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 I 
 
 MR. BROWN'S PIGS, 
 
 ETC. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GEO. 'MEGKATH, 
 
 NEW Y OKK: 
 PUBLISHED BY WM. H. TRAFTON & CO., 
 
 AND ALSO FOR SALE BY 
 
 SINCLAIK TOUSEY, 121 NASSAU STREET. 
 18 6 2. 
 
1« 
 
 S'A 
 
s 
 
 ^ 
 
 c o isr T E isr T s . 
 
 MR. BROWN'S PIGS , Bt Smith Smithers, Esq. 
 
 CLARA By Rawdon Brown, Esq. 
 
 A LECTURE ON UGLINESS By Qcentin Rinkle, Esq. 
 
ADVERTISEMEITT BY THE EDITOE. 
 
 I have in my possession several papers, written by mem- 
 bers of the Sociable Club, of which the following may serve 
 as specimens. The first article in this little pamphlet, 
 appeared originally in the " Knickerbocker Magazine " for 
 October 1853. For want of a better excuse for its republi- 
 cation now, I might offer (what would suffice for "the 
 Trade" at least) the wonderful increase in the Pork crop the 
 present season, when so much of other crops fails to come to 
 market. The verses are printed as being the shortest of all 
 the attempts at poetry-writing in the collection, and as 
 appealing to any pathetic interest the reader may attach to 
 the unfortunate Mr, Brown. The lecture I publish, as Mr. 
 Rinkle delivered it, " by request." We all remember listen- 
 ing to a very fine discourse indeed, delivered, and, in fact, 
 re-delivered by Mr. Ike. Marvel, some years since, on 
 " Beauty and its Uses." The members of the Club were so 
 much struck with Mr. Marvel's views of what may be called 
 the positive of the subject, that they requested Mr. Rinkle 
 to express his sentiments on the Negative thereof, which he 
 accordingly did, every member of the Club being present, 
 and the apartments being " graced by the presence of the 
 ladies." 
 
 New York, August, 1862. Gr. M. 
 
ME. BROWJST'S PIGS. 
 
 One evening, not a great while since, I dropped 
 in at the Sociable Club, of which, I flatter myself, I 
 am not altogether an undistinguished member. Indeed 
 I believe every one of us has a good opinion of him- 
 self, founded on a consciousness of some merit which 
 no other member gainsays or denies. Certainly, for 
 a club-man to decry his fellow would be a species of 
 self-stultification, like abusing one's wife to one's neigh- 
 bor. Whether we recognize this principle, or whether 
 it be that we are all of a happy, generous disposition, 
 there is no doubt that, almost without exception, 
 we are on the best of terms with each other and 
 with ourselves. 
 
 But whatever vanity there may be among us 
 individually, in our collective capacity, and as the 
 world sees us, we make no great pretensions. We 
 have not yet reached the full-blown dignity of house- 
 keeping, and are content with a pair of rooms and 
 an ante-chamber, conveniently located over Briggs, 
 the cigar and liquor merchant, with whom we store 
 
our wines, and whose clerk serves us as a butler, 
 without pay ; while above us is Madame Frisbie's 
 fashionable millinery establishment, which affords us 
 an opportunity of meeting a good many fine ladies 
 on the stairs, and some of the prettiest little coiffeuses 
 in the world. 
 
 As for that 'society,' as it is called, which so 
 many m6n and women, boys and girls, fools and, 
 indeed, wits, 'go into,' we do not, as a general 
 thing, see much of it except at a respectful distance. 
 If I were to assert that we object to several of its 
 requirements ; that we dislike standing an hour at 
 a time, with no means of escape, hopelessly endeavor- 
 ing to entertain some heavy lady to whom we have 
 nothing to say ; that young Masters Polky and 
 Swell, tearing round the room, each with an arm- 
 ful of young woman, distribute hotness as they pass 
 beside treading on one's toes ; and that we are 
 decidedly unwilling to stand in halls or on landings, 
 exposed to draughts, elbowings, and tray-corners — I 
 might, perhaps, expose our Club to unmerited sus- 
 picion, and be asked if the grapes were sour ; so I 
 shall only say that, while a great many persons 
 find pleasure in the above amusements, we are moder- 
 ately contented in our second-story club ; and while 
 Masters Polky and Swell are pulling on those agon- 
 
izing boots of theirs, or getting up those immense 
 cravat-ties, which always remind me of the old- 
 fashioned telegraph, in full play, that used to swing 
 above the Exchange cupola, we, in quiet clothes, are 
 passing the evening without any sort of martyrdom 
 whatever. 
 
 There is an air of sociability about the rooms of 
 our Club that authorizes its title at once. John, 
 Black John, our Purveyor, Under Secretary, Com- 
 missary-General, and Mercury-at-large, who weighs 
 fourteen stone and treads like Camilla, opens the 
 door, and welcomes you with an expansive smile 
 beaming over the whole of his face, that I can only 
 liken to a hemisphere in sun-shine. There is the 
 cheerfullest of fires in the grate in the winter-season, 
 the most fragrant lilacs bloom there in spring, and 
 the greenest asparagus-tops in mid-summer. Upon 
 the walls are one or two pictures, which, if not very 
 gratifying as specimens of art, are yet calculated to 
 inspire sociability and good humor. Over one mantel 
 is an engraving of the Literary Tea Party ; while 
 the other is decorated with a print after Leslie's 
 picture of Uncle Toby and the "Widow ; and at the 
 late sale of the Art-Union property — which, as so- 
 ciable fellows, we regretted as much as anybody — 
 we purchased a fine, 'large fruit-piece, delineating half 
 
8 
 
 a water-melon, a cantelope, several peaches, and a 
 knife and silver salver, which, when fruit is not in 
 season, is very refreshing. 
 
 As for our other furniture, it is decidedly more 
 useful than ornamental, more comfortable than costly. 
 Jo. Mallet, the celebrated auctioneer, who is a mem- 
 ber of our Club, and who, after knocking down lots 
 of the most elegant, fashionable, and costly furniture 
 in this metropolis, will yet come into the Club of an 
 evening and tell his story or enjoy a joke without 
 any airs or the least pretension — Jo. Mallet, even, 
 would fail in attempting to make the contents of our 
 rooms fetch any handsome sum of money. Far distant 
 be the day when he shall be called on for such a 
 purpose! May it never be his duty to stand up on 
 the mahogany he has sat down to so often ! 
 
