TWO NOTABLE RHETORICAL FIGURES.
Daniel Webster is credited with one of the most vivid figures in the rhetoric of American eloquence. The orator was eulogizing the financial genius of Hamilton, and startled the audience by the sentence, uttered in his impressive tone,—
"He touched the dead corpse of Public Credit, and it sprung upon its feet."
The audience rose to their feet,–it was a public dinner,–and greeted the sentiment with three rousing cheers.
The figure, Mr. Webster said, was an impromptu, suggested by a napkin on the dinner-table. He had paused, in his usual deliberate way, after the sentence, itself containing a figure beautiful in its appropriateness. "He smote the rock of the national resources, and abundant streams of revenue gushed forth." His eye fell upon a folded napkin; that suggested a corpse in its winding-sheet, and the figure was in his mind.
Grand as this rhetoric is, it is almost paralleled in vividness, while exceeded in wit, by a figure which Seargent S. Prentiss, of Mississippi, once used.
A Southern statesman, noted as a political tactician, had written a letter on the annexation of Texas. As public opinion in the South favored the measure, while in the North it was opposed, the tactician, whose object was to gain votes for his party, published two editions of his letter. The edition intended for the South was bold in its advocacy of annexation; but that designed for Northern circulation was remarkable for its ambiguity.
Mr. Prentiss denounced the trick on the "stump." Grasping the two letters, he threw them under his feet, saying,–
"I wonder that, like the acid and the alkali, they do noteffervesceas they touch each other!"
"UP TO SNUFF."
A genial observer of our public men is amused at the political dexterity of those anxious to serve as presidential candidates. If he is a veteran, as well as a genial observer, he smiles as he compares these 'prentice hands with the master of political adroitness, Martin Van Buren.
Looking upon politics as a game, Mr. Van Buren played it with forecast and sagacity, and with the utmost good-nature.
"He was the mildest manner'd manThat ever scuttled"
a Whig ship, or cut off a politician's head. No excitement quickened his moderation. Even the most biting of personal sarcasms failed to ruffle a temper that seemed incapable of being disturbed.
Once, while Mr. Van Buren, being the Vice-President, was presiding over the Senate, Henry Clay attacked him in a speech freighted with sarcasm and invective.
Mr. Van Buren sat in the chair, with a quiet smile upon his face, as placidly as though he was listening to the complimentary remarks of a friend.
The moment Mr. Clay resumed his seat, a page handed him Mr. Van Buren's snuff-box, with the remark,–
"The Vice-President sends his compliments to you, sir."
The Senate laughed at the coolness of the man who was "up to snuff." The great orator, seeing that his effort had been in vain, shook his finger good-naturedly at his imperturbable opponent, and taking a large pinch of snuff, returned the box to the boy, saying,–
"Give my compliments to the Vice-President, and say that I like his snuff much better than his politics."
A NEW WONDER.
At the last total eclipse of the sun, many astronomers busied themselves chiefly with observing the corona which had excited so much interest and speculation at previous eclipses. This is the name given to the bright light seen outside of the moon's disk when the body of the sun is completely hidden by it.
Opinions were divided as to its cause; some observers thinking it proceeded from the sun's atmosphere, or from luminous gases which shot far above its surface; while others imagined it separated from the sun altogether, and due to other causes in the depths of space.
From the observations made, and from photographs taken, it is now believed to be simply the reflected light of the sun. This reflection is supposed to be due to immense numbers of meteorites, or possibly, systems of meteorites, like the rings of Saturn, revolving about the sun. The existence of such meteorites has long been suspected, and observations now seem to justify a belief in their existence. Their constant falling into the sun is thought to be one of the methods by which its heat is maintained without loss.
STEALING FROM MILTON'S COFFIN.
Mr. A. T. Stewart is not the only distinguished man whose remains have not been suffered to lie undisturbed in the tomb. John Wickliffe's bones were exhumed and burned, and Oliver Cromwell's body was taken up and beheaded. That the remains of the great Milton were subjected to such barbarous sacrilege is not so generally known. From an ancient London magazine, the PortlandTranscriptextracts an account of this outrage. When the old church of St. Giles, Cripplegate (the place of Milton's grave), was repaired about a hundred years ago, the great poet's coffin was brought to light and officially identified, with a view to placing a monument over the remains. In the night a party of men entered and forcibly opened it, plundering the hair and several of the bones to sell for relics.
All this seems to have been done without any attempt at concealment, as to public exhibitions of portions of the body would indicate. The oft-quoted inscription over Shakespeare's tomb at Stratford-on-Avon would have been especially appropriate over both that of Milton and of Stewart:
"Blesse be ye man yt spares thes stones,And cvrst be he yt moves my bones."
