SOLOMON QUIGG: EX-MEMBER OF

CONGRESS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF 'THE LATE BEN. SMITH, LOAFER.'

'To what base uses may we come at last!'

On the second step of a 'stoop' in Broadway, sate QuiggSOLOMON QUIGG, ex-member of the Nineteenth Congress of the United States - casting about in his mind like a melancholy heron, the means and devices for procuring a breakfast. While his large person expanded over the solid bench whereon he sate, his ponderous chin rested on one hand, and the other reposed in his breeches pocket; his eyes, meantime, travelling here and there, as if in search of something to silence the voice of hunger. His dress was a congress of absurdities - a pie-bald court, to which every tailor's shop in the city seemed to have sent its representative. While one leg of his blue pantaloons draggled on the ground, the other, apparently of a more aspiring disposition, mounted to the very knee. Half his coat was of a mixed gray, while the other moiety, was of a lively crimson. His vest, originally the gift of a strolling player, whom Quigg had once patronized at Washington, had been so often remodelled and amended, that, like the constitution of a small debating society, scarce a shred of the original article remained. The countenance of Quigg had certainly been once expressive: now, the only feature which retained a claim to that appellative, was a bulbous nose, which stood out from his face like the boom of a vessel, with a light run out at its extremity; a beacon of warning to all those who sail the sea of wine, lest, one day, when they dream not, shipwreck may befal them. The mouth, which had doubtless in days past been bearded with scorn, and stiff with haughty feeling, now hung loose and agape, like an old lady's worn-out purse. On the summit of his head rested an ancient, bell-shaped hat, the crown of which had partly given way, and lifted up and down, like the lid of a pipkin, with every passing gust of wind. It seemed to be a convenience, by which the wearer's more devout thoughts might find a shorter road to heaven.

At times as Quigg sate thus, with an elbow on his knee, a tear, despite a certain effort at self-control, would steal from the corner of his eye, and resting for a moment on a crow-foot wrinkle underneath it, run down his cheek beside, just so as to escape his mouth, over his chin, and fall to the ground.

His aspect expressed, to me at least, a certain regret for the past, and doubt of the future. Quigg the congressman was now but a ragged gentleman a loafer. As he sat upon that cold stone, weeping in tatters, he was, unconsciously, the representative of a constituency larger than his original political one; namely, of that vast body known as decayed politicians a red-faced, tavern-haunting tribe; fishes who live in an ocean of liquor, and yet are always athirst; the cast off leaders of parties; demagogues out of favor; office-holders thrust into that direst Erebus-out-of-office. The cushion of state Quigg had exchanged for a more substantial bench in the open sunshine. No longer a servant of the people, he was the lacquey of his

own sweet will. Abandoning the dress-circle of fashionable life, where he had once revolved a special planet, he looked upon it from a humble corner in the pit. And yet hunger was not so easily to be got over. It is a creditor who takes up its mansion within ourselves, and devours our very seat of life, till it be paid the uttermost farthing. Quigg was in a perplexity.

THE room into which Solomon Quigg was ushered that night, (when he had passed triumphantly through the Marengo, the Austerlitz, and the Waterloo of the day-breakfast, dinner, and supper was an upper chamber of an old tavern in the second ward of our metropolis. The tavern had once been the 'head-quarters' of a dominant political party. At a glance, Quigg read its history. On one side, the remnant of candle which he held in his hand gleamed on the dusty fragment of a flag which had erst waved proudly, illumed with the national stars and stripes. This was rolled up, and on it as a pillow, Quigg laid his unkempt head. Near his right hand, on the floor, reposed a broken fiddle, which had once given forth cheering music to the freemen of the second ward. Against the instrument, reclined the relics of a tin-pan, half through the bottom of which was thrust a mouldering drum-stick, which in its better days had summoned from the cold metal sounds that stirred many a voter's bosom, and filled many an urchin heart with keen delight. In different corners of the humble attic hung, from pegs and nails, flags, banners, ensigns, and devices of a thousand kinds, setting forth in monstrous capitals the virtues and qualifications of favorite candidates.

But - and this struck the somnolent eyes of Quigg with most force on a corner of one of the tattered banners were the figures 18; the very year in which Quigg himself had been elected, after a fierce struggle, to the American Congress. As he stretched himself for sleep, his hand, by some mischance, struck against a modest pine box, which stood perched just over his head: it came to the floor, and from its bowels rolled forth a heap of dusty papers, folded like doctors' prescriptions. He seized one of them, and on it found:

For Congress.

SOLOMON QUIGG.

Here was a theme for thought. Quigg now lay as it were before a wizard glass, over which passed in gloomy procession the achievements, the glories, and the triumphs, of his past life. In contrast with that bright 'lang-syne,' he felt the double bitterness of his present condition. His soul began to stir afresh, and to feel the throbbings of a revived ambition. A thousand plans and enterprises crowded his brain, and all that night he lay restless; meditating high schemes, and devising new ladders, in this his Jacob's vision, by which to reach the heaven of his desire. Quigg was once more an ambitious man.

ON the bosom of the East River, cabled to the wharf, floated a light sloop, with its deck carefully scrubbed down, and its red flag floating gaily in the wind. Gently upon the water lay its cool image. From its anchorage to the wharf its tall mast reached, and tipped with its wavy shadow the countenance of a quiet idler, whose head rested on a decayed pile, while his feet hung carelessly over the wharf's end. On board the graceful vessel, extended on his 'abdominal region,' with his twinkling eyes peering at the water, over the sloop's stern, was stretched Solomon Quigg. A group of blue fish had gathered just before him. Perhaps they expected a congressional effort. Ever and anon, Quigg would cast an eye toward the shore, as if in momentary expectation of the arrival of some personage, or the turning up of some matter of importance. About the time when the guard on board a man-of-war's man, which lay anchored in the middle of the stream, had sounded the three o'clock bell, a group of vagabond and listless persons began to gather before the vessel on whose deck Quigg reposed. Rapidly, dozen by dozen, their numbers increased. Every moment the collection became more extended and more motley. Stevedores, wharfingers, a stray custom-house officer- old gentlemen who had come to the neighboring market for fish all aided in completing the human assortment. Precisely at five, Quigg arose from his recumbent posture, ascended the rigging to the main-top, there took his stand, turned toward his auditory, took off his bell-shaped hat, cast it on the deck, and made a low and solemn bow, which was received by the vast congregation with nine cheers. He then addressed them in a short speech, something in his old style of eloquence.

--

him a

He could not resist the temptation of so high a pulpit. It was better, in that respect, than the floor of the house; it gave more commanding view of his audience. He closed his harangue with a touching allusion to the difficulty of obtaining a subsistence, and the brevity of life and leaped! Through the air, like an arrow, Quigg descended to the water. His head cleaved its glassy surface. The lookers-on beheld his descending form, as for a moment his white feet glimmered above the river, and then disappeared. Five minutes elapsed, and Quigg arose not. The crowd thought this a special feat, and gave three cheers. Five minutes more passed, and yet Quigg rëascended not to the light. The feat was miraculous. The assemblage burst into three cheers again, heartier and more protracted than ever. A few philosophers among the audience began now to doubt the reappearance of the aquatic diver. The performance was too good to be fictitious. Another five minutes elapsed. An idle friend of Quigg's stepped out from the rabble, and began to whimper.

He had

THE sun went down, and Solomon Quigg arose not. made his last dive. The river was searched, but no mortal relic discovered. In the soft river mud he had found a ready coffin. In its liquid embraces slept forever the person of Solomon Quigg, exmember of the Nineteenth Congress of the United States.

C. M.