 And here let me fervently hope the kind reader 
 will not accuse us of parsimony for the modest man- 
 ner of our club-keeping. Above all, let me deprecate 
 the degrading imputation of poverty — that 'lower 
 deep ' of infamy in this golden age. ^o, no ; we 
 may have our faults, but not quite that. If we 
 chose to go in the very face and eyes of the funda- 
 mental principle of our clubbed existence, we might, 
 with a little jfinanciering, manage to be splendid. 
 But, ah ! we have heard of the dismal sociability of 
 
9 
 
 many elegantly-appointed mansions in onr Belgravia. 
 We know the G-orgon influence of superb upholstery. 
 "We listened, at the Club the other evening, to the 
 story of the country-gentleman at one of the new 
 hotels, who sat on his trunk all night, afraid of doing 
 something not quite genteel in the presence of so 
 much good furniture. By all odds, we prefer chintz 
 and sociability to brocatelle and the fear of using it. 
 Give us plain Brussels for our floors, and leathern- 
 cushioned arm-chairs for our sedent refreshment, and 
 let us put our feet on the sofa and smoke, and be 
 sociable. 
 
 Among the members of the Club, Rinkle is, per- 
 haps, the greatest authority in matters of literature 
 and taste. Without being engaged in any one pur- 
 suit, a moderate income enables him to gratify his 
 passion for lounging in libraries and book-stores, and 
 poring over the magazines, and occasionally to buy 
 a new publication. He has been told that he ought 
 to write for the periodicals, but he professes too much 
 regard for the fraternity of authors to interfere with 
 their perquisites. ' 'No, no,' he says : ' if publishers 
 want articles, let them pay for them, and let them 
 go to the men that want the money. I take the 
 bread out of no man's mouth.' On matters of every 
 day interest, however, he does not hesitate to put 
 
10 
 
 pen to paper. Those are his initials, ' Q. R.,' which 
 you occasionally see in the newspapers underneath 
 a, brief but cogent ai-gnment in favor of sweeping the 
 streets by steam-power at midnight ; or attached to 
 a statement of the fact, that the thermometer stood 
 at ninety degrees Fahrenheit at Montreal, last Wed- 
 nesday, and at seventy-five degrees in Wall-street 
 at the same time, which accounted for the cold south- 
 erly gale yesterday morning. 
 
 He was entered in the club-register when proposed 
 as Mr. Q. Rinkle, and somebody immediately dubbed 
 him Queer ; but his card was found afterward on 
 one of the tables, from which we learned that he 
 had been christened Quentin. 
 
 Another prominent member is Mr. Fred Daw, 
 who, being something of a hon vivant, and considered 
 a good judge of wines, may be set down as the 
 Club's gastronomic oracle. Fred is a rising young 
 lawyer, and has been a rising young lawyer any 
 time these fifteen years. Considering the slowness 
 with which legal gentlemen culminate, and Fred's 
 fondness for good cheer, I think it may be assumed 
 that by the time Mr. Daw falls into the grave, he 
 will be pronounced, in a professional way, to have 
 just risen. 
 
 I take extreme pleasure in further introducing 
 
' 11 
 
 to tlie reader Mr. Wicherly Cribbs, of Wall-street. 
 Of the exact nature of Mr. Cribbs' business I am 
 not aware. I was unable to discover liis name in 
 the Directory when I once wished too see him on 
 the affairs of the Club, but after some search found 
 him fat and comfortable as ever, in an under-ground 
 apartment, counting over an immense number of faded 
 bank-bills, and, as it appeared to me, with his eyes 
 shut. He is our reference on financial matters, and 
 has furnished Einkle with many valuable statistics. 
 He can always tell us how many shares the great 
 Mr. Flam is long or short in the ruling fancy ; and 
 although I believe he is not a member of the Board, 
 he seldom fails to give us the full particulars of any 
 exciting scene on the Stock Exchange. If he has 
 a weakness, it is to be considered a sporting charac- 
 ter; but I firmly believe him innocent of any profi- 
 ciency that would warrant the title, and am inclined 
 to think he gets his intelligence at second-hand. In 
 spite of this failing, Mr. Cribbs is held in high esti- 
 mation at our rooms ; and it is my intention, when 
 the copy-right treaty is fairly under way, to consult 
 him on the subject of investments. 
 
 But the gentleman to whom the reader and my- 
 self may at present be said to be under the deepest 
 obligation, inasmuch as he has been the cause — logic- 
 
12 ■ 
 
 ally remote, and legally innocent, to be sure — of the 
 lines I am now writing, is Mr. Rawdon Brown ; and 
 if I have not looked upon Mr. Brown hitherto with 
 that glow of friendship with which I regard some 
 other members, it is not that I have any personal 
 feelings of hostility toward him. Heaven forbid! 
 I trust I am at peace with all the world, Kor is it 
 because I begrudge him the gold spoon with which 
 he was born ; dear me ! why should I care whether 
 my spoon be gold or pewter, so long as I have my 
 egg, and the appetite to relish it? But the cause 
 of any coolness that Brown may have observed in 
 me is an unpleasant suspicion I have had of the out- 
 and-out genuineness of his sociable sentiments, judged 
 by the Club-standard of orthodoxy. 
 
 As a proof of my freedom from that serra animoB 
 — envy — I do frankly admit that Brown is the young- 
 est and best dressed man among us, and that he has 
 given some capital dinners at the Club. But still I 
 must be allowed to say I have observed with pain 
 his evident penchant for that domestic conglomerate 
 called fashionable society, and his ill-concealed rever- 
 ence for the titles and unmeaning gew-gaws of 
 foreign aristocracies. I have met him twice in the 
 street of an evening wearing a high and very white 
 cravat; and I confess that, on those occasions, the 
 
13 
 
 general stiifness, and reserve, and unsociability of 
 his air, inspired me with disgust. For several months 
 past, Brown has not been seen at the Club. At first 
 his absence was noticed, for we liked his dinners and 
 smiling face. But learning that he was out of town 
 on some private business, we consoled ourselves after 
 the fashion of most sociable men, and turned to other 
 dinners and other faces, and in tlie fulness and per- 
 fection of our sociability, got on so well without 
 him, that I had not heard his name mentioned for 
 weeks until the evening to which I have referred, 
 when, as my wont is, I dropped in at the Club. 
 
 On this occasion, I was gratified to find E-inkle, 
 Fred Daw, and Mr. Cribbs in the rooms. It was 
 early, and no one was present — ^pardon me, Black 
 John, thou wast there with thy great shining face; 
 but thou art a necessity to our comfort, John, and 
 like many of our comforts, we shall often forget thee 
 until thou art gone. 
 
 John took my umbrella and over-coat as I ap- 
 proached the fire — it was a rawish night — and his 
 glowing countenance, which is as good as another 
 fire in a room on a cheerless day, disappeared into 
 his private ante-chamber on the landing. I found 
 Binkle seated at the table, dallying with the maga- 
 zines ; Cribbs was comfortably ensconced in an arm- 
 
14 
 
 chair, sleepily holding a letter in his hand; and Fred 
 reclining on a sofa, was devoting the evening rem- 
 nant of his legal energies to making rings with 
 tobacco smoke. 
 
