I have often wondered what the various
statues standing about the city think of all day,
and what criticisms they would make upon us and our
doings, if they could speak. I frequently stop
and stare at them, wondering if they don’t feel
lonely; if they wouldn’t be glad of a nod as
we go by; and I always long to offer my umbrella to
shield their uncovered heads on a rainy day, especially
to good Ben Franklin, when the snow lies white on
his benevolent forehead. I was always fond of
this old gentleman; and one of my favourite stories
when a little girl, was that of his early life, and
the time when he was so poor he walked about Philadelphia
with a roll of bread under each arm, eating a third
as he went. I never pass without giving him a
respectful look, and wishing he could know how grateful
I am for all he had done in the printing line; for,
without types and presses, where would the books be?
Well, I never imagined that he understood
why the tall woman in the big bonnet stared at him;
but he did, and he liked it, and managed to let me
know it in a very curious manner, as you shall hear.
As I look out, the first thing I see
is the great gilt eagle on the City-Hall dome.
There he sits, with open wings, all day long, looking
down on the people, who must appear like ants scampering
busily to and fro about an ant-hill. The sun
shines on him splendidly in the morning; the gay flag
waves and rustles in the wind above him sometimes;
and the moonlight turns him to silver when she comes
glittering up the sky. When it rains he never
shakes his feathers; snow beats on him without disturbing
his stately repose; and he never puts his head under
his wing at night, but keeps guard in darkness as
in day, like a faithful sentinel. I like the
big, lonely bird, call him my particular fowl, and
often wish he’d turn his head and speak to me.
One night he did actually do it, or seemed to; for
I’ve never been able to decide whether I dreamed
what I’m going to tell you, or whether it really
happened.
It was a stormy night! and, as I drew
down my curtain, I said to myself, after peering through
the driving snow to catch a glimpse of my neighbour,
’Poor Goldy! he’ll have a rough time of
it. I hope this northeaster won’t blow
him off his perch.’ Then I sat down by my
fire, took my knitting, and began to meditate.
I’m sure I didn’t fall asleep; but I can’t
prove it, so we’ll say no more about it.
All at once there came a tap at my door, as I thought;
and I said ‘Come in,’ just as Mr. Poe
did when that unpleasant raven paid him a call.
No one came, so I went to see who it was. Not
a sign of a human soul in the long hall, only little
Jessie, the poodle, asleep on her mat. Down I
sat; but in a minute the tap came again; this time
so loud that I knew it was at the window, and went
to open it, thinking that one of my doves wanted to
come in perhaps. Up went the sash, and in bounced
something so big and so bright that it dazzled and
scared me.
‘Don’t be frightened,
ma’am; it’s only me,’ said a hoarse
voice. So I collected my wits, rubbed my eyes,
and looked at my visitor. It was the gold eagle
off the City Hall! I don’t expect to be
believed; but I wish you’d been here to see,
for I give you my word, it was a sight to behold.
How he ever got in at such a small window I can’t
tell; but there he was, strutting majestically up
and down the room, his golden plumage rustling, and
his keen eyes flashing as he walked. I really
didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t
imagine what he came for; I had my doubts about the
propriety of offering him a chair; and he was so much
bigger than I expected that I was afraid he might fly
away with me, as the roc did with Sindbad: so
I did nothing but sidle to the door, ready to whisk
out, if my strange guest appeared to be peckishly inclined.
My respectful silence seemed to suit him; for, after
a turn or two, he paused, nodded gravely, and said
affably, ’Good-evening, ma’am. I
stepped over to bring you old Ben’s respects,
and to see how you were getting on.’
’I’m very much obliged,
sir. May I inquire who Mr. Old-Ben is? I’m
afraid I haven’t the honour of his acquaintance.’
’Yes, you have; it’s Ben
Franklin, of City-Hall yard. You know him; and
he wished me to thank you for your interest in him.’
‘Dear me! how very odd! Will you sit down,
sir?’
‘Never sit! I’ll
perch here;’ and the great fowl took his accustomed
attitude just in front of the fire, looking so very
splendid that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of
him.
‘Ah! you often do that.
Never mind; I rather like it,’ said the eagle,
graciously, as he turned his brilliant eye upon me.
I was rather abashed; but being very curious, I ventured
to ask a few questions, as he seemed in a friendly
mood.
’Being a woman, sir, I’m
naturally of an inquiring turn; and I must confess
that I have a strong desire to know how it happens
that you take your walks abroad, when you are supposed
to be permanently engaged at home?’
He shrugged his shoulders, and actually
winked at me, as he replied, ’That’s all
people know of what goes on under, or rather over,
their noses. Bless you, ma’am! I leave
my roost every night, and enjoy myself in all sorts
of larks. Excuse the expression; but, being ornithological,
it is more proper for me than for some people who use
it.’
‘What a gay old bird!’
thought I, feeling quite at home after that.
’Please tell me what you do, when the shades
of evening prevail, and you go out for a frolic?’
‘I am a gentleman; therefore
I behave myself,’ returned the eagle; with a
stately air. ’I must confess, I smoke a
great deal: but that’s not my fault, it’s
the fault of the chimneys. They keep it up all
day, and I have to take it; just as you poor ladies
have to take cigar smoke, whether you like it or not.