The crime of robbing the dead is one of the most revolting to every natural feeling. It is a singular fact, having almost a suggestion of retributive justice in it, that the bones of Nathan Hale, the gallant patriot spy of the Revolution, lay in the earth that was dug out and carried away to make room for the foundations of one of Mr. Stewart's immense New York buildings.
LOST BONDS.
First Comptroller Porter, of the Treasury at Washington, has lead a novel case presented to him for decision:
A wealthy Scotch gentleman, while travelling by rail in his native country in 1876 lost his portmanteau, containing five hundred thousand dollars in bonds of various nations, among which were five thousand dollars in United States six per cent coupon bonds. Some time ago the police of Scotland arrested two men and one woman upon suspicion of having stolen the portmanteau.
Upon being arraigned they confessed the theft, and related a singular story about the disposition of the property.
They explained that, not being able to read, they were not aware of the value of the papers, and fearing to retain them, they were burned.
A relative of the Scotchman residing in this country now comes forward with an application for the issue of duplicates for the bonds stolen, a full description of which is given.
Similar applications to European Governments whose bonds were among those alleged to have been burned have been granted.
A transcript from the record of the Scotch courts sets forth these facts, and attests the respectability of the gentleman who lost the bonds.
The First Comptroller has intimated that if, upon a thorough examination, the facts are found to be as stated, he will approve the application.
Should the duplicates be issued, they will have to be deposited in trust with the United States Treasurer in order to secure the Government against loss.
When those particular bonds are called for redemption the amount will be paid the owner, and in the meantime he can regularly draw the interest.
A NOBLE-HEARTED RESCUER.
A French paper in New York, theCourier des Etats-Unis,published the following instance of brave self-sacrifice by a Belgian comic singer named Martens, who at one time was in this country, and gave entertainments in the "Empire City." The scene in which he figures here as the hero is laid in Bucharest, the half-oriental capital of Wallachia, at the farther end of Europe:
M. Martens, says the BucharestChronicle, lived with his family near a house wherein broke out a fire at one o'clock in the morning. Half-dressed, he ran out to help his neighbors, and found a woman crying wildly, "My children!"
"How many have you got?" he said.
"Three."
"Which room?"
"Up stairs, third story."
"Why, that's where the fire broke out!" cried Martens, and went up the staircase in a hurry. In a few minutes he came down with his arms full.
"There they are," said he; "but there's only two."
"Merciful Heaven! I forgot to tell you that the other was in the back room."
"Well,–yes; you might have mentioned that before. You see the timbers are falling, and–I've got three children myself. However"—
Up he went again, four steps at a time. Pretty soon he came back, a blackamoor with smoke; but he had the baby safe and sound, and gave it to its mother. Next day when he came to sing at the Muller Gardens, the audience glorified him.
NOT A SEA-SERPENT.
That there really is a sea-serpent, scientific men now have little doubt; but many people have not seen it who thought they did. One curious deception of this sort is thus related by an English writer:
One morning in October, 1869, I was standing with a group of passengers on the deck of time ill-fated P. and G. steamshipRangoon,then steaming up the Straits of Malacca to Singapore.
One of the party suddenly pointed out an object on the port-bow, perhaps half a mile off, and drew from us the simultaneous exclamation of "The sea-serpent!"
And there it was, to the naked eye a genuine serpent, speeding through the sea, with its head raised on a slender curved neck, now almost buried in the water, and anon reared just above its surface. There was the mane, and there were the well-known undulating coils stretching yards behind.
But for an opera-glass, probably all our party on board theRangoonwould have been personal witnesses to the existence of a great sea-serpent. But, alas for romance! One glance through the lenses, and the reptile was resolved into a bamboo, root upwards, anchored in some manner to the bottom,–a "snag," in fact.
Swayed up and down by the rapid current, a series of waves undulated beyond it, bearing on their crests dark-colored weeds of grass that had been caught by the bamboo stem.
PUNISHED BY CONSCIENCE.–A writer in the BostonTranscriptcalls attention to the fact that a man may escape the law, and yet be held by his conscience. He says:
Many years ago, a young man in this city was guilty of an offence against the law, an offence which brought social ruin upon himself and his family. The span and his offence are forgotten by the public, yet he lives, and lives here in Boston. But from the day his offence was discovered,–although, having escaped the law, he is free to come and go as he pleases,–he has never been seen outside of his own home in the daytime.
Sometimes, under the cover of night, he walks abroad to take an airing and note the changes that thirty years have wrought, but an ever-active conscience makes him shun the light of day and the faces of men, and he walks apart, a stranger in the midst of those among whom he has always lived.
NO QUOTATION MARKS.