 'A letter from Brown,' said Oribbs, as I entered. 
 ' What Brown % ' I suddenly asked : and I now 
 acknowledge the unsociable treachery of my memory. 
 'You are fined,' said Kinkle, in a low, solemn 
 voice, looking at me over his spectacles, ' for sociable 
 heterodoxy and schism. The Brown referred to is 
 a member of a Club to which one Smithers also 
 belongs.' (That is my own name, dear reader, and 
 you will admire the delicacy with which I have 
 refrained from introducing myself.) I bowed my 
 acquiescence in his decision, and desired to know 
 the nature of the fine. 
 
 ' That shall be decided presently. Meanwhile we 
 are endeavoring to account for Brown's conduct.' 
 
 A faint surmise that Brown had suddenly mar- 
 ried into fashionable life, and had sent in his resig- 
 nation, arose in my mind as I inquired into the 
 gra/oaTnen criTninis. 
 
 'Pigs,' replied Fred. 
 
 'Pigs?' 
 
 'Ah! pigs, indeed,' said Cribbs, mournfully. 
 
 'It seems,' said Rinkle, with an explanatory ges- 
 
15 
 
 ture, 'that our friend Brown, than M^hom a better 
 felloM^ does n't breathe, has, for some nnexplained 
 cause, been withdrawing himself from the amenities 
 of civilized life, and amusing his leisure with agri- 
 cultural, or, to speak more correctly, zoological 
 pursuits. Though they have proved disastrous, I 
 am the last man, and I hope, gentlemen, you are 
 the last men ' 
 
 'Hear!' cried Fred, 
 
 ' Of course,' said Cribbs. 
 
 And I nodded approval — 
 
 ' To condemn failure when the motive has been 
 worthy, and the effort has corresponded thereto. I 
 only wish,' he continued, speaking slowly, and 
 looking at Fred, as though there were an impor.ant 
 criminal trial going on, in which Einkle was judge, 
 Brown prisoner at the bar, and F. Daw, Esq. counsel 
 for the accused. "I only wish I could think of a 
 motive, or that ]ie had stated one in his letter.' 
 
 'Hams,' suggested the learned counsel. 
 
 The Judge shook his head, 
 
 'Dividends,' Cribbs mildly volunteered, 
 
 Rinkle still shoook his head : ' 'No, gentlemen, 
 the objects you mention, are worthy of an effort, 
 but either of them could be attained without the 
 sacrifices our friend has imposed upon himself. I 
 
16 
 
 must look for some higher motive. It may be there 
 is some trait in the character of the pig, as yet un- 
 observed by ourselves, but revealed to Brovs^n, cal- 
 culated, if developed, to enlist our intellectual 
 sympathies. I remember reading somewhere that 
 Luther occasionally passed an hour in company with 
 his swine, and found the change agreeable after 
 severe polemics. Whether Brown would have chosen 
 any such relief from the society of books, I cannot 
 venture to decide. Certainly I can hardly think 
 he would select it after the enjoyment of such sociaF 
 privileges as this metropolis affords.' 
 
 'I tell you what it is,' said Cribbs, who suddenly 
 seemed to remember some interesting fact, 'there's 
 good pluck in a pig.' 
 
 ' Of course there is,' said Fred ; ' the negroes are 
 very fond of it, and esteem it a rare delicacy, al- 
 though ' 
 
 ' Pshaw ! I don't mean that, but grit — courage. 
 The celebrated iighting-pig, Pape, whipped one dog 
 after another with perfect ease; I saw him do it.' 
 
 'An exception to the general rule,' remarked 
 Rinkle. 'Pigs are generally faint-hearted, inasmuch 
 as they are generally hungry. Man may be valor- 
 ous after dinner, but swine recognize no such period 
 of existence. With them, life is one continued "ante- 
 prandium.' 
 
17 
 
 ' But, my dear Rinkle,' I here ventured to ask, 
 ' wliy look for some improbable and recondite motive 
 for Brown's conduct, whicb I understand to consist 
 merely in rearing a certain number of swine? I 
 certainly cannot see wliy honest efforts to bring good 
 pork to market do not constitute as laudable an 
 occupation as any. Although Burton pronounces 
 pork to be melancholy food, it certainly has operated 
 very materially to give anything but a gloomy ex- 
 pression to the face of our whole western country. 
 As forming one of our chief staples, pigs may be 
 said to have built many of our cities, enlarged our 
 canals, extended our rail-roads, and turned our prai- 
 ries into cornfields,' 
 
 ' All true,' said Rinkle, ' but material, very ma- 
 terial.' 
 
 ' And if,' I continued, ' the common article of 
 merchandise — pork of no rare breed, or choice feed- 
 ing — forms such an universal dish, and deserves 
 respect from its popularity, how much more import- 
 ance does it assume when, by judicious cross-breeding 
 and dainty nurture, the flesh becomes etherealized, 
 as I may say, and even the mature hog is as great 
 a delicacy as the 'young and tender suckling under 
 a year old,' over which Charles Lamb went into 
 such raptures.' 
 
18 
 
 ' I remember,' said Rinkle : ' a dainty description 
 is that, and worthy of the subject. One paragraph 
 I shall never forget : 
 
 ' ' There is no flavor 'comparable, I will contend, to that of the 
 crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted crackling, as it is well called : 
 the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasures of this ban- 
 quet, in overcoming the coy, brittle, resistance, with the adhesive olea- 
 ginous — Oh ! call it not fat ! but an indefinable sweetness growing 
 up to it ; the tender blossoming of fat ; fat cropped in the bud, taken 
 in the shoot, in the first innocence ; the cream and quintessence of the 
 child-pig's yet pure food ; the lean — no lean, but a kind of animal man- 
 na, or, rather fat and lean, (if it must be so,) so blended and running 
 into each other that both together make but one ambrosian result, a 
 common substance.' 
 
 ' Yes, Rinkle,' I observed, ' you have there quoted 
 a passage that might almost persaude a man to em- 
 bark in the business of pig-breeding, and endeavor 
 after perennial litters. But Lamb was guilty of slan- 
 dering the adult animal, and overlooking his capaci- 
 ties for carnal improvement. A well-born shote, 
 judiciously developed by green vegetables and grain, 
 and matured upon chesnuts, lorms no mean dish ; 
 and if you will turn to the London Quarterly for 
 January, 1853, which is on the table near you, you 
 will find a few lines I have marked in an article on 
 the Cloister Life of Charles Y., which gives you an 
 idea of pork as it should be, and which might, I 
 think, make an epicure regret tjiat he did not live 
 in Spain in the sixteenth century.' 
 
19 
 
 Rinkle found the article and read as follows : 
 
 ' Yet if Spaniards have written their annals true, these said Belgians 
 and Hollanders looked plump and fair, and fed as voraciously as if they 
 had been Jews, upon the unctuous hams and griskins of Montanohes. 
 Estremadura is indeed a porcine pays de Cocagne ; an Elysium of the 
 pig ; a land overflowing with savory snakes for his summer improvement, 
 and with sweet acorns for his autumnal perfectionment ; whence results 
 a flesh fitter for demi-gods than Dutchmen, and a fat tinted like melted 
 topazes — a morsel for cardinals and wise men of the West. 
 
