HAVING given his order to the servant, General Potter turned to Mr. Tickler, and with great politeness said, "I may say to you in confidence, seeing that I shall be all right when I take a bottle or two of Townsend's Sarsaparilla, that my friends made me a General last night; and as experience teaches me that this title will do me great service, pray make it convenient to address me accordingly." Mr. Tickler at once promised to scrupulously1 regard this admonition, as well as to hold the general's person in profound respect.
And now, as many inquiries3 were made after his health by persons of distinction, he desired the host to send them away, saying he was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. And when the gentlemen who retired4 at Mr. Tickler's request reentered the room, they were surprised and astonished to find the man they had supposed on the point of death restored to perfect health, and weak only from the blood taken from him by the skillful physician. He was, indeed, speaking as good English as needs be, and earnestly debating a question of state policy with Mr. Tickler over an excellent punch. On making inquiries about his pains, he good naturedly assured them he was a much sounder man than before, except that he had a slight itching5 in one of his toes, which could be readily removed with a bottle or two of Dr. Townsend's Sarsaparilla. They were not a little diverted at the quaintness6 of the remark, and went away satisfied that he was at least the most remarkable7 man of the age, if not the wisest.
Not a thought was given to old Battle during all this time, which was the strangest thing of all, considering the affection he bore him. Having drained his glass, the general (which he must henceforth be called) gave Mr. Tickler wonderful account of his mission, and the prospects8 that were held out to him. "I see, sir," said he, addressing Tickler, "that you are a man of uncommon10 ability; and as I stand in great need of just such a gentleman's services, to write my speeches, and do an elegant correspondence, you have but to say you will join me, and I promise you such a share of the rewards as will make you a happy man for the rest of your life. My speeches are not difficult, but my correspondence is extensive and curious enough, God knows."
"An office that will better my condition will not stand long waiting my acceptance, as you shall have reason to know, sir, when you make me the offer. Mind ye, I have followed the wretched life of a critic so long that I am compelled to cheat my tailor, and depend on a friend to invite me to dinner. As to my accomplishments12, you will find them out by inquiring at the Press Club, which is composed of as nice gentlemen as any lady of taste could wish; and I swear, sir, they have so much learning that they have killed several magazines of great respectability." Mr. Tickler said this with an air of superlative dignity; and having a beard and mustache of exquisite13 growth, he drew a delicate comb from his pocket, and commenced curling them with great care. In truth, Mr. Orlando Tickler was something of an exquisite, and as much a fixture14 at the opera as the empty chair of a stockholder. What was more, he leveled an opera glass worth sixty dollars at the belles15.
"Really, sir," replied the general with a smile, "you talk like a gentleman of profound wisdom. I perhaps ought to tell you, that a clever young gentleman, who did me the service I desire of you, being ambitious, left me, and set up for a lawyer. And it was in vain I promisd him a seat in Congress in two years, if he would remain with me. It is also said of him, that he has taken to writing my history, which an honest bookseller has engaged to publish out of sheer respect to the severe and very uncharitable things he had said of me and my wife, Polly Potter." The general now begged Mr. Tickler to give him a more detailed17 account of these critics, of whom he he had spoken so strangely.
"Faith, sir, it gives me pleasure to impart knowledge to others," rejoined Mr. Tickler; "and as I have no great love for any of them, I will, to be brief, tell you that you may divide them under four heads: The wise critics, the fashionable society critics, the correspondent critics, and the critics at large. The wise critic is generally a dilapidated parson, who, having vacated the pulpit for want of morals, brings into literature the spirit of the viper18, which he manifests toward his brother craftsmen19 with peculiar20 unction. He preserves a sort of clerical air, wears a white neckcloth, spectacles, and a shabby coat; and in addition to foul21 linen22, he has a great passion for sending poets and novel writers to the devil. He affects to despise a literature not well savored23 with religious sentiment, but will at times condescend24 to lavish25 unmeasured praise upon a book of loose morals. The wise critic generally has lodging26 with some pious27 lady in Fourth Street, breakfasts on rolls and coffee at Peteler's, dines three times a week with his female literary friends, and for the rest takes rice and milk at Savery's, in Beekman Street. Being literary editor of two or more daily papers, publishers hold him in great respect, and employ him at reading the novels of ambitious school girls, which he will aid them in cramming28 down the spacious29 throat of the public. It would not do to offer a wise critic pay for his services; but the accepting of presents he regards in the light of exchanges of love between a friend served and a friend admired. He has numerous affairs of ceremony with gifted widows, who write very excellent sensation books in behalf of downtrodden humanity, and who never fail to express their admiration30 of his great learning; and this high consideration he repays with ponderous31 eulogies32 on their books. His carping he reserves for the devil, and such authors as Prescott, Bryant, and Longfellow.
