Manly Thoughts: Dustspec's Hornet

Manly thoughts: Dustpec’s Hornet
18 February 1909


Revival: Yours or Mine? Harmony? Morgan’s Nose



Despite the urgings of fellow Dustspecians, especially Misses Coolbreeze and Andersen, I just couldn’t drag myself away from my studies to attend Monday’s “Prosperity Camp Meeting and Old-Time Revival” out by the telephone pole. Hope you didn’t take offense; goodness knows my spirits could use some stimulation. I was just engrossed in the latest bundle of newspapers, both Hearst’s and Pulitzer’s, that arrived last Friday from the Capital City. It is always instructive to see other points of view, especially when you are teetering on the brink. As Hoots always says, taxidermy is always about the second opinion. From what I hear, the Reverend Billy “Bullion for All” Smith preached quite a sermon and there were at least three who came forward at the end. I’m glad that his injuries were not too serious. When the Horseshoeman, the Crusading Young Editor, and Thunderclap encounter Religion, mixed with a liberal dose of Free Trade, they get pretty stirred up. I remember that Chautauqua Speaker a few years ago who preached the gospel of Eugenic Reform and Savings Habits Among Our Youth a bit too forcefully down in front of Stuntz’s. After they got through with him, he looked like Morgan’s nose on a cold day. More on that simile, and its potential for prognostication, in a bit. In any event, I’m relieved they let him off lightly with only a few broken bones, a dislocated sense of purpose, and the realization that “the Invisible Hand” isn’t much protection in a real fight. Though I did not attend, I am greatly comforted by the fact the Revival, notwithstanding the attendant mayhem, did come to town. For it explains the mystery of the tarp, which I’ve been hearing about ever since I came back to town. You need a tarp on the ground if you are going to put up a tent, and you need a tent, naturally, to hold a tent meeting, which is the customary location for a Revival. So it all makes sense; a syllogism appropriate to the brown, god-fearing, suspicious landscape that is Dustspec. As the “Wandering Historian” explained to me yesterday, “You can’t raise up until you put down. That was the fault of the Oneida Community.” Mayor Pearson also agreed, when, afterwards over a round of Big Oranges at Stuntz’s, he opined “An angel in the forest must be visible above the trees.” I agreed, though this typically gnomic remark made my head hurt. I haven’t seen many trees in recent years. I believe, however, he was talking about the New Harmony community back in Indiana, which Trapper Matt once visited on an excursion east to show his pelts:



Well, I doubt the pelts did that, though Trapper Matt may have. He has strong views on utopian experiments. I should also ask Lightening MacDonald about what this structure may mean. Is it the wood or the spaces between that matters the most?

Anyway, as I mentioned earlier, I have been hard at work at my studies and the creation of the odd simile. The papers certainly were filled with much fodder for reflection and commentary, particularly the New York Herald, which devoted much space to


The paper referred to him as Mr. Morgan, and not J.P. which, I guess, would be too familiar. The article accompanying the picture was all about his wealth and vision for America. The wealthier he gets, the better he can see what to do with our country. I guess such men are like Lord Clark’s pet bull, Slocum; when it has a mind to move, it does so. Doesn’t matter whether it is forwards or backwards, or over your foot, it’s all progress to him. To my mind, and here the simile reappears like the gasping starlings that return every year to Dustspec about this time of year, the world right now seems a lot like Morgan’s nose. Indeed, I wonder if the modern-day haruspices could augur our future from it, for it is certainly large, blotched, and shaped like the liver of a sacrificial goose from the waning days of Republican Rome. Perhaps the aforementioned Press could take daily readings of the Stock Exchange, Milo Prices, and What to Do With Cuba, from the subtle variations in its size and shading. I also read in the Weekly Voice of the Anti-Imperialist League and Populist Intelligencer that I am not alone in such speculations for Lehar, the well-known Viennese composer of operettas, has been hard at work on an offering from the coming autumn that draws inspiration from this nasal harbinger of fortune. Entitled “Des Millionäres Nase,” it is apparently a love story between a wealthy, lonely, man and his maid; he discovers that true love is not about money or class; she finds out that, all in all, a man, especially a millionaire, is more than just his looks. Sounds charming and vaguely uplifting, which is more than you can say about the picture above. Well, I’d better close. If I stay inside much longer, I’ll molt. Till next time…

Revival, like an enthusiastic sneeze, is episodic in nature.