 Fred Daw was on his feet in an instant. He had 
 writhed with gusto while Rinkle repeated the roast 
 pig paragraph, but he could now contain himself 
 no longer. He flung his cigar in the fire, and re- 
 quested that that bit of writing might be served 
 over again; after which he ordered John to go im- 
 mediately down stairs and bring up a bottle of that 
 celebrated Topaz sherry, and glasses for four. 
 
 It was after we had drunk to Brown, to Spanish 
 pigs, and to the reviewer unknown, that Rinkle in- 
 formed me that, however pertinent I might have 
 considered my observations, they had no relevancy 
 whatever to the case in hand; that Brown's pigs 
 had not been of the same breed, by any means, as 
 those in the Review ; that he had not attempted 
 their perfectionment on snakes and acorns ; that they 
 had been objects rather of pity than admiration ; 
 that, for himself, he must look for some nobler mo- 
 tive than had yet been suggested to account for the 
 young man's conduct; and that for the unpleasant 
 
20 
 
 facts of the case he would refer me to Cribbs, who 
 who had the letter: and thereupon our philosophic 
 member made a dead set at all the quarterlies on 
 the table in search of a theory. 
 
 "While he was thus employed, and while Daw on 
 the sofa was in a smiling reverie, in which floated 
 I dare say, visions of unctuous hams and griskins, 
 and flesh tinted like melted topazes, Mr. "Wycherly 
 Cribbs imparted to me the leading particulars con- 
 nected with the subject before us. 
 
 Rawdon Brown, it seems, had, for some reason 
 only known to himself, bought, in the early summer, 
 five hundred of those articles of merchandize known 
 to dealers under the name of Western Store Pigs. 
 He had passed several hours at the Bull's Head 
 one rainy day, in the agreeable company of a most 
 polite and well-informed gentlemen, from whom he 
 made the purchase, and who, through all the in- 
 clemency of the weather, and all the repulsive filth 
 of the yards, had kindly assisted him in selecting, 
 counting, and weighing the drove. It was at this 
 gentleman's suggestion that he choose the leanest 
 animals, as being the best travellers, and affording 
 the fairest field for developement and improvement. 
 It was in deference to his advice that he stabled 
 his fine horse at the Bull's Head over-night, and 
 that he took rooms at the Bull's Head Tavern on 
 
21 
 
 the same evening, preparatory to the start for the 
 country 'in the cool' of the next day. It was this 
 polite gentleman who ' scared up,' to use his own 
 language, half a dozen good ' drover-boys,' and in- 
 troduced them to Mr. Brown as 'uncommon care- 
 ful lads with a drove ; " it was this gentleman who 
 received Mr. Rawdon Brown's check for nineteen 
 hundred and ninety-nine and ninety one-hundreths' 
 dollars, being the amount of the bill rendered for 
 five hundred Store Pigs, weighing, as per returns, 
 twenty-eight thousand five hundred and seventy 
 pounds, and sold at seven cents per pound ; and, 
 furthermore, it was this gentleman whom, notwith- 
 standing all these attentions, Mr. Brown subse- 
 quently characterized as a scamp. 
 
 Among the delights which Mr. Howard Payne had 
 in his mind's eye when he wrote that renowned song, 
 'Home, Sweet Home,' I think the bed, the familiar bed, 
 with its clean, sweet sheets, must have been uppermost. 
 We approach it in our yawning, demi-apparelled state, 
 with a fond confidence, resulting from a confirmed 
 experience of its perfect adaptedness to our particular 
 comfort; we sit upon it with anticipatory luxury; a 
 tlirill of pleasure rewards us for the effort of ' turning 
 in' as our toe-tips touch the linen, and we draw down 
 the coverlid at length, and hide ourselves from the 
 
22 
 
 world, with the soul-comforting assurance of whole- 
 some rest, and freedom from companionship, human 
 or entomic. Ah ! in country-houses, in far-off cities, 
 even in our best friend's hospitable mansion, how do 
 we remember that bed, those immaculate sheets ! but 
 at a tavern — Jupiter Hospitalis ! do we not some- 
 times rather forego the relinquishment of those 
 garments, the livery of our degenerate nature, 
 than 
 
 Well, Mr. Brown passed the night, after his 
 purchases, stretched upon three chairs, and thought 
 of Procrustes and pigs, and slept but little. 
 
 Behold him on the following morning, performing 
 the depressing feat of driving a fast horse at a slow 
 walk, and following that squealing, straggling army 
 of young swine; their six highly recommended but 
 suspicious-looking young officers hallooing, running, 
 dodging, returning, chasing deserters into the ranks, 
 and swearing fearfully. Behold him halting in the 
 road as he approaches some open field or turnpike- 
 crossing ; and as he stands up in his vehicle, see with 
 what generalship he witnesses the grand deploy of his 
 troops. Hear him shout till he is hoarse, as the left 
 wing starts incontinently down the wrong road; the 
 right, entering a breach in the wall, victoriously 
 attacks an unresisting column of beardless corn ; 
 while the main body, averse to action as to flight, 
 
• 23 
 
 inglorioTisly conceals itself in a road-side ditch, and 
 sits down to enjoy the mud. See him, with his raw 
 infantry re-marshalled and on their way again, calling 
 a halt, which the oflScers alone obey ; and, driving 
 into the midst of his forces, endeavor to perform the 
 impossible task of . counting them. Watch him 
 throughout that day, and the next, and still a third ; 
 and after encountering the fatigue, the perplexities, 
 the annoyances of the march; the sun, the mud, or 
 the dust ; the astonished stare of the few acquaint- 
 ances, and the inquisitive leer of the many strangers 
 he met; the gibes of rustics, who asked if them 
 critters took the prize at the World's Fair; the 
 constant anxiety lest provisions or shelter should fail 
 on the route; and the nightly fear that his barn- 
 lodged officers would desert in disgust, and leave him 
 at the head of his regiment alone : after all this, see 
 him arrive at his country home, haggard, unshaven, 
 and travel-stained — and unless you consider him a 
 fool, or infatuated, you must agree with Rinkle that 
 he was influenced by some higher motive than 
 superior pork or profit. 
 
 Upon the evening of his arrival. Brown succeeded 
 in counting his forces. He found, like iN^apoleon at 
 Moscow, that his ranks had been thinned on the 
 march. Fourteen pigs were missing. 
 
 Early the next day, he awoke. Not the sun- beams 
 
24 . ■ 
 
 glinting through the window-panes, not the dewy call 
 of incense- breathing morn, nor yet the cock's shrill 
 clarion, roused him from his slumbers ; but an un- 
 earthly noise — a combination of unearthly noises, 
 singly, hideous and harrowing ; together — indeed, I 
 will not repeat the strong, sub-terrene adjective he 
 used in his letter to describe them. The pangs of 
 purgatory seemed going on outside his window. 
 Four hundred and seventy hollow pigs, fierce with 
 the gnawings of hunger, were shrieking for their 
 breakfast. 
 