A writer in the BostonTranscriptnotices the fact that even men eminent in literature are not above borrowing from each other, and sometimes display the borrowed article as their own:
When Tennyson's "In Memoriam" appeared, a certain poet was standing in the Old Corner Bookstore, turning over the leaves of the freshly-printed volume, when up stepped a literary friend, of rare taste and learning in poetry, saying to the poet,—
"Have you read it?"
"Indeed I have!" was the answer; "and do you know it seems to me that, in this delightful book, Tennyson has done for friendship what Petrarch did for love."
This was too neat amotfor the literary friend to forget. That afternoon, he called upon a lady on Beacon Hill, and noticing a copy of "In Memoriam" on her table, saw his opportunity.
After the usual greetings, he took up the book. "Have you read it?" he asked.
"Yes," said the lady, "and I have enjoyed it greatly."
"So have I," said her visitor, "and do you know that it seems to me that in this charming poem Tennyson has done for friendship what Petrarch did for love."
"Indeed," rejoined the lady, adding, with a mischievous smile, "Mr. ——" (naming a well-known essayist and critic) "called this morning,and said the same thing."
Who it was that originated the apt comparison remains an unsolved mystery to this day.
A DOG AND A STRING.
The ParisFigaroreports a conversation between an optician and a customer of an inquiring mind:
A near-sighted friend went to an optician the other day to change the glasses of his spectacles, which had become too weak. He was given the next number lower.
"After this number, what will I take?" he asked.
"These."
"And after that?"
"Those."
"And then?" asked the myope, with an anxious air.
"Then," said the dealer, "I think a small and sagacious dog, with a string attached, will be about the thing."
GOOD MANNERS.
Sydney Smith, in the following paragraph, suggests the moral basis of good manners:
Manners are the shadows of virtues; the momentary display of those qualities which our fellow-creatures love and respect. If we strive to become, then, what we strive to appear, manners may often be rendered useful guides to the performance of our duties.
A CARD.
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HOLLY SCROLL SAW.
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For the Companion
THE BOY I LOVE.
My boy, do you know the boy I love?I fancy I see him now;His forehead bare in the sweet spring air,With the wind of hope in his waving hair,The sunrise on his brow.
He is something near your height, may be;And just about your years;Timid as you; but his will is strong,And his love of right and his hate of wrongAre mightier than his fears.
He has the courage of simple truth.The trial that he must bear,The peril, the ghost that frights him most,He faces boldly, and like a ghostIt vanishes in air.
As wildfowl take, by river and lake,The sunshine and the rain.With cheerful, constant hardihoodHe meets the bad luck and the good,The pleasure and the pain.
Come friends in need? With heart and deedHe gives himself to them.He has the grace which reverence lends,–Reverence, the crowning flower that bendsThe upright lily-stem.
Though deep end strong his sense of wrong,Fiery his blood and young,His spirit is gentle, his heart is great,He is swift to pardon and slow to hate;And master of his tongue.
Fond of his sports? No merrier lad'sSweet laughter ever rang!But he is so generous and so frank,His wildest wit or his maddest prankCan never cause a pang.
His own sweet ease, all things that please,He loves, like any boy;But fosters a prudent fortitude;Nor will he squander a future goodTo buy a fleeting joy.
Face brown or fair? I little care,Whatever the hue may be,Or whether his eyes are dark or light;If his tongue be true and his honor bright,He is still the boy for me.
Where does he dwell? I cannot tell;Nor do I know his name.Or poor, or rich? I don't mind which;Or learning Latin, or digging ditch;I love him all the same.
With high, brave heart perform your part,Be noble and kind as he,Then, some fair morning, when you pass,Fresh from glad dreams, before your glass,His likeness you may see.
You are puzzled? What! you think there is notA boy like him,–surmiseThat he is only a bright ideal?But you have power to make him real,And clothe him to our eyes.
You have rightly guessed: in each pure breastIs his abiding-place.Then let your own true life portrayHis beauty, and blossom day by dayWith something of his grace.J. T. Trowbridge.
For the Companion.
A TRUE STORY.
A few years ago a couple of good women living together near one of our great cities took two or three orphan children into their home.
As time passed, other helpless, friendless little ones came to them, until they had thirty under their care. Their own means they gave to the last dollar, and for the rest they trusted God, living from week to week on the contributions of the charitable, but making it a rule to ask help of nobody but Him who has promised to be a father to the fatherless.
Last winter one of their friends published a short account of this little home, and happening to meet that day a gentleman well known as a financier all over the country, handed it to him.
"This Home is but a mile or two from your house, Mr. C——," he said.
