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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6340-0.txt b/6340-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..921bdf5 --- /dev/null +++ b/6340-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5344 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no +restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it +under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this +eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the +United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you +are located before using this eBook. + +Title: Literary Lapses + +Author: Stephen Leacock + +Release Date: June 21, 2004 [EBook #6340] [Most recently updated: April +6, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 with BOM + +Produced by: Gardner Buchanan + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + + + + +LITERARY LAPSES + + +By Stephen Leacock + + + + +_CONTENTS_ + + + MY FINANCIAL CAREER + LORD OXHEAD'S SECRET + BOARDING-HOUSE GEOMETRY + THE AWFUL FATE OF MELPOMENUS JONES + A CHRISTMAS LETTER + HOW TO MAKE A MILLION DOLLARS + HOW TO LIVE TO BE 200 + HOW TO AVOID GETTING MARRIED + HOW TO BE A DOCTOR + THE NEW FOOD + A NEW PATHOLOGY + THE POET ANSWERED + THE FORCE OF STATISTICS + MEN WHO HAVE SHAVED ME + GETTING THE THREAD OF IT + TELLING HIS FAULTS + WINTER PASTIMES + NUMBER FIFTY-SIX + ARISTOCRATIC EDUCATION + THE CONJURER'S REVENGE + HINTS TO TRAVELLERS + A MANUAL OF EDUCATION + HOODOO MCFIGGIN'S CHRISTMAS + THE LIFE OF JOHN SMITH + ON COLLECTING THINGS + SOCIETY CHIT-CHAT + INSURANCE UP TO DATE + BORROWING A MATCH + A LESSON IN FICTION + HELPING THE ARMENIANS + A STUDY IN STILL LIFE.--THE COUNTRY HOTEL + AN EXPERIMENT WITH POLICEMAN HOGAN + THE PASSING OF THE POET + SELF-MADE MEN + A MODEL DIALOGUE + BACK TO THE BUSH + REFLECTIONS ON RIDING + SALOONIO + HALF-HOURS WITH THE POETS -- + I. MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL + II. HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + III. OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE "HESPERUS" + A, B, AND C + + + + +_My Financial Career_ + + +When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets +rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me. + +The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact +business there, I become an irresponsible idiot. + +I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a +month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it. + +So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea +that a person about to open an account must needs consult the manager. + +I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, +cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral. + +"Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't +know why I said "alone." + +"Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him. + +The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched +in a crumpled ball in my pocket. + +"Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, +but without it the thing seemed self-evident. + +The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an awful +secret to reveal. + +"Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private room. He turned +the key in the lock. + +"We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down." + +We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak. + +"You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. + +He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew +what he was thinking, and it made me worse. + +"No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came from a +rival agency. + +"To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie about +it, "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I +intend to keep all my money in this bank." + +The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I +was a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould. + +"A large account, I suppose," he said. + +"Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now +and fifty dollars a month regularly." + +The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant. + +"Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman is opening an +account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning." + +I rose. + +A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. + +"Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe. + +"Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the other way. + +I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him +with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick. + +My face was ghastly pale. + +"Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let +us do this painful thing while the fit is on us." + +He took the money and gave it to another clerk. + +He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no +longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes. + +"Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. + +"It is," said the accountant. + +"Then I want to draw a cheque." + +My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave +me a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me how +to write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was an +invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at +the clerk. He looked at it. + +"What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. Then I +realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too far gone +to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the +thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me. + +Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. + +"Yes, the whole thing." + +"You withdraw your money from the bank?" + +"Every cent of it." + +"Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, astonished. + +"Never." + +An idiot hope struck me that they might think something had insulted me +while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a +wretched attempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper. + +The clerk prepared to pay the money. + +"How will you have it?" he said. + +"What?" + +"How will you have it?" + +"Oh"--I caught his meaning and answered without even trying to +think--"in fifties." + +He gave me a fifty-dollar bill. + +"And the six?" he asked dryly. + +"In sixes," I said. + +He gave it me and I rushed out. + +As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of laughter +that went up to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I bank no more. I +keep my money in cash in my trousers pocket and my savings in silver +dollars in a sock. + + + + +_Lord Oxhead's Secret_ + +A ROMANCE IN ONE CHAPTER + + +It was finished. Ruin had come. Lord Oxhead sat gazing fixedly at the +library fire. Without, the wind soughed (or sogged) around the turrets +of Oxhead Towers, the seat of the Oxhead family. But the old earl heeded +not the sogging of the wind around his seat. He was too absorbed. + +Before him lay a pile of blue papers with printed headings. From time to +time he turned them over in his hands and replaced them on the table +with a groan. To the earl they meant ruin--absolute, irretrievable ruin, +and with it the loss of his stately home that had been the pride of the +Oxheads for generations. More than that--the world would now know the +awful secret of his life. + +The earl bowed his head in the bitterness of his sorrow, for he came of +a proud stock. About him hung the portraits of his ancestors. Here on +the right an Oxhead who had broken his lance at Crecy, or immediately +before it. There McWhinnie Oxhead who had ridden madly from the stricken +field of Flodden to bring to the affrighted burghers of Edinburgh all +the tidings that he had been able to gather in passing the battlefield. +Next him hung the dark half Spanish face of Sir Amyas Oxhead of +Elizabethan days whose pinnace was the first to dash to Plymouth with +the news that the English fleet, as nearly as could be judged from a +reasonable distance, seemed about to grapple with the Spanish Armada. +Below this, the two Cavalier brothers, Giles and Everard Oxhead, who had +sat in the oak with Charles II. Then to the right again the portrait of +Sir Ponsonby Oxhead who had fought with Wellington in Spain, and been +dismissed for it. + +Immediately before the earl as he sat was the family escutcheon +emblazoned above the mantelpiece. A child might read the simplicity of +its proud significance--an ox rampant quartered in a field of gules with +a pike dexter and a dog intermittent in a plain parallelogram right +centre, with the motto, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, hujus, hujus." + + * * * * * + +"Father!"--The girl's voice rang clear through the half light of the +wainscoted library. Gwendoline Oxhead had thrown herself about the +earl's neck. The girl was radiant with happiness. Gwendoline was a +beautiful girl of thirty-three, typically English in the freshness of +her girlish innocence. She wore one of those charming walking suits of +brown holland so fashionable among the aristocracy of England, while a +rough leather belt encircled her waist in a single sweep. She bore +herself with that sweet simplicity which was her greatest charm. She was +probably more simple than any girl of her age for miles around. +Gwendoline was the pride of her father's heart, for he saw reflected in +her the qualities of his race. + +"Father," she said, a blush mantling her fair face, "I am so happy, oh +so happy; Edwin has asked me to be his wife, and we have plighted our +troth--at least if you consent. For I will never marry without my +father's warrant," she added, raising her head proudly; "I am too much +of an Oxhead for that." + +Then as she gazed into the old earl's stricken face, the girl's mood +changed at once. "Father," she cried, "father, are you ill? What is it? +Shall I ring?" As she spoke Gwendoline reached for the heavy bell-rope +that hung beside the wall, but the earl, fearful that her frenzied +efforts might actually make it ring, checked her hand. "I am, indeed, +deeply troubled," said Lord Oxhead, "but of that anon. Tell me first +what is this news you bring. I hope, Gwendoline, that your choice has +been worthy of an Oxhead, and that he to whom you have plighted your +troth will be worthy to bear our motto with his own." And, raising his +eyes to the escutcheon before him, the earl murmured half unconsciously, +"Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, hujus, hujus," breathing perhaps a prayer as +many of his ancestors had done before him that he might never forget it. + +"Father," continued Gwendoline, half timidly, "Edwin is an American." + +"You surprise me indeed," answered Lord Oxhead; "and yet," he continued, +turning to his daughter with the courtly grace that marked the nobleman +of the old school, "why should we not respect and admire the Americans? +Surely there have been great names among them. Indeed, our ancestor Sir +Amyas Oxhead was, I think, married to Pocahontas--at least if not +actually married"--the earl hesitated a moment. + +"At least they loved one another," said Gwendoline simply. + +"Precisely," said the earl, with relief, "they loved one another, yes, +exactly." Then as if musing to himself, "Yes, there have been great +Americans. Bolivar was an American. The two Washingtons--George and +Booker--are both Americans. There have been others too, though for the +moment I do not recall their names. But tell me, Gwendoline, this Edwin +of yours--where is his family seat?" + +"It is at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, father." + +"Ah! say you so?" rejoined the earl, with rising interest. "Oshkosh is, +indeed, a grand old name. The Oshkosh are a Russian family. An Ivan +Oshkosh came to England with Peter the Great and married my ancestress. +Their descendant in the second degree once removed, Mixtup Oshkosh, +fought at the burning of Moscow and later at the sack of Salamanca and +the treaty of Adrianople. And Wisconsin too," the old nobleman went on, +his features kindling with animation, for he had a passion for heraldry, +genealogy, chronology, and commercial geography; "the Wisconsins, or +better, I think, the Guisconsins, are of old blood. A Guisconsin +followed Henry I to Jerusalem and rescued my ancestor Hardup Oxhead from +the Saracens. Another Guisconsin...." + +"Nay, father," said Gwendoline, gently interrupting, "Wisconsin is not +Edwin's own name: that is, I believe, the name of his estate. My lover's +name is Edwin Einstein." + +"Einstein," repeated the earl dubiously--"an Indian name perhaps; yet +the Indians are many of them of excellent family. An ancestor of +mine...." + +"Father," said Gwendoline, again interrupting, "here is a portrait of +Edwin. Judge for yourself if he be noble." With this she placed in her +father's hand an American tin-type, tinted in pink and brown. The +picture represented a typical specimen of American manhood of that +Anglo-Semitic type so often seen in persons of mixed English and Jewish +extraction. The figure was well over five feet two inches in height and +broad in proportion. The graceful sloping shoulders harmonized with the +slender and well-poised waist, and with a hand pliant and yet +prehensile. The pallor of the features was relieved by a drooping black +moustache. + +Such was Edwin Einstein to whom Gwendoline's heart, if not her hand, was +already affianced. Their love had been so simple and yet so strange. It +seemed to Gwendoline that it was but a thing of yesterday, and yet in +reality they had met three weeks ago. Love had drawn them irresistibly +together. To Edwin the fair English girl with her old name and wide +estates possessed a charm that he scarcely dared confess to himself. He +determined to woo her. To Gwendoline there was that in Edwin's bearing, +the rich jewels that he wore, the vast fortune that rumour ascribed to +him, that appealed to something romantic and chivalrous in her nature. +She loved to hear him speak of stocks and bonds, corners and margins, +and his father's colossal business. It all seemed so noble and so far +above the sordid lives of the people about her. Edwin, too, loved to +hear the girl talk of her father's estates, of the diamond-hilted sword +that the saladin had given, or had lent, to her ancestor hundreds of +years ago. Her description of her father, the old earl, touched +something romantic in Edwin's generous heart. He was never tired of +asking how old he was, was he robust, did a shock, a sudden shock, +affect him much? and so on. Then had come the evening that Gwendoline +loved to live over and over again in her mind when Edwin had asked her +in his straightforward, manly way, whether--subject to certain written +stipulations to be considered later--she would be his wife: and she, +putting her hand confidingly in his hand, answered simply, that--subject +to the consent of her father and pending always the necessary legal +formalities and inquiries--she would. + +It had all seemed like a dream: and now Edwin Einstein had come in +person to ask her hand from the earl, her father. Indeed, he was at this +moment in the outer hall testing the gold leaf in the picture-frames +with his pen-knife while waiting for his affianced to break the fateful +news to Lord Oxhead. + +Gwendoline summoned her courage for a great effort. "Papa," she said, +"there is one other thing that it is fair to tell you. Edwin's father is +in business." + +The earl started from his seat in blank amazement. "In business!" he +repeated, "the father of the suitor of the daughter of an Oxhead in +business! My daughter the step-daughter of the grandfather of my +grandson! Are you mad, girl? It is too much, too much!" + +"But, father," pleaded the beautiful girl in anguish, "hear me. It is +Edwin's father--Sarcophagus Einstein, senior--not Edwin himself. Edwin +does nothing. He has never earned a penny. He is quite unable to support +himself. You have only to see him to believe it. Indeed, dear father, he +is just like us. He is here now, in this house, waiting to see you. If +it were not for his great wealth...." + +"Girl," said the earl sternly, "I care not for the man's riches. How +much has he?" + +"Fifteen million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," answered +Gwendoline. Lord Oxhead leaned his head against the mantelpiece. His +mind was in a whirl. He was trying to calculate the yearly interest on +fifteen and a quarter million dollars at four and a half per cent +reduced to pounds, shillings, and pence. It was bootless. His brain, +trained by long years of high living and plain thinking, had become too +subtle, too refined an instrument for arithmetic.... + + * * * * * + +At this moment the door opened and Edwin Einstein stood before the earl. +Gwendoline never forgot what happened. Through her life the picture of +it haunted her--her lover upright at the door, his fine frank gaze fixed +inquiringly on the diamond pin in her father's necktie, and he, her +father, raising from the mantelpiece a face of agonized amazement. + +"You! You!" he gasped. For a moment he stood to his full height, swaying +and groping in the air, then fell prostrate his full length upon the +floor. The lovers rushed to his aid. Edwin tore open his neckcloth and +plucked aside his diamond pin to give him air. But it was too late. Earl +Oxhead had breathed his last. Life had fled. The earl was extinct. That +is to say, he was dead. + +The reason of his death was never known. Had the sight of Edwin killed +him? It might have. The old family doctor, hurriedly summoned, declared +his utter ignorance. This, too, was likely. Edwin himself could explain +nothing. But it was observed that after the earl's death and his +marriage with Gwendoline he was a changed man; he dressed better, talked +much better English. + +The wedding itself was quiet, almost sad. At Gwendoline's request there +was no wedding breakfast, no bridesmaids, and no reception, while Edwin, +respecting his bride's bereavement, insisted that there should be no +best man, no flowers, no presents, and no honeymoon. + +Thus Lord Oxhead's secret died with him. It was probably too complicated +to be interesting anyway. + + + + +_Boarding-House Geometry_ + + +DEFINITIONS AND AXIOMS + +All boarding-houses are the same boarding-house. + +Boarders in the same boarding-house and on the same flat are equal to +one another. + +A single room is that which has no parts and no magnitude. + +The landlady of a boarding-house is a parallelogram--that is, an oblong +angular figure, which cannot be described, but which is equal to +anything. + +A wrangle is the disinclination of two boarders to each other that meet +together but are not in the same line. + +All the other rooms being taken, a single room is said to be a double +room. + + +POSTULATES AND PROPOSITIONS + +A pie may be produced any number of times. + +The landlady can be reduced to her lowest terms by a series of +propositions. + +A bee line may be made from any boarding-house to any other +boarding-house. + +The clothes of a boarding-house bed, though produced ever so far both +ways, will not meet. + +Any two meals at a boarding-house are together less than two square +meals. + +If from the opposite ends of a boarding-house a line be drawn passing +through all the rooms in turn, then the stovepipe which warms the +boarders will lie within that line. + +On the same bill and on the same side of it there should not be two +charges for the same thing. + +If there be two boarders on the same flat, and the amount of side of the +one be equal to the amount of side of the other, each to each, and the +wrangle between one boarder and the landlady be equal to the wrangle +between the landlady and the other, then shall the weekly bills of the +two boarders be equal also, each to each. + +For if not, let one bill be the greater. + +Then the other bill is less than it might have been--which is absurd. + + + + +_The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones_ + + +Some people--not you nor I, because we are so awfully +self-possessed--but some people, find great difficulty in saying +good-bye when making a call or spending the evening. As the moment draws +near when the visitor feels that he is fairly entitled to go away he +rises and says abruptly, "Well, I think I...." Then the people say, "Oh, +must you go now? Surely it's early yet!" and a pitiful struggle ensues. + +I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I ever knew was that +of my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, a curate--such a dear young man, and +only twenty-three! He simply couldn't get away from people. He was too +modest to tell a lie, and too religious to wish to appear rude. Now it +happened that he went to call on some friends of his on the very first +afternoon of his summer vacation. The next six weeks were entirely his +own--absolutely nothing to do. He chatted awhile, drank two cups of tea, +then braced himself for the effort and said suddenly: + +"Well, I think I...." + +But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no! Mr. Jones, can't you really +stay a little longer?" + +Jones was always truthful. "Oh, yes," he said, "of course, I--er--can +stay." + +"Then please don't go." + +He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling. He rose +again. + +"Well now," he said shyly, "I think I really...." + +"You must go?" said the lady politely. "I thought perhaps you could have +stayed to dinner...." + +"Oh well, so I could, you know," Jones said, "if...." + +"Then please stay, I'm sure my husband will be delighted." + +"All right," he said feebly, "I'll stay," and he sank back into his +chair, just full of tea, and miserable. + +Papa came home. They had dinner. All through the meal Jones sat planning +to leave at eight-thirty. All the family wondered whether Mr. Jones was +stupid and sulky, or only stupid. + +After dinner mamma undertook to "draw him out," and showed him +photographs. She showed him all the family museum, several gross of +them--photos of papa's uncle and his wife, and mamma's brother and his +little boy, an awfully interesting photo of papa's uncle's friend in his +Bengal uniform, an awfully well-taken photo of papa's grandfather's +partner's dog, and an awfully wicked one of papa as the devil for a +fancy-dress ball. At eight-thirty Jones had examined seventy-one +photographs. There were about sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones +rose. + +"I must say good night now," he pleaded. + +"Say good night!" they said, "why it's only half-past eight! Have you +anything to do?" + +"Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about staying six weeks, +and then laughed miserably. + +Just then it turned out that the favourite child of the family, such a +dear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones's hat; so papa said that he must +stay, and invited him to a pipe and a chat. Papa had the pipe and gave +Jones the chat, and still he stayed. Every moment he meant to take the +plunge, but couldn't. Then papa began to get very tired of Jones, and +fidgeted and finally said, with jocular irony, that Jones had better +stay all night, they could give him a shake-down. Jones mistook his +meaning and thanked him with tears in his eyes, and papa put Jones to +bed in the spare room and cursed him heartily. + +After breakfast next day, papa went off to his work in the City, and +left Jones playing with the baby, broken-hearted. His nerve was utterly +gone. He was meaning to leave all day, but the thing had got on his mind +and he simply couldn't. When papa came home in the evening he was +surprised and chagrined to find Jones still there. He thought to jockey +him out with a jest, and said he thought he'd have to charge him for his +board, he! he! The unhappy young man stared wildly for a moment, then +wrung papa's hand, paid him a month's board in advance, and broke down +and sobbed like a child. + +In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable. He lived, of +course, entirely in the drawing-room, and the lack of air and exercise +began to tell sadly on his health. He passed his time in drinking tea +and looking at the photographs. He would stand for hours gazing at the +photographs of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform--talking to +it, sometimes swearing bitterly at it. His mind was visibly failing. + +At length the crash came. They carried him upstairs in a raging delirium +of fever. The illness that followed was terrible. He recognized no one, +not even papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform. At times he would +start up from his bed and shriek, "Well, I think I...." and then fall +back upon the pillow with a horrible laugh. Then, again, he would leap +up and cry, "Another cup of tea and more photographs! More photographs! +Har! Har!" + +At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of his vacation, he +passed away. They say that when the last moment came, he sat up in bed +with a beautiful smile of confidence playing upon his face, and said, +"Well--the angels are calling me; I'm afraid I really must go now. Good +afternoon." + +And the rushing of his spirit from its prison-house was as rapid as a +hunted cat passing over a garden fence. + + + + +_A Christmas Letter_ + +(_In answer to a young lady who has sent an invitation to be present at +a children's party_) + + +Mademoiselle, + +Allow me very gratefully but firmly to refuse your kind invitation. You +doubtless mean well; but your ideas are unhappily mistaken. + +Let us understand one another once and for all. I cannot at my mature +age participate in the sports of children with such abandon as I could +wish. I entertain, and have always entertained, the sincerest regard for +such games as Hunt-the-Slipper and Blind-Man's Buff. But I have now +reached a time of life, when, to have my eyes blindfolded and to have a +powerful boy of ten hit me in the back with a hobby-horse and ask me to +guess who hit me, provokes me to a fit of retaliation which could only +culminate in reckless criminality. Nor can I cover my shoulders with a +drawing-room rug and crawl round on my hands and knees under the +pretence that I am a bear without a sense of personal insufficiency, +which is painful to me. + +Neither can I look on with a complacent eye at the sad spectacle of your +young clerical friend, the Reverend Mr. Uttermost Farthing, abandoning +himself to such gambols and appearing in the role of life and soul of +the evening. Such a degradation of his holy calling grieves me, and I +cannot but suspect him of ulterior motives. + +You inform me that your maiden aunt intends to help you to entertain the +party. I have not, as you know, the honour of your aunt's acquaintance, +yet I think I may with reason surmise that she will organize +games--guessing games--in which she will ask me to name a river in Asia +beginning with a Z; on my failure to do so she will put a hot plate down +my neck as a forfeit, and the children will clap their hands. These +games, my dear young friend, involve the use of a more adaptable +intellect than mine, and I cannot consent to be a party to them. + +May I say in conclusion that I do not consider a five-cent pen-wiper +from the top branch of a Xmas tree any adequate compensation for the +kind of evening you propose. + + I have the honour + To subscribe myself, + Your obedient servant. + + + + +_How to Make a Million Dollars_ + + +I mix a good deal with the Millionaires. I like them. I like their +faces. I like the way they live. I like the things they eat. The more we +mix together the better I like the things we mix. + +Especially I like the way they dress, their grey check trousers, their +white check waist-coats, their heavy gold chains, and the signet-rings +that they sign their cheques with. My! they look nice. Get six or seven +of them sitting together in the club and it's a treat to see them. And +if they get the least dust on them, men come and brush it off. Yes, and +are glad to. I'd like to take some of the dust off them myself. + +Even more than what they eat I like their intellectual grasp. It is +wonderful. Just watch them read. They simply read all the time. Go into +the club at any hour and you'll see three or four of them at it. And the +things they can read! You'd think that a man who'd been driving hard in +the office from eleven o'clock until three, with only an hour and a half +for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a bit. These men can sit down after +office hours and read the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the Pink Un, +and understand the jokes just as well as I can. + +What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and catch the little +scraps of conversation. The other day I heard one lean forward and say, +"Well, I offered him a million and a half and said I wouldn't give a +cent more, he could either take it or leave it--" I just longed to break +in and say, "What! what! a million and a half! Oh! say that again! Offer +it to me, to either take it or leave it. Do try me once: I know I can: +or here, make it a plain million and let's call it done." + +Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. Don't think it. Of +course they don't take much account of big money, a hundred thousand +dollars at a shot or anything of that sort. But little money. You've no +idea till you know them how anxious they get about a cent, or half a +cent, or less. + +Why, two of them came into the club the other night just frantic with +delight: they said wheat had risen and they'd cleaned up four cents each +in less than half an hour. They bought a dinner for sixteen on the +strength of it. I don't understand it. I've often made twice as much as +that writing for the papers and never felt like boasting about it. + +One night I heard one man say, "Well, let's call up New York and offer +them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! Imagine paying the cost of +calling up New York, nearly five million people, late at night and +offering them a quarter of a cent! And yet--did New York get mad? No, +they took it. Of course it's high finance. I don't pretend to understand +it. I tried after that to call up Chicago and offer it a cent and a +half, and to call up Hamilton, Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and +the operator only thought I was crazy. + +All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how the millionaires +do it. I have. For years. I thought it might be helpful to young men +just beginning to work and anxious to stop. + +You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when he was a boy he +had known what he knows now, instead of being what he is he might be +what he won't; but how few boys stop to think that if they knew what +they don't know instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? +These are awful thoughts. + +At any rate, I've been gathering hints on how it is they do it. + +One thing I'm sure about. If a young man wants to make a million dollars +he's got to be mighty careful about his diet and his living. This may +seem hard. But success is only achieved with pains. + +There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million dollars +thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat force and poached eggs, +drink cold water at lunch, and go to bed at 10 p.m. You can't do it. +I've seen too many millionaires for that. If you want to be a +millionaire you mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They never do. +They daren't. It would be as much as their business is worth if they +were seen on the street at half-past nine. + +And the old idea of abstemiousness is all wrong. To be a millionaire you +need champagne, lots of it and all the time. That and Scotch whisky and +soda: you have to sit up nearly all night and drink buckets of it. This +is what clears the brain for business next day. I've seen some of these +men with their brains so clear in the morning, that their faces look +positively boiled. + +To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But you can buy that +by the pint. + +Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved on from your +present status in business, change your life. When your landlady brings +your bacon and eggs for breakfast, throw them out of window to the dog +and tell her to bring you some chilled asparagus and a pint of Moselle. +Then telephone to your employer that you'll be down about eleven +o'clock. You will get moved on. Yes, very quickly. + +Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult question. But +one way is this. Strike the town with five cents in your pocket. They +nearly all do this; they've told me again and again (men with millions +and millions) that the first time they struck town they had only five +cents. That seems to have given them their start. Of course, it's not +easy to do. I've tried it several times. I nearly did it once. I +borrowed five cents, carried it away out of town, and then turned and +came back at the town with an awful rush. If I hadn't struck a beer +saloon in the suburbs and spent the five cents I might have been rich +to-day. + +Another good plan is to start something. Something on a huge scale: +something nobody ever thought of. For instance, one man I know told me +that once he was down in Mexico without a cent (he'd lost his five in +striking Central America) and he noticed that they had no power plants. +So he started some and made a mint of money. Another man that I know was +once stranded in New York, absolutely without a nickel. Well, it +occurred to him that what was needed were buildings ten stories higher +than any that had been put up. So he built two and sold them right away. +Ever so many millionaires begin in some such simple way as that. + +There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. I almost hate +to tell this, because I want to do it myself. + +I learned of it just by chance one night at the club. There is one old +man there, extremely rich, with one of the best faces of the lot, just +like a hyena. I never used to know how he had got so rich. So one +evening I asked one of the millionaires how old Bloggs had made all his +money. + +"How he made it?" he answered with a sneer. "Why he made it by taking it +out of widows and orphans." + +Widows and orphans! I thought, what an excellent idea. But who would +have suspected that they had it? + +"And how," I asked pretty cautiously, "did he go at it to get it out of +them?" + +"Why," the man answered, "he just ground them under his heels, that was +how." + +Now isn't that simple? I've thought of that conversation often since and +I mean to try it. If I can get hold of them, I'll grind them quick +enough. But how to get them. Most of the widows I know look pretty solid +for that sort of thing, and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot of +them. Meantime I am waiting, and if I ever get a large bunch of orphans +all together, I'll stamp on them and see. + +I find, too, on inquiry, that you can also grind it out of clergymen. +They say they grind nicely. But perhaps orphans are easier. + + + + +_How to Live to be 200_ + + +Twenty years ago I knew a man called Jiggins, who had the Health Habit. + +He used to take a cold plunge every morning. He said it opened his +pores. After it he took a hot sponge. He said it closed the pores. He +got so that he could open and shut his pores at will. + +Jiggins used to stand and breathe at an open window for half an hour +before dressing. He said it expanded his lungs. He might, of course, +have had it done in a shoe-store with a boot stretcher, but after all it +cost him nothing this way, and what is half an hour? + +After he had got his undershirt on, Jiggins used to hitch himself up +like a dog in harness and do Sandow exercises. He did them forwards, +backwards, and hind-side up. + +He could have got a job as a dog anywhere. He spent all his time at this +kind of thing. In his spare time at the office, he used to lie on his +stomach on the floor and see if he could lift himself up with his +knuckles. If he could, then he tried some other way until he found one +that he couldn't do. Then he would spend the rest of his lunch hour on +his stomach, perfectly happy. + +In the evenings in his room he used to lift iron bars, cannon-balls, +heave dumb-bells, and haul himself up to the ceiling with his teeth. You +could hear the thumps half a mile. He liked it. + +He spent half the night slinging himself around his room. He said it +made his brain clear. When he got his brain perfectly clear, he went to +bed and slept. As soon as he woke, he began clearing it again. + +Jiggins is dead. He was, of course, a pioneer, but the fact that he +dumb-belled himself to death at an early age does not prevent a whole +generation of young men from following in his path. + +They are ridden by the Health Mania. + +They make themselves a nuisance. + +They get up at impossible hours. They go out in silly little suits and +run Marathon heats before breakfast. They chase around barefoot to get +the dew on their feet. They hunt for ozone. They bother about pepsin. +They won't eat meat because it has too much nitrogen. They won't eat +fruit because it hasn't any. They prefer albumen and starch and nitrogen +to huckleberry pie and doughnuts. They won't drink water out of a tap. +They won't eat sardines out of a can. They won't use oysters out of a +pail. They won't drink milk out of a glass. They are afraid of alcohol +in any shape. Yes, sir, afraid. "Cowards." + +And after all their fuss they presently incur some simple old-fashioned +illness and die like anybody else. + +Now people of this sort have no chance to attain any great age. They are +on the wrong track. + +Listen. Do you want to live to be really old, to enjoy a grand, green, +exuberant, boastful old age and to make yourself a nuisance to your +whole neighbourhood with your reminiscences? + +Then cut out all this nonsense. Cut it out. Get up in the morning at a +sensible hour. The time to get up is when you have to, not before. If +your office opens at eleven, get up at ten-thirty. Take your chance on +ozone. There isn't any such thing anyway. Or, if there is, you can buy a +Thermos bottle full for five cents, and put it on a shelf in your +cupboard. If your work begins at seven in the morning, get up at ten +minutes to, but don't be liar enough to say that you like it. It isn't +exhilarating, and you know it. + +Also, drop all that cold-bath business. You never did it when you were a +boy. Don't be a fool now. If you must take a bath (you don't really need +to), take it warm. The pleasure of getting out of a cold bed and +creeping into a hot bath beats a cold plunge to death. In any case, stop +gassing about your tub and your "shower," as if you were the only man +who ever washed. + +So much for that point. + +Next, take the question of germs and bacilli. Don't be scared of them. +That's all. That's the whole thing, and if you once get on to that you +never need to worry again. + +If you see a bacilli, walk right up to it, and look it in the eye. If +one flies into your room, strike at it with your hat or with a towel. +Hit it as hard as you can between the neck and the thorax. It will soon +get sick of that. + +But as a matter of fact, a bacilli is perfectly quiet and harmless if +you are not afraid of it. Speak to it. Call out to it to "lie down." It +will understand. I had a bacilli once, called Fido, that would come and +lie at my feet while I was working. I never knew a more affectionate +companion, and when it was run over by an automobile, I buried it in the +garden with genuine sorrow. + +(I admit this is an exaggeration. I don't really remember its name; it +may have been Robert.) + +Understand that it is only a fad of modern medicine to say that cholera +and typhoid and diphtheria are caused by bacilli and germs; nonsense. +Cholera is caused by a frightful pain in the stomach, and diphtheria is +caused by trying to cure a sore throat. + +Now take the question of food. + +Eat what you want. Eat lots of it. Yes, eat too much of it. Eat till you +can just stagger across the room with it and prop it up against a sofa +cushion. Eat everything that you like until you can't eat any more. The +only test is, can you pay for it? If you can't pay for it, don't eat it. +And listen--don't worry as to whether your food contains starch, or +albumen, or gluten, or nitrogen. If you are a damn fool enough to want +these things, go and buy them and eat all you want of them. Go to a +laundry and get a bag of starch, and eat your fill of it. Eat it, and +take a good long drink of glue after it, and a spoonful of Portland +cement. That will gluten you, good and solid. + +If you like nitrogen, go and get a druggist to give you a canful of it +at the soda counter, and let you sip it with a straw. Only don't think +that you can mix all these things up with your food. There isn't any +nitrogen or phosphorus or albumen in ordinary things to eat. In any +decent household all that sort of stuff is washed out in the kitchen +sink before the food is put on the table. + +And just one word about fresh air and exercise. Don't bother with either +of them. Get your room full of good air, then shut up the windows and +keep it. It will keep for years. Anyway, don't keep using your lungs all +the time. Let them rest. As for exercise, if you have to take it, take +it and put up with it. But as long as you have the price of a hack and +can hire other people to play baseball for you and run races and do +gymnastics when you sit in the shade and smoke and watch them--great +heavens, what more do you want? + + + + +_How to Avoid Getting Married_ + + +Some years ago, when I was the Editor of a Correspondence Column, I used +to receive heart-broken letters from young men asking for advice and +sympathy. They found themselves the object of marked attentions from +girls which they scarcely knew how to deal with. They did not wish to +give pain or to seem indifferent to a love which they felt was as ardent +as it was disinterested, and yet they felt that they could not bestow +their hands where their hearts had not spoken. They wrote to me fully +and frankly, and as one soul might write to another for relief. I +accepted their confidences as under the pledge of a secrecy, never +divulging their disclosures beyond the circulation of my newspapers, or +giving any hint of their identity other than printing their names and +addresses and their letters in full. But I may perhaps without dishonour +reproduce one of these letters, and my answer to it, inasmuch as the +date is now months ago, and the softening hand of Time has woven its +roses--how shall I put it?--the mellow haze of reminiscences has--what I +mean is that the young man has gone back to work and is all right again. + +Here then is a letter from a young man whose name I must not reveal, but +whom I will designate as D. F., and whose address I must not divulge, +but will simply indicate as Q. Street, West. + +"DEAR MR. LEACOCK, + +"For some time past I have been the recipient of very marked attentions +from a young lady. She has been calling at the house almost every +evening, and has taken me out in her motor, and invited me to concerts +and the theatre. On these latter occasions I have insisted on her taking +my father with me, and have tried as far as possible to prevent her +saying anything to me which would be unfit for father to hear. But my +position has become a very difficult one. I do not think it right to +accept her presents when I cannot feel that my heart is hers. Yesterday +she sent to my house a beautiful bouquet of American Beauty roses +addressed to me, and a magnificent bunch of Timothy Hay for father. I do +not know what to say. Would it be right for father to keep all this +valuable hay? I have confided fully in father, and we have discussed the +question of presents. He thinks that there are some that we can keep +with propriety, and others that a sense of delicacy forbids us to +retain. He himself is going to sort out the presents into the two +classes. He thinks that as far as he can see, the Hay is in class B. +Meantime I write to you, as I understand that Miss Laura Jean Libby and +Miss Beatrix Fairfax are on their vacation, and in any case a friend of +mine who follows their writings closely tells me that they are always +full. + +"I enclose a dollar, because I do not think it right to ask you to give +all your valuable time and your best thought without giving you back +what it is worth." + +On receipt of this I wrote back at once a private and confidential +letter which I printed in the following edition of the paper. + +"MY DEAR, DEAR BOY, + +"Your letter has touched me. As soon as I opened it and saw the green +and blue tint of the dollar bill which you had so daintily and prettily +folded within the pages of your sweet letter, I knew that the note was +from someone that I could learn to love, if our correspondence were to +continue as it had begun. I took the dollar from your letter and kissed +and fondled it a dozen times. Dear unknown boy! I shall always keep that +dollar! No matter how much I may need it, or how many necessaries, yes, +absolute necessities, of life I may be wanting, I shall always keep THAT +dollar. Do you understand, dear? I shall keep it. I shall not spend it. +As far as the USE of it goes, it will be just as if you had not sent it. +Even if you were to send me another dollar, I should still keep the +first one, so that no matter how many you sent, the recollection of one +first friendship would not be contaminated with mercenary +considerations. When I say dollar, darling, of course an express order, +or a postal note, or even stamps would be all the same. But in that case +do not address me in care of this office, as I should not like to think +of your pretty little letters lying round where others might handle +them. + +"But now I must stop chatting about myself, for I know that you cannot +be interested in a simple old fogey such as I am. Let me talk to you +about your letter and about the difficult question it raises for all +marriageable young men. + +"In the first place, let me tell you how glad I am that you confide in +your father. Whatever happens, go at once to your father, put your arms +about his neck, and have a good cry together. And you are right, too, +about presents. It needs a wiser head than my poor perplexed boy to deal +with them. Take them to your father to be sorted, or, if you feel that +you must not overtax his love, address them to me in your own pretty +hand. + +"And now let us talk, dear, as one heart to another. Remember always +that if a girl is to have your heart she must be worthy of you. When you +look at your own bright innocent face in the mirror, resolve that you +will give your hand to no girl who is not just as innocent as you are +and no brighter than yourself. So that you must first find out how +innocent she is. Ask her quietly and frankly--remember, dear, that the +days of false modesty are passing away--whether she has ever been in +jail. If she has not (and if YOU have not), then you know that you are +dealing with a dear confiding girl who will make you a life mate. Then +you must know, too, that her mind is worthy of your own. So many men +to-day are led astray by the merely superficial graces and attractions +of girls who in reality possess no mental equipment at all. Many a man +is bitterly disillusioned after marriage when he realises that his wife +cannot solve a quadratic equation, and that he is compelled to spend all +his days with a woman who does not know that X squared plus 2XY plus Y +squared is the same thing, or, I think nearly the same thing, as X plus +Y squared. + +"Nor should the simple domestic virtues be neglected. If a girl desires +to woo you, before allowing her to press her suit, ask her if she knows +how to press yours. If she can, let her woo; if not, tell her to whoa. +But I see I have written quite as much as I need for this column. Won't +you write again, just as before, dear boy? + +"STEPHEN LEACOCK." + + + + +_How to be a Doctor_ + + +Certainly the progress of science is a wonderful thing. One can't help +feeling proud of it. I must admit that I do. Whenever I get talking to +anyone--that is, to anyone who knows even less about it than I do--about +the marvellous development of electricity, for instance, I feel as if I +had been personally responsible for it. As for the linotype and the +aeroplane and the vacuum house-cleaner, well, I am not sure that I +didn't invent them myself. I believe that all generous-hearted men feel +just the same way about it. + +However, that is not the point I am intending to discuss. What I want to +speak about is the progress of medicine. There, if you like, is +something wonderful. Any lover of humanity (or of either sex of it) who +looks back on the achievements of medical science must feel his heart +glow and his right ventricle expand with the pericardiac stimulus of a +permissible pride. + +Just think of it. A hundred years ago there were no bacilli, no ptomaine +poisoning, no diphtheria, and no appendicitis. Rabies was but little +known, and only imperfectly developed. All of these we owe to medical +science. Even such things as psoriasis and parotitis and +trypanosomiasis, which are now household names, were known only to the +few, and were quite beyond the reach of the great mass of the people. + +Or consider the advance of the science on its practical side. A hundred +years ago it used to be supposed that fever could be cured by the +letting of blood; now we know positively that it cannot. Even seventy +years ago it was thought that fever was curable by the administration of +sedative drugs; now we know that it isn't. For the matter of that, as +recently as thirty years ago, doctors thought that they could heal a +fever by means of low diet and the application of ice; now they are +absolutely certain that they cannot. This instance shows the steady +progress made in the treatment of fever. But there has been the same +cheering advance all along the line. Take rheumatism. A few generations +ago people with rheumatism used to have to carry round potatoes in their +pockets as a means of cure. Now the doctors allow them to carry +absolutely anything they like. They may go round with their pockets full +of water-melons if they wish to. It makes no difference. Or take the +treatment of epilepsy. It used to be supposed that the first thing to do +in sudden attacks of this kind was to unfasten the patient's collar and +let him breathe; at present, on the contrary, many doctors consider it +better to button up the patient's collar and let him choke. + +In only one respect has there been a decided lack of progress in the +domain of medicine, that is in the time it takes to become a qualified +practitioner. In the good old days a man was turned out thoroughly +equipped after putting in two winter sessions at a college and spending +his summers in running logs for a sawmill. Some of the students were +turned out even sooner. Nowadays it takes anywhere from five to eight +years to become a doctor. Of course, one is willing to grant that our +young men are growing stupider and lazier every year. This fact will be +corroborated at once by any man over fifty years of age. But even when +this is said it seems odd that a man should study eight years now to +learn what he used to acquire in eight months. + +However, let that go. The point I want to develop is that the modern +doctor's business is an extremely simple one, which could be acquired in +about two weeks. This is the way it is done. + +The patient enters the consulting-room. "Doctor," he says, "I have a bad +pain." "Where is it?" "Here." "Stand up," says the doctor, "and put your +arms up above your head." Then the doctor goes behind the patient and +strikes him a powerful blow in the back. "Do you feel that," he says. "I +do," says the patient. Then the doctor turns suddenly and lets him have +a left hook under the heart. "Can you feel that," he says viciously, as +the patient falls over on the sofa in a heap. "Get up," says the doctor, +and counts ten. The patient rises. The doctor looks him over very +carefully without speaking, and then suddenly fetches him a blow in the +stomach that doubles him up speechless. The doctor walks over to the +window and reads the morning paper for a while. Presently he turns and +begins to mutter more to himself than the patient. "Hum!" he says, +"there's a slight anaesthesia of the tympanum." "Is that so?" says the +patient, in an agony of fear. "What can I do about it, doctor?" "Well," +says the doctor, "I want you to keep very quiet; you'll have to go to +bed and stay there and keep quiet." In reality, of course, the doctor +hasn't the least idea what is wrong with the man; but he DOES know that +if he will go to bed and keep quiet, awfully quiet, he'll either get +quietly well again or else die a quiet death. Meantime, if the doctor +calls every morning and thumps and beats him, he can keep the patient +submissive and perhaps force him to confess what is wrong with him. + +"What about diet, doctor?" says the patient, completely cowed. + +The answer to this question varies very much. It depends on how the +doctor is feeling and whether it is long since he had a meal himself. If +it is late in the morning and the doctor is ravenously hungry, he says: +"Oh, eat plenty, don't be afraid of it; eat meat, vegetables, starch, +glue, cement, anything you like." But if the doctor has just had lunch +and if his breathing is short-circuited with huckleberry-pie, he says +very firmly: "No, I don't want you to eat anything at all: absolutely +not a bite; it won't hurt you, a little self-denial in the matter of +eating is the best thing in the world." + +"And what about drinking?" Again the doctor's answer varies. He may say: +"Oh, yes, you might drink a glass of lager now and then, or, if you +prefer it, a gin and soda or a whisky and Apollinaris, and I think +before going to bed I'd take a hot Scotch with a couple of lumps of +white sugar and bit of lemon-peel in it and a good grating of nutmeg on +the top." The doctor says this with real feeling, and his eye glistens +with the pure love of his profession. But if, on the other hand, the +doctor has spent the night before at a little gathering of medical +friends, he is very apt to forbid the patient to touch alcohol in any +shape, and to dismiss the subject with great severity. + +Of course, this treatment in and of itself would appear too transparent, +and would fail to inspire the patient with a proper confidence. But +nowadays this element is supplied by the work of the analytical +laboratory. Whatever is wrong with the patient, the doctor insists on +snipping off parts and pieces and extracts of him and sending them +mysteriously away to be analysed. He cuts off a lock of the patient's +hair, marks it, "Mr. Smith's Hair, October, 1910." Then he clips off the +lower part of the ear, and wraps it in paper, and labels it, "Part of +Mr. Smith's Ear, October, 1910." Then he looks the patient up and down, +with the scissors in his hand, and if he sees any likely part of him he +clips it off and wraps it up. Now this, oddly enough, is the very thing +that fills the patient up with that sense of personal importance which +is worth paying for. "Yes," says the bandaged patient, later in the day +to a group of friends much impressed, "the doctor thinks there may be a +slight anaesthesia of the prognosis, but he's sent my ear to New York +and my appendix to Baltimore and a lock of my hair to the editors of all +the medical journals, and meantime I am to keep very quiet and not exert +myself beyond drinking a hot Scotch with lemon and nutmeg every +half-hour." With that he sinks back faintly on his cushions, luxuriously +happy. + +And yet, isn't it funny? + +You and I and the rest of us--even if we know all this--as soon as we +have a pain within us, rush for a doctor as fast as a hack can take us. +Yes, personally, I even prefer an ambulance with a bell on it. It's more +soothing. + + + + +_The New Food_ + + +I see from the current columns of the daily press that "Professor Plumb, +of the University of Chicago, has just invented a highly concentrated +form of food. All the essential nutritive elements are put together in +the form of pellets, each of which contains from one to two hundred +times as much nourishment as an ounce of an ordinary article of diet. +These pellets, diluted with water, will form all that is necessary to +support life. The professor looks forward confidently to revolutionizing +the present food system." + +Now this kind of thing may be all very well in its way, but it is going +to have its drawbacks as well. In the bright future anticipated by +Professor Plumb, we can easily imagine such incidents as the following: + +The smiling family were gathered round the hospitable board. The table +was plenteously laid with a soup-plate in front of each beaming child, a +bucket of hot water before the radiant mother, and at the head of the +board the Christmas dinner of the happy home, warmly covered by a +thimble and resting on a poker chip. The expectant whispers of the +little ones were hushed as the father, rising from his chair, lifted the +thimble and disclosed a small pill of concentrated nourishment on the +chip before him. Christmas turkey, cranberry sauce, plum pudding, mince +pie--it was all there, all jammed into that little pill and only waiting +to expand. Then the father with deep reverence, and a devout eye +alternating between the pill and heaven, lifted his voice in a +benediction. + +At this moment there was an agonized cry from the mother. + +"Oh, Henry, quick! Baby has snatched the pill!" It was too true. Dear +little Gustavus Adolphus, the golden-haired baby boy, had grabbed the +whole Christmas dinner off the poker chip and bolted it. Three hundred +and fifty pounds of concentrated nourishment passed down the oesophagus +of the unthinking child. + +"Clap him on the back!" cried the distracted mother. "Give him water!" + +The idea was fatal. The water striking the pill caused it to expand. +There was a dull rumbling sound and then, with an awful bang, Gustavus +Adolphus exploded into fragments! + +And when they gathered the little corpse together, the baby lips were +parted in a lingering smile that could only be worn by a child who had +eaten thirteen Christmas dinners. + + + + +_A New Pathology_ + + +It has long been vaguely understood that the condition of a man's +clothes has a certain effect upon the health of both body and mind. The +well-known proverb, "Clothes make the man" has its origin in a general +recognition of the powerful influence of the habiliments in their +reaction upon the wearer. The same truth may be observed in the facts of +everyday life. On the one hand we remark the bold carriage and mental +vigour of a man attired in a new suit of clothes; on the other hand we +note the melancholy features of him who is conscious of a posterior +patch, or the haunted face of one suffering from internal loss of +buttons. But while common observation thus gives us a certain +familiarity with a few leading facts regarding the ailments and +influence of clothes, no attempt has as yet been made to reduce our +knowledge to a systematic form. At the same time the writer feels that a +valuable addition might be made to the science of medicine in this +direction. The numerous diseases which are caused by this fatal +influence should receive a scientific analysis, and their treatment be +included among the principles of the healing art. The diseases of the +clothes may roughly be divided into medical cases and surgical cases, +while these again fall into classes according to the particular garment +through which the sufferer is attacked. + + + MEDICAL CASES + +Probably no article of apparel is so liable to a diseased condition as +the trousers. It may be well, therefore, to treat first those maladies +to which they are subject. + +I. Contractio Pantalunae, or Shortening of the Legs of the Trousers, an +extremely painful malady most frequently found in the growing youth. The +first symptom is the appearance of a yawning space (lacuna) above the +boots, accompanied by an acute sense of humiliation and a morbid +anticipation of mockery. The application of treacle to the boots, +although commonly recommended, may rightly be condemned as too drastic a +remedy. The use of boots reaching to the knee, to be removed only at +night, will afford immediate relief. In connection with Contractio is +often found-- + +II. Inflatio Genu, or Bagging of the Knees of the Trousers, a disease +whose symptoms are similar to those above. The patient shows an aversion +to the standing posture, and, in acute cases, if the patient be +compelled to stand, the head is bent and the eye fixed with painful +rigidity upon the projecting blade formed at the knee of the trousers. + +In both of the above diseases anything that can be done to free the mind +of the patient from a morbid sense of his infirmity will do much to +improve the general tone of the system. + +III. Oases, or Patches, are liable to break out anywhere on the +trousers, and range in degree of gravity from those of a trifling nature +to those of a fatal character. The most distressing cases are those +where the patch assumes a different colour from that of the trousers +(dissimilitas coloris). In this instance the mind of the patient is +found to be in a sadly aberrated condition. A speedy improvement may, +however, be effected by cheerful society, books, flowers, and, above +all, by a complete change. + +IV. The overcoat is attacked by no serious disorders, except-- + +Phosphorescentia, or Glistening, a malady which indeed may often be +observed to affect the whole system. It is caused by decay of tissue +from old age and is generally aggravated by repeated brushing. A +peculiar feature of the complaint is the lack of veracity on the part of +the patient in reference to the cause of his uneasiness. Another +invariable symptom is his aversion to outdoor exercise; under various +pretexts, which it is the duty of his medical adviser firmly to combat, +he will avoid even a gentle walk in the streets. + +V. Of the waistcoat science recognizes but one disease-- + +Porriggia, an affliction caused by repeated spilling of porridge. It is +generally harmless, chiefly owing to the mental indifference of the +patient. It can be successfully treated by repeated fomentations of +benzine. + +VI. Mortificatio Tilis, or Greenness of the Hat, is a disease often +found in connection with Phosphorescentia (mentioned above), and +characterized by the same aversion to outdoor life. + +VII. Sterilitas, or Loss of Fur, is another disease of the hat, +especially prevalent in winter. It is not accurately known whether this +is caused by a falling out of the fur or by a cessation of growth. In +all diseases of the hat the mind of the patient is greatly depressed and +his countenance stamped with the deepest gloom. He is particularly +sensitive in regard to questions as to the previous history of the hat. + +Want of space precludes the mention of minor diseases, such as-- + +VIII. Odditus Soccorum, or oddness of the socks, a thing in itself +trifling, but of an alarming nature if met in combination with +Contractio Pantalunae. Cases are found where the patient, possibly on +the public platform or at a social gathering, is seized with a +consciousness of the malady so suddenly as to render medical assistance +futile. + + + SURGICAL CASES + +It is impossible to mention more than a few of the most typical cases of +diseases of this sort. + +I. Explosio, or Loss of Buttons, is the commonest malady demanding +surgical treatment. It consists of a succession of minor fractures, +possibly internal, which at first excite no alarm. A vague sense of +uneasiness is presently felt, which often leads the patient to seek +relief in the string habit--a habit which, if unduly indulged in, may +assume the proportions of a ruling passion. The use of sealing-wax, +while admirable as a temporary remedy for Explosio, should never be +allowed to gain a permanent hold upon the system. There is no doubt that +a persistent indulgence in the string habit, or the constant use of +sealing-wax, will result in-- + +II. Fractura Suspendorum, or Snapping of the Braces, which amounts to a +general collapse of the system. The patient is usually seized with a +severe attack of explosio, followed by a sudden sinking feeling and +sense of loss. A sound constitution may rally from the shock, but a +system undermined by the string habit invariably succumbs. + +III. Sectura Pantalunae, or Ripping of the Trousers, is generally caused +by sitting upon warm beeswax or leaning against a hook. In the case of +the very young it is not unfrequently accompanied by a distressing +suppuration of the shirt. This, however, is not remarked in adults. The +malady is rather mental than bodily, the mind of the patient being +racked by a keen sense of indignity and a feeling of unworthiness. The +only treatment is immediate isolation, with a careful stitching of the +affected part. + +In conclusion, it may be stated that at the first symptom of disease the +patient should not hesitate to put himself in the hands of a +professional tailor. In so brief a compass as the present article the +discussion has of necessity been rather suggestive than exhaustive. Much +yet remains to be done, and the subject opens wide to the inquiring eye. +The writer will, however, feel amply satisfied if this brief outline may +help to direct the attention of medical men to what is yet an unexplored +field. + + + + +_The Poet Answered_ + + +Dear sir: + +In answer to your repeated questions and requests which have appeared +for some years past in the columns of the rural press, I beg to submit +the following solutions of your chief difficulties:-- + +Topic I.--You frequently ask, where are the friends of your childhood, +and urge that they shall be brought back to you. As far as I am able to +learn, those of your friends who are not in jail are still right there +in your native village. You point out that they were wont to share your +gambols. If so, you are certainly entitled to have theirs now. + +Topic II.--You have taken occasion to say: + + "Give me not silk, nor rich attire, Nor gold, nor jewels rare." + +But, my dear fellow, this is preposterous. Why, these are the very +things I had bought for you. If you won't take any of these, I shall +have to give you factory cotton and cordwood. + +Topic III.--You also ask, "How fares my love across the sea?" +Intermediate, I presume. She would hardly travel steerage. + +Topic IV.--"Why was I born? Why should I breathe?" Here I quite agree +with you. I don't think you ought to breathe. + +Topic V.--You demand that I shall show you the man whose soul is dead +and then mark him. I am awfully sorry; the man was around here all day +yesterday, and if I had only known I could easily have marked him so +that we could pick him out again. + +Topic VI.--I notice that you frequently say, "Oh, for the sky of your +native land." Oh, for it, by all means, if you wish. But remember that +you already owe for a great deal. + +Topic VII.