 Four hundred and seventy. Sixteen had yielded 
 up their poor lives during the night. What they 
 had suiFered, no one can tell. Whether fatigue, 
 whether fever and burning thirst, whether a surfeit 
 on unaccustomed diet; or whether the maladie du 
 po/ys — a hopeless yearning for Ohio, and a broken 
 heart — had ended their miseries, who shall say? 
 Tliere they were, pain and pleasure over, stiff", cold, 
 and dead. 
 
 And Brown, reverent as a Brahmin, ordered them 
 to be buried decently. And he was glad when the 
 four hundred and seventy were fed, and their how- 
 lings had subsided into grunts; and resting upon a 
 log, while they strayed in the orchard around him, 
 he sat wondering if any more would die', when he 
 heard a strange cough. 
 
^.re^^^-^^^.- 
 
 COUGHING TIME.-(Pagk 25.) 
 
25 
 
 He looked up, supposing it to proceed from one of 
 his men, who stood near him ; but the man seemed 
 strong and well, and his broad chest heaved only 
 with a healthy breathing. Still the cough continued. 
 It came from beyond the man. Evidently a pig was 
 in distress ; too large a lump of moist meal had 
 probably been gulped down, or a stray knife from 
 the kitchen offal. 
 
 Humanity, no less than self-interest, was hurrying 
 our friend to find the sufferer, when he thought he 
 heard a remarkable echo. The cough seemed repeated 
 from some point behind him. Perhaps it was not an 
 echo, but another cough. He was as much bewildered 
 as that notable donkey who found himself between 
 two thistles, and stood wavering. Just then a third 
 cough came conveniently to his aid ; and then a 
 fourth broke out, and then two or three together ; 
 and suddenly, a husky chorus came from a corner 
 of the orchard; and then, coughing-time having come, 
 as it would seem, pretty much all the company went 
 at it, and wheezed and rasped so vigorously, that the 
 passing traveller might have supposed himself in the 
 vicinity of a flourishing saw-mill. 
 
 Brown stood aghast. The realization of Yirgil's 
 description was before him: 
 
 ' et quatit segros 
 
 Tussis anhela sues, ac faucibus angit obesis.' 
 
26 
 
 His men were as much perplexed as himself. They 
 had never seen the like before, and could only sug- 
 gest sulphur as a sovereign remedy for all the ills 
 that kind of flesh is heir to. 
 
 Over the further sufferings of these creatures let 
 us draw a veil. For months, their infatuated owner 
 persevered in his design, whatever that design was. 
 If, indeed, it savored at all of speculation, it was a 
 mournful failure, and a warning to the uninitiated. 
 To be sure, the creatures dropped off slowly, and 
 kept up a good appetite to the last ; but, though 
 they consumed untold bushels, corn seemed only to 
 have the same effect upon them as upon mill-stones 
 — to wear them out. Day after day, corpses were 
 found in the orchard; and a post-mortem examination 
 of the remnant that was left of the drove, in the 
 autumn, proved that the knife had kindly anticipated 
 the pleurisy. 
 
 There was silence in the rooms of the Sociable 
 Club for some moments after Cribbs liad ceased. 
 Fred Daw was in Estremadura. I could perceive by 
 the moisture at the corners of his mouth, as he 
 faintly smiled in his sleep, that there was a morsel 
 of paradisiacal pork melting on his tongue. Rinkle 
 sat in his chair, the Review to which he had last 
 referred open on the table beside him, and himself as 
 
27 
 
 motionless as any petrifaction. His eyes were shut, 
 and a casual observer might have supposed that he 
 too slept. But I have not v^atched that man through 
 a long acquaintanceship to no purpose, and I very 
 well knew, as I saw him with his hands clasped, and 
 the tips of his forefingers meeting at the end of his 
 nose, that he was in profound thought. 
 
 For full five minutes did Cribbs and I sit waiting 
 for him to speak. At length, his eyes opened ; his 
 fingers slowly left his nose, and pointed to the 
 figure on the sofa. 
 
 'Wake him,' said Rinkle. 
 
 Any person who has had much experience of truly 
 civilized life, knows the diflSculty of rousing a gentle- 
 man of luxurious habits and good appetite from his 
 after-dinner slumbers, and need not be told that it 
 was with extreme difticulty we could bring Mr. 
 Daw's soul back from its sensual banquet to the 
 feast of reason, with E.inkle as host. 
 
 ' Gen-tle-men,' said Rinkle, at length, with that 
 distinct and emphatic utterance of each syllable, so 
 calculated to impress the hearer with the import- 
 ance of what is coming : ' Gen-tle-men ! the truly 
 philosophic mind, in accounting for any phenomena, 
 is not satisfied with a limited and conventional 
 survey, but weighs the combined evidence of all ex- 
 perience, observation, and learning. 
 
28 
 
 ' Philosophy, gentlemen, calling science to its aid, 
 looks back, not a year, nor a century, nor yet a 
 thousand years, but through countless ages ; and 
 forming its theories from facts, it gives to every 
 creature the place assigned it in the mysteriously 
 written, but still intelligible history of Creation. Be- 
 fore the researches of science, (to which I bow,) pre- 
 judice give way, error hides it head, and the cher- 
 ished traditions of superstition are ridiculed or for- 
 gotten. 
 
 'And now, gentlemen, that we may form such a 
 catholic and scientifically-correct estimate of the 
 whole animal creation as will enable us to look upon 
 the pig with an enlightened and unprejudiced eye, 
 let me read you an extract from the celebrated geo- 
 logist, Mr. Sedgwick, as quoted in the Review I hold 
 in my hand — the London Quarterly for October, 
 1851 : 
 
 ' ^The elevation of the Fauna of successive periods 
 was not made hy transmutation, hut hy creative ad- 
 ditions ^ and it is hy watching these additions that 
 we get some insight into Nature's true historical jp7'o- 
 gress. Judging hy our evidence, {and hy what else 
 have we a/ny right to judge f) there was a time when 
 Cephalopoda were the highest types of animal life. 
 They were then the Primates of this World, and, 
 corresponding to their office and position, some of 
 
29 
 
 thera were of noble structure^ and giganUo size. But 
 these creatures were degraded from their rank at the 
 head of Nature^ and Fishes next took the lead: and 
 they did not rise ujp in Natxire in some degenerate 
 form., as if they were hut the transmuted progeny of 
 the Cephalopoda, hut they started into life in the very 
 highest ichthyio tyjpe ever created. Following our 
 history chronologically., Reptiles next took the lead ; 
 and {with some almost evanescent exceptions) they 
 flourished during the countless ages of the secondary 
 period as the lords and despots of the world ^ and 
 they had an organic perfection corresponding to their 
 exalted ra/rik in Nature^ kingdom / for their highest 
 orders were not merely great in strength and stature., 
 hut were anatomically raised far ahove any forms of 
 the Reptile class now living in the world. This class 
 was, however, in its turn to lose its rank' what is 
 more, it underwent {when considered collectively) a 
 positive organic degradation hefore the end of the 
 secondary period — and this took place countless ages 
 hefore terrestrial mammals of any living type had 
 heen called into heing. Mammals were added next, 
 {near the commencement of the tertiary period^ and 
 seem to have heen added suddenly. Some of the early 
 extinct forms of this class, which we now know only 
 hy ransacking the ancient catacombs of Nature, were 
 powerful and gigantic, and we helieve they were, col- 
 
