by Edgar Allan Poe
(1850)
Hey, diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
SINCE the world began there have been two
Jeremys. The one wrote a Jeremiad about usury, and was called
Jeremy Bentham. He has been much admired by Mr. John Neal, and
was a great man in a small way. The other gave name to the most
important of the Exact Sciences, and was a great man in a great
way- I may say, indeed, in the very greatest of ways.
Diddling- or the abstract idea conveyed by the
verb to diddle- is sufficiently well understood. Yet the fact,
the deed, the thing diddling, is somewhat difficult to define.
We may get, however, at a tolerably distinct conception of the
matter in hand, by defining- not the thing, diddling, in
itself- but man, as an animal that diddles. Had Plato but hit
upon this, he would have been spared the affront of the picked
chicken.
Very pertinently it was demanded of Plato, why a
picked chicken, which was clearly "a biped without feathers,"
was not, according to his own definition, a man? But I am not
to be bothered by any similar query. Man is an animal that
diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man. It will
take an entire hen-coop of picked chickens to get over
that.
What constitutes the essence, the nare, the
principle of diddling is, in fact, peculiar to the class of
creatures that wear coats and pantaloons. A crow thieves; a fox
cheats; a weasel outwits; a man diddles. To diddle is his
destiny. "Man was made to mourn," says the poet. But not so:-
he was made to diddle. This is his aim- his object- his end.
And for this reason when a man's diddled we say he's
"done."
Diddling, rightly considered, is a compound, of
which the ingredients are minuteness, interest, perseverance,
ingenuity, audacity, nonchalance, originality, impertinence,
and grin.
Minuteness:- Your diddler is minute. His
operations are upon a small scale. His business is retail, for
cash, or approved paper at sight. Should he ever be tempted
into magnificent speculation, he then, at once, loses his
distinctive features, and becomes what we term "financier."
This latter word conveys the diddling idea in every respect
except that of magnitude. A diddler may thus be regarded as a
banker in petto- a "financial operation," as a diddle at
Brobdignag. The one is to the other, as Homer to "Flaccus"- as
a Mastodon to a mouse- as the tail of a comet to that of a
pig.
Interest:- Your diddler is guided by
self-interest. He scorns to diddle for the mere sake of the
diddle. He has an object in view- his pocket- and yours. He
regards always the main chance. He looks to Number One. You are
Number Two, and must look to yourself.
Perseverance:- Your diddler perseveres. He is not
readily discouraged. Should even the banks break, he cares
nothing about it. He steadily pursues his end, and
Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto.
so he never lets go of his game.
Ingenuity:- Your diddler is ingenious. He has
constructiveness large. He understands plot. He invents and
circumvents. Were he not Alexander he would be Diogenes. Were
he not a diddler, he would be a maker of patent rat-traps or an
angler for trout.
Audacity:- Your diddler is audacious.- He is a
bold man. He carries the war into Africa. He conquers all by
assault. He would not fear the daggers of Frey Herren. With a
little more prudence Dick Turpin would have made a good
diddler; with a trifle less blarney, Daniel O'Connell; with a
pound or two more brains Charles the Twelfth.
Nonchalance:- Your diddler is nonchalant. He is
not at all nervous. He never had any nerves. He is never
seduced into a flurry. He is never put out- unless put out of
doors. He is cool- cool as a cucumber. He is calm- "calm as a
smile from Lady Bury." He is easy- easy as an old glove, or the
damsels of ancient Baiae.
Originality:- Your diddler is original-
conscientiously so. His thoughts are his own. He would scorn to
employ those of another. A stale trick is his aversion. He
would return a purse, I am sure, upon discovering that he had
obtained it by an unoriginal diddle.
Impertinence.- Your diddler is impertinent. He
swaggers. He sets his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts. his hands in
his trowsers' pockets. He sneers in your face. He treads on
your corns. He eats your dinner, he drinks your wine, he
borrows your money, he pulls your nose, he kicks your poodle,
and he kisses your wife.
Grin:- Your true diddler winds up all with a grin.
But this nobody sees but himself. He grins when his daily work
is done- when his allotted labors are accomplished- at night in
his own closet, and altogether for his own private
entertainment. He goes home. He locks his door. He divests
himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle. He gets into
bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done, and
your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of
course. I reason a priori, and a diddle would be no diddle
without a grin.
The origin of the diddle is referrable to the
infancy of the Human Race. Perhaps the first diddler was Adam.
At all events, we can trace the science back to a very remote
period of antiquity. The moderns, however, have brought it to a
perfection never dreamed of by our thick-headed progenitors.
Without pausing to speak of the "old saws," therefore, I shall
content myself with a compendious account of some of the more
"modern instances."