"Yes," said Mr. C——, carelessly; "I have heard of it. Kept up by prayer and faith, eh?"
"Yes. A bad capital for business, I fancy."
Mr. C—— thrust the paper in his pocket, and thought no more about it. That night at about eleven o'clock he was sitting toasting his feet before going to bed, when there was a tap at his door, and his daughter came in with the paper in her hand and her cheeks burning with excitement.
"Father, I've been reading about this Orphan Home. We never have done anything for it"—
"And you wish to help the orphans, do you? Very well, we will look into the matter to-morrow."
She hesitated. "Father, I want to do it to-night."
It was a bitter night in December; the snow lay upon the ground. "The horses and coachman are asleep long ago. Nonsense, my dear; wait until morning."
"Something tells me we ought to go now," she pleaded, with tears in her eyes.
Mr. C—— yielded; he even caught the infection of her excitement, and while she called the servants and heaped the carriage with bundles of bedding, clothes and baskets of provisions, he inclosed a hundred-dollar bill in a blank envelope.
In the meantime the guardians of the orphans had on that day spent their last dollar. "We had," said the matron, "actually nothing to give the children for breakfast."
The two women went to their knees that night, God only knows with what meaning in their cries for daily bread.
While they were yet praying, a carriage drove to the door, and without a word, the clothes, provisions and money were handed out by an unknown lady inside.
They knew God had sent her in answer to their prayers.
If we all could bring our absolute, simple faith in Him into our daily lives, what a solid foundation we would lay under all change of fortune, disease, or of circumstance! We should have then a house indeed founded on a rock.
"TEARS AND KISSES."
A writer in theSabbath School Timestells a pathetic story of that language of signs which is common all over the world: "Two little Italians accompanied a man with a harp out of the city along the country roads, skirted by fields and woods, and here and there was a farmhouse by the way.
"He played and they sang at every door. Their voices were sweet, and the words in an unknown tongue.
"The old ladies came out of the door, and held their hands above their eyes to see what it all meant, and from behind them peered the flaxen heads of timid children.
"Not knowing how to make themselves understood, the little children, when they had finished singing, shyly held out their little brown hands or their aprons to get anything that might be given them and take it to the dark man out at the gate, who stood ready to receive it.
"One day the dark harpist went to sleep, and the little boy and girl, becoming tired of waiting for him, went off to a cottage under the hill an began to sing under the window.
"They sang as sweetly as the voices of birds. Presently the blinds were opened wide, and they saw by the window a fair lady on a sick bed regarding them.
"Her eyes shone with a feverish light, and the color of her cheeks was like a beautiful peach.
"She smiled, and asked them if their feet were tired. They said a few words softly in their own tongue.
"She said, 'Are the green fields not better than your city?'
"They shook their heads.
"She asked them, 'Have you a mother?'
"They looked perplexed.
"She said, 'What do you think while you walk along the country roads?'
"They thought she asked for another song, so eager was the face, and they sang at once a song full of sweetness and pity, so sweet the tears came into her eyes.
"Thatwas a language they had learned; so they sang one sweeter still.
"At this she kissed her hand and waved it to them. Their beautiful faces kindled, and like a flash the timid hands waved back a kiss.
"She pointed upward to the sky, and sent a kiss up thither.
"At this they sank upon their knees and also pointed thither, as much as asking, 'Do you also know the good God?'
"A lady leaning by the window, said, 'So tears and kisses belt the earth, and make the whole world kin.' And the sick one added, 'And God is over all.'"
RIGHTS IN THE ROAD.
The following statements as to rights in the road may be useful to some of our readers. It certainly contradicts certain common opinions:
If a farm deed is bounded by, on or upon a road, it usually extends to the middle of the roadway.
The farmer owns the soil of half the road, and may use the grass, trees, stones, gravel, sand or anything of value to him, either on the land or beneath the surface, subject only to the superior rights of the public to travel over the road, and that of the highway surveyor to use such materials for the repair of the road; and these materials may be carted away and used elsewhere on the road.
No other man has a right to feed his cattle there, or cut the grass or trees, much less deposit his wood, old carts, wagons or other things there.
The owner of a drove of cattle that stops to feed in front of your land, or a drove of pigs which root up the soil, is responsible to you at law, as much as if they did the same thing inside the fence.
Nobody's children have a right to pick up the apples under your trees, although the same stand wholly outside of your fence.
No private person has a right to cut or lop off the limbs of your trees in order to move his old barn or other buildings along the highway, and no traveller can hitch his horse to your trees in the sidewalk without being liable, if he gnaws the bark or otherwise injures them.
If your wall stands partly on your land and partly outside the fence, no neighbor can use it except by your permission.