30 
 
 lectively well-fitted for the place they filled. But they 
 in their turn^ were to he degraded from their place 
 at the head of Nature^ and she hecame what she now 
 is, hy the addition of Man. By this last addition 
 she is more exalted than she was hefore. Man stands 
 hy himself the despotic lord of the living world ^ not 
 so great in organic strength as many of the despots 
 that went hefore him in Nature^ s chronicle, hut raised 
 far above them all hy a higher development of the 
 hi'ain ; hy a framework^ — etc. etc. etc. '■Such is the 
 history of creation.'' — Sedgwick -.p. 216. 
 
 ' Yes, gen-tle-men, such is the history of creation ; 
 not handed down to us by vain tradition, but written 
 before language had existence, and traced by royal 
 hands in the solid rock. 
 
 ' Such are the sermons that science extorts from 
 stones ! Man, the present primate and lord of the 
 creation, has taken the throne successively occupied 
 by the cepalopoda, fishes, reptiles, and mammals ; 
 and, as Cuvier, I remember, holds, in his turn to 
 yeild the sceptre to some yet uncreated class. There 
 are a thousand curious questions that present them- 
 selves upon the reception of these great truths. Per- 
 haps the most serious and affecting are : What kind 
 of creatures shall succeed us in our reign? At about 
 what period will they make their appearance ? Will 
 they look upon their fallen predecessors with compas- 
 
31 
 
 sion, and treat them with kindness ? Will they 
 understand our spoken language and read our books, 
 or will our words be to them as brutish sounds, our 
 alphabet but hieroglyphics? Will they be carnivorous; 
 and if so, will the creatures they immediately succeed 
 be pleasant to their taste ? 
 
 ' But without turning aside to pursue these and 
 other interesting inquiries, let us apply the light that 
 /Science thus lets in upon us to the subject of our 
 recent investigation ; and what a halo does it shed 
 upon the name of BROWK — martyr to compassion 
 for a royal though degraded order ! How does it 
 illuminate his motives ; how begild even his depleted 
 purse ! We remeniber his admiration of high birth, 
 his partiality for noble blood. Probably, gentlemen, 
 veTy probably, among the creatures who reigned be- 
 fore our lordships, the Pig ranked high ; perhaps 
 he was the greatest mammal of them all — the 
 'mighty Paramount.' If size gave importance, as 
 it undoubtedly did, how noble must he have been! 
 Even in these, his degenerate days, his capacity of 
 growth is almost illimitable: conceive of his great- 
 ness in the prime and pre-eminence of his power! 
 If blood was then a test among peers, how readily 
 must the supremacy have been yielded to him ! 
 Even in this, his era of serfdom, the stream that 
 
32 
 
 courses through his veins tints his flesh like jewels, 
 and gives it an ambrosial tang ! 
 
 'Gentlemen! while the rest of the world admire 
 and applaud the man who — laudably indeed — spends 
 his time in protecting and pampering the strongest 
 and handsomest individuals, descendants of a class 
 or an order of whilom monarchs, be it for us to 
 honor him who has nobly devoted himself to the 
 most miserable of their progeny : I refer to Brown/ 
 I desire Smithers, as a payment of the fine I have 
 this night imposed on him, to prepare (for the public 
 eye) some account of our absent friend's self-denials 
 in behalf of a degraded order. To this account he 
 may add these brief remarks of my own ; and I 
 take this opportunity of intimating that I may yet 
 prepare a paper tracing the mercenary practice (as it 
 now exists) of preserving swine's flesh for market, 
 to the noble custom, so prevalent among the ancient 
 races, of embalming their illustrious dead. 
 
 'And now, gentlemen, one more duty. It is not 
 ours, perhaps, to harbor and sustain, on so large a 
 scale as Brown has done, the scions of an unfortunate 
 race. It was not ours, in the least particular, to aid 
 our friend in his benevolent projects. Let us, at any 
 rate, show our sympathy with his effbrts, and our 
 respect for their object. I propose, gentlemen — to be 
 drunk in silence — the memory of Brown's Pigs !' 
 
33 
 
 CLARA, 
 
 RA.TVr)0]^r BROTVN, Esq. 
 
 " If you should see a picture of her, such 
 
 As Raphael might have painted, — though the glow 
 
 Seemed playing on her cheek — and though the lips 
 
 Seemed parting, and did cheat you into waiting 
 
 Until she spoke — that would not be her likeness. 
 
 You would not half conceive her ; for she brings 
 
 A calm, strange beauty with her presence 
 
 That is not of her person ; and you think, 
 
 When gazing at her, that there is some charm 
 
 Will keep her ever beautiful and young — 
 
 The angels grow not old. When she approaches 
 
 You do not think she walks — ^the distance lessens. 
 
 Her laugh is like the echo of a strain 
 
 Of music heard among the hills — her smile 
 
 Comes to you like the sunlight when you wake ; 
 
 Her large blue eyes look only tenderness 
 
 And fullest confidence ; when she has spoken. 
 
 Your ear would give her answer. Her sweet voice 
 
 Lends a rare dignity to common things — 
 
 The chaffering of the birds is melody." 
 
5^ 
 
 UGLINESS AND ITS USES. 
 
 A^ LECTURE. 
 
 BY QUENTIN BINKLE, Esq, 
 
2(f? 
 
'iy 
 
 LECTURE. 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen : 
 
 In appearing before you to give expression to 
 some crude remarks on tlie subject of Ugliness, I 
 will, at the outset, disabuse your minds of any false 
 impression they may have received by my choice of 
 a topic. Let it not be supposed, that, in the general 
 signification of the word, I consider Ugliness a thing 
 to be over-admired and sought after. Were I, in- 
 deed, an illiberal cynic, or a super-censorious preach- 
 er, I might, to use the language of the pulpit, " for 
 the good of your souls," enlarge upon the advantages 
 of a crooked person or a homely face, while the 
 youthful traveler pursues that flowery but dangerous 
 pathway, along which so many snares are laid for 
 " the good-looking " and " the genteel." I might 
 thus, perchance, persuade some of you to give a se- 
 rious thought to that homely, may I not say, ugly, 
 adage — "Handsome is that handsome does" — and dis- 
 pel from your minds that fond but illusive notion, 
 that " a thing of beauty is a joy forever." I might 
 
