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morning— and I pledge you my life it will
work wonders. There need never be anoth
er divorce on thatscore—don't you think so ?”
said the Captain turning briskly to Peter.”
(Eclectic of 111 it
THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN WflQ LOST
HIS COAT TAIL.
Walker’s celebrated exchange, in Louis
ville, Kentucky, is the favorite resort of the
citizens of that burg; and its gentlemanly
proprietor enjoys a popularity there, which
would almost elect him Governor of the State,
if he would but consent to run for that office.
Strangers, of course, go to Walker's, and he
Jakes them in ; but sometimes lie puts them
out. A case of the latter kind was related to
us the other day, which deserves to be chron
icled.
A young stranger arrived in Louisville
about t\v(f weeks since, on a matrimonial vi
sit, and of course he donned his best suit to
visit his girl. He made his call, arranged all
the preliminaries, passed a delightful after
noon and evening, tipped a honeyed kiss from
the lips of his fair inamorata at parting, and
started down to his lodgings at the Galt house.
The wedding was set foi the next day, and
the young dog tripped along, so buoyed up
by anticipation, that you would have guessed,
to have seen him, that he had, mercury-like,
wings to his heels. On his way down he ob
served that the light was still burning in
“ Walkers,” and the large placard at the
door, of “ fresh oysters in the shell,' 1 ' 1 was too
tempting an invitation, at that interesting pe
riod, to be stoically passed by ; so he thought
lie would just step in and taste a dozen, by
way of invigorating his dreams. He entered ;
a dozen was called for, served, tasted, and
washed down with a glass of the proprietor’s
choice madeira. The general good feeling of
the young stranger was measurably height
ened. He turned to leave, and as he was the
last customer, the bar-keeper followed him
to the door, to lock it after him. At that mo
ment a jolly crowd came round the corner,
singing—
“ Picayune Butler’s come to town.”
The barkeeper knowing the crowd was
making for W.’s, and it being already after
midnight, he desired to shut them out: so he
politely hurried the young stranger through
the door, slammed it too, locked it, put the !
bar across, and retreated with his lamp up
stairs. Presently there was a tremendous
rapping at the front door, but the barkeeper,
Satisfied that it was the noisy company he
had barred out, rolled himself up in the quilts,
and turned over to take his “ winks.”
“Jim, will you open this door 1 you d — n
fool!” shouted one of the crowd, with sten
torian lungs.
“ I ain’t no such fool,” grumbled Jim, as lie
pulled the cover tighter around him.
“Will you open this d-o-o-r?" 1 was yelled
again.
“ 1 wont —that’s flat,” growled Jim to him
self in answer, and off he dropped into the
land of dreams. He slept as it might he sup
posed a soldier would, who was listening to
the storming of Chapultepec.
An amusing scene was transpiring all this
time on the outside. The young stranger, in
hastily passing through the portal, brushed
up one of the tails of his new coat, and the
barkeeper in shutting one half the door se
curely fastened the coat tail in the opening.
Supposing, of course, that he would observe
it and instantly release him, the young man
stood still for a moment, and the noisy party
surrounded him.
“Stand aside, stranger, and let us in,” said
the ioremost of the party.
“ I would like to do so, gentlemen,'’ was
the reply, “if I could; hut upon my word,
just at present, I am unable to comply.”
“Well; we’ll help you,” said another, and
seizing him by the arm. he slung him, minus
the coat tail, out upon the pavement.
Here was a very fine opening for a small
light—but one of the party perceiving the dif
ficulty at a glance, interfered with a thousand
apologies for his impetuous friend, stated that
•he torn garment should be paid for, &c., and j
offered to lend him his own coat until the !
morning. The destruction of the wedding
garment was very unfortunate, and the young
stranger lost temper at the idea of his being
so awkwardly fastened to the door by the bar
keeper ; but what was his further horror to
h n d that a package of money, amounting to
intended to hear the expenses of him
<elf and bride to her future home, was in the j
coat tail pocket, and like it, fastened in the
i,oor - He did not exactly know whether it
was prudent to let the present crowd into a
knowledge of the fact that such an amount
tVas in the pocket, hut to get the door open.
&0If£& AIE ¥ ©A 81 IF IF & ♦
he told them that his marriage certificate was
in the wedged up coat tail. On this announce
ment, all vowed they would rescue the pre
cious document, or tear the tails of their com
bined under garments in the effort, and ac
cordingly they assailed the barred portal in a
mass. They were preparing to follow up
their fruitless effort of assault with feet and
lists, by substituting an awning post fora bat
tering ram, when a watchman interfered, in
quired the cause of trouble, and volunteered
to visit the rear of Walker’s premises, and
have the rear of the gentleman’s wedding
coat released. This arrangement was gene
rally agreed to, and watchy started. In the
meantime, the outsiders held a small caucus
of condolence with the groom , during which
several animated resolves were passed ; they
would victimize the barkeeper, ichcn they got
in, by keeping him up until day-light. The
banging of the door behind them, and the bar
closing in the iron hasp, aroused their atten
tion, but it was too late.