Nay, more; no man has a right to stand in front of your land and insult you with abusive language without being liable to you for trespassing on your land.
He has a right to pass and repass in an orderly and becoming manner; a right to use the road, but not to abuse it.
But notwithstanding the farmer owns the soil of the road, even he cannot use it for any purpose which interferes with the use of it by the public for travel.
He cannot put his pig-pen, wagons, cart, wood or other things there, if the highway surveyor orders them away as obstructing public travel.
If he leaves such things outside his fence, and within the limits of the highway, as actually laid out, though some distance from the traveled path, and a traveller runs into them in the night and is injured, the owner is not only liable to him for private damages, but may also be indicted and fined for obstructing a public highway.
And if he has a fence or wall along the highway, he must place it all on his land, and not half on the road, as in case of division fences between neighbors.
But as he owns the soil, if the road is discontinued, or located elsewhere, the land reverts to him, and he may inclose it to the centre, and use it as part of his farm.–Judge Bennett.
For the Companion.
DANA.
O deep grave eyes! that long have seemed to gazeOn our low level from far loftier days,O grand gray head! an aureole seemed to grind,Drawn from the spirit's pure, immaculate rays!
At length death's signal sounds! From weary eyesPass the pale phantoms of our earth and skies;The gray head droops; the museful lips are closedOn life's vain questionings and more vain replies!
Like some gaunt oak wert thou, that lonely stands'Mid fallen trunks in outworn, desert lands;Still sound at core, with rhythmic leaves that stirTo soft swift touches of aerial hands.
Ah! long we viewed thee thus, forlornly free,In that dead grove the sole unravished tree;Lo! the dark axeman smites! the oak lies lowThat towered in lonely calm o'er land and sea!Paul H. Hayne.
LORD LORNE AND THE RAT.
While at school at Eton, Lord Lorne, the present Governor of Canada, had one scrape which exhibited him in a light that boys will appreciate. He was standing on the steps of Upper School one morning, waiting for eleven o'clock school, when one Campbell, a namesake of his, but no relative, asked him to hold a pet rat for a moment, while he–the owner of the beast–ran back to his dame's to fetch a book which he had forgotten.
On receiving the assurance that the rat was perfectly tame, and would not even bite a kitten, Lorne put him into the pocket of his jacket, and told the owner to make haste, but just at that moment the masters came out of "Chambers" and ascended the staircase, so Lorne was obliged to go into school with the brute.
All went well for five minutes, but soon the rat, indifferent to the honor of inhabiting a marquis' pocket, crept out and jumped on to the floor.
Some boys saw it and set up a titter, which excited the attention of the form-master, Mr. Y——, nicknamed "Stiggins," a strict disciplinarian.
"Who brought that rat into school?" he asked.
Lorne confessed that he was the culprit.
"Well, make haste to catch him and carry him out, or I shall complain of you," said Mr. Y——.
My lord laid down his Homer, but to catch the rat was not easy. Seeing himself an object of general attention, the animal darted under the scarlet curtain which separated one division from another, and, rushing amid a new lot of boys, provoked an uproar.
In a minute all the boys in the upper school-room, some two hundred and odd, were on their feet shouting, laughing, hooting, and preparing to throw their books at the rat, who, however, spared them this trouble by ducking down a hole, where he disappeared for good and a'.
Lorne had to come back, red and breathless, declaring that his game had eluded pursuit, whereupon Mr. Y——, who disliked riots, proceeded to make out a "bill" which consigned his lordship after school to the care of the Sixth Form Præposter.
Luckily Dr. Goodford took a merciful view of the affair, and, as Lorne had not yet had "first fault," absolved him from kneeling on the block.
It is to be noted that Lorne might easily have exonerated himself by explaining under what circumstances he had taken charge of the rat; but he was not the kind of boy to back out of a scrape by betraying a friend, and if Dr. Goodford had refused him the benefit of a first fault, he would certainly have taken his flogging without a murmur.
HEROIC MAIL-CARRIER.
The singular fact that a man who has lost his way always travels in a circle is vividly illustrated by the following narrative, told by a Montana paper, of a heroic mail-carrier:
Casey carried the mail, carried by a two-wheeled sulky. He started in a blinding snow storm, and the track across the prairie was lost.
As he did not reach the end of his drive at the appointed time, it was assumed that he had lost his way. Mr. William Rowe, informed of the circumstance, set forth, and in due time found a dim track where Casey had left the main road. Following this, Casey was found, sitting in his cart, which the horse was drawing slowly and painfully along.
He was in a doze, and Mr. Rowe shouted to him once or twice before he was roused to consciousness. It was then found that his right foot and leg were frozen nearly to the knee, and that his left foot was in the same condition.