38 
 
 induce the fairer portion of my audience, by the prac- 
 tice of some of the lighter mortifications, to restrict 
 the display of those charms which are as dangerous 
 to themselves as to ' others ; and I might obtain the 
 applause of the aged, the virtuous, the unfavored, as 
 I am sure I should of the malicious, by sneering at 
 those perfections of form, of feature and of mind, 
 which have in all ages been the strength and the 
 ornament of the sex, and which, I may say without 
 flattery, have in no age or country found a higher 
 development, or a worthier appreciation, than in our 
 own day, and among my own countrywomen. [Ap- 
 plause,] But no ! I should be untrue to myself as a 
 man, as an author, and as an American, were I in 
 the least to detract from the benign influence of that 
 subtle thing called Beauty, Whether beaming from 
 the human face — that concentration of all charms, for 
 the portraiture of which poets have dipped their pen- 
 cils in clouds and rainbows, in sunbeams and moon- 
 shine, and have even climbed beyond the sky to bor- 
 row angelic pigments — or diffusing itself upon the 
 marble or the canvas within rather than upon which 
 the artist, with Promethean power, has seemed to 
 work — whether glittering from a Coliseum, or steal- 
 ing from behind a cloud — whether seated in cold and 
 dignified majesty among the Alps, or gliding down 
 
39 
 
 to us in gentleness with the sunlight — whether ex- 
 hibited in what to the untutored savage would ap- 
 pear a little parcel of curiously-pressed pages, but 
 what to the cultivated mind is a treasure of the 
 choicest intellectual gems, or displayed in that divine 
 form, legible alike to the Barbarian and the Greek, a 
 NOBLE DEED — I yield it my homage and confess its 
 power, l^either can I believe that any of you are 
 behind me in this devotion. Everywhere — in sky or 
 sea — on the peak or in the cavern — on the " carpeted 
 meadow" or the "carpeted floor" — you, I, all of us, 
 acknowledge the claims of that ethereal but potent 
 Essence — Beauty, [Applause.] 
 
 And it is for this reason, among others, that 'I ap- 
 pear before you to-night to address you on the topic 
 I have chosen. Because the power and the rights of 
 Beauty are everywhere acknowledged, and hecause in 
 the adulation it receives, and the attention that phi- 
 losophic minds have ever paid, and are still paying, 
 to its elucidation, I fear the claims of its opposite — 
 Ugliness — are in danger — I now stand forth, the 
 humble, but the bold and honest champion of the 
 latter Essence. 
 
 I am aware of the unpopularity of my theme. I 
 know that Ugliness in N^ature or in Art — in form, 
 feature or disposition — is generally disliked and 
 
40 
 
 » 
 
 avoided. I do not forget that, in the general estima- 
 tion of Christian lands, Ugliness is associated with 
 that nameless Person, the Father of Evil and Lies, 
 and that this association has given rise to a common, 
 but none the less odious comparison. But, let me 
 ask, is innocence to be condemned, because she is 
 maligned ? Is Beauty to become a Juggernaut — or, 
 rather, to borrow an idea from Plato, is she to be- 
 come a lubricator to the wheels of a Juggernaut, 
 that is to crush other and noble attributes in its pro- 
 gress ? Heaven forbid ! Let us be generous, but let 
 us at the same time be just. 
 
 I shall proceed to speak of a few of the Uses of 
 Ugliness. 
 
 Ugliness is manifold. You might, perchance, ana- 
 lyze its significations and declare that all their va- 
 rieties can be comprehended in two classes — ^the out- 
 ward, or apparent, and the inward, or essential; and 
 to the thoughtful mind, these two divisions may be 
 all-sufiicient. And yet Ugliness, like Beauty, is a 
 thing so subtle, — it has such lights and shadows, — 
 and is so far a negative and comparative, rather 
 .than a positive, characteristic, that I doubt whether 
 I might not be met by opposition from every va- 
 riety of intellect and taste, were I to insist dogmat- 
 ically upon such a restricted classification. Let us 
 
41 
 
 be content, at any rate, to take it as it is, and, like 
 a funeral orator, employ ourselves rather in its 
 eulogy, than its dissection. 
 
 The child, before it comes to know the difference 
 between right and wrong, is allowed, by the ortho- 
 dox as well as by their opponents, to be, in one 
 sense, innocent. It knows no wrong, it harbors no 
 suspicion, it bears no malice, and it has no desires, 
 unless under that name may be classed a longing for 
 warm milk and water. In this happy state the phi- 
 losophic mind iinds food for profound study ; and 
 among other researches, I may be allowed to say it 
 has discovered that Ugliness — mere physical Ugliness, 
 I mean — has no natural and inherent repulsion. The 
 tender babe will reach its tiny fingers to grasp the 
 nose of deformity, or smooth the wrinkles of age, 
 with the same tremor of delight as is witnessed in 
 its toying with classic features, or a youthful skin. 
 ]^ay, I have seen an infant turn from the works of 
 our best masters, to fondle a bundle of rags, bearing 
 but a distant and ugly similitude to itself. You may 
 call this ignorance, I call it nature, and I see in it 
 one of those beautiful lessons which we are ever apt 
 to prate of, and too little inclined to approve. The 
 babe and the suckling, a fresh type of something 
 higher than this earth can offer, a purity in the 
 
42 
 
 midst of sin, puts its mark upon our heart, and 
 reads us this truth : "To the Beautiful and the 
 joyous Soul, even Ugliness has a Beauty." [Ap- 
 plause.] 
 
 But further than this, and in another view, may 
 Ugliness be said to have a humanizing power. In 
 the halls of Fashion as well as among the cottages 
 of Rusticity, the freaks of nature are observable — 
 sometimes exhibiting themselves in such quiet and 
 yet torturing malformations as the foot of a Byron, 
 and at others awaking the continual sympathy of the 
 good, as in the deformity of a Goldsmith. And 
 wherever such vagaries, as we are accustomed to call 
 them, exist, shall we, in our obtuseness, blame an 
 all- wise Providence, and say they have no use? Let 
 me inquire who exercised a more softening influence 
 over that biilk of knowledge, kindness and bearish- 
 ness, known as Dr. Samuel Johnson, than Oliver 
 Goldsmith himself? and this too, not despite, but 
 rather on account of those very oddities and awk- 
 wardnesses that rendered the author of the Vicar of 
 Wakefield — in few instances only, let us hope — the 
 laughing stock of the envious. Who has not met an 
 " ugly man " or an " ugly woman ? " — and here, of 
 course, I refer to features, not to temper — and who, 
 having met such, has not felt the benevolent pangs 
 
43 
 
 of commiseration ? How often in the society of cul- 
 tivated persons have we heard the kind and sympa- 
 thizing remark, expressive of grief at the pain that 
 must be endured by the countenance of the unfortu- 
 nate ugly one ? Surely, misfortune that calls forth 
 such sympathy, loses half its affliction in the con- 
 sciousness of a power to wake to pity, if not to love. 
 