My amusements are of a wholesome kind. I usually
begin by taking a long flight down the harbour, for
a look at the lighthouses, the islands, the shipping,
and the sea. My friends, the gulls, bring their
reports to me; for they are the harbour-police, and
I take notes of their doings. The school-ship
is an object of interest to me, and I often perch
on the mast-head, to see how the lads are getting
on. Then I take a turn over the city, gossip with
the weathercocks, pay my compliments to the bells,
inspect the fire-alarm, and pick up information by
listening at the telegraph wires. People often
talk about “a little bird” who spreads
news; but they don’t know how that figure of
speech originated. It is the sparrows sitting
on the wires, who receive the electric shock, and,
being hollow-boned, the news go straight to their
heads; they then fly about, chirping it on the housetops,
and the air carries it everywhere. That’s
the way rumours rise and news spread.’
‘If you’ll allow, I’ll
make a note of that interesting fact,’ said I,
wondering if I might believe him. He appeared
to fall into a reverie while I jotted down the sparrow
story, and it occurred to me that perhaps I ought
to offer my distinguished guest some refreshment; but,
when I modestly alluded to it, he said, with an aldermanic
air, ’No, thank you; I’ve just dined at
the Parker House.’
Now, I really could not swallow
that; and so plainly betrayed my incredulity, that
the eagle explained. ’The savoury smells
which rise to my nostrils from that excellent hotel,
with an occasional sniff from the Tremont, are quite
sufficient to satisfy my appetite; for, having no
stomach, I don’t need much food, and I drink
nothing but water.’
‘I wish others would follow
your example in that latter habit,’ said I,
respectfully, for I was beginning to see that there
was something in my bird, though he was hollow.
’Will you allow me to ask if the other statues
in the city fly by night?’
’They promenade in the parks;
and occasionally have social gatherings, when they
discuss politics, education, medicine, or any of the
subjects in which they are interested. Ah! we
have grand times when you are all asleep. It
quite repays me for being obliged to make an owl of
myself.’
‘Do the statues come from the
shops to these parties?’ I asked, resolving
to take a late walk the next moonlight night.
’Sometimes; but they get lazy
and delicate, living in close, warm places. We
laugh at cold and bad weather, and are so strong and
hearty that I shouldn’t be surprised if I saw
Webster and Everett flying round the Common on the
new-fashioned vélocipèdes, for they believed in
exercise. Goethe and Schiller often step over
from De Vries’s window, to flirt with the goddesses,
who come down from their niches on Horticultural Hall.
Nice, robust young women are Pomona and Flora.
If your niminy-piminy girls could see them run, they
would stop tilting through the streets, and learn
that the true Grecian Bend is the line of beauty always
found in straight shoulders, well-opened chest, and
an upright figure, firmly planted on active feet.’
‘In your rambles don’t
you find a great deal of misery?’ said I, to
change the subject, for he was evidently old-fashioned
in his notions.
‘Many sad sights!’ And
he shook his head with a sigh; then added, briskly,
’But there is a deal of charity in our city,
and it does its work beautifully. By the by,
I heard of a very sweet charity the other day, — a
church whose Sunday school is open to all the poor
children who will come; and there, in pleasant rooms,
with books, pictures, kindly teachers, and a fatherly
minister to welcome them, the poor little creatures
find refreshment for their hungry souls. I like
that; it’s a lovely illustration of the text,
“Suffer little children to come unto me;”
and I call it practical Christianity.’
He did like it, my benevolent old
bird; for he rustled his great wings, as if he wanted
to clap them, if there had only been room; and every
feather shone as if a clearer light than that of my
little fire had fallen on it as he spoke.
‘You are a literary woman, hey?’
he said suddenly, as if he’d got a new idea,
and was going to pounce upon me with it.
‘Ahem! I do a little in
that line,’ I answered, with a modest cough.
’Then tell people about that
place; write some stories for the children; go and
help teach them; do something, and make others do what
they can to increase the sabbath sunshine that brightens
one day in the week for the poor babies who live in
shady places.’
’I should be glad to do my best;
and, if I’d known before’ — I
began.
’You might have known, if you’d
looked about you. People are so wrapt up in their
own affairs they don’t do half they might.
Now, then, hand me a bit of paper, and I’ll
give you the address, so you won’t have any
excuse for forgetting what I tell you.’
‘Mercy on us; what will he do
next?’ thought I, as he tweaked a feather out
of his breast, gave the nib a peck, and then coolly
wrote these words on the card I handed him: ’Church
of the Disciples. Knock and it shall be opened!’
There it was, in letters of gold; and, while I looked
at it, feeling reproached that I hadn’t known
it sooner, my friend, — he didn’t seem
a stranger any more, — said in a business-like
tone, as he put back his pen, ’Now I must be
off. Old Ben reads an article on the “Abuses
of the Press at the present day,” and I must
be there to report.’
’It must be very interesting.
I suppose you don’t allow mortals at your meetings?’
said I, burning to go, in spite of the storm.
’No, ma’am. We meet
on the Common; and, in the present state of the weather,
I don’t think flesh and blood would stand it.
Bronze, marble, and wood are sterner stuff, and can
defy the elements.’
‘Good evening; pray, call again,’ I said,
hospitably.
’I will; your eyrie suits me:
but don’t expect me to call in the daytime.
I’m on duty then, and can’t take my eye
off my charge. The city needs a deal of watching,
my dear. Bless me! it’s striking eight.
Your watch is seven minutes slow by the Old South.
Good-night, good-night!’
And as I opened the window, the great
bird soared away like a flash of light through the
storm, leaving me so astonished at the whole performance
that I haven’t got over it yet.