It is believed that his injuries are not serious, and that he will not suffer the loss of either limb.
His story was soon told. The driver had been wandering over that trackless prairie for ten days and nights, without food or shelter, and with a temperature never above zero.
All this time he had moved in an almost perfect circle, and had picketed his horse and camped every night in almost the same spot.
More remarkable still, he had daily passed within a mile and a half of the Twenty-eight Mile House, which was his destination.
All this time, amid sufferings that would have crushed an ordinary man, Bob Casey had only one thought, that he must stay with the mail and get it through, whatever befell him.
And he did; not a single package was lost. Starving, half-frozen, and dazed by exposure and privation, it was not of himself he thought. His duty was still uppermost in his mind.
Here was heroic stuff. How many such can the postal service boast? During all these terrible days and nights, the only thing that passed his lips was tobacco and snow.
He had with him a goodly supply of the former article at the start, and as day wore into night, and night into day, he began hoarding it with as much avidity as ever did a miser his gold.
PRINCE OF WALES' HOME.
A writer thus describes the country house of the Prince of Wales at Sandringham, which is a model of comfort:
The large hall which you enter on arriving is fitted up as a dining-room, with a pianoforte, easy-chairs and two large writing-tables. Behind the piano are a quantity of toys for the children to amuse themselves with at the "children's hour" after tea.
Here at five o'clock the tea-table is placed in the centre of the hall, and is presided over by the princess in the loveliest of tea-gowns.
It is a pretty sight to see her surrounded by her three little girls, who look like tiny fairies, and who run about to put "papa's" letters in the large pillar-post box at one end of the hall. There are generally four or five large dogs to add to the circle.
At Christmas the hall looks like a large bazaar, being then filled with the most costly and beautiful tables, with a large Christmas tree in the centre and objects all around the sides of the hall full of presents for the household and visitors.
Their royal highnesses arrange these presents all themselves, and no one is permitted to enter till the evening.
The drawing-room is a particularly pretty room, full of furniture, and every available corner is filled with gigantic flower-glasses full of Pampas grass and evergreens.
Out of the drawing-room, on the opposite side of the dining-room, is a small sitting-room, fitted with book-cases. Beyond this is the prince's own room, quite full of beautiful things.
Here he and the princess always breakfast, and here on the ninth of November and the first of December are laid out all the numerous birth day presents.
Of the princess's private apartments up stairs it will suffice to say that a prettier room than her royal highness's ownboudoir,or sitting-room, was never seen. All the visitors' rooms are perfect, nor are the servants' comforts neglected.
CAUGHT WITH FENCE-RAIL LATIN.
It requires no extraordinary shrewdness in a person of capable intelligence to expose a pretender,–especially a quack, who appears in the "borrowed feathers" of assumed learning. Lawyers have so much of this stripping work to do that it forms their cheapest fun; but it is fun, nevertheless. The LouisvilleCourier-Journalsays:
Judge Black, of Pennsylvania, tells a comical story of a trial in which a German doctor appeared for the defence in a case for damages brought against a client of his by the object of his assault.
The eminent jurist soon recognized in his witness, who was produced as a medical expert, a laboring man who some years before, and in another part of the country, had been engaged by him as a builder of post and rail fences. With this cue he opened his examination. "You say, doctor," he began, with great diffidence and suavity, "that you operated upon Mr. ——'s head after it was cut by Mr. ——?"
"Oh, yaw," replied the ex-fence builder; "me do dat; yaw, yaw."
"Was the wound a very severe one, doctor?"
"Enough to kill him if I not save his life."
"Well, doctor, what did you do for him?"
"Everything."
"Did you perform the Caesarean operation?"
"Oh, yaw, yaw; if me not do dat he die."
"Did you decapitate him?"
"Yaw, yaw, me do dat, too."
"Did you hold apost mortemexamination?"
"Oh, to be schure, Schudge! Me always do dat."
"Well, now, doctor," and here the judge bent over in a friendly, familiar way, "tell us whether you submitted your patient to the process known among medical men as thepost and rail fenciorum?"
The mock doctor drew himself up indignantly. "Scherry Plack," says he, "I always know'd you vas a jayhawk lawyer, an' now I know you for a mean man!"
Oil and Vinegar. – "Remember," said a trading Quaker to his son, "in making thy way in the world, a spoonful of oil will go farther than a quart of vinegar."
children
For the Companion.
THE WOMAN IN THE MOON.
I've often heard of the man in the moon;And his profile often have seenIn the almanac, drawn on the side of a lune,Just so–with a smile serene.
moon
But I guessed the secret the other night,As the clouds were clearing away;And what do you think was the wondrous sightWhich the mystery did betray?
moon2
I fancied I saw in the crescent, half hid,Fair Luna herself reclining;Not a man in the moon, but a woman instead,From the sky was brightly shining.