 Rare, indeed, I hope, are the occasions in which 
 deformity has provoked sarcasm, in which ugliness of 
 person has awakened ugliness of heart. I must con- 
 fess — to the shame of human nature — that I have 
 seen one or two such instances, and I have been re- 
 minded, when watching the face of some strikingly 
 unhandsome person smarting under a jest, of the sen- 
 sitive plant in my friend the gardener's green-house, 
 growing from common earth, and boasting but a 
 rude pot of clay as its hold upon existence ; and as 
 I have seen the gentle soul shrink from the rude 
 touch of malice, I have almost wished for a momen- 
 tary omnipotence, to give vitality and strength to the 
 tender spirit, tliat it might turn and crush the fin- 
 gers by which it was tormented. [Sensation.] 
 
 And where such malice, which is deformity, in 
 one soul, has called forth such sympathy, which is 
 beauty, in another, who shall say that, judged by 
 the law of Compensation, and weighed in the eternal 
 
44 
 
 balances of Grood and Evil, Ugliness, essential and in- 
 herent, has not betrayed a use, and put forth a 
 power, which, though apparently as little as the force 
 of a water-drop, shall yet, with a kindred energy to 
 that of each hidden globule of the ocean, help to 
 raise, support and carry forward whatever is beautiful 
 and true, upon the mighty Sea of Time ! [Great 
 applause.] 
 
 Again, the salutary eifect of Ugliness is to be ob- 
 served, I think, not merely in the idle sympathetic, 
 but in the active charity it calls into existence. Re- 
 mark, in those walks of benevolence where you so 
 often tread, who excites your sincerest sorrow and 
 feels your largest bounty. Is it not the beggar of 
 the most patches and the fewest limbs? And is it 
 not notorious that the most successful clerical asker 
 of contributions among us, is the one the least re- 
 markable for the graces of his person ? And thus it 
 is, that while little crimes and little criminals re- 
 ceive but a casual sympathy from our great philan- 
 thropists, the murderer, — the ugliest of the ugly souls, 
 — extorts tears from stoics, is defended by "bristling 
 columns" in the newspapers, and makes the hearts 
 of governors bleed. [Deep silence.] 
 
 Let me now direct your attention to an equally 
 serious and important use of Ugliness, and one in 
 
4:5 
 
 which, perchance, you will feel a higher interest. 
 Ugliness is a most capital foil. Day would become 
 burdensome without the night. Joy would ache for 
 some misery, as a set-oiF, should sorrows cease ; and 
 perpetual and omnipresent Beauty, of which the day- 
 light and happiness are but types and phases, 
 would, while man's nature remains as it is, drive us 
 all mad in the end. It is a common stage-trick, to 
 render a giant more gigantic, and a dwarf more di- 
 minutive, by the proximity of smaller or larger ob- 
 jects ; and though 
 
 Pigmies are pigmies still, tho' perch'd on Alps ; 
 And pyramids are pyramids in vales, — 
 
 yet there can be no doubt that both the pigmies and 
 the pyramids would acquire an additional, though 
 indeed it might be but a meretricious distinction, 
 were they really placed in the supposititious locali- 
 ties assigned them by the poet. Who questions, that 
 the beauty of Miranda is heightened by her associa- 
 tion with Caliban % Haidee, although the cunning 
 poet never intended this secret to be revealed, gains 
 one charm the more when we remember the rough- 
 ness of her father's manners and the barbarity of his 
 trade ; and the Indian maiden Yarico seems the love- 
 lier by reason of the heartlessness and villany of her 
 lover, Incle. Contrast makes all beauty ; and, as a 
 
46 
 
 sequitur^ ugliness has a use. Were there no flat feet, 
 of what use, let me ask, were a rounded instep ? 
 Were all hands and ceintures fashioned after the 
 same model, what would become of that ambition 
 that tapers from a , finger, or circles round a waist ? 
 [Sensation.] And were there no villany, no vice, no 
 ugliness of character or disposition, where would be 
 the glory and the virtue of those persons whom, in 
 the politest circles, we hear designated as the sweet 
 —the charming — and the nice ? 
 
 It is, I think, to be regretted, that, as a nation, 
 we have not cultivated a better acquaintance with 
 the true use and power of Ugliness — that combina- 
 tion, if I may so express it, of the Ugly essential 
 with the Ugly apparent — which has been sought after 
 with such decided success in other countries. It 
 seems to be a destiny that we have not yet reached, 
 if indeed we ever are to reach it, to exemplify, either 
 in human or mechanical specimens, the practicability 
 of such a combined organization. The Russians, the 
 Turks, the French, and I may say the English, far 
 transcend us in this respect, so far as concerns the 
 animal physique/ and in the late Exposition of all 
 Nations, in the Crystal Palace at London, it was 
 only too plain that our genius had not yet reached 
 this triumph in the mechanical arts. Colt's Revolver 
 
 ilD -201* 
 
47 
 
 is the only exception to this remark, that I now re- 
 member. In everytliing else, we were merely repre- 
 sented by the extremes; — essential Ugliness, on the 
 one hand, being displayed in a bust in Soap, and 
 apparent Ugliness in a large number of Daguerreo- 
 types, on the other. [Some applause, and some lit- 
 tle dissatisfaction expressed by one or two in the 
 audience.] 
 
 But furthermore and finally, Ugliness is promotive 
 of good fellowship. It is notorious that those who 
 are blessed with what the world calls a handsome 
 person, are almost as certainly gifted with a complete 
 appreciation of their own charms, so that the aban- 
 don and ease that are the axles on which social en- 
 joyment turns, are to be sought elsewhere than 
 amongst the fine-featured and the pretty. 
 
 There is a pleasant paper in the Spectator, illus- 
 trative of the good temper and sociability of the 
 ugly men. A few of this species formed an associa- 
 tion to which they honestly gave the name of the 
 "Ugly Club," and amongst their rules we find that, 
 " every fresh member, upon his first night is to en- 
 tertain the company with a dish of codfish, and a 
 speech in praise of ^sop, whose portraiture they 
 have in fine proportion, or rather disproportion, on 
 the chimney, and their design is, as soon as their 
 
48 
 
 funds are sufficient, to purchase the heads of Ther- 
 sites, Duns Scotus, Scarron, Hudibras, and the old 
 gentleman in Oldham, with all the celebrated ill 
 faces of Antiquity, as furniture for the club room." 
 Jolly times, doubtless, they had, with their own ugly 
 faces leering back at the ugly company on the walls 
 — criticising their own charms without vanity — and 
 comparing sprains and mutilations, arm-slings and 
 crutches, in the most perfect good humor. Long may 
 the ugly men live ! and when the time arrives, if ar- 
 rive it must, which Heaven forbid ! when the glorious 
 Union of these affiliated States shall be dissolved, — 
 when the North and the South, so long friends and 
 brothers, shall become aliens in each other's territory, 
 and strangers at each other's hearths — when the 
 beauty of Many in Unity becomes a wreck and a re- 
 membrance — may there be a few ugly men left, to 
 cheer the gloom that shall foreshadow the " Good 
 Time Coming." 
 
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