A very good diddle is this. A housekeeper in want
of a sofa, for instance, is seen to go in and out of several
cabinet warehouses. At length she arrives at one offering an
excellent variety. She is accosted, and invited to enter, by a
polite and voluble individual at the door. She finds a sofa
well adapted to her views, and upon inquiring the price, is
surprised and delighted to hear a sum named at least twenty per
cent. lower than her expectations. She hastens to make the
purchase, gets a bill and receipt, leaves her address, with a
request that the article be sent home as speedily as possible,
and retires amid a profusion of bows from the shopkeeper. The
night arrives and no sofa. A servant is sent to make inquiry
about the delay. The whole transaction is denied. No sofa has
been sold- no money received- except by the diddler, who played
shop-keeper for the nonce.
Our cabinet warehouses are left entirely
unattended, and thus afford every facility for a trick of this
kind. Visiters enter, look at furniture, and depart unheeded
and unseen. Should any one wish to purchase, or to inquire the
price of an article, a bell is at hand, and this is considered
amply sufficient.
Again, quite a respectable diddle is this. A
well-dressed individual enters a shop, makes a purchase to the
value of a dollar; finds, much to his vexation, that he has
left his pocket-book in another coat pocket; and so says to the
shopkeeper-
"My dear sir, never mind; just oblige me, will
you, by sending the bundle home? But stay! I really believe
that I have nothing less than a five dollar bill, even there.
However, you can send four dollars in change with the bundle,
you know."
"Very good, sir," replies the shop-keeper, who
entertains, at once, a lofty opinion of the high-mindedness of
his customer. "I know fellows," he says to himself, "who would
just have put the goods under their arm, and walked off with a
promise to call and pay the dollar as they came by in the
afternoon."
A boy is sent with the parcel and change. On the
route, quite accidentally, he is met by the purchaser, who
exclaims:
"Ah! This is my bundle, I see- I thought you had
been home with it, long ago. Well, go on! My wife, Mrs.
Trotter, will give you the five dollars- I left instructions
with her to that effect. The change you might as well give to
me- I shall want some silver for the Post Office. Very good!
One, two, is this a good quarter?- three, four- quite right!
Say to Mrs. Trotter that you met me, and be sure now and do not
loiter on the way."
The boy doesn't loiter at all- but he is a very
long time in getting back from his errand- for no lady of the
precise name of Mrs. Trotter is to be discovered. He consoles
himself, however, that he has not been such a fool as to leave
the goods without the money, and re-entering his shop with a
self-satisfied air, feels sensibly hurt and indignant when his
master asks him what has become of the change.
A very simple diddle, indeed, is this. The captain
of a ship, which is about to sail, is presented by an official
looking person with an unusually moderate bill of city charges.
Glad to get off so easily, and confused by a hundred duties
pressing upon him all at once, he discharges the claim
forthwith. In about fifteen minutes, another and less
reasonable bill is handed him by one who soon makes it evident
that the first collector was a diddler, and the original
collection a diddle.
And here, too, is a somewhat similar thing. A
steamboat is casting loose from the wharf. A traveller,
portmanteau in hand, is discovered running toward the wharf, at
full speed. Suddenly, he makes a dead halt, stoops, and picks
up something from the ground in a very agitated manner. It is a
pocket-book, and- "Has any gentleman lost a pocketbook?" he
cries. No one can say that he has exactly lost a pocket-book;
but a great excitement ensues, when the treasure trove is found
to be of value. The boat, however, must not be detained.
"Time and tide wait for no man," says the
captain.
"For God's sake, stay only a few minutes," says
the finder of the book- "the true claimant will presently
appear."
"Can't wait!" replies the man in authority; "cast
off there, d'ye hear?"
"What am I to do?" asks the finder, in great
tribulation. "I am about to leave the country for some years,
and I cannot conscientiously retain this large amount in my
possession. I beg your pardon, sir," [here he addresses a
gentleman on shore,] "but you have the air of an honest man.
Will you confer upon me the favor of taking charge of this
pocket-book- I know I can trust you- and of advertising it? The
notes, you see, amount to a very considerable sum. The owner
will, no doubt, insist upon rewarding you for your trouble-
"Me!- no, you!- it was you who found the
book."
"Well, if you must have it so- I will take a small
reward- just to satisfy your scruples. Let me see- why these
notes are all hundreds- bless my soul! a hundred is too much to
take- fifty would be quite enough, I am sure-
"Cast off there!" says the captain.
"But then I have no change for a hundred, and upon
the whole, you had better-
"Cast off there!" says the captain.
"Never mind!" cries the gentleman on shore, who
has been examining his own pocket-book for the last minute or
so- "never mind! I can fix it- here is a fifty on the Bank of
North America- throw the book."
And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty
with marked reluctance, and throws the gentleman the book, as
desired, while the steamboat fumes and fizzes on her way. In
about half an hour after her departure, the "large amount" is
seen to be a "counterfeit presentment," and the whole thing a
capital diddle.