For the Companion.
"CHUBBY WUBBY."
She had such an honest, hearty, round little face, with two brown eyes, a dot of a nose, and such chubby, hard, red cheeks that Aunt Gussie named her "Chubby Wubby" as soon as she saw her.
Her real name was Fanny, although mamma called her "Blossom," sometimes, and papa declared she was his little "Boy," while grandma had a whole host of pet names beside.
Aunt Gussie thought "Chubby Wubby" seemed to suit her the best of all, she was so round and plump and rosy.
Miss Chubby was cross one day, and among other things, she took it into her head that she wouldn't be called by any of her pet names. When mamma said to her, "Blossom, come and get your hat on," she shrugged her shoulders; and she answered, "Agh!" when Aunt Gussie made a rush at her for half-a-dozen kisses when she came in off the lawn, with such tempting cheeks that it was impossible not to want to bite them.
When Aunt Gussie said, "Come here, quick, you sweet little Chubby Wubby!" Fanny just kicked out one of her bare, plump little knees, and cried,"Pig!"
Now that was a very dreadful thing for her to call her auntie, for Fanny thought pigs were very horrid sort of beasts, and it was the worst name she knew, and beside, she said it in a naughty, wicked tone.
"O Chubby," cried Aunt Gussie, laughing, "we haven't got any pigs in here, and we don't want any colts either, and if you are going to kick that way, we shall have to put you out in the stable."
Chubby didn't feel a bit like laughing at this, but said again, very loudly, "Pig, Pig, PIG!"
Mamma heard her from the other room then, and she called out, "Come in here to me, Fanny; I want to look at your tongue." Fanny kicked up her heels and ran in to her mamma, and stuck out her little coral-tinted tongue. "Wha' fo', mamma?" she asked, thinking perhaps some little sweet pellets might follow.
"I wanted to see the naughty spot on it," answered mamma, "I heard it call auntie anamejust now, and I wanted to tell you if I ever heard it call any one that again, I should put something on the spot to cure the naughtiness."
Little Fanny shut her lips very tight then, only opening them to say very earnestly, "Never no more, mamma."
"Well," replied mamma, "I hope you won't forget, for I shall not; now kiss auntie, and run out on the lawn and play until luncheon."
Then little Chubby Wubby went in and threw her arms around Aunt Gussie's neck, and all was forgiven.
Somehow "never no more" happened to be a very short time, for not very long afterward, when Annie, her nurse, called, "Come, Fanny, bread and milk is all ready," she ran away off down by the brook and answered, "No, I don't wan' to tum."
"But mamma says you must come in right away," and Annie ran after her.
"Pig, Pig, PIG," again cried Fanny, in an angry tone.
Mamma heard her, and came to the door. "Pick her right up, Annie, and bring her to me. I am going to cure her of that habit directly," and so poor little naughty Chubby Wubby was borne into the house, kicking and screaming lustily.
"Stop your crying and put out your tongue," said mamma. "I'm going to put some pepper right on to the naughty spot, and burn out the name you have called auntie and Annie to-day."
"No, mamma, no, no, never no more," sobbed little Chubby Wubby, her eyes and round red cheeks all wet with tears.
"Well, if Aunt Gussie and Annie say so, I will let you off this time," said mamma, with the little pinch of pepper in her hand all ready.
"But remember, if I ever hear your tongue call any one 'Pig' again, I shall put the pepper on it and burn out the naughty spot."
Chubby Wubby sobbed over and over again, "Never no more, mamma," and Aunt Gussie and Annie were very glad to say they would not like to have their darling punished "this time," and Aunt Gussie whispered to little Fanny's mamma, "I feel half to blame myself, for I suppose she thinks if I call her aname,she may call me one," and after that day little Fanny never called anybody "Pig," and Aunt Gussie stopped calling Fanny "Chubby Wubby."G. de B.
For the Companion.
LITTLE RUDOLPH.
"Guten morgen! Guten morgen!"*Sounded at my door,Eager footsteps in the entryOutside, and beforeI could answer, on the threshold,Happiest in the land,Stood my little German neighbor,Bowing, hat in hand!
Rudolph
But I scarcely knew my Rudolph.What do you supposeChanged him so? He laughed and shouted,"Don't you see my clothes?I'm a boy at last! And evenIf my hair does curl,Folks won't ever dare to call meAny more, a girl,–
"Will they?" "No," I said, half sadly,You're a big boy now!"I shall miss my baby Rudolph."Such a saucy bowAs he gave me! But his sweet face,Brimming o'er with joy,Made me glad we'd changed our babyTo a noisy boy.M. M.—*Good-morning.