--On more than one occasion you wish to be informed, "What +boots it, that you idly dream?" Nothing boots it at present--a fact, +sir, which ought to afford you the highest gratification. + + + + +_The Force of Statistics_ + + +They were sitting on a seat of the car, immediately in front of me. I +was consequently able to hear all that they were saying. They were +evidently strangers who had dropped into a conversation. They both had +the air of men who considered themselves profoundly interesting as +minds. It was plain that each laboured under the impression that he was +a ripe thinker. + +One had just been reading a book which lay in his lap. + +"I've been reading some very interesting statistics," he was saying to +the other thinker. + +"Ah, statistics" said the other; "wonderful things, sir, statistics; +very fond of them myself." + +"I find, for instance," the first man went on, "that a drop of water is +filled with little ... with little ... I forget just what you call them +... little--er--things, every cubic inch containing--er--containing ... +let me see...." + +"Say a million," said the other thinker, encouragingly. + +"Yes, a million, or possibly a billion ... but at any rate, ever so many +of them." + +"Is it possible?" said the other. "But really, you know there are +wonderful things in the world. Now, coal ... take coal...." + +"Very, good," said his friend, "let us take coal," settling back in his +seat with the air of an intellect about to feed itself. + +"Do you know that every ton of coal burnt in an engine will drag a train +of cars as long as ... I forget the exact length, but say a train of +cars of such and such a length, and weighing, say so much ... from ... +from ... hum! for the moment the exact distance escapes me ... drag it +from...." + +"From here to the moon," suggested the other. + +"Ah, very likely; yes, from here to the moon. Wonderful, isn't it?" + +"But the most stupendous calculation of all, sir, is in regard to the +distance from the earth to the sun. Positively, sir, a +cannon-ball--er--fired at the sun...." + +"Fired at the sun," nodded the other, approvingly, as if he had often +seen it done. + +"And travelling at the rate of ... of...." + +"Of three cents a mile," hinted the listener. + +"No, no, you misunderstand me,--but travelling at a fearful rate, simply +fearful, sir, would take a hundred million--no, a hundred billion--in +short would take a scandalously long time in getting there--" + +At this point I could stand no more. I interrupted--"Provided it were +fired from Philadelphia," I said, and passed into the smoking-car. + + + + +_Men Who have Shaved Me_ + + +A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can tell you at what +exact hour the ball game of the day is to begin, can foretell its issue +without losing a stroke of the razor, and can explain the points of +inferiority of all the players, as compared with better men that he has +personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a professional. He can do +all this, and then stuff the customer's mouth with a soap-brush, and +leave him while he goes to the other end of the shop to make a side bet +with one of the other barbers on the outcome of the Autumn Handicap. In +the barber-shops they knew the result of the Jeffries-Johnson +prize-fight long before it happened. It is on information of this kind +that they make their living. The performance of shaving is only +incidental to it. Their real vocation in life is imparting information. +To the barber the outside world is made up of customers, who are to be +thrown into chairs, strapped, manacled, gagged with soap, and then given +such necessary information on the athletic events of the moment as will +carry them through the business hours of the day without open disgrace. + +As soon as the barber has properly filled up the customer with +information of this sort, he rapidly removes his whiskers as a sign that +the man is now fit to talk to, and lets him out of the chair. + +The public has grown to understand the situation. Every reasonable +business man is willing to sit and wait half an hour for a shave which +he could give himself in three minutes, because he knows that if he goes +down town without understanding exactly why Chicago lost two games +straight he will appear an ignoramus. + +At times, of course, the barber prefers to test his customer with a +question or two. He gets him pinned in the chair, with his head well +back, covers the customer's face with soap, and then planting his knee +on his chest and holding his hand firmly across the customer's mouth, to +prevent all utterance and to force him to swallow the soap, he asks: +"Well, what did you think of the Detroit-St. Louis game yesterday?" This +is not really meant for a question at all. It is only equivalent to +saying: "Now, you poor fool, I'll bet you don't know anything about the +great events of your country at all." There is a gurgle in the +customer's throat as if he were trying to answer, and his eyes are seen +to move sideways, but the barber merely thrusts the soap-brush into +each eye, and if any motion still persists, he breathes gin and +peppermint over the face, till all sign of life is extinct. Then he +talks the game over in detail with the barber at the next chair, each +leaning across an inanimate thing extended under steaming towels that +was once a man. + +To know all these things barbers have to be highly educated. It is true +that some of the greatest barbers that have ever lived have begun as +uneducated, illiterate men, and by sheer energy and indomitable industry +have forced their way to the front. But these are exceptions. To succeed +nowadays it is practically necessary to be a college graduate. As the +courses at Harvard and Yale have been found too superficial, there are +now established regular Barbers' Colleges, where a bright young man can +learn as much in three weeks as he would be likely to know after three +years at Harvard. The courses at these colleges cover such things as: +(1) Physiology, including Hair and its Destruction, The Origin and +Growth of Whiskers, Soap in its Relation to Eyesight; (2) Chemistry, +including lectures on Florida Water; and How to Make it out of Sardine +Oil; (3) Practical Anatomy, including The Scalp and How to Lift it, The +Ears and How to Remove them, and, as the Major Course for advanced +students, The Veins of the Face and how to open and close them at will +by the use of alum. + +The education of the customer is, as I have said, the chief part of the +barber's vocation. But it must be remembered that the incidental +function of removing his whiskers in order to mark him as a +well-informed man is also of importance, and demands long practice and +great natural aptitude. In the barbers' shops of modern cities shaving +has been brought to a high degree of perfection. A good barber is not +content to remove the whiskers of his client directly and immediately. +He prefers to cook him first. He does this by immersing the head in hot +water and covering the victim's face with steaming towels until he has +him boiled to a nice pink. From time to time the barber removes the +towels and looks at the face to see if it is yet boiled pink enough for +his satisfaction. If it is not, he replaces the towels again and jams +them down firmly with his hand until the cooking is finished. The final +result, however, amply justifies this trouble, and the well-boiled +customer only needs the addition of a few vegetables on the side to +present an extremely appetizing appearance. + +During the process of the shave, it is customary for the barber to apply +the particular kind of mental torture known as the third degree. This is +done by terrorizing the patient as to the very evident and proximate +loss of all his hair and whiskers, which the barber is enabled by his +experience to foretell. "Your hair," he says, very sadly and +sympathetically, "is all falling out. Better let me give you a shampoo?" +"No." "Let me singe your hair to close up the follicles?" "No." "Let me +plug up the ends of your hair with sealing-wax, it's the only thing that +will save it for you?" "No." "Let me rub an egg on your scalp?" "No." +"Let me squirt a lemon on your eyebrows?" "No." + +The barber sees that he is dealing with a man of determination, and he +warms to his task. He bends low and whispers into the prostrate ear: +"You've got a good many grey hairs coming in; better let me give you an +application of Hairocene, only cost you half a dollar?" "No." "Your +face," he whispers again, with a soft, caressing voice, "is all covered +with wrinkles; better let me rub some of this Rejuvenator into the +face." + +This process is continued until one of two things happens. Either the +customer is obdurate, and staggers to his feet at last and gropes his +way out of the shop with the knowledge that he is a wrinkled, +prematurely senile man, whose wicked life is stamped upon his face, and +whose unstopped hair-ends and failing follicles menace him with the +certainty of complete baldness within twenty-four hours--or else, as in +nearly all instances, he succumbs. In the latter case, immediately on +his saying "yes" there is a shout of exultation from the barber, a roar +of steaming water, and within a moment two barbers have grabbed him by +the feet and thrown him under the tap, and, in spite of his struggles, +are giving him the Hydro-magnetic treatment. When he emerges from their +hands, he steps out of the shop looking as if he had been varnished. + +But even the application of the Hydro-magnetic and the Rejuvenator do +not by any means exhaust the resources of the up-to-date barber. He +prefers to perform on the customer a whole variety of subsidiary +services not directly connected with shaving, but carried on during the +process of the shave. + +In a good, up-to-date shop, while one man is shaving the customer, +others black his boots; brush his clothes, darn his socks, point his +nails, enamel his teeth, polish his eyes, and alter the shape of any of +his joints which they think unsightly. During this operation they often +stand seven or eight deep round a customer, fighting for a chance to get +at him. + +All of these remarks apply to barber-shops in the city, and not to +country places. In the country there is only one barber and one customer +at a time. The thing assumes the aspect of a straight-out, +rough-and-tumble, catch-as-catch-can fight, with a few spectators +sitting round the shop to see fair play. In the city they can shave a +man without removing any of his clothes. But in the country, where the +customer insists on getting the full value for his money, they remove +the collar and necktie, the coat and the waistcoat, and, for a really +good shave and hair-cut, the customer is stripped to the waist. The +barber can then take a rush at him from the other side of the room, and +drive the clippers up the full length of the spine, so as to come at the +heavier hair on the back of the head with the impact of a lawn-mower +driven into long grass. + + + + +_Getting the Thread of It_ + + +Have you ever had a man try to explain to you what happened in a book as +far as he has read? It is a most instructive thing. Sinclair, the man +who shares my rooms with me, made such an attempt the other night. I had +come in cold and tired from a walk and found him full of excitement, +with a bulky magazine in one hand and a paper-cutter gripped in the +other. + +"Say, here's a grand story," he burst out as soon as I came in; "it's +great! most fascinating thing I ever read. Wait till I read you some of +it. I'll just tell you what has happened up to where I am--you'll easily +catch the thread of it--and then we'll finish it together." + +I wasn't feeling in a very responsive mood, but I saw no way to stop +him, so I merely said, "All right, throw me your thread, I'll catch it." + +"Well," Sinclair began with great animation, "this count gets this +letter...." + +"Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?" + +"Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letter from this +Porphirio." + +"From which Porphirio?" + +"Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sent it," Sinclair +exclaimed a little impatiently--"sent it through Demonio and told him to +watch for him with him, and kill him when he got him." + +"Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and who is to get +stabbed?" + +"They're going to stab Demonio." + +"And who brought the letter?" + +"Demonio." + +"Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring it for?" + +"Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slick part of it," +and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at the thought of it. "You see, +this Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere...." + +"Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?" + +"It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league with this Fra +Fraliccolo...." + +A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said firmly, "if the +scene of this story is laid in the Highlands, I refuse to listen to it. +Call it off." + +"No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right. It's laid in +Italy ... time of Pius the something. He comes in--say, but he's great! +so darned crafty. It's him, you know, that persuades this +Franciscan...." + +"Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?" + +"Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly. "You see, Pio +tries to...." + +"Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?" + +"Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius. He tries to get +Fra Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere to steal the document +from ... let me see; what was he called?...Oh, yes ... from the Dog of +Venice, so that ... or ... no, hang it, you put me out, that's all +wrong. It's the other way round. Pio wasn't clever at all; he's a +regular darned fool. It's the Dog that's crafty. By Jove, he's fine," +Sinclair went on; warming up to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything +he wants. He makes this Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings, you +know, he's the tool of the Dog)...makes him steal the document off +Porphirio, and...." + +"But how does he get him to do that?" I asked. + +"Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, so he makes +Demonio scheme round till he gets old Pio--er--gets him under his thumb, +and then, of course, Pio thinks that Porphirio--I mean he thinks that he +has Porphirio--er--has him under his thumb." + +"Half a minute, Sinclair," I said, "who did you say was under the Dog's +thumb?" + +"Demonio." + +"Thanks. I was mixed in the thumbs. Go on." + +"Well, just when things are like this...." + +"Like what?" + +"Like I said." + +"All right." + +"Who should turn up and thwart the whole scheme, but this Signorina +Tarara in her domino...." + +"Hully Gee!" I said, "you make my head ache. What the deuce does she +come in her domino for?" + +"Why, to thwart it." + +"To thwart what?" + +"Thwart the whole darned thing," Sinclair exclaimed emphatically. + +"But can't she thwart it without her domino?" + +"I should think not! You see, if it hadn't been for the domino, the Dog +would have spotted her quick as a wink. Only when he sees her in the +domino with this rose in her hair, he thinks she must be Lucia dell' +Esterolla." + +"Say, he fools himself, doesn't he? Who's this last girl?" + +"Lucia? Oh, she's great!" Sinclair said. "She's one of those Southern +natures, you know, full of--er--full of...." + +"Full of fun," I suggested. + +"Oh, hang it all, don't make fun of it! Well, anyhow, she's sister, you +understand, to the Contessa Carantarata, and that's why Fra Fraliccolo, +or ... hold on, that's not it, no, no, she's not sister to anybody. +She's cousin, that's it; or, anyway, she thinks she is cousin to Fra +Fraliccolo himself, and that's why Pio tries to stab Fra Fraliccolo." + +"Oh, yes," I assented, "naturally he would." + +"Ah," Sinclair said hopefully, getting his paper-cutter ready to cut the +next pages, "you begin to get the thread now, don't you?" + +"Oh, fine!" I said. "The people in it are the Dog and Pio, and Carlo +Carlotti the Condottiere, and those others that we spoke of." + +"That's right," Sinclair said. "Of course, there are more still that I +can tell you about if...." + +"Oh, never mind," I said, "I'll work along with those, they're a pretty +representative crowd. Then Porphirio is under Pio's thumb, and Pio is +under Demonio's thumb, and the Dog is crafty, and Lucia is full of +something all the time. Oh, I've got a mighty clear idea of it," I +concluded bitterly. + +"Oh, you've got it," Sinclair said, "I knew you'd like it. Now we'll go +on. I'll just finish to the bottom of my page and then I'll go on +aloud." + +He ran his eyes rapidly over the lines till he came to the bottom of the +page, then he cut the leaves and turned over. I saw his eye rest on the +half-dozen lines that confronted him on the next page with an expression +of utter consternation. + +"Well, I will be cursed!" he said at length. + +"What's the matter?" I said gently, with a great joy at my heart. + +"This infernal thing's a serial," he gasped, as he pointed at the words, +"To be continued," "and that's all there is in this number." + + + + +_Telling His Faults_ + + +"Oh, do, Mr. Sapling," said the beautiful girl at the summer hotel, "do +let me read the palm of your hand! I can tell you all your faults." + +Mr. Sapling gave an inarticulate gurgle and a roseate flush swept over +his countenance as he surrendered his palm to the grasp of the fair +enchantress. + +"Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr. Sapling!" she +cried. + +Mr. Sapling looked it. + +"To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly and reflectingly, "you +are dreadfully cynical: you hardly believe in anything at all, and +you've utterly no faith in us poor women." + +The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the features of Mr. Sapling +into a ray of chastened imbecility, was distorted in an effort at +cynicism. + +"Then your next fault is that you are too determined; much too +determined. When once you have set your will on any object, you crush +every obstacle under your feet." + +Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, but began to feel +calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had been all these things without +knowing it. + +"Then you are cold and sarcastic." + +Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. He succeeded in a rude +leer. + +"And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing. You have drained +philosophy to the dregs, and scoff at everything." + +Mr. Sapling's inner feeling was that from now on he would simply scoff +and scoff and scoff. + +"Your only redeeming quality is that you are generous. You have tried to +kill even this, but cannot. Yes," concluded the beautiful girl, "those +are your faults, generous still, but cold, cynical, and relentless. Good +night, Mr. Sapling." + +And resisting all entreaties the beautiful girl passed from the verandah +of the hotel and vanished. + +And when later in the evening the brother of the beautiful girl borrowed +Mr. Sapling's tennis racket, and his bicycle for a fortnight, and the +father of the beautiful girl got Sapling to endorse his note for a +couple of hundreds, and her uncle Zephas borrowed his bedroom candle and +used his razor to cut up a plug of tobacco, Mr. Sapling felt proud to be +acquainted with the family. + + + + +_Winter Pastimes_ + + +It is in the depth of winter, when the intense cold renders it desirable +to stay at home, that the really Pleasant Family is wont to serve +invitations upon a few friends to spend a Quiet Evening. + +It is at these gatherings that that gay thing, the indoor winter game, +becomes rampant. It is there that the old euchre deck and the staring +domino become fair and beautiful things; that the rattle of the Loto +counter rejoices the heart, that the old riddle feels the sap stirring +in its limbs again, and the amusing spilikin completes the mental ruin +of the jaded guest. Then does the Jolly Maiden Aunt propound the query: +What is the difference between an elephant and a silk hat? Or declare +that her first is a vowel, her second a preposition, and her third an +archipelago. It is to crown such a quiet evening, and to give the +finishing stroke to those of the visitors who have not escaped early, +with a fierce purpose of getting at the saloons before they have time to +close, that the indoor game or family reservoir of fun is dragged from +its long sleep. It is spread out upon the table. Its paper of directions +is unfolded. Its cards, its counters, its pointers and its markers are +distributed around the table, and the visitor forces a look of reckless +pleasure upon his face. Then the "few simple directions" are read aloud +by the Jolly Aunt, instructing each player to challenge the player +holding the golden letter corresponding to the digit next in order, to +name a dead author beginning with X, failing which the player must +declare himself in fault, and pay the forfeit of handing over to the +Jolly Aunt his gold watch and all his money, or having a hot plate put +down his neck. + +With a view to bringing some relief to the guests at entertainments of +this kind, I have endeavoured to construct one or two little winter +pastimes of a novel character. They are quite inexpensive, and as they +need no background of higher arithmetic or ancient history, they are +within reach of the humblest intellect. Here is one of them. It is +called Indoor Football, or Football without a Ball. + +In this game any number of players, from fifteen to thirty, seat +themselves in a heap on any one player, usually the player next to the +dealer. They then challenge him to get up, while one player stands with +a stop-watch in his hand and counts forty seconds. Should the first +player fail to rise before forty seconds are counted, the player with +the watch declares him suffocated. This is called a "Down" and counts +one. The player who was the Down is then leant against the wall; his +wind is supposed to be squeezed out. The player called the referee then +blows a whistle and the players select another player and score a down +off him. While the player is supposed to be down, all the rest must +remain seated as before, and not rise from him until the referee by +counting forty and blowing his whistle announces that in his opinion the +other player is stifled. He is then leant against the wall beside the +first player. When the whistle again blows the player nearest the +referee strikes him behind the right ear. This is a "Touch," and counts +two. + +It is impossible, of course, to give all the rules in detail. I might +add, however, that while it counts TWO to strike the referee, to kick +him counts THREE. To break his arm or leg counts FOUR, and to kill him +outright is called GRAND SLAM and counts one game. + +Here is another little thing that I have worked out, which is superior +to parlour games in that it combines their intense excitement with sound +out-of-door exercise. + +It is easily comprehended, and can be played by any number of players, +old and young. It requires no other apparatus than a trolley car of the +ordinary type, a mile or two of track, and a few thousand volts of +electricity. It is called: + + The Suburban Trolley Car + A Holiday Game for Old and Young. + +The chief part in the game is taken by two players who station +themselves one at each end of the car, and who adopt some distinctive +costumes to indicate that they are "it." The other players occupy the +body of the car, or take up their position at intervals along the track. + +The object of each player should be to enter the car as stealthily as +possible in such a way as to escape the notice of the players in +distinctive dress. Should he fail to do this he must pay the philopena +or forfeit. Of these there are two: philopena No. 1, the payment of five +cents, and philopena No. 2, being thrown off the car by the neck. Each +player may elect which philopena he will pay. Any player who escapes +paying the philopena scores one. + +The players who are in the car may elect to adopt a standing attitude, +or to seat themselves, but no player may seat himself in the lap of +another without the second player's consent. The object of those who +elect to remain standing is to place their feet upon the toes of those +who sit; when they do this they score. The object of those who elect to +sit is to elude the feet of the standing players. Much merriment is thus +occasioned. + +The player in distinctive costume at the front of the car controls a +crank, by means of which he is enabled to bring the car to a sudden +stop, or to cause it to plunge violently forward. His aim in so doing is +to cause all the standing players to fall over backward. Every time he +does this he scores. For this purpose he is generally in collusion with +the other player in distinctive costume, whose business it is to let him +know by a series of bells and signals when the players are not looking, +and can be easily thrown down. A sharp fall of this sort gives rise to +no end of banter and good-natured drollery, directed against the two +players who are "it." + +Should a player who is thus thrown backward save himself from falling by +sitting down in the lap of a female player, he scores one. Any player +who scores in this manner is entitled to remain seated while he may +count six, after which he must remove himself or pay philopena No. 2. + +Should the player who controls the crank perceive a player upon the +street desirous of joining in the game by entering the car, his object +should be: primo, to run over him and kill him; secundo, to kill him by +any other means in his power; tertio, to let him into the car, but to +exact the usual philopena. + +Should a player, in thus attempting to get on the car from without, +become entangled in the machinery, the player controlling the crank +shouts "huff!" and the car is supposed to pass over him. All within the +car score one. + +A fine spice of the ludicrous may be added to the game by each player +pretending that he has a destination or stopping-place, where he would +wish to alight. It now becomes the aim of the two players who are "it" +to carry him past his point. A player who is thus carried beyond his +imaginary stopping-place must feign a violent passion, and imitate angry +gesticulations. He may, in addition, feign a great age or a painful +infirmity, which will be found to occasion the most convulsive fun for +the other players in the game. + +These are the main outlines of this most amusing pastime. Many other +agreeable features may, of course, be readily introduced by persons of +humour and imagination. + + + + +_Number Fifty-Six_ + + +What I narrate was told me one winter's evening by my friend Ah-Yen in +the little room behind his laundry. Ah-Yen is a quiet little celestial +with a grave and thoughtful face, and that melancholy contemplative +disposition so often noticed in his countrymen. Between myself and +Ah-Yen there exists a friendship of some years' standing, and we spend +many a long evening in the dimly lighted room behind his shop, smoking a +dreamy pipe together and plunged in silent meditation. I am chiefly +attracted to my friend by the highly imaginative cast of his mind, which +is, I believe, a trait of the Eastern character and which enables him to +forget to a great extent the sordid cares of his calling in an inner +life of his own creation. Of the keen, analytical side of his mind, I +was in entire ignorance until the evening of which I write. + +The room where we sat was small and dingy, with but little furniture +except our chairs and the little table at which we filled and arranged +our pipes, and was lighted only by a tallow candle. There were a few +pictures on the walls, for the most part rude prints cut from the +columns of the daily press and pasted up to hide the bareness of the +room. Only one picture was in any way noticeable, a portrait admirably +executed in pen and ink. The face was that of a young man, a very +beautiful face, but one of infinite sadness. I had long been aware, +although I know not how, that Ah-Yen had met with a great sorrow, and +had in some way connected the fact with this portrait. I had always +refrained, however, from asking him about it, and it was not until the +evening in question that I knew its history. + +We had been smoking in silence for some time when Ah-Yen spoke. My +friend is a man of culture and wide reading, and his English is +consequently perfect in its construction; his speech is, of course, +marked by the lingering liquid accent of his country which I will not +attempt to reproduce. + +"I see," he said, "that you have been examining the portrait of my +unhappy friend, Fifty-Six. I have never yet told you of my bereavement, +but as to-night is the anniversary of his death, I would fain speak of +him for a while." + +Ah-Yen paused; I lighted my pipe afresh, and nodded to him to show that +I was listening. + +"I do not know," he went on, "at what precise time Fifty-Six came into +my life. I could indeed find it out by examining my books, but I have +never troubled to do so. Naturally I took no more interest in him at +first than in any other of my customers--less, perhaps, since he never +in the course of our connection brought his clothes to me himself but +always sent them by a boy. When I presently perceived that he was +becoming one of my regular customers, I allotted to him his number, +Fifty-Six, and began to speculate as to who and what he was. Before long +I had reached several conclusions in regard to my unknown client. The +quality of his linen showed me that, if not rich, he was at any rate +fairly well off. I could see that he was a young man of regular +Christian life, who went out into society to a certain extent; this I +could tell from his sending the same number of articles to the laundry, +from his washing always coming on Saturday night, and from the fact that +he wore a dress shirt about once a week. In disposition he was a modest, +unassuming fellow, for his collars were only two inches high." + +I stared at Ah-Yen in some amazement, the recent publications of a +favourite novelist had rendered me familiar with this process of +analytical reasoning, but I was prepared for no such revelations from my +Eastern friend. + +"When I first knew him," Ah-Yen went on, "Fifty-Six was a student at the +university. This, of course, I did not know for some time. I inferred +it, however, in the course of time, from his absence from town during +the four summer months, and from the fact that during the time of the +university examinations the cuffs of his shirts came to me covered with +dates, formulas, and propositions in geometry. I followed him with no +little interest through his university career. During the four years +which it lasted, I washed for him every week; my regular connection with +him and the insight which my observation gave me into the lovable +character of the man, deepened my first esteem into a profound affection +and I became most anxious for his success. I helped him at each +succeeding examination, as far as lay in my power, by starching his +shirts half-way to the elbow, so as to leave him as much room as +possible for annotations. My anxiety during the strain of his final +examination I will not attempt to describe. That Fifty-Six was +undergoing the great crisis of his academic career, I could infer from +the state of his handkerchiefs which, in apparent unconsciousness, he +used as pen-wipers during the final test. His conduct throughout the +examination bore witness to the moral development which had taken place +in his character during his career as an undergraduate; for the notes +upon his cuffs which had been so copious at his earlier examinations +were limited now to a few hints, and these upon topics so intricate as +to defy an ordinary memory. It was with a thrill of joy that I at last +received in his laundry bundle one Saturday early in June, a ruffled +dress shirt, the bosom of which was thickly spattered with the spillings +of the wine-cup, and realized that Fifty-Six had banqueted as a Bachelor +of Arts. + +"In the following winter the habit of wiping his pen upon his +handkerchief, which I had remarked during his final examination, became +chronic with him, and I knew that he had entered upon the study of law. +He worked hard during that year, and dress shirts almost disappeared +from his weekly bundle. It was in the following winter, the second year +of his legal studies, that the tragedy of his life began. I became aware +that a change had come over his laundry; from one, or at most two a +week, his dress shirts rose to four, and silk handkerchiefs began to +replace his linen ones. It dawned upon me that Fifty-Six was abandoning +the rigorous tenor of his student life and was going into society. I +presently perceived something more; Fifty-Six was in love. It was soon +impossible to doubt it. He was wearing seven shirts a week; linen +handkerchiefs disappeared from his laundry; his collars rose from two +inches to two and a quarter, and finally to two and a half. I have in my +possession one of his laundry lists of that period; a glance at it will +show the scrupulous care which he bestowed upon his person. Well do I +remember the dawning hopes of those days, alternating with the gloomiest +despair. Each Saturday I opened his bundle with a trembling eagerness to +catch the first signs of a return of his love. I helped my friend in +every way that I could. His shirts and collars were masterpieces of my +art, though my hand often shook with agitation as I applied the starch. +She was a brave noble girl, that I knew; her influence was elevating the +whole nature of Fifty-Six; until now he had had in his possession a +certain number of detached cuffs and false shirt-fronts. These he +discarded now,--at first the false shirt-fronts, scorning the very idea +of fraud, and after a time, in his enthusiasm, abandoning even the +cuffs. I cannot look back upon those bright happy days of courtship +without a sigh. + +"The happiness of Fifty-Six seemed to enter into and fill my whole life. +I lived but from Saturday to Saturday. The appearance of false +shirt-fronts would cast me to the lowest depths of despair; their +absence raised me to a pinnacle of hope. It was not till winter softened +into spring that Fifty-Six nerved himself to learn his fate. One +Saturday he sent me a new white waistcoat, a garment which had hitherto +been shunned by his modest nature, to prepare for his use. I bestowed +upon it all the resources of my art; I read his purpose in it. On the +Saturday following it was returned to me and, with tears of joy, I +marked where a warm little hand had rested fondly on the right shoulder, +and knew that Fifty-Six was the accepted lover of his sweetheart." + +Ah-Yen paused and sat for some time silent; his pipe had sputtered out +and lay cold in the hollow of his hand; his eye was fixed upon the wall +where the light and shadows shifted in the dull flickering of the +candle. At last he spoke again: + +"I will not dwell upon the happy days that ensued--days of gaudy summer +neckties and white waistcoats, of spotless shirts and lofty collars worn +but a single day by the fastidious lover. Our happiness seemed complete +and I asked no more from fate. Alas! it was not destined to continue! +When the bright days of summer were fading into autumn, I was grieved to +notice an occasional quarrel--only four shirts instead of seven, or the +reappearance of the abandoned cuffs and shirt-fronts. Reconciliations +followed, with tears of penitence upon the shoulder of the white +waistcoat, and the seven shirts came back. But the quarrels grew more +frequent and there came at times stormy scenes of passionate emotion +that left a track of broken buttons down the waistcoat. The shirts went +slowly down to three, then fell to two, and the collars of my unhappy +friend subsided to an inch and three-quarters. In vain I lavished my +utmost care upon Fifty-Six. It seemed to my tortured mind that the gloss +upon his shirts and collars would have melted a heart of stone. Alas! my +every effort at reconciliation seemed to fail. An awful month passed; +the false fronts and detached cuffs were all back again; the unhappy +lover seemed to glory in their perfidy. At last, one gloomy evening, I +found on opening his bundle that he had bought a stock of celluloids, +and my heart told me that she had abandoned him for ever. Of what my +poor friend suffered at this time, I can give you no idea; suffice it to +say that he passed from celluloid to a blue flannel shirt and from blue +to grey. The sight of a red cotton handkerchief in his wash at length +warned me that his disappointed love had unhinged his mind, and I feared +the worst. Then came an agonizing interval of three weeks during which +he sent me nothing, and after that came the last parcel that I ever +received from him an enormous bundle that seemed to contain all his +effects. In this, to my horror, I discovered one shirt the breast of +which was stained a deep crimson with his blood, and pierced by a ragged +hole that showed where a bullet had singed through into his heart. + +"A fortnight before, I remembered having heard the street boys crying +the news of an appalling suicide, and I know now that it must have been +he. After the first shock of my grief had passed, I sought to keep him +in my memory by drawing the portrait which hangs beside you. I have some +skill in the art, and I feel assured that I have caught the expression +of his face. The picture is, of course, an ideal one, for, as you know, +I never saw Fifty-Six." + +The bell on the door of the outer shop tinkled at the entrance of a +customer. Ah-Yen rose with that air of quiet resignation that habitually +marked his demeanour, and remained for some time in the shop. When he +returned he seemed in no mood to continue speaking of his lost friend. I +left him soon after and walked sorrowfully home to my lodgings. On my +way I mused much upon my little Eastern friend and the sympathetic grasp +of his imagination. But a burden lay heavy on my heart--something I +would fain have told him but which I could not bear to mention. I could +not find it in my heart to shatter the airy castle of his fancy. For my +life has been secluded and lonely and I have known no love like that of +my ideal friend. Yet I have a haunting recollection of a certain huge +bundle of washing that I sent to him about a year ago. I had been absent +from town for three weeks and my laundry was much larger than usual in +consequence. And if I mistake not there was in the bundle a tattered +shirt that had been grievously stained by the breaking of a bottle of +red ink in my portmanteau, and burnt in one place where an ash fell from +my cigar as I made up the bundle. Of all this I cannot feel absolutely +certain, yet I know at least that until a year ago, when I transferred +my custom to a more modern establishment, my laundry number with Ah-Yen +was Fifty-Six. + + + + +_Aristocratic Education_ + + +House of Lords, Jan. 25, 1920.--The House of Lords commenced to-day in +Committee the consideration of Clause No. 52,000 of the Education Bill, +dealing with the teaching of Geometry in the schools. + +The Leader of the Government in presenting the clause urged upon their +Lordships the need of conciliation. The Bill, he said, had now been +before their Lordships for sixteen years. The Government had made every +concession. They had accepted all the amendments of their Lordships on +the opposite side in regard to the original provisions of the Bill. They +had consented also to insert in the Bill a detailed programme of studies +of which the present clause, enunciating the fifth proposition of +Euclid, was a part. He would therefore ask their Lordships to accept the +clause drafted as follows: + +"The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, and if the +equal sides of the triangle are produced, the exterior angles will also +be equal." + +He would hasten to add that the Government had no intention of producing +the sides. Contingencies might arise to render such a course necessary, +but in that case their Lordships would receive an early intimation of +the fact. + +The Archbishop of Canterbury spoke against the clause. He considered it, +in its present form, too secular. He should wish to amend the clause so +as to make it read: + +"The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are, in every Christian +community, equal, and if the sides be produced by a member of a +Christian congregation, the exterior angles will be equal." + +He was aware, he continued, that the angles at the base of an isosceles +triangle are extremely equal, but he must remind the Government that the +Church had been aware of this for several years past. He was willing +also to admit that the opposite sides and ends of a parallelogram are +equal, but he thought that such admission should be coupled with a +distinct recognition of the existence of a Supreme Being. + +The Leader of the Government accepted His Grace's amendment with +pleasure. He considered it the brightest amendment His Grace had made +that week. The Government, he said, was aware of the intimate relation +in which His Grace stood to the bottom end of a parallelogram and was +prepared to respect it. + +Lord Halifax rose to offer a further amendment. He thought the present +case was one in which the "four-fifths" clause ought to apply: he should +wish it stated that the angles are equal for two days every week, except +in the case of schools where four-fifths of the parents are +conscientiously opposed to the use of the isosceles triangle. + +The Leader of the Government thought the amendment a singularly pleasing +one. He accepted it and would like it understood that the words +isosceles triangle were not meant in any offensive sense. + +Lord Rosebery spoke at some length. He considered the clause unfair to +Scotland, where the high state of morality rendered education +unnecessary. Unless an amendment in this sense was accepted, it might be +necessary to reconsider the Act of Union of 1707. + +The Leader of the Government said that Lord Rosebery's amendment was the +best he had heard yet. The Government accepted it at once. They were +willing to make every concession. They would, if need be, reconsider the +Norman Conquest. + +The Duke of Devonshire took exception to the part of the clause relating +to the production of the sides. He did not think the country was +prepared for it. It was unfair to the producer. He would like the clause +altered to read, "if the sides be produced in the home market." + +The Leader of the Government accepted with pleasure His Grace's +amendment. He considered it quite sensible. He would now, as it was near +the hour of rising, present the clause in its revised form. He hoped, +however, that their Lordships would find time to think out some further +amendments for the evening sitting. + +The clause was then read. + +His Grace of Canterbury then moved that the House, in all humility, +adjourn for dinner. + + + + +_The Conjurer's Revenge_ + + +"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer, "having shown you that +the cloth is absolutely empty, I will proceed to take from it a bowl of +goldfish. Presto!" + +All around the hall people were saying, "Oh, how wonderful! How does he +do it?" + +But the Quick Man on the front seat said in a big whisper to the people +near him, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + +Then the people nodded brightly at the Quick Man and said, "Oh, of +course"; and everybody whispered round the hall, +"He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + +"My next trick," said the conjurer, "is the famous Hindostanee rings. +You will notice that the rings are apparently separate; at a blow they +all join (clang, clang, clang)--Presto!" + +There was a general buzz of stupefaction till the Quick Man was heard to +whisper, "He-must-have-had-another-lot-up-his-sleeve." + +Again everybody nodded and whispered, "The-rings-were-up-his-sleeve." + +The brow of the conjurer was clouded with a gathering frown. + +"I will now," he continued, "show you a most amusing trick by which I am +enabled to take any number of eggs from a hat. Will some gentleman +kindly lend me his hat? Ah, thank you--Presto!" + +He extracted seventeen eggs, and for thirty-five seconds the audience +began to think that he was wonderful. Then the Quick Man whispered along +the front bench, "He-has-a-hen-up-his-sleeve," and all the people +whispered it on. "He-has-a-lot-of-hens-up-his-sleeve." + +The egg trick was ruined. + +It went on like that all through. It transpired from the whispers of the +Quick Man that the conjurer must have concealed up his sleeve, in +addition to the rings, hens, and fish, several packs of cards, a loaf of +bread, a doll's cradle, a live guinea-pig, a fifty-cent piece, and a +rocking-chair. + +The reputation of the conjurer was rapidly sinking below zero. At the +close of the evening he rallied for a final effort. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I will present to you, in conclusion, +the famous Japanese trick recently invented by the natives of Tipperary. +Will you, sir," he continued turning toward the Quick Man, "will you +kindly hand me your gold watch?" + +It was passed to him. + +"Have I your permission to put it into this mortar and pound it to +pieces?" he asked savagely. + +The Quick Man nodded and smiled. + +The conjurer threw the watch into the mortar and grasped a sledge hammer +from the table. There was a sound of violent smashing, +"He's-slipped-it-up-his-sleeve," whispered the Quick Man. + +"Now, sir," continued the conjurer, "will you allow me to take your +handkerchief and punch holes in it? Thank you. You see, ladies and +gentlemen, there is no deception; the holes are visible to the eye." + +The face of the Quick Man beamed. This time the real mystery of the +thing fascinated him. + +"And now, sir, will you kindly pass me your silk hat and allow me to +dance on it? Thank you." + +The conjurer made a few rapid passes with his feet and exhibited the hat +crushed beyond recognition. + +"And will you now, sir, take off your celluloid collar and permit me to +burn it in the candle? Thank you, sir. And will you allow me to smash +your spectacles for you with my hammer? Thank you." + +By this time the features of the Quick Man were assuming a puzzled +expression. "This thing beats me," he whispered, "I don't see through it +a bit." + +There was a great hush upon the audience. Then the conjurer drew himself +up to his full height and, with a withering look at the Quick Man, he +concluded: + +"Ladies and gentlemen, you will observe that I have, with this +gentleman's permission, broken his watch, burnt his collar, smashed his +spectacles, and danced on his hat. If he will give me the further +permission to paint green stripes on his overcoat, or to tie his +suspenders in a knot, I shall be delighted to entertain you. If not, the +performance is at an end." + +And amid a glorious burst of music from the orchestra the curtain fell, +and the audience dispersed, convinced that there are some tricks, at any +rate, that are not done up the conjurer's sleeve. + + + + +_Hints to Travellers_ + + +The following hints and observations have occurred to me during a recent +trip across the continent: they are written in no spirit of complaint +against existing railroad methods, but merely in the hope that they may +prove useful to those who travel, like myself, in a spirit of meek, +observant ignorance. + +1. Sleeping in a Pullman car presents some difficulties to the novice. +Care should be taken to allay all sense of danger. The frequent +whistling of the engine during the night is apt to be a source of alarm. +Find out, therefore, before travelling, the meaning of the various +whistles. One means "station," two, "railroad crossing," and so on. Five +whistles, short and rapid, mean sudden danger. When you hear whistles in +the night, sit up smartly in your bunk and count them. Should they reach +five, draw on your trousers over your pyjamas and leave the train +instantly. As a further precaution against accident, sleep with the feet +towards the engine if you prefer to have the feet crushed, or with the +head towards the engine, if you think it best to have the head crushed. +In making this decision try to be as unselfish as possible. If +indifferent, sleep crosswise with the head hanging over into the aisle. + +2. I have devoted some thought to the proper method of changing trains. +The system which I have observed to be the most popular with travellers +of my own class, is something as follows: Suppose that you have been +told on leaving New York that you are to change at Kansas City. The +evening before approaching Kansas City, stop the conductor in the aisle +of the car (you can do this best by putting out your foot and tripping +him), and say politely, "Do I change at Kansas City?" He says "Yes." +Very good. Don't believe him. On going into the dining-car for supper, +take a negro aside and put it to him as a personal matter between a +white man and a black, whether he thinks you ought to change at Kansas +City. Don't be satisfied with this. In the course of the evening pass +through the entire train from time to time, and say to people casually, +"Oh, can you tell me if I change at Kansas City?" Ask the conductor +about it a few more times in the evening: a repetition of the question +will ensure pleasant relations with him. Before falling asleep watch for +his passage and ask him through the curtains of your berth, "Oh, by the +way, did you say I changed at Kansas City?" If he refuses to stop, hook +him by the neck with your walking-stick, and draw him gently to your +bedside. In the morning when the train stops and a man calls, "Kansas +City! All change!" approach the conductor again and say, "Is this Kansas +City?" Don't be discouraged at his answer. Pick yourself up and go to +the other end of the car and say to the brakesman, "Do you know, sir, if +this is Kansas City?" Don't be too easily convinced. Remember that both +brakesman and conductor may be in collusion to deceive you. Look around, +therefore, for the name of the station on the signboard. Having found +it, alight and ask the first man you see if this is Kansas City. He will +answer, "Why, where in blank are your blank eyes? Can't you see it +there, plain as blank?" When you hear language of this sort, ask no +more. You are now in Kansas and this is Kansas City. + +3. I have observed that it is now the practice of the conductors to +stick bits of paper in the hats of the passengers. They do this, I +believe, to mark which ones they like best. The device is pretty, and +adds much to the scenic appearance of the car. But I notice with pain +that the system is fraught with much trouble for the conductors. The +task of crushing two or three passengers together, in order to reach +over them and stick a ticket into the chinks of a silk skull cap is +embarrassing for a conductor of refined feelings. It would be simpler if +the conductor should carry a small hammer and a packet of shingle nails +and nail the paid-up passenger to the back of the seat. Or better still, +let the conductor carry a small pot of paint and a brush, and mark the +passengers in such a way that he cannot easily mistake them. In the case +of bald-headed passengers, the hats might be politely removed and red +crosses painted on the craniums. This will indicate that they are bald. +Through passengers might be distinguished by a complete coat of paint. +In the hands of a man of taste, much might be effected by a little +grouping of painted passengers and the leisure time of the conductor +agreeably occupied. + +4. I have observed in travelling in the West that the irregularity of +railroad accidents is a fruitful cause of complaint. The frequent +disappointment of the holders of accident policy tickets on western +roads is leading to widespread protest. Certainly the conditions of +travel in the West are altering rapidly and accidents can no longer be +relied upon. This is deeply to be regretted, in so much as, apart from +accidents, the tickets may be said to be practically valueless. + + + + +_A Manual of Education_ + + +The few selections below are offered as a specimen page of a little book +which I have in course of preparation. + +Every man has somewhere in the back of his head the wreck of a thing +which he calls his education. My book is intended to embody in concise +form these remnants of early instruction. + +Educations are divided into splendid educations, thorough classical +educations, and average educations. All very old men have splendid +educations; all men who apparently know nothing else have thorough +classical educations; nobody has an average education. + +An education, when it is all written out on foolscap, covers nearly ten +sheets. It takes about six years of severe college training to acquire +it. Even then a man often finds that he somehow hasn't got his education +just where he can put his thumb on it. When my little book of eight or +ten pages has appeared, everybody may carry his education in his hip +pocket. + +Those who have not had the advantage of an early training will be +enabled, by a few hours of conscientious application, to put themselves +on an equal footing with the most scholarly. + +The selections are chosen entirely at random. + + +I.--REMAINS OF ASTRONOMY + +Astronomy teaches the correct use of the sun and the planets. These may +be put on a frame of little sticks and turned round. This causes the +tides. Those at the ends of the sticks are enormously far away. From +time to time a diligent searching of the sticks reveals new planets. The +orbit of a planet is the distance the stick goes round in going round. +Astronomy is intensely interesting; it should be done at night, in a +high tower in Spitzbergen. This is to avoid the astronomy being +interrupted. A really good astronomer can tell when a comet is coming +too near him by the warning buzz of the revolving sticks. + + +II.--REMAINS OF HISTORY + +Aztecs: A fabulous race, half man, half horse, half mound-builder. They +flourished at about the same time as the early Calithumpians. They have +left some awfully stupendous monuments of themselves somewhere. + +Life of Caesar: A famous Roman general, the last who ever landed in +Britain without being stopped at the custom house. On returning to his +Sabine farm (to fetch something), he was stabbed by Brutus, and died +with the words "Veni, vidi, tekel, upharsim" in his throat. The jury +returned a verdict of strangulation. + +Life of Voltaire: A Frenchman; very bitter. + +Life of Schopenhauer: A German; very deep; but it was not really +noticeable when he sat down. + +Life of Dante: An Italian; the first to introduce the banana and the +class of street organ known as "Dante's Inferno." + +Peter the Great, Alfred the Great, Frederick the Great, John the Great, +Tom the Great, Jim the Great, Jo the Great, etc., etc. + +It is impossible for a busy man to keep these apart. They sought a +living as kings and apostles and pugilists and so on. + + +III.--REMAINS OF BOTANY. + +Botany is the art of plants. Plants are divided into trees, flowers, and +vegetables. The true botanist knows a tree as soon as he sees it. He +learns to distinguish it from a vegetable by merely putting his ear to +it. + + +IV.--REMAINS OF NATURAL SCIENCE. + +Natural Science treats of motion and force. Many of its teachings remain +as part of an educated man's permanent equipment in life. Such are: + +(a) The harder you shove a bicycle the faster it will go. This is +because of natural science. + +(b) If you fall from a high tower, you fall quicker and quicker and +quicker; a judicious selection of a tower will ensure any rate of speed. + +(c) If you put your thumb in between two cogs it will go on and on, +until the wheels are arrested, by your suspenders. This is machinery. + +(d) Electricity is of two kinds, positive and negative. The difference +is, I presume, that one kind comes a little more expensive, but is more +durable; the other is a cheaper thing, but the moths get into it. + + + + +_Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas_ + + +This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking, underhand +method, and the sooner it's exposed the better. + +For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of night and palm off +a ten-cent necktie on a boy who had been expecting a ten-dollar watch, +and then say that an angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low. + +I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked this +Christmas, in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin, the son and heir of the +McFiggins, at whose house I board. + +Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy--a religious boy. He had been given to +understand that Santa Claus would bring nothing to his father and mother +because grown-up people don't get presents from the angels. So he saved +up all his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father and a +seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother. His own fortunes he +left in the hands of the angels. But he prayed. He prayed every night +for weeks that Santa Claus would bring him a pair of skates and a +puppy-dog and an air-gun and a bicycle and a Noah's ark and a sleigh and +a drum--altogether about a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of stuff. + +I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning. I had an idea +that the scene would be interesting. I woke him up and he sat up in bed, +his eyes glistening with radiant expectation, and began hauling things +out of his stocking. + +The first parcel was bulky; it was done up quite loosely and had an odd +look generally. + +"Ha! ha!" Hoodoo cried gleefully, as he began undoing it. "I'll bet it's +the puppy-dog, all wrapped up in paper!" + +And was it the puppy-dog? No, by no means. It was a pair of nice, +strong, number-four boots, laces and all, labelled, "Hoodoo, from Santa +Claus," and underneath Santa Claus had written, "95 net." + +The boy's jaw fell with delight. "It's boots," he said, and plunged in +his hand again. + +He began hauling away at another parcel with renewed hope on his face. + +This time the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo tore the +paper off it with a feverish hand. He shook it; something rattled +inside. + +"It's a watch and chain! It's a watch and chain!" he shouted. Then he +pulled the lid off. + +And was it a watch and chain? No. It was a box of nice, brand-new +celluloid collars, a dozen of them all alike and all his own size. + +The boy was so pleased that you could see his face crack up with +pleasure. + +He waited a few minutes until his intense joy subsided. Then he tried +again. + +This time the packet was long and hard. It resisted the touch and had a +sort of funnel shape. + +"It's a toy pistol!" said the boy, trembling with excitement. "Gee! I +hope there are lots of caps with it! I'll fire some off now and wake up +father." + +No, my poor child, you will not wake your father with that. It is a +useful thing, but it needs not caps and it fires no bullets, and you +cannot wake a sleeping man with a tooth-brush. Yes, it was a +tooth-brush--a regular beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with +a little paper, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus." + +Again the expression of intense joy passed over the boy's face, and the +tears of gratitude started from his eyes. He wiped them away with his +tooth-brush and passed on. + +The next packet was much larger and evidently contained something soft +and bulky. It had been too long to go into the stocking and was tied +outside. + +"I wonder what this is," Hoodoo mused, half afraid to open it. Then his +heart gave a great leap, and he forgot all his other presents in the +anticipation of this one. "It's the drum!" he gasped. "It's the drum, +all wrapped up!" + +Drum nothing! It was pants--a pair of the nicest little short +pants--yellowish-brown short pants--with dear little stripes of colour +running across both ways, and here again Santa Claus had written, +"Hoodoo, from Santa Claus, one fort net." + +But there was something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes! There was a pair of +braces wrapped up in it, braces with a little steel sliding thing so +that you could slide your pants up to your neck, if you wanted to. + +The boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took out his last +present. "It's a book," he said, as he unwrapped it. "I wonder if it is +fairy stories or adventures. Oh, I hope it's adventures! I'll read it +all morning." + +No, Hoodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a small family +Bible. Hoodoo had now seen all his presents, and he arose and dressed. +But he still had the fun of playing with his toys. That is always the +chief delight of Christmas morning. + +First he played with his tooth-brush. He got a whole lot of water and +brushed all his teeth with it. This was huge. + +Then he played with his collars. He had no end of fun with them, taking +them all out one by one and swearing at them, and then putting them back +and swearing at the whole lot together. + +The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there, putting them on +and taking them off again, and then trying to guess which side was which +by merely looking at them. + +After that he took his book and read some adventures called "Genesis" +till breakfast-time. + +Then he went downstairs and kissed his father and mother. His father was +smoking a cigar, and his mother had her new brooch on. Hoodoo's face was +thoughtful, and a light seemed to have broken in upon his mind. Indeed, +I think it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on to his +own money and take chances on what the angels bring. + + + + +_The Life of John Smith_ + + +The lives of great men occupy a large section of our literature. The +great man is certainly a wonderful thing. He walks across his century +and leaves the marks of his feet all over it, ripping out the dates on +his goloshes as he passes. It is impossible to get up a revolution or a +new religion, or a national awakening of any sort, without his turning +up, putting himself at the head of it and collaring all the +gate-receipts for himself. Even after his death he leaves a long trail +of second-rate relations spattered over the front seats of fifty years +of history. + +Now the lives of great men are doubtless infinitely interesting. But at +times I must confess to a sense of reaction and an idea that the +ordinary common man is entitled to have his biography written too. It is +to illustrate this view that I write the life of John Smith, a man +neither good nor great, but just the usual, everyday homo like you and +me and the rest of us. + +From his earliest childhood John Smith was marked out from his comrades +by nothing. The marvellous precocity of the boy did not astonish his +preceptors. Books were not a passion for him from his youth, neither did +any old man put his hand on Smith's head and say, mark his words, this +boy would some day become a man. Nor yet was it his father's wont to +gaze on him with a feeling amounting almost to awe. By no means! All his +father did was to wonder whether Smith was a darn fool because he +couldn't help it, or because he thought it smart. In other words, he was +just like you and me and the rest of us. + +In those athletic sports which were the ornament of the youth of his +day, Smith did not, as great men do, excel his fellows. He couldn't ride +worth a darn. He couldn't skate worth a darn. He couldn't swim worth a +darn. He couldn't shoot worth a darn. He couldn't do anything worth a +darn. He was just like us. + +Nor did the bold cast of the boy's mind offset his physical defects, as +it invariably does in the biographies. On the contrary. He was afraid of +his father. He was afraid of his school-teacher. He was afraid of dogs. +He was afraid of guns. He was afraid of lightning. He was afraid of +hell. He was afraid of girls. + +In the boy's choice of a profession there was not seen that keen longing +for a life-work that we find in the celebrities. He didn't want to be a +lawyer, because you have to know law. He didn't want to be a doctor, +because you have to know medicine. He didn't want to be a business-man, +because you have to know business; and he didn't want to be a +school-teacher, because he had seen too many of them. As far as he had +any choice, it lay between being Robinson Crusoe and being the Prince of +Wales. His father refused him both and put him into a dry goods +establishment. + +Such was the childhood of Smith. At its close there was nothing in his +outward appearance to mark the man of genius. The casual observer could +have seen no genius concealed behind the wide face, the massive mouth, +the long slanting forehead, and the tall ear that swept up to the +close-cropped head. Certainly he couldn't. There wasn't any concealed +there. + +It was shortly after his start in business life that Smith was stricken +with the first of those distressing attacks, to which he afterwards +became subject. It seized him late one night as he was returning home +from a delightful evening of song and praise with a few old school +chums. Its symptoms were a peculiar heaving of the sidewalk, a dancing +of the street lights, and a crafty shifting to and fro of the houses, +requiring a very nice discrimination in selecting his own. There was a +strong desire not to drink water throughout the entire attack, which +showed that the thing was evidently a form of hydrophobia. From this +time on, these painful attacks became chronic with Smith. They were +liable to come on at any time, but especially on Saturday nights, on the +first of the month, and on Thanksgiving Day. He always had a very severe +attack of hydrophobia on Christmas Eve, and after elections it was +fearful. + +There was one incident in Smith's career which he did, perhaps, share +with regret. He had scarcely reached manhood when he met the most +beautiful girl in the world. She was different from all other women. She +had a deeper nature than other people. Smith realized it at once. She +could feel and understand things that ordinary people couldn't. She +could understand him. She had a great sense of humour and an exquisite +appreciation of a joke. He told her the six that he knew one night and +she thought them great. Her mere presence made Smith feel as if he had +swallowed a sunset: the first time that his finger brushed against hers, +he felt a thrill all through him. He presently found that if he took a +firm hold of her hand with his, he could get a fine thrill, and if he +sat beside her on a sofa, with his head against her ear and his arm +about once and a half round her, he could get what you might call a +first-class, A-1 thrill. Smith became filled with the idea that he would +like to have her always near him. He suggested an arrangement to her, by +which she should come and live in the same house with him and take +personal charge of his clothes and his meals. She was to receive in +return her board and washing, about seventy-five cents a week in ready +money, and Smith was to be her slave. + +After Smith had been this woman's slave for some time, baby fingers +stole across his life, then another set of them, and then more and more +till the house was full of them. The woman's mother began to steal +across his life too, and every time she came Smith had hydrophobia +frightfully. Strangely enough there was no little prattler that was +taken from his life and became a saddened, hallowed memory to him. Oh, +no! The little Smiths were not that kind of prattler. The whole nine +grew up into tall, lank boys with massive mouths and great sweeping ears +like their father's, and no talent for anything. + +The life of Smith never seemed to bring him to any of those great +turning-points that occurred in the lives of the great. True, the +passing years brought some change of fortune. He was moved up in his +dry-goods establishment from the ribbon counter to the collar counter, +from the collar counter to the gents' panting counter, and from the +gents' panting to the gents' fancy shirting. Then, as he grew aged and +inefficient, they moved him down again from the gents' fancy shirting to +the gents' panting, and so on to the ribbon counter. And when he grew +quite old they dismissed him and got a boy with a four-inch mouth and +sandy-coloured hair, who did all Smith could do for half the money. That +was John Smith's mercantile career: it won't stand comparison with Mr. +Gladstone's, but it's not unlike your own. + +Smith lived for five years after this. His sons kept him. They didn't +want to, but they had to. In his old age the brightness of his mind and +his fund of anecdote were not the delight of all who dropped in to see +him. He told seven stories and he knew six jokes. The stories were long +things all about himself, and the jokes were about a commercial +traveller and a Methodist minister. But nobody dropped in to see him, +anyway, so it didn't matter. + +At sixty-five Smith was taken ill, and, receiving proper treatment, he +died. There was a tombstone put up over him, with a hand pointing +north-north-east. + +But I doubt if he ever got there. He was too like us. + + + + +_On Collecting Things_ + + +Like most other men I have from time to time been stricken with a desire +to make collections of things. + +It began with postage stamps. I had a letter from a friend of mine who +had gone out to South Africa. The letter had a three-cornered stamp on +it, and I thought as soon as I looked at it, "That's the thing! Stamp +collecting! I'll devote my life to it." + +I bought an album with accommodation for the stamps of all nations, and +began collecting right off. For three days the collection made wonderful +progress. It contained: + + One Cape of Good Hope stamp. + + One one-cent stamp, United States of America. + + One two-cent stamp, United States of America. + + One five-cent stamp, United States of America. + + One ten-cent stamp, United States of America. + +After that the collection came to a dead stop. For a while I used to +talk about it rather airily and say I had one or two rather valuable +South African stamps. But I presently grew tired even of lying about it. + +Collecting coins is a thing that I attempt at intervals. Every time I am +given an old half-penny or a Mexican quarter, I get an idea that if a +fellow made a point of holding on to rarities of that sort, he'd soon +have quite a valuable collection. The first time that I tried it I was +full of enthusiasm, and before long my collection numbered quite a few +articles of vertu. The items were as follows: + +No. 1. Ancient Roman coin. Time of Caligula. This one of course was the +gem of the whole lot; it was given me by a friend, and that was what +started me collecting. + +No. 2. Small copper coin. Value one cent. United States of America. +Apparently modern. + +No. 3. Small nickel coin. Circular. United States of America. Value five +cents. + +No. 4. Small silver coin. Value ten cents. United States of America. + +No. 5. Silver coin. Circular. Value twenty-five cents. United States of +America. Very beautiful. + +No. 6. Large silver coin. Circular. Inscription, "One Dollar." United +States of America. Very valuable. + +No. 7. Ancient British copper coin. Probably time of Caractacus. Very +dim. Inscription, "Victoria Dei gratia regina." Very valuable. + +No. 8. Silver coin. Evidently French. Inscription, "Funf Mark. Kaiser +Wilhelm." + +No. 9. Circular silver coin. Very much defaced. Part of inscription, "E +Pluribus Unum." Probably a Russian rouble, but quite as likely to be a +Japanese yen or a Shanghai rooster. + +That's as far as that collection got. It lasted through most of the +winter and I was getting quite proud of it, but I took the coins down +town one evening to show to a friend and we spent No. 3, No. 4, No. 5, +No. 6, and No. 7 in buying a little dinner for two. After dinner I +bought a yen's worth of cigars and traded the relic of Caligula for as +many hot Scotches as they cared to advance on it. After that I felt +reckless and put No. 2 and No. 8 into a Children's Hospital poor box. + +I tried fossils next. I got two in ten years. Then I quit. + +A friend of mine once showed me a very fine collection of ancient and +curious weapons, and for a time I was full of that idea. I gathered +several interesting specimens, such as: + +No. 1. Old flint-lock musket, used by my grandfather. (He used it on the +farm for years as a crowbar.) + +No. 2. Old raw-hide strap, used by my father. + +No. 3. Ancient Indian arrowhead, found by myself the very day after I +began collecting. It resembles a three-cornered stone. + +No. 4. Ancient Indian bow, found by myself behind a sawmill on the +second day of collecting. It resembles a straight stick of elm or oak. +It is interesting to think that this very weapon may have figured in +some fierce scene of savage warfare. + +No. 5. Cannibal poniard or straight-handled dagger of the South Sea +Islands. It will give the reader almost a thrill of horror to learn that +this atrocious weapon, which I bought myself on the third day of +collecting, was actually exposed in a second-hand store as a family +carving-knife. In gazing at it one cannot refrain from conjuring up the +awful scenes it must have witnessed. + +I kept this collection for quite a long while until, in a moment of +infatuation, I presented it to a young lady as a betrothal present. The +gift proved too ostentatious and our relations subsequently ceased to be +cordial. + +On the whole I am inclined to recommend the beginner to confine himself +to collecting coins. At present I am myself making a collection of +American bills (time of Taft preferred), a pursuit I find most +absorbing. + + + + +_Society Chit-Chat_ + + +AS IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN + +I notice that it is customary for the daily papers to publish a column +or so of society gossip. They generally head it "Chit-Chat," or "On +Dit," or "Le Boudoir," or something of the sort, and they keep it pretty +full of French terms to give it the proper sort of swing. These columns +may be very interesting in their way, but it always seems to me that +they don't get hold of quite the right things to tell us about. They are +very fond, for instance, of giving an account of the delightful dance at +Mrs. De Smythe's--at which Mrs. De Smythe looked charming in a gown of +old tulle with a stomacher of passementerie--or of the dinner-party at +Mr. Alonzo Robinson's residence, or the smart pink tea given by Miss +Carlotta Jones. No, that's all right, but it's not the kind of thing we +want to get at; those are not the events which happen in our neighbours' +houses that we really want to hear about. It is the quiet little family +scenes, the little traits of home-life that--well, for example, take the +case of that delightful party at the De Smythes. I am certain that all +those who were present would much prefer a little paragraph like the +following, which would give them some idea of the home-life of the De +Smythes on the morning after the party. + + +DÉJEUNER DE LUXE AT THE DE SMYTHE RESIDENCE + +On Wednesday morning last at 7.15 a.m. a charming little breakfast was +served at the home of Mr. De Smythe. The _déjeuner_ was given in honour +of Mr. De Smythe and his two sons, Master Adolphus and Master Blinks De +Smythe, who were about to leave for their daily _travail_ at their +wholesale _Bureau de Flour et de Feed_. All the gentlemen were very +quietly dressed in their _habits de work_. Miss Melinda De Smythe poured +out tea, the _domestique_ having _refusé_ to get up so early after the +_partie_ of the night before. The menu was very handsome, consisting of +eggs and bacon, _demi-froid_, and ice-cream. The conversation was +sustained and lively. Mr. De Smythe sustained it and made it lively for +his daughter and his _garçons_. In the course of the talk Mr. De Smythe +stated that the next time he allowed the young people to turn his +_maison_ topsy-turvy he would see them in _enfer_. He wished to know if +they were aware that some ass of the evening before had broken a pane of +coloured glass in the hall that would cost him four dollars. Did they +think he was made of _argent_. If so, they never made a bigger mistake +in their _vie_. The meal closed with general expressions of +good-feeling. A little bird has whispered to us that there will be no +more parties at the De Smythes' _pour long-temps_. + +Here is another little paragraph that would be of general interest in +society. + + +DINER DE FAMEEL AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE DE MCFIGGIN + +Yesterday evening at half after six a pleasant little _diner_ was given +by Madame McFiggin of Rock Street, to her boarders. The _salle à manger_ +was very prettily decorated with texts, and the furniture upholstered +with _cheveux de horse_, _Louis Quinze_. The boarders were all very +quietly dressed: Mrs. McFiggin was daintily attired in some old clinging +stuff with a _corsage de Whalebone_ underneath. The ample board groaned +under the bill of fare. The boarders groaned also. Their groaning was +very noticeable. The _pièce de resistance_ was a _hunko de bœuf boilé_, +flanked with some old clinging stuff. The _entrées_ were _pâté de +pumpkin_, followed by _fromage McFiggin_, served under glass. Towards +the end of the first course, speeches became the order of the day. Mrs. +McFiggin was the first speaker. In commencing, she expressed her +surprise that so few of the gentlemen seemed to care for the _hunko de +bœuf_; her own mind, she said, had hesitated between _hunko de bœuf +boilé_ and a pair of roast chickens (sensation). She had finally decided +in favour of the _hunko de bœuf_ (no sensation). She referred at some +length to the late Mr. McFiggin, who had always shown a marked +preference for _hunko de bœuf_. Several other speakers followed. All +spoke forcibly and to the point. The last to speak was the Reverend Mr. +Whiner. The reverend gentleman, in rising, said that he confided himself +and his fellow-boarders to the special interference of providence. For +what they had eaten, he said, he hoped that Providence would make them +truly thankful. At the close of the _Repas_ several of the boarders +expressed their intention of going down the street to a _restourong_ to +get _quelque chose à manger_. + +Here is another example. How interesting it would be to get a detailed +account of that little affair at the Robinsons', of which the neighbours +only heard indirectly! Thus: + + +DELIGHTFUL EVENING AT THE RESIDENCE OF MR. ALONZO ROBINSON + +Yesterday the family of Mr. Alonzo Robinson spent a very lively evening +at their home on ----th Avenue. The occasion was the seventeenth +birthday of Master Alonzo Robinson, junior. It was the original +intention of Master Alonzo Robinson to celebrate the day at home and +invite a few of _les garçons_. Mr. Robinson, senior, however, having +declared that he would be _damné_ first, Master Alonzo spent the evening +in visiting the salons of the town, which he painted _rouge_. Mr. +Robinson, senior, spent the evening at home in quiet expectation of his +son's return. He was very becomingly dressed in a _pantalon quatre vingt +treize_, and had his _whippe de chien_ laid across his knee. Madame +Robinson and the Mademoiselles Robinson wore black. The guest of the +evening arrived at a late hour. He wore his _habits de spri_, and had +about six _pouces_ of _eau de vie_ in him. He was evidently full up to +his _cou_. For some time after his arrival a very lively time was spent. +Mr. Robinson having at length broken the _whippe de chien_, the family +parted for the night with expressions of cordial goodwill. + + + + +_Insurance up to Date_ + + +A man called on me the other day with the idea of insuring my life. Now, +I detest life-insurance agents; they always argue that I shall some day +die, which is not so. I have been insured a great many times, for about +a month at a time, but have had no luck with it at all. + +So I made up my mind that I would outwit this man at his own game. I let +him talk straight ahead and encouraged him all I could, until he finally +left me with a sheet of questions which I was to answer as an applicant. +Now this was what I was waiting for; I had decided that, if that company +wanted information about me, they should have it, and have the very best +quality I could supply. So I spread the sheet of questions before me, +and drew up a set of answers for them, which, I hoped, would settle for +ever all doubts as to my eligibility for insurance. + +Question.--What is your age? +Answer.--I can't think. + +Q.--What is your chest measurement? +A.--Nineteen inches. + +Q.--What is your chest expansion? +A.--Half an inch. + +Q.--What is your height? +A.--Six feet five, if erect, but less when I walk on all fours. + +Q.--Is your grandfather dead? +A.--Practically. + +Q.--Cause of death, if dead? +A.--Dipsomania, if dead. + +Q.--Is your father dead? +A.--To the world. + +Q.--Cause of death? +A.--Hydrophobia. + +Q.--Place of father's residence? +A.--Kentucky. + +Q.--What illness have you had? +A.--As a child, consumption, leprosy, and water on the knee. As a man, +whooping-cough, stomach-ache, and water on the brain. + +Q.--Have you any brothers? +A.--Thirteen; all nearly dead. + +Q.--Are you aware of any habits or tendencies which might be expected to +shorten your life? +A.--I am aware. I drink, I smoke, I take morphine and vaseline. I +swallow grape seeds and I hate exercise. + +I thought when I had come to the end of that list that I had made a dead +sure thing of it, and I posted the paper with a cheque for three months' +payment, feeling pretty confident of having the cheque sent back to me. +I was a good deal surprised a few days later to receive the following +letter from the company: + +"DEAR SIR,--We beg to acknowledge your letter of application and cheque +for fifteen dollars. After a careful comparison of your case with the +average modern standard, we are pleased to accept you as a first-class +risk." + + + + +_Borrowing a Match_ + + +You might think that borrowing a match upon the street is a simple +thing. But any man who has ever tried it will assure you that it is not, +and will be prepared to swear to the truth of my experience of the other +evening. + +I was standing on the corner of the street with a cigar that I wanted to +light. I had no match. I waited till a decent, ordinary-looking man came +along. Then I said: + +"Excuse me, sir, but could you oblige me with the loan of a match?" + +"A match?" he said, "why certainly." Then he unbuttoned his overcoat and +put his hand in the pocket of his waistcoat. "I know I have one," he +went on, "and I'd almost swear it's in the bottom pocket--or, hold on, +though, I guess it may be in the top--just wait till I put these parcels +down on the sidewalk." + +"Oh, don't trouble," I said, "it's really of no consequence." + +"Oh, it's no trouble, I'll have it in a minute; I know there must be one +in here somewhere"--he was digging his fingers into his pockets as he +spoke--"but you see this isn't the waistcoat I generally...." + +I saw that the man was getting excited about it. "Well, never mind," I +protested; "if that isn't the waistcoat that you generally--why, it +doesn't matter." + +"Hold on, now, hold on!" the man said, "I've got one of the cursed +things in here somewhere. I guess it must be in with my watch. No, it's +not there either. Wait till I try my coat. If that confounded tailor +only knew enough to make a pocket so that a man could get at it!" + +He was getting pretty well worked up now. He had thrown down his +walking-stick and was plunging at his pockets with his teeth set. "It's +that cursed young boy of mine," he hissed; "this comes of his fooling in +my pockets. By Gad! perhaps I won't warm him up when I get home. Say, +I'll bet that it's in my hip-pocket. You just hold up the tail of my +overcoat a second till I...." + +"No, no," I protested again, "please don't take all this trouble, it +really doesn't matter. I'm sure you needn't take off your overcoat, and +oh, pray don't throw away your letters and things in the snow like that, +and tear out your pockets by the roots! Please, please don't trample +over your overcoat and put your feet through the parcels. I do hate to +hear you swearing at your little boy, with that peculiar whine in your +voice. Don't--please don't tear your clothes so savagely." + +Suddenly the man gave a grunt of exultation, and drew his hand up from +inside the lining of his coat. + +"I've got it," he cried. "Here you are!" Then he brought it out under +the light. + +It was a toothpick. + +Yielding to the impulse of the moment I pushed him under the wheels of a +trolley-car, and ran. + + + + +_A Lesson in Fiction_ + + +Suppose that in the opening pages of the modern melodramatic novel you +find some such situation as the following, in which is depicted the +terrific combat between Gaspard de Vaux, the boy lieutenant, and Hairy +Hank, the chief of the Italian banditti: + +"The inequality of the contest was apparent. With a mingled yell of rage +and contempt, his sword brandished above his head and his dirk between +his teeth, the enormous bandit rushed upon his intrepid opponent. De +Vaux seemed scarce more than a stripling, but he stood his ground and +faced his hitherto invincible assailant. 'Mong Dieu,' cried De Smythe, +'he is lost!'" + +Question. On which of the parties to the above contest do you honestly +feel inclined to put your money? + +Answer. On De Vaux. He'll win. Hairy Hank will force him down to one +knee and with a brutal cry of "Har! har!" will be about to dirk him, +when De Vaux will make a sudden lunge (one he had learnt at home out of +a book of lunges) and-- + +Very good. You have answered correctly. Now, suppose you find, a little +later in the book, that the killing of Hairy Hank has compelled De Vaux +to flee from his native land to the East. Are you not fearful for his +safety in the desert? + +Answer. Frankly, I am not. De Vaux is all right. His name is on the +title page, and you can't kill him. + +Question. Listen to this, then: "The sun of Ethiopia beat fiercely upon +the desert as De Vaux, mounted upon his faithful elephant, pursued his +lonely way. Seated in his lofty hoo-doo, his eye scoured the waste. +Suddenly a solitary horseman appeared on the horizon, then another, and +another, and then six. In a few moments a whole crowd of solitary +horsemen swooped down upon him. There was a fierce shout of 'Allah!' a +rattle of firearms. De Vaux sank from his hoo-doo on to the sands, while +the affrighted elephant dashed off in all directions. The bullet had +struck him in the heart." + +There now, what do you think of that? Isn't De Vaux killed now? + +Answer. I am sorry. De Vaux is not dead. True, the ball had hit him, oh +yes, it had hit him, but it had glanced off against a family Bible, +which he carried in his waistcoat in case of illness, struck some hymns +that he had in his hip-pocket, and, glancing off again, had flattened +itself against De Vaux's diary of his life in the desert, which was in +his knapsack. + +Question. But even if this doesn't kill him, you must admit that he is +near death when he is bitten in the jungle by the deadly dongola? + +Answer. That's all right. A kindly Arab will take De Vaux to the Sheik's +tent. + +Question. What will De Vaux remind the Sheik of? + +Answer. Too easy. Of his long-lost son, who disappeared years ago. + +Question. Was this son Hairy Hank? + +Answer. Of course he was. Anyone could see that, but the Sheik never +suspects it, and heals De Vaux. He heals him with an herb, a thing +called a simple, an amazingly simple, known only to the Sheik. Since +using this herb, the Sheik has used no other. + +Question. The Sheik will recognize an overcoat that De Vaux is wearing, +and complications will arise in the matter of Hairy Hank deceased. Will +this result in the death of the boy lieutenant? + +Answer. No. By this time De Vaux has realized that the reader knows he +won't die and resolves to quit the desert. The thought of his mother +keeps recurring to him, and of his father, too, the grey, stooping old +man--does he stoop still or has he stopped stooping? At times, too, +there comes the thought of another, a fairer than his father; she +whose--but enough, De Vaux returns to the old homestead in Piccadilly. + +Question. When De Vaux returns to England, what will happen? + +Answer. This will happen: "He who left England ten years before a raw +boy, has returned a sunburnt soldierly man. But who is this that +advances smilingly to meet him? Can the mere girl, the bright child that +shared his hours of play, can she have grown into this peerless, +graceful girl, at whose feet half the noble suitors of England are +kneeling? 