A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or
something similar, is to be held at a certain spot which is
accessible only by means of a free bridge. A diddler stations
himself upon this bridge, respectfully informs all passers by
of the new county law, which establishes a toll of one cent for
foot passengers, two for horses and donkeys, and so forth, and
so forth. Some grumble but all submit, and the diddler goes
home a wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well
earned. This taking a toll from a great crowd of people is an
excessively troublesome thing.
A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the
diddler's promises to pay, filled up and signed in due form,
upon the ordinary blanks printed in red ink. The diddler
purchases one or two dozen of these blanks, and every day dips
one of them in his soup, makes his dog jump for it, and finally
gives it to him as a bonne bouche. The note arriving at
maturity, the diddler, with the diddler's dog, calls upon the
friend, and the promise to pay is made the topic of discussion.
The friend produces it from his escritoire, and is in the act
of reaching it to the diddler, when up jumps the diddler's dog
and devours it forthwith. The diddler is not only surprised but
vexed and incensed at the absurd behavior of his dog, and
expresses his entire readiness to cancel the obligation at any
moment when the evidence of the obligation shall be
forthcoming.
A very mean diddle is this. A lady is insulted in
the street by a diddler's accomplice. The diddler himself flies
to her assistance, and, giving his friend a comfortable
thrashing, insists upon attending the lady to her own door. He
bows, with his hand upon his heart, and most respectfully bids
her adieu. She entreats him, as her deliverer, to walk in and
be introduced to her big brother and her papa. With a sigh, he
declines to do so. "Is there no way, then, sir," she murmurs,
"in which I may be permitted to testify my gratitude?"
"Why, yes, madam, there is. Will you be kind
enough to lend me a couple of shillings?"
In the first excitement of the moment the lady
decides upon fainting outright. Upon second thought, however,
she opens her purse-strings and delivers the specie. Now this,
I say, is a diddle minute- for one entire moiety of the sum
borrowed has to be paid to the gentleman who had the trouble of
performing the insult, and who had then to stand still and be
thrashed for performing it.
Rather a small but still a scientific diddle is
this. The diddler approaches the bar of a tavern, and demands a
couple of twists of tobacco. These are handed to him, when,
having slightly examined them, he says:
"I don't much like this tobacco. Here, take it
back, and give me a glass of brandy and water in its place."
The brandy and water is furnished and imbibed, and the diddler
makes his way to the door. But the voice of the tavern-keeper
arrests him.
"I believe, sir, you have forgotten to pay for
your brandy and water."
"Pay for my brandy and water!- didn't I give you
the tobacco for the brandy and water? What more would you
have?"
"But, sir, if you please, I don't remember that
you paid me for the tobacco."
"What do you mean by that, you scoundrel?- Didn't
I give you back your tobacco? Isn't that your tobacco lying
there? Do you expect me to pay for what I did not take?"
"But, sir," says the publican, now rather at a
loss what to say, "but sir-"
"But me no buts, sir," interrupts the diddler,
apparently in very high dudgeon, and slamming the door after
him, as he makes his escape.- "But me no buts, sir, and none of
your tricks upon travellers."
Here again is a very clever diddle, of which the
simplicity is not its least recommendation. A purse, or
pocket-book, being really lost, the loser inserts in one of the
daily papers of a large city a fully descriptive
advertisement.
Whereupon our diddler copies the facts of this
advertisement, with a change of heading, of general phraseology
and address. The original, for instance, is long, and verbose,
is headed "A Pocket-Book Lost!" and requires the treasure, when
found, to be left at No. 1 Tom Street. The copy is brief, and
being headed with "Lost" only, indicates No. 2 Dick, or No. 3
Harry Street, as the locality at which the owner may be seen.
Moreover, it is inserted in at least five or six of the daily
papers of the day, while in point of time, it makes its
appearance only a few hours after the original. Should it be
read by the loser of the purse, he would hardly suspect it to
have any reference to his own misfortune. But, of course, the
chances are five or six to one, that the finder will repair to
the address given by the diddler, rather than to that pointed
out by the rightful proprietor. The former pays the reward,
pockets the treasure and decamps.
Quite an analogous diddle is this. A lady of ton
has dropped, some where in the street, a diamond ring of very
unusual value. For its recovery, she offers some forty or fifty
dollars reward- giving, in her advertisement, a very minute
description of the gem, and of its settings, and declaring
that, on its restoration at No. so and so, in such and such
Avenue, the reward would be paid instanter, without a single
question being asked. During the lady's absence from home, a
day or two afterwards, a ring is heard at the door of No. so
and so, in such and such Avenue; a servant appears; the lady of
the house is asked for and is declared to be out, at which
astounding information, the visitor expresses the most poignant
regret. His business is of importance and concerns the lady
herself. In fact, he had the good fortune to find her diamond
ring. But perhaps it would be as well that he should call
again. "By no means!" says the servant; and "By no means!" says
the lady's sister and the lady's sister-in-law, who are
summoned forthwith. The ring is clamorously identified, the
reward is paid, and the finder nearly thrust out of doors. The
lady returns and expresses some little dissatisfaction with her
sister and sister-in-law, because they happen to have paid
forty or fifty dollars for a fac-simile of her diamond ring- a
fac-simile made out of real pinch-beck and unquestionable
paste.