"The fashionable critic belongs to the Press Club, from which it may be inferred that he is an excellent judge of Cologne and hair oil. I say this, sir, seeing how large a a quantity of these excellent articles are used by the nice persons who constitute that club. In dress, the fashionable critic is quite up to Fifth Avenue, and in manners he is rather above it. He is in high favor with certain aged16 dowagers of doubtful ancestry33, who never think of giving an evening party without one or two of the best cravatted34. He has a wonderful relish35 for light literature, and affects to speak numerous tongues. In truth, if there be a tongue he is not familiar with, he will tell you most patronizingly that it is a tongue not known in fashionable society. He writes articles for magazines, turns the brains of certain young damsels at boarding schools, and at the end of the year fancies himself a Byron. Now and then he gathers his stray effusions together, and gives them to the forgiving world in a book that sends a titillation36 of joy to the hearts of his numerous admirers, and also sets every fashionable critic to praising it as the most wonderful work of the age; for unlike the wise critic, the fashionable critic eschews37 envy, and invariably puffs38 the bantlings of his fellows. In fine, the fashionable critic is always tied to some lady friend, who has written a book he is about to notice in Putnam, a journal he has nearly choked to death with his great learning. If you would know how he lives I will tell you. He has three dollar lodgings39 with Mrs. Sponge, in Amity40 Street, which is fashionable enough for any body. But being a sharp fellow, he takes a dinner or two at the Brevort House, which enables him to indite41 all his epistles therefrom, so, to his friends, he is at the Brevort House. And, believe me, sir, for I say it more in pity than anger, he is a man much given to appropriating to himself the coats and breeches of his friends, and going uninvited to balls.
"The correspondent critic is generally an energetic gentleman of foreign extraction and doubtful ancestry. Being without means or business, he sets up for a critic of books. He will correspond gratis42 for papers in Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, Cincinnati, and other large cities. Having "got his newspapers," he forms an extensive acquaintance with authors, publishers, and actors-in a word, with any one in need of puffing43, the force of which he gauges44 according to the amount paid. Although the wise critic holds him in utter contempt, he affects a knowledge of books quite as profound, and can completely outshine him in his style of adulation. As for new books, no enterprising publisher would deign45 to send him less than two copies, which may be found at a book stall the very next morning. As, however, his sense of feeling is so delicate that he only wants to feel a book to decide upon its merits, this disposing of the books fortunately does not debar him from giving a ten dollar opinion of it in one of his newspapers. When, however, his puffs are not squared according to the publisher's liking46, he is sent about his business; sometimes threatened with an exposé of the peculiarities47 of his trade. He has free drinks and dinners at various first class hotels, which he invariably recommends in his 'articles.' Doctor Thompson's purgative48 powders, Lubin's perfumery, and the Home Journal, are severally victims of his profound respect.
"The correspondent critic has small apartments at first class hotels, which he changes frequently, out of sheer respect, as he says, to economy. But I have failed to discover how this could apply, since the change was invariably made for a more expensive hotel, while a little score always remained on the ledger49, to the no small annoyance50 of the host. But, sir, where they have it is in 'knowing' the impressibility of certain ambitious actresses, whose acquaintance they cultivate, and for a given sum set them up for Siddonses and Rachels, with the same respect for modesty51 they evince in puffing Peteler's soda52 water.
