Newspaper Page Text
wretch, with no greater cause, when the wind
sits in another quarter.
Peter Brush is a man of this susceptible
class. His nervous system is of the most
delicate organization, and responds to the
changes of the weather, as an Eolian harp
sings to the fitful swellings of the breeze. —
Peter was abroad on the night of which we
speak ; either because, unlike the young Bru
tus, he had no Portia near to tell him that
such exposure was “not physical,” and that
it was the part of prudence to go to bed, or
that, although aware of the dangers of mias
ma* to a man of his constitution, he did not
happen at that precise moment to have access
to either house or bed; in his opinion, two
essential pre-requisites to couching himself, as
lie regarded taking it al fresco , on a cellar
door, not likely to answer any sanitary pur
pose. We incline ourselves to the opinion
that he was in the dilemma last mentioned, as
it had previously been the fate of other great
men. But be that as it may, Mr. Peter Brush
was in the street, as melancholy as an un
braced drum, “a gib-ed cat, or a lugged bear.”
Seated upon the curb, with his feet across
the gutter, he placed his elbow on a stepping
stone, and like Juliet on the balcony, leaned
his head upon his hand —a hand that would
perhaps have been the better of a covering,
though none would have been rash enough
to volunteer to be a glove upon it. He was
in a dilapidated condition—out at elbows, out
at knees, out of pocket, out of office, out of
spirits, and out in the street —an “ out and
outer” in every respect, and as outre a mortal
as ever the eye of man did rest upon. For
some time, Mr. Brush’s reflections had been
silent. Following Hamlet’s advice, he “ gave
them an understanding, but no tongue ;” and
he relieved himself at intervals by spitting
forlornly into the kennel. At length, suffer
ing his locked hands to fall between his
knees, and heaving a deep sigh, he spoke :
“ A long time ago, my ma used to put on
her specs and say, ‘Peter, my son, put not
your trust in princes” and from that day to
this I haven’t done any thing of the kind,
because none on ’em ever wanted to borry
nothing of me: and I never see a prince or a
king,—but one or two, and they had been ro
tated out. of office, —to borry nothing of them.
Princes! pooh !—Put not your trust in poli
ticianers —them’s my sentiments. You might
jist as well try to hold an eel by the tail. I
don’t care which side they're on, for I’ve tried
both, and I know. Put not your trust in pol
iticianers, or you’ll get a hyst.J
“ Ten years ago it came into my head that
things weren’t going on right; so I pretty
nearly gave myself up tee-totally to the good
of the republic, and left the shop to look out
lor itself. I was brimfull of patriotism, and
so uneasy in my mind for the salvation of
freedom, I couldn’t work. I tried to guess
which side was going to win, and I stuck to
it like wax; —sometimes I was a-one side,
sometimes I was a-t’other, and sometimes I
straddled till the election was over, and came
up jist in time to jine the hurrah. It was
good I was after; and what good could I do
if I wasn’t on the ‘lected side ? But, after all,
it was never a bit of use. Whenever the
battle was over, no matter what side was
sharing out the loaves and the fishes, and I
stepped up, I’ll be hanged if they didn’t cram
all they could into their own mouths, put
their arms over some, and grab at all the rest
with their paws, and say, ‘Go away, white
man, you ain’t capable.’—Capable! what's
the reason I ain’t capable? Pve got as ex
tensive a throat as any of ’em, and I could
-swallow the loaves and fishes without chok
ing, if each loaf was as big as a grind
stone and each fish as big as a sturgeon. —
Give Peter a chance, and leave him alone for
that. Then, another time when I called— ‘ I
want some spoils,’ says I; ‘a small bucket
full of spoils. Whichever side gets in, shares
the spoils, don’t they?’ So they first grinned,
and then they ups and tells me that virtue like
mine was its own reward, and that spoils
might spoil me. But it was no spoils that
spoilt me. and no loaf and lish that starved
me—l’m spoilt because I couldn’t get either.
Put not your trust in politician ers—l say it
again. Both sides used me jist alike. Here
I've been serving my country, more or less,
these ten years, like a patriot—going to town
meetings, hurraing my daylights out, and get
ting as blue as blazes—blocking the win
dows, getting licked fifty times, and having
more black eyes and bloody noses than you
could shake a stick at, all for the common
good, and for the purity of our illegal rights
—-and all for what? Why, for nix. If any
good has come of it, the country has put it
into her own pocket, and swindled me out of
my arnings. I can't get no office. Republics
is ungrateful! It wasn’t reward I was after.
