have failed to discover how this could
apply, since the change was invariably made for a more expensive
hotel, while a little score always remained on the ledger, to the no
small annoyance of the host. But, sir, where they have it is in
'knowing' the impressibility of certain ambitious actresses, whose
acquaintance they cultivate, and for a given sum set them up for
Siddonses and Rachels, with the same respect for modesty they evince
in puffing Peteler's soda water.
"And now, sir, we have come to the last, but depend upon it, he is
not the least of them all--I mean the critic at large." Here Mr.
Tickler, who, it must be known, was as big a knave as any of them,
and only charged upon others the little inconsistencies he had
himself been guilty of, lighted his cigar, and suggested the good
results of another well compounded punch, which the general ordered
without delay. "I tell you, sir," Mr. Tickler resumed, "he is an
oily gentleman in very shabby clothes, and might be easily mistaken
for a cross between a toper and a tinker. Lacking capacity for any
other business, he forms a cheap connection with the press, where
his first office would seem to be that of sitting in judgment upon
literature. Indeed, I have seldom seen a more shabby gentleman set
up for a man of letters. His aversion to water and clean linen is
only equaled by his love of actors and bad brandy, the latter having
painted his face with a deep glow. The limit of his 'set phrases' is
somewhat narrow; but notwithstanding this little impediment, he has
a wonderful facility for making heroes. He assists publishers in
'getting out books,' getting up sensations, and, perhaps, a learned
controversy, in which the Evening Post, feeling its reserved rights
infringed, will join issue with every one else. The critic at large
is, in most cases, a foreign gentleman, who boasts an engagement on
the Express, adding at the same time, and with some assurance, that
he writes for the Sunday Dispatch and Atlas. This stroke of policy
he holds necessary to preserve his respectability. He is in high
favor at all the theaters, tips winks to his actress acquaintances,
drinks slings and toddies at Honey's with actors befuddling
themselves into that dreamy state regarded by the profession as
necessary to the clear bringing out of all the beauties with which a
beneficent providence endowed the kings and conquerors they are to
personate at night, on that sequestered world called the stage. You
may know by the downy state of his wardrobe that he has a place to
sleep. But where he gets his breakfast is a mystery no friend has
ever yet solved for me. Aside from taking a two shilling dinner at
an oyster cellar in William Street and wiping his greasy fingers on
a leather apron, he would seem to live on hopes and brandy-mixed. He
affects great admiration of Johnson and Goldsmith, compares his
poverty with theirs, and attributes the present wretched condition
of criticism to the disgrace brought upon the profession by Easley
and other dilapidated priests. You will frequently see this shabby
man of letters standing at the corner of Nassau and Ann streets, his
hands in his pockets and his head bent in meditation. Occasionally
he will pitch his post in the vicinity of the Herald office, and
look up longingly at the windows, as if envying the dare devils who
write for that witty journal their fat larder. And here he will
remain until some kind friend with a shilling invites him to a
sling. Truly, sir, he is starved into flattering his patrons. If you
be an ambitious author, you have only to show him the color of your
coin, and for two dollars he will make you quite equal to Thackeray.
Five dollars in his palm, and, my word for it, he will have you
superior to either Bulwer or Dickens. If you be a poet, he will, for
the sum of eight dollars, (which is Easley's price,) enshrine you
with the combined mantles of Homer and Shakspeare. He applies the
same scale of prices to such actors and actresses as stand in need
of his services. Notwithstanding his passion for exalting his
patrons, he affects in conversation a great dislike for American
literature, while at the same time he is ever ready to lavish the
most indiscriminate praise upon the books of foreign authors. He
never makes both ends meet on Saturday, but will borrow a dollar to
go to Coney Island on Sunday.
