Collected Works of Poe - Edgar Allan Poe (phonics reading books txt) 📗

prominence in the rear of the _fibula_ which goes to the conformation of a properly proportioned calf. I wish to God my young and talented friend Chiponchipino, the sculptor, had but seen the legs of Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith. But although men so absolutely fine-looking are neither as plenty as reasons or blackberries, still I could not bring myself to believe that _the remarkable_ something to which I alluded just now, - that the odd air of _je ne sais quoi_ which hung about my new acquaintance, - lay altogether, or indeed at all, in the supreme excellence of his bodily endowments. Perhaps it might be traced to the _manner_; - yet here again I could not pretend to be positive. There _was_ a primness, not to say stiffness, in his carriage - a degree of measured, and, if I may so express it, of rectangular precision, attending his every movement, which, observed in a more diminutive figure, would have had the least little savor in the world, of affectation, pomposity or constraint, but which noticed in a gentleman of his undoubted dimensions, was readily placed to the account of reserve, _hauteur_ - of a commendable sense, in short, of what is due to the dignity of colossal proportion. The kind friend who presented me to General Smith whispered in my ear some few words of comment upon the man. He was a _remarkable_ man - a _very_ remarkable man - indeed one of the _most_ remarkable men of the age. He was an especial favorite, too, with the ladies - chiefly on account of his high reputation for courage. "In _that_ point he is unrivalled - indeed he is a perfect desperado - a down-right fire-eater, and no mistake," said my friend, here dropping his voice excessively low, and thrilling me with the mystery of his tone. "A downright fire-eater, and _no_ mistake. Showed _that_, I should say, to some purpose, in the late tremendous swamp-fight away down South, with the Bugaboo and Kickapoo Indians." [Here my friend opened his eyes to some extent.] "Bless my soul! - blood and thunder, and all that! - _prodigies_ of valor! - heard of him of course? - you know he's the man" --- "Man alive, how _do_ you do? why, how _are_ ye? _very_ glad to see ye, indeed!" here interrupted the General himself, seizing my companion by the hand as he drew near, and bowing stiffly, but profoundly, as I was presented. I then thought, (and I think so still,) that I never heard a clearer nor a stronger voice, nor beheld a finer set of teeth: but I _must_ say that I was sorry for the interruption just at that moment, as, owing to the whispers and insinuations aforesaid, my interest had been greatly excited in the hero of the Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign. However, the delightfully luminous conversation of Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith soon completely dissipated this chagrin. My friend leaving us immediately, we had quite a long _t�te-�-t�te_, and I was not only pleased but _really_ - instructed. I never heard a more fluent talker, or a man of greater general information. With becoming modesty, he forebore, nevertheless, to touch upon the theme I had just then most at heart - I mean the mysterious circumstances attending the Bugaboo war - and, on my own part, what I conceive to be a proper sense of delicacy forbade me to broach the subject; although, in truth, I was exceedingly tempted to do so. I perceived, too, that the gallant soldier preferred topics of philosophical interest, and that he delighted, especially, in commenting upon the rapid march of mechanical invention. Indeed, lead him where I would, this was a point to which he invariably came back. "There is nothing at all like it," he would say; "we are a wonderful people, and live in a wonderful age. Parachutes and rail-roads - man-traps and spring-guns! Our steam-boats are upon every sea, and the Nassau balloon packet is about to run regular trips (fare either way only twenty pounds sterling) between London and Timbuctoo. And who shall calculate the immense influence upon social life - upon arts - upon commerce - upon literature - which will be the immediate result of the great principles of electro magnetics! Nor, is this all, let me assure you! There is really no end to the march of invention. The most wonderful - the most ingenious - and let me add, Mr. - Mr. - Thompson, I believe, is your name - let me add, I say, the most _useful_ - the most truly _useful_ mechanical contrivances, are daily springing up like mushrooms, if I may so express myself, or, more figuratively, like - ah - grasshoppers - like grasshoppers, Mr. Thompson - about us and ah - ah - ah - around us!" Thompson, to be sure, is not my name; but it is needless to say that I left General Smith with a heightened interest in the man, with an exalted opinion of his conversational powers, and a deep sense of the valuable privileges we enjoy in living in this age of mechanical invention. My curiosity, however, had not been altogether satisfied, and I resolved to prosecute immediate inquiry among my acquaintances touching the Brevet Brigadier General himself, and particularly respecting the tremendous events _quorum pars magna fuit_, during the Bugaboo and Kickapoo campaign. The first opportunity which presented itself, and which (_horresco referens_) I did not in the least scruple to seize, occurred at the Church of the Reverend Doctor Drummummupp, where I found myself established, one Sunday, just at sermon time, not only in the pew, but by the side, of that worthy and communicative little friend of mine, Miss Tabitha T. Thus seated, I congratulated myself, and with much reason, upon the very flattering state of affairs. If any person knew anything about Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith, that person, it was clear to me, was Miss Tabitha T. We telegraphed a few signals, and then commenced, _soto voce_, a brisk _t�te-�-t�te_. "Smith!" said she, in reply to my very earnest inquiry; "Smith! - why, not General John A. B. C.? Bless me, I thought you _knew_ all about _him!_ This is a wonderfully inventive age! Horrid affair that! - a bloody set of wretches, those Kickapoos! - fought like a hero - prodigies of valor - immortal renown. Smith! - Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C.! why, you know he's the man" --- "Man," here broke in Doctor Drummummupp, at the top of his voice, and with a thump that came near knocking the pulpit about our ears; "man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live; he cometh up and is cut down like a flower!" I started to the extremity of the pew, and perceived by the animated looks of the divine, that the wrath which had nearly proved fatal to the pulpit had been excited by the whispers of the lady and myself. There was no help for it; so I submitted with a good grace, and listened, in all the martyrdom of dignified silence, to the balance of that very capital discourse. Next evening found me a somewhat late visitor at the Rantipole theatre, where I felt sure of satisfying my curiosity at once, by merely stepping into the box of those exquisite specimens of affability and omniscience, the Misses Arabella and Miranda Cognoscenti. That fine tragedian, Climax, was doing Iago to a very crowded house, and I experienced some little difficulty in making my wishes understood; especially, as our box was next the slips, and completely overlooked the stage. "Smith?" said Miss Arabella, as she at length comprehended the purport of my query; "Smith? - why, not General John A. B. C.?" "Smith?" inquired Miranda, musingly. "God bless me, did you ever behold a finer figure?" "Never, madam, but _do_ tell me" --- "Or so inimitable grace?" "Never, upon my word! - But pray inform me" --- "Or so just an appreciation of stage effect?" "Madam!" "Or a more delicate sense of the true beauties of Shakespeare? Be so good as to look at that leg!" "The devil!" and I turned again to her sister. "Smith?" said she, "why, not General John A. B. C.? Horrid affair that, wasn't it? - great wretches, those Bugaboos - savage and so on - but we live in a wonderfully inventive age! - Smith! - O yes! great man! - perfect desperado - immortal renown - prodigies of valor! _Never heard!_" [This was given in a scream.] "Bless my soul! why, he's the man" --- "----- mandragora Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou owd'st yesterday!"