'Can this be her?' he asks himself in amazement." + +Question. Is it her? + +Answer. Oh, it's her all right. It is her, and it is him, and it is +them. That girl hasn't waited fifty pages for nothing. + +Question. You evidently guess that a love affair will ensue between the +boy lieutenant and the peerless girl with the broad feet. Do you +imagine, however, that its course will run smoothly and leave nothing to +record? + +Answer. Not at all. I feel certain that the scene of the novel having +edged itself around to London, the writer will not feel satisfied unless +he introduces the following famous scene: + +"Stunned by the cruel revelation which he had received, unconscious of +whither his steps were taking him, Gaspard de Vaux wandered on in the +darkness from street to street until he found himself upon London +Bridge. He leaned over the parapet and looked down upon the whirling +stream below. There was something in the still, swift rush of it that +seemed to beckon, to allure him. After all, why not? What was life now +that he should prize it? For a moment De Vaux paused irresolute." + +Question. Will he throw himself in? + +Answer. Well, say you don't know Gaspard. He will pause irresolute up to +the limit, then, with a fierce struggle, will recall his courage and +hasten from the Bridge. + +Question. This struggle not to throw oneself in must be dreadfully +difficult? + +Answer. Oh! dreadfully! Most of us are so frail we should jump in at +once. But Gaspard has the knack of it. Besides he still has some of the +Sheik's herb; he chews it. + +Question. What has happened to De Vaux anyway? Is it anything he has +eaten? + +Answer. No, it is nothing that he has eaten. It's about her. The blow +has come. She has no use for sunburn, doesn't care for tan; she is going +to marry a duke and the boy lieutenant is no longer in it. The real +trouble is that the modern novelist has got beyond the happy-marriage +mode of ending. He wants tragedy and a blighted life to wind up with. + +Question. How will the book conclude? + +Answer. Oh, De Vaux will go back to the desert, fall upon the Sheik's +neck, and swear to be a second Hairy Hank to him. There will be a final +panorama of the desert, the Sheik and his newly found son at the door of +the tent, the sun setting behind a pyramid, and De Vaux's faithful +elephant crouched at his feet and gazing up at him with dumb affection. + + + + +_Helping the Armenians_ + + +The financial affairs of the parish church up at Doogalville have been +getting rather into a tangle in the last six months. The people of the +church were specially anxious to do something toward the general public +subscription of the town on behalf of the unhappy Armenians, and to +that purpose they determined to devote the collections taken up at a +series of special evening services. To give the right sort of swing to +the services and to stimulate generous giving, they put a new pipe +organ into the church. In order to make a preliminary payment on the +organ, it was decided to raise a mortgage on the parsonage. + +To pay the interest on the mortgage, the choir of the church got up a +sacred concert in the town hall. + +To pay for the town hall, the Willing Workers' Guild held a social in +the Sunday school. To pay the expenses of the social, the rector +delivered a public lecture on "Italy and Her Past," illustrated by a +magic lantern. To pay for the magic lantern, the curate and the ladies +of the church got up some amateur theatricals. + +Finally, to pay for the costumes for the theatricals, the rector felt it +his duty to dispense with the curate. + +So that is where the church stands just at present. What they chiefly +want to do, is to raise enough money to buy a suitable gold watch as a +testimonial to the curate. After that they hope to be able to do +something for the Armenians. Meantime, of course, the Armenians, the +ones right there in the town, are getting very troublesome. To begin +with, there is the Armenian who rented the costumes for the theatricals: +he has to be squared. Then there is the Armenian organ dealer, and the +Armenian who owned the magic lantern. They want relief badly. + +The most urgent case is that of the Armenian who holds the mortgage on +the parsonage; indeed it is generally felt in the congregation, when the +rector makes his impassioned appeals at the special services on behalf +of the suffering cause, that it is to this man that he has special +reference. + +In the meanwhile the general public subscription is not getting along +very fast; but the proprietor of the big saloon further down the street +and the man with the short cigar that runs the Doogalville Midway +Plaisance have been most liberal in their contributions. + + + + +_A Study in Still Life.--The Country Hotel_ + + +The country hotel stands on the sunny side of Main Street. It has three +entrances. + +There is one in front which leads into the Bar. There is one at the side +called the Ladies' Entrance which leads into the Bar from the side. +There is also the Main Entrance which leads into the Bar through the +Rotunda. + +The Rotunda is the space between the door of the bar-room and the +cigar-case. + +In it is a desk and a book. In the book are written down the names of +the guests, together with marks indicating the direction of the wind and +the height of the barometer. It is here that the newly arrived guest +waits until he has time to open the door leading to the Bar. + +The bar-room forms the largest part of the hotel. It constitutes the +hotel proper. To it are attached a series of bedrooms on the floor +above, many of which contain beds. + +The walls of the bar-room are perforated in all directions with +trap-doors. Through one of these drinks are passed into the back +sitting-room. Through others drinks are passed into the passages. Drinks +are also passed through the floor and through the ceiling. Drinks once +passed never return. The Proprietor stands in the doorway of the bar. He +weighs two hundred pounds. His face is immovable as putty. He is drunk. +He has been drunk for twelve years. It makes no difference to him. +Behind the bar stands the Bar-tender. He wears wicker-sleeves, his hair +is curled in a hook, and his name is Charlie. + +Attached to the bar is a pneumatic beer-pump, by means of which the +bar-tender can flood the bar with beer. Afterwards he wipes up the beer +with a rag. By this means he polishes the bar. Some of the beer that is +pumped up spills into glasses and has to be sold. + +Behind the bar-tender is a mechanism called a cash-register, which, on +being struck a powerful blow, rings a bell, sticks up a card marked NO +SALE, and opens a till from which the bar-tender distributes money. + +There is printed a tariff of drinks and prices on the wall. + +It reads thus: + + Beer . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky. . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Soda. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Soda . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Beer and Soda . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Eggs . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Eggs . . . . . . 5 cents. + Champagne. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars, extra fine . . . . . 5 cents. + +All calculations are made on this basis and are worked out to three +places of decimals. Every seventh drink is on the house and is not +followed by a distribution of money. + +The bar-room closes at midnight, provided there are enough people in it. +If there is not a quorum the proprietor waits for a better chance. A +careful closing of the bar will often catch as many as twenty-five +people. The bar is not opened again till seven o'clock in the morning; +after that the people may go home. There are also, nowadays, Local +Option Hotels. These contain only one entrance, leading directly into +the bar. + + + + +_An Experiment With Policeman Hogan_ + + +Mr. Scalper sits writing in the reporters' room of The Daily Eclipse. +The paper has gone to press and he is alone; a wayward talented +gentleman, this Mr. Scalper, and employed by The Eclipse as a delineator +of character from handwriting. Any subscriber who forwards a specimen of +his handwriting is treated to a prompt analysis of his character from +Mr. Scalper's facile pen. The literary genius has a little pile of +correspondence beside him, and is engaged in the practice of his art. +Outside the night is dark and rainy. The clock on the City Hall marks +the hour of two. In front of the newspaper office Policeman Hogan walks +drearily up and down his beat. The damp misery of Hogan is intense. A +belated gentleman in clerical attire, returning home from a bed of +sickness, gives him a side-look of timid pity and shivers past. Hogan +follows the retreating figure with his eye; then draws forth a notebook +and sits down on the steps of The Eclipse building to write in the light +of the gas lamp. Gentlemen of nocturnal habits have often wondered what +it is that Policeman Hogan and his brethren write in their little books. +Here are the words that are fashioned by the big fist of the policeman: + +"Two o'clock. All is well. There is a light in Mr. Scalper's room above. +The night is very wet and I am unhappy and cannot sleep--my fourth night +of insomnia. Suspicious-looking individual just passed. Alas, how +melancholy is my life! Will the dawn never break! Oh, moist, moist +stone." + +Mr. Scalper up above is writing too, writing with the careless fluency +of a man who draws his pay by the column. He is delineating with skill +and rapidity. The reporters' room is gloomy and desolate. Mr. Scalper is +a man of sensitive temperament and the dreariness of his surroundings +depresses him. He opens the letter of a correspondent, examines the +handwriting narrowly, casts his eye around the room for inspiration, and +proceeds to delineate: + +"G.H. You have an unhappy, despondent nature; your circumstances oppress +you, and your life is filled with an infinite sadness. You feel that you +are without hope--" + +Mr. Scalper pauses, takes another look around the room, and finally lets +his eye rest for some time upon a tall black bottle that stands on the +shelf of an open cupboard. Then he goes on: + +"--and you have lost all belief in Christianity and a future world and +human virtue. You are very weak against temptation, but there is an ugly +vein of determination in your character, when you make up your mind that +you are going to have a thing--" + +Here Mr. Scalper stops abruptly, pushes back his chair, and dashes +across the room to the cupboard. He takes the black bottle from the +shelf, applies it to his lips, and remains for some time motionless. He +then returns to finish the delineation of G.H. with the hurried words: + +"On the whole I recommend you to persevere; you are doing very well." +Mr. Scalper's next proceeding is peculiar. He takes from the cupboard a +roll of twine, about fifty feet in length, and attaches one end of it to +the neck of the bottle. Going then to one of the windows, he opens it, +leans out, and whistles softly. The alert ear of Policeman Hogan on the +pavement below catches the sound, and he returns it. The bottle is +lowered to the end of the string, the guardian of the peace applies it +to his gullet, and for some time the policeman and the man of letters +remain attached by a cord of sympathy. Gentlemen who lead the variegated +life of Mr. Scalper find it well to propitiate the arm of the law, and +attachments of this sort are not uncommon. Mr. Scalper hauls up the +bottle, closes the window, and returns to his task; the policeman +resumes his walk with a glow of internal satisfaction. A glance at the +City Hall clock causes him to enter another note in his book. + +"Half-past two. All is better. The weather is milder with a feeling of +young summer in the air. Two lights in Mr. Scalper's room. Nothing has +occurred which need be brought to the notice of the roundsman." + +Things are going better upstairs too. The delineator opens a second +envelope, surveys the writing of the correspondent with a critical yet +charitable eye, and writes with more complacency. + +"William H. Your writing shows a disposition which, though naturally +melancholy, is capable of a temporary cheerfulness. You have known +misfortune but have made up your mind to look on the bright side of +things. If you will allow me to say so, you indulge in liquor but are +quite moderate in your use of it. Be assured that no harm ever comes of +this moderate use. It enlivens the intellect, brightens the faculties, +and stimulates the dormant fancy into a pleasurable activity. It is only +when carried to excess--" + +At this point the feelings of Mr. Scalper, who had been writing very +rapidly, evidently become too much for him. He starts up from his chair, +rushes two or three times around the room, and finally returns to finish +the delineation thus: "it is only when carried to excess that this +moderation becomes pernicious." + +Mr. Scalper succumbs to the train of thought suggested and gives an +illustration of how moderation to excess may be avoided, after which he +lowers the bottle to Policeman Hogan with a cheery exchange of +greetings. + +The half-hours pass on. The delineator is writing busily and feels that +he is writing well. The characters of his correspondents lie bare to his +keen eye and flow from his facile pen. From time to time he pauses and +appeals to the source of his inspiration; his humanity prompts him to +extend the inspiration to Policeman Hogan. The minion of the law walks +his beat with a feeling of more than tranquillity. A solitary Chinaman, +returning home late from his midnight laundry, scuttles past. The +literary instinct has risen strong in Hogan from his connection with the +man of genius above him, and the passage of the lone Chinee gives him +occasion to write in his book: + +"Four-thirty. Everything is simply great. There are four lights in Mr. +Scalper's room. Mild, balmy weather with prospects of an earthquake, +which may be held in check by walking with extreme caution. Two Chinamen +have just passed--mandarins, I presume. Their walk was unsteady, but +their faces so benign as to disarm suspicion." + +Up in the office Mr. Scalper has reached the letter of a correspondent +which appears to give him particular pleasure, for he delineates the +character with a beaming smile of satisfaction. To the unpractised eye +the writing resembles the prim, angular hand of an elderly spinster. Mr. +Scalper, however, seems to think otherwise, for he writes: + +"Aunt Dorothea. You have a merry, rollicking nature. At times you are +seized with a wild, tumultuous hilarity to which you give ample vent in +shouting and song. You are much addicted to profanity, and you rightly +feel that this is part of your nature and you must not check it. The +world is a very bright place to you, Aunt Dorothea. Write to me again +soon. Our minds seem cast in the same mould." + +Mr. Scalper seems to think that he has not done full justice to the +subject he is treating, for he proceeds to write a long private letter +to Aunt Dorothea in addition to the printed delineation. As he finishes +the City Hall clock points to five, and Policeman Hogan makes the last +entry in his chronicle. Hogan has seated himself upon the steps of The +Eclipse building for greater comfort and writes with a slow, leisurely +fist: + +"The other hand of the clock points north and the second longest points +south-east by south. I infer that it is five o'clock. The electric +lights in Mr. Scalper's room defy the eye. The roundsman has passed and +examined my notes of the night's occurrences. They are entirely +satisfactory, and he is pleased with their literary form. The earthquake +which I apprehended was reduced to a few minor oscillations which cannot +reach me where I sit--" + +The lowering of the bottle interrupts Policeman Hogan. The long letter +to Aunt Dorothea has cooled the ardour of Mr. Scalper. The generous +blush has passed from his mind and he has been trying in vain to restore +it. To afford Hogan a similar opportunity, he decides not to haul the +bottle up immediately, but to leave it in his custody while he +delineates a character. The writing of this correspondent would seem to +the inexperienced eye to be that of a timid little maiden in her teens. +Mr. Scalper is not to be deceived by appearances. He shakes his head +mournfully at the letter and writes: + +"Little Emily. You have known great happiness, but it has passed. +Despondency has driven you to seek forgetfulness in drink. Your writing +shows the worst phase of the liquor habit. I apprehend that you will +shortly have delirium tremens. Poor little Emily! Do not try to break +off; it is too late." + +Mr. Scalper is visibly affected by his correspondent's unhappy +condition. His eye becomes moist, and he decides to haul up the bottle +while there is still time to save Policeman Hogan from acquiring a taste +for liquor. He is surprised and alarmed to find the attempt to haul it +up ineffectual. The minion of the law has fallen into a leaden slumber, +and the bottle remains tight in his grasp. The baffled delineator lets +fall the string and returns to finish his task. Only a few lines are now +required to fill the column, but Mr. Scalper finds on examining the +correspondence that he has exhausted the subjects. This, however, is +quite a common occurrence and occasions no dilemma in the mind of the +talented gentleman. It is his custom in such cases to fill up the space +with an imaginary character or two, the analysis of which is a task most +congenial to his mind. He bows his head in thought for a few moments, +and then writes as follows: + +"Policeman H. Your hand shows great firmness; when once set upon a thing +you are not easily moved. But you have a mean, grasping disposition and +a tendency to want more than your share. You have formed an attachment +which you hope will be continued throughout life, but your selfishness +threatens to sever the bond." + +Having written which, Mr. Scalper arranges his manuscript for the +printer next day, dons his hat and coat, and wends his way home in the +morning twilight, feeling that his pay is earned. + + + + +_The Passing of the Poet_ + + +Studies in what may be termed collective psychology are essentially in +keeping with the spirit of the present century. The examination of the +mental tendencies, the intellectual habits which we display not as +individuals, but as members of a race, community, or crowd, is offering +a fruitful field of speculation as yet but little exploited. One may, +therefore, not without profit, pass in review the relation of the poetic +instinct to the intellectual development of the present era. + +Not the least noticeable feature in the psychological evolution of our +time is the rapid disappearance of poetry. The art of writing poetry, or +perhaps more fairly, the habit of writing poetry, is passing from us. +The poet is destined to become extinct. + +To a reader of trained intellect the initial difficulty at once suggests +itself as to what is meant by poetry. But it is needless to quibble at a +definition of the term. It may be designated, simply and fairly, as the +art of expressing a simple truth in a concealed form of words, any +number of which, at intervals greater or less, may or may not rhyme. + +The poet, it must be said, is as old as civilization. The Greeks had him +with them, stamping out his iambics with the sole of his foot. The +Romans, too, knew him--endlessly juggling his syllables together, long +and short, short and long, to make hexameters. This can now be done by +electricity, but the Romans did not know it. + +But it is not my present purpose to speak of the poets of an earlier and +ruder time. For the subject before us it is enough to set our age in +comparison with the era that preceded it. We have but to contrast +ourselves with our early Victorian grandfathers to realize the profound +revolution that has taken place in public feeling. It is only with an +effort that the practical common sense of the twentieth century can +realize the excessive sentimentality of the earlier generation. + +In those days poetry stood in high and universal esteem. Parents read +poetry to their children. Children recited poetry to their parents. And +he was a dullard, indeed, who did not at least profess, in his hours of +idleness, to pour spontaneous rhythm from his flowing quill. + +Should one gather statistics of the enormous production of poetry some +sixty or seventy years ago, they would scarcely appear credible. +Journals and magazines teemed with it. Editors openly countenanced it. +Even the daily press affected it. Love sighed in home-made stanzas. +Patriotism rhapsodized on the hustings, or cited rolling hexameters to +an enraptured legislature. Even melancholy death courted his everlasting +sleep in elegant elegiacs. + +In that era, indeed, I know not how, polite society was haunted by the +obstinate fiction that it was the duty of a man of parts to express +himself from time to time in verse. Any special occasion of expansion or +exuberance, of depression, torsion, or introspection, was sufficient to +call it forth. So we have poems of dejection, of reflection, of +deglutition, of indigestion. + +Any particular psychological disturbance was enough to provoke an excess +of poetry. The character and manner of the verse might vary with the +predisposing cause. A gentleman who had dined too freely might disexpand +himself in a short fit of lyric doggerel in which "bowl" and "soul" were +freely rhymed. The morning's indigestion inspired a long-drawn elegiac, +with "bier" and "tear," "mortal" and "portal" linked in sonorous +sadness. The man of politics, from time to time, grateful to an +appreciative country, sang back to it, "Ho, Albion, rising from the +brine!" in verse whose intention at least was meritorious. + +And yet it was but a fiction, a purely fictitious obligation, +self-imposed by a sentimental society. In plain truth, poetry came no +more easily or naturally to the early Victorian than to you or me. The +lover twanged his obdurate harp in vain for hours for the rhymes that +would not come, and the man of politics hammered at his heavy hexameter +long indeed before his Albion was finally "hoed" into shape; while the +beer-besotted convivialist cudgelled his poor wits cold sober in rhyming +the light little bottle-ditty that should have sprung like Aphrodite +from the froth of the champagne. + +I have before me a pathetic witness of this fact. It is the note-book +once used for the random jottings of a gentleman of the period. In it I +read: "Fair Lydia, if my earthly harp." This is crossed out, and below +it appears, "Fair Lydia, COULD my earthly harp." This again is erased, +and under it appears, "Fair Lydia, SHOULD my earthly harp." This again +is struck out with a despairing stroke, and amended to read: "Fair +Lydia, DID my earthly harp." So that finally, when the lines appeared in +the Gentleman's Magazine (1845) in their ultimate shape--"Fair Edith, +when with fluent pen," etc., etc.--one can realize from what a desperate +congelation the fluent pen had been so perseveringly rescued. + +There can be little doubt of the deleterious effect occasioned both to +public and private morals by this deliberate exaltation of mental +susceptibility on the part of the early Victorian. In many cases we can +detect the evidences of incipient paresis. The undue access of emotion +frequently assumed a pathological character. The sight of a daisy, of a +withered leaf or an upturned sod, seemed to disturb the poet's mental +equipoise. Spring unnerved him. The lambs distressed him. The flowers +made him cry. The daffodils made him laugh. Day dazzled him. Night +frightened him. + +This exalted mood, combined with the man's culpable ignorance of the +plainest principles of physical science, made him see something out of +the ordinary in the flight of a waterfowl or the song of a skylark. He +complained that he could HEAR it, but not SEE it--a phenomenon too +familiar to the scientific observer to occasion any comment. + +In such a state of mind the most inconsequential inferences were drawn. +One said that the brightness of the dawn--a fact easily explained by the +diurnal motion of the globe--showed him that his soul was immortal. He +asserted further that he had, at an earlier period of his life, trailed +bright clouds behind him. This was absurd. + +With the disturbance thus set up in the nervous system were coupled, in +many instances, mental aberrations, particularly in regard to pecuniary +matters. "Give me not silk, nor rich attire," pleaded one poet of the +period to the British public, "nor gold nor jewels rare." Here was an +evident hallucination that the writer was to become the recipient of an +enormous secret subscription. Indeed, the earnest desire NOT to be given +gold was a recurrent characteristic of the poetic temperament. The +repugnance to accept even a handful of gold was generally accompanied by +a desire for a draught of pure water or a night's rest. + +It is pleasing to turn from this excessive sentimentality of thought and +speech to the practical and concise diction of our time. We have learned +to express ourselves with equal force, but greater simplicity. To +illustrate this I have gathered from the poets of the earlier generation +and from the prose writers of to-day parallel passages that may be +fairly set in contrast. Here, for example, is a passage from the poet +Grey, still familiar to scholars: + + "Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can honour's voice invoke the silent dust + Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?" + +Precisely similar in thought, though different in form, is the more +modern presentation found in Huxley's Physiology: + +"Whether after the moment of death the ventricles of the heart can be +again set in movement by the artificial stimulus of oxygen, is a +question to which we must impose a decided negative." + +How much simpler, and yet how far superior to Grey's elaborate +phraseology! Huxley has here seized the central point of the poet's +thought, and expressed it with the dignity and precision of exact +science. + +I cannot refrain, even at the risk of needless iteration, from quoting a +further example. It is taken from the poet Burns. The original dialect +being written in inverted hiccoughs, is rather difficult to reproduce. +It describes the scene attendant upon the return of a cottage labourer +to his home on Saturday night: + + "The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face + They round the ingle form in a circle wide; + The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, + The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride: + His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, + His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare: + Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, + He wales a portion wi' judeecious care." + +Now I find almost the same scene described in more apt phraseology in +the police news of the Dumfries Chronicle (October 3, 1909), thus: "It +appears that the prisoner had returned to his domicile at the usual +hour, and, after partaking of a hearty meal, had seated himself on his +oaken settle, for the ostensible purpose of reading the Bible. It was +while so occupied that his arrest was effected." With the trifling +exception that Burns omits all mention of the arrest, for which, +however, the whole tenor of the poem gives ample warrant, the two +accounts are almost identical. + +In all that I have thus said I do not wish to be misunderstood. +Believing, as I firmly do, that the poet is destined to become extinct, +I am not one of those who would accelerate his extinction. The time has +not yet come for remedial legislation, or the application of the +criminal law. Even in obstinate cases where pronounced delusions in +reference to plants, animals, and natural phenomena are seen to exist, +it is better that we should do nothing that might occasion a mistaken +remorse. The inevitable natural evolution which is thus shaping the +mould of human thought may safely be left to its own course. + + + + +_Self-made Men_ + + +They were both what we commonly call successful business men--men with +well-fed faces, heavy signet rings on fingers like sausages, and broad, +comfortable waistcoats, a yard and a half round the equator. They were +seated opposite each other at a table of a first-class restaurant, and +had fallen into conversation while waiting to give their order to the +waiter. Their talk had drifted back to their early days and how each had +made his start in life when he first struck New York. + +"I tell you what, Jones," one of them was saying, "I shall never forget +my first few years in this town. By George, it was pretty uphill work! +Do you know, sir, when I first struck this place, I hadn't more than +fifteen cents to my name, hadn't a rag except what I stood up in, and +all the place I had to sleep in--you won't believe it, but it's a gospel +fact just the same--was an empty tar barrel. No, sir," he went on, +leaning back and closing up his eyes into an expression of infinite +experience, "no, sir, a fellow accustomed to luxury like you has simply +no idea what sleeping out in a tar barrel and all that kind of thing is +like." + +"My dear Robinson," the other man rejoined briskly, "if you imagine I've +had no experience of hardship of that sort, you never made a bigger +mistake in your life. Why, when I first walked into this town I hadn't a +cent, sir, not a cent, and as for lodging, all the place I had for +months and months was an old piano box up a lane, behind a factory. Talk +about hardship, I guess I had it pretty rough! You take a fellow that's +used to a good warm tar barrel and put him into a piano box for a night +or two, and you'll see mighty soon--" + +"My dear fellow," Robinson broke in with some irritation, "you merely +show that you don't know what a tar barrel's like. Why, on winter +nights, when you'd be shut in there in your piano box just as snug as +you please, I used to lie awake shivering, with the draught fairly +running in at the bunghole at the back." + +"Draught!" sneered the other man, with a provoking laugh, "draught! +Don't talk to me about draughts. This box I speak of had a whole darned +plank off it, right on the north side too. I used to sit there studying +in the evenings, and the snow would blow in a foot deep. And yet, sir," +he continued more quietly, "though I know you'll not believe it, I don't +mind admitting that some of the happiest days of my life were spent in +that same old box. Ah, those were good old times! Bright, innocent days, +I can tell you. I'd wake up there in the mornings and fairly shout with +high spirits. Of course, you may not be able to stand that kind of +life--" + +"Not stand it!" cried Robinson fiercely; "me not stand it! By gad! I'm +made for it. I just wish I had a taste of the old life again for a +while. And as for innocence! Well, I'll bet you you weren't one-tenth as +innocent as I was; no, nor one-fifth, nor one-third! What a grand old +life it was! You'll swear this is a darned lie and refuse to believe +it--but I can remember evenings when I'd have two or three fellows in, +and we'd sit round and play pedro by a candle half the night." + +"Two or three!" laughed Jones; "why, my dear fellow, I've known half a +dozen of us to sit down to supper in my piano box, and have a game of +pedro afterwards; yes, and charades and forfeits, and every other darned +thing. Mighty good suppers they were too! By Jove, Robinson, you fellows +round this town who have ruined your digestions with high living, have +no notion of the zest with which a man can sit down to a few potato +peelings, or a bit of broken pie crust, or--" + +"Talk about hard food," interrupted the other, "I guess I know all about +that. Many's the time I've breakfasted off a little cold porridge that +somebody was going to throw away from a back-door, or that I've gone +round to a livery stable and begged a little bran mash that they +intended for the pigs. I'll venture to say I've eaten more hog's food--" + +"Hog's food!" shouted Robinson, striking his fist savagely on the table, +"I tell you hog's food suits me better than--" + +He stopped speaking with a sudden grunt of surprise as the waiter +appeared with the question: + +"What may I bring you for dinner, gentlemen?" + +"Dinner!" said Jones, after a moment of silence, "dinner! Oh, anything, +nothing--I never care what I eat--give me a little cold porridge, if +you've got it, or a chunk of salt pork--anything you like, it's all the +same to me." + +The waiter turned with an impassive face to Robinson. + +"You can bring me some of that cold porridge too," he said, with a +defiant look at Jones; "yesterday's, if you have it, and a few potato +peelings and a glass of skim milk." + +There was a pause. Jones sat back in his chair and looked hard across at +Robinson. For some moments the two men gazed into each other's eyes with +a stern, defiant intensity. Then Robinson turned slowly round in his +seat and beckoned to the waiter, who was moving off with the muttered +order on his lips. + +"Here, waiter," he said with a savage scowl, "I guess I'll change that +order a little. Instead of that cold porridge I'll take--um, yes--a +little hot partridge. And you might as well bring me an oyster or two on +the half shell, and a mouthful of soup (mock-turtle, consomme, +anything), and perhaps you might fetch along a dab of fish, and a little +peck of Stilton, and a grape, or a walnut." + +The waiter turned to Jones. + +"I guess I'll take the same," he said simply, and added; "and you might +bring a quart of champagne at the same time." + +And nowadays, when Jones and Robinson meet, the memory of the tar barrel +and the piano box is buried as far out of sight as a home for the blind +under a landslide. + + + + +_A Model Dialogue_ + + +In which is shown how the drawing-room juggler may be permanently cured +of his card trick. + +The drawing-room juggler, having slyly got hold of the pack of cards at +the end of the game of whist, says: + +"Ever see any card tricks? Here's rather a good one; pick a card." + +"Thank you, I don't want a card." + +"No, but just pick one, any one you like, and I'll tell which one you +pick." + +"You'll tell who?" + +"No, no; I mean, I'll know which it is don't you see? Go on now, pick a +card." + +"Any one I like?" + +"Yes." + +"Any colour at all?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Any suit?" + +"Oh, yes; do go on." + +"Well, let me see, I'll--pick--the--ace of spades." + +"Great Caesar! I mean you are to pull a card out of the pack." + +"Oh, to pull it out of the pack! Now I understand. Hand me the pack. All +right--I've got it." + +"Have you picked one?" + +"Yes, it's the three of hearts. Did you know it?" + +"Hang it! Don't tell me like that. You spoil the thing. Here, try again. +Pick a card." + +"All right, I've got it." + +"Put it back in the pack. Thanks. (Shuffle, shuffle, +shuffle--flip)--There, is that it?" (triumphantly). + +"I don't know. I lost sight of it." + +"Lost sight of it! Confound it, you have to look at it and see what it +is." + +"Oh, you want me to look at the front of it!" + +"Why, of course! Now then, pick a card." + +"All right. I've picked it. Go ahead." (Shuffle, shuffle, +shuffle--flip.) + +"Say, confound you, did you put that card back in the pack?" + +"Why, no. I kept it." + +"Holy Moses! Listen. Pick--a--card--just one--look at it--see what it +is--then put it back--do you understand?" + +"Oh, perfectly. Only I don't see how you are ever going to do it. You +must be awfully clever." + +(Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip.) + +"There you are; that's your card, now, isn't it?" (This is the supreme +moment.) + +"NO. THAT IS NOT MY CARD." (This is a flat lie, but Heaven will pardon +you for it.) + +"Not that card!!!! Say--just hold on a second. Here, now, watch what +you're at this time. I can do this cursed thing, mind you, every time. +I've done it on father, on mother, and on every one that's ever come +round our place. Pick a card. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip, bang.) +There, that's your card." + +"NO. I AM SORRY. THAT IS NOT MY CARD. But won't you try it again? Please +do. Perhaps you are a little excited--I'm afraid I was rather stupid. +Won't you go and sit quietly by yourself on the back verandah for half +an hour and then try? You have to go home? Oh, I'm so sorry. It must be +such an awfully clever little trick. Good night!" + + + + +_Back to the Bush_ + + +I have a friend called Billy, who has the Bush Mania. By trade he is a +doctor, but I do not think that he needs to sleep out of doors. In +ordinary things his mind appears sound. Over the tops of his gold-rimmed +spectacles, as he bends forward to speak to you, there gleams nothing +but amiability and kindliness. Like all the rest of us he is, or was +until he forgot it all, an extremely well-educated man. + +I am aware of no criminal strain in his blood. Yet Billy is in reality +hopelessly unbalanced. He has the Mania of the Open Woods. + +Worse than that, he is haunted with the desire to drag his friends with +him into the depths of the Bush. + +Whenever we meet he starts to talk about it. + +Not long ago I met him in the club. + +"I wish," he said, "you'd let me take you clear away up the Gatineau." + +"Yes, I wish I would, I don't think," I murmured to myself, but I +humoured him and said: + +"How do we go, Billy, in a motor-car or by train?" + +"No, we paddle." + +"And is it up-stream all the way?" + +"Oh, yes," Billy said enthusiastically. + +"And how many days do we paddle all day to get up?" + +"Six." + +"Couldn't we do it in less?" + +"Yes," Billy answered, feeling that I was entering into the spirit of +the thing, "if we start each morning just before daylight and paddle +hard till moonlight, we could do it in five days and a half." + +"Glorious! and are there portages?" + +"Lots of them." + +"And at each of these do I carry two hundred pounds of stuff up a hill +on my back?" + +"Yes." + +"And will there be a guide, a genuine, dirty-looking Indian guide?" + +"Yes." + +"And can I sleep next to him?" + +"Oh, yes, if you want to." + +"And when we get to the top, what is there?" + +"Well, we go over the height of land." + +"Oh, we do, do we? And is the height of land all rock and about three +hundred yards up-hill? And do I carry a barrel of flour up it? And does +it roll down and crush me on the other side? Look here, Billy, this trip +is a great thing, but it is too luxurious for me. If you will have me +paddled up the river in a large iron canoe with an awning, carried over +the portages in a sedan-chair, taken across the height of land in a +palanquin or a howdah, and lowered down the other side in a derrick, +I'll go. Short of that, the thing would be too fattening." + +Billy was discouraged and left me. But he has since returned repeatedly +to the attack. + +He offers to take me to the head-waters of the Batiscan. I am content at +the foot. + +He wants us to go to the sources of the Attahwapiscat. I don't. + +He says I ought to see the grand chutes of the Kewakasis. Why should I? + +I have made Billy a counter-proposition that we strike through the +Adirondacks (in the train) to New York, from there portage to Atlantic +City, then to Washington, carrying our own grub (in the dining-car), +camp there a few days (at the Willard), and then back, I to return by +train and Billy on foot with the outfit. + +The thing is still unsettled. + +Billy, of course, is only one of thousands that have got this mania. And +the autumn is the time when it rages at its worst. + +Every day there move northward trains, packed full of lawyers, bankers, +and brokers, headed for the bush. They are dressed up to look like +pirates. They wear slouch hats, flannel shirts, and leather breeches +with belts. They could afford much better clothes than these, but they +won't use them. I don't know where they get these clothes. I think the +railroad lends them out. They have guns between their knees and big +knives at their hips. They smoke the worst tobacco they can find, and +they carry ten gallons of alcohol per man in the baggage car. + +In the intervals of telling lies to one another they read the railroad +pamphlets about hunting. This kind of literature is deliberately and +fiendishly contrived to infuriate their mania. I know all about these +pamphlets because I write them. I once, for instance, wrote up, from +imagination, a little place called Dog Lake at the end of a branch line. +The place had failed as a settlement, and the railroad had decided to +turn it into a hunting resort. I did the turning. I think I did it +rather well, rechristening the lake and stocking the place with suitable +varieties of game. The pamphlet ran like this. + +"The limpid waters of Lake Owatawetness (the name, according to the old +Indian legends of the place, signifies, The Mirror of the Almighty) +abound with every known variety of fish. Near to its surface, so close +that the angler may reach out his hand and stroke them, schools of pike, +pickerel, mackerel, doggerel, and chickerel jostle one another in the +water. They rise instantaneously to the bait and swim gratefully ashore +holding it in their mouths. In the middle depth of the waters of the +lake, the sardine, the lobster, the kippered herring, the anchovy and +other tinned varieties of fish disport themselves with evident +gratification, while even lower in the pellucid depths the dog-fish, the +hog-fish, the log-fish, and the sword-fish whirl about in never-ending +circles. + +"Nor is Lake Owatawetness merely an Angler's Paradise. Vast forests of +primeval pine slope to the very shores of the lake, to which descend +great droves of bears--brown, green, and bear-coloured--while as the +shades of evening fall, the air is loud with the lowing of moose, +cariboo, antelope, cantelope, musk-oxes, musk-rats, and other +graminivorous mammalia of the forest. These enormous quadrumana +generally move off about 10.30 p.m., from which hour until 11.45 p.m. +the whole shore is reserved for bison and buffalo. + +"After midnight hunters who so desire it can be chased through the +woods, for any distance and at any speed they select, by jaguars, +panthers, cougars, tigers, and jackals whose ferocity is reputed to be +such that they will tear the breeches off a man with their teeth in +their eagerness to sink their fangs in his palpitating flesh. Hunters, +attention! Do not miss such attractions as these!" + +I have seen men--quiet, reputable, well-shaved men--reading that +pamphlet of mine in the rotundas of hotels, with their eyes blazing with +excitement. I think it is the jaguar attraction that hits them the +hardest, because I notice them rub themselves sympathetically with their +hands while they read. + +Of course, you can imagine the effect of this sort of literature on the +brains of men fresh from their offices, and dressed out as pirates. + +They just go crazy and stay crazy. + +Just watch them when they get into the bush. + +Notice that well-to-do stockbroker crawling about on his stomach in the +underbrush, with his spectacles shining like gig-lamps. What is he +doing? He is after a cariboo that isn't there. He is "stalking" it. With +his stomach. Of course, away down in his heart he knows that the cariboo +isn't there and never was; but that man read my pamphlet and went crazy. +He can't help it: he's GOT to stalk something. Mark him as he crawls +along; see him crawl through a thimbleberry bush (very quietly so that +the cariboo won't hear the noise of the prickles going into him), then +through a bee's nest, gently and slowly, so that the cariboo will not +take fright when the bees are stinging him. Sheer woodcraft! Yes, mark +him. Mark him any way you like. Go up behind him and paint a blue cross +on the seat of his pants as he crawls. He'll never notice. He thinks +he's a hunting dog. Yet this is the man who laughs at his little son of +ten for crawling round under the dining-room table with a mat over his +shoulders, and pretending to be a bear. + +Now see these other men in camp. + +Someone has told them--I think I first started the idea in my +pamphlet--that the thing is to sleep on a pile of hemlock branches. I +think I told them to listen to the wind sowing (you know the word I +mean), sowing and crooning in the giant pines. So there they are +upside-down, doubled up on a couch of green spikes that would have +killed St. Sebastian. They stare up at the sky with blood-shot, restless +eyes, waiting for the crooning to begin. And there isn't a sow in sight. + +Here is another man, ragged and with a six days' growth of beard, frying +a piece of bacon on a stick over a little fire. Now what does he think +he is? The CHEF of the Waldorf Astoria? Yes, he does, and what's more he +thinks that that miserable bit of bacon, cut with a tobacco knife from a +chunk of meat that lay six days in the rain, is fit to eat. What's more, +he'll eat it. So will the rest. They're all crazy together. + +There's another man, the Lord help him who thinks he has the "knack" of +being a carpenter. He is hammering up shelves to a tree. Till the +shelves fall down he thinks he is a wizard. Yet this is the same man who +swore at his wife for asking him to put up a shelf in the back kitchen. +"How the blazes," he asked, "could he nail the damn thing up? Did she +think he was a plumber?" + +After all, never mind. + +Provided they are happy up there, let them stay. + +Personally, I wouldn't mind if they didn't come back and lie about it. +They get back to the city dead fagged for want of sleep, sogged with +alcohol, bitten brown by the bush-flies, trampled on by the moose and +chased through the brush by bears and skunks--and they have the nerve to +say that they like it. + +Sometimes I think they do. + +Men are only animals anyway. They like to get out into the woods and +growl round at night and feel something bite them. + +Only why haven't they the imagination to be able to do the same thing +with less fuss? Why not take their coats and collars off in the office +and crawl round on the floor and growl at one another. It would be just +as good. + + + + +_Reflections on Riding_ + + +The writing of this paper has been inspired by a debate recently held at +the literary society of my native town on the question, "Resolved: that +the bicycle is a nobler animal than the horse." In order to speak for +the negative with proper authority, I have spent some weeks in +completely addicting myself to the use of the horse. I find that the +difference between the horse and the bicycle is greater than I had +supposed. + +The horse is entirely covered with hair; the bicycle is not entirely +covered with hair, except the '89 model they are using in Idaho. + +In riding a horse the performer finds that the pedals in which he puts +his feet will not allow of a good circular stroke. He will observe, +however, that there is a saddle in which--especially while the horse is +trotting--he is expected to seat himself from time to time. But it is +simpler to ride standing up, with the feet in the pedals. + +There are no handles to a horse, but the 1910 model has a string to each +side of its face for turning its head when there is anything you want it +to see. + +Coasting on a good horse is superb, but should be under control. I have +known a horse to suddenly begin to coast with me about two miles from +home, coast down the main street of my native town at a terrific rate, +and finally coast through a platoon of the Salvation Army into its +livery stable. + +I cannot honestly deny that it takes a good deal of physical courage to +ride a horse. This, however, I have. I get it at about forty cents a +flask, and take it as required. + +I find that in riding a horse up the long street of a country town, it +is not well to proceed at a trot. It excites unkindly comment. It is +better to let the horse walk the whole distance. This may be made to +seem natural by turning half round in the saddle with the hand on the +horse's back, and gazing intently about two miles up the road. It then +appears that you are the first in of about fourteen men. + +Since learning to ride, I have taken to noticing the things that people +do on horseback in books. Some of these I can manage, but most of them +are entirely beyond me. Here, for instance, is a form of equestrian +performance that every reader will recognize and for which I have only a +despairing admiration: + +"With a hasty gesture of farewell, the rider set spurs to his horse and +disappeared in a cloud of dust." + +With a little practice in the matter of adjustment, I think I could set +spurs to any size of horse, but I could never disappear in a cloud of +dust--at least, not with any guarantee of remaining disappeared when the +dust cleared away. + +Here, however, is one that I certainly can do: + +"The bridle-rein dropped from Lord Everard's listless hand, and, with +his head bowed upon his bosom, he suffered his horse to move at a foot's +pace up the sombre avenue. Deep in thought, he heeded not the movement +of the steed which bore him." + +That is, he looked as if he didn't; but in my case Lord Everard has his +eye on the steed pretty closely, just the same. + +This next I am doubtful about: + +"To horse! to horse!" cried the knight, and leaped into the saddle. + +I think I could manage it if it read: + +"To horse!" cried the knight, and, snatching a step-ladder from the +hands of his trusty attendant, he rushed into the saddle. + +As a concluding remark, I may mention that my experience of riding has +thrown a very interesting sidelight upon a rather puzzling point in +history. It is recorded of the famous Henry the Second that he was +"almost constantly in the saddle, and of so restless a disposition that +he never sat down, even at meals." I had hitherto been unable to +understand Henry's idea about his meals, but I think I can appreciate it +now. + + + + +_Saloonio_ + +A STUDY IN SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM + + +They say that young men fresh from college are pretty positive about +what they know. But from my own experience of life, I should say that if +you take a comfortable, elderly man who hasn't been near a college for +about twenty years, who has been pretty liberally fed and dined ever +since, who measures about fifty inches around the circumference, and has +a complexion like a cranberry by candlelight, you will find that there +is a degree of absolute certainty about what he thinks he knows that +will put any young man to shame. I am specially convinced of this from +the case of my friend Colonel Hogshead, a portly, choleric gentleman who +made a fortune in the cattle-trade out in Wyoming, and who, in his later +days, has acquired a chronic idea that the plays of Shakespeare are the +one subject upon which he is most qualified to speak personally. + +He came across me the other evening as I was sitting by the fire in the +club sitting-room looking over the leaves of The Merchant of Venice, and +began to hold forth to me about the book. + +"Merchant of Venice, eh? There's a play for you, sir! There's genius! +Wonderful, sir, wonderful! You take the characters in that play and +where will you find anything like them? You take Antonio, take Sherlock, +take Saloonio--" + +"Saloonio, Colonel?" I interposed mildly, "aren't you making a mistake? +There's a Bassanio and a Salanio in the play, but I don't think there's +any Saloonio, is there?" + +For a moment Colonel Hogshead's eye became misty with doubt, but he was +not the man to admit himself in error: + +"Tut, tut! young man," he said with a frown, "don't skim through your +books in that way. No Saloonio? Why, of course there's a Saloonio!" + +"But I tell you, Colonel," I rejoined, "I've just been reading the play +and studying it, and I know there's no such character--" + +"Nonsense, sir, nonsense!" said the Colonel, "why he comes in all +through; don't tell me, young man, I've read that play myself. Yes, and +seen it played, too, out in Wyoming, before you were born, by fellers, +sir, that could act. No Saloonio, indeed! why, who is it that is +Antonio's friend all through and won't leave him when Bassoonio turns +against him? Who rescues Clarissa from Sherlock, and steals the casket +of flesh from the Prince of Aragon? Who shouts at the Prince of Morocco, +'Out, out, you damned candlestick'? Who loads up the jury in the trial +scene and fixes the doge? No Saloonio! By gad! in my opinion, he's the +most important character in the play--" + +"Colonel Hogshead," I said very firmly, "there isn't any Saloonio and +you know it." + +But the old man had got fairly started on whatever dim recollection had +given birth to Saloonio; the character seemed to grow more and more +luminous in the Colonel's mind, and he continued with increasing +animation: + +"I'll just tell you what Saloonio is: he's a type. Shakespeare means him +to embody the type of the perfect Italian gentleman. He's an idea, +that's what he is, he's a symbol, he's a unit--" + +Meanwhile I had been searching among the leaves of the play. "Look +here," I said, "here's the list of the Dramatis Personae. There's no +Saloonio there." + +But this didn't dismay the Colonel one atom. "Why, of course there +isn't," he said. "You don't suppose you'd find Saloonio there! That's +the whole art of it! That's Shakespeare! That's the whole gist of it! +He's kept clean out of the Personae--gives him scope, gives him a free +hand, makes him more of a type than ever. Oh, it's a subtle thing, sir, +the dramatic art!" continued the Colonel, subsiding into quiet +reflection; "it takes a feller quite a time to get right into +Shakespeare's mind and see what he's at all the time." + +I began to see that there was no use in arguing any further with the old +man. I left him with the idea that the lapse of a little time would +soften his views on Saloonio. But I had not reckoned on the way in which +old men hang on to a thing. Colonel Hogshead quite took up Saloonio. +From that time on Saloonio became the theme of his constant +conversation. He was never tired of discussing the character of +Saloonio, the wonderful art of the dramatist in creating him, Saloonio's +relation to modern life, Saloonio's attitude toward women, the ethical +significance of Saloonio, Saloonio as compared with Hamlet, Hamlet as +compared with Saloonio--and so on, endlessly. And the more he looked +into Saloonio, the more he saw in him. + +Saloonio seemed inexhaustible. There were new sides to him--new phases +at every turn. The Colonel even read over the play, and finding no +mention of Saloonio's name in it, he swore that the books were not the +same books they had had out in Wyoming; that the whole part had been cut +clean out to suit the book to the infernal public schools, Saloonio's +language being--at any rate, as the Colonel quoted it--undoubtedly a +trifle free. Then the Colonel took to annotating his book at the side +with such remarks as, "Enter Saloonio," or "A tucket sounds; enter +Saloonio, on the arm of the Prince of Morocco." When there was no +reasonable excuse for bringing Saloonio on the stage the Colonel swore +that he was concealed behind the arras, or feasting within with the +doge. + +But he got satisfaction at last. He had found that there was nobody in +our part of the country who knew how to put a play of Shakespeare on the +stage, and took a trip to New York to see Sir Henry Irving and Miss +Terry do the play. The Colonel sat and listened all through with his +face just beaming with satisfaction, and when the curtain fell at the +close of Irving's grand presentation of the play, he stood up in his +seat, and cheered and yelled to his friends: "That's it! That's him! +Didn't you see that man that came on the stage all the time and sort of +put the whole play through, though you couldn't understand a word he +said? Well, that's him! That's Saloonio!" + + + + +_Half-hours with the Poets_ + + +I.--MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL. + + "I met a little cottage girl, + She was eight years old she said, + Her hair was thick with many a curl + That clustered round her head." + + WORDSWORTH. + +This is what really happened. + +Over the dreary downs of his native Cumberland the aged laureate was +wandering with bowed head and countenance of sorrow. + +Times were bad with the old man. + +In the south pocket of his trousers, as he set his face to the north, +jingled but a few odd coins and a cheque for St. Leon water. Apparently +his cup of bitterness was full. + +In the distance a child moved--a child in form, yet the deep lines upon +her face bespoke a countenance prematurely old. + +The poet espied, pursued and overtook the infant. He observed that +apparently she drew her breath lightly and felt her life in every limb, +and that presumably her acquaintance with death was of the most +superficial character. + +"I must sit awhile and ponder on that child," murmured the poet. So he +knocked her down with his walking-stick and seating himself upon her, he +pondered. + +Long he sat thus in thought. "His heart is heavy," sighed the child. + +At length he drew forth a note-book and pencil and prepared to write +upon his knee. "Now then, my dear young friend," he said, addressing the +elfin creature, "I want those lines upon your face. Are you seven?" + +"Yes, we are seven," said the girl sadly, and added, "I know what you +want. You are going to question me about my afflicted family. You are +Mr. Wordsworth, and you are collecting mortuary statistics for the +Cottagers' Edition of the Penny Encyclopaedia." + +"You are eight years old?" asked the bard. + +"I suppose so," answered she. "I have been eight years old for years and +years." + +"And you know nothing of death, of course?" said the poet cheerfully. + +"How can I?" answered the child. + +"Now then," resumed the venerable William, "let us get to business. Name +your brothers and sisters." + +"Let me see," began the child wearily; "there was Rube and Ike, two I +can't think of, and John and Jane." + +"You must not count John and Jane," interrupted the bard reprovingly; +"they're dead, you know, so that doesn't make seven." + +"I wasn't counting them, but perhaps I added up wrongly," said the +child; "and will you please move your overshoe off my neck?" + +"Pardon," said the old man. "A nervous trick, I have been absorbed; +indeed, the exigency of the metre almost demands my doubling up my feet. +To continue, however; which died first?" + +"The first to go was little Jane," said the child. + +"She lay moaning in bed, I presume?" + +"In bed she moaning lay." + +"What killed her?" + +"Insomnia," answered the girl. "The gaiety of our cottage life, previous +to the departure of our elder brothers for Conway, and the constant +field-sports in which she indulged with John, proved too much for a +frame never too robust." + +"You express yourself well," said the poet. "Now, in regard to your +unfortunate brother, what was the effect upon him in the following +winter of the ground being white with snow and your being able to run +and slide?" + +"My brother John was forced to go," answered she. "We have been at a +loss to understand the cause of his death. We fear that the dazzling +glare of the newly fallen snow, acting upon a restless brain, may have +led him to a fatal attempt to emulate my own feats upon the ice. And, +oh, sir," the child went on, "speak gently of poor Jane. You may rub it +into John all you like; we always let him slide." + +"Very well," said the bard, "and allow me, in conclusion, one rather +delicate question: Do you ever take your little porringer?" + +"Oh, yes," answered the child frankly-- + + "'Quite often after sunset, + When all is light and fair, + I take my little porringer'-- + +"I can't quite remember what I do after that, but I know that I like +it." + +"That is immaterial," said Wordsworth. "I can say that you take your +little porringer neat, or with bitters, or in water after every meal. As +long as I can state that you take a little porringer regularly, but +never to excess, the public is satisfied. And now," rising from his +seat, "I will not detain you any longer. Here is sixpence--or stay," he +added hastily, "here is a cheque for St. Leon water. Your information +has been most valuable, and I shall work it, for all I am Wordsworth." +With these words the aged poet bowed deferentially to the child and +sauntered off in the direction of the Duke of Cumberland's Arms, with +his eyes on the ground, as if looking for the meanest flower that blows +itself. + + +II:--HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + + "If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear." + + +PART I + +As soon as the child's malady had declared itself the afflicted parents +of the May Queen telegraphed to Tennyson, "Our child gone crazy on +subject of early rising, could you come and write some poetry about +her?" + +Alfred, always prompt to fill orders in writing from the country, came +down on the evening train. The old cottager greeted the poet warmly, and +began at once to speak of the state of his unfortunate daughter. + +"She was took queer in May," he said, "along of a sort of bee that the +young folks had; she ain't been just right since; happen you might do +summat." + +With these words he opened the door of an inner room. + +The girl lay in feverish slumber. Beside her bed was an alarm-clock set +for half-past three. Connected with the clock was an ingenious +arrangement of a falling brick with a string attached to the child's +toe. + +At the entrance of the visitor she started up in bed. "Whoop," she +yelled, "I am to be Queen of the May, mother, ye-e!" + +Then perceiving Tennyson in the doorway, "If that's a caller," she said, +"tell him to call me early." + +The shock caused the brick to fall. In the subsequent confusion Alfred +modestly withdrew to the sitting-room. + +"At this rate," he chuckled, "I shall not have long to wait. A few weeks +of that strain will finish her." + + +PART II + +Six months had passed. + +It was now mid-winter. + +And still the girl lived. Her vitality appeared inexhaustible. + +She got up earlier and earlier. She now rose yesterday afternoon. + +At intervals she seemed almost sane, and spoke in a most pathetic manner +of her grave and the probability of the sun shining on it early in the +morning, and her mother walking on it later in the day. At other times +her malady would seize her, and she would snatch the brick off the +string and throw it fiercely at Tennyson. Once, in an uncontrollable fit +of madness, she gave her sister Effie a half-share in her garden tools +and an interest in a box of mignonette. + +The poet stayed doggedly on. In the chill of the morning twilight he +broke the ice in his water-basin and cursed the girl. But he felt that +he had broken the ice and he stayed. + +On the whole, life at the cottage, though rugged, was not cheerless. In +the long winter evenings they would gather around a smoking fire of +peat, while Tennyson read aloud the Idylls of the King to the rude old +cottager. Not to show his rudeness, the old man kept awake by sitting on +a tin-tack. This also kept his mind on the right tack. The two found +that they had much in common, especially the old cottager. They called +each other "Alfred" and "Hezekiah" now. + + +PART III + +Time moved on and spring came. + +Still the girl baffled the poet. + +"I thought to pass away before," she would say with a mocking grin, "but +yet alive I am, Alfred, alive I am." + +Tennyson was fast losing hope. + +Worn out with early rising, they engaged a retired Pullman-car porter to +take up his quarters, and being a negro his presence added a touch of +colour to their life. + +The poet also engaged a neighbouring divine at fifty cents an evening to +read to the child the best hundred books, with explanations. The May +Queen tolerated him, and used to like to play with his silver hair, but +protested that he was prosy. + +At the end of his resources the poet resolved upon desperate measures. + +He chose an evening when the cottager and his wife were out at a +dinner-party. + +At nightfall Tennyson and his accomplices entered the girl's room. + +She defended herself savagely with her brick, but was overpowered. + +The negro seated himself upon her chest, while the clergyman hastily +read a few verses about the comfort of early rising at the last day. + +As he concluded, the poet drove his pen into her eye. + +"Last call!" cried the negro porter triumphantly. + + +III.--OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE HESPERUS. + + "It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintry sea, + And the skipper had taken his little daughter to bear him + company."--LONGFELLOW. + +There were but three people in the cabin party of the Hesperus: old Mr. +Longfellow, the skipper, and the skipper's daughter. + +The skipper was much attached to the child, owing to the singular +whiteness of her skin and the exceptionally limpid blue of her eyes; she +had hitherto remained on shore to fill lucrative engagements as albino +lady in a circus. + +This time, however, her father had taken her with him for company. The +girl was an endless source of amusement to the skipper and the crew. She +constantly got up games of puss-in-the-corner, forfeits, and Dumb Crambo +with her father and Mr. Longfellow, and made Scripture puzzles and +geographical acrostics for the men. + +Old Mr. Longfellow was taking the voyage to restore his shattered +nerves. From the first the captain disliked Henry. He was utterly unused +to the sea and was nervous and fidgety in the extreme. He complained +that at sea his genius had not a sufficient degree of latitude. Which +was unparalleled presumption. + +On the evening of the storm there had been a little jar between +Longfellow and the captain at dinner. The captain had emptied it several +times, and was consequently in a reckless, quarrelsome humour. + +"I confess I feel somewhat apprehensive," said old Henry nervously, "of +the state of the weather. I have had some conversation about it with an +old gentleman on deck who professed to have sailed the Spanish main. He +says you ought to put into yonder port." + +"I have," hiccoughed the skipper, eyeing the bottle, and added with a +brutal laugh that "he could weather the roughest gale that ever wind did +blow." A whole Gaelic society, he said, wouldn't fizz on him. + +Draining a final glass of grog, he rose from his chair, said grace, and +staggered on deck. + +All the time the wind blew colder and louder. + +The billows frothed like yeast. It was a yeast wind. + +The evening wore on. + +Old Henry shuffled about the cabin in nervous misery. + +The skipper's daughter sat quietly at the table selecting verses from a +Biblical clock to amuse the ship's bosun, who was suffering from +toothache. + +At about ten Longfellow went to his bunk, requesting the girl to remain +up in his cabin. + +For half an hour all was quiet, save the roaring of the winter wind. + +Then the girl heard the old gentleman start up in bed. + +"What's that bell, what's that bell?" he gasped. + +A minute later he emerged from his cabin wearing a cork jacket and +trousers over his pyjamas. + +"Sissy," he said, "go up and ask your pop who rang that bell." + +The obedient child returned. + +"Please, Mr. Longfellow," she said, "pa says there weren't no bell." + +The old man sank into a chair and remained with his head buried in his +hands. + +"Say," he exclaimed presently, "someone's firing guns and there's a +glimmering light somewhere. You'd better go upstairs again." + +Again the child returned. + +"The crew are guessing at an acrostic, and occasionally they get a +glimmering of it." + +Meantime the fury of the storm increased. + +The skipper had the hatches battered down. + +Presently Longfellow put his head out of a porthole and called out, +"Look here, you may not care, but the cruel rocks are goring the sides +of this boat like the horns of an angry bull." + +The brutal skipper heaved the log at him. A knot in it struck a plank +and it glanced off. + +Too frightened to remain below, the poet raised one of the hatches by +picking out the cotton batting and made his way on deck. He crawled to +the wheel-house. + +The skipper stood lashed to the helm all stiff and stark. He bowed +stiffly to the poet. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow on +his fixed and glassy eyes. The man was hopelessly intoxicated. + +All the crew had disappeared. When the missile thrown by the captain had +glanced off into the sea, they glanced after it and were lost. + +At this moment the final crash came. + +Something hit something. There was an awful click followed by a peculiar +grating sound, and in less time than it takes to write it +(unfortunately), the whole wreck was over. + +As the vessel sank, Longfellow's senses left him. When he reopened his +eyes he was in his own bed at home, and the editor of his local paper +was bending over him. + +"You have made a first-rate poem of it, Mr. Longfellow," he was saying, +unbending somewhat as he spoke, "and I am very happy to give you our +cheque for a dollar and a quarter for it." + +"Your kindness checks my utterance," murmured Henry feebly, very feebly. + + + + +_A, B, and C_ + +THE HUMAN ELEMENT IN MATHEMATICS + + +The student of arithmetic who has mastered the first four rules of his +art, and successfully striven with money sums and fractions, finds +himself confronted by an unbroken expanse of questions known as +problems. These are short stories of adventure and industry with the end +omitted, and though betraying a strong family resemblance, are not +without a certain element of romance. + +The characters in the plot of a problem are three people called A, B, +and C. The form of the question is generally of this sort: + +"A, B, and C do a certain piece of work. A can do as much work in one +hour as B in two, or C in four. Find how long they work at it." + +Or thus: + +"A, B, and C are employed to dig a ditch. A can dig as much in one hour +as B can dig in two, and B can dig twice as fast as C. Find how long, +etc. etc." + +Or after this wise: + +"A lays a wager that he can walk faster than B or C. A can walk half as +fast again as B, and C is only an indifferent walker. Find how far, and +so forth." + +The occupations of A, B, and C are many and varied. In the older +arithmetics they contented themselves with doing "a certain piece of +work." This statement of the case however, was found too sly and +mysterious, or possibly lacking in romantic charm. It became the fashion +to define the job more clearly and to set them at walking matches, +ditch-digging, regattas, and piling cord wood. At times, they became +commercial and entered into partnership, having with their old mystery a +"certain" capital. Above all they revel in motion. When they tire of +walking-matches--A rides on horseback, or borrows a bicycle and competes +with his weaker-minded associates on foot. Now they race on locomotives; +now they row; or again they become historical and engage stage-coaches; +or at times they are aquatic and swim. If their occupation is actual +work they prefer to pump water into cisterns, two of which leak through +holes in the bottom and one of which is water-tight. A, of course, has +the good one; he also takes the bicycle, and the best locomotive, and +the right of swimming with the current. Whatever they do they put money +on it, being all three sports. A always wins. + +In the early chapters of the arithmetic, their identity is concealed +under the names John, William, and Henry, and they wrangle over the +division of marbles. In algebra they are often called X, Y, Z. But these +are only their Christian names, and they are really the same people. + +Now to one who has followed the history of these men through countless +pages of problems, watched them in their leisure hours dallying with +cord wood, and seen their panting sides heave in the full frenzy of +filling a cistern with a leak in it, they become something more than +mere symbols. They appear as creatures of flesh and blood, living men +with their own passions, ambitions, and aspirations like the rest of us. +Let us view them in turn. A is a full-blooded blustering fellow, of +energetic temperament, hot-headed and strong-willed. It is he who +proposes everything, challenges B to work, makes the bets, and bends the +others to his will. He is a man of great physical strength and +phenomenal endurance. He has been known to walk forty-eight hours at a +stretch, and to pump ninety-six. His life is arduous and full of peril. +A mistake in the working of a sum may keep him digging a fortnight +without sleep. A repeating decimal in the answer might kill him. + +B is a quiet, easy-going fellow, afraid of A and bullied by him, but +very gentle and brotherly to little C, the weakling. He is quite in A's +power, having lost all his money in bets. + +Poor C is an undersized, frail man, with a plaintive face. Constant +walking, digging, and pumping has broken his health and ruined his +nervous system. His joyless life has driven him to drink and smoke more +than is good for him, and his hand often shakes as he digs ditches. He +has not the strength to work as the others can, in fact, as Hamlin Smith +has said, "A can do more work in one hour than C in four." + +The first time that ever I saw these men was one evening after a +regatta. They had all been rowing in it, and it had transpired that A +could row as much in one hour as B in two, or C in four. B and C had +come in dead fagged and C was coughing badly. "Never mind, old fellow," +I heard B say, "I'll fix you up on the sofa and get you some hot tea." +Just then A came blustering in and shouted, "I say, you fellows, Hamlin +Smith has shown me three cisterns in his garden and he says we can pump +them until to-morrow night. I bet I can beat you both. Come on. You can +pump in your rowing things, you know. Your cistern leaks a little, I +think, C." I heard B growl that it was a dirty shame and that C was used +up now, but they went, and presently I could tell from the sound of the +water that A was pumping four times as fast as C. + +For years after that I used to see them constantly about town and always +busy. I never heard of any of them eating or sleeping. Then owing to a +long absence from home, I lost sight of them. On my return I was +surprised to no longer find A, B, and C at their accustomed tasks; on +inquiry I heard that work in this line was now done by N, M, and O, and +that some people were employing for algebraical jobs four foreigners +called Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. + +Now it chanced one day that I stumbled upon old D, in the little garden +in front of his cottage, hoeing in the sun. D is an aged labouring man +who used occasionally to be called in to help A, B, and C. "Did I know +'em, sir?" he answered, "why, I knowed 'em ever since they was little +fellows in brackets. Master A, he were a fine lad, sir, though I always +said, give me Master B for kind-heartedness-like. Many's the job as +we've been on together, sir, though I never did no racing nor aught of +that, but just the plain labour, as you might say. I'm getting a bit too +old and stiff for it nowadays, sir--just scratch about in the garden +here and grow a bit of a logarithm, or raise a common denominator or +two. But Mr. Euclid he use me still for them propositions, he do." + +From the garrulous old man I learned the melancholy end of my former +acquaintances. Soon after I left town, he told me, C had been taken ill. +It seems that A and B had been rowing on the river for a wager, and C +had been running on the bank and then sat in a draught. Of course the +bank had refused the draught and C was taken ill. A and B came home and +found C lying helpless in bed. A shook him roughly and said, "Get up, C, +we're going to pile wood." C looked so worn and pitiful that B said, +"Look here, A, I won't stand this, he isn't fit to pile wood to-night." +C smiled feebly and said, "Perhaps I might pile a little if I sat up in +bed." Then B, thoroughly alarmed, said, "See here, A, I'm going to fetch +a doctor; he's dying." A flared up and answered, "You've no money to +fetch a doctor." "I'll reduce him to his lowest terms," B said firmly, +"that'll fetch him." C's life might even then have been saved but they +made a mistake about the medicine. It stood at the head of the bed on a +bracket, and the nurse accidentally removed it from the bracket without +changing the sign. After the fatal blunder C seems to have sunk rapidly. +On the evening of the next day, as the shadows deepened in the little +room, it was clear to all that the end was near. I think that even A was +affected at the last as he stood with bowed head, aimlessly offering to +bet with the doctor on C's laboured breathing. "A," whispered C, "I +think I'm going fast." "How fast do you think you'll go, old man?" +murmured A. "I don't know," said C, "but I'm going at any rate."--The +end came soon after that. C rallied for a moment and asked for a certain +piece of work that he had left downstairs. A put it in his arms and he +expired. As his soul sped heavenward A watched its flight with +melancholy admiration. B burst into a passionate flood of tears and +sobbed, "Put away his little cistern and the rowing clothes he used to +wear, I feel as if I could hardly ever dig again."--The funeral was +plain and unostentatious. It differed in nothing from the ordinary, +except that out of deference to sporting men and mathematicians, A +engaged two hearses. Both vehicles started at the same time, B driving +the one which bore the sable parallelopiped containing the last remains +of his ill-fated friend. A on the box of the empty hearse generously +consented to a handicap of a hundred yards, but arrived first at the +cemetery by driving four times as fast as B. (Find the distance to the +cemetery.) As the sarcophagus was lowered, the grave was surrounded by +the broken figures of the first book of Euclid.--It was noticed that +after the death of C, A became a changed man. He lost interest in racing +with B, and dug but languidly. He finally gave up his work and settled +down to live on the interest of his bets.--B never recovered from the +shock of C's death; his grief preyed upon his intellect and it became +deranged. He grew moody and spoke only in monosyllables. His disease +became rapidly aggravated, and he presently spoke only in words whose +spelling was regular and which presented no difficulty to the beginner. +Realizing his precarious condition he voluntarily submitted to be +incarcerated in an asylum, where he abjured mathematics and devoted +himself to writing the History of the Swiss Family Robinson in words of +one syllable. + + + + +_Acknowledgments_ + + +Many of the sketches which form the present volume have already appeared +in print. Others of them are new. Of the re-printed pieces, "Melpomenus +Jones," "Policeman Hogan," "A Lesson in Fiction," and many others were +contributions by the author to the New York Truth. The "Boarding-House +Geometry" first appeared in Truth, and was subsequently republished in +the London Punch, and in a great many other journals. The sketches +called the "Life of John Smith," "Society Chit-Chat," and "Aristocratic +Education" appeared in Puck. "The New Pathology" was first printed in +the Toronto Saturday Night, and was subsequently republished by the +London Lancet, and by various German periodicals in the form of a +translation. The story called "Number Fifty-Six" is taken from the +Detroit Free Press. "My Financial Career" was originally contributed to +the New York Life, and has been frequently reprinted. The Articles "How +to Make a Million Dollars" and "How to Avoid Getting Married," etc. are +reproduced by permission of the Publishers' Press Syndicate. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Literary Lapses + +Author: Stephen Leacock + +Release Date: June 21, 2004 [EBook #6340] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + + + + +Etext produced by Gardner Buchanan + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + LITERARY LAPSES + </h1> + <h2> + By Stephen Leacock + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> LITERARY LAPSES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> My Financial Career </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> Lord Oxhead's Secret </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Boarding-House Geometry </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A Christmas Letter </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> How to Make a Million Dollars </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> How to Live to be 200 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> How to Avoid Getting Married </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> How to be a Doctor </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> The New Food </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A New Pathology </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> The Poet Answered </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> The Force of Statistics </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Men Who have Shaved Me </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Getting the Thread of It </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Telling His Faults </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> Winter Pastimes </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> Number Fifty-Six </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> Aristocratic Education </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> The Conjurer's Revenge </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> Hints to Travellers </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A Manual of Education </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> The Life of John Smith </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> On Collecting Things </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> Society Chat-Chat </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> Insurance up to Date </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> Borrowing a Match </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A Lesson in Fiction </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> Helping the Armenians </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> A Study in Still Life.—The Country Hotel + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> An Experiment With Policeman Hogan </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> The Passing of the Poet </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> Self-made Men </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> A Model Dialogue </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> Back to the Bush </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> Reflections on Riding </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> Saloonio </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> Half-hours with the Poets </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> PART I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> PART II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> PART III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> A, B, and C </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> Acknowledgments </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITERARY LAPSES + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + My Financial Career + </h2> + <p> + When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets + rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me. + </p> + <p> + The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact + business there, I become an irresponsible idiot. + </p> + <p> + I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a + month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it. + </p> + <p> + So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea + that a person about to open an account must needs consult the manager. + </p> + <p> + I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool + devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral. + </p> + <p> + "Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't know + why I said "alone." + </p> + <p> + "Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him. + </p> + <p> + The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in + a crumpled ball in my pocket. + </p> + <p> + "Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, but + without it the thing seemed self-evident. + </p> + <p> + The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an awful secret + to reveal. + </p> + <p> + "Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private room. He turned the + key in the lock. + </p> + <p> + "We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down." + </p> + <p> + We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak. + </p> + <p> + "You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. + </p> + <p> + He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew + what he was thinking, and it made me worse. + </p> + <p> + "No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came from a + rival agency. + </p> + <p> + "To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie about it, + "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I intend to + keep all my money in this bank." + </p> + <p> + The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was + a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould. + </p> + <p> + "A large account, I suppose," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now + and fifty dollars a month regularly." + </p> + <p> + The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman is opening an + account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning." + </p> + <p> + I rose. + </p> + <p> + A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. + </p> + <p> + "Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe. + </p> + <p> + "Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the other way. + </p> + <p> + I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him + with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick. + </p> + <p> + My face was ghastly pale. + </p> + <p> + "Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let + us do this painful thing while the fit is on us." + </p> + <p> + He took the money and gave it to another clerk. + </p> + <p> + He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no longer + knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. + </p> + <p> + "It is," said the accountant. + </p> + <p> + "Then I want to draw a cheque." + </p> + <p> + My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave me + a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to + write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was an + invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at + the clerk. He looked at it. + </p> + <p> + "What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. Then I + realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too far gone + to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the + thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me. + </p> + <p> + Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, the whole thing." + </p> + <p> + "You withdraw your money from the bank?" + </p> + <p> + "Every cent of it." + </p> + <p> + "Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, astonished. + </p> + <p> + "Never." + </p> + <p> + An idiot hope struck me that they might think something had insulted me + while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a + wretched attempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper. + </p> + <p> + The clerk prepared to pay the money. + </p> + <p> + "How will you have it?" he said. + </p> + <p> + "What?" + </p> + <p> + "How will you have it?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh"—I caught his meaning and answered without even trying to think—"in + fifties." + </p> + <p> + He gave me a fifty-dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + "And the six?" he asked dryly. + </p> + <p> + "In sixes," I said. + </p> + <p> + He gave it me and I rushed out. + </p> + <p> + As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of laughter + that went up to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I bank no more. I keep + my money in cash in my trousers pocket and my savings in silver dollars in + a sock. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Lord Oxhead's Secret + </h2> + <h3> + A ROMANCE IN ONE CHAPTER + </h3> + <p> + It was finished. Ruin had come. Lord Oxhead sat gazing fixedly at the + library fire. Without, the wind soughed (or sogged) around the turrets of + Oxhead Towers, the seat of the Oxhead family. But the old earl heeded not + the sogging of the wind around his seat. He was too absorbed. + </p> + <p> + Before him lay a pile of blue papers with printed headings. From time to + time he turned them over in his hands and replaced them on the table with + a groan. To the earl they meant ruin—absolute, irretrievable ruin, + and with it the loss of his stately home that had been the pride of the + Oxheads for generations. More than that—the world would now know the + awful secret of his life. + </p> + <p> + The earl bowed his head in the bitterness of his sorrow, for he came of a + proud stock. About him hung the portraits of his ancestors. Here on the + right an Oxhead who had broken his lance at Crecy, or immediately before + it. There McWhinnie Oxhead who had ridden madly from the stricken field of + Flodden to bring to the affrighted burghers of Edinburgh all the tidings + that he had been able to gather in passing the battlefield. Next him hung + the dark half Spanish face of Sir Amyas Oxhead of Elizabethan days whose + pinnace was the first to dash to Plymouth with the news that the English + fleet, as nearly as could be judged from a reasonable distance, seemed + about to grapple with the Spanish Armada. Below this, the two Cavalier + brothers, Giles and Everard Oxhead, who had sat in the oak with Charles + II. Then to the right again the portrait of Sir Ponsonby Oxhead who had + fought with Wellington in Spain, and been dismissed for it. + </p> + <p> + Immediately before the earl as he sat was the family escutcheon emblazoned + above the mantelpiece. A child might read the simplicity of its proud + significance—an ox rampant quartered in a field of gules with a pike + dexter and a dog intermittent in a plain parallelogram right centre, with + the motto, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, hujus, hujus." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + "Father!"—The girl's voice rang clear through the half light of the + wainscoted library. Gwendoline Oxhead had thrown herself about the earl's + neck. The girl was radiant with happiness. Gwendoline was a beautiful girl + of thirty-three, typically English in the freshness of her girlish + innocence. She wore one of those charming walking suits of brown holland + so fashionable among the aristocracy of England, while a rough leather + belt encircled her waist in a single sweep. She bore herself with that + sweet simplicity which was her greatest charm. She was probably more + simple than any girl of her age for miles around. Gwendoline was the pride + of her father's heart, for he saw reflected in her the qualities of his + race. + </p> + <p> + "Father," she said, a blush mantling her fair face, "I am so happy, oh so + happy; Edwin has asked me to be his wife, and we have plighted our troth—at + least if you consent. For I will never marry without my father's warrant," + she added, raising her head proudly; "I am too much of an Oxhead for + that." + </p> + <p> + Then as she gazed into the old earl's stricken face, the girl's mood + changed at once. "Father," she cried, "father, are you ill? What is it? + Shall I ring?" As she spoke Gwendoline reached for the heavy bell-rope + that hung beside the wall, but the earl, fearful that her frenzied efforts + might actually make it ring, checked her hand. "I am, indeed, deeply + troubled," said Lord Oxhead, "but of that anon. Tell me first what is this + news you bring. I hope, Gwendoline, that your choice has been worthy of an + Oxhead, and that he to whom you have plighted your troth will be worthy to + bear our motto with his own." And, raising his eyes to the escutcheon + before him, the earl murmured half unconsciously, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, + hujus, hujus," breathing perhaps a prayer as many of his ancestors had + done before him that he might never forget it. + </p> + <p> + "Father," continued Gwendoline, half timidly, "Edwin is an American." + </p> + <p> + "You surprise me indeed," answered Lord Oxhead; "and yet," he continued, + turning to his daughter with the courtly grace that marked the nobleman of + the old school, "why should we not respect and admire the Americans? + Surely there have been great names among them. Indeed, our ancestor Sir + Amyas Oxhead was, I think, married to Pocahontas—at least if not + actually married"—the earl hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + "At least they loved one another," said Gwendoline simply. + </p> + <p> + "Precisely," said the earl, with relief, "they loved one another, yes, + exactly." Then as if musing to himself, "Yes, there have been great + Americans. Bolivar was an American. The two Washingtons—George and + Booker—are both Americans. There have been others too, though for + the moment I do not recall their names. But tell me, Gwendoline, this + Edwin of yours—where is his family seat?" + </p> + <p> + "It is at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, father." + </p> + <p> + "Ah! say you so?" rejoined the earl, with rising interest. "Oshkosh is, + indeed, a grand old name. The Oshkosh are a Russian family. An Ivan + Oshkosh came to England with Peter the Great and married my ancestress. + Their descendant in the second degree once removed, Mixtup Oshkosh, fought + at the burning of Moscow and later at the sack of Salamanca and the treaty + of Adrianople. And Wisconsin too," the old nobleman went on, his features + kindling with animation, for he had a passion for heraldry, genealogy, + chronology, and commercial geography; "the Wisconsins, or better, I think, + the Guisconsins, are of old blood. A Guisconsin followed Henry I to + Jerusalem and rescued my ancestor Hardup Oxhead from the Saracens. Another + Guisconsin..." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, father," said Gwendoline, gently interrupting, "Wisconsin is not + Edwin's own name: that is, I believe, the name of his estate. My lover's + name is Edwin Einstein." + </p> + <p> + "Einstein," repeated the earl dubiously—"an Indian name perhaps; yet + the Indians are many of them of excellent family. An ancestor of mine..." + </p> + <p> + "Father," said Gwendoline, again interrupting, "here is a portrait of + Edwin. Judge for yourself if he be noble." With this she placed in her + father's hand an American tin-type, tinted in pink and brown. The picture + represented a typical specimen of American manhood of that Anglo-Semitic + type so often seen in persons of mixed English and Jewish extraction. The + figure was well over five feet two inches in height and broad in + proportion. The graceful sloping shoulders harmonized with the slender and + well-poised waist, and with a hand pliant and yet prehensile. The pallor + of the features was relieved by a drooping black moustache. + </p> + <p> + Such was Edwin Einstein to whom Gwendoline's heart, if not her hand, was + already affianced. Their love had been so simple and yet so strange. It + seemed to Gwendoline that it was but a thing of yesterday, and yet in + reality they had met three weeks ago. Love had drawn them irresistibly + together. To Edwin the fair English girl with her old name and wide + estates possessed a charm that he scarcely dared confess to himself. He + determined to woo her. To Gwendoline there was that in Edwin's bearing, + the rich jewels that he wore, the vast fortune that rumour ascribed to + him, that appealed to something romantic and chivalrous in her nature. She + loved to hear him speak of stocks and bonds, corners and margins, and his + father's colossal business. It all seemed so noble and so far above the + sordid lives of the people about her. Edwin, too, loved to hear the girl + talk of her father's estates, of the diamond-hilted sword that the saladin + had given, or had lent, to her ancestor hundreds of years ago. Her + description of her father, the old earl, touched something romantic in + Edwin's generous heart. He was never tired of asking how old he was, was + he robust, did a shock, a sudden shock, affect him much? and so on. Then + had come the evening that Gwendoline loved to live over and over again in + her mind when Edwin had asked her in his straightforward, manly way, + whether—subject to certain written stipulations to be considered + later—she would be his wife: and she, putting her hand confidingly + in his hand, answered simply, that—subject to the consent of her + father and pending always the necessary legal formalities and inquiries—she + would. + </p> + <p> + It had all seemed like a dream: and now Edwin Einstein had come in person + to ask her hand from the earl, her father. Indeed, he was at this moment + in the outer hall testing the gold leaf in the picture-frames with his + pen-knife while waiting for his affianced to break the fateful news to + Lord Oxhead. + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline summoned her courage for a great effort. "Papa," she said, + "there is one other thing that it is fair to tell you. Edwin's father is + in business." + </p> + <p> + The earl started from his seat in blank amazement. "In business!" he + repeated, "the father of the suitor of the daughter of an Oxhead in + business! My daughter the step-daughter of the grandfather of my grandson! + Are you mad, girl? It is too much, too much!" + </p> + <p> + "But, father," pleaded the beautiful girl in anguish, "hear me. It is + Edwin's father—Sarcophagus Einstein, senior—not Edwin himself. + Edwin does nothing. He has never earned a penny. He is quite unable to + support himself. You have only to see him to believe it. Indeed, dear + father, he is just like us. He is here now, in this house, waiting to see + you. If it were not for his great wealth..." + </p> + <p> + "Girl," said the earl sternly, "I care not for the man's riches. How much + has he?" + </p> + <p> + "Fifteen million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," answered + Gwendoline. Lord Oxhead leaned his head against the mantelpiece. His mind + was in a whirl. He was trying to calculate the yearly interest on fifteen + and a quarter million dollars at four and a half per cent reduced to + pounds, shillings, and pence. It was bootless. His brain, trained by long + years of high living and plain thinking, had become too subtle, too + refined an instrument for arithmetic... + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + At this moment the door opened and Edwin Einstein stood before the earl. + Gwendoline never forgot what happened. Through her life the picture of it + haunted her—her lover upright at the door, his fine frank gaze fixed + inquiringly on the diamond pin in her father's necktie, and he, her + father, raising from the mantelpiece a face of agonized amazement. + </p> + <p> + "You! You!" he gasped. For a moment he stood to his full height, swaying + and groping in the air, then fell prostrate his full length upon the + floor. The lovers rushed to his aid. Edwin tore open his neckcloth and + plucked aside his diamond pin to give him air. But it was too late. Earl + Oxhead had breathed his last. Life had fled. The earl was extinct. That is + to say, he was dead. + </p> + <p> + The reason of his death was never known. Had the sight of Edwin killed + him? It might have. The old family doctor, hurriedly summoned, declared + his utter ignorance. This, too, was likely. Edwin himself could explain + nothing. But it was observed that after the earl's death and his marriage + with Gwendoline he was a changed man; he dressed better, talked much + better English. + </p> + <p> + The wedding itself was quiet, almost sad. At Gwendoline's request there + was no wedding breakfast, no bridesmaids, and no reception, while Edwin, + respecting his bride's bereavement, insisted that there should be no best + man, no flowers, no presents, and no honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + Thus Lord Oxhead's secret died with him. It was probably too complicated + to be interesting anyway. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Boarding-House Geometry + </h2> + <h3> + DEFINITIONS AND AXIOMS + </h3> + <p> + All boarding-houses are the same boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + Boarders in the same boarding-house and on the same flat are equal to one + another. + </p> + <p> + A single room is that which has no parts and no magnitude. + </p> + <p> + The landlady of a boarding-house is a parallelogram—that is, an + oblong angular figure, which cannot be described, but which is equal to + anything. + </p> + <p> + A wrangle is the disinclination of two boarders to each other that meet + together but are not in the same line. + </p> + <p> + All the other rooms being taken, a single room is said to be a double + room. + </p> + <h3> + POSTULATES AND PROPOSITIONS + </h3> + <p> + A pie may be produced any number of times. + </p> + <p> + The landlady can be reduced to her lowest terms by a series of + propositions. + </p> + <p> + A bee line may be made from any boarding-house to any other + boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + The clothes of a boarding-house bed, though produced ever so far both + ways, will not meet. + </p> + <p> + Any two meals at a boarding-house are together less than two square meals. + </p> + <p> + If from the opposite ends of a boarding-house a line be drawn passing + through all the rooms in turn, then the stovepipe which warms the boarders + will lie within that line. + </p> + <p> + On the same bill and on the same side of it there should not be two + charges for the same thing. + </p> + <p> + If there be two boarders on the same flat, and the amount of side of the + one be equal to the amount of side of the other, each to each, and the + wrangle between one boarder and the landlady be equal to the wrangle + between the landlady and the other, then shall the weekly bills of the two + boarders be equal also, each to each. + </p> + <p> + For if not, let one bill be the greater. + </p> + <p> + Then the other bill is less than it might have been—which is absurd. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones + </h2> + <p> + Some people—not you nor I, because we are so awfully self-possessed—but + some people, find great difficulty in saying good-bye when making a call + or spending the evening. As the moment draws near when the visitor feels + that he is fairly entitled to go away he rises and says abruptly, "Well, I + think I..." Then the people say, "Oh, must you go now? Surely it's early + yet!" and a pitiful struggle ensues. + </p> + <p> + I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I ever knew was that + of my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, a curate—such a dear young man, + and only twenty-three! He simply couldn't get away from people. He was too + modest to tell a lie, and too religious to wish to appear rude. Now it + happened that he went to call on some friends of his on the very first + afternoon of his summer vacation. The next six weeks were entirely his own—absolutely + nothing to do. He chatted awhile, drank two cups of tea, then braced + himself for the effort and said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + "Well, I think I..." + </p> + <p> + But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no! Mr. Jones, can't you really stay + a little longer?" + </p> + <p> + Jones was always truthful. "Oh, yes," he said, "of course, I—er—can + stay." + </p> + <p> + "Then please don't go." + </p> + <p> + He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling. He rose again. + </p> + <p> + "Well now," he said shyly, "I think I really..." + </p> + <p> + "You must go?" said the lady politely. "I thought perhaps you could have + stayed to dinner..." + </p> + <p> + "Oh well, so I could, you know," Jones said, "if..." + </p> + <p> + "Then please stay, I'm sure my husband will be delighted." + </p> + <p> + "All right," he said feebly, "I'll stay," and he sank back into his chair, + just full of tea, and miserable. + </p> + <p> + Papa came home. They had dinner. All through the meal Jones sat planning + to leave at eight-thirty. All the family wondered whether Mr. Jones was + stupid and sulky, or only stupid. + </p> + <p> + After dinner mamma undertook to "draw him out," and showed him + photographs. She showed him all the family museum, several gross of them—photos + of papa's uncle and his wife, and mamma's brother and his little boy, an + awfully interesting photo of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform, + an awfully well-taken photo of papa's grandfather's partner's dog, and an + awfully wicked one of papa as the devil for a fancy-dress ball. At + eight-thirty Jones had examined seventy-one photographs. There were about + sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones rose. + </p> + <p> + "I must say good night now," he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + "Say good night!" they said, "why it's only half-past eight! Have you + anything to do?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about staying six weeks, + and then laughed miserably. + </p> + <p> + Just then it turned out that the favourite child of the family, such a + dear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones's hat; so papa said that he must + stay, and invited him to a pipe and a chat. Papa had the pipe and gave + Jones the chat, and still he stayed. Every moment he meant to take the + plunge, but couldn't. Then papa began to get very tired of Jones, and + fidgeted and finally said, with jocular irony, that Jones had better stay + all night, they could give him a shake-down. Jones mistook his meaning and + thanked him with tears in his eyes, and papa put Jones to bed in the spare + room and cursed him heartily. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast next day, papa went off to his work in the City, and left + Jones playing with the baby, broken-hearted. His nerve was utterly gone. + He was meaning to leave all day, but the thing had got on his mind and he + simply couldn't. When papa came home in the evening he was surprised and + chagrined to find Jones still there. He thought to jockey him out with a + jest, and said he thought he'd have to charge him for his board, he! he! + The unhappy young man stared wildly for a moment, then wrung papa's hand, + paid him a month's board in advance, and broke down and sobbed like a + child. + </p> + <p> + In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable. He lived, of + course, entirely in the drawing-room, and the lack of air and exercise + began to tell sadly on his health. He passed his time in drinking tea and + looking at the photographs. He would stand for hours gazing at the + photographs of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform—talking + to it, sometimes swearing bitterly at it. His mind was visibly failing. + </p> + <p> + At length the crash came. They carried him upstairs in a raging delirium + of fever. The illness that followed was terrible. He recognized no one, + not even papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform. At times he would + start up from his bed and shriek, "Well, I think I..." and then fall back + upon the pillow with a horrible laugh. Then, again, he would leap up and + cry, "Another cup of tea and more photographs! More photographs! Har! + Har!" + </p> + <p> + At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of his vacation, he + passed away. They say that when the last moment came, he sat up in bed + with a beautiful smile of confidence playing upon his face, and said, + "Well—the angels are calling me; I'm afraid I really must go now. + Good afternoon." + </p> + <p> + And the rushing of his spirit from its prison-house was as rapid as a + hunted cat passing over a garden fence. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Christmas Letter + </h2> + <p> + (In answer to a young lady who has sent an invitation to be present at a + children's party) + </p> + <p> + Madamoiselle, + </p> + <p> + Allow me very gratefully but firmly to refuse your kind invitation. You + doubtless mean well; but your ideas are unhappily mistaken. + </p> + <p> + Let us understand one another once and for all. I cannot at my mature age + participate in the sports of children with such abandon as I could wish. I + entertain, and have always entertained, the sincerest regard for such + games as Hunt-the-Slipper and Blind-Man's Buff. But I have now reached a + time of life, when, to have my eyes blindfolded and to have a powerful boy + of ten hit me in the back with a hobby-horse and ask me to guess who hit + me, provokes me to a fit of retaliation which could only culminate in + reckless criminality. Nor can I cover my shoulders with a drawing-room rug + and crawl round on my hands and knees under the pretence that I am a bear + without a sense of personal insufficiency, which is painful to me. + </p> + <p> + Neither can I look on with a complacent eye at the sad spectacle of your + young clerical friend, the Reverend Mr. Uttermost Farthing, abandoning + himself to such gambols and appearing in the role of life and soul of the + evening. Such a degradation of his holy calling grieves me, and I cannot + but suspect him of ulterior motives. + </p> + <p> + You inform me that your maiden aunt intends to help you to entertain the + party. I have not, as you know, the honour of your aunt's acquaintance, + yet I think I may with reason surmise that she will organize games—guessing + games—in which she will ask me to name a river in Asia beginning + with a Z; on my failure to do so she will put a hot plate down my neck as + a forfeit, and the children will clap their hands. These games, my dear + young friend, involve the use of a more adaptable intellect than mine, and + I cannot consent to be a party to them. + </p> + <p> + May I say in conclusion that I do not consider a five-cent pen-wiper from + the top branch of a Xmas tree any adequate compensation for the kind of + evening you propose. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have the honour + To subscribe myself, + Your obedient servant. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to Make a Million Dollars + </h2> + <p> + I mix a good deal with the Millionaires. I like them. I like their faces. + I like the way they live. I like the things they eat. The more we mix + together the better I like the things we mix. + </p> + <p> + Especially I like the way they dress, their grey check trousers, their + white check waist-coats, their heavy gold chains, and the signet-rings + that they sign their cheques with. My! they look nice. Get six or seven of + them sitting together in the club and it's a treat to see them. And if + they get the least dust on them, men come and brush it off. Yes, and are + glad to. I'd like to take some of the dust off them myself. + </p> + <p> + Even more than what they eat I like their intellectual grasp. It is + wonderful. Just watch them read. They simply read all the time. Go into + the club at any hour and you'll see three or four of them at it. And the + things they can read! You'd think that a man who'd been driving hard in + the office from eleven o'clock until three, with only an hour and a half + for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a bit. These men can sit down after + office hours and read the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the Pink Un, + and understand the jokes just as well as I can. + </p> + <p> + What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and catch the little + scraps of conversation. The other day I heard one lean forward and say, + "Well, I offered him a million and a half and said I wouldn't give a cent + more, he could either take it or leave it—" I just longed to break + in and say, "What! what! a million and a half! Oh! say that again! Offer + it to me, to either take it or leave it. Do try me once: I know I can: or + here, make it a plain million and let's call it done." + </p> + <p> + Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. Don't think it. Of + course they don't take much account of big money, a hundred thousand + dollars at a shot or anything of that sort. But little money. You've no + idea till you know them how anxious they get about a cent, or half a cent, + or less. + </p> + <p> + Why, two of them came into the club the other night just frantic with + delight: they said wheat had risen and they'd cleaned up four cents each + in less than half an hour. They bought a dinner for sixteen on the + strength of it. I don't understand it. I've often made twice as much as + that writing for the papers and never felt like boasting about it. + </p> + <p> + One night I heard one man say, "Well, let's call up New York and offer + them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! Imagine paying the cost of + calling up New York, nearly five million people, late at night and + offering them a quarter of a cent! And yet—did New York get mad? No, + they took it. Of course it's high finance. I don't pretend to understand + it. I tried after that to call up Chicago and offer it a cent and a half, + and to call up Hamilton, Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and the + operator only thought I was crazy. + </p> + <p> + All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how the millionaires do + it. I have. For years. I thought it might be helpful to young men just + beginning to work and anxious to stop. + </p> + <p> + You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when he was a boy he + had known what he knows now, instead of being what he is he might be what + he won't; but how few boys stop to think that if they knew what they don't + know instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? These are awful + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, I've been gathering hints on how it is they do it. + </p> + <p> + One thing I'm sure about. If a young man wants to make a million dollars + he's got to be mighty careful about his diet and his living. This may seem + hard. But success is only achieved with pains. + </p> + <p> + There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million dollars + thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat force and poached eggs, + drink cold water at lunch, and go to bed at 10 p.m. You can't do it. I've + seen too many millionaires for that. If you want to be a millionaire you + mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They never do. They daren't. It + would be as much as their business is worth if they were seen on the + street at half-past nine. + </p> + <p> + And the old idea of abstemiousness is all wrong. To be a millionaire you + need champagne, lots of it and all the time. That and Scotch whisky and + soda: you have to sit up nearly all night and drink buckets of it. This is + what clears the brain for business next day. I've seen some of these men + with their brains so clear in the morning, that their faces look + positively boiled. + </p> + <p> + To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But you can buy that by + the pint. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved on from your + present status in business, change your life. When your landlady brings + your bacon and eggs for breakfast, throw them out of window to the dog and + tell her to bring you some chilled asparagus and a pint of Moselle. Then + telephone to your employer that you'll be down about eleven o'clock. You + will get moved on. Yes, very quickly. + </p> + <p> + Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult question. But one + way is this. Strike the town with five cents in your pocket. They nearly + all do this; they've told me again and again (men with millions and + millions) that the first time they struck town they had only five cents. + That seems to have given them their start. Of course, it's not easy to do. + I've tried it several times. I nearly did it once. I borrowed five cents, + carried it away out of town, and then turned and came back at the town + with an awful rush. If I hadn't struck a beer saloon in the suburbs and + spent the five cents I might have been rich to-day. + </p> + <p> + Another good plan is to start something. Something on a huge scale: + something nobody ever thought of. For instance, one man I know told me + that once he was down in Mexico without a cent (he'd lost his five in + striking Central America) and he noticed that they had no power plants. So + he started some and made a mint of money. Another man that I know was once + stranded in New York, absolutely without a nickel. Well, it occurred to + him that what was needed were buildings ten stories higher than any that + had been put up. So he built two and sold them right away. Ever so many + millionaires begin in some such simple way as that. + </p> + <p> + There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. I almost hate to + tell this, because I want to do it myself. + </p> + <p> + I learned of it just by chance one night at the club. There is one old man + there, extremely rich, with one of the best faces of the lot, just like a + hyena. I never used to know how he had got so rich. So one evening I asked + one of the millionaires how old Bloggs had made all his money. + </p> + <p> + "How he made it?" he answered with a sneer. "Why he made it by taking it + out of widows and orphans." + </p> + <p> + Widows and orphans! I thought, what an excellent idea. But who would have + suspected that they had it? + </p> + <p> + "And how," I asked pretty cautiously, "did he go at it to get it out of + them?" + </p> + <p> + "Why," the man answered, "he just ground them under his heels, that was + how." + </p> + <p> + Now isn't that simple? I've thought of that conversation often since and I + mean to try it. If I can get hold of them, I'll grind them quick enough. + But how to get them. Most of the widows I know look pretty solid for that + sort of thing, and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot of them. + Meantime I am waiting, and if I ever get a large bunch of orphans all + together, I'll stamp on them and see. + </p> + <p> + I find, too, on inquiry, that you can also grind it out of clergymen. They + say they grind nicely. But perhaps orphans are easier. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to Live to be 200 + </h2> + <p> + Twenty years ago I knew a man called Jiggins, who had the Health Habit. + </p> + <p> + He used to take a cold plunge every morning. He said it opened his pores. + After it he took a hot sponge. He said it closed the pores. He got so that + he could open and shut his pores at will. + </p> + <p> + Jiggins used to stand and breathe at an open window for half an hour + before dressing. He said it expanded his lungs. He might, of course, have + had it done in a shoe-store with a boot stretcher, but after all it cost + him nothing this way, and what is half an hour? + </p> + <p> + After he had got his undershirt on, Jiggins used to hitch himself up like + a dog in harness and do Sandow exercises. He did them forwards, backwards, + and hind-side up. + </p> + <p> + He could have got a job as a dog anywhere. He spent all his time at this + kind of thing. In his spare time at the office, he used to lie on his + stomach on the floor and see if he could lift himself up with his + knuckles. If he could, then he tried some other way until he found one + that he couldn't do. Then he would spend the rest of his lunch hour on his + stomach, perfectly happy. + </p> + <p> + In the evenings in his room he used to lift iron bars, cannon-balls, heave + dumb-bells, and haul himself up to the ceiling with his teeth. You could + hear the thumps half a mile. He liked it. + </p> + <p> + He spent half the night slinging himself around his room. He said it made + his brain clear. When he got his brain perfectly clear, he went to bed and + slept. As soon as he woke, he began clearing it again. + </p> + <p> + Jiggins is dead. He was, of course, a pioneer, but the fact that he + dumb-belled himself to death at an early age does not prevent a whole + generation of young men from following in his path. + </p> + <p> + They are ridden by the Health Mania. + </p> + <p> + They make themselves a nuisance. + </p> + <p> + They get up at impossible hours. They go out in silly little suits and run + Marathon heats before breakfast. They chase around barefoot to get the dew + on their feet. They hunt for ozone. They bother about pepsin. They won't + eat meat because it has too much nitrogen. They won't eat fruit because it + hasn't any. They prefer albumen and starch and nitrogen to huckleberry pie + and doughnuts. They won't drink water out of a tap. They won't eat + sardines out of a can. They won't use oysters out of a pail. They won't + drink milk out of a glass. They are afraid of alcohol in any shape. Yes, + sir, afraid. "Cowards." + </p> + <p> + And after all their fuss they presently incur some simple old-fashioned + illness and die like anybody else. + </p> + <p> + Now people of this sort have no chance to attain any great age. They are + on the wrong track. + </p> + <p> + Listen. Do you want to live to be really old, to enjoy a grand, green, + exuberant, boastful old age and to make yourself a nuisance to your whole + neighbourhood with your reminiscences? + </p> + <p> + Then cut out all this nonsense. Cut it out. Get up in the morning at a + sensible hour. The time to get up is when you have to, not before. If your + office opens at eleven, get up at ten-thirty. Take your chance on ozone. + There isn't any such thing anyway. Or, if there is, you can buy a Thermos + bottle full for five cents, and put it on a shelf in your cupboard. If + your work begins at seven in the morning, get up at ten minutes to, but + don't be liar enough to say that you like it. It isn't exhilarating, and + you know it. + </p> + <p> + Also, drop all that cold-bath business. You never did it when you were a + boy. Don't be a fool now. If you must take a bath (you don't really need + to), take it warm. The pleasure of getting out of a cold bed and creeping + into a hot bath beats a cold plunge to death. In any case, stop gassing + about your tub and your "shower," as if you were the only man who ever + washed. + </p> + <p> + So much for that point. + </p> + <p> + Next, take the question of germs and bacilli. Don't be scared of them. + That's all. That's the whole thing, and if you once get on to that you + never need to worry again. + </p> + <p> + If you see a bacilli, walk right up to it, and look it in the eye. If one + flies into your room, strike at it with your hat or with a towel. Hit it + as hard as you can between the neck and the thorax. It will soon get sick + of that. + </p> + <p> + But as a matter of fact, a bacilli is perfectly quiet and harmless if you + are not afraid of it. Speak to it. Call out to it to "lie down." It will + understand. I had a bacilli once, called Fido, that would come and lie at + my feet while I was working. I never knew a more affectionate companion, + and when it was run over by an automobile, I buried it in the garden with + genuine sorrow. + </p> + <p> + (I admit this is an exaggeration. I don't really remember its name; it may + have been Robert.) + </p> + <p> + Understand that it is only a fad of modern medicine to say that cholera + and typhoid and diphtheria are caused by bacilli and germs; nonsense. + Cholera is caused by a frightful pain in the stomach, and diphtheria is + caused by trying to cure a sore throat. + </p> + <p> + Now take the question of food. + </p> + <p> + Eat what you want. Eat lots of it. Yes, eat too much of it. Eat till you + can just stagger across the room with it and prop it up against a sofa + cushion. Eat everything that you like until you can't eat any more. The + only test is, can you pay for it? If you can't pay for it, don't eat it. + And listen—don't worry as to whether your food contains starch, or + albumen, or gluten, or nitrogen. If you are a damn fool enough to want + these things, go and buy them and eat all you want of them. Go to a + laundry and get a bag of starch, and eat your fill of it. Eat it, and take + a good long drink of glue after it, and a spoonful of Portland cement. + That will gluten you, good and solid. + </p> + <p> + If you like nitrogen, go and get a druggist to give you a canful of it at + the soda counter, and let you sip it with a straw. Only don't think that + you can mix all these things up with your food. There isn't any nitrogen + or phosphorus or albumen in ordinary things to eat. In any decent + household all that sort of stuff is washed out in the kitchen sink before + the food is put on the table. + </p> + <p> + And just one word about fresh air and exercise. Don't bother with either + of them. Get your room full of good air, then shut up the windows and keep + it. It will keep for years. Anyway, don't keep using your lungs all the + time. Let them rest. As for exercise, if you have to take it, take it and + put up with it. But as long as you have the price of a hack and can hire + other people to play baseball for you and run races and do gymnastics when + you sit in the shade and smoke and watch them—great heavens, what + more do you want? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to Avoid Getting Married + </h2> + <p> + Some years ago, when I was the Editor of a Correspondence Column, I used + to receive heart-broken letters from young men asking for advice and + sympathy. They found themselves the object of marked attentions from girls + which they scarcely knew how to deal with. They did not wish to give pain + or to seem indifferent to a love which they felt was as ardent as it was + disinterested, and yet they felt that they could not bestow their hands + where their hearts had not spoken. They wrote to me fully and frankly, and + as one soul might write to another for relief. I accepted their + confidences as under the pledge of a secrecy, never divulging their + disclosures beyond the circulation of my newspapers, or giving any hint of + their identity other than printing their names and addresses and their + letters in full. But I may perhaps without dishonour reproduce one of + these letters, and my answer to it, inasmuch as the date is now months + ago, and the softening hand of Time has woven its roses—how shall I + put it?—the mellow haze of reminiscences has—what I mean is + that the young man has gone back to work and is all right again. + </p> + <p> + Here then is a letter from a young man whose name I must not reveal, but + whom I will designate as D. F., and whose address I must not divulge, but + will simply indicate as Q. Street, West. + </p> + <h3> + "DEAR MR. LEACOCK, + </h3> + <p> + "For some time past I have been the recipient of very marked attentions + from a young lady. She has been calling at the house almost every evening, + and has taken me out in her motor, and invited me to concerts and the + theatre. On these latter occasions I have insisted on her taking my father + with me, and have tried as far as possible to prevent her saying anything + to me which would be unfit for father to hear. But my position has become + a very difficult one. I do not think it right to accept her presents when + I cannot feel that my heart is hers. Yesterday she sent to my house a + beautiful bouquet of American Beauty roses addressed to me, and a + magnificent bunch of Timothy Hay for father. I do not know what to say. + Would it be right for father to keep all this valuable hay? I have + confided fully in father, and we have discussed the question of presents. + He thinks that there are some that we can keep with propriety, and others + that a sense of delicacy forbids us to retain. He himself is going to sort + out the presents into the two classes. He thinks that as far as he can + see, the Hay is in class B. Meantime I write to you, as I understand that + Miss Laura Jean Libby and Miss Beatrix Fairfax are on their vacation, and + in any case a friend of mine who follows their writings closely tells me + that they are always full. + </p> + <p> + "I enclose a dollar, because I do not think it right to ask you to give + all your valuable time and your best thought without giving you back what + it is worth." + </p> + <p> + On receipt of this I wrote back at once a private and confidential letter + which I printed in the following edition of the paper. + </p> + <h3> + "MY DEAR, DEAR BOY, + </h3> + <p> + "Your letter has touched me. As soon as I opened it and saw the green and + blue tint of the dollar bill which you had so daintily and prettily folded + within the pages of your sweet letter, I knew that the note was from + someone that I could learn to love, if our correspondence were to continue + as it had begun. I took the dollar from your letter and kissed and fondled + it a dozen times. Dear unknown boy! I shall always keep that dollar! No + matter how much I may need it, or how many necessaries, yes, absolute + necessities, of life I may be wanting, I shall always keep THAT dollar. Do + you understand, dear? I shall keep it. I shall not spend it. As far as the + USE of it goes, it will be just as if you had not sent it. Even if you + were to send me another dollar, I should still keep the first one, so that + no matter how many you sent, the recollection of one first friendship + would not be contaminated with mercenary considerations. When I say + dollar, darling, of course an express order, or a postal note, or even + stamps would be all the same. But in that case do not address me in care + of this office, as I should not like to think of your pretty little + letters lying round where others might handle them. + </p> + <p> + "But now I must stop chatting about myself, for I know that you cannot be + interested in a simple old fogey such as I am. Let me talk to you about + your letter and about the difficult question it raises for all + marriageable young men. + </p> + <p> + "In the first place, let me tell you how glad I am that you confide in + your father. Whatever happens, go at once to your father, put your arms + about his neck, and have a good cry together. And you are right, too, + about presents. It needs a wiser head than my poor perplexed boy to deal + with them. Take them to your father to be sorted, or, if you feel that you + must not overtax his love, address them to me in your own pretty hand. + </p> + <p> + "And now let us talk, dear, as one heart to another. Remember always that + if a girl is to have your heart she must be worthy of you. When you look + at your own bright innocent face in the mirror, resolve that you will give + your hand to no girl who is not just as innocent as you are and no + brighter than yourself. So that you must first find out how innocent she + is. Ask her quietly and frankly—remember, dear, that the days of + false modesty are passing away—whether she has ever been in jail. If + she has not (and if YOU have not), then you know that you are dealing with + a dear confiding girl who will make you a life mate. Then you must know, + too, that her mind is worthy of your own. So many men to-day are led + astray by the merely superficial graces and attractions of girls who in + reality possess no mental equipment at all. Many a man is bitterly + disillusioned after marriage when he realises that his wife cannot solve a + quadratic equation, and that he is compelled to spend all his days with a + woman who does not know that X squared plus 2XY plus Y squared is the same + thing, or, I think nearly the same thing, as X plus Y squared. + </p> + <p> + "Nor should the simple domestic virtues be neglected. If a girl desires to + woo you, before allowing her to press her suit, ask her if she knows how + to press yours. If she can, let her woo; if not, tell her to whoa. But I + see I have written quite as much as I need for this column. Won't you + write again, just as before, dear boy? + </p> + <h3> + "STEPHEN LEACOCK." + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How to be a Doctor + </h2> + <p> + Certainly the progress of science is a wonderful thing. One can't help + feeling proud of it. I must admit that I do. Whenever I get talking to + anyone—that is, to anyone who knows even less about it than I do—about + the marvellous development of electricity, for instance, I feel as if I + had been personally responsible for it. As for the linotype and the + aeroplane and the vacuum house-cleaner, well, I am not sure that I didn't + invent them myself. I believe that all generous-hearted men feel just the + same way about it. + </p> + <p> + However, that is not the point I am intending to discuss. What I want to + speak about is the progress of medicine. There, if you like, is something + wonderful. Any lover of humanity (or of either sex of it) who looks back + on the achievements of medical science must feel his heart glow and his + right ventricle expand with the pericardiac stimulus of a permissible + pride. + </p> + <p> + Just think of it. A hundred years ago there were no bacilli, no ptomaine + poisoning, no diphtheria, and no appendicitis. Rabies was but little + known, and only imperfectly developed. All of these we owe to medical + science. Even such things as psoriasis and parotitis and trypanosomiasis, + which are now household names, were known only to the few, and were quite + beyond the reach of the great mass of the people. + </p> + <p> + Or consider the advance of the science on its practical side. A hundred + years ago it used to be supposed that fever could be cured by the letting + of blood; now we know positively that it cannot. Even seventy years ago it + was thought that fever was curable by the administration of sedative + drugs; now we know that it isn't. For the matter of that, as recently as + thirty years ago, doctors thought that they could heal a fever by means of + low diet and the application of ice; now they are absolutely certain that + they cannot. This instance shows the steady progress made in the treatment + of fever. But there has been the same cheering advance all along the line. + Take rheumatism. A few generations ago people with rheumatism used to have + to carry round potatoes in their pockets as a means of cure. Now the + doctors allow them to carry absolutely anything they like. They may go + round with their pockets full of water-melons if they wish to. It makes no + difference. Or take the treatment of epilepsy. It used to be supposed that + the first thing to do in sudden attacks of this kind was to unfasten the + patient's collar and let him breathe; at present, on the contrary, many + doctors consider it better to button up the patient's collar and let him + choke. + </p> + <p> + In only one respect has there been a decided lack of progress in the + domain of medicine, that is in the time it takes to become a qualified + practitioner. In the good old days a man was turned out thoroughly + equipped after putting in two winter sessions at a college and spending + his summers in running logs for a sawmill. Some of the students were + turned out even sooner. Nowadays it takes anywhere from five to eight + years to become a doctor. Of course, one is willing to grant that our + young men are growing stupider and lazier every year. This fact will be + corroborated at once by any man over fifty years of age. But even when + this is said it seems odd that a man should study eight years now to learn + what he used to acquire in eight months. + </p> + <p> + However, let that go. The point I want to develop is that the modern + doctor's business is an extremely simple one, which could be acquired in + about two weeks. This is the way it is done. + </p> + <p> + The patient enters the consulting-room. "Doctor," he says, "I have a bad + pain." "Where is it?" "Here." "Stand up," says the doctor, "and put your + arms up above your head." Then the doctor goes behind the patient and + strikes him a powerful blow in the back. "Do you feel that," he says. "I + do," says the patient. Then the doctor turns suddenly and lets him have a + left hook under the heart. "Can you feel that," he says viciously, as the + patient falls over on the sofa in a heap. "Get up," says the doctor, and + counts ten. The patient rises. The doctor looks him over very carefully + without speaking, and then suddenly fetches him a blow in the stomach that + doubles him up speechless. The doctor walks over to the window and reads + the morning paper for a while. Presently he turns and begins to mutter + more to himself than the patient. "Hum!" he says, "there's a slight + anaesthesia of the tympanum." "Is that so?" says the patient, in an agony + of fear. "What can I do about it, doctor?" "Well," says the doctor, "I + want you to keep very quiet; you'll have to go to bed and stay there and + keep quiet." In reality, of course, the doctor hasn't the least idea what + is wrong with the man; but he DOES know that if he will go to bed and keep + quiet, awfully quiet, he'll either get quietly well again or else die a + quiet death. Meantime, if the doctor calls every morning and thumps and + beats him, he can keep the patient submissive and perhaps force him to + confess what is wrong with him. + </p> + <p> + "What about diet, doctor?" says the patient, completely cowed. + </p> + <p> + The answer to this question varies very much. It depends on how the doctor + is feeling and whether it is long since he had a meal himself. If it is + late in the morning and the doctor is ravenously hungry, he says: "Oh, eat + plenty, don't be afraid of it; eat meat, vegetables, starch, glue, cement, + anything you like." But if the doctor has just had lunch and if his + breathing is short-circuited with huckleberry-pie, he says very firmly: + "No, I don't want you to eat anything at all: absolutely not a bite; it + won't hurt you, a little self-denial in the matter of eating is the best + thing in the world." + </p> + <p> + "And what about drinking?" Again the doctor's answer varies. He may say: + "Oh, yes, you might drink a glass of lager now and then, or, if you prefer + it, a gin and soda or a whisky and Apollinaris, and I think before going + to bed I'd take a hot Scotch with a couple of lumps of white sugar and bit + of lemon-peel in it and a good grating of nutmeg on the top." The doctor + says this with real feeling, and his eye glistens with the pure love of + his profession. But if, on the other hand, the doctor has spent the night + before at a little gathering of medical friends, he is very apt to forbid + the patient to touch alcohol in any shape, and to dismiss the subject with + great severity. + </p> + <p> + Of course, this treatment in and of itself would appear too transparent, + and would fail to inspire the patient with a proper confidence. But + nowadays this element is supplied by the work of the analytical + laboratory. Whatever is wrong with the patient, the doctor insists on + snipping off parts and pieces and extracts of him and sending them + mysteriously away to be analysed. He cuts off a lock of the patient's + hair, marks it, "Mr. Smith's Hair, October, 1910." Then he clips off the + lower part of the ear, and wraps it in paper, and labels it, "Part of Mr. + Smith's Ear, October, 1910." Then he looks the patient up and down, with + the scissors in his hand, and if he sees any likely part of him he clips + it off and wraps it up. Now this, oddly enough, is the very thing that + fills the patient up with that sense of personal importance which is worth + paying for. "Yes," says the bandaged patient, later in the day to a group + of friends much impressed, "the doctor thinks there may be a slight + anaesthesia of the prognosis, but he's sent my ear to New York and my + appendix to Baltimore and a lock of my hair to the editors of all the + medical journals, and meantime I am to keep very quiet and not exert + myself beyond drinking a hot Scotch with lemon and nutmeg every + half-hour." With that he sinks back faintly on his cushions, luxuriously + happy. + </p> + <p> + And yet, isn't it funny? + </p> + <p> + You and I and the rest of us—even if we know all this—as soon + as we have a pain within us, rush for a doctor as fast as a hack can take + us. Yes, personally, I even prefer an ambulance with a bell on it. It's + more soothing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The New Food + </h2> + <p> + I see from the current columns of the daily press that "Professor Plumb, + of the University of Chicago, has just invented a highly concentrated form + of food. All the essential nutritive elements are put together in the form + of pellets, each of which contains from one to two hundred times as much + nourishment as an ounce of an ordinary article of diet. These pellets, + diluted with water, will form all that is necessary to support life. The + professor looks forward confidently to revolutionizing the present food + system." + </p> + <p> + Now this kind of thing may be all very well in its way, but it is going to + have its drawbacks as well. In the bright future anticipated by Professor + Plumb, we can easily imagine such incidents as the following: + </p> + <p> + The smiling family were gathered round the hospitable board. The table was + plenteously laid with a soup-plate in front of each beaming child, a + bucket of hot water before the radiant mother, and at the head of the + board the Christmas dinner of the happy home, warmly covered by a thimble + and resting on a poker chip. The expectant whispers of the little ones + were hushed as the father, rising from his chair, lifted the thimble and + disclosed a small pill of concentrated nourishment on the chip before him. + Christmas turkey, cranberry sauce, plum pudding, mince pie—it was + all there, all jammed into that little pill and only waiting to expand. + Then the father with deep reverence, and a devout eye alternating between + the pill and heaven, lifted his voice in a benediction. + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was an agonized cry from the mother. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Henry, quick! Baby has snatched the pill!" It was too true. Dear + little Gustavus Adolphus, the golden-haired baby boy, had grabbed the + whole Christmas dinner off the poker chip and bolted it. Three hundred and + fifty pounds of concentrated nourishment passed down the oesophagus of the + unthinking child. + </p> + <p> + "Clap him on the back!" cried the distracted mother. "Give him water!" + </p> + <p> + The idea was fatal. The water striking the pill caused it to expand. There + was a dull rumbling sound and then, with an awful bang, Gustavus Adolphus + exploded into fragments! + </p> + <p> + And when they gathered the little corpse together, the baby lips were + parted in a lingering smile that could only be worn by a child who had + eaten thirteen Christmas dinners. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A New Pathology + </h2> + <p> + It has long been vaguely understood that the condition of a man's clothes + has a certain effect upon the health of both body and mind. The well-known + proverb, "Clothes make the man" has its origin in a general recognition of + the powerful influence of the habiliments in their reaction upon the + wearer. The same truth may be observed in the facts of everyday life. On + the one hand we remark the bold carriage and mental vigour of a man + attired in a new suit of clothes; on the other hand we note the melancholy + features of him who is conscious of a posterior patch, or the haunted face + of one suffering from internal loss of buttons. But while common + observation thus gives us a certain familiarity with a few leading facts + regarding the ailments and influence of clothes, no attempt has as yet + been made to reduce our knowledge to a systematic form. At the same time + the writer feels that a valuable addition might be made to the science of + medicine in this direction. The numerous diseases which are caused by this + fatal influence should receive a scientific analysis, and their treatment + be included among the principles of the healing art. The diseases of the + clothes may roughly be divided into medical cases and surgical cases, + while these again fall into classes according to the particular garment + through which the sufferer is attacked. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MEDICAL CASES +</pre> + <p> + Probably no article of apparel is so liable to a diseased condition as the + trousers. It may be well, therefore, to treat first those maladies to + which they are subject. + </p> + <p> + I. Contractio Pantalunae, or Shortening of the Legs of the Trousers, an + extremely painful malady most frequently found in the growing youth. The + first symptom is the appearance of a yawning space (lacuna) above the + boots, accompanied by an acute sense of humiliation and a morbid + anticipation of mockery. The application of treacle to the boots, although + commonly recommended, may rightly be condemned as too drastic a remedy. + The use of boots reaching to the knee, to be removed only at night, will + afford immediate relief. In connection with Contractio is often found— + </p> + <p> + II. Inflatio Genu, or Bagging of the Knees of the Trousers, a disease + whose symptoms are similar to those above. The patient shows an aversion + to the standing posture, and, in acute cases, if the patient be compelled + to stand, the head is bent and the eye fixed with painful rigidity upon + the projecting blade formed at the knee of the trousers. + </p> + <p> + In both of the above diseases anything that can be done to free the mind + of the patient from a morbid sense of his infirmity will do much to + improve the general tone of the system. + </p> + <p> + III. Oases, or Patches, are liable to break out anywhere on the trousers, + and range in degree of gravity from those of a trifling nature to those of + a fatal character. The most distressing cases are those where the patch + assumes a different colour from that of the trousers (dissimilitas + coloris). In this instance the mind of the patient is found to be in a + sadly aberrated condition. A speedy improvement may, however, be effected + by cheerful society, books, flowers, and, above all, by a complete change. + </p> + <p> + IV. The overcoat is attacked by no serious disorders, except— + </p> + <p> + Phosphorescentia, or Glistening, a malady which indeed may often be + observed to affect the whole system. It is caused by decay of tissue from + old age and is generally aggravated by repeated brushing. A peculiar + feature of the complaint is the lack of veracity on the part of the + patient in reference to the cause of his uneasiness. Another invariable + symptom is his aversion to outdoor exercise; under various pretexts, which + it is the duty of his medical adviser firmly to combat, he will avoid even + a gentle walk in the streets. + </p> + <p> + V. Of the waistcoat science recognizes but one disease— + </p> + <p> + Porriggia, an affliction caused by repeated spilling of porridge. It is + generally harmless, chiefly owing to the mental indifference of the + patient. It can be successfully treated by repeated fomentations of + benzine. + </p> + <p> + VI. Mortificatio Tilis, or Greenness of the Hat, is a disease often found + in connection with Phosphorescentia (mentioned above), and characterized + by the same aversion to outdoor life. + </p> + <p> + VII. Sterilitas, or Loss of Fur, is another disease of the hat, especially + prevalent in winter. It is not accurately known whether this is caused by + a falling out of the fur or by a cessation of growth. In all diseases of + the hat the mind of the patient is greatly depressed and his countenance + stamped with the deepest gloom. He is particularly sensitive in regard to + questions as to the previous history of the hat. + </p> + <p> + Want of space precludes the mention of minor diseases, such as— + </p> + <p> + VIII. Odditus Soccorum, or oddness of the socks, a thing in itself + trifling, but of an alarming nature if met in combination with Contractio + Pantalunae. Cases are found where the patient, possibly on the public + platform or at a social gathering, is seized with a consciousness of the + malady so suddenly as to render medical assistance futile. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SURGICAL CASES +</pre> + <p> + It is impossible to mention more than a few of the most typical cases of + diseases of this sort. + </p> + <p> + I. Explosio, or Loss of Buttons, is the commonest malady demanding + surgical treatment. It consists of a succession of minor fractures, + possibly internal, which at first excite no alarm. A vague sense of + uneasiness is presently felt, which often leads the patient to seek relief + in the string habit—a habit which, if unduly indulged in, may assume + the proportions of a ruling passion. The use of sealing-wax, while + admirable as a temporary remedy for Explosio, should never be allowed to + gain a permanent hold upon the system. There is no doubt that a persistent + indulgence in the string habit, or the constant use of sealing-wax, will + result in— + </p> + <p> + II. Fractura Suspendorum, or Snapping of the Braces, which amounts to a + general collapse of the system. The patient is usually seized with a + severe attack of explosio, followed by a sudden sinking feeling and sense + of loss. A sound constitution may rally from the shock, but a system + undermined by the string habit invariably succumbs. + </p> + <p> + III. Sectura Pantalunae, or Ripping of the Trousers, is generally caused + by sitting upon warm beeswax or leaning against a hook. In the case of the + very young it is not unfrequently accompanied by a distressing suppuration + of the shirt. This, however, is not remarked in adults. The malady is + rather mental than bodily, the mind of the patient being racked by a keen + sense of indignity and a feeling of unworthiness. The only treatment is + immediate isolation, with a careful stitching of the affected part. + </p> + <p> + In conclusion, it may be stated that at the first symptom of disease the + patient should not hesitate to put himself in the hands of a professional + tailor. In so brief a compass as the present article the discussion has of + necessity been rather suggestive than exhaustive. Much yet remains to be + done, and the subject opens wide to the inquiring eye. The writer will, + however, feel amply satisfied if this brief outline may help to direct the + attention of medical men to what is yet an unexplored field. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Poet Answered + </h2> + <h3> + Dear sir: + </h3> + <p> + In answer to your repeated questions and requests which have appeared for + some years past in the columns of the rural press, I beg to submit the + following solutions of your chief difficulties:— + </p> + <p> + Topic I.—You frequently ask, where are the friends of your + childhood, and urge that they shall be brought back to you. As far as I am + able to learn, those of your friends who are not in jail are still right + there in your native village. You point out that they were wont to share + your gambols. If so, you are certainly entitled to have theirs now. + </p> + <p> + Topic II.—You have taken occasion to say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Give me not silk, nor rich attire, + Nor gold, nor jewels rare." +</pre> + <p> + But, my dear fellow, this is preposterous. Why, these are the very things + I had bought for you. If you won't take any of these, I shall have to give + you factory cotton and cordwood. + </p> + <p> + Topic III.—You also ask, "How fares my love across the sea?" + Intermediate, I presume. She would hardly travel steerage. + </p> + <p> + Topic IV.—"Why was I born? Why should I breathe?" Here I quite agree + with you. I don't think you ought to breathe. + </p> + <p> + Topic V.—You demand that I shall show you the man whose soul is dead + and then mark him. I am awfully sorry; the man was around here all day + yesterday, and if I had only known I could easily have marked him so that + we could pick him out again. + </p> + <p> + Topic VI.—I notice that you frequently say, "Oh, for the sky of your + native land." Oh, for it, by all means, if you wish. But remember that you + already owe for a great deal. + </p> + <p> + Topic VII.—On more than one occasion you wish to be informed, "What + boots it, that you idly dream?" Nothing boots it at present—a fact, + sir, which ought to afford you the highest gratification. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Force of Statistics + </h2> + <p> + They were sitting on a seat of the car, immediately in front of me. I was + consequently able to hear all that they were saying. They were evidently + strangers who had dropped into a conversation. They both had the air of + men who considered themselves profoundly interesting as minds. It was + plain that each laboured under the impression that he was a ripe thinker. + </p> + <p> + One had just been reading a book which lay in his lap. + </p> + <p> + "I've been reading some very interesting statistics," he was saying to the + other thinker. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, statistics" said the other; "wonderful things, sir, statistics; very + fond of them myself." + </p> + <p> + "I find, for instance," the first man went on, "that a drop of water is + filled with little...with little...I forget just what you call + them...little—er—things, every cubic inch containing—er—containing...let + me see..." + </p> + <p> + "Say a million," said the other thinker, encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, a million, or possibly a billion...but at any rate, ever so many of + them." + </p> + <p> + "Is it possible?" said the other. "But really, you know there are + wonderful things in the world. Now, coal...take coal..." + </p> + <p> + "Very, good," said his friend, "let us take coal," settling back in his + seat with the air of an intellect about to feed itself. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know that every ton of coal burnt in an engine will drag a train + of cars as long as...I forget the exact length, but say a train of cars of + such and such a length, and weighing, say so much...from...from...hum! for + the moment the exact distance escapes me...drag it from..." + </p> + <p> + "From here to the moon," suggested the other. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, very likely; yes, from here to the moon. Wonderful, isn't it?" + </p> + <p> + "But the most stupendous calculation of all, sir, is in regard to the + distance from the earth to the sun. Positively, sir, a cannon-ball—er—fired + at the sun..." + </p> + <p> + "Fired at the sun," nodded the other, approvingly, as if he had often seen + it done. + </p> + <p> + "And travelling at the rate of...of..." + </p> + <p> + "Of three cents a mile," hinted the listener. + </p> + <p> + "No, no, you misunderstand me,—but travelling at a fearful rate, + simply fearful, sir, would take a hundred million—no, a hundred + billion—in short would take a scandalously long time in getting + there—" + </p> + <p> + At this point I could stand no more. I interrupted—"Provided it were + fired from Philadelphia," I said, and passed into the smoking-car. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Men Who have Shaved Me + </h2> + <p> + A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can tell you at what + exact hour the ball game of the day is to begin, can foretell its issue + without losing a stroke of the razor, and can explain the points of + inferiority of all the players, as compared with better men that he has + personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a professional. He can do + all this, and then stuff the customer's mouth with a soap-brush, and leave + him while he goes to the other end of the shop to make a side bet with one + of the other barbers on the outcome of the Autumn Handicap. In the + barber-shops they knew the result of the Jeffries-Johnson prize-fight long + before it happened. It is on information of this kind that they make their + living. The performance of shaving is only incidental to it. Their real + vocation in life is imparting information. To the barber the outside world + is made up of customers, who are to be thrown into chairs, strapped, + manacled, gagged with soap, and then given such necessary information on + the athletic events of the moment as will carry them through the business + hours of the day without open disgrace. