APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/authors/poe/diddling/DIDDLING

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                            1850

                         DIDDLING

          Considered as One of the Exact Sciences

                     by Edgar Allen Poe


                    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.



                          THE END