"And now, sir, we have come to the last, but depend upon it, he is not the least of them all--I mean the critic at large." Here Mr. Tickler, who, it must be known, was as big a knave53 as any of them, and only charged upon others the little inconsistencies he had himself been guilty of, lighted his cigar, and suggested the good results of another well compounded punch, which the general ordered without delay. "I tell you, sir," Mr. Tickler resumed, "he is an oily gentleman in very shabby clothes, and might be easily mistaken for a cross between a toper and a tinker. Lacking capacity for any other business, he forms a cheap connection with the press, where his first office would seem to be that of sitting in judgment54 upon literature. Indeed, I have seldom seen a more shabby gentleman set up for a man of letters. His aversion to water and clean linen is only equaled by his love of actors and bad brandy, the latter having painted his face with a deep glow. The limit of his 'set phrases' is somewhat narrow; but notwithstanding this little impediment, he has a wonderful facility for making heroes. He assists publishers in 'getting out books,' getting up sensations, and, perhaps, a learned controversy56, in which the Evening Post, feeling its reserved rights infringed57, will join issue with every one else. The critic at large is, in most cases, a foreign gentleman, who boasts an engagement on the Express, adding at the same time, and with some assurance, that he writes for the Sunday Dispatch and Atlas58. This stroke of policy he holds necessary to preserve his respectability. He is in high favor at all the theaters, tips winks59 to his actress acquaintances, drinks slings61 and toddies at Honey's with actors befuddling62 themselves into that dreamy state regarded by the profession as necessary to the clear bringing out of all the beauties with which a beneficent providence63 endowed the kings and conquerors64 they are to personate at night, on that sequestered65 world called the stage. You may know by the downy state of his wardrobe that he has a place to sleep. But where he gets his breakfast is a mystery no friend has ever yet solved for me. Aside from taking a two shilling dinner at an oyster66 cellar in William Street and wiping his greasy67 fingers on a leather apron68, he would seem to live on hopes and brandy-mixed. He affects great admiration of Johnson and Goldsmith, compares his poverty with theirs, and attributes the present wretched condition of criticism to the disgrace brought upon the profession by Easley and other dilapidated priests. You will frequently see this shabby man of letters standing55 at the corner of Nassau and Ann streets, his hands in his pockets and his head bent69 in meditation70. Occasionally he will pitch his post in the vicinity of the Herald71 office, and look up longingly72 at the windows, as if envying the dare devils who write for that witty73 journal their fat larder74. And here he will remain until some kind friend with a shilling invites him to a sling60. Truly, sir, he is starved into flattering his patrons. If you be an ambitious author, you have only to show him the color of your coin, and for two dollars he will make you quite equal to Thackeray. Five dollars in his palm, and, my word for it, he will have you superior to either Bulwer or Dickens. If you be a poet, he will, for the sum of eight dollars, (which is Easley's price,) enshrine you with the combined mantles75 of Homer and Shakspeare. He applies the same scale of prices to such actors and actresses as stand in need of his services. Notwithstanding his passion for exalting76 his patrons, he affects in conversation a great dislike for American literature, while at the same time he is ever ready to lavish the most indiscriminate praise upon the books of foreign authors. He never makes both ends meet on Saturday, but will borrow a dollar to go to Coney Island on Sunday.
"And now, your honor, you have the whole mob, and you may make what you please of them." The general raised his glass, and was about to declare he had been highly entertained, when Mr. Tickler suddenly interrupted, by reminding him that he had just called to mind the fact, that there was a play writer critic. "This fellow is the most congenial of them all, has a little room somewhere in North Moore Street, in which may found two or three pictures of fierce looking tragedians; a cot covered with a quilt of various colors, and looking as if it had been used for a horse blanket; a carpet the colors have long since been worn out of; a dumb clock over the dingy77 mantel piece; a portrait of the deceased husband of the hostess; and a table well supplied with pipes, tobacco, and French plays. The French plays are, when slightly altered and rendered into English, for the public; the pipes and tobacco are for his friends. And although perpetually climbing the mountain of poverty, while building no end of castles in the air, he spends what he gets to-day and has no thought for to-morrow. It having come the fashion of the day for managers of theaters to feast their patrons on the morbid78 sentimentality of French plays, (as if the vices11 of our own social system were not enough to excite the vicious propensities79 of our high blooded youths,) so also would it seem the highest inspiration of the eighteenth century play writer to rehash and coarsify for the American stage all those lascivious80 eccentricities81 for which the French are famous. Hence, your jolly play writer is generally engaged with his friends, smoking pipes and reading the last French piece. The pleasure excited by this congenial occupation is invariably heightened with libations of whiskey, the play writer having a credit with the grocer at the corner for three bottles, which, in a case of emergency, may be extended to four. He writes occasionally for the Sunday newspapers, thinks John Brougham the greatest dramatist and wit of the age, and stands ready either to join him in a glass or sing his praises, though there is as much reason for committing so flagrant an outrage82 as there would be in praising the ten thousand and one stanzas83 written by that wonderful and very eccentric bard84, Richard Yeadon, who has sung of so many springs and watering places as to dry up his own muse85. He is likewise something of a dabbler86 at reviewing novels, but they must be largely sprinkled with murders, and have plots strong enough to carry anything but the clergy87. All other critics are to him great bores; but, like them, he has a price for his services, and