"And now, your honor, you have the whole mob, and you may make what
you please of them." The general raised his glass, and was about to
declare he had been highly entertained, when Mr. Tickler suddenly
interrupted, by reminding him that he had just called to mind the
fact, that there was a play writer critic. "This fellow is the most
congenial of them all, has a little room somewhere in North Moore
Street, in which may found two or three pictures of fierce looking
tragedians; a cot covered with a quilt of various colors, and
looking as if it had been used for a horse blanket; a carpet the
colors have long since been worn out of; a dumb clock over the dingy
mantel piece; a portrait of the deceased husband of the hostess; and
a table well supplied with pipes, tobacco, and French plays. The
French plays are, when slightly altered and rendered into English,
for the public; the pipes and tobacco are for his friends. And
although perpetually climbing the mountain of poverty, while
building no end of castles in the air, he spends what he gets to-day
and has no thought for to-morrow. It having come the fashion of the
day for managers of theaters to feast their patrons on the morbid
sentimentality of French plays, (as if the vices of our own social
system were not enough to excite the vicious propensities of our
high blooded youths,) so also would it seem the highest inspiration
of the eighteenth century play writer to rehash and coarsify for the
American stage all those lascivious eccentricities for which the
French are famous. Hence, your jolly play writer is generally
engaged with his friends, smoking pipes and reading the last French
piece. The pleasure excited by this congenial occupation is
invariably heightened with libations of whiskey, the play writer
having a credit with the grocer at the corner for three bottles,
which, in a case of emergency, may be extended to four. He writes
occasionally for the Sunday newspapers, thinks John Brougham the
greatest dramatist and wit of the age, and stands ready either to
join him in a glass or sing his praises, though there is as much
reason for committing so flagrant an outrage as there would be in
praising the ten thousand and one stanzas written by that wonderful
and very eccentric bard, Richard Yeadon, who has sung of so many
springs and watering places as to dry up his own muse. He is
likewise something of a dabbler at reviewing novels, but they must
be largely sprinkled with murders, and have plots strong enough to
carry anything but the clergy. All other critics are to him great
bores; but, like them, he has a price for his services, and will, if
you pay him, make Shakspeares and Corneilles of very ordinary
persons. As for respectable society, he never even scented the
perfumery of its outskirts; he therefore holds it in utter contempt.
Ready at all times to adapt himself to circumstances, if he chance
to get in arrears to his landlady, he will square the account by
marrying either herself or her daughter." Mr. Tickler proceeded in
this strain, relating sundry curious things of the critics, until
the night was far advanced, and concluded by suggesting that no
serious damage could result to his constitution from another punch.
The general immediately fell in with this opinion, and indeed was so
entertained by his narrative, that he would have ordered a dozen
punches without considering his obligation to him wiped out. The
punch being dispatched, the general slipped five dollars into Mr.
Tickler's hand, and desired him to proceed to the host, thank him
for his great kindness, and clear the little score from his ledger.
Greatly delighted at the prospect of performing this service, Mr.
Tickler proceeded to the office, and was informed by the polite host
that it was a custom with him never to take money of persons driven
to seek shelter in his house by accidents. To end the matter, he
vowed it not only gave him great pleasure to have so distinguished a
military gentleman in his house, which had bore a character for
hospitality he was scrupulous it should continue to maintain, but
that he would be happy to see him again. Indeed, he wished him
success in all his undertakings, hoping they would bring comfort in
great abundance.
Slipping the price of a criticism into his own pocket, the adroit
Tickler returned to the general, swore the host was the most
generous fellow within his knowledge, and said, "See here, sir!
faith of my father! but he would only take three dollars for it all.
And he passed the divil knows how many compliments on your valor,
for I couldn't count them." He now proffered the remaining two, but
was not slow in acting upon the general's admonition to put them in
his own pocket. "And now, sir," resumed Mr. Tickler, with an air of
great anxiety, "let us hasten home to your lodgings, and to-morrow I
will write this generous man a note for you, thanking him for such
rare disinterestedness. And it shall be such a note!" The general,
however, was not quite sure whether such an act would become a man
of courtesy, and expressed a desire to see so generous a landlord
and tell him how much he thanked him. But as this would seriously
disturb Mr. Tickler's arrangements, that gentleman got him out of
the house as speedily as possible, assuring him that such a
proceeding would be contrary to all the established rules of
etiquette. Quietly then, they proceeded down Broadway together,
suspicious that they were seen by every passer by, and entered the
St. Nicholas by a private door. And so unobserved was this
achievement, that the host was, on the following morning, surprised
and astonished at the return of his guest, whom he would have sworn
was lying a corpse at the New York Hotel.