here roared our Climax just in my ear, and shaking his fist in my face all the time, in a way that I couldn't stand, and I wouldn't. I left the Misses Cognoscenti immediately, went behind the scenes forthwith, and gave the beggarly scoundrel such a thrashing as I trust he will remember to the day of his death.

At the _soir�e_ of the lovely widow, Mrs. Kathleen O'Trump, I was confident that I should meet with no similar disappointment. Accordingly, I was no sooner seated at the card-table, with my pretty hostess for a _vis-�-vis_, than I propounded those questions the solution of which had become a matter so essential to my peace. "Smith?" said my partner, "why, not General John A. B. C.? Horrid affair that, wasn't it? - diamonds, did you say? - terrible wretches those Kickapoos! - we are playing _whist_, if you please, Mr. Tattle - however, this is the age of invention, most certainly _the_ age, one may say - _the_ age _par excellence_ - speak French? - oh, quite a hero - perfect desperado! - _no hearts_, Mr. Tattle? I don't believe it! - immortal renown and all that! - prodigies of valor! _Never heard!!_ - why, bless me, he's the man" --- "Mann? - _Captain_ Mann?" here screamed some little feminine interloper from the farthest corner of the room. "Are you talking about Captain Mann and the duel? - oh, I _must_ hear - do tell - go on, Mrs. O'Trump! - do now go on!" And go on Mrs. O'Trump did - all about a certain Captain Mann, who was either shot or hung, or should have been both shot and hung. Yes! Mrs. O'Trump, she went on, and I - I went off. There was no chance of hearing anything farther that evening in regard to Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith. Still I consoled myself with the reflection that the tide of ill luck would not run against me forever, and so determined to make a bold push for information at the rout of that bewitching little angel, the graceful Mrs. Pirouette. "Smith?" said Mrs. P., as we twirled about together in a _pas de zephyr_, "Smith? - why, not General John A. B. C.? Dreadful business that of the Bugaboos, wasn't it? - dreadful creatures, those Indians! - _do_ turn out your toes! I really am ashamed of you - man of great courage, poor fellow! - but this is a wonderful age for invention - O dear me, I'm out of breath - quite a desperado - prodigies of valor - _never heard!!_ - can't believe it