will, if you pay him, make Shakspeares and Corneilles of very ordinary persons. As for respectable society, he never even scented88 the perfumery of its outskirts89; he therefore holds it in utter contempt. Ready at all times to adapt himself to circumstances, if he chance to get in arrears90 to his landlady91, he will square the account by marrying either herself or her daughter." Mr. Tickler proceeded in this strain, relating sundry92 curious things of the critics, until the night was far advanced, and concluded by suggesting that no serious damage could result to his constitution from another punch. The general immediately fell in with this opinion, and indeed was so entertained by his narrative93, that he would have ordered a dozen punches without considering his obligation to him wiped out. The punch being dispatched, the general slipped five dollars into Mr. Tickler's hand, and desired him to proceed to the host, thank him for his great kindness, and clear the little score from his ledger. Greatly delighted at the prospect9 of performing this service, Mr. Tickler proceeded to the office, and was informed by the polite host that it was a custom with him never to take money of persons driven to seek shelter in his house by accidents. To end the matter, he vowed94 it not only gave him great pleasure to have so distinguished95 a military gentleman in his house, which had bore a character for hospitality he was scrupulous2 it should continue to maintain, but that he would be happy to see him again. Indeed, he wished him success in all his undertakings96, hoping they would bring comfort in great abundance.
Slipping the price of a criticism into his own pocket, the adroit97 Tickler returned to the general, swore the host was the most generous fellow within his knowledge, and said, "See here, sir! faith of my father! but he would only take three dollars for it all. And he passed the divil knows how many compliments on your valor98, for I couldn't count them." He now proffered99 the remaining two, but was not slow in acting100 upon the general's admonition to put them in his own pocket. "And now, sir," resumed Mr. Tickler, with an air of great anxiety, "let us hasten home to your lodgings, and to-morrow I will write this generous man a note for you, thanking him for such rare disinterestedness101. And it shall be such a note!" The general, however, was not quite sure whether such an act would become a man of courtesy, and expressed a desire to see so generous a landlord and tell him how much he thanked him. But as this would seriously disturb Mr. Tickler's arrangements, that gentleman got him out of the house as speedily as possible, assuring him that such a proceeding102 would be contrary to all the established rules of etiquette103. Quietly then, they proceeded down Broadway together, suspicious that they were seen by every passer by, and entered the St. Nicholas by a private door. And so unobserved was this achievement, that the host was, on the following morning, surprised and astonished at the return of his guest, whom he would have sworn was lying a corpse104 at the New York Hotel.
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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quaintness
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| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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viper
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| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
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craftsmen
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| n. 技工 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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savored
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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eulogies
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| n.颂词，颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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cravatted
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| v.受重力作用( gravitate的过去式和过去分词 )；被吸引 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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titillation
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| n.搔痒，愉快；搔痒感 | |
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eschews
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的第三人称单数 ) | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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indite
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| v.写（文章，信等）创作 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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gauges
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| n.规格( gauge的名词复数 )；厚度；宽度；标准尺寸v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的第三人称单数 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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purgative
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| n.泻药；adj.通便的 | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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infringed
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| v.违反（规章等）( infringe的过去式和过去分词 )；侵犯（某人的权利）；侵害（某人的自由、权益等） | |
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atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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slings
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| 抛( sling的第三人称单数 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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befuddling
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| v.使烂醉( befuddle的现在分词 )；使迷惑不解 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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exalting
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| a.令人激动的，令人喜悦的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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dabbler
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| n. 戏水者, 业余家, 半玩半认真做的人 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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disinterestedness
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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103
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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104
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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