I scorns the base insinivation. I only wanted
to be took care of, and have nothing to do but
to take care of the public, and I’ve only got
§ © unr sm ie sa a, mr aa & &’sr ®asa tt ir
half—nothing to do! Being took care of
was the main thing. Republics is ungrateful;
I’m swaggered if they ain’t. This is the way
old sojers is served.”
Peter having thus unpacked his o’erfraught
heart, heaved a sigh or two, as every one
does after a recapitulation of their own inju
ries, and remained for a few minntes wrapped
in abstraction.
“Well, well,” said he mournfully, swaying
his head to and fro after the sagacious fash
ion of Lord Burleigh—-“live and learn—live
and learn—-the world’s not what a man takes
it for before he finds it out. Whiskers grow
a good deal sooner than experience—genus
and patriotism ain’t got no chance—heigh-ho!
—But anyhow, a man might as well be un
der kiver as out in the open air in sich weath
er as this. It’s as cheap laying down as it is
settin’ up, and there’s not so much wear and
tear about it.”
With a groan, a yawm, and a sigh, Peter
Brush slowly arose, and stretching himself
like a drowsy lion, he walked toward the
steps of a neighboring house. Having reached
the top of the flight, he turned about and
looked round with a scrutinizing glance,
peering both up and down the street, to as
certain that none of the hereditary enemies of
the Brushes were in the vicinity. Being sat
isfied on that score, he prepared to enjoy all
the comfort that his peculiar situation could
command. According to the modern system
of warfare, he carried no baggage to encum
ber his motions, and was always ready to
bivouac without troublesomd preliminaries.—
He therefore placed himself on the upper step,
so that he was just within the doorway, his
head reclining against one side of it, and his
feet braced against the other, blockading the
passage in a very effectual manner. He ad
justed himself in position as carefully as the
Sybarite.who was annoyed at the w r rinkle of
a rose-leaf on his couch, grunting at each
motion like a Daniel Xambert at his toilet,
and he made minute alterations in his attitude
several times before he appeared perfectly sat
isfied that he had effected the best arrange
ments that could be devised. After reposing
for a while as if “the flinty and steel couch
of w r ar were his thaice-driven bed of down,”
he moved his head with an exclamation of
impatience at the hardness of the wall, and
taking his time-worn beaver, he crumpled it
up, and mollified the austerity of his bolster
by using the crushed hat as a pillow.
“ That will do,” ejaculated Brush, clasping
his hands before him, and twirling his thumbs;
and he then closed his eyes for the purpose of
reflecting upon his condition with a more per
fect concentration of thought than can be ob
tained when outward objects dazzle the mind.
But thinking in this way is always a hazar
dous experiment, whether it be after dinner,
or in the evening; and Peter Brush soon un
wittingly fell into a troubled, murmuring
sleep, in which his words were mere repeti
tions of what he had sa : d before, the general
scope of the argument being to prove the re
ceived axiom of former times, that republics
do not distribute their favors in proportion to
services rendered, and that, in the speaker’s
opinion, they are not, in this respect, much
better than the princes against whom his mo
ther cautioned him. Such, at least, was the
conviction of Mr. Brush; at which he had
arrived not by theory and distinct observation,
but by his own personal experience.
It is a long lane which has no turning, and
it is a long sleep in the open air, especially in
a citv, which does not meet with interruption.
Bruslb found it so in this instance, as he had
indeed more than once before. Several gen
tlemen, followed by a dog, arrived at the foot
of the steps, and, after a ‘short conversation,
dispersed each to* his several home. One,
however remained —the owner of the dog—
who, whistling for his canine favorite, took
out his night-key, and walked up the steps.
The dog, bounding before his master, sudden
ly stopped, and after attentively regarding the
recumbent Brush, uttered a sharp rapid bark.
The rapidity of mental operations is such
that it frequently happens, if sleep be dis
turbed by external sounds, that the noise is
instantly caught up by the ear, and incorpo
rated with the subject of the dream—or per
haps a dream is instantaneously formed upon
the nucleus suggested by the vibration of the
tympanum. The bark of the dog had one of
these effects upon Mr. Brush.
“ Bow ! vtow! waugh !” said the dog.
“ There’s a fellow making a speech against
our side,” muttered Peter: “but it’s all talk
—where’s your facts ? print your speech in
pamphlet form, and I’ll answer it. Hurray
tor us!—everybody else is rascals —nothing
but ruination when that fellow’s principles
get the upper hand—our side for ever—we’re
the boys!”