For the Companion.
"PINKY."
Pinky was a white mouse that a friend of mine bought when it was very young, and so small that when it was more than two months old it would amuse itself by running back and forth through her finger ring, as she held it on the table like a hoop; and he seemed to like his plaything so well, that when he got too large to get through, his mistress let him wear it round his neck as a collar. But soon he outgrew it, and then Pinky had to give up his little gold toy altogether, and made friends with a spool of cotton, which he would get out of the work-basket, stand up on the end and sit upon and then with his tiny paws unwind the cotton, twirling the spool round on the polished table, and so giving himself a ride, and looking very cunning perched up there.
Sometimes his mistress would hold a knitting needle over the table, and he would put his fore paws over it, and dance up and down the whole length of the needle until he was tired.
He had a little red cloak with a hood, and he would stand quite still to have it put on, and then scamper off to a little block house the children had, and would peep out of one of the windows, looking for all the world like a little "Red Riding Hood."
There is always danger in letting our playful pets play too much, and one day poor Pinky laid in his kind mistress' hand, seemed tired and sick, and the next day in her hand he died.
The moral of this true story is,–always let your pets, whether puppies, or kittens, or anything else, have plenty of time to rest and sleep.R. R.
For the Companion.
IN THE DARK.
I know it is dark, my darling,And fearful the darkness seems;But shut your eyes! in a momentThe night will be bright with dreams;Or, better, you'll sleep so sound all nightIt willseembut a moment till morning light.
There is only one kind of darknessThat need to trouble us, dear;Only the night of temptation,And then we must all of us fear.Yet even then, if we are but brave,There is ONE who is ever at hand to save.
We have only to ask Him to help us,And He will keep us from harm;Only to whisper, "Jesus!"–His Name is a holy charm:"Jesus, save me!" we need but say,And the night of temptation will flee away.
How can He be always near us?Near all of us, everywhere?Ah! that is beyond our knowing;But there is no bound to His care,And dear as the whole big world in His sight,Is the little child that He bidsgood-night.Harriet McEwen Kimball.
For the Companion.
PATTY'S FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL.
Patty was only four years old, but she was just crazy to go to school. Her three older brothers and sisters all went, and why couldn't she? So, as much to quiet her teasing as anything, her mother fixed her off to school with the rest, one winter morning more than thirty years ago.
Miss Dobbs, the teacher, was very strict and made the scholars learn well, but I'm afraid they did not love her as much as if she had been more gentle with them. But it was the fashion in those days for teachers to be severe, and whip the scholars whenever they needed it.
The school-room was a new place to little Patty's round eyes, and for the first hour she kept very still, looking about in wonder at all she saw and heard. She sat with her oldest sister, Anna, and felt very well pleased with everything.
By-and-by she wanted something else to do, and spoke up promptly, in her sharp little voice, "Anna, I want to see the pictures in your Dogathy!"
Of course all the scholars laughed.
Miss Dobbs rapped on the desk sharply with her rule. "Silence!" The house became quiet.
"You must not speak out loud in school again," she said, sternly, to Patty. "I shall punish you if you do."
Patty was very angry. "What right had Miss Dobbs to speak so to her?" she thought.
She began to be afraid of Miss Dobbs, but she was sure Anna would not let any harm come to her little sister. She slipped down quietly off the seat, and sat down on the floor under the big desk. There Miss Dobbs could not see her, and she could free her mind. So again her clear voice rang out, "Miss Dobbs is drefful cross, isn't she, Anna?"
The scholars laughed again, but Miss Dobbs walked quickly up to the desk, pulled out little Patty, and boxed her ears soundly. Then sitting her down hard on the seat, she left her with a stern "Now see if you can keep still!"
Patty was too scared to cry. She found Miss Dobbs was to be minded, and for the rest of the winter she went to school and was as good a little girl as you could wish to see.M. C. W. B.
squirrel
Enigmas, Charades, Puzzles, &c.
1.TRANSPOSITION.A WATER BIRD.
Though my nest you may find swinging high in the trees,While I rock on my greenish-blue eggs in the breeze,Yet I fish for a living, and love water moreThan land, though I'm careful to keep near the shore.Transposed, I'm a river, you'll see at a glance,In Switzerland starting, and running through France.B.
2.HIEROGLYPHIC TRANSPOSITIONS.
[Express exactly in the fewest words; then transpose your definition into a word or words equivalent to the definition given under the hieroglyphic.]
EXAMPLE:example
A deed.This symbol literally expressed is Cat on I. Transpose these letters, and you haveaction,which is equivalent to "A deed."