The barkeeper, on learning the trouble, had
quietly descended, opened the door, pushed
out the coat tail, and fastening the entrance,
heat a retreat again. The outsiders stormed,
but it was of no use ; they, therefore, conclu
ded to pack up the trophy, hear it along to
some open establishment, and hold a jollifica
tion over its rescue. The owner recovered
his package of money, and wished to retreat,
but they were in no mood to part with him—
they wished to heal all differences before they
separated, drink the health of the lady named
in the recaptured document, and fill out an or
der for anew wedding suit. The stranger
was forced to yield, and we need not add, that
he got home very late next morning.
The day had grown old before the victim
was able to visit his bride, and of course she
pouted a little, but on the promise to assign
sufficient cause at the wedding, the arrange
ment was allowed to proceed. As he promis
ed, so did he faithfully rehearse the above
facts, and pledge his forgiving young v ife
that he would hereafter try and keep himself
out of such night scrapes.— St. Louis Reveille.
£l)c (Essayist.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
SHAKSPEARE’S CHARACTER OF
BOTTOM, THE WEAVER.
Hazlitt, commenting upon Shakspeare’s
Comedy of the Midsummer-Night’s Dream,
remarks that Bottom, the Weaver, is a char
acter who has never had justice done him ;
and we think his observation a true one.
The fastidious portion of the reading world
are too prone to eschew his humble acquain
tance, for fear of soiling their imaginary gen
tility. \\ hile, in our opinion, saving valiant
Jack Falstaff, Nick Bottom is ihe most recher
che of all Shakspeare’s humorists.. In the
drama of life, it is remarkably true that the
pomp and circumstance usually attendant up
on piincely characters, throws a veil of ob
scurity over those which occupy a subordi
nate and less distinguished position ; yet, the
consideration of these minor characters, or
“lesser lights,” is essentially necessary to
the completion of a perfect picture from na
ture. Human nature is exemplified in the dis
positions, the feelings, and outward actions of
mankind—has its bright and its dark side—
its beauties and its deformities—its spirituali
ties and its carnalities; and. whether these
are contemplated as thrown back from the
elevated points of honor, or the sinks and
pools of corruption, our reflections, thereup
on, are equally significant in regard to the
moral bearings which they severally possess.
The proud and imperious occupant of the
throne comprises, in his natural constitution—
mental, moral and physical—the same prin
ciples of life, the same feelings and actions,
as the most contemptible minion that panders
to his royal appetites. The human heart is
everywhere the same : the icy atmosphere of
the frozen zone cannot petrify, nor the burn
ing rays of a tropical sun wither, its natural
emotions. Its passions, its feelings, its sym
pathies, are everywhere called into existence
by the same desires and impulses; and,
though education may construct a factitious
fortification, under cover of which the true
motives and principles of action may lie con
cealed from public scrutiny, yet the hidden
truths never fail to be detected by the all
seeing and impartial eye of Conscience.
Shakspeare, while descending to portray
the elements of character which enter into
the composition of so humble an individual
as Bottom, has not perverted, for the purposes
of fiction, the unchanging laws of human na
ture. Bottom is strictly as genuine a repre
sentative of a class in society as Hamlet, the
princely lord and lover, or Richard, the bold,
crafty, and villainous courtesan; and, though
the station and sphere of influence be more
exalted and extensive in the one case, the mo
ral deductions from each are equally momen
tous. Viewing the character of Bottom, then,
in the light of an humble hut genuine repre
sentative of a portion of our species, let us I
not disclaim his acquaintance on account of |
the obscurity of his occupation; for, to all
who will examine the scenes in which he
figures, we do promise a “ perpetual feast”
of wit and humor.
With these rambling preliminary remarks,
we will now introduce the reader to Bottom,
in propria persona. We find him assembled
with a few’ choice spirits of the Athenian De
mocracy, deliberating upon the preliminaries
of a play to he performed before the Duke
and Duchess, on the occasion of the celebra- J
tion of their most glorious nuptials. The !
piece which has been seleoted for the occa
sion is, “The most lamentable comedy and ;
cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.” To
Bottom is assigned the principal part in the
play. He is to represent Pyramus, who dies
“ most gallantly for love.” And no doubt,
from his naturally enthusiastic disposition,
he was the most proper man of all those
Athenians to have personated the brave and
chivalrous Pyramus. However, this perfor
mance partakes too much of the sorrowful
for his spirited disposition : he would prefer
something in the “Ercles vein:” he thinks
he could act a part to tear a cat in, rarely.