“Be still, Ponto!” said the gentleman.
“Now, sir, be pleased to get up and carry
yourself to some other place. I don’t know
which side has the honor of claiming you, but
you are certainly on the wrong side at pres
ent.”
“ Don’t be official and trouble yourself about
other people’s business,” said Brush, trying to
open his eyes; “don’t be official, for It isn’t
the genteel thing,”
“Not official! what do you mean by that?
I shall be very official, and trundle you down
the steps if you are not a little more rapid in
your motions.”
“Oh, very well,” responded Brush, as he
wheeled round in a sitting posture, and front
ed the stranger —“ very well—be as sassy as
you please—l suppose you've got an office,
by the way you talk—you’ve got one of the
fishes, though perhaps it is but a minny, and
I ain’t—but if 1 had, I'd show you a thing or
two. Be sassy, be any thing, Mr. Noodle
soup. I don’t know which side you’re on
either, but Ido know one thing—it isn't say
ing much for your boss politicianer that he
chose you when I must have been on his list
for promotion—that’s all, though you are so
stiff, and think yourself pretty’to look at. But
them that’s pretty to look at ain’t always good
‘uns to go, or you wouldn't be poking here.
Be off—there’s no more business before this
meeting, and you may adjourn. It’s moved,
seconded and carried—pay the landlord for
the use of the room as you go.”
The stranger, now becoming somewhat
amused, felt a disposition to entertain himself
a little with Peter.
“ How does it happen,” said he, “ that such
a public-spirited individual as you appear to
be, should find himself in this condition?
You’ve had a little too much of ihestimulant
ibus, I fear.”
“I don’t know Greek, but I guess what you
mean,” was the answer. “ It’s owing to the
weather —part to the weather, and part be
cause republics is ungrateful ; that’s conside
rable the biggest part. Either part is excuse
enough, and both together makes it a credit.
When it’s such weather as this, it takes the
electerizing fluid out of you; and if you want
to feel something like—ndo you know what
‘something like’ is?—it’s cat-bird, jam up—
if you want to feel so, you must pour a little
of the electerizing fluid into you. In this
kind of weather you must tune yourself up,
and get rosumed, or you ain’t good for much
—tuned up to concert pitch. But all that’s
trifle—put not your trust in politicianers ”
“And why not, Mr. Rosum?”
“ Why not! Help us up—there—steady
she goes—hold on! Why not ?—look at me,
and you 11 see the why as large as life. I’m
the why you musn’t put your trust in politi
cianers. I’m a rig’lar patriot; look at my
coat; I’m all for the public good; twig the
holes in my trousers. I’m steady in my
course, and I’m upright in my conduct; don’t
let me fall down; I’ve tried all parties, year
in and year out, just by way of making my
self popular and agreeable ; and I’ve tried to
be on both sides at once,” roared Brush, with
great emphasis, as he slipped and fell, “ and
this is the end of it!”
His auditor laughed heartily at this striking
illustration of the results of the political course
of Peter Brush, and seemed quite gratified
with so strong a proof of the dangers of en
deavoring .to be on two sides at once. He
therefore assisted the fallen to rise.
“Are you hurt?”
“ No, I’m used to being knocked about;
the steps and the pavement are no worse than
other people; they’re like politicianers: you
can’t put any trust in ’em. But,” continued
Brush, drawing a roll of crumpled paper from
the crown of his more crumpled hat, “see
here now, you’re a clever fellow, and I’ll get
you to sign my recommendation. Here’s a
splendid character for me already wrote down,
so it won’t give you any trouble, only put
your name to it.”
“ But what office does it recommend you
for—what kind of a recommendation is it?”
“ It’s a circular recommend—a slap at any
thing that's going.”
“Firing into the flock, I suppose?”
“That’s it exactly—good character —fit for
any fat post either under the city government,
the state government, or the gineral govern
ment. Now jist put your fist to it,” added
Peter, in his most persuasive tones, as he
smoothed the paper over his knee, spread it
upon the step, and produced a bit of lead pen
cil, which he first moistened with his lips, and
then offered to his interlocutor.
“Excuse me,” was the laughing response ;
“it’s too dark—l can’t see either to read or to
write. But what made you a politicianer ?
Haven’t you got a trade?”
