I delight in Regalia, so called, of the kind not worn by kings, nor obtaining their diamonds from the mines of Golconda.I have a passion for those resplendent titles which are not conferred by a sovereign and would not be the open sesame to the courts of royalty, yet which are as opulent in impressive adjectives as any Knight of the Garter's list of dignities.When I have recognized in the every-day name of His Very Worthy High Eminence of some cabalistic association, the inconspicuous individual whose trifling indebtedness to me for value received remains in a quiescent state and is likely long to continue so, I confess to having experienced a thrill of pleasure.I have smiled to think how grand his magnificent titular appendages sounded in his own ears and what a feeble tintinnabulation they made in mine.The crimson sash, the broad diagonal belt of the mounted marshal of a great procession, so cheap in themselves, yet so entirely satisfactory to the wearer, tickle my heart's root.
Perhaps I should have enjoyed all these weaknesses of my infantile fellow-creatures without an afterthought, except that on a certain literary anniversary when I tie the narrow blue and pink ribbons in my button-hole and show my decorated bosom to the admiring public, Iam conscious of a certain sense of distinction and superiority in virtue of that trifling addition to my personal adornments which reminds me that I too have some embryonic fibres in my tolerably well-matured organism.
I hope I have not hurt your feelings, if you happen to be a High and Mighty Grand Functionary in any illustrious Fraternity.When I tell you that a bit of ribbon in my button-hole sets my vanity prancing, Ithink you cannot be grievously offended that I smile at the resonant titles which make you something more than human in your own eyes.Iwould not for the world be mistaken for one of those literary roughs whose brass knuckles leave their mark on the foreheads of so many inoffensive people.
There is a human sub-species characterized by the coarseness of its fibre and the acrid nature of its intellectual secretions.It is to a certain extent penetrative, as all creatures are which are provided with stings.It has an instinct which guides it to the vulnerable parts of the victim on which it fastens.These two qualities give it a certain degree of power which is not to be despised.It might perhaps be less mischievous, but for the fact that the wound where it leaves its poison opens the fountain from which it draws its nourishment.
Beings of this kind can be useful if they will only find their appropriate sphere, which is not literature, but that circle of rough-and-tumble political life where the fine-fibred men are at a discount, where epithets find their subjects poison-proof, and the sting which would be fatal to a literary debutant only wakes the eloquence of the pachydermatous ward-room politician to a fiercer shriek of declamation.
The Master got talking the other day about the difference between races and families.I am reminded of what he said by what I have just been saying myself about coarse-fibred and fine-fibred people.
--We talk about a Yankee, a New-Englander,---he said,-as if all of 'em were just the same kind of animal."There is knowledge and knowledge," said John Bunyan.There are Yankees and Yankees.Do you know two native trees called pitch pine and white pine respectively?
Of course you know 'em.Well, there are pitch-pine Yankees and white-pine Yankees.We don't talk about the inherited differences of men quite as freely, perhaps, as they do in the Old World, but republicanism doesn't alter the laws of physiology.We have a native aristocracy, a superior race, just as plainly marked by nature as of a higher and finer grade than the common run of people as the white pine is marked in its form, its stature, its bark, its delicate foliage, as belonging to the nobility of the forest; and the pitch pine, stubbed, rough, coarse-haired, as of the plebeian order.Only the strange thing is to see in what a capricious way our natural nobility is distributed.The last born nobleman I have seen, I saw this morning; he was pulling a rope that was fastened to a Maine schooner loaded with lumber.I should say he was about twenty years old, as fine a figure of a young man as you would ask to see, and with a regular Greek outline of countenance, waving hair, that fell as if a sculptor had massed it to copy, and a complexion as rich as a red sunset.I have a notion that the State of Maine breeds the natural nobility in a larger proportion than some other States, but they spring up in all sorts of out-of-the-way places.The young fellow I saw this morning had on an old flannel shirt, a pair of trowsers that meant hard work, and a cheap cloth cap pushed back on his head so as to let the large waves of hair straggle out over his forehead; he was tugging at his rope with the other sailors, but upon my word I don't think I have seen a young English nobleman of all those whom I have looked upon that answered to the notion of "blood "so well as this young fellow did.I suppose if I made such a levelling confession as this in public, people would think I was looking towards being the labor-reform candidate for President.But I should go on and spoil my prospects by saying that I don't think the white-pine Yankee is the more generally prevailing growth, but rather the pitch-pine Yankee.
--The Member of the Haouse seemed to have been getting a dim idea that all this was not exactly flattering to the huckleberry districts.His features betrayed the growth of this suspicion so clearly that the Master replied to his look as if it had been a remark.[I need hardly say that this particular member of the General Court was a pitch-pine Yankee of the most thoroughly characterized aspect and flavor.]