But as there is really no end to diddling, so
there would be none to this essay, were I even to hint at half
the variations, or inflections, of which this science is
susceptible. I must bring this paper, perforce, to a
conclusion, and this I cannot do better than by a summary
notice of a very decent, but rather elaborate diddle, of which
our own city was made the theatre, not very long ago, and which
was subsequently repeated with success, in other still more
verdant localities of the Union. A middle-aged gentleman
arrives in town from parts unknown. He is remarkably precise,
cautious, staid, and deliberate in his demeanor. His dress is
scrupulously neat, but plain, unostentatious. He wears a white
cravat, an ample waistcoat, made with an eye to comfort alone;
thick-soled cosy-looking shoes, and pantaloons without straps.
He has the whole air, in fact, of your well-to-do, sober-sided,
exact, and respectable "man of business," Par excellence- one
of the stern and outwardly hard, internally soft, sort of
people that we see in the crack high comedies- fellows whose
words are so many bonds, and who are noted for giving away
guineas, in charity, with the one hand, while, in the way of
mere bargain, they exact the uttermost fraction of a farthing
with the other.
He makes much ado before he can get suited with a
boarding house. He dislikes children. He has been accustomed to
quiet. His habits are methodical- and then he would prefer
getting into a private and respectable small family, piously
inclined. Terms, however, are no object- only he must insist
upon settling his bill on the first of every month, (it is now
the second) and begs his landlady, when he finally obtains one
to his mind, not on any account to forget his instructions upon
this point- but to send in a bill, and receipt, precisely at
ten o'clock, on the first day of every month, and under no
circumstances to put it off to the second.
These arrangements made, our man of business rents
an office in a reputable rather than a fashionable quarter of
the town. There is nothing he more despises than pretense.
"Where there is much show," he says, "there is seldom any thing
very solid behind"- an observation which so profoundly
impresses his landlady's fancy, that she makes a pencil
memorandum of it forthwith, in her great family Bible, on the
broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.
The next step is to advertise, after some such
fashion as this, in the principal business six-pennies of the
city- the pennies are eschewed as not "respectable"- and as
demanding payment for all advertisements in advance. Our man of
business holds it as a point of his faith that work should
never be paid for until done.
"WANTED- The advertisers, being about to commence
extensive business operations in this city, will require the
services of three or four intelligent and competent clerks, to
whom a liberal salary will be paid. The very best
recommendations, not so much for capacity, as for integrity,
will be expected. Indeed, as the duties to be performed involve
high responsibilities, and large amounts of money must
necessarily pass through the hands of those engaged, it is
deemed advisable to demand a deposit of fifty dollars from each
clerk employed. No person need apply, therefore, who is not
prepared to leave this sum in the possession of the
advertisers, and who cannot furnish the most satisfactory
testimonials of morality. Young gentlemen piously inclined will
be preferred. Application should be made between the hours of
ten and eleven A. M., and four and five P. M., of Messrs.
"Bogs, Hogs Logs, Frogs & Co.,
"No. 110 Dog Street"
By the thirty-first day of the month, this
advertisement has brought to the office of Messrs. Bogs, Hogs,
Logs, Frogs, and Company, some fifteen or twenty young
gentlemen piously inclined. But our man of business is in no
hurry to conclude a contract with any- no man of business is
ever precipitate- and it is not until the most rigid catechism
in respect to the piety of each young gentleman's inclination,
that his services are engaged and his fifty dollars receipted
for, just by way of proper precaution, on the part of the
respectable firm of Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs, and Company. On
the morning of the first day of the next month, the landlady
does not present her bill, according to promise- a piece of
neglect for which the comfortable head of the house ending in
ogs would no doubt have chided her severely, could he have been
prevailed upon to remain in town a day or two for that
purpose.
As it is, the constables have had a sad time of
it, running hither and thither, and all they can do is to
declare the man of business most emphatically, a "hen knee
high"- by which some persons imagine them to imply that, in
fact, he is n. e. i.- by which again the very classical phrase
non est inventus, is supposed to be understood. In the meantime
the young gentlemen, one and all, are somewhat less piously
inclined than before, while the landlady purchases a shilling's
worth of the Indian rubber, and very carefully obliterates the
pencil memorandum that some fool has made in her great family
Bible, on the broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.