“Trade! yes,” replied Brush, contemptu
ously; “ but what’s a trade, when a feller’s
got a soul ? I love my country, and I want
an office—l don’t care what so it’s fat and ea
sy. I’ve a genius for governing; for telling
people what to do, and looking at ’em do it.
I want to take care of my country, and I want
my country to take care of me. Head work
is the trade I’m made lor —talking—that’s my
line—talking in the streets, talking in the bar
rooms, talking in the oyster cellars. Talking
is the grease for the wagon wheels of the
body politic and the body corpulent, and
nothing will go on well till I’ve got my say
in the matter; for I can talk all day, and most
of the night, only stopping to wet my whistle.
But parties is all alike—all ungrateful; no
respect for genus—no respect for me. I’ve
tried both sides, got nothing, and I’ve a great
mind to knock off and call it half a day. 1
would, if my genus didn’t make me talk, and
think, and sleep so much I can’t find time to
work.” .
“Well,” said the stranger, “you must find
time to go away. You’re too noisy. How
would you like to go before the mayor?”
“ No, I’d rather not. Stbp : now I think
of it, I’ve asked him before; but perhaps if
you’d speak a good word, he’d give me the
first vacancy. Introduce me properly, and
say I want something to do shocking—no,
not something to do—-I want something to
get; my genus won’t let me work. I’d like to
have a fat salary, and to be general superin
tendent of things in general, and nothing in
particular, so I could walk about the streets,
and see what is going on. Now, put my best
leg foremost; say how I can make speeches,
and how 1 can hurray at elections.”
“Away with you,” said the stranger, as
he ran up the steps, and opened the door.
“ Make no noise in this neighborhood, or
you’ll be taken care of soon enough.”
“Well, now, if that isn’t ungrateful,” solil
oquized Brush; “keep me here talking, and
then slap the door right in my face. That’s
the way politicians serve me, and it’s about all
I’d a right to expect. Oh, pshaw! sich a
world; sich a people!”
Peter rolled up his “ circular recommend,”
put it in his hat, and slowly sauntered away.
As he is not yet provided for, he should re
ceive the earliest attention of parties, or dis
appointment may induce him to abandon both,
and take the field “ upon his own hook,” and
constitute an independent faction under the
name of the “ Brush party,” the cardinal
principle of which will be that peculiarly
novel impulse to action, hostility to all “poli
ticianers” who are not on the same side.
&l)c Southern (Eclectic.
From the Literary World.
THE MOCKING BIRD.
How shall I describe thee, most thought
ful of warblers! Shelley and Wilson have
alone reached the fountain of thy inspiration,
the first in the song to thy foreign friend, and
listen to the song of the second: “The ease,
elegance, and rapidity of his movements: the
animation of his eye, and the intelligence he
displays in listening and laying up lessons
from almost every species of the feathered
creation, within his hearing, are really sur
prising, and mark the peculiarity of his geni
us. To these qualities we may add, that of a
voice full, strong, and musical, and capable
of almost every modulation, from the clear,
mellow tones of the wood thrush, to the sav
age scream of the bald eagle; in measure and
accent he faithfully follows his originals; in
force and sweetness of expression he greatly
improves upon them. He sweeps rourul with
enthusiastic ecstacy —he mounts or descends
as his song swells or dies away; and as my
friend Mr. Barton has beautifully expressed
it, ‘he bounds aloft with the celerity of an
arrow, as if to recover or recall his very soul,
expired in the last elevated strain.’”
But it is at night that the song of this bird
is sweetest. In front of a rude and lonely
hut, in which I lived for many months on the
banks of the Santa Fee, was the lower part
of the trunk of a large pine that had been cut
down, lest in some windy hour it should de
molish my dwelling, though it was a hundred
feet off. On this firm eminence, every moon
it night, this bird, with so blithe a spirit,
took up his musical throne; he would com
mence when the moon arose, and sing the
night hours away, until early dawn; no ces
sation to tune his notes, no intermission, no
flagging of his indomitable spirit checked his
harmony. I would awake towards reveille,
but the first taps of the drum-beat had fright
ened him away, yet still unwilling to cease,
his last notes were heard when on wing for
the woods: and in the sultry nights of the
South, when your rest is broken by the off
shoots of disease preying on your system, but
to which you do not wholly succumb; by the
sting and buzz of musquitoes; the howling ol
wolves; the hooting of owls, and the thousand
and one annoyances that make night hideous
in a southern wilderness, the impassioned song
of this bird is heard victorious, like the sweet
29