If th rt re is one distinguishing feature in the
character of Bottom, the Weaver, it is his un
bounded egotism. The exalted opinion which
he enterta ins of his infinite powers, contrast
ed with his humble occupation and limited
acquirements, gives the whole scene a most
ludicrous appearance. Bottom belongs to
that highly respectable class of men denomi
nated “little great men”—busy bodies and
restless discontents, who are never satisfied
with the station “ nature and their stars” lias
assigned to them, but who aspire to flourish
in all professions and business, and all at the
same time. No sooner is he infoimed that
there is a lady’s part in the play, than he de
sires to act it, and straightway enumerates his
feminine qualifications for the part: among
them is “a monstrous little voice,” by the
aid of which he will say, very softly, “ This- 1
ne, Thisne; ah, Pyramus, my lover dear, thy
Thisbe dear! and lady dear!" 1 But he as
quickly changes his mind, when he learns
that Snug, the Joiner, is to play the lion’s
part, and that nothing is required but extem
poraneous roaring. Yes, he must play the
lion’s part, too, for he will roar, and it will
do any man’s heart good to hear him —and
he will make the Duke say, “ Let him roar
again — let him roar again!" 1 And, in case
the ladies become alarmed, he says, “But I
will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar
you as gently as any sucking dove—l will j
roar you as if it were any nightingale.” >
Mark the use and application of the word
“aggravate.” The methodical and systemat
ic Quince, the Carpenter, dees not esteem the
versatile powers of Bottom so highly as he
does himself; he, therefore, confines him to
the part of Pyramus, because Pyramus is a
most proper and sweet-faced man. Before
rehearsing the piece, Bottom makes a few
appropriate suggestions, which have occurred
to his philosophic mind. He does not think
the ladies can witness the drawing of a
sword, which Pyramus must do when he kills
himself ; he, therefore, intimates to his wor
thy associates the propriety of instituting a
new procedure, which is nothing more than
a prologue. This ingenious plan does away
with the necessity of abandoning the murder
scene, while it entirely divests the unpleasant
transaction of its bloody aspect, by informing
the audience that Pyramus is not killed, and
that Pyramus is not Pyramus, but Bottom,
the Weaver. He likewise doubts the expe
diency of introducing the lion. Hear him :
“To bring in—God shield us!—a lion among
ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is
not a more fearful wild fowl than your lion
living.” Another prologue must be introdu
ced to tell the ladies that it is no lion which
they see, but simply Snug, the Joiner.
For the purpose of acquainting the reader
more intimately with the character of Bottom,
the Weaver, we beg leave to introduce a por
tion of Scene first in Act the fourth. Tita
nia, queen of the fairies, having fallen asleep,
the juice of a certain herb is squeezed upon
her eye-lids, which enamours her of the
first object that meets her eye. When she
awakes, she beholds Bottom with an ass's
head. He is conducted to a bower by’ the
attendants of the Fairy Queen, whereupon
the following conversation takes place*:
Tixa. —Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth
head,
And k is? thy fair large cars, my gentle joy.
Box. —Where’s Peas-blossom ?
Pkas.—Ready.
i Box. —Scratch my head, Teas blossom. Where’s
Monsieur Cobweb 1
(Job. — R cady.
Box.—Monsieur Cobweb, good Monsieur, get
your weapons in your hand, and kill me a rod-hipped
humble bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good Mon
sieur, bring me the honev-bag. Do not fret your
self too much in the action, Monsicr; and, good
Monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I
would be loath to have you overflown with a honey
bag, Signior. Where’s Monsieur Mustavd-seed't”
Musx.—Ready.
Box.—Give mo your neif, Monsieur Mustard
seed. Pray you, lca\e your courtesy, good Mon
sieur.
Mrrsx —What’s your will 1
Box. —Nothing, good Monsieur, but to help Ca
valero Cobweb to scratch. 1 must to the barber's,
Monsieur ; lor, moth inks, i am marvellous hairy
about the face ; und 1 um such a tender ass, if my
hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.
TtXA.—What, wilt thou hear some music, my
sweet love 1
Box—l have a reasonable good ear in music: let
m have the tongs and the hones.
Tixa. —Or, say, sWeet love, what thou desir’st to
eat.
Bo r. —Truly, a peck of provender: I could mureh
your good dry oats. Methinks i have a great desii'e
to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no
fel'ow.
Tixa. — l have a venturous fairy that shall seek
tin* squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
Box. —I had rather have a handful or two of dried
pe.ts. But, 1 pray you, let none of ybur people stir
me ; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.
Tixa. —Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my
arms.
The contrast between the sentimentality of
the fairy Queen and Bottom’s sang froid is
striking and amusing. Probably, in no pei
formance of Shakspeare occur so many beau
titul sentiments as are to be found in his Mid
summer-Night’s Dream. Vet, in the very
midst of so much elegance and refinement, he
lias contrived to introduce a rough, careless,
and whimsical character like Bottom, in such
a manner as heightens and adorns, instead of
detracting from the surrounding beauty. So
much luxury of language would surfeit the
eye, were there no coarser objects to which
it could turn for repose.
The portraiture of a character of this de
scription would seem to have required a clo
ser acquaintance with human nature than al
most any other. The world abounds in ty
rants, villains, ambitious lovers, and beauti
ful women : hence, the painter of these would
experience no great difficulty in finding the
archetype of his hero or heroine. But the
eye might survey a million of men, and not
iind a Bottom among them all. Bottom nev
er laughs. J. H. N.
“ II OR AS NON NUMERO NISI SERENAS. “
[lnscription on a Dial.J
Save whc.i the eun’s resplendent ray
May gild the j assing hour,
To mark the minutes on their way,
I lose the ie.idy power.
So only can sh it time be blest,
Ami called by man his own,
In which the sunbeam of the breast,
The Conscience may have shone !
179