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the barber has properly filled up the customer with information + of this sort, he rapidly removes his whiskers as a sign that the man is + now fit to talk to, and lets him out of the chair. + </p> + <p> + The public has grown to understand the situation. Every reasonable + business man is willing to sit and wait half an hour for a shave which he + could give himself in three minutes, because he knows that if he goes down + town without understanding exactly why Chicago lost two games straight he + will appear an ignoramus. + </p> + <p> + At times, of course, the barber prefers to test his customer with a + question or two. He gets him pinned in the chair, with his head well back, + covers the customer's face with soap, and then planting his knee on his + chest and holding his hand firmly across the customer's mouth, to prevent + all utterance and to force him to swallow the soap, he asks: "Well, what + did you think of the Detroit-St. Louis game yesterday?" This is not really + meant for a question at all. It is only equivalent to saying: "Now, you + poor fool, I'll bet you don't know anything about the great events of your + country at all." There is a gurgle in the customer's throat as if he were + trying to answer, and his eyes are seen to move sideways, but the barber + merely thrusts the soap-brush into each eye, and if any motion still + persists, he breathes gin and peppermint over the face, till all sign of + life is extinct. Then he talks the game over in detail with the barber at + the next chair, each leaning across an inanimate thing extended under + steaming towels that was once a man. + </p> + <p> + To know all these things barbers have to be highly educated. It is true + that some of the greatest barbers that have ever lived have begun as + uneducated, illiterate men, and by sheer energy and indomitable industry + have forced their way to the front. But these are exceptions. To succeed + nowadays it is practically necessary to be a college graduate. As the + courses at Harvard and Yale have been found too superficial, there are now + established regular Barbers' Colleges, where a bright young man can learn + as much in three weeks as he would be likely to know after three years at + Harvard. The courses at these colleges cover such things as: (1) + Physiology, including Hair and its Destruction, The Origin and Growth of + Whiskers, Soap in its Relation to Eyesight; (2) Chemistry, including + lectures on Florida Water; and How to Make it out of Sardine Oil; (3) + Practical Anatomy, including The Scalp and How to Lift it, The Ears and + How to Remove them, and, as the Major Course for advanced students, The + Veins of the Face and how to open and close them at will by the use of + alum. + </p> + <p> + The education of the customer is, as I have said, the chief part of the + barber's vocation. But it must be remembered that the incidental function + of removing his whiskers in order to mark him as a well-informed man is + also of importance, and demands long practice and great natural aptitude. + In the barbers' shops of modern cities shaving has been brought to a high + degree of perfection. A good barber is not content to remove the whiskers + of his client directly and immediately. He prefers to cook him first. He + does this by immersing the head in hot water and covering the victim's + face with steaming towels until he has him boiled to a nice pink. From + time to time the barber removes the towels and looks at the face to see if + it is yet boiled pink enough for his satisfaction. If it is not, he + replaces the towels again and jams them down firmly with his hand until + the cooking is finished. The final result, however, amply justifies this + trouble, and the well-boiled customer only needs the addition of a few + vegetables on the side to present an extremely appetizing appearance. + </p> + <p> + During the process of the shave, it is customary for the barber to apply + the particular kind of mental torture known as the third degree. This is + done by terrorizing the patient as to the very evident and proximate loss + of all his hair and whiskers, which the barber is enabled by his + experience to foretell. "Your hair," he says, very sadly and + sympathetically, "is all falling out. Better let me give you a shampoo?" + "No." "Let me singe your hair to close up the follicles?" "No." "Let me + plug up the ends of your hair with sealing-wax, it's the only thing that + will save it for you?" "No." "Let me rub an egg on your scalp?" "No." "Let + me squirt a lemon on your eyebrows?" "No." + </p> + <p> + The barber sees that he is dealing with a man of determination, and he + warms to his task. He bends low and whispers into the prostrate ear: + "You've got a good many grey hairs coming in; better let me give you an + application of Hairocene, only cost you half a dollar?" "No." "Your face," + he whispers again, with a soft, caressing voice, "is all covered with + wrinkles; better let me rub some of this Rejuvenator into the face." + </p> + <p> + This process is continued until one of two things happens. Either the + customer is obdurate, and staggers to his feet at last and gropes his way + out of the shop with the knowledge that he is a wrinkled, prematurely + senile man, whose wicked life is stamped upon his face, and whose + unstopped hair-ends and failing follicles menace him with the certainty of + complete baldness within twenty-four hours—or else, as in nearly all + instances, he succumbs. In the latter case, immediately on his saying + "yes" there is a shout of exultation from the barber, a roar of steaming + water, and within a moment two barbers have grabbed him by the feet and + thrown him under the tap, and, in spite of his struggles, are giving him + the Hydro-magnetic treatment. When he emerges from their hands, he steps + out of the shop looking as if he had been varnished. + </p> + <p> + But even the application of the Hydro-magnetic and the Rejuvenator do not + by any means exhaust the resources of the up-to-date barber. He prefers to + perform on the customer a whole variety of subsidiary services not + directly connected with shaving, but carried on during the process of the + shave. + </p> + <p> + In a good, up-to-date shop, while one man is shaving the customer, others + black his boots; brush his clothes, darn his socks, point his nails, + enamel his teeth, polish his eyes, and alter the shape of any of his + joints which they think unsightly. During this operation they often stand + seven or eight deep round a customer, fighting for a chance to get at him. + </p> + <p> + All of these remarks apply to barber-shops in the city, and not to country + places. In the country there is only one barber and one customer at a + time. The thing assumes the aspect of a straight-out, rough-and-tumble, + catch-as-catch-can fight, with a few spectators sitting round the shop to + see fair play. In the city they can shave a man without removing any of + his clothes. But in the country, where the customer insists on getting the + full value for his money, they remove the collar and necktie, the coat and + the waistcoat, and, for a really good shave and hair-cut, the customer is + stripped to the waist. The barber can then take a rush at him from the + other side of the room, and drive the clippers up the full length of the + spine, so as to come at the heavier hair on the back of the head with the + impact of a lawn-mower driven into long grass. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Getting the Thread of It + </h2> + <p> + Have you ever had a man try to explain to you what happened in a book as + far as he has read? It is a most instructive thing. Sinclair, the man who + shares my rooms with me, made such an attempt the other night. I had come + in cold and tired from a walk and found him full of excitement, with a + bulky magazine in one hand and a paper-cutter gripped in the other. + </p> + <p> + "Say, here's a grand story," he burst out as soon as I came in; "it's + great! most fascinating thing I ever read. Wait till I read you some of + it. I'll just tell you what has happened up to where I am—you'll + easily catch the thread of it—and then we'll finish it together." + </p> + <p> + I wasn't feeling in a very responsive mood, but I saw no way to stop him, + so I merely said, "All right, throw me your thread, I'll catch it." + </p> + <p> + "Well," Sinclair began with great animation, "this count gets this + letter..." + </p> + <p> + "Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letter from this + Porphirio." + </p> + <p> + "From which Porphirio?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sent it," Sinclair + exclaimed a little impatiently—"sent it through Demonio and told him + to watch for him with him, and kill him when he got him." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and who is to get + stabbed?" + </p> + <p> + "They're going to stab Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "And who brought the letter?" + </p> + <p> + "Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring it for?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slick part of it," + and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at the thought of it. "You see, + this Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere..." + </p> + <p> + "Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?" + </p> + <p> + "It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league with this Fra + Fraliccolo..." + </p> + <p> + A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said firmly, "if the + scene of this story is laid in the Highlands, I refuse to listen to it. + Call it off." + </p> + <p> + "No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right. It's laid in + Italy...time of Pius the something. He comes in—say, but he's great! + so darned crafty. It's him, you know, that persuades this Franciscan..." + </p> + <p> + "Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?" + </p> + <p> + "Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly. "You see, Pio tries + to..." + </p> + <p> + "Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius. He tries to get Fra + Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere to steal the document + from...let me see; what was he called?...Oh, yes...from the Dog of Venice, + so that...or...no, hang it, you put me out, that's all wrong. It's the + other way round. Pio wasn't clever at all; he's a regular darned fool. + It's the Dog that's crafty. By Jove, he's fine," Sinclair went on; warming + up to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything he wants. He makes this + Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings, you know, he's the tool of the + Dog)...makes him steal the document off Porphirio, and..." + </p> + <p> + "But how does he get him to do that?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, so he makes Demonio + scheme round till he gets old Pio—er—gets him under his thumb, + and then, of course, Pio thinks that Porphirio—I mean he thinks that + he has Porphirio—er—has him under his thumb." + </p> + <p> + "Half a minute, Sinclair," I said, "who did you say was under the Dog's + thumb?" + </p> + <p> + "Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "Thanks. I was mixed in the thumbs. Go on." + </p> + <p> + "Well, just when things are like this..." + </p> + <p> + "Like what?" + </p> + <p> + "Like I said." + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + "Who should turn up and thwart the whole scheme, but this Signorina Tarara + in her domino..." + </p> + <p> + "Hully Gee!" I said, "you make my head ache. What the deuce does she come + in her domino for?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, to thwart it." + </p> + <p> + "To thwart what?" + </p> + <p> + "Thwart the whole darned thing," Sinclair exclaimed emphatically. + </p> + <p> + "But can't she thwart it without her domino?" + </p> + <p> + "I should think not! You see, if it hadn't been for the domino, the Dog + would have spotted her quick as a wink. Only when he sees her in the + domino with this rose in her hair, he thinks she must be Lucia dell' + Esterolla." + </p> + <p> + "Say, he fools himself, doesn't he? Who's this last girl?" + </p> + <p> + "Lucia? Oh, she's great!" Sinclair said. "She's one of those Southern + natures, you know, full of—er—full of..." + </p> + <p> + "Full of fun," I suggested. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, hang it all, don't make fun of it! Well, anyhow, she's sister, you + understand, to the Contessa Carantarata, and that's why Fra Fraliccolo, + or...hold on, that's not it, no, no, she's not sister to anybody. She's + cousin, that's it; or, anyway, she thinks she is cousin to Fra Fraliccolo + himself, and that's why Pio tries to stab Fra Fraliccolo." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," I assented, "naturally he would." + </p> + <p> + "Ah," Sinclair said hopefully, getting his paper-cutter ready to cut the + next pages, "you begin to get the thread now, don't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, fine!" I said. "The people in it are the Dog and Pio, and Carlo + Carlotti the Condottiere, and those others that we spoke of." + </p> + <p> + "That's right," Sinclair said. "Of course, there are more still that I can + tell you about if..." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, never mind," I said, "I'll work along with those, they're a pretty + representative crowd. Then Porphirio is under Pio's thumb, and Pio is + under Demonio's thumb, and the Dog is crafty, and Lucia is full of + something all the time. Oh, I've got a mighty clear idea of it," I + concluded bitterly. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you've got it," Sinclair said, "I knew you'd like it. Now we'll go + on. I'll just finish to the bottom of my page and then I'll go on aloud." + </p> + <p> + He ran his eyes rapidly over the lines till he came to the bottom of the + page, then he cut the leaves and turned over. I saw his eye rest on the + half-dozen lines that confronted him on the next page with an expression + of utter consternation. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I will be cursed!" he said at length. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter?" I said gently, with a great joy at my heart. + </p> + <p> + "This infernal thing's a serial," he gasped, as he pointed at the words, + "To be continued," "and that's all there is in this number." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Telling His Faults + </h2> + <p> + "Oh, do, Mr. Sapling," said the beautiful girl at the summer hotel, "do + let me read the palm of your hand! I can tell you all your faults." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling gave an inarticulate gurgle and a roseate flush swept over his + countenance as he surrendered his palm to the grasp of the fair + enchantress. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr. Sapling!" she + cried. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling looked it. + </p> + <p> + "To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly and reflectingly, "you + are dreadfully cynical: you hardly believe in anything at all, and you've + utterly no faith in us poor women." + </p> + <p> + The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the features of Mr. Sapling + into a ray of chastened imbecility, was distorted in an effort at + cynicism. + </p> + <p> + "Then your next fault is that you are too determined; much too determined. + When once you have set your will on any object, you crush every obstacle + under your feet." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, but began to feel + calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had been all these things without + knowing it. + </p> + <p> + "Then you are cold and sarcastic." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. He succeeded in a rude + leer. + </p> + <p> + "And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing. You have drained + philosophy to the dregs, and scoff at everything." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling's inner feeling was that from now on he would simply scoff and + scoff and scoff. + </p> + <p> + "Your only redeeming quality is that you are generous. You have tried to + kill even this, but cannot. Yes," concluded the beautiful girl, "those are + your faults, generous still, but cold, cynical, and relentless. Good + night, Mr. Sapling." + </p> + <p> + And resisting all entreaties the beautiful girl passed from the verandah + of the hotel and vanished. + </p> + <p> + And when later in the evening the brother of the beautiful girl borrowed + Mr. Sapling's tennis racket, and his bicycle for a fortnight, and the + father of the beautiful girl got Sapling to endorse his note for a couple + of hundreds, and her uncle Zephas borrowed his bedroom candle and used his + razor to cut up a plug of tobacco, Mr. Sapling felt proud to be acquainted + with the family. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Winter Pastimes + </h2> + <p> + It is in the depth of winter, when the intense cold renders it desirable + to stay at home, that the really Pleasant Family is wont to serve + invitations upon a few friends to spend a Quiet Evening. + </p> + <p> + It is at these gatherings that that gay thing, the indoor winter game, + becomes rampant. It is there that the old euchre deck and the staring + domino become fair and beautiful things; that the rattle of the Loto + counter rejoices the heart, that the old riddle feels the sap stirring in + its limbs again, and the amusing spilikin completes the mental ruin of the + jaded guest. Then does the Jolly Maiden Aunt propound the query: What is + the difference between an elephant and a silk hat? Or declare that her + first is a vowel, her second a preposition, and her third an archipelago. + It is to crown such a quiet evening, and to give the finishing stroke to + those of the visitors who have not escaped early, with a fierce purpose of + getting at the saloons before they have time to close, that the indoor + game or family reservoir of fun is dragged from its long sleep. It is + spread out upon the table. Its paper of directions is unfolded. Its cards, + its counters, its pointers and its markers are distributed around the + table, and the visitor forces a look of reckless pleasure upon his face. + Then the "few simple directions" are read aloud by the Jolly Aunt, + instructing each player to challenge the player holding the golden letter + corresponding to the digit next in order, to name a dead author beginning + with X, failing which the player must declare himself in fault, and pay + the forfeit of handing over to the Jolly Aunt his gold watch and all his + money, or having a hot plate put down his neck. + </p> + <p> + With a view to bringing some relief to the guests at entertainments of + this kind, I have endeavoured to construct one or two little winter + pastimes of a novel character. They are quite inexpensive, and as they + need no background of higher arithmetic or ancient history, they are + within reach of the humblest intellect. Here is one of them. It is called + Indoor Football, or Football without a Ball. + </p> + <p> + In this game any number of players, from fifteen to thirty, seat + themselves in a heap on any one player, usually the player next to the + dealer. They then challenge him to get up, while one player stands with a + stop-watch in his hand and counts forty seconds. Should the first player + fail to rise before forty seconds are counted, the player with the watch + declares him suffocated. This is called a "Down" and counts one. The + player who was the Down is then leant against the wall; his wind is + supposed to be squeezed out. The player called the referee then blows a + whistle and the players select another player and score a down off him. + While the player is supposed to be down, all the rest must remain seated + as before, and not rise from him until the referee by counting forty and + blowing his whistle announces that in his opinion the other player is + stifled. He is then leant against the wall beside the first player. When + the whistle again blows the player nearest the referee strikes him behind + the right ear. This is a "Touch," and counts two. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible, of course, to give all the rules in detail. I might add, + however, that while it counts TWO to strike the referee, to kick him + counts THREE. To break his arm or leg counts FOUR, and to kill him + outright is called GRAND SLAM and counts one game. + </p> + <p> + Here is another little thing that I have worked out, which is superior to + parlour games in that it combines their intense excitement with sound + out-of-door exercise. + </p> + <p> + It is easily comprehended, and can be played by any number of players, old + and young. It requires no other apparatus than a trolley car of the + ordinary type, a mile or two of track, and a few thousand volts of + electricity. It is called: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Suburban Trolley Car + A Holiday Game for Old and Young. +</pre> + <p> + The chief part in the game is taken by two players who station themselves + one at each end of the car, and who adopt some distinctive costumes to + indicate that they are "it." The other players occupy the body of the car, + or take up their position at intervals along the track. + </p> + <p> + The object of each player should be to enter the car as stealthily as + possible in such a way as to escape the notice of the players in + distinctive dress. Should he fail to do this he must pay the philopena or + forfeit. Of these there are two: philopena No. 1, the payment of five + cents, and philopena No. 2, being thrown off the car by the neck. Each + player may elect which philopena he will pay. Any player who escapes + paying the philopena scores one. + </p> + <p> + The players who are in the car may elect to adopt a standing attitude, or + to seat themselves, but no player may seat himself in the lap of another + without the second player's consent. The object of those who elect to + remain standing is to place their feet upon the toes of those who sit; + when they do this they score. The object of those who elect to sit is to + elude the feet of the standing players. Much merriment is thus occasioned. + </p> + <p> + The player in distinctive costume at the front of the car controls a + crank, by means of which he is enabled to bring the car to a sudden stop, + or to cause it to plunge violently forward. His aim in so doing is to + cause all the standing players to fall over backward. Every time he does + this he scores. For this purpose he is generally in collusion with the + other player in distinctive costume, whose business it is to let him know + by a series of bells and signals when the players are not looking, and can + be easily thrown down. A sharp fall of this sort gives rise to no end of + banter and good-natured drollery, directed against the two players who are + "it." + </p> + <p> + Should a player who is thus thrown backward save himself from falling by + sitting down in the lap of a female player, he scores one. Any player who + scores in this manner is entitled to remain seated while he may count six, + after which he must remove himself or pay philopena No. 2. + </p> + <p> + Should the player who controls the crank perceive a player upon the street + desirous of joining in the game by entering the car, his object should be: + primo, to run over him and kill him; secundo, to kill him by any other + means in his power; tertio, to let him into the car, but to exact the + usual philopena. + </p> + <p> + Should a player, in thus attempting to get on the car from without, become + entangled in the machinery, the player controlling the crank shouts + "huff!" and the car is supposed to pass over him. All within the car score + one. + </p> + <p> + A fine spice of the ludicrous may be added to the game by each player + pretending that he has a destination or stopping-place, where he would + wish to alight. It now becomes the aim of the two players who are "it" to + carry him past his point. A player who is thus carried beyond his + imaginary stopping-place must feign a violent passion, and imitate angry + gesticulations. He may, in addition, feign a great age or a painful + infirmity, which will be found to occasion the most convulsive fun for the + other players in the game. + </p> + <p> + These are the main outlines of this most amusing pastime. Many other + agreeable features may, of course, be readily introduced by persons of + humour and imagination. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Number Fifty-Six + </h2> + <p> + What I narrate was told me one winter's evening by my friend Ah-Yen in the + little room behind his laundry. Ah-Yen is a quiet little celestial with a + grave and thoughtful face, and that melancholy contemplative disposition + so often noticed in his countrymen. Between myself and Ah-Yen there exists + a friendship of some years' standing, and we spend many a long evening in + the dimly lighted room behind his shop, smoking a dreamy pipe together and + plunged in silent meditation. I am chiefly attracted to my friend by the + highly imaginative cast of his mind, which is, I believe, a trait of the + Eastern character and which enables him to forget to a great extent the + sordid cares of his calling in an inner life of his own creation. Of the + keen, analytical side of his mind, I was in entire ignorance until the + evening of which I write. + </p> + <p> + The room where we sat was small and dingy, with but little furniture + except our chairs and the little table at which we filled and arranged our + pipes, and was lighted only by a tallow candle. There were a few pictures + on the walls, for the most part rude prints cut from the columns of the + daily press and pasted up to hide the bareness of the room. Only one + picture was in any way noticeable, a portrait admirably executed in pen + and ink. The face was that of a young man, a very beautiful face, but one + of infinite sadness. I had long been aware, although I know not how, that + Ah-Yen had met with a great sorrow, and had in some way connected the fact + with this portrait. I had always refrained, however, from asking him about + it, and it was not until the evening in question that I knew its history. + </p> + <p> + We had been smoking in silence for some time when Ah-Yen spoke. My friend + is a man of culture and wide reading, and his English is consequently + perfect in its construction; his speech is, of course, marked by the + lingering liquid accent of his country which I will not attempt to + reproduce. + </p> + <p> + "I see," he said, "that you have been examining the portrait of my unhappy + friend, Fifty-Six. I have never yet told you of my bereavement, but as + to-night is the anniversary of his death, I would fain speak of him for a + while." + </p> + <p> + Ah-Yen paused; I lighted my pipe afresh, and nodded to him to show that I + was listening. + </p> + <p> + "I do not know," he went on, "at what precise time Fifty-Six came into my + life. I could indeed find it out by examining my books, but I have never + troubled to do so. Naturally I took no more interest in him at first than + in any other of my customers—less, perhaps, since he never in the + course of our connection brought his clothes to me himself but always sent + them by a boy. When I presently perceived that he was becoming one of my + regular customers, I allotted to him his number, Fifty-Six, and began to + speculate as to who and what he was. Before long I had reached several + conclusions in regard to my unknown client. The quality of his linen + showed me that, if not rich, he was at any rate fairly well off. I could + see that he was a young man of regular Christian life, who went out into + society to a certain extent; this I could tell from his sending the same + number of articles to the laundry, from his washing always coming on + Saturday night, and from the fact that he wore a dress shirt about once a + week. In disposition he was a modest, unassuming fellow, for his collars + were only two inches high." + </p> + <p> + I stared at Ah-Yen in some amazement, the recent publications of a + favourite novelist had rendered me familiar with this process of + analytical reasoning, but I was prepared for no such revelations from my + Eastern friend. + </p> + <p> + "When I first knew him," Ah-Yen went on, "Fifty-Six was a student at the + university. This, of course, I did not know for some time. I inferred it, + however, in the course of time, from his absence from town during the four + summer months, and from the fact that during the time of the university + examinations the cuffs of his shirts came to me covered with dates, + formulas, and propositions in geometry. I followed him with no little + interest through his university career. During the four years which it + lasted, I washed for him every week; my regular connection with him and + the insight which my observation gave me into the lovable character of the + man, deepened my first esteem into a profound affection and I became most + anxious for his success. I helped him at each succeeding examination, as + far as lay in my power, by starching his shirts half-way to the elbow, so + as to leave him as much room as possible for annotations. My anxiety + during the strain of his final examination I will not attempt to describe. + That Fifty-Six was undergoing the great crisis of his academic career, I + could infer from the state of his handkerchiefs which, in apparent + unconsciousness, he used as pen-wipers during the final test. His conduct + throughout the examination bore witness to the moral development which had + taken place in his character during his career as an undergraduate; for + the notes upon his cuffs which had been so copious at his earlier + examinations were limited now to a few hints, and these upon topics so + intricate as to defy an ordinary memory. It was with a thrill of joy that + I at last received in his laundry bundle one Saturday early in June, a + ruffled dress shirt, the bosom of which was thickly spattered with the + spillings of the wine-cup, and realized that Fifty-Six had banqueted as a + Bachelor of Arts. + </p> + <p> + "In the following winter the habit of wiping his pen upon his + handkerchief, which I had remarked during his final examination, became + chronic with him, and I knew that he had entered upon the study of law. He + worked hard during that year, and dress shirts almost disappeared from his + weekly bundle. It was in the following winter, the second year of his + legal studies, that the tragedy of his life began. I became aware that a + change had come over his laundry; from one, or at most two a week, his + dress shirts rose to four, and silk handkerchiefs began to replace his + linen ones. It dawned upon me that Fifty-Six was abandoning the rigorous + tenor of his student life and was going into society. I presently + perceived something more; Fifty-Six was in love. It was soon impossible to + doubt it. He was wearing seven shirts a week; linen handkerchiefs + disappeared from his laundry; his collars rose from two inches to two and + a quarter, and finally to two and a half. I have in my possession one of + his laundry lists of that period; a glance at it will show the scrupulous + care which he bestowed upon his person. Well do I remember the dawning + hopes of those days, alternating with the gloomiest despair. Each Saturday + I opened his bundle with a trembling eagerness to catch the first signs of + a return of his love. I helped my friend in every way that I could. His + shirts and collars were masterpieces of my art, though my hand often shook + with agitation as I applied the starch. She was a brave noble girl, that I + knew; her influence was elevating the whole nature of Fifty-Six; until now + he had had in his possession a certain number of detached cuffs and false + shirt-fronts. These he discarded now,—at first the false + shirt-fronts, scorning the very idea of fraud, and after a time, in his + enthusiasm, abandoning even the cuffs. I cannot look back upon those + bright happy days of courtship without a sigh. + </p> + <p> + "The happiness of Fifty-Six seemed to enter into and fill my whole life. I + lived but from Saturday to Saturday. The appearance of false shirt-fronts + would cast me to the lowest depths of despair; their absence raised me to + a pinnacle of hope. It was not till winter softened into spring that + Fifty-Six nerved himself to learn his fate. One Saturday he sent me a new + white waistcoat, a garment which had hitherto been shunned by his modest + nature, to prepare for his use. I bestowed upon it all the resources of my + art; I read his purpose in it. On the Saturday following it was returned + to me and, with tears of joy, I marked where a warm little hand had rested + fondly on the right shoulder, and knew that Fifty-Six was the accepted + lover of his sweetheart." + </p> + <p> + Ah-Yen paused and sat for some time silent; his pipe had sputtered out and + lay cold in the hollow of his hand; his eye was fixed upon the wall where + the light and shadows shifted in the dull flickering of the candle. At + last he spoke again: + </p> + <p> + "I will not dwell upon the happy days that ensued—days of gaudy + summer neckties and white waistcoats, of spotless shirts and lofty collars + worn but a single day by the fastidious lover. Our happiness seemed + complete and I asked no more from fate. Alas! it was not destined to + continue! When the bright days of summer were fading into autumn, I was + grieved to notice an occasional quarrel—only four shirts instead of + seven, or the reappearance of the abandoned cuffs and shirt-fronts. + Reconciliations followed, with tears of penitence upon the shoulder of the + white waistcoat, and the seven shirts came back. But the quarrels grew + more frequent and there came at times stormy scenes of passionate emotion + that left a track of broken buttons down the waistcoat. The shirts went + slowly down to three, then fell to two, and the collars of my unhappy + friend subsided to an inch and three-quarters. In vain I lavished my + utmost care upon Fifty-Six. It seemed to my tortured mind that the gloss + upon his shirts and collars would have melted a heart of stone. Alas! my + every effort at reconciliation seemed to fail. An awful month passed; the + false fronts and detached cuffs were all back again; the unhappy lover + seemed to glory in their perfidy. At last, one gloomy evening, I found on + opening his bundle that he had bought a stock of celluloids, and my heart + told me that she had abandoned him for ever. Of what my poor friend + suffered at this time, I can give you no idea; suffice it to say that he + passed from celluloid to a blue flannel shirt and from blue to grey. The + sight of a red cotton handkerchief in his wash at length warned me that + his disappointed love had unhinged his mind, and I feared the worst. Then + came an agonizing interval of three weeks during which he sent me nothing, + and after that came the last parcel that I ever received from him an + enormous bundle that seemed to contain all his effects. In this, to my + horror, I discovered one shirt the breast of which was stained a deep + crimson with his blood, and pierced by a ragged hole that showed where a + bullet had singed through into his heart. + </p> + <p> + "A fortnight before, I remembered having heard the street boys crying the + news of an appalling suicide, and I know now that it must have been he. + After the first shock of my grief had passed, I sought to keep him in my + memory by drawing the portrait which hangs beside you. I have some skill + in the art, and I feel assured that I have caught the expression of his + face. The picture is, of course, an ideal one, for, as you know, I never + saw Fifty-Six." + </p> + <p> + The bell on the door of the outer shop tinkled at the entrance of a + customer. Ah-Yen rose with that air of quiet resignation that habitually + marked his demeanour, and remained for some time in the shop. When he + returned he seemed in no mood to continue speaking of his lost friend. I + left him soon after and walked sorrowfully home to my lodgings. On my way + I mused much upon my little Eastern friend and the sympathetic grasp of + his imagination. But a burden lay heavy on my heart—something I + would fain have told him but which I could not bear to mention. I could + not find it in my heart to shatter the airy castle of his fancy. For my + life has been secluded and lonely and I have known no love like that of my + ideal friend. Yet I have a haunting recollection of a certain huge bundle + of washing that I sent to him about a year ago. I had been absent from + town for three weeks and my laundry was much larger than usual in + consequence. And if I mistake not there was in the bundle a tattered shirt + that had been grievously stained by the breaking of a bottle of red ink in + my portmanteau, and burnt in one place where an ash fell from my cigar as + I made up the bundle. Of all this I cannot feel absolutely certain, yet I + know at least that until a year ago, when I transferred my custom to a + more modern establishment, my laundry number with Ah-Yen was Fifty-Six. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Aristocratic Education + </h2> + <p> + House of Lords, Jan. 25, 1920.—The House of Lords commenced to-day + in Committee the consideration of Clause No. 52,000 of the Education Bill, + dealing with the teaching of Geometry in the schools. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government in presenting the clause urged upon their + Lordships the need of conciliation. The Bill, he said, had now been before + their Lordships for sixteen years. The Government had made every + concession. They had accepted all the amendments of their Lordships on the + opposite side in regard to the original provisions of the Bill. They had + consented also to insert in the Bill a detailed programme of studies of + which the present clause, enunciating the fifth proposition of Euclid, was + a part. He would therefore ask their Lordships to accept the clause + drafted as follows: + </p> + <p> + "The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, and if the + equal sides of the triangle are produced, the exterior angles will also be + equal." + </p> + <p> + He would hasten to add that the Government had no intention of producing + the sides. Contingencies might arise to render such a course necessary, + but in that case their Lordships would receive an early intimation of the + fact. + </p> + <p> + The Archbishop of Canterbury spoke against the clause. He considered it, + in its present form, too secular. He should wish to amend the clause so as + to make it read: + </p> + <p> + "The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are, in every Christian + community, equal, and if the sides be produced by a member of a Christian + congregation, the exterior angles will be equal." + </p> + <p> + He was aware, he continued, that the angles at the base of an isosceles + triangle are extremely equal, but he must remind the Government that the + Church had been aware of this for several years past. He was willing also + to admit that the opposite sides and ends of a parallelogram are equal, + but he thought that such admission should be coupled with a distinct + recognition of the existence of a Supreme Being. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government accepted His Grace's amendment with pleasure. + He considered it the brightest amendment His Grace had made that week. The + Government, he said, was aware of the intimate relation in which His Grace + stood to the bottom end of a parallelogram and was prepared to respect it. + </p> + <p> + Lord Halifax rose to offer a further amendment. He thought the present + case was one in which the "four-fifths" clause ought to apply: he should + wish it stated that the angles are equal for two days every week, except + in the case of schools where four-fifths of the parents are + conscientiously opposed to the use of the isosceles triangle. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government thought the amendment a singularly pleasing + one. He accepted it and would like it understood that the words isosceles + triangle were not meant in any offensive sense. + </p> + <p> + Lord Rosebery spoke at some length. He considered the clause unfair to + Scotland, where the high state of morality rendered education unnecessary. + Unless an amendment in this sense was accepted, it might be necessary to + reconsider the Act of Union of 1707. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government said that Lord Rosebery's amendment was the + best he had heard yet. The Government accepted it at once. They were + willing to make every concession. They would, if need be, reconsider the + Norman Conquest. + </p> + <p> + The Duke of Devonshire took exception to the part of the clause relating + to the production of the sides. He did not think the country was prepared + for it. It was unfair to the producer. He would like the clause altered to + read, "if the sides be produced in the home market." + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government accepted with pleasure His Grace's amendment. + He considered it quite sensible. He would now, as it was near the hour of + rising, present the clause in its revised form. He hoped, however, that + their Lordships would find time to think out some further amendments for + the evening sitting. + </p> + <p> + The clause was then read. + </p> + <p> + His Grace of Canterbury then moved that the House, in all humility, + adjourn for dinner. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Conjurer's Revenge + </h2> + <p> + "Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer, "having shown you that the + cloth is absolutely empty, I will proceed to take from it a bowl of + goldfish. Presto!" + </p> + <p> + All around the hall people were saying, "Oh, how wonderful! How does he do + it?" + </p> + <p> + But the Quick Man on the front seat said in a big whisper to the people + near him, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + Then the people nodded brightly at the Quick Man and said, "Oh, of + course"; and everybody whispered round the hall, + "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + "My next trick," said the conjurer, "is the famous Hindostanee rings. You + will notice that the rings are apparently separate; at a blow they all + join (clang, clang, clang)—Presto!" + </p> + <p> + There was a general buzz of stupefaction till the Quick Man was heard to + whisper, "He-must-have-had-another-lot- up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + Again everybody nodded and whispered, "The-rings-were- up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + The brow of the conjurer was clouded with a gathering frown. + </p> + <p> + "I will now," he continued, "show you a most amusing trick by which I am + enabled to take any number of eggs from a hat. Will some gentleman kindly + lend me his hat? Ah, thank you—Presto!" + </p> + <p> + He extracted seventeen eggs, and for thirty-five seconds the audience + began to think that he was wonderful. Then the Quick Man whispered along + the front bench, "He-has-a- hen-up-his-sleeve," and all the people + whispered it on. "He-has-a-lot-of-hens-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + The egg trick was ruined. + </p> + <p> + It went on like that all through. It transpired from the whispers of the + Quick Man that the conjurer must have concealed up his sleeve, in addition + to the rings, hens, and fish, several packs of cards, a loaf of bread, a + doll's cradle, a live guinea-pig, a fifty-cent piece, and a rocking-chair. + </p> + <p> + The reputation of the conjurer was rapidly sinking below zero. At the + close of the evening he rallied for a final effort. + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I will present to you, in conclusion, + the famous Japanese trick recently invented by the natives of Tipperary. + Will you, sir," he continued turning toward the Quick Man, "will you + kindly hand me your gold watch?" + </p> + <p> + It was passed to him. + </p> + <p> + "Have I your permission to put it into this mortar and pound it to + pieces?" he asked savagely. + </p> + <p> + The Quick Man nodded and smiled. + </p> + <p> + The conjurer threw the watch into the mortar and grasped a sledge hammer + from the table. There was a sound of violent smashing, + "He's-slipped-it-up-his-sleeve," whispered the Quick Man. + </p> + <p> + "Now, sir," continued the conjurer, "will you allow me to take your + handkerchief and punch holes in it? Thank you. You see, ladies and + gentlemen, there is no deception; the holes are visible to the eye." + </p> + <p> + The face of the Quick Man beamed. This time the real mystery of the thing + fascinated him. + </p> + <p> + "And now, sir, will you kindly pass me your silk hat and allow me to dance + on it? Thank you." + </p> + <p> + The conjurer made a few rapid passes with his feet and exhibited the hat + crushed beyond recognition. + </p> + <p> + "And will you now, sir, take off your celluloid collar and permit me to + burn it in the candle? Thank you, sir. And will you allow me to smash your + spectacles for you with my hammer? Thank you." + </p> + <p> + By this time the features of the Quick Man were assuming a puzzled + expression. "This thing beats me," he whispered, "I don't see through it a + bit." + </p> + <p> + There was a great hush upon the audience. Then the conjurer drew himself + up to his full height and, with a withering look at the Quick Man, he + concluded: + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen, you will observe that I have, with this gentleman's + permission, broken his watch, burnt his collar, smashed his spectacles, + and danced on his hat. If he will give me the further permission to paint + green stripes on his overcoat, or to tie his suspenders in a knot, I shall + be delighted to entertain you. If not, the performance is at an end." + </p> + <p> + And amid a glorious burst of music from the orchestra the curtain fell, + and the audience dispersed, convinced that there are some tricks, at any + rate, that are not done up the conjurer's sleeve. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Hints to Travellers + </h2> + <p> + The following hints and observations have occurred to me during a recent + trip across the continent: they are written in no spirit of complaint + against existing railroad methods, but merely in the hope that they may + prove useful to those who travel, like myself, in a spirit of meek, + observant ignorance. + </p> + <p> + 1. Sleeping in a Pullman car presents some difficulties to the novice. + Care should be taken to allay all sense of danger. The frequent whistling + of the engine during the night is apt to be a source of alarm. Find out, + therefore, before travelling, the meaning of the various whistles. One + means "station," two, "railroad crossing," and so on. Five whistles, short + and rapid, mean sudden danger. When you hear whistles in the night, sit up + smartly in your bunk and count them. Should they reach five, draw on your + trousers over your pyjamas and leave the train instantly. As a further + precaution against accident, sleep with the feet towards the engine if you + prefer to have the feet crushed, or with the head towards the engine, if + you think it best to have the head crushed. In making this decision try to + be as unselfish as possible. If indifferent, sleep crosswise with the head + hanging over into the aisle. + </p> + <p> + 2. I have devoted some thought to the proper method of changing trains. + The system which I have observed to be the most popular with travellers of + my own class, is something as follows: Suppose that you have been told on + leaving New York that you are to change at Kansas City. The evening before + approaching Kansas City, stop the conductor in the aisle of the car (you + can do this best by putting out your foot and tripping him), and say + politely, "Do I change at Kansas City?" He says "Yes." Very good. Don't + believe him. On going into the dining-car for supper, take a negro aside + and put it to him as a personal matter between a white man and a black, + whether he thinks you ought to change at Kansas City. Don't be satisfied + with this. In the course of the evening pass through the entire train from + time to time, and say to people casually, "Oh, can you tell me if I change + at Kansas City?" Ask the conductor about it a few more times in the + evening: a repetition of the question will ensure pleasant relations with + him. Before falling asleep watch for his passage and ask him through the + curtains of your berth, "Oh, by the way, did you say I changed at Kansas + City?" If he refuses to stop, hook him by the neck with your + walking-stick, and draw him gently to your bedside. In the morning when + the train stops and a man calls, "Kansas City! All change!" approach the + conductor again and say, "Is this Kansas City?" Don't be discouraged at + his answer. Pick yourself up and go to the other end of the car and say to + the brakesman, "Do you know, sir, if this is Kansas City?" Don't be too + easily convinced. Remember that both brakesman and conductor may be in + collusion to deceive you. Look around, therefore, for the name of the + station on the signboard. Having found it, alight and ask the first man + you see if this is Kansas City. He will answer, "Why, where in blank are + your blank eyes? Can't you see it there, plain as blank?" When you hear + language of this sort, ask no more. You are now in Kansas and this is + Kansas City. + </p> + <p> + 3. I have observed that it is now the practice of the conductors to stick + bits of paper in the hats of the passengers. They do this, I believe, to + mark which ones they like best. The device is pretty, and adds much to the + scenic appearance of the car. But I notice with pain that the system is + fraught with much trouble for the conductors. The task of crushing two or + three passengers together, in order to reach over them and stick a ticket + into the chinks of a silk skull cap is embarrassing for a conductor of + refined feelings. It would be simpler if the conductor should carry a + small hammer and a packet of shingle nails and nail the paid-up passenger + to the back of the seat. Or better still, let the conductor carry a small + pot of paint and a brush, and mark the passengers in such a way that he + cannot easily mistake them. In the case of bald-headed passengers, the + hats might be politely removed and red crosses painted on the craniums. + This will indicate that they are bald. Through passengers might be + distinguished by a complete coat of paint. In the hands of a man of taste, + much might be effected by a little grouping of painted passengers and the + leisure time of the conductor agreeably occupied. + </p> + <p> + 4. I have observed in travelling in the West that the irregularity of + railroad accidents is a fruitful cause of complaint. The frequent + disappointment of the holders of accident policy tickets on western roads + is leading to widespread protest. Certainly the conditions of travel in + the West are altering rapidly and accidents can no longer be relied upon. + This is deeply to be regretted, in so much as, apart from accidents, the + tickets may be said to be practically valueless. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Manual of Education + </h2> + <p> + The few selections below are offered as a specimen page of a little book + which I have in course of preparation. + </p> + <p> + Every man has somewhere in the back of his head the wreck of a thing which + he calls his education. My book is intended to embody in concise form + these remnants of early instruction. + </p> + <p> + Educations are divided into splendid educations, thorough classical + educations, and average educations. All very old men have splendid + educations; all men who apparently know nothing else have thorough + classical educations; nobody has an average education. + </p> + <p> + An education, when it is all written out on foolscap, covers nearly ten + sheets. It takes about six years of severe college training to acquire it. + Even then a man often finds that he somehow hasn't got his education just + where he can put his thumb on it. When my little book of eight or ten + pages has appeared, everybody may carry his education in his hip pocket. + </p> + <p> + Those who have not had the advantage of an early training will be enabled, + by a few hours of conscientious application, to put themselves on an equal + footing with the most scholarly. + </p> + <p> + The selections are chosen entirely at random. + </p> + <h3> + I.—REMAINS OF ASTRONOMY + </h3> + <p> + Astronomy teaches the correct use of the sun and the planets. These may be + put on a frame of little sticks and turned round. This causes the tides. + Those at the ends of the sticks are enormously far away. From time to time + a diligent searching of the sticks reveals new planets. The orbit of a + planet is the distance the stick goes round in going round. Astronomy is + intensely interesting; it should be done at night, in a high tower in + Spitzbergen. This is to avoid the astronomy being interrupted. A really + good astronomer can tell when a comet is coming too near him by the + warning buzz of the revolving sticks. + </p> + <h3> + II.—REMAINS OF HISTORY + </h3> + <p> + Aztecs: A fabulous race, half man, half horse, half mound-builder. They + flourished at about the same time as the early Calithumpians. They have + left some awfully stupendous monuments of themselves somewhere. + </p> + <p> + Life of Caesar: A famous Roman general, the last who ever landed in + Britain without being stopped at the custom house. On returning to his + Sabine farm (to fetch something), he was stabbed by Brutus, and died with + the words "Veni, vidi, tekel, upharsim" in his throat. The jury returned a + verdict of strangulation. + </p> + <p> + Life of Voltaire: A Frenchman; very bitter. + </p> + <p> + Life of Schopenhauer: A German; very deep; but it was not really + noticeable when he sat down. + </p> + <p> + Life of Dante: An Italian; the first to introduce the banana and the class + of street organ known as "Dante's Inferno." + </p> + <p> + Peter the Great, Alfred the Great, Frederick the Great, John the Great, + Tom the Great, Jim the Great, Jo the Great, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible for a busy man to keep these apart. They sought a living + as kings and apostles and pugilists and so on. + </p> + <h3> + III.—REMAINS OF BOTANY. + </h3> + <p> + Botany is the art of plants. Plants are divided into trees, flowers, and + vegetables. The true botanist knows a tree as soon as he sees it. He + learns to distinguish it from a vegetable by merely putting his ear to it. + </p> + <h3> + IV.—REMAINS OF NATURAL SCIENCE. + </h3> + <p> + Natural Science treats of motion and force. Many of its teachings remain + as part of an educated man's permanent equipment in life. Such are: + </p> + <p> + (a) The harder you shove a bicycle the faster it will go. This is because + of natural science. + </p> + <p> + (b) If you fall from a high tower, you fall quicker and quicker and + quicker; a judicious selection of a tower will ensure any rate of speed. + </p> + <p> + (c) If you put your thumb in between two cogs it will go on and on, until + the wheels are arrested, by your suspenders. This is machinery. + </p> + <p> + (d) Electricity is of two kinds, positive and negative. The difference is, + I presume, that one kind comes a little more expensive, but is more + durable; the other is a cheaper thing, but the moths get into it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas + </h2> + <p> + This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking, underhand + method, and the sooner it's exposed the better. + </p> + <p> + For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of night and palm off a + ten-cent necktie on a boy who had been expecting a ten-dollar watch, and + then say that an angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low. + </p> + <p> + I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked this Christmas, + in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin, the son and heir of the McFiggins, + at whose house I board. + </p> + <p> + Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy—a religious boy. He had been given to + understand that Santa Claus would bring nothing to his father and mother + because grown-up people don't get presents from the angels. So he saved up + all his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father and a + seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother. His own fortunes he left + in the hands of the angels. But he prayed. He prayed every night for weeks + that Santa Claus would bring him a pair of skates and a puppy-dog and an + air-gun and a bicycle and a Noah's ark and a sleigh and a drum—altogether + about a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of stuff. + </p> + <p> + I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning. I had an idea + that the scene would be interesting. I woke him up and he sat up in bed, + his eyes glistening with radiant expectation, and began hauling things out + of his stocking. + </p> + <p> + The first parcel was bulky; it was done up quite loosely and had an odd + look generally. + </p> + <p> + "Ha! ha!" Hoodoo cried gleefully, as he began undoing it. "I'll bet it's + the puppy-dog, all wrapped up in paper!" + </p> + <p> + And was it the puppy-dog? No, by no means. It was a pair of nice, strong, + number-four boots, laces and all, labelled, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus," + and underneath Santa Claus had written, "95 net." + </p> + <p> + The boy's jaw fell with delight. "It's boots," he said, and plunged in his + hand again. + </p> + <p> + He began hauling away at another parcel with renewed hope on his face. + </p> + <p> + This time the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo tore the paper + off it with a feverish hand. He shook it; something rattled inside. + </p> + <p> + "It's a watch and chain! It's a watch and chain!" he shouted. Then he + pulled the lid off. + </p> + <p> + And was it a watch and chain? No. It was a box of nice, brand-new + celluloid collars, a dozen of them all alike and all his own size. + </p> + <p> + The boy was so pleased that you could see his face crack up with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + He waited a few minutes until his intense joy subsided. Then he tried + again. + </p> + <p> + This time the packet was long and hard. It resisted the touch and had a + sort of funnel shape. + </p> + <p> + "It's a toy pistol!" said the boy, trembling with excitement. "Gee! I hope + there are lots of caps with it! I'll fire some off now and wake up + father." + </p> + <p> + No, my poor child, you will not wake your father with that. It is a useful + thing, but it needs not caps and it fires no bullets, and you cannot wake + a sleeping man with a tooth-brush. Yes, it was a tooth-brush—a + regular beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a little paper, + "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus." + </p> + <p> + Again the expression of intense joy passed over the boy's face, and the + tears of gratitude started from his eyes. He wiped them away with his + tooth-brush and passed on. + </p> + <p> + The next packet was much larger and evidently contained something soft and + bulky. It had been too long to go into the stocking and was tied outside. + </p> + <p> + "I wonder what this is," Hoodoo mused, half afraid to open it. Then his + heart gave a great leap, and he forgot all his other presents in the + anticipation of this one. "It's the drum!" he gasped. "It's the drum, all + wrapped up!" + </p> + <p> + Drum nothing! It was pants—a pair of the nicest little short pants—yellowish-brown + short pants—with dear little stripes of colour running across both + ways, and here again Santa Claus had written, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus, + one fort net." + </p> + <p> + But there was something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes! There was a pair of + braces wrapped up in it, braces with a little steel sliding thing so that + you could slide your pants up to your neck, if you wanted to. + </p> + <p> + The boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took out his last present. + "It's a book," he said, as he unwrapped it. "I wonder if it is fairy + stories or adventures. Oh, I hope it's adventures! I'll read it all + morning." + </p> + <p> + No, Hoodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a small family Bible. + Hoodoo had now seen all his presents, and he arose and dressed. But he + still had the fun of playing with his toys. That is always the chief + delight of Christmas morning. + </p> + <p> + First he played with his tooth-brush. He got a whole lot of water and + brushed all his teeth with it. This was huge. + </p> + <p> + Then he played with his collars. He had no end of fun with them, taking + them all out one by one and swearing at them, and then putting them back + and swearing at the whole lot together. + </p> + <p> + The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there, putting them on and + taking them off again, and then trying to guess which side was which by + merely looking at them. + </p> + <p> + After that he took his book and read some adventures called "Genesis" till + breakfast-time. + </p> + <p> + Then he went downstairs and kissed his father and mother. His father was + smoking a cigar, and his mother had her new brooch on. Hoodoo's face was + thoughtful, and a light seemed to have broken in upon his mind. Indeed, I + think it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on to his own + money and take chances on what the angels bring. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Life of John Smith + </h2> + <p> + The lives of great men occupy a large section of our literature. The great + man is certainly a wonderful thing. He walks across his century and leaves + the marks of his feet all over it, ripping out the dates on his goloshes + as he passes. It is impossible to get up a revolution or a new religion, + or a national awakening of any sort, without his turning up, putting + himself at the head of it and collaring all the gate-receipts for himself. + Even after his death he leaves a long trail of second-rate relations + spattered over the front seats of fifty years of history. + </p> + <p> + Now the lives of great men are doubtless infinitely interesting. But at + times I must confess to a sense of reaction and an idea that the ordinary + common man is entitled to have his biography written too. It is to + illustrate this view that I write the life of John Smith, a man neither + good nor great, but just the usual, everyday homo like you and me and the + rest of us. + </p> + <p> + From his earliest childhood John Smith was marked out from his comrades by + nothing. The marvellous precocity of the boy did not astonish his + preceptors. Books were not a passion for him from his youth, neither did + any old man put his hand on Smith's head and say, mark his words, this boy + would some day become a man. Nor yet was it his father's wont to gaze on + him with a feeling amounting almost to awe. By no means! All his father + did was to wonder whether Smith was a darn fool because he couldn't help + it, or because he thought it smart. In other words, he was just like you + and me and the rest of us. + </p> + <p> + In those athletic sports which were the ornament of the youth of his day, + Smith did not, as great men do, excel his fellows. He couldn't ride worth + a darn. He couldn't skate worth a darn. He couldn't swim worth a darn. He + couldn't shoot worth a darn. He couldn't do anything worth a darn. He was + just like us. + </p> + <p> + Nor did the bold cast of the boy's mind offset his physical defects, as it + invariably does in the biographies. On the contrary. He was afraid of his + father. He was afraid of his school-teacher. He was afraid of dogs. He was + afraid of guns. He was afraid of lightning. He was afraid of hell. He was + afraid of girls. + </p> + <p> + In the boy's choice of a profession there was not seen that keen longing + for a life-work that we find in the celebrities. He didn't want to be a + lawyer, because you have to know law. He didn't want to be a doctor, + because you have to know medicine. He didn't want to be a business-man, + because you have to know business; and he didn't want to be a + school-teacher, because he had seen too many of them. As far as he had any + choice, it lay between being Robinson Crusoe and being the Prince of + Wales. His father refused him both and put him into a dry goods + establishment. + </p> + <p> + Such was the childhood of Smith. At its close there was nothing in his + outward appearance to mark the man of genius. The casual observer could + have seen no genius concealed behind the wide face, the massive mouth, the + long slanting forehead, and the tall ear that swept up to the + close-cropped head. Certainly he couldn't. There wasn't any concealed + there. + </p> + <p> + It was shortly after his start in business life that Smith was stricken + with the first of those distressing attacks, to which he afterwards became + subject. It seized him late one night as he was returning home from a + delightful evening of song and praise with a few old school chums. Its + symptoms were a peculiar heaving of the sidewalk, a dancing of the street + lights, and a crafty shifting to and fro of the houses, requiring a very + nice discrimination in selecting his own. There was a strong desire not to + drink water throughout the entire attack, which showed that the thing was + evidently a form of hydrophobia. From this time on, these painful attacks + became chronic with Smith. They were liable to come on at any time, but + especially on Saturday nights, on the first of the month, and on + Thanksgiving Day. He always had a very severe attack of hydrophobia on + Christmas Eve, and after elections it was fearful. + </p> + <p> + There was one incident in Smith's career which he did, perhaps, share with + regret. He had scarcely reached manhood when he met the most beautiful + girl in the world. She was different from all other women. She had a + deeper nature than other people. Smith realized it at once. She could feel + and understand things that ordinary people couldn't. She could understand + him. She had a great sense of humour and an exquisite appreciation of a + joke. He told her the six that he knew one night and she thought them + great. Her mere presence made Smith feel as if he had swallowed a sunset: + the first time that his finger brushed against hers, he felt a thrill all + through him. He presently found that if he took a firm hold of her hand + with his, he could get a fine thrill, and if he sat beside her on a sofa, + with his head against her ear and his arm about once and a half round her, + he could get what you might call a first-class, A-1 thrill. Smith became + filled with the idea that he would like to have her always near him. He + suggested an arrangement to her, by which she should come and live in the + same house with him and take personal charge of his clothes and his meals. + She was to receive in return her board and washing, about seventy-five + cents a week in ready money, and Smith was to be her slave. + </p> + <p> + After Smith had been this woman's slave for some time, baby fingers stole + across his life, then another set of them, and then more and more till the + house was full of them. The woman's mother began to steal across his life + too, and every time she came Smith had hydrophobia frightfully. Strangely + enough there was no little prattler that was taken from his life and + became a saddened, hallowed memory to him. Oh, no! The little Smiths were + not that kind of prattler. The whole nine grew up into tall, lank boys + with massive mouths and great sweeping ears like their father's, and no + talent for anything. + </p> + <p> + The life of Smith never seemed to bring him to any of those great + turning-points that occurred in the lives of the great. True, the passing + years brought some change of fortune. He was moved up in his dry-goods + establishment from the ribbon counter to the collar counter, from the + collar counter to the gents' panting counter, and from the gents' panting + to the gents' fancy shirting. Then, as he grew aged and inefficient, they + moved him down again from the gents' fancy shirting to the gents' panting, + and so on to the ribbon counter. And when he grew quite old they dismissed + him and got a boy with a four-inch mouth and sandy-coloured hair, who did + all Smith could do for half the money. That was John Smith's mercantile + career: it won't stand comparison with Mr. Gladstone's, but it's not + unlike your own. + </p> + <p> + Smith lived for five years after this. His sons kept him. They didn't want + to, but they had to. In his old age the brightness of his mind and his + fund of anecdote were not the delight of all who dropped in to see him. He + told seven stories and he knew six jokes. The stories were long things all + about himself, and the jokes were about a commercial traveller and a + Methodist minister. But nobody dropped in to see him, anyway, so it didn't + matter. + </p> + <p> + At sixty-five Smith was taken ill, and, receiving proper treatment, he + died. There was a tombstone put up over him, with a hand pointing + north-north-east. + </p> + <p> + But I doubt if he ever got there. He was too like us. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + On Collecting Things + </h2> + <p> + Like most other men I have from time to time been stricken with a desire + to make collections of things. + </p> + <p> + It began with postage stamps. I had a letter from a friend of mine who had + gone out to South Africa. The letter had a three-cornered stamp on it, and + I thought as soon as I looked at it, "That's the thing! Stamp collecting! + I'll devote my life to it." + </p> + <p> + I bought an album with accommodation for the stamps of all nations, and + began collecting right off. For three days the collection made wonderful + progress. It contained: + </p> + <p> + One Cape of Good Hope stamp. + </p> + <p> + One one-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One two-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One five-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One ten-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + After that the collection came to a dead stop. For a while I used to talk + about it rather airily and say I had one or two rather valuable South + African stamps. But I presently grew tired even of lying about it. + </p> + <p> + Collecting coins is a thing that I attempt at intervals. Every time I am + given an old half-penny or a Mexican quarter, I get an idea that if a + fellow made a point of holding on to rarities of that sort, he'd soon have + quite a valuable collection. The first time that I tried it I was full of + enthusiasm, and before long my collection numbered quite a few articles of + vertu. The items were as follows: + </p> + <p> + No. 1. Ancient Roman coin. Time of Caligula. This one of course was the + gem of the whole lot; it was given me by a friend, and that was what + started me collecting. + </p> + <p> + No. 2. Small copper coin. Value one cent. United States of America. + Apparently modern. + </p> + <p> + No. 3. Small nickel coin. Circular. United States of America. Value five + cents. + </p> + <p> + No. 4. Small silver coin. Value ten cents. United States of America. + </p> + <p> + No. 5. Silver coin. Circular. Value twenty-five cents. United States of + America. Very beautiful. + </p> + <p> + No. 6. Large silver coin. Circular. Inscription, "One Dollar." United + States of America. Very valuable. + </p> + <p> + No. 7. Ancient British copper coin. Probably time of Caractacus. Very dim. + Inscription, "Victoria Dei gratia regina." Very valuable. + </p> + <p> + No. 8. Silver coin. Evidently French. Inscription, "Funf Mark. Kaiser + Wilhelm." + </p> + <p> + No. 9. Circular silver coin. Very much defaced. Part of inscription, "E + Pluribus Unum." Probably a Russian rouble, but quite as likely to be a + Japanese yen or a Shanghai rooster. + </p> + <p> + That's as far as that collection got. It lasted through most of the winter + and I was getting quite proud of it, but I took the coins down town one + evening to show to a friend and we spent No. 3, No. 4, No. 5, No. 6, and + No. 7 in buying a little dinner for two. After dinner I bought a yen's + worth of cigars and traded the relic of Caligula for as many hot Scotches + as they cared to advance on it. After that I felt reckless and put No. 2 + and No. 8 into a Children's Hospital poor box. + </p> + <p> + I tried fossils next. I got two in ten years. Then I quit. + </p> + <p> + A friend of mine once showed me a very fine collection of ancient and + curious weapons, and for a time I was full of that idea. I gathered + several interesting specimens, such as: + </p> + <p> + No. 1. Old flint-lock musket, used by my grandfather. (He used it on the + farm for years as a crowbar.) + </p> + <p> + No. 2. Old raw-hide strap, used by my father. + </p> + <p> + No. 3. Ancient Indian arrowhead, found by myself the very day after I + began collecting. It resembles a three-cornered stone. + </p> + <p> + No. 4. Ancient Indian bow, found by myself behind a sawmill on the second + day of collecting. It resembles a straight stick of elm or oak. It is + interesting to think that this very weapon may have figured in some fierce + scene of savage warfare. + </p> + <p> + No. 5. Cannibal poniard or straight-handled dagger of the South Sea + Islands. It will give the reader almost a thrill of horror to learn that + this atrocious weapon, which I bought myself on the third day of + collecting, was actually exposed in a second-hand store as a family + carving-knife. In gazing at it one cannot refrain from conjuring up the + awful scenes it must have witnessed. + </p> + <p> + I kept this collection for quite a long while until, in a moment of + infatuation, I presented it to a young lady as a betrothal present. The + gift proved too ostentatious and our relations subsequently ceased to be + cordial. + </p> + <p> + On the whole I am inclined to recommend the beginner to confine himself to + collecting coins. At present I am myself making a collection of American + bills (time of Taft preferred), a pursuit I find most absorbing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Society Chat-Chat + </h2> + <h3> + AS IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN + </h3> + <p> + I notice that it is customary for the daily papers to publish a column or + so of society gossip. They generally head it "Chit-Chat," or "On Dit," or + "Le Boudoir," or something of the sort, and they keep it pretty full of + French terms to give it the proper sort of swing. These columns may be + very interesting in their way, but it always seems to me that they don't + get hold of quite the right things to tell us about. They are very fond, + for instance, of giving an account of the delightful dance at Mrs. De + Smythe's—at which Mrs. De Smythe looked charming in a gown of old + tulle with a stomacher of passementerie—or of the dinner-party at + Mr. Alonzo Robinson's residence, or the smart pink tea given by Miss + Carlotta Jones. No, that's all right, but it's not the kind of thing we + want to get at; those are not the events which happen in our neighbours' + houses that we really want to hear about. It is the quiet little family + scenes, the little traits of home-life that—well, for example, take + the case of that delightful party at the De Smythes. I am certain that all + those who were present would much prefer a little paragraph like the + following, which would give them some idea of the home-life of the De + Smythes on the morning after the party. + </p> + <h3> + DEJEUNER DE LUXE AT THE DE SMYTHE RESIDENCE + </h3> + <p> + On Wednesday morning last at 7.15 a.m. a charming little breakfast was + served at the home of Mr. De Smythe. The dejeuner was given in honour of + Mr. De Smythe and his two sons, Master Adolphus and Master Blinks De + Smythe, who were about to leave for their daily travail at their wholesale + Bureau de Flour et de Feed. All the gentlemen were very quietly dressed in + their habits de work. Miss Melinda De Smythe poured out tea, the + domestique having refuse to get up so early after the partie of the night + before. The menu was very handsome, consisting of eggs and bacon, + demi-froid, and ice-cream. The conversation was sustained and lively. Mr. + De Smythe sustained it and made it lively for his daughter and his + garcons. In the course of the talk Mr. De Smythe stated that the next time + he allowed the young people to turn his maison topsy-turvy he would see + them in enfer. He wished to know if they were aware that some ass of the + evening before had broken a pane of coloured glass in the hall that would + cost him four dollars. Did they think he was made of argent. If so, they + never made a bigger mistake in their vie. The meal closed with general + expressions of good-feeling. A little bird has whispered to us that there + will be no more parties at the De Smythes' pour long-temps. + </p> + <p> + Here is another little paragraph that would be of general interest in + society. + </p> + <h3> + DINER DE FAMEEL AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE DE MCFIGGIN + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday evening at half after six a pleasant little diner was given by + Madame McFiggin of Rock Street, to her boarders. The salle a manger was + very prettily decorated with texts, and the furniture upholstered with + cheveux de horse, Louis Quinze. The boarders were all very quietly + dressed: Mrs. McFiggin was daintily attired in some old clinging stuff + with a corsage de Whalebone underneath. The ample board groaned under the + bill of fare. The boarders groaned also. Their groaning was very + noticeable. The piece de resistance was a hunko de boeuf boile, flanked + with some old clinging stuff. The entrees were pate de pumpkin, followed + by fromage McFiggin, served under glass. Towards the end of the first + course, speeches became the order of the day. Mrs. McFiggin was the first + speaker. In commencing, she expressed her surprise that so few of the + gentlemen seemed to care for the hunko de boeuf; her own mind, she said, + had hesitated between hunko de boeuf boile and a pair of roast chickens + (sensation). She had finally decided in favour of the hunko de boeuf (no + sensation). She referred at some length to the late Mr. McFiggin, who had + always shown a marked preference for hunko de boeuf. Several other + speakers followed. All spoke forcibly and to the point. The last to speak + was the Reverend Mr. Whiner. The reverend gentleman, in rising, said that + he confided himself and his fellow-boarders to the special interference of + providence. For what they had eaten, he said, he hoped that Providence + would make them truly thankful. At the close of the Repas several of the + boarders expressed their intention of going down the street to a + restourong to get quelque chose a manger. + </p> + <p> + Here is another example. How interesting it would be to get a detailed + account of that little affair at the Robinsons', of which the neighbours + only heard indirectly! Thus: + </p> + <h3> + DELIGHTFUL EVENING AT THE RESIDENCE OF MR. ALONZO ROBINSON + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday the family of Mr. Alonzo Robinson spent a very lively evening at + their home on —-th Avenue. The occasion was the seventeenth birthday + of Master Alonzo Robinson, junior. It was the original intention of Master + Alonzo Robinson to celebrate the day at home and invite a few of les + garcons. Mr. Robinson, senior, however, having declared that he would be + damne first, Master Alonzo spent the evening in visiting the salons of the + town, which he painted rouge. Mr. Robinson, senior, spent the evening at + home in quiet expectation of his son's return. He was very becomingly + dressed in a pantalon quatre vingt treize, and had his whippe de chien + laid across his knee. Madame Robinson and the Mademoiselles Robinson wore + black. The guest of the evening arrived at a late hour. He wore his habits + de spri, and had about six pouces of eau de vie in him. He was evidently + full up to his cou. For some time after his arrival a very lively time was + spent. Mr. Robinson having at length broken the whippe de chien, the + family parted for the night with expressions of cordial goodwill. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Insurance up to Date + </h2> + <p> + A man called on me the other day with the idea of insuring my life. Now, I + detest life-insurance agents; they always argue that I shall some day die, + which is not so. I have been insured a great many times, for about a month + at a time, but have had no luck with it at all. + </p> + <p> + So I made up my mind that I would outwit this man at his own game. I let + him talk straight ahead and encouraged him all I could, until he finally + left me with a sheet of questions which I was to answer as an applicant. + Now this was what I was waiting for; I had decided that, if that company + wanted information about me, they should have it, and have the very best + quality I could supply. So I spread the sheet of questions before me, and + drew up a set of answers for them, which, I hoped, would settle for ever + all doubts as to my eligibility for insurance. + </p> + <p> + Question.—What is your age? Answer.—I can't think. + </p> + <p> + Q.—What is your chest measurement? A.—Nineteen inches. + </p> + <p> + Q.—What is your chest expansion? A.—Half an inch. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Q.—What is your height? +A.—Six feet five, if erect, but less when + I walk on all fours. +</pre> + <p> + Q.—Is your grandfather dead? A.—Practically. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Cause of death, if dead? A.—Dipsomania, if dead. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Is your father dead? A.—To the world. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Cause of death? A.—Hydrophobia. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Place of father's residence? A.—Kentucky. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Q.—What illness have you had? +A.—As a child, consumption, leprosy, and water on + the knee. As a man, whooping-cough, stomach-ache, + and water on the brain. +</pre> + <p> + Q.—Have you any brothers? A.—Thirteen; all nearly dead. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Q.—Are you aware of any habits or tendencies which + might be expected to shorten your life? +A.—I am aware. I drink, I smoke, I take morphine and + vaseline. I swallow grape seeds and I hate exercise. +</pre> + <p> + I thought when I had come to the end of that list that I had made a dead + sure thing of it, and I posted the paper with a cheque for three months' + payment, feeling pretty confident of having the cheque sent back to me. I + was a good deal surprised a few days later to receive the following letter + from the company: + </p> + <p> + "DEAR SIR,—We beg to acknowledge your letter of application and + cheque for fifteen dollars. After a careful comparison of your case with + the average modern standard, we are pleased to accept you as a first-class + risk." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Borrowing a Match + </h2> + <p> + You might think that borrowing a match upon the street is a simple thing. + But any man who has ever tried it will assure you that it is not, and will + be prepared to swear to the truth of my experience of the other evening. + </p> + <p> + I was standing on the corner of the street with a cigar that I wanted to + light. I had no match. I waited till a decent, ordinary-looking man came + along. Then I said: + </p> + <p> + "Excuse me, sir, but could you oblige me with the loan of a match?" + </p> + <p> + "A match?" he said, "why certainly." Then he unbuttoned his overcoat and + put his hand in the pocket of his waistcoat. "I know I have one," he went + on, "and I'd almost swear it's in the bottom pocket—or, hold on, + though, I guess it may be in the top—just wait till I put these + parcels down on the sidewalk." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, don't trouble," I said, "it's really of no consequence." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, it's no trouble, I'll have it in a minute; I know there must be one + in here somewhere"—he was digging his fingers into his pockets as he + spoke—"but you see this isn't the waistcoat I generally..." + </p> + <p> + I saw that the man was getting excited about it. "Well, never mind," I + protested; "if that isn't the waistcoat that you generally—why, it + doesn't matter." + </p> + <p> + "Hold on, now, hold on!" the man said, "I've got one of the cursed things + in here somewhere. I guess it must be in with my watch. No, it's not there + either. Wait till I try my coat. If that confounded tailor only knew + enough to make a pocket so that a man could get at it!" + </p> + <p> + He was getting pretty well worked up now. He had thrown down his + walking-stick and was plunging at his pockets with his teeth set. "It's + that cursed young boy of mine," he hissed; "this comes of his fooling in + my pockets. By Gad! perhaps I won't warm him up when I get home. Say, I'll + bet that it's in my hip-pocket. You just hold up the tail of my overcoat a + second till I..." + </p> + <p> + "No, no," I protested again, "please don't take all this trouble, it + really doesn't matter. I'm sure you needn't take off your overcoat, and + oh, pray don't throw away your letters and things in the snow like that, + and tear out your pockets by the roots! Please, please don't trample over + your overcoat and put your feet through the parcels. I do hate to hear you + swearing at your little boy, with that peculiar whine in your voice. Don't—please + don't tear your clothes so savagely." + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the man gave a grunt of exultation, and drew his hand up from + inside the lining of his coat. + </p> + <p> + "I've got it," he cried. "Here you are!" Then he brought it out under the + light. + </p> + <p> + It was a toothpick. + </p> + <p> + Yielding to the impulse of the moment I pushed him under the wheels of a + trolley-car, and ran. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Lesson in Fiction + </h2> + <p> + Suppose that in the opening pages of the modern melodramatic novel you + find some such situation as the following, in which is depicted the + terrific combat between Gaspard de Vaux, the boy lieutenant, and Hairy + Hank, the chief of the Italian banditti: + </p> + <p> + "The inequality of the contest was apparent. With a mingled yell of rage + and contempt, his sword brandished above his head and his dirk between his + teeth, the enormous bandit rushed upon his intrepid opponent. De Vaux + seemed scarce more than a stripling, but he stood his ground and faced his + hitherto invincible assailant. 'Mong Dieu,' cried De Smythe, 'he is + lost!'" + </p> + <p> + Question. On which of the parties to the above contest do you honestly + feel inclined to put your money? + </p> + <p> + Answer. On De Vaux. He'll win. Hairy Hank will force him down to one knee + and with a brutal cry of "Har! har!" will be about to dirk him, when De + Vaux will make a sudden lunge (one he had learnt at home out of a book of + lunges) and— + </p> + <p> + Very good. You have answered correctly. Now, suppose you find, a little + later in the book, that the killing of Hairy Hank has compelled De Vaux to + flee from his native land to the East. Are you not fearful for his safety + in the desert? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Frankly, I am not. De Vaux is all right. His name is on the title + page, and you can't kill him. + </p> + <p> + Question. Listen to this, then: "The sun of Ethiopia beat fiercely upon + the desert as De Vaux, mounted upon his faithful elephant, pursued his + lonely way. Seated in his lofty hoo-doo, his eye scoured the waste. + Suddenly a solitary horseman appeared on the horizon, then another, and + another, and then six. In a few moments a whole crowd of solitary horsemen + swooped down upon him. There was a fierce shout of 'Allah!' a rattle of + firearms. De Vaux sank from his hoo-doo on to the sands, while the + affrighted elephant dashed off in all directions. The bullet had struck + him in the heart." + </p> + <p> + There now, what do you think of that? Isn't De Vaux killed now? + </p> + <p> + Answer. I am sorry. De Vaux is not dead. True, the ball had hit him, oh + yes, it had hit him, but it had glanced off against a family Bible, which + he carried in his waistcoat in case of illness, struck some hymns that he + had in his hip-pocket, and, glancing off again, had flattened itself + against De Vaux's diary of his life in the desert, which was in his + knapsack. + </p> + <p> + Question. But even if this doesn't kill him, you must admit that he is + near death when he is bitten in the jungle by the deadly dongola? + </p> + <p> + Answer. That's all right. A kindly Arab will take De Vaux to the Sheik's + tent. + </p> + <p> + Question. What will De Vaux remind the Sheik of? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Too easy. Of his long-lost son, who disappeared years ago. + </p> + <p> + Question. Was this son Hairy Hank? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Of course he was. Anyone could see that, but the Sheik never + suspects it, and heals De Vaux. He heals him with an herb, a thing called + a simple, an amazingly simple, known only to the Sheik. Since using this + herb, the Sheik has used no other. + </p> + <p> + Question. The Sheik will recognize an overcoat that De Vaux is wearing, + and complications will arise in the matter of Hairy Hank deceased. Will + this result in the death of the boy lieutenant? + </p> + <p> + Answer. No. By this time De Vaux has realized that the reader knows he + won't die and resolves to quit the desert. The thought of his mother keeps + recurring to him, and of his father, too, the grey, stooping old man—does + he stoop still or has he stopped stooping? At times, too, there comes the + thought of another, a fairer than his father; she whose—but enough, + De Vaux returns to the old homestead in Piccadilly. + </p> + <p> + Question. When De Vaux returns to England, what will happen? + </p> + <p> + Answer. This will happen: "He who left England ten years before a raw boy, + has returned a sunburnt soldierly man. But who is this that advances + smilingly to meet him? Can the mere girl, the bright child that shared his + hours of play, can she have grown into this peerless, graceful girl, at + whose feet half the noble suitors of England are kneeling? 'Can this be + her?' he asks himself in amazement." + </p> + <p> + Question. Is it her? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh, it's her all right. It is her, and it is him, and it is them. + That girl hasn't waited fifty pages for nothing. + </p> + <p> + Question. You evidently guess that a love affair will ensue between the + boy lieutenant and the peerless girl with the broad feet. Do you imagine, + however, that its course will run smoothly and leave nothing to record? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Not at all. I feel certain that the scene of the novel having + edged itself around to London, the writer will not feel satisfied unless + he introduces the following famous scene: + </p> + <p> + "Stunned by the cruel revelation which he had received, unconscious of + whither his steps were taking him, Gaspard de Vaux wandered on in the + darkness from street to street until he found himself upon London Bridge. + He leaned over the parapet and looked down upon the whirling stream below. + There was something in the still, swift rush of it that seemed to beckon, + to allure him. After all, why not? What was life now that he should prize + it? For a moment De Vaux paused irresolute." + </p> + <p> + Question. Will he throw himself in? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Well, say you don't know Gaspard. He will pause irresolute up to + the limit, then, with a fierce struggle, will recall his courage and + hasten from the Bridge. + </p> + <p> + Question. This struggle not to throw oneself in must be dreadfully + difficult? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh! dreadfully! Most of us are so frail we should jump in at once. + But Gaspard has the knack of it. Besides he still has some of the Sheik's + herb; he chews it. + </p> + <p> + Question. What has happened to De Vaux anyway? Is it anything he has + eaten? + </p> + <p> + Answer. No, it is nothing that he has eaten. It's about her. The blow has + come. She has no use for sunburn, doesn't care for tan; she is going to + marry a duke and the boy lieutenant is no longer in it. The real trouble + is that the modern novelist has got beyond the happy-marriage mode of + ending. He wants tragedy and a blighted life to wind up with. + </p> + <p> + Question. How will the book conclude? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh, De Vaux will go back to the desert, fall upon the Sheik's + neck, and swear to be a second Hairy Hank to him. There will be a final + panorama of the desert, the Sheik and his newly found son at the door of + the tent, the sun setting behind a pyramid, and De Vaux's faithful + elephant crouched at his feet and gazing up at him with dumb affection. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Helping the Armenians + </h2> + <p> + The financial affairs of the parish church up at Doogalville have been + getting rather into a tangle in the last six months. The people of the + church were specially anxious to do something toward the general public + subscription of the town on behalf of the unhappy Armenians, and to that + purpose they determined to devote the collections taken up at a series of + special evening services. To give the right sort of swing to the services + and to stimulate generous giving, they put a new pipe organ into the + church. In order to make a preliminary payment on the organ, it was + decided to raise a mortgage on the parsonage. + </p> + <p> + To pay the interest on the mortgage, the choir of the church got up a + sacred concert in the town hall. + </p> + <p> + To pay for the town hall, the Willing Workers' Guild held a social in the + Sunday school. To pay the expenses of the social, the rector delivered a + public lecture on "Italy and Her Past," illustrated by a magic lantern. To + pay for the magic lantern, the curate and the ladies of the church got up + some amateur theatricals. + </p> + <p> + Finally, to pay for the costumes for the theatricals, the rector felt it + his duty to dispense with the curate. + </p> + <p> + So that is where the church stands just at present. What they chiefly want + to do, is to raise enough money to buy a suitable gold watch as a + testimonial to the curate. After that they hope to be able to do something + for the Armenians. Meantime, of course, the Armenians, the ones right + there in the town, are getting very troublesome. To begin with, there is + the Armenian who rented the costumes for the theatricals: he has to be + squared. Then there is the Armenian organ dealer, and the Armenian who + owned the magic lantern. They want relief badly. + </p> + <p> + The most urgent case is that of the Armenian who holds the mortgage on the + parsonage; indeed it is generally felt in the congregation, when the + rector makes his impassioned appeals at the special services on behalf of + the suffering cause, that it is to this man that he has special reference. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile the general public subscription is not getting along very + fast; but the proprietor of the big saloon further down the street and the + man with the short cigar that runs the Doogalville Midway Plaisance have + been most liberal in their contributions. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Study in Still Life.—The Country Hotel + </h2> + <p> + The country hotel stands on the sunny side of Main Street. It has three + entrances. + </p> + <p> + There is one in front which leads into the Bar. There is one at the side + called the Ladies' Entrance which leads into the Bar from the side. There + is also the Main Entrance which leads into the Bar through the Rotunda. + </p> + <p> + The Rotunda is the space between the door of the bar-room and the + cigar-case. + </p> + <p> + In it is a desk and a book. In the book are written down the names of the + guests, together with marks indicating the direction of the wind and the + height of the barometer. It is here that the newly arrived guest waits + until he has time to open the door leading to the Bar. + </p> + <p> + The bar-room forms the largest part of the hotel. It constitutes the hotel + proper. To it are attached a series of bedrooms on the floor above, many + of which contain beds. + </p> + <p> + The walls of the bar-room are perforated in all directions with + trap-doors. Through one of these drinks are passed into the back + sitting-room. Through others drinks are passed into the passages. Drinks + are also passed through the floor and through the ceiling. Drinks once + passed never return. The Proprietor stands in the doorway of the bar. He + weighs two hundred pounds. His face is immovable as putty. He is drunk. He + has been drunk for twelve years. It makes no difference to him. Behind the + bar stands the Bar-tender. He wears wicker-sleeves, his hair is curled in + a hook, and his name is Charlie. + </p> + <p> + Attached to the bar is a pneumatic beer-pump, by means of which the + bar-tender can flood the bar with beer. Afterwards he wipes up the beer + with a rag. By this means he polishes the bar. Some of the beer that is + pumped up spills into glasses and has to be sold. + </p> + <p> + Behind the bar-tender is a mechanism called a cash-register, which, on + being struck a powerful blow, rings a bell, sticks up a card marked NO + SALE, and opens a till from which the bar-tender distributes money. + </p> + <p> + There is printed a tariff of drinks and prices on the wall. + </p> + <p> + It reads thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beer . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky. . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Soda. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Soda . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Beer and Soda . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Eggs . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Eggs . . . . . . 5 cents. + Champagne. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars, extra fine . . . . . 5 cents. +</pre> + <p> + All calculations are made on this basis and are worked out to three places + of decimals. Every seventh drink is on the house and is not followed by a + distribution of money. + </p> + <p> + The bar-room closes at midnight, provided there are enough people in it. + If there is not a quorum the proprietor waits for a better chance. A + careful closing of the bar will often catch as many as twenty-five people. + The bar is not opened again till seven o'clock in the morning; after that + the people may go home. There are also, nowadays, Local Option Hotels. + These contain only one entrance, leading directly into the bar. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + An Experiment With Policeman Hogan + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Scalper sits writing in the reporters' room of The Daily Eclipse. The + paper has gone to press and he is alone; a wayward talented gentleman, + this Mr. Scalper, and employed by The Eclipse as a delineator of character + from handwriting. Any subscriber who forwards a specimen of his + handwriting is treated to a prompt analysis of his character from Mr. + Scalper's facile pen. The literary genius has a little pile of + correspondence beside him, and is engaged in the practice of his art. + Outside the night is dark and rainy. The clock on the City Hall marks the + hour of two. In front of the newspaper office Policeman Hogan walks + drearily up and down his beat. The damp misery of Hogan is intense. A + belated gentleman in clerical attire, returning home from a bed of + sickness, gives him a side-look of timid pity and shivers past. Hogan + follows the retreating figure with his eye; then draws forth a notebook + and sits down on the steps of The Eclipse building to write in the light + of the gas lamp. Gentlemen of nocturnal habits have often wondered what it + is that Policeman Hogan and his brethren write in their little books. Here + are the words that are fashioned by the big fist of the policeman: + </p> + <p> + "Two o'clock. All is well. There is a light in Mr. Scalper's room above. + The night is very wet and I am unhappy and cannot sleep—my fourth + night of insomnia. Suspicious-looking individual just passed. Alas, how + melancholy is my life! Will the dawn never break! Oh, moist, moist stone." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper up above is writing too, writing with the careless fluency of + a man who draws his pay by the column. He is delineating with skill and + rapidity. The reporters' room is gloomy and desolate. Mr. Scalper is a man + of sensitive temperament and the dreariness of his surroundings depresses + him. He opens the letter of a correspondent, examines the handwriting + narrowly, casts his eye around the room for inspiration, and proceeds to + delineate: + </p> + <p> + "G.H. You have an unhappy, despondent nature; your circumstances oppress + you, and your life is filled with an infinite sadness. You feel that you + are without hope—" + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper pauses, takes another look around the room, and finally lets + his eye rest for some time upon a tall black bottle that stands on the + shelf of an open cupboard. Then he goes on: + </p> + <p> + "—and you have lost all belief in Christianity and a future world + and human virtue. You are very weak against temptation, but there is an + ugly vein of determination in your character, when you make up your mind + that you are going to have a thing—" + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Scalper stops abruptly, pushes back his chair, and dashes across + the room to the cupboard. He takes the black bottle from the shelf, + applies it to his lips, and remains for some time motionless. He then + returns to finish the delineation of G.H. with the hurried words: + </p> + <p> + "On the whole I recommend you to persevere; you are doing very well." Mr. + Scalper's next proceeding is peculiar. He takes from the cupboard a roll + of twine, about fifty feet in length, and attaches one end of it to the + neck of the bottle. Going then to one of the windows, he opens it, leans + out, and whistles softly. The alert ear of Policeman Hogan on the pavement + below catches the sound, and he returns it. The bottle is lowered to the + end of the string, the guardian of the peace applies it to his gullet, and + for some time the policeman and the man of letters remain attached by a + cord of sympathy. Gentlemen who lead the variegated life of Mr. Scalper + find it well to propitiate the arm of the law, and attachments of this + sort are not uncommon. Mr. Scalper hauls up the bottle, closes the window, + and returns to his task; the policeman resumes his walk with a glow of + internal satisfaction. A glance at the City Hall clock causes him to enter + another note in his book. + </p> + <p> + "Half-past two. All is better. The weather is milder with a feeling of + young summer in the air. Two lights in Mr. Scalper's room. Nothing has + occurred which need be brought to the notice of the roundsman." + </p> + <p> + Things are going better upstairs too. The delineator opens a second + envelope, surveys the writing of the correspondent with a critical yet + charitable eye, and writes with more complacency. + </p> + <p> + "William H. Your writing shows a disposition which, though naturally + melancholy, is capable of a temporary cheerfulness. You have known + misfortune but have made up your mind to look on the bright side of + things. If you will allow me to say so, you indulge in liquor but are + quite moderate in your use of it. Be assured that no harm ever comes of + this moderate use. It enlivens the intellect, brightens the faculties, and + stimulates the dormant fancy into a pleasurable activity. It is only when + carried to excess—" + </p> + <p> + At this point the feelings of Mr. Scalper, who had been writing very + rapidly, evidently become too much for him. He starts up from his chair, + rushes two or three times around the room, and finally returns to finish + the delineation thus: "it is only when carried to excess that this + moderation becomes pernicious." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper succumbs to the train of thought suggested and gives an + illustration of how moderation to excess may be avoided, after which he + lowers the bottle to Policeman Hogan with a cheery exchange of greetings. + </p> + <p> + The half-hours pass on. The delineator is writing busily and feels that he + is writing well. The characters of his correspondents lie bare to his keen + eye and flow from his facile pen. From time to time he pauses and appeals + to the source of his inspiration; his humanity prompts him to extend the + inspiration to Policeman Hogan. The minion of the law walks his beat with + a feeling of more than tranquillity. A solitary Chinaman, returning home + late from his midnight laundry, scuttles past. The literary instinct has + risen strong in Hogan from his connection with the man of genius above + him, and the passage of the lone Chinee gives him occasion to write in his + book: + </p> + <p> + "Four-thirty. Everything is simply great. There are four lights in Mr. + Scalper's room. Mild, balmy weather with prospects of an earthquake, which + may be held in check by walking with extreme caution. Two Chinamen have + just passed—mandarins, I presume. Their walk was unsteady, but their + faces so benign as to disarm suspicion." + </p> + <p> + Up in the office Mr. Scalper has reached the letter of a correspondent + which appears to give him particular pleasure, for he delineates the + character with a beaming smile of satisfaction. To the unpractised eye the + writing resembles the prim, angular hand of an elderly spinster. Mr. + Scalper, however, seems to think otherwise, for he writes: + </p> + <p> + "Aunt Dorothea. You have a merry, rollicking nature. At times you are + seized with a wild, tumultuous hilarity to which you give ample vent in + shouting and song. You are much addicted to profanity, and you rightly + feel that this is part of your nature and you must not check it. The world + is a very bright place to you, Aunt Dorothea. Write to me again soon. Our + minds seem cast in the same mould." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper seems to think that he has not done full justice to the + subject he is treating, for he proceeds to write a long private letter to + Aunt Dorothea in addition to the printed delineation. As he finishes the + City Hall clock points to five, and Policeman Hogan makes the last entry + in his chronicle. Hogan has seated himself upon the steps of The Eclipse + building for greater comfort and writes with a slow, leisurely fist: + </p> + <p> + "The other hand of the clock points north and the second longest points + south-east by south. I infer that it is five o'clock. The electric lights + in Mr. Scalper's room defy the eye. The roundsman has passed and examined + my notes of the night's occurrences. They are entirely satisfactory, and + he is pleased with their literary form. The earthquake which I apprehended + was reduced to a few minor oscillations which cannot reach me where I sit—" + </p> + <p> + The lowering of the bottle interrupts Policeman Hogan. The long letter to + Aunt Dorothea has cooled the ardour of Mr. Scalper. The generous blush has + passed from his mind and he has been trying in vain to restore it. To + afford Hogan a similar opportunity, he decides not to haul the bottle up + immediately, but to leave it in his custody while he delineates a + character. The writing of this correspondent would seem to the + inexperienced eye to be that of a timid little maiden in her teens. Mr. + Scalper is not to be deceived by appearances. He shakes his head + mournfully at the letter and writes: + </p> + <p> + "Little Emily. You have known great happiness, but it has passed. + Despondency has driven you to seek forgetfulness in drink. Your writing + shows the worst phase of the liquor habit. I apprehend that you will + shortly have delirium tremens. Poor little Emily! Do not try to break off; + it is too late." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper is visibly affected by his correspondent's unhappy condition. + His eye becomes moist, and he decides to haul up the bottle while there is + still time to save Policeman Hogan from acquiring a taste for liquor. He + is surprised and alarmed to find the attempt to haul it up ineffectual. + The minion of the law has fallen into a leaden slumber, and the bottle + remains tight in his grasp. The baffled delineator lets fall the string + and returns to finish his task. Only a few lines are now required to fill + the column, but Mr. Scalper finds on examining the correspondence that he + has exhausted the subjects. This, however, is quite a common occurrence + and occasions no dilemma in the mind of the talented gentleman. It is his + custom in such cases to fill up the space with an imaginary character or + two, the analysis of which is a task most congenial to his mind. He bows + his head in thought for a few moments, and then writes as follows: + </p> + <p> + "Policeman H. Your hand shows great firmness; when once set upon a thing + you are not easily moved. But you have a mean, grasping disposition and a + tendency to want more than your share. You have formed an attachment which + you hope will be continued throughout life, but your selfishness threatens + to sever the bond." + </p> + <p> + Having written which, Mr. Scalper arranges his manuscript for the printer + next day, dons his hat and coat, and wends his way home in the morning + twilight, feeling that his pay is earned. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Passing of the Poet + </h2> + <p> + Studies in what may be termed collective psychology are essentially in + keeping with the spirit of the present century. The examination of the + mental tendencies, the intellectual habits which we display not as + individuals, but as members of a race, community, or crowd, is offering a + fruitful field of speculation as yet but little exploited. One may, + therefore, not without profit, pass in review the relation of the poetic + instinct to the intellectual development of the present era. + </p> + <p> + Not the least noticeable feature in the psychological evolution of our + time is the rapid disappearance of poetry. The art of writing poetry, or + perhaps more fairly, the habit of writing poetry, is passing from us. The + poet is destined to become extinct. + </p> + <p> + To a reader of trained intellect the initial difficulty at once suggests + itself as to what is meant by poetry. But it is needless to quibble at a + definition of the term. It may be designated, simply and fairly, as the + art of expressing a simple truth in a concealed form of words, any number + of which, at intervals greater or less, may or may not rhyme. + </p> + <p> + The poet, it must be said, is as old as civilization. The Greeks had him + with them, stamping out his iambics with the sole of his foot. The Romans, + too, knew him—endlessly juggling his syllables together, long and + short, short and long, to make hexameters. This can now be done by + electricity, but the Romans did not know it. + </p> + <p> + But it is not my present purpose to speak of the poets of an earlier and + ruder time. For the subject before us it is enough to set our age in + comparison with the era that preceded it. We have but to contrast + ourselves with our early Victorian grandfathers to realize the profound + revolution that has taken place in public feeling. It is only with an + effort that the practical common sense of the twentieth century can + realize the excessive sentimentality of the earlier generation. + </p> + <p> + In those days poetry stood in high and universal esteem. Parents read + poetry to their children. Children recited poetry to their parents. And he + was a dullard, indeed, who did not at least profess, in his hours of + idleness, to pour spontaneous rhythm from his flowing quill. + </p> + <p> + Should one gather statistics of the enormous production of poetry some + sixty or seventy years ago, they would scarcely appear credible. Journals + and magazines teemed with it. Editors openly countenanced it. Even the + daily press affected it. Love sighed in home-made stanzas. Patriotism + rhapsodized on the hustings, or cited rolling hexameters to an enraptured + legislature. Even melancholy death courted his everlasting sleep in + elegant elegiacs. + </p> + <p> + In that era, indeed, I know not how, polite society was haunted by the + obstinate fiction that it was the duty of a man of parts to express + himself from time to time in verse. Any special occasion of expansion or + exuberance, of depression, torsion, or introspection, was sufficient to + call it forth. So we have poems of dejection, of reflection, of + deglutition, of indigestion. + </p> + <p> + Any particular psychological disturbance was enough to provoke an excess + of poetry. The character and manner of the verse might vary with the + predisposing cause. A gentleman who had dined too freely might disexpand + himself in a short fit of lyric doggerel in which "bowl" and "soul" were + freely rhymed. The morning's indigestion inspired a long-drawn elegiac, + with "bier" and "tear," "mortal" and "portal" linked in sonorous sadness. + The man of politics, from time to time, grateful to an appreciative + country, sang back to it, "Ho, Albion, rising from the brine!" in verse + whose intention at least was meritorious. + </p> + <p> + And yet it was but a fiction, a purely fictitious obligation, self-imposed + by a sentimental society. In plain truth, poetry came no more easily or + naturally to the early Victorian than to you or me. The lover twanged his + obdurate harp in vain for hours for the rhymes that would not come, and + the man of politics hammered at his heavy hexameter long indeed before his + Albion was finally "hoed" into shape; while the beer-besotted convivialist + cudgelled his poor wits cold sober in rhyming the light little + bottle-ditty that should have sprung like Aphrodite from the froth of the + champagne. + </p> + <p> + I have before me a pathetic witness of this fact. It is the note-book once + used for the random jottings of a gentleman of the period. In it I read: + "Fair Lydia, if my earthly harp." This is crossed out, and below it + appears, "Fair Lydia, COULD my earthly harp." This again is erased, and + under it appears, "Fair Lydia, SHOULD my earthly harp." This again is + struck out with a despairing stroke, and amended to read: "Fair Lydia, DID + my earthly harp." So that finally, when the lines appeared in the + Gentleman's Magazine (1845) in their ultimate shape—"Fair Edith, + when with fluent pen," etc., etc.—one can realize from what a + desperate congelation the fluent pen had been so perseveringly rescued. + </p> + <p> + There can be little doubt of the deleterious effect occasioned both to + public and private morals by this deliberate exaltation of mental + susceptibility on the part of the early Victorian. In many cases we can + detect the evidences of incipient paresis. The undue access of emotion + frequently assumed a pathological character. The sight of a daisy, of a + withered leaf or an upturned sod, seemed to disturb the poet's mental + equipoise. Spring unnerved him. The lambs distressed him. The flowers made + him cry. The daffodils made him laugh. Day dazzled him. Night frightened + him. + </p> + <p> + This exalted mood, combined with the man's culpable ignorance of the + plainest principles of physical science, made him see something out of the + ordinary in the flight of a waterfowl or the song of a skylark. He + complained that he could HEAR it, but not SEE it—a phenomenon too + familiar to the scientific observer to occasion any comment. + </p> + <p> + In such a state of mind the most inconsequential inferences were drawn. + One said that the brightness of the dawn—a fact easily explained by + the diurnal motion of the globe—showed him that his soul was + immortal. He asserted further that he had, at an earlier period of his + life, trailed bright clouds behind him. This was absurd. + </p> + <p> + With the disturbance thus set up in the nervous system were coupled, in + many instances, mental aberrations, particularly in regard to pecuniary + matters. "Give me not silk, nor rich attire," pleaded one poet of the + period to the British public, "nor gold nor jewels rare." Here was an + evident hallucination that the writer was to become the recipient of an + enormous secret subscription. Indeed, the earnest desire NOT to be given + gold was a recurrent characteristic of the poetic temperament. The + repugnance to accept even a handful of gold was generally accompanied by a + desire for a draught of pure water or a night's rest. + </p> + <p> + It is pleasing to turn from this excessive sentimentality of thought and + speech to the practical and concise diction of our time. We have learned + to express ourselves with equal force, but greater simplicity. To + illustrate this I have gathered from the poets of the earlier generation + and from the prose writers of to-day parallel passages that may be fairly + set in contrast. Here, for example, is a passage from the poet Grey, still + familiar to scholars: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can honour's voice invoke the silent dust + Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?" +</pre> + <p> + Precisely similar in thought, though different in form, is the more modern + presentation found in Huxley's Physiology: + </p> + <p> + "Whether after the moment of death the ventricles of the heart can be + again set in movement by the artificial stimulus of oxygen, is a question + to which we must impose a decided negative." + </p> + <p> + How much simpler, and yet how far superior to Grey's elaborate + phraseology! Huxley has here seized the central point of the poet's + thought, and expressed it with the dignity and precision of exact science. + </p> + <p> + I cannot refrain, even at the risk of needless iteration, from quoting a + further example. It is taken from the poet Burns. The original dialect + being written in inverted hiccoughs, is rather difficult to reproduce. It + describes the scene attendant upon the return of a cottage labourer to his + home on Saturday night: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face + They round the ingle form in a circle wide; + The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, + The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride: + His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, + His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare: + Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, + He wales a portion wi' judeecious care." +</pre> + <p> + Now I find almost the same scene described in more apt phraseology in the + police news of the Dumfries Chronicle (October 3, 1909), thus: "It appears + that the prisoner had returned to his domicile at the usual hour, and, + after partaking of a hearty meal, had seated himself on his oaken settle, + for the ostensible purpose of reading the Bible. It was while so occupied + that his arrest was effected." With the trifling exception that Burns + omits all mention of the arrest, for which, however, the whole tenor of + the poem gives ample warrant, the two accounts are almost identical. + </p> + <p> + In all that I have thus said I do not wish to be misunderstood. Believing, + as I firmly do, that the poet is destined to become extinct, I am not one + of those who would accelerate his extinction. The time has not yet come + for remedial legislation, or the application of the criminal law. Even in + obstinate cases where pronounced delusions in reference to plants, + animals, and natural phenomena are seen to exist, it is better that we + should do nothing that might occasion a mistaken remorse. The inevitable + natural evolution which is thus shaping the mould of human thought may + safely be left to its own course. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Self-made Men + </h2> + <p> + They were both what we commonly call successful business men—men + with well-fed faces, heavy signet rings on fingers like sausages, and + broad, comfortable waistcoats, a yard and a half round the equator. They + were seated opposite each other at a table of a first-class restaurant, + and had fallen into conversation while waiting to give their order to the + waiter. Their talk had drifted back to their early days and how each had + made his start in life when he first struck New York. + </p> + <p> + "I tell you what, Jones," one of them was saying, "I shall never forget my + first few years in this town. By George, it was pretty uphill work! Do you + know, sir, when I first struck this place, I hadn't more than fifteen + cents to my name, hadn't a rag except what I stood up in, and all the + place I had to sleep in—you won't believe it, but it's a gospel fact + just the same—was an empty tar barrel. No, sir," he went on, leaning + back and closing up his eyes into an expression of infinite experience, + "no, sir, a fellow accustomed to luxury like you has simply no idea what + sleeping out in a tar barrel and all that kind of thing is like." + </p> + <p> + "My dear Robinson," the other man rejoined briskly, "if you imagine I've + had no experience of hardship of that sort, you never made a bigger + mistake in your life. Why, when I first walked into this town I hadn't a + cent, sir, not a cent, and as for lodging, all the place I had for months + and months was an old piano box up a lane, behind a factory. Talk about + hardship, I guess I had it pretty rough! You take a fellow that's used to + a good warm tar barrel and put him into a piano box for a night or two, + and you'll see mighty soon—" + </p> + <p> + "My dear fellow," Robinson broke in with some irritation, "you merely show + that you don't know what a tar barrel's like. Why, on winter nights, when + you'd be shut in there in your piano box just as snug as you please, I + used to lie awake shivering, with the draught fairly running in at the + bunghole at the back." + </p> + <p> + "Draught!" sneered the other man, with a provoking laugh, "draught! Don't + talk to me about draughts. This box I speak of had a whole darned plank + off it, right on the north side too. I used to sit there studying in the + evenings, and the snow would blow in a foot deep. And yet, sir," he + continued more quietly, "though I know you'll not believe it, I don't mind + admitting that some of the happiest days of my life were spent in that + same old box. Ah, those were good old times! Bright, innocent days, I can + tell you. I'd wake up there in the mornings and fairly shout with high + spirits. Of course, you may not be able to stand that kind of life—" + </p> + <p> + "Not stand it!" cried Robinson fiercely; "me not stand it! By gad! I'm + made for it. I just wish I had a taste of the old life again for a while. + And as for innocence! Well, I'll bet you you weren't one-tenth as innocent + as I was; no, nor one-fifth, nor one-third! What a grand old life it was! + You'll swear this is a darned lie and refuse to believe it—but I can + remember evenings when I'd have two or three fellows in, and we'd sit + round and play pedro by a candle half the night." + </p> + <p> + "Two or three!" laughed Jones; "why, my dear fellow, I've known half a + dozen of us to sit down to supper in my piano box, and have a game of + pedro afterwards; yes, and charades and forfeits, and every other darned + thing. Mighty good suppers they were too! By Jove, Robinson, you fellows + round this town who have ruined your digestions with high living, have no + notion of the zest with which a man can sit down to a few potato peelings, + or a bit of broken pie crust, or—" + </p> + <p> + "Talk about hard food," interrupted the other, "I guess I know all about + that. Many's the time I've breakfasted off a little cold porridge that + somebody was going to throw away from a back-door, or that I've gone round + to a livery stable and begged a little bran mash that they intended for + the pigs. I'll venture to say I've eaten more hog's food—" + </p> + <p> + "Hog's food!" shouted Robinson, striking his fist savagely on the table, + "I tell you hog's food suits me better than—" + </p> + <p> + He stopped speaking with a sudden grunt of surprise as the waiter appeared + with the question: + </p> + <p> + "What may I bring you for dinner, gentlemen?" + </p> + <p> + "Dinner!" said Jones, after a moment of silence, "dinner! Oh, anything, + nothing—I never care what I eat—give me a little cold + porridge, if you've got it, or a chunk of salt pork—anything you + like, it's all the same to me." + </p> + <p> + The waiter turned with an impassive face to Robinson. + </p> + <p> + "You can bring me some of that cold porridge too," he said, with a defiant + look at Jones; "yesterday's, if you have it, and a few potato peelings and + a glass of skim milk." + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Jones sat back in his chair and looked hard across at + Robinson. For some moments the two men gazed into each other's eyes with a + stern, defiant intensity. Then Robinson turned slowly round in his seat + and beckoned to the waiter, who was moving off with the muttered order on + his lips. + </p> + <p> + "Here, waiter," he said with a savage scowl, "I guess I'll change that + order a little. Instead of that cold porridge I'll take—um, yes—a + little hot partridge. And you might as well bring me an oyster or two on + the half shell, and a mouthful of soup (mock-turtle, consomme, anything), + and perhaps you might fetch along a dab of fish, and a little peck of + Stilton, and a grape, or a walnut." + </p> + <p> + The waiter turned to Jones. + </p> + <p> + "I guess I'll take the same," he said simply, and added; "and you might + bring a quart of champagne at the same time." + </p> + <p> + And nowadays, when Jones and Robinson meet, the memory of the tar barrel + and the piano box is buried as far out of sight as a home for the blind + under a landslide. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Model Dialogue + </h2> + <p> + In which is shown how the drawing-room juggler may be permanently cured of + his card trick. + </p> + <p> + The drawing-room juggler, having slyly got hold of the pack of cards at + the end of the game of whist, says: + </p> + <p> + "Ever see any card tricks? Here's rather a good one; pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, I don't want a card." + </p> + <p> + "No, but just pick one, any one you like, and I'll tell which one you + pick." + </p> + <p> + "You'll tell who?" + </p> + <p> + "No, no; I mean, I'll know which it is don't you see? Go on now, pick a + card." + </p> + <p> + "Any one I like?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Any colour at all?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, yes." + </p> + <p> + "Any suit?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes; do go on." + </p> + <p> + "Well, let me see, I'll—pick—the—ace of spades." + </p> + <p> + "Great Caesar! I mean you are to pull a card out of the pack." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, to pull it out of the pack! Now I understand. Hand me the pack. All + right—I've got it." + </p> + <p> + "Have you picked one?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it's the three of hearts. Did you know it?" + </p> + <p> + "Hang it! Don't tell me like that. You spoil the thing. Here, try again. + Pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "All right, I've got it." + </p> + <p> + "Put it back in the pack. Thanks. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip)—There, + is that it?" (triumphantly). + </p> + <p> + "I don't know. I lost sight of it." + </p> + <p> + "Lost sight of it! Confound it, you have to look at it and see what it + is." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you want me to look at the front of it!" + </p> + <p> + "Why, of course! Now then, pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "All right. I've picked it. Go ahead." (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip.) + </p> + <p> + "Say, confound you, did you put that card back in the pack?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, no. I kept it." + </p> + <p> + "Holy Moses! Listen. Pick—a—card—just one—look at + it—see what it is—then put it back—do you understand?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, perfectly. Only I don't see how you are ever going to do it. You must + be awfully clever." + </p> + <p> + (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip.) + </p> + <p> + "There you are; that's your card, now, isn't it?" (This is the supreme + moment.) + </p> + <p> + "NO. THAT IS NOT MY CARD." (This is a flat lie, but Heaven will pardon you + for it.) + </p> + <p> + "Not that card!!!! Say—just hold on a second. Here, now, watch what + you're at this time. I can do this cursed thing, mind you, every time. + I've done it on father, on mother, and on every one that's ever come round + our place. Pick a card. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip, bang.) + There, that's your card." + </p> + <p> + "NO. I AM SORRY. THAT IS NOT MY CARD. But won't you try it again? Please + do. Perhaps you are a little excited—I'm afraid I was rather stupid. + Won't you go and sit quietly by yourself on the back verandah for half an + hour and then try? You have to go home? Oh, I'm so sorry. It must be such + an awfully clever little trick. Good night!" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Back to the Bush + </h2> + <p> + I have a friend called Billy, who has the Bush Mania. By trade he is a + doctor, but I do not think that he needs to sleep out of doors. In + ordinary things his mind appears sound. Over the tops of his gold-rimmed + spectacles, as he bends forward to speak to you, there gleams nothing but + amiability and kindliness. Like all the rest of us he is, or was until he + forgot it all, an extremely well-educated man. + </p> + <p> + I am aware of no criminal strain in his blood. Yet Billy is in reality + hopelessly unbalanced. He has the Mania of the Open Woods. + </p> + <p> + Worse than that, he is haunted with the desire to drag his friends with + him into the depths of the Bush. + </p> + <p> + Whenever we meet he starts to talk about it. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago I met him in the club. + </p> + <p> + "I wish," he said, "you'd let me take you clear away up the Gatineau." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I wish I would, I don't think," I murmured to myself, but I humoured + him and said: + </p> + <p> + "How do we go, Billy, in a motor-car or by train?" + </p> + <p> + "No, we paddle." + </p> + <p> + "And is it up-stream all the way?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," Billy said enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + "And how many days do we paddle all day to get up?" + </p> + <p> + "Six." + </p> + <p> + "Couldn't we do it in less?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," Billy answered, feeling that I was entering into the spirit of the + thing, "if we start each morning just before daylight and paddle hard till + moonlight, we could do it in five days and a half." + </p> + <p> + "Glorious! and are there portages?" + </p> + <p> + "Lots of them." + </p> + <p> + "And at each of these do I carry two hundred pounds of stuff up a hill on + my back?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "And will there be a guide, a genuine, dirty-looking Indian guide?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "And can I sleep next to him?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes, if you want to." + </p> + <p> + "And when we get to the top, what is there?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, we go over the height of land." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, we do, do we? And is the height of land all rock and about three + hundred yards up-hill? And do I carry a barrel of flour up it? And does it + roll down and crush me on the other side? Look here, Billy, this trip is a + great thing, but it is too luxurious for me. If you will have me paddled + up the river in a large iron canoe with an awning, carried over the + portages in a sedan-chair, taken across the height of land in a palanquin + or a howdah, and lowered down the other side in a derrick, I'll go. Short + of that, the thing would be too fattening." + </p> + <p> + Billy was discouraged and left me. But he has since returned repeatedly to + the attack. + </p> + <p> + He offers to take me to the head-waters of the Batiscan. I am content at + the foot. + </p> + <p> + He wants us to go to the sources of the Attahwapiscat. I don't. + </p> + <p> + He says I ought to see the grand chutes of the Kewakasis. Why should I? + </p> + <p> + I have made Billy a counter-proposition that we strike through the + Adirondacks (in the train) to New York, from there portage to Atlantic + City, then to Washington, carrying our own grub (in the dining-car), camp + there a few days (at the Willard), and then back, I to return by train and + Billy on foot with the outfit. + </p> + <p> + The thing is still unsettled. + </p> + <p> + Billy, of course, is only one of thousands that have got this mania. And + the autumn is the time when it rages at its worst. + </p> + <p> + Every day there move northward trains, packed full of lawyers, bankers, + and brokers, headed for the bush. They are dressed up to look like + pirates. They wear slouch hats, flannel shirts, and leather breeches with + belts. They could afford much better clothes than these, but they won't + use them. I don't know where they get these clothes. I think the railroad + lends them out. They have guns between their knees and big knives at their + hips. They smoke the worst tobacco they can find, and they carry ten + gallons of alcohol per man in the baggage car. + </p> + <p> + In the intervals of telling lies to one another they read the railroad + pamphlets about hunting. This kind of literature is deliberately and + fiendishly contrived to infuriate their mania. I know all about these + pamphlets because I write them. I once, for instance, wrote up, from + imagination, a little place called Dog Lake at the end of a branch line. + The place had failed as a settlement, and the railroad had decided to turn + it into a hunting resort. I did the turning. I think I did it rather well, + rechristening the lake and stocking the place with suitable varieties of + game. The pamphlet ran like this. + </p> + <p> + "The limpid waters of Lake Owatawetness (the name, according to the old + Indian legends of the place, signifies, The Mirror of the Almighty) abound + with every known variety of fish. Near to its surface, so close that the + angler may reach out his hand and stroke them, schools of pike, pickerel, + mackerel, doggerel, and chickerel jostle one another in the water. They + rise instantaneously to the bait and swim gratefully ashore holding it in + their mouths. In the middle depth of the waters of the lake, the sardine, + the lobster, the kippered herring, the anchovy and other tinned varieties + of fish disport themselves with evident gratification, while even lower in + the pellucid depths the dog-fish, the hog-fish, the log-fish, and the + sword-fish whirl about in never-ending circles. + </p> + <p> + "Nor is Lake Owatawetness merely an Angler's Paradise. Vast forests of + primeval pine slope to the very shores of the lake, to which descend great + droves of bears—brown, green, and bear-coloured—while as the + shades of evening fall, the air is loud with the lowing of moose, cariboo, + antelope, cantelope, musk-oxes, musk-rats, and other graminivorous + mammalia of the forest. These enormous quadrumana generally move off about + 10.30 p.m., from which hour until 11.45 p.m. the whole shore is reserved + for bison and buffalo. + </p> + <p> + "After midnight hunters who so desire it can be chased through the woods, + for any distance and at any speed they select, by jaguars, panthers, + cougars, tigers, and jackals whose ferocity is reputed to be such that + they will tear the breeches off a man with their teeth in their eagerness + to sink their fangs in his palpitating flesh. Hunters, attention! Do not + miss such attractions as these!" + </p> + <p> + I have seen men—quiet, reputable, well-shaved men— reading + that pamphlet of mine in the rotundas of hotels, with their eyes blazing + with excitement. I think it is the jaguar attraction that hits them the + hardest, because I notice them rub themselves sympathetically with their + hands while they read. + </p> + <p> + Of course, you can imagine the effect of this sort of literature on the + brains of men fresh from their offices, and dressed out as pirates. + </p> + <p> + They just go crazy and stay crazy. + </p> + <p> + Just watch them when they get into the bush. + </p> + <p> + Notice that well-to-do stockbroker crawling about on his stomach in the + underbrush, with his spectacles shining like gig-lamps. What is he doing? + He is after a cariboo that isn't there. He is "stalking" it. With his + stomach. Of course, away down in his heart he knows that the cariboo isn't + there and never was; but that man read my pamphlet and went crazy. He + can't help it: he's GOT to stalk something. Mark him as he crawls along; + see him crawl through a thimbleberry bush (very quietly so that the + cariboo won't hear the noise of the prickles going into him), then through + a bee's nest, gently and slowly, so that the cariboo will not take fright + when the bees are stinging him. Sheer woodcraft! Yes, mark him. Mark him + any way you like. Go up behind him and paint a blue cross on the seat of + his pants as he crawls. He'll never notice. He thinks he's a hunting dog. + Yet this is the man who laughs at his little son of ten for crawling round + under the dining-room table with a mat over his shoulders, and pretending + to be a bear. + </p> + <p> + Now see these other men in camp. + </p> + <p> + Someone has told them—I think I first started the idea in my + pamphlet—that the thing is to sleep on a pile of hemlock branches. I + think I told them to listen to the wind sowing (you know the word I mean), + sowing and crooning in the giant pines. So there they are upside-down, + doubled up on a couch of green spikes that would have killed St. + Sebastian. They stare up at the sky with blood-shot, restless eyes, + waiting for the crooning to begin. And there isn't a sow in sight. + </p> + <p> + Here is another man, ragged and with a six days' growth of beard, frying a + piece of bacon on a stick over a little fire. Now what does he think he + is? The CHEF of the Waldorf Astoria? Yes, he does, and what's more he + thinks that that miserable bit of bacon, cut with a tobacco knife from a + chunk of meat that lay six days in the rain, is fit to eat. What's more, + he'll eat it. So will the rest. They're all crazy together. + </p> + <p> + There's another man, the Lord help him who thinks he has the "knack" of + being a carpenter. He is hammering up shelves to a tree. Till the shelves + fall down he thinks he is a wizard. Yet this is the same man who swore at + his wife for asking him to put up a shelf in the back kitchen. "How the + blazes," he asked, "could he nail the damn thing up? Did she think he was + a plumber?" + </p> + <p> + After all, never mind. + </p> + <p> + Provided they are happy up there, let them stay. + </p> + <p> + Personally, I wouldn't mind if they didn't come back and lie about it. + They get back to the city dead fagged for want of sleep, sogged with + alcohol, bitten brown by the bush-flies, trampled on by the moose and + chased through the brush by bears and skunks—and they have the nerve + to say that they like it. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes I think they do. + </p> + <p> + Men are only animals anyway. They like to get out into the woods and growl + round at night and feel something bite them. + </p> + <p> + Only why haven't they the imagination to be able to do the same thing with + less fuss? Why not take their coats and collars off in the office and + crawl round on the floor and growl at one another. It would be just as + good. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Reflections on Riding + </h2> + <p> + The writing of this paper has been inspired by a debate recently held at + the literary society of my native town on the question, "Resolved: that + the bicycle is a nobler animal than the horse." In order to speak for the + negative with proper authority, I have spent some weeks in completely + addicting myself to the use of the horse. I find that the difference + between the horse and the bicycle is greater than I had supposed. + </p> + <p> + The horse is entirely covered with hair; the bicycle is not entirely + covered with hair, except the '89 model they are using in Idaho. + </p> + <p> + In riding a horse the performer finds that the pedals in which he puts his + feet will not allow of a good circular stroke. He will observe, however, + that there is a saddle in which—especially while the horse is + trotting—he is expected to seat himself from time to time. But it is + simpler to ride standing up, with the feet in the pedals. + </p> + <p> + There are no handles to a horse, but the 1910 model has a string to each + side of its face for turning its head when there is anything you want it + to see. + </p> + <p> + Coasting on a good horse is superb, but should be under control. I have + known a horse to suddenly begin to coast with me about two miles from + home, coast down the main street of my native town at a terrific rate, and + finally coast through a plantoon of the Salvation Army into its livery + stable. + </p> + <p> + I cannot honestly deny that it takes a good deal of physical courage to + ride a horse. This, however, I have. I get it at about forty cents a + flask, and take it as required. + </p> + <p> + I find that in riding a horse up the long street of a country town, it is + not well to proceed at a trot. It excites unkindly comment. It is better + to let the horse walk the whole distance. This may be made to seem natural + by turning half round in the saddle with the hand on the horse's back, and + gazing intently about two miles up the road. It then appears that you are + the first in of about fourteen men. + </p> + <p> + Since learning to ride, I have taken to noticing the things that people do + on horseback in books. Some of these I can manage, but most of them are + entirely beyond me. Here, for instance, is a form of equestrian + performance that every reader will recognize and for which I have only a + despairing admiration: + </p> + <p> + "With a hasty gesture of farewell, the rider set spurs to his horse and + disappeared in a cloud of dust." + </p> + <p> + With a little practice in the matter of adjustment, I think I could set + spurs to any size of horse, but I could never disappear in a cloud of dust—at + least, not with any guarantee of remaining disappeared when the dust + cleared away. + </p> + <p> + Here, however, is one that I certainly can do: + </p> + <p> + "The bridle-rein dropped from Lord Everard's listless hand, and, with his + head bowed upon his bosom, he suffered his horse to move at a foot's pace + up the sombre avenue. Deep in thought, he heeded not the movement of the + steed which bore him." + </p> + <p> + That is, he looked as if he didn't; but in my case Lord Everard has his + eye on the steed pretty closely, just the same. + </p> + <p> + This next I am doubtful about: + </p> + <p> + "To horse! to horse!" cried the knight, and leaped into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + I think I could manage it if it read: + </p> + <p> + "To horse!" cried the knight, and, snatching a step-ladder from the hands + of his trusty attendant, he rushed into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + As a concluding remark, I may mention that my experience of riding has + thrown a very interesting sidelight upon a rather puzzling point in + history. It is recorded of the famous Henry the Second that he was "almost + constantly in the saddle, and of so restless a disposition that he never + sat down, even at meals." I had hitherto been unable to understand Henry's + idea about his meals, but I think I can appreciate it now. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Saloonio + </h2> + <h3> + A STUDY IN SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM + </h3> + <p> + They say that young men fresh from college are pretty positive about what + they know. But from my own experience of life, I should say that if you + take a comfortable, elderly man who hasn't been near a college for about + twenty years, who has been pretty liberally fed and dined ever since, who + measures about fifty inches around the circumference, and has a complexion + like a cranberry by candlelight, you will find that there is a degree of + absolute certainty about what he thinks he knows that will put any young + man to shame. I am specially convinced of this from the case of my friend + Colonel Hogshead, a portly, choleric gentleman who made a fortune in the + cattle-trade out in Wyoming, and who, in his later days, has acquired a + chronic idea that the plays of Shakespeare are the one subject upon which + he is most qualified to speak personally. + </p> + <p> + He came across me the other evening as I was sitting by the fire in the + club sitting-room looking over the leaves of The Merchant of Venice, and + began to hold forth to me about the book. + </p> + <p> + "Merchant of Venice, eh? There's a play for you, sir! There's genius! + Wonderful, sir, wonderful! You take the characters in that play and where + will you find anything like them? You take Antonio, take Sherlock, take + Saloonio—" + </p> + <p> + "Saloonio, Colonel?" I interposed mildly, "aren't you making a mistake? + There's a Bassanio and a Salanio in the play, but I don't think there's + any Saloonio, is there?" + </p> + <p> + For a moment Colonel Hogshead's eye became misty with doubt, but he was + not the man to admit himself in error: + </p> + <p> + "Tut, tut! young man," he said with a frown, "don't skim through your + books in that way. No Saloonio? Why, of course there's a Saloonio!" + </p> + <p> + "But I tell you, Colonel," I rejoined, "I've just been reading the play + and studying it, and I know there's no such character—" + </p> + <p> + "Nonsense, sir, nonsense!" said the Colonel, "why he comes in all through; + don't tell me, young man, I've read that play myself. Yes, and seen it + played, too, out in Wyoming, before you were born, by fellers, sir, that + could act. No Saloonio, indeed! why, who is it that is Antonio's friend + all through and won't leave him when Bassoonio turns against him? Who + rescues Clarissa from Sherlock, and steals the casket of flesh from the + Prince of Aragon? Who shouts at the Prince of Morocco, 'Out, out, you + damned candlestick'? Who loads up the jury in the trial scene and fixes + the doge? No Saloonio! By gad! in my opinion, he's the most important + character in the play—" + </p> + <p> + "Colonel Hogshead," I said very firmly, "there isn't any Saloonio and you + know it." + </p> + <p> + But the old man had got fairly started on whatever dim recollection had + given birth to Saloonio; the character seemed to grow more and more + luminous in the Colonel's mind, and he continued with increasing + animation: + </p> + <p> + "I'll just tell you what Saloonio is: he's a type. Shakespeare means him + to embody the type of the perfect Italian gentleman. He's an idea, that's + what he is, he's a symbol, he's a unit—" + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile I had been searching among the leaves of the play. "Look here," + I said, "here's the list of the Dramatis Personae. There's no Saloonio + there." + </p> + <p> + But this didn't dismay the Colonel one atom. "Why, of course there isn't," + he said. "You don't suppose you'd find Saloonio there! That's the whole + art of it! That's Shakespeare! That's the whole gist of it! He's kept + clean out of the Personae—gives him scope, gives him a free hand, + makes him more of a type than ever. Oh, it's a subtle thing, sir, the + dramatic art!" continued the Colonel, subsiding into quiet reflection; "it + takes a feller quite a time to get right into Shakespeare's mind and see + what he's at all the time." + </p> + <p> + I began to see that there was no use in arguing any further with the old + man. I left him with the idea that the lapse of a little time would soften + his views on Saloonio. But I had not reckoned on the way in which old men + hang on to a thing. Colonel Hogshead quite took up Saloonio. From that + time on Saloonio became the theme of his constant conversation. He was + never tired of discussing the character of Saloonio, the wonderful art of + the dramatist in creating him, Saloonio's relation to modern life, + Saloonio's attitude toward women, the ethical significance of Saloonio, + Saloonio as compared with Hamlet, Hamlet as compared with Saloonio—and + so on, endlessly. And the more he looked into Saloonio, the more he saw in + him. + </p> + <p> + Saloonio seemed inexhaustible. There were new sides to him—new + phases at every turn. The Colonel even read over the play, and finding no + mention of Saloonio's name in it, he swore that the books were not the + same books they had had out in Wyoming; that the whole part had been cut + clean out to suit the book to the infernal public schools, Saloonio's + language being—at any rate, as the Colonel quoted it—undoubtedly + a trifle free. Then the Colonel took to annotating his book at the side + with such remarks as, "Enter Saloonio," or "A tucket sounds; enter + Saloonio, on the arm of the Prince of Morocco." When there was no + reasonable excuse for bringing Saloonio on the stage the Colonel swore + that he was concealed behind the arras, or feasting within with the doge. + </p> + <p> + But he got satisfaction at last. He had found that there was nobody in our + part of the country who knew how to put a play of Shakespeare on the + stage, and took a trip to New York to see Sir Henry Irving and Miss Terry + do the play. The Colonel sat and listened all through with his face just + beaming with satisfaction, and when the curtain fell at the close of + Irving's grand presentation of the play, he stood up in his seat, and + cheered and yelled to his friends: "That's it! That's him! Didn't you see + that man that came on the stage all the time and sort of put the whole + play through, though you couldn't understand a word he said? Well, that's + him! That's Saloonio!" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Half-hours with the Poets + </h2> + <h3> + I.—MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I met a little cottage girl, + She was eight years old she said, + Her hair was thick with many a curl + That clustered round her head." + + WORDSWORTH. +</pre> + <p> + This is what really happened. + </p> + <p> + Over the dreary downs of his native Cumberland the aged laureate was + wandering with bowed head and countenance of sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Times were bad with the old man. + </p> + <p> + In the south pocket of his trousers, as he set his face to the north, + jingled but a few odd coins and a cheque for St. Leon water. Apparently + his cup of bitterness was full. + </p> + <p> + In the distance a child moved—a child in form, yet the deep lines + upon her face bespoke a countenance prematurely old. + </p> + <p> + The poet espied, pursued and overtook the infant. He observed that + apparently she drew her breath lightly and felt her life in every limb, + and that presumably her acquaintance with death was of the most + superficial character. + </p> + <p> + "I must sit awhile and ponder on that child," murmured the poet. So he + knocked her down with his walking-stick and seating himself upon her, he + pondered. + </p> + <p> + Long he sat thus in thought. "His heart is heavy," sighed the child. + </p> + <p> + At length he drew forth a note-book and pencil and prepared to write upon + his knee. "Now then, my dear young friend," he said, addressing the elfin + creature, "I want those lines upon your face. Are you seven?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, we are seven," said the girl sadly, and added, "I know what you + want. You are going to question me about my afflicted family. You are Mr. + Wordsworth, and you are collecting mortuary statistics for the Cottagers' + Edition of the Penny Encyclopaedia." + </p> + <p> + "You are eight years old?" asked the bard. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose so," answered she. "I have been eight years old for years and + years." + </p> + <p> + "And you know nothing of death, of course?" said the poet cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + "How can I?" answered the child. + </p> + <p> + "Now then," resumed the venerable William, "let us get to business. Name + your brothers and sisters." + </p> + <p> + "Let me see," began the child wearily; "there was Rube and Ike, two I + can't think of, and John and Jane." + </p> + <p> + "You must not count John and Jane," interrupted the bard reprovingly; + "they're dead, you know, so that doesn't make seven." + </p> + <p> + "I wasn't counting them, but perhaps I added up wrongly," said the child; + "and will you please move your overshoe off my neck?" + </p> + <p> + "Pardon," said the old man. "A nervous trick, I have been absorbed; + indeed, the exigency of the metre almost demands my doubling up my feet. + To continue, however; which died first?" + </p> + <p> + "The first to go was little Jane," said the child. + </p> + <p> + "She lay moaning in bed, I presume?" + </p> + <p> + "In bed she moaning lay." + </p> + <p> + "What killed her?" + </p> + <p> + "Insomnia," answered the girl. "The gaiety of our cottage life, previous + to the departure of our elder brothers for Conway, and the constant + field-sports in which she indulged with John, proved too much for a frame + never too robust." + </p> + <p> + "You express yourself well," said the poet. "Now, in regard to your + unfortunate brother, what was the effect upon him in the following winter + of the ground being white with snow and your being able to run and slide?" + </p> + <p> + "My brother John was forced to go," answered she. "We have been at a loss + to understand the cause of his death. We fear that the dazzling glare of + the newly fallen snow, acting upon a restless brain, may have led him to a + fatal attempt to emulate my own feats upon the ice. And, oh, sir," the + child went on, "speak gently of poor Jane. You may rub it into John all + you like; we always let him slide." + </p> + <p> + "Very well," said the bard, "and allow me, in conclusion, one rather + delicate question: Do you ever take your little porringer?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," answered the child frankly— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "'Quite often after sunset, + When all is light and fair, + I take my little porringer'— +</pre> + <p> + "I can't quite remember what I do after that, but I know that I like it." + </p> + <p> + "That is immaterial," said Wordsworth. "I can say that you take your + little porringer neat, or with bitters, or in water after every meal. As + long as I can state that you take a little porringer regularly, but never + to excess, the public is satisfied. And now," rising from his seat, "I + will not detain you any longer. Here is sixpence—or stay," he added + hastily, "here is a cheque for St. Leon water. Your information has been + most valuable, and I shall work it, for all I am Wordsworth." With these + words the aged poet bowed deferentially to the child and sauntered off in + the direction of the Duke of Cumberland's Arms, with his eyes on the + ground, as if looking for the meanest flower that blows itself. + </p> + <h3> + II:—HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + </h3> + <p> + "If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <p> + As soon as the child's malady had declared itself the afflicted parents of + the May Queen telegraphed to Tennyson, "Our child gone crazy on subject of + early rising, could you come and write some poetry about her?" + </p> + <p> + Alfred, always prompt to fill orders in writing from the country, came + down on the evening train. The old cottager greeted the poet warmly, and + began at once to speak of the state of his unfortunate daughter. + </p> + <p> + "She was took queer in May," he said, "along of a sort of bee that the + young folks had; she ain't been just right since; happen you might do + summat." + </p> + <p> + With these words he opened the door of an inner room. + </p> + <p> + The girl lay in feverish slumber. Beside her bed was an alarm-clock set + for half-past three. Connected with the clock was an ingenious arrangement + of a falling brick with a string attached to the child's toe. + </p> + <p> + At the entrance of the visitor she started up in bed. "Whoop," she yelled, + "I am to be Queen of the May, mother, ye-e!" + </p> + <p> + Then perceiving Tennyson in the doorway, "If that's a caller," she said, + "tell him to call me early." + </p> + <p> + The shock caused the brick to fall. In the subsequent confusion Alfred + modestly withdrew to the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + "At this rate," he chuckled, "I shall not have long to wait. A few weeks + of that strain will finish her." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <h3> + Six months had passed. + </h3> + <p> + It was now mid-winter. + </p> + <p> + And still the girl lived. Her vitality appeared inexhaustible. + </p> + <p> + She got up earlier and earlier. She now rose yesterday afternoon. + </p> + <p> + At intervals she seemed almost sane, and spoke in a most pathetic manner + of her grave and the probability of the sun shining on it early in the + morning, and her mother walking on it later in the day. At other times her + malady would seize her, and she would snatch the brick off the string and + throw it fiercely at Tennyson. Once, in an uncontrollable fit of madness, + she gave her sister Effie a half-share in her garden tools and an interest + in a box of mignonette. + </p> + <p> + The poet stayed doggedly on. In the chill of the morning twilight he broke + the ice in his water-basin and cursed the girl. But he felt that he had + broken the ice and he stayed. + </p> + <p> + On the whole, life at the cottage, though rugged, was not cheerless. In + the long winter evenings they would gather around a smoking fire of peat, + while Tennyson read aloud the Idylls of the King to the rude old cottager. + Not to show his rudeness, the old man kept awake by sitting on a tin-tack. + This also kept his mind on the right tack. The two found that they had + much in common, especially the old cottager. They called each other + "Alfred" and "Hezekiah" now. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III + </h2> + <h3> + Time moved on and spring came. + </h3> + <p> + Still the girl baffled the poet. + </p> + <p> + "I thought to pass away before," she would say with a mocking grin, "but + yet alive I am, Alfred, alive I am." + </p> + <p> + Tennyson was fast losing hope. + </p> + <p> + Worn out with early rising, they engaged a retired Pullman-car porter to + take up his quarters, and being a negro his presence added a touch of + colour to their life. + </p> + <p> + The poet also engaged a neighbouring divine at fifty cents an evening to + read to the child the best hundred books, with explanations. The May Queen + tolerated him, and used to like to play with his silver hair, but + protested that he was prosy. + </p> + <p> + At the end of his resources the poet resolved upon desperate measures. + </p> + <p> + He chose an evening when the cottager and his wife were out at a + dinner-party. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall Tennyson and his accomplices entered the girl's room. + </p> + <p> + She defended herself savagely with her brick, but was overpowered. + </p> + <p> + The negro seated himself upon her chest, while the clergyman hastily read + a few verses about the comfort of early rising at the last day. + </p> + <p> + As he concluded, the poet drove his pen into her eye. + </p> + <p> + "Last call!" cried the negro porter triumphantly. + </p> + <h3> + III.—OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE HESPERUS. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintry sea, + And the skipper had taken his little daughter to bear + him company."—LONGFELLOW. +</pre> + <p> + There were but three people in the cabin party of the Hesperus: old Mr. + Longfellow, the skipper, and the skipper's daughter. + </p> + <p> + The skipper was much attached to the child, owing to the singular + whiteness of her skin and the exceptionally limpid blue of her eyes; she + had hitherto remained on shore to fill lucrative engagements as albino + lady in a circus. + </p> + <p> + This time, however, her father had taken her with him for company. The + girl was an endless source of amusement to the skipper and the crew. She + constantly got up games of puss-in-the-corner, forfeits, and Dumb Crambo + with her father and Mr. Longfellow, and made Scripture puzzles and + geographical acrostics for the men. + </p> + <p> + Old Mr. Longfellow was taking the voyage to restore his shattered nerves. + From the first the captain disliked Henry. He was utterly unused to the + sea and was nervous and fidgety in the extreme. He complained that at sea + his genius had not a sufficient degree of latitude. Which was unparalleled + presumption. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of the storm there had been a little jar between Longfellow + and the captain at dinner. The captain had emptied it several times, and + was consequently in a reckless, quarrelsome humour. + </p> + <p> + "I confess I feel somewhat apprehensive," said old Henry nervously, "of + the state of the weather. I have had some conversation about it with an + old gentleman on deck who professed to have sailed the Spanish main. He + says you ought to put into yonder port." + </p> + <p> + "I have," hiccoughed the skipper, eyeing the bottle, and added with a + brutal laugh that "he could weather the roughest gale that ever wind did + blow." A whole Gaelic society, he said, wouldn't fizz on him. + </p> + <p> + Draining a final glass of grog, he rose from his chair, said grace, and + staggered on deck. + </p> + <p> + All the time the wind blew colder and louder. + </p> + <p> + The billows frothed like yeast. It was a yeast wind. + </p> + <p> + The evening wore on. + </p> + <p> + Old Henry shuffled about the cabin in nervous misery. + </p> + <p> + The skipper's daughter sat quietly at the table selecting verses from a + Biblical clock to amuse the ship's bosun, who was suffering from + toothache. + </p> + <p> + At about ten Longfellow went to his bunk, requesting the girl to remain up + in his cabin. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour all was quiet, save the roaring of the winter wind. + </p> + <p> + Then the girl heard the old gentleman start up in bed. + </p> + <p> + "What's that bell, what's that bell?" he gasped. + </p> + <p> + A minute later he emerged from his cabin wearing a cork jacket and + trousers over his pyjamas. + </p> + <p> + "Sissy," he said, "go up and ask your pop who rang that bell." + </p> + <p> + The obedient child returned. + </p> + <p> + "Please, Mr. Longfellow," she said, "pa says there weren't no bell." + </p> + <p> + The old man sank into a chair and remained with his head buried in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + "Say," he exclaimed presently, "someone's firing guns and there's a + glimmering light somewhere. You'd better go upstairs again." + </p> + <p> + Again the child returned. + </p> + <p> + "The crew are guessing at an acrostic, and occasionally they get a + glimmering of it." + </p> + <p> + Meantime the fury of the storm increased. + </p> + <p> + The skipper had the hatches battered down. + </p> + <p> + Presently Longfellow put his head out of a porthole and called out, "Look + here, you may not care, but the cruel rocks are goring the sides of this + boat like the horns of an angry bull." + </p> + <p> + The brutal skipper heaved the log at him. A knot in it struck a plank and + it glanced off. + </p> + <p> + Too frightened to remain below, the poet raised one of the hatches by + picking out the cotton batting and made his way on deck. He crawled to the + wheel-house. + </p> + <p> + The skipper stood lashed to the helm all stiff and stark. He bowed stiffly + to the poet. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow on his fixed + and glassy eyes. The man was hopelessly intoxicated. + </p> + <p> + All the crew had disappeared. When the missile thrown by the captain had + glanced off into the sea, they glanced after it and were lost. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the final crash came. + </p> + <p> + Something hit something. There was an awful click followed by a peculiar + grating sound, and in less time than it takes to write it (unfortunately), + the whole wreck was over. + </p> + <p> + As the vessel sank, Longfellow's senses left him. When he reopened his + eyes he was in his own bed at home, and the editor of his local paper was + bending over him. + </p> + <p> + "You have made a first-rate poem of it, Mr. Longfellow," he was saying, + unbending somewhat as he spoke, "and I am very happy to give you our + cheque for a dollar and a quarter for it." + </p> + <p> + "Your kindness checks my utterance," murmured Henry feebly, very feebly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A, B, and C + </h2> + <h3> + THE HUMAN ELEMENT IN MATHEMATICS + </h3> + <p> + The student of arithmetic who has mastered the first four rules of his + art, and successfully striven with money sums and fractions, finds himself + confronted by an unbroken expanse of questions known as problems. These + are short stories of adventure and industry with the end omitted, and + though betraying a strong family resemblance, are not without a certain + element of romance. + </p> + <p> + The characters in the plot of a problem are three people called A, B, and + C. The form of the question is generally of this sort: + </p> + <p> + "A, B, and C do a certain piece of work. A can do as much work in one hour + as B in two, or C in four. Find how long they work at it." + </p> + <p> + Or thus: + </p> + <p> + "A, B, and C are employed to dig a ditch. A can dig as much in one hour as + B can dig in two, and B can dig twice as fast as C. Find how long, etc. + etc." + </p> + <p> + Or after this wise: + </p> + <p> + "A lays a wager that he can walk faster than B or C. A can walk half as + fast again as B, and C is only an indifferent walker. Find how far, and so + forth." + </p> + <p> + The occupations of A, B, and C are many and varied. In the older + arithmetics they contented themselves with doing "a certain piece of + work." This statement of the case however, was found too sly and + mysterious, or possibly lacking in romantic charm. It became the fashion + to define the job more clearly and to set them at walking matches, + ditch-digging, regattas, and piling cord wood. At times, they became + commercial and entered into partnership, having with their old mystery a + "certain" capital. Above all they revel in motion. When they tire of + walking-matches—A rides on horseback, or borrows a bicycle and + competes with his weaker-minded associates on foot. Now they race on + locomotives; now they row; or again they become historical and engage + stage-coaches; or at times they are aquatic and swim. If their occupation + is actual work they prefer to pump water into cisterns, two of which leak + through holes in the bottom and one of which is water-tight. A, of course, + has the good one; he also takes the bicycle, and the best locomotive, and + the right of swimming with the current. Whatever they do they put money on + it, being all three sports. A always wins. + </p> + <p> + In the early chapters of the arithmetic, their identity is concealed under + the names John, William, and Henry, and they wrangle over the division of + marbles. In algebra they are often called X, Y, Z. But these are only + their Christian names, and they are really the same people. + </p> + <p> + Now to one who has followed the history of these men through countless + pages of problems, watched them in their leisure hours dallying with cord + wood, and seen their panting sides heave in the full frenzy of filling a + cistern with a leak in it, they become something more than mere symbols. + They appear as creatures of flesh and blood, living men with their own + passions, ambitions, and aspirations like the rest of us. Let us view them + in turn. A is a full-blooded blustering fellow, of energetic temperament, + hot-headed and strong-willed. It is he who proposes everything, challenges + B to work, makes the bets, and bends the others to his will. He is a man + of great physical strength and phenomenal endurance. He has been known to + walk forty-eight hours at a stretch, and to pump ninety-six. His life is + arduous and full of peril. A mistake in the working of a sum may keep him + digging a fortnight without sleep. A repeating decimal in the answer might + kill him. + </p> + <p> + B is a quiet, easy-going fellow, afraid of A and bullied by him, but very + gentle and brotherly to little C, the weakling. He is quite in A's power, + having lost all his money in bets. + </p> + <p> + Poor C is an undersized, frail man, with a plaintive face. Constant + walking, digging, and pumping has broken his health and ruined his nervous + system. His joyless life has driven him to drink and smoke more than is + good for him, and his hand often shakes as he digs ditches. He has not the + strength to work as the others can, in fact, as Hamlin Smith has said, "A + can do more work in one hour than C in four." + </p> + <p> + The first time that ever I saw these men was one evening after a regatta. + They had all been rowing in it, and it had transpired that A could row as + much in one hour as B in two, or C in four. B and C had come in dead + fagged and C was coughing badly. "Never mind, old fellow," I heard B say, + "I'll fix you up on the sofa and get you some hot tea." Just then A came + blustering in and shouted, "I say, you fellows, Hamlin Smith has shown me + three cisterns in his garden and he says we can pump them until to-morrow + night. I bet I can beat you both. Come on. You can pump in your rowing + things, you know. Your cistern leaks a little, I think, C." I heard B + growl that it was a dirty shame and that C was used up now, but they went, + and presently I could tell from the sound of the water that A was pumping + four times as fast as C. + </p> + <p> + For years after that I used to see them constantly about town and always + busy. I never heard of any of them eating or sleeping. Then owing to a + long absence from home, I lost sight of them. On my return I was surprised + to no longer find A, B, and C at their accustomed tasks; on inquiry I + heard that work in this line was now done by N, M, and O, and that some + people were employing for algebraica jobs four foreigners called Alpha, + Beta, Gamma, and Delta. + </p> + <p> + Now it chanced one day that I stumbled upon old D, in the little garden in + front of his cottage, hoeing in the sun. D is an aged labouring man who + used occasionally to be called in to help A, B, and C. "Did I know 'em, + sir?" he answered, "why, I knowed 'em ever since they was little fellows + in brackets. Master A, he were a fine lad, sir, though I always said, give + me Master B for kind-heartedness-like. Many's the job as we've been on + together, sir, though I never did no racing nor aught of that, but just + the plain labour, as you might say. I'm getting a bit too old and stiff + for it nowadays, sir—just scratch about in the garden here and grow + a bit of a logarithm, or raise a common denominator or two. But Mr. Euclid + he use me still for them propositions, he do." + </p> + <p> + From the garrulous old man I learned the melancholy end of my former + acquaintances. Soon after I left town, he told me, C had been taken ill. + It seems that A and B had been rowing on the river for a wager, and C had + been running on the bank and then sat in a draught. Of course the bank had + refused the draught and C was taken ill. A and B came home and found C + lying helpless in bed. A shook him roughly and said, "Get up, C, we're + going to pile wood." C looked so worn and pitiful that B said, "Look here, + A, I won't stand this, he isn't fit to pile wood to-night." C smiled + feebly and said, "Perhaps I might pile a little if I sat up in bed." Then + B, thoroughly alarmed, said, "See here, A, I'm going to fetch a doctor; + he's dying." A flared up and answered, "You've no money to fetch a + doctor." "I'll reduce him to his lowest terms," B said firmly, "that'll + fetch him." C's life might even then have been saved but they made a + mistake about the medicine. It stood at the head of the bed on a bracket, + and the nurse accidentally removed it from the bracket without changing + the sign. After the fatal blunder C seems to have sunk rapidly. On the + evening of the next day, as the shadows deepened in the little room, it + was clear to all that the end was near. I think that even A was affected + at the last as he stood with bowed head, aimlessly offering to bet with + the doctor on C's laboured breathing. "A," whispered C, "I think I'm going + fast." "How fast do you think you'll go, old man?" murmured A. "I don't + know," said C, "but I'm going at any rate."—The end came soon after + that. C rallied for a moment and asked for a certain piece of work that he + had left downstairs. A put it in his arms and he expired. As his soul sped + heavenward A watched its flight with melancholy admiration. B burst into a + passionate flood of tears and sobbed, "Put away his little cistern and the + rowing clothes he used to wear, I feel as if I could hardly ever dig + again."—The funeral was plain and unostentatious. It differed in + nothing from the ordinary, except that out of deference to sporting men + and mathematicians, A engaged two hearses. Both vehicles started at the + same time, B driving the one which bore the sable parallelopiped + containing the last remains of his ill-fated friend. A on the box of the + empty hearse generously consented to a handicap of a hundred yards, but + arrived first at the cemetery by driving four times as fast as B. (Find + the distance to the cemetery.) As the sarcophagus was lowered, the grave + was surrounded by the broken figures of the first book of Euclid.—It + was noticed that after the death of C, A became a changed man. He lost + interest in racing with B, and dug but languidly. He finally gave up his + work and settled down to live on the interest of his bets.—B never + recovered from the shock of C's death; his grief preyed upon his intellect + and it became deranged. He grew moody and spoke only in monosyllables. His + disease became rapidly aggravated, and he presently spoke only in words + whose spelling was regular and which presented no difficulty to the + beginner. Realizing his precarious condition he voluntarily submitted to + be incarcerated in an asylum, where he abjured mathematics and devoted + himself to writing the History of the Swiss Family Robinson in words of + one syllable. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Acknowledgments + </h2> + <p> + Many of the sketches which form the present volume have already appeared + in print. Others of them are new. Of the re-printed pieces, "Melpomenus + Jones," "Policeman Hogan," "A Lesson in Fiction," and many others were + contributions by the author to the New York Truth. The "Boarding-House + Geometry" first appeared in Truth, and was subsequently republished in the + London Punch, and in a great many other journals. The sketches called the + "Life of John Smith," "Society Chit-Chat," and "Aristocratic Education" + appeared in Puck. "The New Pathology" was first printed in the Toronto + Saturday Night, and was subsequently republished by the London Lancet, and + by various German periodicals in the form of a translation. The story + called "Number Fifty-Six" is taken from the Detroit Free Press. "My + Financial Career" was originally contributed to the New York Life, and has + been frequently reprinted. The Articles "How to Make a Million Dollars" + and "How to Avoid Getting Married," etc. are reproduced by permission of + the Publishers' Press Syndicate. The wide circulation which some of the + above sketches have enjoyed has encouraged the author to prepare the + present collection. + </p> + <p> + The author desires to express his sense of obligation to the proprietors + of the above journals who have kindly permitted him to republish the + contributions which appeared in their columns. + </p> + <h3> + END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <pre> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + +***** This file should be named 6340-h.htm or 6340-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/4/6340/ + +Etext produced by Gardner Buchanan + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of +the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; +margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Literary Lapses</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; +margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Stephen Leacock</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 21, 2004 +[EBook #6340]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 6, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: +UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced +by: Gardner Buchanan</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE +PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES ***</div> + + +<div class="chapter"> + <h1> + LITERARY LAPSES + <br /><br /> + By Stephen Leacock + </h1> +</div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="chapter"> + + + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> + <h2><i>CONTENTS</i> + </h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> My Financial Career </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> Lord Oxhead's Secret </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Boarding-House Geometry </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A Christmas Letter </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> How to Make a Million Dollars </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> How to Live to be 200 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> How to Avoid Getting Married </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> How to be a Doctor </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> The New Food </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A New Pathology </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> The Poet Answered </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> The Force of Statistics </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Men Who have Shaved Me </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Getting the Thread of It </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Telling His Faults </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> Winter Pastimes </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> Number Fifty-Six </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> Aristocratic Education </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> The Conjurer's Revenge </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> Hints to Travellers </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A Manual of Education </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> The Life of John Smith </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> On Collecting Things </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> Society Chit-Chat </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> Insurance up to Date </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> Borrowing a Match </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A Lesson in Fiction </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> Helping the Armenians </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> A Study in Still Life.—The Country Hotel + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> An Experiment With Policeman Hogan </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> The Passing of the Poet </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> Self-made Men </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> A Model Dialogue </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> Back to the Bush </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> Reflections on Riding </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> Saloonio </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> Half-hours with the Poets--</a><br /> + <span class="fs75"> <a href="#link2H_4_0041">I. MR. +WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL</a><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042">II. HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE +MAY QUEEN</a><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043">III. OLD MR. +LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE "HESPERUS"</a><br /></span> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> A, B, and C </a> + </p> + + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapter"> + + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>My Financial Career</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> + </div> + <p> + When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the +wickets + rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles +me. + </p> + <p> + The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact + business there, I become an irresponsible idiot. + </p> + <p> + I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty +dollars a + month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it. + </p> + <p> + So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an +idea + that a person about to open an account must needs consult the +manager. + </p> + <p> + I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a +tall, cool + devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral. + </p> + <p> + "Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I +don't know + why I said "alone." + </p> + <p> + "Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him. + </p> + <p> + The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars +clutched in + a crumpled ball in my pocket. + </p> + <p> + "Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" +again, but + without it the thing seemed self-evident. + </p> + <p> + The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an +awful secret + to reveal. + </p> + <p> + "Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private room. He +turned the + key in the lock. + </p> + <p> + "We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down." + </p> + <p> + We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to +speak. + </p> + <p> + "You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. + </p> + <p> + He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. +I knew + what he was thinking, and it made me worse. + </p> + <p> + "No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came +from a + rival agency. + </p> + <p> + "To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie +about it, + "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I +intend to + keep all my money in this bank." + </p> + <p> + The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now +that I was + a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould. + </p> + <p> + "A large account, I suppose," he said. + </p> + <p> + "Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six +dollars now + and fifty dollars a month regularly." + </p> + <p> + The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the +accountant. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman is +opening an + account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning." + </p> + <p> + I rose. + </p> + <p> + A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. + </p> + <p> + "Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe. + </p> + <p> + "Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the other way. + </p> + <p> + I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money +at him + with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring +trick. + </p> + <p> + My face was ghastly pale. + </p> + <p> + "Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to +mean, "Let + us do this painful thing while the fit is on us." + </p> + <p> + He took the money and gave it to another clerk. + </p> + <p> + He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I +no longer + knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. + </p> + <p> + "It is," said the accountant. + </p> + <p> + "Then I want to draw a cheque." + </p> + <p> + My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. +Someone gave me + a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me +how to + write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I +was an + invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust +it in at + the clerk. He looked at it. + </p> + <p> + "What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. +Then I + realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too +far gone + to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain +the + thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me. + </p> + <p> + Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, the whole thing." + </p> + <p> + "You withdraw your money from the bank?" + </p> + <p> + "Every cent of it." + </p> + <p> + "Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, +astonished. + </p> + <p> + "Never." + </p> + <p> + An idiot hope struck me that they might think something had +insulted me + while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I +made a + wretched attempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper. + </p> + <p> + The clerk prepared to pay the money. + </p> + <p> + "How will you have it?" he said. + </p> + <p> + "What?" + </p> + <p> + "How will you have it?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh"—I caught his meaning and answered without even trying +to think—"in + fifties." + </p> + <p> + He gave me a fifty-dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + "And the six?" he asked dryly. + </p> + <p> + "In sixes," I said. + </p> + <p> + He gave it me and I rushed out. + </p> + <p> + As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of +laughter + that went up to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I bank no +more. I keep + my money in cash in my trousers pocket and my savings in silver +dollars in + a sock. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>Lord Oxhead's Secret</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> <br /> + <p class="subhead">A ROMANCE IN ONE CHAPTER</p> + </div> + <p> + It was finished. Ruin had come. Lord Oxhead sat gazing fixedly at +the + library fire. Without, the wind soughed (or sogged) around the +turrets of + Oxhead Towers, the seat of the Oxhead family. But the old earl +heeded not + the sogging of the wind around his seat. He was too absorbed. + </p> + <p> + Before him lay a pile of blue papers with printed headings. From +time to + time he turned them over in his hands and replaced them on the +table with + a groan. To the earl they meant ruin—absolute, +irretrievable ruin, + and with it the loss of his stately home that had been the pride +of the + Oxheads for generations. More than that—the world would now +know the + awful secret of his life. + </p> + <p> + The earl bowed his head in the bitterness of his sorrow, for he +came of a + proud stock. About him hung the portraits of his ancestors. Here +on the + right an Oxhead who had broken his lance at Crecy, or immediately +before + it. There McWhinnie Oxhead who had ridden madly from the stricken +field of + Flodden to bring to the affrighted burghers of Edinburgh all the +tidings + that he had been able to gather in passing the battlefield. Next +him hung + the dark half Spanish face of Sir Amyas Oxhead of Elizabethan +days whose + pinnace was the first to dash to Plymouth with the news that the +English + fleet, as nearly as could be judged from a reasonable distance, +seemed + about to grapple with the Spanish Armada. Below this, the two +Cavalier + brothers, Giles and Everard Oxhead, who had sat in the oak with +Charles + II. Then to the right again the portrait of Sir Ponsonby Oxhead +who had + fought with Wellington in Spain, and been dismissed for it. + </p> + <p> + Immediately before the earl as he sat was the family escutcheon +emblazoned + above the mantelpiece. A child might read the simplicity of its +proud + significance—an ox rampant quartered in a field of gules +with a pike + dexter and a dog intermittent in a plain parallelogram right +centre, with + the motto, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, hujus, hujus." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + "Father!"—The girl's voice rang clear through the half +light of the + wainscoted library. Gwendoline Oxhead had thrown herself about +the earl's + neck. The girl was radiant with happiness. Gwendoline was a +beautiful girl + of thirty-three, typically English in the freshness of her girlish + innocence. She wore one of those charming walking suits of brown +holland + so fashionable among the aristocracy of England, while a rough +leather + belt encircled her waist in a single sweep. She bore herself with +that + sweet simplicity which was her greatest charm. She was probably +more + simple than any girl of her age for miles around. Gwendoline was +the pride + of her father's heart, for he saw reflected in her the qualities +of his + race. + </p> + <p> + "Father," she said, a blush mantling her fair face, "I am so +happy, oh so + happy; Edwin has asked me to be his wife, and we have plighted +our troth—at + least if you consent. For I will never marry without my father's +warrant," + she added, raising her head proudly; "I am too much of an Oxhead +for + that." + </p> + <p> + Then as she gazed into the old earl's stricken face, the girl's +mood + changed at once. "Father," she cried, "father, are you ill? What +is it? + Shall I ring?" As she spoke Gwendoline reached for the heavy +bell-rope + that hung beside the wall, but the earl, fearful that her +frenzied efforts + might actually make it ring, checked her hand. "I am, indeed, +deeply + troubled," said Lord Oxhead, "but of that anon. Tell me first +what is this + news you bring. I hope, Gwendoline, that your choice has been +worthy of an + Oxhead, and that he to whom you have plighted your troth will be +worthy to + bear our motto with his own." And, raising his eyes to the +escutcheon + before him, the earl murmured half unconsciously, "Hic, haec, +hoc, hujus, + hujus, hujus," breathing perhaps a prayer as many of his +ancestors had + done before him that he might never forget it. + </p> + <p> + "Father," continued Gwendoline, half timidly, "Edwin is an +American." + </p> + <p> + "You surprise me indeed," answered Lord Oxhead; "and yet," he +continued, + turning to his daughter with the courtly grace that marked the +nobleman of + the old school, "why should we not respect and admire the +Americans? + Surely there have been great names among them. Indeed, our +ancestor Sir + Amyas Oxhead was, I think, married to Pocahontas—at least +if not + actually married"—the earl hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + "At least they loved one another," said Gwendoline simply. + </p> + <p> + "Precisely," said the earl, with relief, "they loved one another, +yes, + exactly." Then as if musing to himself, "Yes, there have been +great + Americans. Bolivar was an American. The two +Washingtons—George and + Booker—are both Americans. There have been others too, +though for + the moment I do not recall their names. But tell me, Gwendoline, +this + Edwin of yours—where is his family seat?" + </p> + <p> + "It is at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, father." + </p> + <p> + "Ah! say you so?" rejoined the earl, with rising interest. +"Oshkosh is, + indeed, a grand old name. The Oshkosh are a Russian family. An +Ivan + Oshkosh came to England with Peter the Great and married my +ancestress. + Their descendant in the second degree once removed, Mixtup +Oshkosh, fought + at the burning of Moscow and later at the sack of Salamanca and +the treaty + of Adrianople. And Wisconsin too," the old nobleman went on, his +features + kindling with animation, for he had a passion for heraldry, +genealogy, + chronology, and commercial geography; "the Wisconsins, or better, +I think, + the Guisconsins, are of old blood. A Guisconsin followed Henry I +to + Jerusalem and rescued my ancestor Hardup Oxhead from the +Saracens. Another + Guisconsin...." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, father," said Gwendoline, gently interrupting, "Wisconsin +is not + Edwin's own name: that is, I believe, the name of his estate. My +lover's + name is Edwin Einstein." + </p> + <p> + "Einstein," repeated the earl dubiously—"an Indian name +perhaps; yet + the Indians are many of them of excellent family. An ancestor of +mine...." + </p> + <p> + "Father," said Gwendoline, again interrupting, "here is a +portrait of + Edwin. Judge for yourself if he be noble." With this she placed +in her + father's hand an American tin-type, tinted in pink and brown. The +picture + represented a typical specimen of American manhood of that +Anglo-Semitic + type so often seen in persons of mixed English and Jewish +extraction. The + figure was well over five feet two inches in height and broad in + proportion. The graceful sloping shoulders harmonized with the +slender and + well-poised waist, and with a hand pliant and yet prehensile. The +pallor + of the features was relieved by a drooping black moustache. + </p> + <p> + Such was Edwin Einstein to whom Gwendoline's heart, if not her +hand, was + already affianced. Their love had been so simple and yet so +strange. It + seemed to Gwendoline that it was but a thing of yesterday, and +yet in + reality they had met three weeks ago. Love had drawn them +irresistibly + together. To Edwin the fair English girl with her old name and +wide + estates possessed a charm that he scarcely dared confess to +himself. He + determined to woo her. To Gwendoline there was that in Edwin's +bearing, + the rich jewels that he wore, the vast fortune that rumour +ascribed to + him, that appealed to something romantic and chivalrous in her +nature. She + loved to hear him speak of stocks and bonds, corners and margins, +and his + father's colossal business. It all seemed so noble and so far +above the + sordid lives of the people about her. Edwin, too, loved to hear +the girl + talk of her father's estates, of the diamond-hilted sword that +the saladin + had given, or had lent, to her ancestor hundreds of years ago. Her + description of her father, the old earl, touched something +romantic in + Edwin's generous heart. He was never tired of asking how old he +was, was + he robust, did a shock, a sudden shock, affect him much? and so +on. Then + had come the evening that Gwendoline loved to live over and over +again in + her mind when Edwin had asked her in his straightforward, manly +way, + whether—subject to certain written stipulations to be +considered + later—she would be his wife: and she, putting her hand +confidingly + in his hand, answered simply, that—subject to the consent +of her + father and pending always the necessary legal formalities and +inquiries—she + would. + </p> + <p> + It had all seemed like a dream: and now Edwin Einstein had come +in person + to ask her hand from the earl, her father. Indeed, he was at this +moment + in the outer hall testing the gold leaf in the picture-frames +with his + pen-knife while waiting for his affianced to break the fateful +news to + Lord Oxhead. + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline summoned her courage for a great effort. "Papa," she +said, + "there is one other thing that it is fair to tell you. Edwin's +father is + in business." + </p> + <p> + The earl started from his seat in blank amazement. "In business!" +he + repeated, "the father of the suitor of the daughter of an Oxhead +in + business! My daughter the step-daughter of the grandfather of my +grandson! + Are you mad, girl? It is too much, too much!" + </p> + <p> + "But, father," pleaded the beautiful girl in anguish, "hear me. +It is + Edwin's father—Sarcophagus Einstein, senior—not Edwin +himself. + Edwin does nothing. He has never earned a penny. He is quite +unable to + support himself. You have only to see him to believe it. Indeed, +dear + father, he is just like us. He is here now, in this house, +waiting to see + you. If it were not for his great wealth...." + </p> + <p> + "Girl," said the earl sternly, "I care not for the man's riches. +How much + has he?" + </p> + <p> + "Fifteen million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," answered + Gwendoline. Lord Oxhead leaned his head against the mantelpiece. +His mind + was in a whirl. He was trying to calculate the yearly interest on +fifteen + and a quarter million dollars at four and a half per cent reduced +to + pounds, shillings, and pence. It was bootless. His brain, trained +by long + years of high living and plain thinking, had become too subtle, +too + refined an instrument for arithmetic.... + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + At this moment the door opened and Edwin Einstein stood before +the earl. + Gwendoline never forgot what happened. Through her life the +picture of it + haunted her—her lover upright at the door, his fine frank +gaze fixed + inquiringly on the diamond pin in her father's necktie, and he, +her + father, raising from the mantelpiece a face of agonized amazement. + </p> + <p> + "You! You!" he gasped. For a moment he stood to his full height, +swaying + and groping in the air, then fell prostrate his full length upon +the + floor. The lovers rushed to his aid. Edwin tore open his +neckcloth and + plucked aside his diamond pin to give him air. But it was too +late. Earl + Oxhead had breathed his last. Life had fled. The earl was +extinct. That is + to say, he was dead. + </p> + <p> + The reason of his death was never known. Had the sight of Edwin +killed + him? It might have. The old family doctor, hurriedly summoned, +declared + his utter ignorance. This, too, was likely. Edwin himself could +explain + nothing. But it was observed that after the earl's death and his +marriage + with Gwendoline he was a changed man; he dressed better, talked +much + better English. + </p> + <p> + The wedding itself was quiet, almost sad. At Gwendoline's request +there + was no wedding breakfast, no bridesmaids, and no reception, while +Edwin, + respecting his bride's bereavement, insisted that there should be +no best + man, no flowers, no presents, and no honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + Thus Lord Oxhead's secret died with him. It was probably too +complicated + to be interesting anyway. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>Boarding-House Geometry</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> + </div> + <h3> + DEFINITIONS AND AXIOMS + </h3> + <p> + All boarding-houses are the same boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + Boarders in the same boarding-house and on the same flat are +equal to one + another. + </p> + <p> + A single room is that which has no parts and no magnitude. + </p> + <p> + The landlady of a boarding-house is a parallelogram—that +is, an + oblong angular figure, which cannot be described, but which is +equal to + anything. + </p> + <p> + A wrangle is the disinclination of two boarders to each other +that meet + together but are not in the same line. + </p> + <p> + All the other rooms being taken, a single room is said to be a +double + room. + </p> + <h3> + POSTULATES AND PROPOSITIONS + </h3> + <p> + A pie may be produced any number of times. + </p> + <p> + The landlady can be reduced to her lowest terms by a series of + propositions. + </p> + <p> + A bee line may be made from any boarding-house to any other + boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + The clothes of a boarding-house bed, though produced ever so far +both + ways, will not meet. + </p> + <p> + Any two meals at a boarding-house are together less than two +square meals. + </p> + <p> + If from the opposite ends of a boarding-house a line be drawn +passing + through all the rooms in turn, then the stovepipe which warms the +boarders + will lie within that line. + </p> + <p> + On the same bill and on the same side of it there should not be +two + charges for the same thing. + </p> + <p> + If there be two boarders on the same flat, and the amount of side +of the + one be equal to the amount of side of the other, each to each, +and the + wrangle between one boarder and the landlady be equal to the +wrangle + between the landlady and the other, then shall the weekly bills +of the two + boarders be equal also, each to each. + </p> + <p> + For if not, let one bill be the greater. + </p> + <p> + Then the other bill is less than it might have been—which +is absurd. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Some people—not you nor I, because we are so awfully +self-possessed—but + some people, find great difficulty in saying good-bye when making +a call + or spending the evening. As the moment draws near when the +visitor feels + that he is fairly entitled to go away he rises and says abruptly, +"Well, I + think I...." Then the people say, "Oh, must you go now? Surely +it's early + yet!" and a pitiful struggle ensues. + </p> + <p> + I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I ever knew +was that + of my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, a curate—such a dear +young man, + and only twenty-three! He simply couldn't get away from people. +He was too + modest to tell a lie, and too religious to wish to appear rude. +Now it + happened that he went to call on some friends of his on the very +first + afternoon of his summer vacation. The next six weeks were +entirely his own—absolutely + nothing to do. He chatted awhile, drank two cups of tea, then +braced + himself for the effort and said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + "Well, I think I...." + </p> + <p> + But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no! Mr. Jones, can't you +really stay + a little longer?" + </p> + <p> + Jones was always truthful. "Oh, yes," he said, "of course, +I—er—can + stay." + </p> + <p> + "Then please don't go." + </p> + <p> + He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling. He +rose again. + </p> + <p> + "Well now," he said shyly, "I think I really...." + </p> + <p> + "You must go?" said the lady politely. "I thought perhaps you +could have + stayed to dinner...." + </p> + <p> + "Oh well, so I could, you know," Jones said, "if...." + </p> + <p> + "Then please stay, I'm sure my husband will be delighted." + </p> + <p> + "All right," he said feebly, "I'll stay," and he sank back into +his chair, + just full of tea, and miserable. + </p> + <p> + Papa came home. They had dinner. All through the meal Jones sat +planning + to leave at eight-thirty. All the family wondered whether Mr. +Jones was + stupid and sulky, or only stupid. + </p> + <p> + After dinner mamma undertook to "draw him out," and showed him + photographs. She showed him all the family museum, several gross +of them—photos + of papa's uncle and his wife, and mamma's brother and his little +boy, an + awfully interesting photo of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal +uniform, + an awfully well-taken photo of papa's grandfather's partner's +dog, and an + awfully wicked one of papa as the devil for a fancy-dress ball. At + eight-thirty Jones had examined seventy-one photographs. There +were about + sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones rose. + </p> + <p> + "I must say good night now," he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + "Say good night!" they said, "why it's only half-past eight! Have +you + anything to do?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about staying six +weeks, + and then laughed miserably. + </p> + <p> + Just then it turned out that the favourite child of the family, +such a + dear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones's hat; so papa said that +he must + stay, and invited him to a pipe and a chat. Papa had the pipe and +gave + Jones the chat, and still he stayed. Every moment he meant to +take the + plunge, but couldn't. Then papa began to get very tired of Jones, +and + fidgeted and finally said, with jocular irony, that Jones had +better stay + all night, they could give him a shake-down. Jones mistook his +meaning and + thanked him with tears in his eyes, and papa put Jones to bed in +the spare + room and cursed him heartily. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast next day, papa went off to his work in the City, +and left + Jones playing with the baby, broken-hearted. His nerve was +utterly gone. + He was meaning to leave all day, but the thing had got on his +mind and he + simply couldn't. When papa came home in the evening he was +surprised and + chagrined to find Jones still there. He thought to jockey him out +with a + jest, and said he thought he'd have to charge him for his board, +he! he! + The unhappy young man stared wildly for a moment, then wrung +papa's hand, + paid him a month's board in advance, and broke down and sobbed +like a + child. + </p> + <p> + In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable. He +lived, of + course, entirely in the drawing-room, and the lack of air and +exercise + began to tell sadly on his health. He passed his time in drinking +tea and + looking at the photographs. He would stand for hours gazing at the + photographs of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal +uniform—talking + to it, sometimes swearing bitterly at it. His mind was visibly +failing. + </p> + <p> + At length the crash came. They carried him upstairs in a raging +delirium + of fever. The illness that followed was terrible. He recognized +no one, + not even papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform. At times he +would + start up from his bed and shriek, "Well, I think I...." and then +fall back + upon the pillow with a horrible laugh. Then, again, he would leap +up and + cry, "Another cup of tea and more photographs! More photographs! +Har! + Har!" + </p> + <p> + At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of his +vacation, he + passed away. They say that when the last moment came, he sat up +in bed + with a beautiful smile of confidence playing upon his face, and +said, + "Well—the angels are calling me; I'm afraid I really must +go now. + Good afternoon." + </p> + <p> + And the rushing of his spirit from its prison-house was as rapid +as a + hunted cat passing over a garden fence. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + + +<div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>A Christmas Letter</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p class="center"> + (<i>In answer to a young lady who has sent an invitation to be +present at a + children's party</i>) + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle, + </p> + <p> + Allow me very gratefully but firmly to refuse your kind +invitation. You + doubtless mean well; but your ideas are unhappily mistaken. + </p> + <p> + Let us understand one another once and for all. I cannot at my +mature age + participate in the sports of children with such abandon as I +could wish. I + entertain, and have always entertained, the sincerest regard for +such + games as Hunt-the-Slipper and Blind-Man's Buff. But I have now +reached a + time of life, when, to have my eyes blindfolded and to have a +powerful boy + of ten hit me in the back with a hobby-horse and ask me to guess +who hit + me, provokes me to a fit of retaliation which could only +culminate in + reckless criminality. Nor can I cover my shoulders with a +drawing-room rug + and crawl round on my hands and knees under the pretence that I +am a bear + without a sense of personal insufficiency, which is painful to me. + </p> + <p> + Neither can I look on with a complacent eye at the sad spectacle +of your + young clerical friend, the Reverend Mr. Uttermost Farthing, +abandoning + himself to such gambols and appearing in the role of life and +soul of the + evening. Such a degradation of his holy calling grieves me, and I +cannot + but suspect him of ulterior motives. + </p> + <p> + You inform me that your maiden aunt intends to help you to +entertain the + party. I have not, as you know, the honour of your aunt's +acquaintance, + yet I think I may with reason surmise that she will organize +games—guessing + games—in which she will ask me to name a river in Asia +beginning + with a Z; on my failure to do so she will put a hot plate down my +neck as + a forfeit, and the children will clap their hands. These games, +my dear + young friend, involve the use of a more adaptable intellect than +mine, and + I cannot consent to be a party to them. + </p> + <p> + May I say in conclusion that I do not consider a five-cent +pen-wiper from + the top branch of a Xmas tree any adequate compensation for the +kind of + evening you propose. + </p> +<p class="indent1">I have the honour</p> +<p class="indent2">To subscribe myself,</p> +<p class="indent3">Your obedient servant.</p> + + +<p> + <a id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>How to Make a Million Dollars</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + I mix a good deal with the Millionaires. I like them. I like +their faces. + I like the way they live. I like the things they eat. The more we +mix + together the better I like the things we mix. + </p> + <p> + Especially I like the way they dress, their grey check trousers, +their + white check waist-coats, their heavy gold chains, and the +signet-rings + that they sign their cheques with. My! they look nice. Get six or +seven of + them sitting together in the club and it's a treat to see them. +And if + they get the least dust on them, men come and brush it off. Yes, +and are + glad to. I'd like to take some of the dust off them myself. + </p> + <p> + Even more than what they eat I like their intellectual grasp. It +is + wonderful. Just watch them read. They simply read all the time. +Go into + the club at any hour and you'll see three or four of them at it. +And the + things they can read! You'd think that a man who'd been driving +hard in + the office from eleven o'clock until three, with only an hour and +a half + for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a bit. These men can sit down +after + office hours and read the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the +Pink Un, + and understand the jokes just as well as I can. + </p> + <p> + What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and catch the +little + scraps of conversation. The other day I heard one lean forward +and say, + "Well, I offered him a million and a half and said I wouldn't +give a cent + more, he could either take it or leave it—" I just longed +to break + in and say, "What! what! a million and a half! Oh! say that +again! Offer + it to me, to either take it or leave it. Do try me once: I know I +can: or + here, make it a plain million and let's call it done." + </p> + <p> + Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. Don't think +it. Of + course they don't take much account of big money, a hundred +thousand + dollars at a shot or anything of that sort. But little money. +You've no + idea till you know them how anxious they get about a cent, or +half a cent, + or less. + </p> + <p> + Why, two of them came into the club the other night just frantic +with + delight: they said wheat had risen and they'd cleaned up four +cents each + in less than half an hour. They bought a dinner for sixteen on the + strength of it. I don't understand it. I've often made twice as +much as + that writing for the papers and never felt like boasting about it. + </p> + <p> + One night I heard one man say, "Well, let's call up New York and +offer + them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! Imagine paying the cost +of + calling up New York, nearly five million people, late at night and + offering them a quarter of a cent! And yet—did New York get +mad? No, + they took it. Of course it's high finance. I don't pretend to +understand + it. I tried after that to call up Chicago and offer it a cent and +a half, + and to call up Hamilton, Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and +the + operator only thought I was crazy. + </p> + <p> + All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how the +millionaires do + it. I have. For years. I thought it might be helpful to young men +just + beginning to work and anxious to stop. + </p> + <p> + You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when he was a +boy he + had known what he knows now, instead of being what he is he might +be what + he won't; but how few boys stop to think that if they knew what +they don't + know instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? These +are awful + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, I've been gathering hints on how it is they do it. + </p> + <p> + One thing I'm sure about. If a young man wants to make a million +dollars + he's got to be mighty careful about his diet and his living. This +may seem + hard. But success is only achieved with pains. + </p> + <p> + There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million dollars + thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat force and poached +eggs, + drink cold water at lunch, and go to bed at 10 p.m. You can't do +it. I've + seen too many millionaires for that. If you want to be a +millionaire you + mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They never do. They +daren't. It + would be as much as their business is worth if they were seen on +the + street at half-past nine. + </p> + <p> + And the old idea of abstemiousness is all wrong. To be a +millionaire you + need champagne, lots of it and all the time. That and Scotch +whisky and + soda: you have to sit up nearly all night and drink buckets of +it. This is + what clears the brain for business next day. I've seen some of +these men + with their brains so clear in the morning, that their faces look + positively boiled. + </p> + <p> + To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But you can +buy that by + the pint. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved on from +your + present status in business, change your life. When your landlady +brings + your bacon and eggs for breakfast, throw them out of window to +the dog and + tell her to bring you some chilled asparagus and a pint of +Moselle. Then + telephone to your employer that you'll be down about eleven +o'clock. You + will get moved on. Yes, very quickly. + </p> + <p> + Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult question. +But one + way is this. Strike the town with five cents in your pocket. They +nearly + all do this; they've told me again and again (men with millions +and + millions) that the first time they struck town they had only five +cents. + That seems to have given them their start. Of course, it's not +easy to do. + I've tried it several times. I nearly did it once. I borrowed +five cents, + carried it away out of town, and then turned and came back at the +town + with an awful rush. If I hadn't struck a beer saloon in the +suburbs and + spent the five cents I might have been rich to-day. + </p> + <p> + Another good plan is to start something. Something on a huge +scale: + something nobody ever thought of. For instance, one man I know +told me + that once he was down in Mexico without a cent (he'd lost his +five in + striking Central America) and he noticed that they had no power +plants. So + he started some and made a mint of money. Another man that I know +was once + stranded in New York, absolutely without a nickel. Well, it +occurred to + him that what was needed were buildings ten stories higher than +any that + had been put up. So he built two and sold them right away. Ever +so many + millionaires begin in some such simple way as that. + </p> + <p> + There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. I +almost hate to + tell this, because I want to do it myself. + </p> + <p> + I learned of it just by chance one night at the club. There is +one old man + there, extremely rich, with one of the best faces of the lot, +just like a + hyena. I never used to know how he had got so rich. So one +evening I asked + one of the millionaires how old Bloggs had made all his money. + </p> + <p> + "How he made it?" he answered with a sneer. "Why he made it by +taking it + out of widows and orphans." + </p> + <p> + Widows and orphans! I thought, what an excellent idea. But who +would have + suspected that they had it? + </p> + <p> + "And how," I asked pretty cautiously, "did he go at it to get it +out of + them?" + </p> + <p> + "Why," the man answered, "he just ground them under his heels, +that was + how." + </p> + <p> + Now isn't that simple? I've thought of that conversation often +since and I + mean to try it. If I can get hold of them, I'll grind them quick +enough. + But how to get them. Most of the widows I know look pretty solid +for that + sort of thing, and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot of +them. + Meantime I am waiting, and if I ever get a large bunch of orphans +all + together, I'll stamp on them and see. + </p> + <p> + I find, too, on inquiry, that you can also grind it out of +clergymen. They + say they grind nicely. But perhaps orphans are easier. + </p> + + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>How to Live to be 200</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Twenty years ago I knew a man called Jiggins, who had the Health +Habit. + </p> + <p> + He used to take a cold plunge every morning. He said it opened +his pores. + After it he took a hot sponge. He said it closed the pores. He +got so that + he could open and shut his pores at will. + </p> + <p> + Jiggins used to stand and breathe at an open window for half an +hour + before dressing. He said it expanded his lungs. He might, of +course, have + had it done in a shoe-store with a boot stretcher, but after all +it cost + him nothing this way, and what is half an hour? + </p> + <p> + After he had got his undershirt on, Jiggins used to hitch himself +up like + a dog in harness and do Sandow exercises. He did them forwards, +backwards, + and hind-side up. + </p> + <p> + He could have got a job as a dog anywhere. He spent all his time +at this + kind of thing. In his spare time at the office, he used to lie on +his + stomach on the floor and see if he could lift himself up with his + knuckles. If he could, then he tried some other way until he +found one + that he couldn't do. Then he would spend the rest of his lunch +hour on his + stomach, perfectly happy. + </p> + <p> + In the evenings in his room he used to lift iron bars, +cannon-balls, heave + dumb-bells, and haul himself up to the ceiling with his teeth. +You could + hear the thumps half a mile. He liked it. + </p> + <p> + He spent half the night slinging himself around his room. He said +it made + his brain clear. When he got his brain perfectly clear, he went +to bed and + slept. As soon as he woke, he began clearing it again. + </p> + <p> + Jiggins is dead. He was, of course, a pioneer, but the fact that +he + dumb-belled himself to death at an early age does not prevent a +whole + generation of young men from following in his path. + </p> + <p> + They are ridden by the Health Mania. + </p> + <p> + They make themselves a nuisance. + </p> + <p> + They get up at impossible hours. They go out in silly little +suits and run + Marathon heats before breakfast. They chase around barefoot to +get the dew + on their feet. They hunt for ozone. They bother about pepsin. +They won't + eat meat because it has too much nitrogen. They won't eat fruit +because it + hasn't any. They prefer albumen and starch and nitrogen to +huckleberry pie + and doughnuts. They won't drink water out of a tap. They won't eat + sardines out of a can. They won't use oysters out of a pail. They +won't + drink milk out of a glass. They are afraid of alcohol in any +shape. Yes, + sir, afraid. "Cowards." + </p> + <p> + And after all their fuss they presently incur some simple +old-fashioned + illness and die like anybody else. + </p> + <p> + Now people of this sort have no chance to attain any great age. +They are + on the wrong track. + </p> + <p> + Listen. Do you want to live to be really old, to enjoy a grand, +green, + exuberant, boastful old age and to make yourself a nuisance to +your whole + neighbourhood with your reminiscences? + </p> + <p> + Then cut out all this nonsense. Cut it out. Get up in the morning +at a + sensible hour. The time to get up is when you have to, not +before. If your + office opens at eleven, get up at ten-thirty. Take your chance on +ozone. + There isn't any such thing anyway. Or, if there is, you can buy a +Thermos + bottle full for five cents, and put it on a shelf in your +cupboard. If + your work begins at seven in the morning, get up at ten minutes +to, but + don't be liar enough to say that you like it. It isn't +exhilarating, and + you know it. + </p> + <p> + Also, drop all that cold-bath business. You never did it when you +were a + boy. Don't be a fool now. If you must take a bath (you don't +really need + to), take it warm. The pleasure of getting out of a cold bed and +creeping + into a hot bath beats a cold plunge to death. In any case, stop +gassing + about your tub and your "shower," as if you were the only man who +ever + washed. + </p> + <p> + So much for that point. + </p> + <p> + Next, take the question of germs and bacilli. Don't be scared of +them. + That's all. That's the whole thing, and if you once get on to +that you + never need to worry again. + </p> + <p> + If you see a bacilli, walk right up to it, and look it in the +eye. If one + flies into your room, strike at it with your hat or with a towel. +Hit it + as hard as you can between the neck and the thorax. It will soon +get sick + of that. + </p> + <p> + But as a matter of fact, a bacilli is perfectly quiet and +harmless if you + are not afraid of it. Speak to it. Call out to it to "lie down." +It will + understand. I had a bacilli once, called Fido, that would come +and lie at + my feet while I was working. I never knew a more affectionate +companion, + and when it was run over by an automobile, I buried it in the +garden with + genuine sorrow. + </p> + <p> + (I admit this is an exaggeration. I don't really remember its +name; it may + have been Robert.) + </p> + <p> + Understand that it is only a fad of modern medicine to say that +cholera + and typhoid and diphtheria are caused by bacilli and germs; +nonsense. + Cholera is caused by a frightful pain in the stomach, and +diphtheria is + caused by trying to cure a sore throat. + </p> + <p> + Now take the question of food. + </p> + <p> + Eat what you want. Eat lots of it. Yes, eat too much of it. Eat +till you + can just stagger across the room with it and prop it up against a +sofa + cushion. Eat everything that you like until you can't eat any +more. The + only test is, can you pay for it? If you can't pay for it, don't +eat it. + And listen—don't worry as to whether your food contains +starch, or + albumen, or gluten, or nitrogen. If you are a damn fool enough to +want + these things, go and buy them and eat all you want of them. Go to +a + laundry and get a bag of starch, and eat your fill of it. Eat it, +and take + a good long drink of glue after it, and a spoonful of Portland +cement. + That will gluten you, good and solid. + </p> + <p> + If you like nitrogen, go and get a druggist to give you a canful +of it at + the soda counter, and let you sip it with a straw. Only don't +think that + you can mix all these things up with your food. There isn't any +nitrogen + or phosphorus or albumen in ordinary things to eat. In any decent + household all that sort of stuff is washed out in the kitchen +sink before + the food is put on the table. + </p> + <p> + And just one word about fresh air and exercise. Don't bother with +either + of them. Get your room full of good air, then shut up the windows +and keep + it. It will keep for years. Anyway, don't keep using your lungs +all the + time. Let them rest. As for exercise, if you have to take it, +take it and + put up with it. But as long as you have the price of a hack and +can hire + other people to play baseball for you and run races and do +gymnastics when + you sit in the shade and smoke and watch them—great +heavens, what + more do you want? + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>How to Avoid Getting Married</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Some years ago, when I was the Editor of a Correspondence Column, +I used + to receive heart-broken letters from young men asking for advice +and + sympathy. They found themselves the object of marked attentions +from girls + which they scarcely knew how to deal with. They did not wish to +give pain + or to seem indifferent to a love which they felt was as ardent as +it was + disinterested, and yet they felt that they could not bestow their +hands + where their hearts had not spoken. They wrote to me fully and +frankly, and + as one soul might write to another for relief. I accepted their + confidences as under the pledge of a secrecy, never divulging +their + disclosures beyond the circulation of my newspapers, or giving +any hint of + their identity other than printing their names and addresses and +their + letters in full. But I may perhaps without dishonour reproduce +one of + these letters, and my answer to it, inasmuch as the date is now +months + ago, and the softening hand of Time has woven its roses—how +shall I + put it?—the mellow haze of reminiscences has—what I +mean is + that the young man has gone back to work and is all right again. + </p> + <p> + Here then is a letter from a young man whose name I must not +reveal, but + whom I will designate as D. F., and whose address I must not +divulge, but + will simply indicate as Q. Street, West. + </p> + <p> + "DEAR MR. LEACOCK, + </p> + <p> + "For some time past I have been the recipient of very marked +attentions + from a young lady. She has been calling at the house almost every +evening, + and has taken me out in her motor, and invited me to concerts and +the + theatre. On these latter occasions I have insisted on her taking +my father + with me, and have tried as far as possible to prevent her saying +anything + to me which would be unfit for father to hear. But my position +has become + a very difficult one. I do not think it right to accept her +presents when + I cannot feel that my heart is hers. Yesterday she sent to my +house a + beautiful bouquet of American Beauty roses addressed to me, and a + magnificent bunch of Timothy Hay for father. I do not know what +to say. + Would it be right for father to keep all this valuable hay? I have + confided fully in father, and we have discussed the question of +presents. + He thinks that there are some that we can keep with propriety, +and others + that a sense of delicacy forbids us to retain. He himself is +going to sort + out the presents into the two classes. He thinks that as far as +he can + see, the Hay is in class B. Meantime I write to you, as I +understand that + Miss Laura Jean Libby and Miss Beatrix Fairfax are on their +vacation, and + in any case a friend of mine who follows their writings closely +tells me + that they are always full. + </p> + <p> + "I enclose a dollar, because I do not think it right to ask you +to give + all your valuable time and your best thought without giving you +back what + it is worth." + </p> + <p> + On receipt of this I wrote back at once a private and +confidential letter + which I printed in the following edition of the paper. + </p> + <p> + "MY DEAR, DEAR BOY, + </p> + <p> + "Your letter has touched me. As soon as I opened it and saw the +green and + blue tint of the dollar bill which you had so daintily and +prettily folded + within the pages of your sweet letter, I knew that the note was +from + someone that I could learn to love, if our correspondence were to +continue + as it had begun. I took the dollar from your letter and kissed +and fondled + it a dozen times. Dear unknown boy! I shall always keep that +dollar! No + matter how much I may need it, or how many necessaries, yes, +absolute + necessities, of life I may be wanting, I shall always keep THAT +dollar. Do + you understand, dear? I shall keep it. I shall not spend it. As +far as the + USE of it goes, it will be just as if you had not sent it. Even +if you + were to send me another dollar, I should still keep the first +one, so that + no matter how many you sent, the recollection of one first +friendship + would not be contaminated with mercenary considerations. When I +say + dollar, darling, of course an express order, or a postal note, or +even + stamps would be all the same. But in that case do not address me +in care + of this office, as I should not like to think of your pretty +little + letters lying round where others might handle them. + </p> + <p> + "But now I must stop chatting about myself, for I know that you +cannot be + interested in a simple old fogey such as I am. Let me talk to you +about + your letter and about the difficult question it raises for all + marriageable young men. + </p> + <p> + "In the first place, let me tell you how glad I am that you +confide in + your father. Whatever happens, go at once to your father, put +your arms + about his neck, and have a good cry together. And you are right, +too, + about presents. It needs a wiser head than my poor perplexed boy +to deal + with them. Take them to your father to be sorted, or, if you feel +that you + must not overtax his love, address them to me in your own pretty +hand. + </p> + <p> + "And now let us talk, dear, as one heart to another. Remember +always that + if a girl is to have your heart she must be worthy of you. When +you look + at your own bright innocent face in the mirror, resolve that you +will give + your hand to no girl who is not just as innocent as you are and no + brighter than yourself. So that you must first find out how +innocent she + is. Ask her quietly and frankly—remember, dear, that the +days of + false modesty are passing away—whether she has ever been in +jail. If + she has not (and if YOU have not), then you know that you are +dealing with + a dear confiding girl who will make you a life mate. Then you +must know, + too, that her mind is worthy of your own. So many men to-day are +led + astray by the merely superficial graces and attractions of girls +who in + reality possess no mental equipment at all. Many a man is bitterly + disillusioned after marriage when he realises that his wife +cannot solve a + quadratic equation, and that he is compelled to spend all his +days with a + woman who does not know that X squared plus 2XY plus Y squared is +the same + thing, or, I think nearly the same thing, as X plus Y squared. + </p> + <p> + "Nor should the simple domestic virtues be neglected. If a girl +desires to + woo you, before allowing her to press her suit, ask her if she +knows how + to press yours. If she can, let her woo; if not, tell her to +whoa. But I + see I have written quite as much as I need for this column. Won't +you + write again, just as before, dear boy? + </p> + <p> + "STEPHEN LEACOCK." + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>How to be a Doctor</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Certainly the progress of science is a wonderful thing. One can't +help + feeling proud of it. I must admit that I do. Whenever I get +talking to + anyone—that is, to anyone who knows even less about it than +I do—about + the marvellous development of electricity, for instance, I feel +as if I + had been personally responsible for it. As for the linotype and +the + aeroplane and the vacuum house-cleaner, well, I am not sure that +I didn't + invent them myself. I believe that all generous-hearted men feel +just the + same way about it. + </p> + <p> + However, that is not the point I am intending to discuss. What I +want to + speak about is the progress of medicine. There, if you like, is +something + wonderful. Any lover of humanity (or of either sex of it) who +looks back + on the achievements of medical science must feel his heart glow +and his + right ventricle expand with the pericardiac stimulus of a +permissible + pride. + </p> + <p> + Just think of it. A hundred years ago there were no bacilli, no +ptomaine + poisoning, no diphtheria, and no appendicitis. Rabies was but +little + known, and only imperfectly developed. All of these we owe to +medical + science. Even such things as psoriasis and parotitis and +trypanosomiasis, + which are now household names, were known only to the few, and +were quite + beyond the reach of the great mass of the people. + </p> + <p> + Or consider the advance of the science on its practical side. A +hundred + years ago it used to be supposed that fever could be cured by the +letting + of blood; now we know positively that it cannot. Even seventy +years ago it + was thought that fever was curable by the administration of +sedative + drugs; now we know that it isn't. For the matter of that, as +recently as + thirty years ago, doctors thought that they could heal a fever by +means of + low diet and the application of ice; now they are absolutely +certain that + they cannot. This instance shows the steady progress made in the +treatment + of fever. But there has been the same cheering advance all along +the line. + Take rheumatism. A few generations ago people with rheumatism +used to have + to carry round potatoes in their pockets as a means of cure. Now +the + doctors allow them to carry absolutely anything they like. They +may go + round with their pockets full of water-melons if they wish to. It +makes no + difference. Or take the treatment of epilepsy. It used to be +supposed that + the first thing to do in sudden attacks of this kind was to +unfasten the + patient's collar and let him breathe; at present, on the +contrary, many + doctors consider it better to button up the patient's collar and +let him + choke. + </p> + <p> + In only one respect has there been a decided lack of progress in +the + domain of medicine, that is in the time it takes to become a +qualified + practitioner. In the good old days a man was turned out thoroughly + equipped after putting in two winter sessions at a college and +spending + his summers in running logs for a sawmill. Some of the students +were + turned out even sooner. Nowadays it takes anywhere from five to +eight + years to become a doctor. Of course, one is willing to grant that +our + young men are growing stupider and lazier every year. This fact +will be + corroborated at once by any man over fifty years of age. But even +when + this is said it seems odd that a man should study eight years now +to learn + what he used to acquire in eight months. + </p> + <p> + However, let that go. The point I want to develop is that the +modern + doctor's business is an extremely simple one, which could be +acquired in + about two weeks. This is the way it is done. + </p> + <p> + The patient enters the consulting-room. "Doctor," he says, "I +have a bad + pain." "Where is it?" "Here." "Stand up," says the doctor, "and +put your + arms up above your head." Then the doctor goes behind the patient +and + strikes him a powerful blow in the back. "Do you feel that," he +says. "I + do," says the patient. Then the doctor turns suddenly and lets +him have a + left hook under the heart. "Can you feel that," he says +viciously, as the + patient falls over on the sofa in a heap. "Get up," says the +doctor, and + counts ten. The patient rises. The doctor looks him over very +carefully + without speaking, and then suddenly fetches him a blow in the +stomach that + doubles him up speechless. The doctor walks over to the window +and reads + the morning paper for a while. Presently he turns and begins to +mutter + more to himself than the patient. "Hum!" he says, "there's a +slight + anaesthesia of the tympanum." "Is that so?" says the patient, in +an agony + of fear. "What can I do about it, doctor?" "Well," says the +doctor, "I + want you to keep very quiet; you'll have to go to bed and stay +there and + keep quiet." In reality, of course, the doctor hasn't the least +idea what + is wrong with the man; but he DOES know that if he will go to bed +and keep + quiet, awfully quiet, he'll either get quietly well again or else +die a + quiet death. Meantime, if the doctor calls every morning and +thumps and + beats him, he can keep the patient submissive and perhaps force +him to + confess what is wrong with him. + </p> + <p> + "What about diet, doctor?" says the patient, completely cowed. + </p> + <p> + The answer to this question varies very much. It depends on how +the doctor + is feeling and whether it is long since he had a meal himself. If +it is + late in the morning and the doctor is ravenously hungry, he says: +"Oh, eat + plenty, don't be afraid of it; eat meat, vegetables, starch, +glue, cement, + anything you like." But if the doctor has just had lunch and if +his + breathing is short-circuited with huckleberry-pie, he says very +firmly: + "No, I don't want you to eat anything at all: absolutely not a +bite; it + won't hurt you, a little self-denial in the matter of eating is +the best + thing in the world." + </p> + <p> + "And what about drinking?" Again the doctor's answer varies. He +may say: + "Oh, yes, you might drink a glass of lager now and then, or, if +you prefer + it, a gin and soda or a whisky and Apollinaris, and I think +before going + to bed I'd take a hot Scotch with a couple of lumps of white +sugar and bit + of lemon-peel in it and a good grating of nutmeg on the top." The +doctor + says this with real feeling, and his eye glistens with the pure +love of + his profession. But if, on the other hand, the doctor has spent +the night + before at a little gathering of medical friends, he is very apt +to forbid + the patient to touch alcohol in any shape, and to dismiss the +subject with + great severity. + </p> + <p> + Of course, this treatment in and of itself would appear too +transparent, + and would fail to inspire the patient with a proper confidence. +But + nowadays this element is supplied by the work of the analytical + laboratory. Whatever is wrong with the patient, the doctor +insists on + snipping off parts and pieces and extracts of him and sending them + mysteriously away to be analysed. He cuts off a lock of the +patient's + hair, marks it, "Mr. Smith's Hair, October, 1910." Then he clips +off the + lower part of the ear, and wraps it in paper, and labels it, +"Part of Mr. + Smith's Ear, October, 1910." Then he looks the patient up and +down, with + the scissors in his hand, and if he sees any likely part of him +he clips + it off and wraps it up. Now this, oddly enough, is the very thing +that + fills the patient up with that sense of personal importance which +is worth + paying for. "Yes," says the bandaged patient, later in the day to +a group + of friends much impressed, "the doctor thinks there may be a +slight + anaesthesia of the prognosis, but he's sent my ear to New York +and my + appendix to Baltimore and a lock of my hair to the editors of all +the + medical journals, and meantime I am to keep very quiet and not +exert + myself beyond drinking a hot Scotch with lemon and nutmeg every + half-hour." With that he sinks back faintly on his cushions, +luxuriously + happy. + </p> + <p> + And yet, isn't it funny? + </p> + <p> + You and I and the rest of us—even if we know all +this—as soon + as we have a pain within us, rush for a doctor as fast as a hack +can take + us. Yes, personally, I even prefer an ambulance with a bell on +it. It's + more soothing. + </p> + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>The New Food</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + I see from the current columns of the daily press that "Professor +Plumb, + of the University of Chicago, has just invented a highly +concentrated form + of food. All the essential nutritive elements are put together in +the form + of pellets, each of which contains from one to two hundred times +as much + nourishment as an ounce of an ordinary article of diet. These +pellets, + diluted with water, will form all that is necessary to support +life. The + professor looks forward confidently to revolutionizing the +present food + system." + </p> + <p> + Now this kind of thing may be all very well in its way, but it is +going to + have its drawbacks as well. In the bright future anticipated by +Professor + Plumb, we can easily imagine such incidents as the following: + </p> + <p> + The smiling family were gathered round the hospitable board. The +table was + plenteously laid with a soup-plate in front of each beaming +child, a + bucket of hot water before the radiant mother, and at the head of +the + board the Christmas dinner of the happy home, warmly covered by a +thimble + and resting on a poker chip. The expectant whispers of the little +ones + were hushed as the father, rising from his chair, lifted the +thimble and + disclosed a small pill of concentrated nourishment on the chip +before him. + Christmas turkey, cranberry sauce, plum pudding, mince +pie—it was + all there, all jammed into that little pill and only waiting to +expand. + Then the father with deep reverence, and a devout eye alternating +between + the pill and heaven, lifted his voice in a benediction. + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was an agonized cry from the mother. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Henry, quick! Baby has snatched the pill!" It was too true. +Dear + little Gustavus Adolphus, the golden-haired baby boy, had grabbed +the + whole Christmas dinner off the poker chip and bolted it. Three +hundred and + fifty pounds of concentrated nourishment passed down the +oesophagus of the + unthinking child. + </p> + <p> + "Clap him on the back!" cried the distracted mother. "Give him +water!" + </p> + <p> + The idea was fatal. The water striking the pill caused it to +expand. There + was a dull rumbling sound and then, with an awful bang, Gustavus +Adolphus + exploded into fragments! + </p> + <p> + And when they gathered the little corpse together, the baby lips +were + parted in a lingering smile that could only be worn by a child +who had + eaten thirteen Christmas dinners. + </p> + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>A New Pathology</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + It has long been vaguely understood that the condition of a man's +clothes + has a certain effect upon the health of both body and mind. The +well-known + proverb, "Clothes make the man" has its origin in a general +recognition of + the powerful influence of the habiliments in their reaction upon +the + wearer. The same truth may be observed in the facts of everyday +life. On + the one hand we remark the bold carriage and mental vigour of a +man + attired in a new suit of clothes; on the other hand we note the +melancholy + features of him who is conscious of a posterior patch, or the +haunted face + of one suffering from internal loss of buttons. But while common + observation thus gives us a certain familiarity with a few +leading facts + regarding the ailments and influence of clothes, no attempt has +as yet + been made to reduce our knowledge to a systematic form. At the +same time + the writer feels that a valuable addition might be made to the +science of + medicine in this direction. The numerous diseases which are +caused by this + fatal influence should receive a scientific analysis, and their +treatment + be included among the principles of the healing art. The diseases +of the + clothes may roughly be divided into medical cases and surgical +cases, + while these again fall into classes according to the particular +garment + through which the sufferer is attacked. + </p> +<h3> + MEDICAL CASES +</h3> + <p> + Probably no article of apparel is so liable to a diseased +condition as the + trousers. It may be well, therefore, to treat first those +maladies to + which they are subject. + </p> + <p> + I. Contractio Pantalunae, or Shortening of the Legs of the +Trousers, an + extremely painful malady most frequently found in the growing +youth. The + first symptom is the appearance of a yawning space (lacuna) above +the + boots, accompanied by an acute sense of humiliation and a morbid + anticipation of mockery. The application of treacle to the boots, +although + commonly recommended, may rightly be condemned as too drastic a +remedy. + The use of boots reaching to the knee, to be removed only at +night, will + afford immediate relief. In connection with Contractio is often +found— + </p> + <p> + II. Inflatio Genu, or Bagging of the Knees of the Trousers, a +disease + whose symptoms are similar to those above. The patient shows an +aversion + to the standing posture, and, in acute cases, if the patient be +compelled + to stand, the head is bent and the eye fixed with painful +rigidity upon + the projecting blade formed at the knee of the trousers. + </p> + <p> + In both of the above diseases anything that can be done to free +the mind + of the patient from a morbid sense of his infirmity will do much +to + improve the general tone of the system. + </p> + <p> + III. Oases, or Patches, are liable to break out anywhere on the +trousers, + and range in degree of gravity from those of a trifling nature to +those of + a fatal character. The most distressing cases are those where the +patch + assumes a different colour from that of the trousers (dissimilitas + coloris). In this instance the mind of the patient is found to be +in a + sadly aberrated condition. A speedy improvement may, however, be +effected + by cheerful society, books, flowers, and, above all, by a +complete change. + </p> + <p> + IV. The overcoat is attacked by no serious disorders, +except— + </p> + <p> + Phosphorescentia, or Glistening, a malady which indeed may often +be + observed to affect the whole system. It is caused by decay of +tissue from + old age and is generally aggravated by repeated brushing. A +peculiar + feature of the complaint is the lack of veracity on the part of +the + patient in reference to the cause of his uneasiness. Another +invariable + symptom is his aversion to outdoor exercise; under various +pretexts, which + it is the duty of his medical adviser firmly to combat, he will +avoid even + a gentle walk in the streets. + </p> + <p> + V. Of the waistcoat science recognizes but one disease— + </p> + <p> + Porriggia, an affliction caused by repeated spilling of porridge. +It is + generally harmless, chiefly owing to the mental indifference of +the + patient. It can be successfully treated by repeated fomentations +of + benzine. + </p> + <p> + VI. Mortificatio Tilis, or Greenness of the Hat, is a disease +often found + in connection with Phosphorescentia (mentioned above), and +characterized + by the same aversion to outdoor life. + </p> + <p> + VII. Sterilitas, or Loss of Fur, is another disease of the hat, +especially + prevalent in winter. It is not accurately known whether this is +caused by + a falling out of the fur or by a cessation of growth. In all +diseases of + the hat the mind of the patient is greatly depressed and his +countenance + stamped with the deepest gloom. He is particularly sensitive in +regard to + questions as to the previous history of the hat. + </p> + <p> + Want of space precludes the mention of minor diseases, such +as— + </p> + <p> + VIII. Odditus Soccorum, or oddness of the socks, a thing in itself + trifling, but of an alarming nature if met in combination with +Contractio + Pantalunae. Cases are found where the patient, possibly on the +public + platform or at a social gathering, is seized with a consciousness +of the + malady so suddenly as to render medical assistance futile. + </p> +<h3> + SURGICAL CASES +</h3> + <p> + It is impossible to mention more than a few of the most typical +cases of + diseases of this sort. + </p> + <p> + I. Explosio, or Loss of Buttons, is the commonest malady demanding + surgical treatment. It consists of a succession of minor +fractures, + possibly internal, which at first excite no alarm. A vague sense +of + uneasiness is presently felt, which often leads the patient to +seek relief + in the string habit—a habit which, if unduly indulged in, +may assume + the proportions of a ruling passion. The use of sealing-wax, while + admirable as a temporary remedy for Explosio, should never be +allowed to + gain a permanent hold upon the system. There is no doubt that a +persistent + indulgence in the string habit, or the constant use of +sealing-wax, will + result in— + </p> + <p> + II. Fractura Suspendorum, or Snapping of the Braces, which +amounts to a + general collapse of the system. The patient is usually seized +with a + severe attack of explosio, followed by a sudden sinking feeling +and sense + of loss. A sound constitution may rally from the shock, but a +system + undermined by the string habit invariably succumbs. + </p> + <p> + III. Sectura Pantalunae, or Ripping of the Trousers, is generally +caused + by sitting upon warm beeswax or leaning against a hook. In the +case of the + very young it is not unfrequently accompanied by a distressing +suppuration + of the shirt. This, however, is not remarked in adults. The +malady is + rather mental than bodily, the mind of the patient being racked +by a keen + sense of indignity and a feeling of unworthiness. The only +treatment is + immediate isolation, with a careful stitching of the affected +part. + </p> + <p> + In conclusion, it may be stated that at the first symptom of +disease the + patient should not hesitate to put himself in the hands of a +professional + tailor. In so brief a compass as the present article the +discussion has of + necessity been rather suggestive than exhaustive. Much yet +remains to be + done, and the subject opens wide to the inquiring eye. The writer +will, + however, feel amply satisfied if this brief outline may help to +direct the + attention of medical men to what is yet an unexplored field. + </p> + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>The Poet Answered</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Dear sir: + </p> + <p> + In answer to your repeated questions and requests which have +appeared for + some years past in the columns of the rural press, I beg to +submit the + following solutions of your chief difficulties:— + </p> + <p> + Topic I.—You frequently ask, where are the friends of your + childhood, and urge that they shall be brought back to you. As +far as I am + able to learn, those of your friends who are not in jail are +still right + there in your native village. You point out that they were wont +to share + your gambols. If so, you are certainly entitled to have theirs +now. + </p> + <p> + Topic II.—You have taken occasion to say: + </p> +<div class="peotry"> + <p class="peotry">"Give me not silk, nor rich attire,</p> + <p class="peotry">Nor gold, nor jewels rare."</p> +</div> + <p> + But, my dear fellow, this is preposterous. Why, these are the +very things + I had bought for you. If you won't take any of these, I shall +have to give + you factory cotton and cordwood. + </p> + <p> + Topic III.—You also ask, "How fares my love across the sea?" + Intermediate, I presume. She would hardly travel steerage. + </p> + <p> + Topic IV.—"Why was I born? Why should I breathe?" Here I +quite agree + with you. I don't think you ought to breathe. + </p> + <p> + Topic V.—You demand that I shall show you the man whose +soul is dead + and then mark him. I am awfully sorry; the man was around here +all day + yesterday, and if I had only known I could easily have marked him +so that + we could pick him out again. + </p> + <p> + Topic VI.—I notice that you frequently say, "Oh, for the +sky of your + native land." Oh, for it, by all means, if you wish. But remember +that you + already owe for a great deal. + </p> + <p> + Topic VII.—On more than one occasion you wish to be +informed, "What + boots it, that you idly dream?" Nothing boots it at +present—a fact, + sir, which ought to afford you the highest gratification. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + + + <div class="chapter"> + <hr class="heading1" /> + <hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> + <i>The Force of Statistics</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + They were sitting on a seat of the car, immediately in front of +me. I was + consequently able to hear all that they were saying. They were +evidently + strangers who had dropped into a conversation. They both had the +air of + men who considered themselves profoundly interesting as minds. It +was + plain that each laboured under the impression that he was a ripe +thinker. + </p> + <p> + One had just been reading a book which lay in his lap. + </p> + <p> + "I've been reading some very interesting statistics," he was +saying to the + other thinker. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, statistics" said the other; "wonderful things, sir, +statistics; very + fond of them myself." + </p> + <p> + "I find, for instance," the first man went on, "that a drop of +water is + filled with little ... with little ... I forget just what you call + them ... little—er—things, every cubic inch +containing—er—containing ... let + me see...." + </p> + <p> + "Say a million," said the other thinker, encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, a million, or possibly a billion ... but at any rate, ever +so +many of + them." + </p> + <p> + "Is it possible?" said the other. "But really, you know there are + wonderful things in the world. Now, coal ... take coal...." + </p> + <p> + "Very, good," said his friend, "let us take coal," settling back +in his + seat with the air of an intellect about to feed itself. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know that every ton of coal burnt in an engine will drag +a train + of cars as long as ... I forget the exact length, but say a train +of cars of + such and such a length, and weighing, say so +much ... from ... from ... hum! for + the moment the exact distance escapes me ... drag it from...." + </p> + <p> + "From here to the moon," suggested the other. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, very likely; yes, from here to the moon. Wonderful, isn't +it?" + </p> + <p> + "But the most stupendous calculation of all, sir, is in regard to +the + distance from the earth to the sun. Positively, sir, a +cannon-ball—er—fired + at the sun...." + </p> + <p> + "Fired at the sun," nodded the other, approvingly, as if he had +often seen + it done. + </p> + <p> + "And travelling at the rate of ... of...." + </p> + <p> + "Of three cents a mile," hinted the listener. + </p> + <p> + "No, no, you misunderstand me,—but travelling at a fearful +rate, + simply fearful, sir, would take a hundred million—no, a +hundred + billion—in short would take a scandalously long time in +getting + there—" + </p> + <p> + At this point I could stand no more. I +interrupted—"Provided it were + fired from Philadelphia," I said, and passed into the smoking-car. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Men Who have Shaved Me</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /></div> + <p> + A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can tell you at +what + exact hour the ball game of the day is to begin, can foretell its +issue + without losing a stroke of the razor, and can explain the points +of + inferiority of all the players, as compared with better men that +he has + personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a professional. He +can do + all this, and then stuff the customer's mouth with a soap-brush, +and leave + him while he goes to the other end of the shop to make a side bet +with one + of the other barbers on the outcome of the Autumn Handicap. In the + barber-shops they knew the result of the Jeffries-Johnson +prize-fight long + before it happened. It is on information of this kind that they +make their + living. The performance of shaving is only incidental to it. +Their real + vocation in life is imparting information. To the barber the +outside world + is made up of customers, who are to be thrown into chairs, +strapped, + manacled, gagged with soap, and then given such necessary +information on + the athletic events of the moment as will carry them through the +business + hours of the day without open disgrace. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the barber has properly filled up the customer with +information + of this sort, he rapidly removes his whiskers as a sign that the +man is + now fit to talk to, and lets him out of the chair. + </p> + <p> + The public has grown to understand the situation. Every reasonable + business man is willing to sit and wait half an hour for a shave +which he + could give himself in three minutes, because he knows that if he +goes down + town without understanding exactly why Chicago lost two games +straight he + will appear an ignoramus. + </p> + <p> + At times, of course, the barber prefers to test his customer with +a + question or two. He gets him pinned in the chair, with his head +well back, + covers the customer's face with soap, and then planting his knee +on his + chest and holding his hand firmly across the customer's mouth, to +prevent + all utterance and to force him to swallow the soap, he asks: +"Well, what + did you think of the Detroit-St. Louis game yesterday?" This is +not really + meant for a question at all. It is only equivalent to saying: +"Now, you + poor fool, I'll bet you don't know anything about the great +events of your + country at all." There is a gurgle in the customer's throat as if +he were + trying to answer, and his eyes are seen to move sideways, but the +barber + merely thrusts the soap-brush into each eye, and if any motion +still + persists, he breathes gin and peppermint over the face, till all +sign of + life is extinct. Then he talks the game over in detail with the +barber at + the next chair, each leaning across an inanimate thing extended +under + steaming towels that was once a man. + </p> + <p> + To know all these things barbers have to be highly educated. It +is true + that some of the greatest barbers that have ever lived have begun +as + uneducated, illiterate men, and by sheer energy and indomitable +industry + have forced their way to the front. But these are exceptions. To +succeed + nowadays it is practically necessary to be a college graduate. As +the + courses at Harvard and Yale have been found too superficial, +there are now + established regular Barbers' Colleges, where a bright young man +can learn + as much in three weeks as he would be likely to know after three +years at + Harvard. The courses at these colleges cover such things as: (1) + Physiology, including Hair and its Destruction, The Origin and +Growth of + Whiskers, Soap in its Relation to Eyesight; (2) Chemistry, +including + lectures on Florida Water; and How to Make it out of Sardine Oil; +(3) + Practical Anatomy, including The Scalp and How to Lift it, The +Ears and + How to Remove them, and, as the Major Course for advanced +students, The + Veins of the Face and how to open and close them at will by the +use of + alum. + </p> + <p> + The education of the customer is, as I have said, the chief part +of the + barber's vocation. But it must be remembered that the incidental +function + of removing his whiskers in order to mark him as a well-informed +man is + also of importance, and demands long practice and great natural +aptitude. + In the barbers' shops of modern cities shaving has been brought +to a high + degree of perfection. A good barber is not content to remove the +whiskers + of his client directly and immediately. He prefers to cook him +first. He + does this by immersing the head in hot water and covering the +victim's + face with steaming towels until he has him boiled to a nice pink. +From + time to time the barber removes the towels and looks at the face +to see if + it is yet boiled pink enough for his satisfaction. If it is not, +he + replaces the towels again and jams them down firmly with his hand +until + the cooking is finished. The final result, however, amply +justifies this + trouble, and the well-boiled customer only needs the addition of +a few + vegetables on the side to present an extremely appetizing +appearance. + </p> + <p> + During the process of the shave, it is customary for the barber +to apply + the particular kind of mental torture known as the third degree. +This is + done by terrorizing the patient as to the very evident and +proximate loss + of all his hair and whiskers, which the barber is enabled by his + experience to foretell. "Your hair," he says, very sadly and + sympathetically, "is all falling out. Better let me give you a +shampoo?" + "No." "Let me singe your hair to close up the follicles?" "No." +"Let me + plug up the ends of your hair with sealing-wax, it's the only +thing that + will save it for you?" "No." "Let me rub an egg on your scalp?" +"No." "Let + me squirt a lemon on your eyebrows?" "No." + </p> + <p> + The barber sees that he is dealing with a man of determination, +and he + warms to his task. He bends low and whispers into the prostrate +ear: + "You've got a good many grey hairs coming in; better let me give +you an + application of Hairocene, only cost you half a dollar?" "No." +"Your face," + he whispers again, with a soft, caressing voice, "is all covered +with + wrinkles; better let me rub some of this Rejuvenator into the +face." + </p> + <p> + This process is continued until one of two things happens. Either +the + customer is obdurate, and staggers to his feet at last and gropes +his way + out of the shop with the knowledge that he is a wrinkled, +prematurely + senile man, whose wicked life is stamped upon his face, and whose + unstopped hair-ends and failing follicles menace him with the +certainty of + complete baldness within twenty-four hours—or else, as in +nearly all + instances, he succumbs. In the latter case, immediately on his +saying + "yes" there is a shout of exultation from the barber, a roar of +steaming + water, and within a moment two barbers have grabbed him by the +feet and + thrown him under the tap, and, in spite of his struggles, are +giving him + the Hydro-magnetic treatment. When he emerges from their hands, +he steps + out of the shop looking as if he had been varnished. + </p> + <p> + But even the application of the Hydro-magnetic and the +Rejuvenator do not + by any means exhaust the resources of the up-to-date barber. He +prefers to + perform on the customer a whole variety of subsidiary services not + directly connected with shaving, but carried on during the +process of the + shave. + </p> + <p> + In a good, up-to-date shop, while one man is shaving the +customer, others + black his boots; brush his clothes, darn his socks, point his +nails, + enamel his teeth, polish his eyes, and alter the shape of any of +his + joints which they think unsightly. During this operation they +often stand + seven or eight deep round a customer, fighting for a chance to +get at him. + </p> + <p> + All of these remarks apply to barber-shops in the city, and not +to country + places. In the country there is only one barber and one customer +at a + time. The thing assumes the aspect of a straight-out, +rough-and-tumble, + catch-as-catch-can fight, with a few spectators sitting round the +shop to + see fair play. In the city they can shave a man without removing +any of + his clothes. But in the country, where the customer insists on +getting the + full value for his money, they remove the collar and necktie, the +coat and + the waistcoat, and, for a really good shave and hair-cut, the +customer is + stripped to the waist. The barber can then take a rush at him +from the + other side of the room, and drive the clippers up the full length +of the + spine, so as to come at the heavier hair on the back of the head +with the + impact of a lawn-mower driven into long grass. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Getting the Thread of It</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Have you ever had a man try to explain to you what happened in a +book as + far as he has read? It is a most instructive thing. Sinclair, the +man who + shares my rooms with me, made such an attempt the other night. I +had come + in cold and tired from a walk and found him full of excitement, +with a + bulky magazine in one hand and a paper-cutter gripped in the +other. + </p> + <p> + "Say, here's a grand story," he burst out as soon as I came in; +"it's + great! most fascinating thing I ever read. Wait till I read you +some of + it. I'll just tell you what has happened up to where I +am—you'll + easily catch the thread of it—and then we'll finish it +together." + </p> + <p> + I wasn't feeling in a very responsive mood, but I saw no way to +stop him, + so I merely said, "All right, throw me your thread, I'll catch +it." + </p> + <p> + "Well," Sinclair began with great animation, "this count gets this + letter...." + </p> + <p> + "Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letter from this + Porphirio." + </p> + <p> + "From which Porphirio?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sent it," +Sinclair + exclaimed a little impatiently—"sent it through Demonio and +told him + to watch for him with him, and kill him when he got him." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and who is to get + stabbed?" + </p> + <p> + "They're going to stab Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "And who brought the letter?" + </p> + <p> + "Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring it for?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slick part +of it," + and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at the thought of it. +"You see, + this Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere...." + </p> + <p> + "Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?" + </p> + <p> + "It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league with +this Fra + Fraliccolo...." + </p> + <p> + A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said firmly, +"if the + scene of this story is laid in the Highlands, I refuse to listen +to it. + Call it off." + </p> + <p> + "No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right. It's laid +in + Italy ... time of Pius the something. He comes in—say, but +he's great! + so darned crafty. It's him, you know, that persuades this +Franciscan...." + </p> + <p> + "Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?" + </p> + <p> + "Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly. "You see, +Pio tries + to...." + </p> + <p> + "Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius. He tries +to get Fra + Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere to steal the +document + from ... let me see; what was he called?...Oh, yes ... from the +Dog +of Venice, + so that ... or ... no, hang it, you put me out, that's all wrong. +It's the + other way round. Pio wasn't clever at all; he's a regular darned +fool. + It's the Dog that's crafty. By Jove, he's fine," Sinclair went +on; warming + up to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything he wants. He makes +this + Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings, you know, he's the +tool of the + Dog)...makes him steal the document off Porphirio, and...." + </p> + <p> + "But how does he get him to do that?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, so he makes +Demonio + scheme round till he gets old Pio—er—gets him under +his thumb, + and then, of course, Pio thinks that Porphirio—I mean he +thinks that + he has Porphirio—er—has him under his thumb." + </p> + <p> + "Half a minute, Sinclair," I said, "who did you say was under the +Dog's + thumb?" + </p> + <p> + "Demonio." + </p> + <p> + "Thanks. I was mixed in the thumbs. Go on." + </p> + <p> + "Well, just when things are like this...." + </p> + <p> + "Like what?" + </p> + <p> + "Like I said." + </p> + <p> + "All right." + </p> + <p> + "Who should turn up and thwart the whole scheme, but this +Signorina Tarara + in her domino...." + </p> + <p> + "Hully Gee!" I said, "you make my head ache. What the deuce does +she come + in her domino for?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, to thwart it." + </p> + <p> + "To thwart what?" + </p> + <p> + "Thwart the whole darned thing," Sinclair exclaimed emphatically. + </p> + <p> + "But can't she thwart it without her domino?" + </p> + <p> + "I should think not! You see, if it hadn't been for the domino, +the Dog + would have spotted her quick as a wink. Only when he sees her in +the + domino with this rose in her hair, he thinks she must be Lucia +dell' + Esterolla." + </p> + <p> + "Say, he fools himself, doesn't he? Who's this last girl?" + </p> + <p> + "Lucia? Oh, she's great!" Sinclair said. "She's one of those +Southern + natures, you know, full of—er—full of...." + </p> + <p> + "Full of fun," I suggested. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, hang it all, don't make fun of it! Well, anyhow, she's +sister, you + understand, to the Contessa Carantarata, and that's why Fra +Fraliccolo, + or ... hold on, that's not it, no, no, she's not sister to +anybody. +She's + cousin, that's it; or, anyway, she thinks she is cousin to Fra +Fraliccolo + himself, and that's why Pio tries to stab Fra Fraliccolo." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," I assented, "naturally he would." + </p> + <p> + "Ah," Sinclair said hopefully, getting his paper-cutter ready to +cut the + next pages, "you begin to get the thread now, don't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, fine!" I said. "The people in it are the Dog and Pio, and +Carlo + Carlotti the Condottiere, and those others that we spoke of." + </p> + <p> + "That's right," Sinclair said. "Of course, there are more still +that I can + tell you about if...." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, never mind," I said, "I'll work along with those, they're a +pretty + representative crowd. Then Porphirio is under Pio's thumb, and +Pio is + under Demonio's thumb, and the Dog is crafty, and Lucia is full of + something all the time. Oh, I've got a mighty clear idea of it," I + concluded bitterly. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you've got it," Sinclair said, "I knew you'd like it. Now +we'll go + on. I'll just finish to the bottom of my page and then I'll go on +aloud." + </p> + <p> + He ran his eyes rapidly over the lines till he came to the bottom +of the + page, then he cut the leaves and turned over. I saw his eye rest +on the + half-dozen lines that confronted him on the next page with an +expression + of utter consternation. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I will be cursed!" he said at length. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter?" I said gently, with a great joy at my heart. + </p> + <p> + "This infernal thing's a serial," he gasped, as he pointed at the +words, + "To be continued," "and that's all there is in this number." + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Telling His Faults</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + "Oh, do, Mr. Sapling," said the beautiful girl at the summer +hotel, "do + let me read the palm of your hand! I can tell you all your +faults." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling gave an inarticulate gurgle and a roseate flush swept +over his + countenance as he surrendered his palm to the grasp of the fair + enchantress. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr. Sapling!" +she + cried. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling looked it. + </p> + <p> + "To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly and +reflectingly, "you + are dreadfully cynical: you hardly believe in anything at all, +and you've + utterly no faith in us poor women." + </p> + <p> + The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the features of Mr. +Sapling + into a ray of chastened imbecility, was distorted in an effort at + cynicism. + </p> + <p> + "Then your next fault is that you are too determined; much too +determined. + When once you have set your will on any object, you crush every +obstacle + under your feet." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, but began to +feel + calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had been all these things +without + knowing it. + </p> + <p> + "Then you are cold and sarcastic." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. He succeeded in +a rude + leer. + </p> + <p> + "And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing. You have +drained + philosophy to the dregs, and scoff at everything." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sapling's inner feeling was that from now on he would simply +scoff and + scoff and scoff. + </p> + <p> + "Your only redeeming quality is that you are generous. You have +tried to + kill even this, but cannot. Yes," concluded the beautiful girl, +"those are + your faults, generous still, but cold, cynical, and relentless. +Good + night, Mr. Sapling." + </p> + <p> + And resisting all entreaties the beautiful girl passed from the +verandah + of the hotel and vanished. + </p> + <p> + And when later in the evening the brother of the beautiful girl +borrowed + Mr. Sapling's tennis racket, and his bicycle for a fortnight, and +the + father of the beautiful girl got Sapling to endorse his note for +a couple + of hundreds, and her uncle Zephas borrowed his bedroom candle and +used his + razor to cut up a plug of tobacco, Mr. Sapling felt proud to be +acquainted + with the family. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Winter Pastimes</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + It is in the depth of winter, when the intense cold renders it +desirable + to stay at home, that the really Pleasant Family is wont to serve + invitations upon a few friends to spend a Quiet Evening. + </p> + <p> + It is at these gatherings that that gay thing, the indoor winter +game, + becomes rampant. It is there that the old euchre deck and the +staring + domino become fair and beautiful things; that the rattle of the +Loto + counter rejoices the heart, that the old riddle feels the sap +stirring in + its limbs again, and the amusing spilikin completes the mental +ruin of the + jaded guest. Then does the Jolly Maiden Aunt propound the query: +What is + the difference between an elephant and a silk hat? Or declare +that her + first is a vowel, her second a preposition, and her third an +archipelago. + It is to crown such a quiet evening, and to give the finishing +stroke to + those of the visitors who have not escaped early, with a fierce +purpose of + getting at the saloons before they have time to close, that the +indoor + game or family reservoir of fun is dragged from its long sleep. +It is + spread out upon the table. Its paper of directions is unfolded. +Its cards, + its counters, its pointers and its markers are distributed around +the + table, and the visitor forces a look of reckless pleasure upon +his face. + Then the "few simple directions" are read aloud by the Jolly Aunt, + instructing each player to challenge the player holding the +golden letter + corresponding to the digit next in order, to name a dead author +beginning + with X, failing which the player must declare himself in fault, +and pay + the forfeit of handing over to the Jolly Aunt his gold watch and +all his + money, or having a hot plate put down his neck. + </p> + <p> + With a view to bringing some relief to the guests at +entertainments of + this kind, I have endeavoured to construct one or two little +winter + pastimes of a novel character. They are quite inexpensive, and as +they + need no background of higher arithmetic or ancient history, they +are + within reach of the humblest intellect. Here is one of them. It +is called + Indoor Football, or Football without a Ball. + </p> + <p> + In this game any number of players, from fifteen to thirty, seat + themselves in a heap on any one player, usually the player next +to the + dealer. They then challenge him to get up, while one player +stands with a + stop-watch in his hand and counts forty seconds. Should the first +player + fail to rise before forty seconds are counted, the player with +the watch + declares him suffocated. This is called a "Down" and counts one. +The + player who was the Down is then leant against the wall; his wind +is + supposed to be squeezed out. The player called the referee then +blows a + whistle and the players select another player and score a down +off him. + While the player is supposed to be down, all the rest must remain +seated + as before, and not rise from him until the referee by counting +forty and + blowing his whistle announces that in his opinion the other +player is + stifled. He is then leant against the wall beside the first +player. When + the whistle again blows the player nearest the referee strikes +him behind + the right ear. This is a "Touch," and counts two. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible, of course, to give all the rules in detail. I +might add, + however, that while it counts TWO to strike the referee, to kick +him + counts THREE. To break his arm or leg counts FOUR, and to kill him + outright is called GRAND SLAM and counts one game. + </p> + <p> + Here is another little thing that I have worked out, which is +superior to + parlour games in that it combines their intense excitement with +sound + out-of-door exercise. + </p> + <p> + It is easily comprehended, and can be played by any number of +players, old + and young. It requires no other apparatus than a trolley car of +the + ordinary type, a mile or two of track, and a few thousand volts of + electricity. It is called: + </p> +<div class="peotry"> + <p class="peotry">The Suburban Trolley Car</p> + <p class="peotry">A Holiday Game for Old and Young.</p> +</div> + <p> + The chief part in the game is taken by two players who station +themselves + one at each end of the car, and who adopt some distinctive +costumes to + indicate that they are "it." The other players occupy the body of +the car, + or take up their position at intervals along the track. + </p> + <p> + The object of each player should be to enter the car as +stealthily as + possible in such a way as to escape the notice of the players in + distinctive dress. Should he fail to do this he must pay the +philopena or + forfeit. Of these there are two: philopena No. 1, the payment of +five + cents, and philopena No. 2, being thrown off the car by the neck. +Each + player may elect which philopena he will pay. Any player who +escapes + paying the philopena scores one. + </p> + <p> + The players who are in the car may elect to adopt a standing +attitude, or + to seat themselves, but no player may seat himself in the lap of +another + without the second player's consent. The object of those who +elect to + remain standing is to place their feet upon the toes of those who +sit; + when they do this they score. The object of those who elect to +sit is to + elude the feet of the standing players. Much merriment is thus +occasioned. + </p> + <p> + The player in distinctive costume at the front of the car +controls a + crank, by means of which he is enabled to bring the car to a +sudden stop, + or to cause it to plunge violently forward. His aim in so doing +is to + cause all the standing players to fall over backward. Every time +he does + this he scores. For this purpose he is generally in collusion +with the + other player in distinctive costume, whose business it is to let +him know + by a series of bells and signals when the players are not +looking, and can + be easily thrown down. A sharp fall of this sort gives rise to no +end of + banter and good-natured drollery, directed against the two +players who are + "it." + </p> + <p> + Should a player who is thus thrown backward save himself from +falling by + sitting down in the lap of a female player, he scores one. Any +player who + scores in this manner is entitled to remain seated while he may +count six, + after which he must remove himself or pay philopena No. 2. + </p> + <p> + Should the player who controls the crank perceive a player upon +the street + desirous of joining in the game by entering the car, his object +should be: + primo, to run over him and kill him; secundo, to kill him by any +other + means in his power; tertio, to let him into the car, but to exact +the + usual philopena. + </p> + <p> + Should a player, in thus attempting to get on the car from +without, become + entangled in the machinery, the player controlling the crank +shouts + "huff!" and the car is supposed to pass over him. All within the +car score + one. + </p> + <p> + A fine spice of the ludicrous may be added to the game by each +player + pretending that he has a destination or stopping-place, where he +would + wish to alight. It now becomes the aim of the two players who are +"it" to + carry him past his point. A player who is thus carried beyond his + imaginary stopping-place must feign a violent passion, and +imitate angry + gesticulations. He may, in addition, feign a great age or a +painful + infirmity, which will be found to occasion the most convulsive +fun for the + other players in the game. + </p> + <p> + These are the main outlines of this most amusing pastime. Many +other + agreeable features may, of course, be readily introduced by +persons of + humour and imagination. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Number Fifty-Six</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + What I narrate was told me one winter's evening by my friend +Ah-Yen in the + little room behind his laundry. Ah-Yen is a quiet little +celestial with a + grave and thoughtful face, and that melancholy contemplative +disposition + so often noticed in his countrymen. Between myself and Ah-Yen +there exists + a friendship of some years' standing, and we spend many a long +evening in + the dimly lighted room behind his shop, smoking a dreamy pipe +together and + plunged in silent meditation. I am chiefly attracted to my friend +by the + highly imaginative cast of his mind, which is, I believe, a trait +of the + Eastern character and which enables him to forget to a great +extent the + sordid cares of his calling in an inner life of his own creation. +Of the + keen, analytical side of his mind, I was in entire ignorance +until the + evening of which I write. + </p> + <p> + The room where we sat was small and dingy, with but little +furniture + except our chairs and the little table at which we filled and +arranged our + pipes, and was lighted only by a tallow candle. There were a few +pictures + on the walls, for the most part rude prints cut from the columns +of the + daily press and pasted up to hide the bareness of the room. Only +one + picture was in any way noticeable, a portrait admirably executed +in pen + and ink. The face was that of a young man, a very beautiful face, +but one + of infinite sadness. I had long been aware, although I know not +how, that + Ah-Yen had met with a great sorrow, and had in some way connected +the fact + with this portrait. I had always refrained, however, from asking +him about + it, and it was not until the evening in question that I knew its +history. + </p> + <p> + We had been smoking in silence for some time when Ah-Yen spoke. +My friend + is a man of culture and wide reading, and his English is +consequently + perfect in its construction; his speech is, of course, marked by +the + lingering liquid accent of his country which I will not attempt to + reproduce. + </p> + <p> + "I see," he said, "that you have been examining the portrait of +my unhappy + friend, Fifty-Six. I have never yet told you of my bereavement, +but as + to-night is the anniversary of his death, I would fain speak of +him for a + while." + </p> + <p> + Ah-Yen paused; I lighted my pipe afresh, and nodded to him to +show that I + was listening. + </p> + <p> + "I do not know," he went on, "at what precise time Fifty-Six came +into my + life. I could indeed find it out by examining my books, but I +have never + troubled to do so. Naturally I took no more interest in him at +first than + in any other of my customers—less, perhaps, since he never +in the + course of our connection brought his clothes to me himself but +always sent + them by a boy. When I presently perceived that he was becoming +one of my + regular customers, I allotted to him his number, Fifty-Six, and +began to + speculate as to who and what he was. Before long I had reached +several + conclusions in regard to my unknown client. The quality of his +linen + showed me that, if not rich, he was at any rate fairly well off. +I could + see that he was a young man of regular Christian life, who went +out into + society to a certain extent; this I could tell from his sending +the same + number of articles to the laundry, from his washing always coming +on + Saturday night, and from the fact that he wore a dress shirt +about once a + week. In disposition he was a modest, unassuming fellow, for his +collars + were only two inches high." + </p> + <p> + I stared at Ah-Yen in some amazement, the recent publications of a + favourite novelist had rendered me familiar with this process of + analytical reasoning, but I was prepared for no such revelations +from my + Eastern friend. + </p> + <p> + "When I first knew him," Ah-Yen went on, "Fifty-Six was a student +at the + university. This, of course, I did not know for some time. I +inferred it, + however, in the course of time, from his absence from town during +the four + summer months, and from the fact that during the time of the +university + examinations the cuffs of his shirts came to me covered with +dates, + formulas, and propositions in geometry. I followed him with no +little + interest through his university career. During the four years +which it + lasted, I washed for him every week; my regular connection with +him and + the insight which my observation gave me into the lovable +character of the + man, deepened my first esteem into a profound affection and I +became most + anxious for his success. I helped him at each succeeding +examination, as + far as lay in my power, by starching his shirts half-way to the +elbow, so + as to leave him as much room as possible for annotations. My +anxiety + during the strain of his final examination I will not attempt to +describe. + That Fifty-Six was undergoing the great crisis of his academic +career, I + could infer from the state of his handkerchiefs which, in apparent + unconsciousness, he used as pen-wipers during the final test. His +conduct + throughout the examination bore witness to the moral development +which had + taken place in his character during his career as an +undergraduate; for + the notes upon his cuffs which had been so copious at his earlier + examinations were limited now to a few hints, and these upon +topics so + intricate as to defy an ordinary memory. It was with a thrill of +joy that + I at last received in his laundry bundle one Saturday early in +June, a + ruffled dress shirt, the bosom of which was thickly spattered +with the + spillings of the wine-cup, and realized that Fifty-Six had +banqueted as a + Bachelor of Arts. + </p> + <p> + "In the following winter the habit of wiping his pen upon his + handkerchief, which I had remarked during his final examination, +became + chronic with him, and I knew that he had entered upon the study +of law. He + worked hard during that year, and dress shirts almost disappeared +from his + weekly bundle. It was in the following winter, the second year of +his + legal studies, that the tragedy of his life began. I became aware +that a + change had come over his laundry; from one, or at most two a +week, his + dress shirts rose to four, and silk handkerchiefs began to +replace his + linen ones. It dawned upon me that Fifty-Six was abandoning the +rigorous + tenor of his student life and was going into society. I presently + perceived something more; Fifty-Six was in love. It was soon +impossible to + doubt it. He was wearing seven shirts a week; linen handkerchiefs + disappeared from his laundry; his collars rose from two inches to +two and + a quarter, and finally to two and a half. I have in my possession +one of + his laundry lists of that period; a glance at it will show the +scrupulous + care which he bestowed upon his person. Well do I remember the +dawning + hopes of those days, alternating with the gloomiest despair. Each +Saturday + I opened his bundle with a trembling eagerness to catch the first +signs of + a return of his love. I helped my friend in every way that I +could. His + shirts and collars were masterpieces of my art, though my hand +often shook + with agitation as I applied the starch. She was a brave noble +girl, that I + knew; her influence was elevating the whole nature of Fifty-Six; +until now + he had had in his possession a certain number of detached cuffs +and false + shirt-fronts. These he discarded now,—at first the false + shirt-fronts, scorning the very idea of fraud, and after a time, +in his + enthusiasm, abandoning even the cuffs. I cannot look back upon +those + bright happy days of courtship without a sigh. + </p> + <p> + "The happiness of Fifty-Six seemed to enter into and fill my +whole life. I + lived but from Saturday to Saturday. The appearance of false +shirt-fronts + would cast me to the lowest depths of despair; their absence +raised me to + a pinnacle of hope. It was not till winter softened into spring +that + Fifty-Six nerved himself to learn his fate. One Saturday he sent +me a new + white waistcoat, a garment which had hitherto been shunned by his +modest + nature, to prepare for his use. I bestowed upon it all the +resources of my + art; I read his purpose in it. On the Saturday following it was +returned + to me and, with tears of joy, I marked where a warm little hand +had rested + fondly on the right shoulder, and knew that Fifty-Six was the +accepted + lover of his sweetheart." + </p> + <p> + Ah-Yen paused and sat for some time silent; his pipe had +sputtered out and + lay cold in the hollow of his hand; his eye was fixed upon the +wall where + the light and shadows shifted in the dull flickering of the +candle. At + last he spoke again: + </p> + <p> + "I will not dwell upon the happy days that ensued—days of +gaudy + summer neckties and white waistcoats, of spotless shirts and +lofty collars + worn but a single day by the fastidious lover. Our happiness +seemed + complete and I asked no more from fate. Alas! it was not destined +to + continue! When the bright days of summer were fading into autumn, +I was + grieved to notice an occasional quarrel—only four shirts +instead of + seven, or the reappearance of the abandoned cuffs and +shirt-fronts. + Reconciliations followed, with tears of penitence upon the +shoulder of the + white waistcoat, and the seven shirts came back. But the quarrels +grew + more frequent and there came at times stormy scenes of passionate +emotion + that left a track of broken buttons down the waistcoat. The +shirts went + slowly down to three, then fell to two, and the collars of my +unhappy + friend subsided to an inch and three-quarters. In vain I lavished +my + utmost care upon Fifty-Six. It seemed to my tortured mind that +the gloss + upon his shirts and collars would have melted a heart of stone. +Alas! my + every effort at reconciliation seemed to fail. An awful month +passed; the + false fronts and detached cuffs were all back again; the unhappy +lover + seemed to glory in their perfidy. At last, one gloomy evening, I +found on + opening his bundle that he had bought a stock of celluloids, and +my heart + told me that she had abandoned him for ever. Of what my poor +friend + suffered at this time, I can give you no idea; suffice it to say +that he + passed from celluloid to a blue flannel shirt and from blue to +grey. The + sight of a red cotton handkerchief in his wash at length warned +me that + his disappointed love had unhinged his mind, and I feared the +worst. Then + came an agonizing interval of three weeks during which he sent me +nothing, + and after that came the last parcel that I ever received from him +an + enormous bundle that seemed to contain all his effects. In this, +to my + horror, I discovered one shirt the breast of which was stained a +deep + crimson with his blood, and pierced by a ragged hole that showed +where a + bullet had singed through into his heart. + </p> + <p> + "A fortnight before, I remembered having heard the street boys +crying the + news of an appalling suicide, and I know now that it must have +been he. + After the first shock of my grief had passed, I sought to keep +him in my + memory by drawing the portrait which hangs beside you. I have +some skill + in the art, and I feel assured that I have caught the expression +of his + face. The picture is, of course, an ideal one, for, as you know, +I never + saw Fifty-Six." + </p> + <p> + The bell on the door of the outer shop tinkled at the entrance of +a + customer. Ah-Yen rose with that air of quiet resignation that +habitually + marked his demeanour, and remained for some time in the shop. +When he + returned he seemed in no mood to continue speaking of his lost +friend. I + left him soon after and walked sorrowfully home to my lodgings. +On my way + I mused much upon my little Eastern friend and the sympathetic +grasp of + his imagination. But a burden lay heavy on my +heart—something I + would fain have told him but which I could not bear to mention. I +could + not find it in my heart to shatter the airy castle of his fancy. +For my + life has been secluded and lonely and I have known no love like +that of my + ideal friend. Yet I have a haunting recollection of a certain +huge bundle + of washing that I sent to him about a year ago. I had been absent +from + town for three weeks and my laundry was much larger than usual in + consequence. And if I mistake not there was in the bundle a +tattered shirt + that had been grievously stained by the breaking of a bottle of +red ink in + my portmanteau, and burnt in one place where an ash fell from my +cigar as + I made up the bundle. Of all this I cannot feel absolutely +certain, yet I + know at least that until a year ago, when I transferred my custom +to a + more modern establishment, my laundry number with Ah-Yen was +Fifty-Six. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Aristocratic Education</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + House of Lords, Jan. 25, 1920.—The House of Lords commenced +to-day + in Committee the consideration of Clause No. 52,000 of the +Education Bill, + dealing with the teaching of Geometry in the schools. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government in presenting the clause urged upon +their + Lordships the need of conciliation. The Bill, he said, had now +been before + their Lordships for sixteen years. The Government had made every + concession. They had accepted all the amendments of their +Lordships on the + opposite side in regard to the original provisions of the Bill. +They had + consented also to insert in the Bill a detailed programme of +studies of + which the present clause, enunciating the fifth proposition of +Euclid, was + a part. He would therefore ask their Lordships to accept the +clause + drafted as follows: + </p> + <p> + "The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, and +if the + equal sides of the triangle are produced, the exterior angles +will also be + equal." + </p> + <p> + He would hasten to add that the Government had no intention of +producing + the sides. Contingencies might arise to render such a course +necessary, + but in that case their Lordships would receive an early +intimation of the + fact. + </p> + <p> + The Archbishop of Canterbury spoke against the clause. He +considered it, + in its present form, too secular. He should wish to amend the +clause so as + to make it read: + </p> + <p> + "The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are, in every +Christian + community, equal, and if the sides be produced by a member of a +Christian + congregation, the exterior angles will be equal." + </p> + <p> + He was aware, he continued, that the angles at the base of an +isosceles + triangle are extremely equal, but he must remind the Government +that the + Church had been aware of this for several years past. He was +willing also + to admit that the opposite sides and ends of a parallelogram are +equal, + but he thought that such admission should be coupled with a +distinct + recognition of the existence of a Supreme Being. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government accepted His Grace's amendment with +pleasure. + He considered it the brightest amendment His Grace had made that +week. The + Government, he said, was aware of the intimate relation in which +His Grace + stood to the bottom end of a parallelogram and was prepared to +respect it. + </p> + <p> + Lord Halifax rose to offer a further amendment. He thought the +present + case was one in which the "four-fifths" clause ought to apply: he +should + wish it stated that the angles are equal for two days every week, +except + in the case of schools where four-fifths of the parents are + conscientiously opposed to the use of the isosceles triangle. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government thought the amendment a singularly +pleasing + one. He accepted it and would like it understood that the words +isosceles + triangle were not meant in any offensive sense. + </p> + <p> + Lord Rosebery spoke at some length. He considered the clause +unfair to + Scotland, where the high state of morality rendered education +unnecessary. + Unless an amendment in this sense was accepted, it might be +necessary to + reconsider the Act of Union of 1707. + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government said that Lord Rosebery's amendment +was the + best he had heard yet. The Government accepted it at once. They +were + willing to make every concession. They would, if need be, +reconsider the + Norman Conquest. + </p> + <p> + The Duke of Devonshire took exception to the part of the clause +relating + to the production of the sides. He did not think the country was +prepared + for it. It was unfair to the producer. He would like the clause +altered to + read, "if the sides be produced in the home market." + </p> + <p> + The Leader of the Government accepted with pleasure His Grace's +amendment. + He considered it quite sensible. He would now, as it was near the +hour of + rising, present the clause in its revised form. He hoped, +however, that + their Lordships would find time to think out some further +amendments for + the evening sitting. + </p> + <p> + The clause was then read. + </p> + <p> + His Grace of Canterbury then moved that the House, in all +humility, + adjourn for dinner. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> The Conjurer's Revenge</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + "Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer, "having shown you +that the + cloth is absolutely empty, I will proceed to take from it a bowl +of + goldfish. Presto!" + </p> + <p> + All around the hall people were saying, "Oh, how wonderful! How +does he do + it?" + </p> + <p> + But the Quick Man on the front seat said in a big whisper to the +people + near him, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + Then the people nodded brightly at the Quick Man and said, "Oh, of + course"; and everybody whispered round the hall, + "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + "My next trick," said the conjurer, "is the famous Hindostanee +rings. You + will notice that the rings are apparently separate; at a blow +they all + join (clang, clang, clang)—Presto!" + </p> + <p> + There was a general buzz of stupefaction till the Quick Man was +heard to + whisper, "He-must-have-had-another-lot-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + Again everybody nodded and whispered, "The-rings-were- +up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + The brow of the conjurer was clouded with a gathering frown. + </p> + <p> + "I will now," he continued, "show you a most amusing trick by +which I am + enabled to take any number of eggs from a hat. Will some +gentleman kindly + lend me his hat? Ah, thank you—Presto!" + </p> + <p> + He extracted seventeen eggs, and for thirty-five seconds the +audience + began to think that he was wonderful. Then the Quick Man +whispered along + the front bench, "He-has-a-hen-up-his-sleeve," and all the people + whispered it on. "He-has-a-lot-of-hens-up-his-sleeve." + </p> + <p> + The egg trick was ruined. + </p> + <p> + It went on like that all through. It transpired from the whispers +of the + Quick Man that the conjurer must have concealed up his sleeve, in +addition + to the rings, hens, and fish, several packs of cards, a loaf of +bread, a + doll's cradle, a live guinea-pig, a fifty-cent piece, and a +rocking-chair. + </p> + <p> + The reputation of the conjurer was rapidly sinking below zero. At +the + close of the evening he rallied for a final effort. + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I will present to you, in +conclusion, + the famous Japanese trick recently invented by the natives of +Tipperary. + Will you, sir," he continued turning toward the Quick Man, "will +you + kindly hand me your gold watch?" + </p> + <p> + It was passed to him. + </p> + <p> + "Have I your permission to put it into this mortar and pound it to + pieces?" he asked savagely. + </p> + <p> + The Quick Man nodded and smiled. + </p> + <p> + The conjurer threw the watch into the mortar and grasped a sledge +hammer + from the table. There was a sound of violent smashing, + "He's-slipped-it-up-his-sleeve," whispered the Quick Man. + </p> + <p> + "Now, sir," continued the conjurer, "will you allow me to take +your + handkerchief and punch holes in it? Thank you. You see, ladies and + gentlemen, there is no deception; the holes are visible to the +eye." + </p> + <p> + The face of the Quick Man beamed. This time the real mystery of +the thing + fascinated him. + </p> + <p> + "And now, sir, will you kindly pass me your silk hat and allow me +to dance + on it? Thank you." + </p> + <p> + The conjurer made a few rapid passes with his feet and exhibited +the hat + crushed beyond recognition. + </p> + <p> + "And will you now, sir, take off your celluloid collar and permit +me to + burn it in the candle? Thank you, sir. And will you allow me to +smash your + spectacles for you with my hammer? Thank you." + </p> + <p> + By this time the features of the Quick Man were assuming a puzzled + expression. "This thing beats me," he whispered, "I don't see +through it a + bit." + </p> + <p> + There was a great hush upon the audience. Then the conjurer drew +himself + up to his full height and, with a withering look at the Quick +Man, he + concluded: + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen, you will observe that I have, with this +gentleman's + permission, broken his watch, burnt his collar, smashed his +spectacles, + and danced on his hat. If he will give me the further permission +to paint + green stripes on his overcoat, or to tie his suspenders in a +knot, I shall + be delighted to entertain you. If not, the performance is at an +end." + </p> + <p> + And amid a glorious burst of music from the orchestra the curtain +fell, + and the audience dispersed, convinced that there are some tricks, +at any + rate, that are not done up the conjurer's sleeve. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Hints to Travellers</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + The following hints and observations have occurred to me during a +recent + trip across the continent: they are written in no spirit of +complaint + against existing railroad methods, but merely in the hope that +they may + prove useful to those who travel, like myself, in a spirit of +meek, + observant ignorance. + </p> + <p> + 1. Sleeping in a Pullman car presents some difficulties to the +novice. + Care should be taken to allay all sense of danger. The frequent +whistling + of the engine during the night is apt to be a source of alarm. +Find out, + therefore, before travelling, the meaning of the various +whistles. One + means "station," two, "railroad crossing," and so on. Five +whistles, short + and rapid, mean sudden danger. When you hear whistles in the +night, sit up + smartly in your bunk and count them. Should they reach five, draw +on your + trousers over your pyjamas and leave the train instantly. As a +further + precaution against accident, sleep with the feet towards the +engine if you + prefer to have the feet crushed, or with the head towards the +engine, if + you think it best to have the head crushed. In making this +decision try to + be as unselfish as possible. If indifferent, sleep crosswise with +the head + hanging over into the aisle. + </p> + <p> + 2. I have devoted some thought to the proper method of changing +trains. + The system which I have observed to be the most popular with +travellers of + my own class, is something as follows: Suppose that you have been +told on + leaving New York that you are to change at Kansas City. The +evening before + approaching Kansas City, stop the conductor in the aisle of the +car (you + can do this best by putting out your foot and tripping him), and +say + politely, "Do I change at Kansas City?" He says "Yes." Very good. +Don't + believe him. On going into the dining-car for supper, take a +negro aside + and put it to him as a personal matter between a white man and a +black, + whether he thinks you ought to change at Kansas City. Don't be +satisfied + with this. In the course of the evening pass through the entire +train from + time to time, and say to people casually, "Oh, can you tell me if +I change + at Kansas City?" Ask the conductor about it a few more times in +the + evening: a repetition of the question will ensure pleasant +relations with + him. Before falling asleep watch for his passage and ask him +through the + curtains of your berth, "Oh, by the way, did you say I changed at +Kansas + City?" If he refuses to stop, hook him by the neck with your + walking-stick, and draw him gently to your bedside. In the +morning when + the train stops and a man calls, "Kansas City! All change!" +approach the + conductor again and say, "Is this Kansas City?" Don't be +discouraged at + his answer. Pick yourself up and go to the other end of the car +and say to + the brakesman, "Do you know, sir, if this is Kansas City?" Don't +be too + easily convinced. Remember that both brakesman and conductor may +be in + collusion to deceive you. Look around, therefore, for the name of +the + station on the signboard. Having found it, alight and ask the +first man + you see if this is Kansas City. He will answer, "Why, where in +blank are + your blank eyes? Can't you see it there, plain as blank?" When +you hear + language of this sort, ask no more. You are now in Kansas and +this is + Kansas City. + </p> + <p> + 3. I have observed that it is now the practice of the conductors +to stick + bits of paper in the hats of the passengers. They do this, I +believe, to + mark which ones they like best. The device is pretty, and adds +much to the + scenic appearance of the car. But I notice with pain that the +system is + fraught with much trouble for the conductors. The task of +crushing two or + three passengers together, in order to reach over them and stick +a ticket + into the chinks of a silk skull cap is embarrassing for a +conductor of + refined feelings. It would be simpler if the conductor should +carry a + small hammer and a packet of shingle nails and nail the paid-up +passenger + to the back of the seat. Or better still, let the conductor carry +a small + pot of paint and a brush, and mark the passengers in such a way +that he + cannot easily mistake them. In the case of bald-headed +passengers, the + hats might be politely removed and red crosses painted on the +craniums. + This will indicate that they are bald. Through passengers might be + distinguished by a complete coat of paint. In the hands of a man +of taste, + much might be effected by a little grouping of painted passengers +and the + leisure time of the conductor agreeably occupied. + </p> + <p> + 4. I have observed in travelling in the West that the +irregularity of + railroad accidents is a fruitful cause of complaint. The frequent + disappointment of the holders of accident policy tickets on +western roads + is leading to widespread protest. Certainly the conditions of +travel in + the West are altering rapidly and accidents can no longer be +relied upon. + This is deeply to be regretted, in so much as, apart from +accidents, the + tickets may be said to be practically valueless. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> A Manual of Education</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + The few selections below are offered as a specimen page of a +little book + which I have in course of preparation. + </p> + <p> + Every man has somewhere in the back of his head the wreck of a +thing which + he calls his education. My book is intended to embody in concise +form + these remnants of early instruction. + </p> + <p> + Educations are divided into splendid educations, thorough +classical + educations, and average educations. All very old men have splendid + educations; all men who apparently know nothing else have thorough + classical educations; nobody has an average education. + </p> + <p> + An education, when it is all written out on foolscap, covers +nearly ten + sheets. It takes about six years of severe college training to +acquire it. + Even then a man often finds that he somehow hasn't got his +education just + where he can put his thumb on it. When my little book of eight or +ten + pages has appeared, everybody may carry his education in his hip +pocket. + </p> + <p> + Those who have not had the advantage of an early training will be +enabled, + by a few hours of conscientious application, to put themselves on +an equal + footing with the most scholarly. + </p> + <p> + The selections are chosen entirely at random. + </p> + <h3> + I.—REMAINS OF ASTRONOMY + </h3> + <p> + Astronomy teaches the correct use of the sun and the planets. +These may be + put on a frame of little sticks and turned round. This causes the +tides. + Those at the ends of the sticks are enormously far away. From +time to time + a diligent searching of the sticks reveals new planets. The orbit +of a + planet is the distance the stick goes round in going round. +Astronomy is + intensely interesting; it should be done at night, in a high +tower in + Spitzbergen. This is to avoid the astronomy being interrupted. A +really + good astronomer can tell when a comet is coming too near him by +the + warning buzz of the revolving sticks. + </p> + <h3> + II.—REMAINS OF HISTORY + </h3> + <p> + Aztecs: A fabulous race, half man, half horse, half +mound-builder. They + flourished at about the same time as the early Calithumpians. +They have + left some awfully stupendous monuments of themselves somewhere. + </p> + <p> + Life of Caesar: A famous Roman general, the last who ever landed +in + Britain without being stopped at the custom house. On returning +to his + Sabine farm (to fetch something), he was stabbed by Brutus, and +died with + the words "Veni, vidi, tekel, upharsim" in his throat. The jury +returned a + verdict of strangulation. + </p> + <p> + Life of Voltaire: A Frenchman; very bitter. + </p> + <p> + Life of Schopenhauer: A German; very deep; but it was not really + noticeable when he sat down. + </p> + <p> + Life of Dante: An Italian; the first to introduce the banana and +the class + of street organ known as "Dante's Inferno." + </p> + <p> + Peter the Great, Alfred the Great, Frederick the Great, John the +Great, + Tom the Great, Jim the Great, Jo the Great, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible for a busy man to keep these apart. They sought +a living + as kings and apostles and pugilists and so on. + </p> + <h3> + III.—REMAINS OF BOTANY. + </h3> + <p> + Botany is the art of plants. Plants are divided into trees, +flowers, and + vegetables. The true botanist knows a tree as soon as he sees it. +He + learns to distinguish it from a vegetable by merely putting his +ear to it. + </p> + <h3> + IV.—REMAINS OF NATURAL SCIENCE. + </h3> + <p> + Natural Science treats of motion and force. Many of its teachings +remain + as part of an educated man's permanent equipment in life. Such +are: + </p> + <p> + (a) The harder you shove a bicycle the faster it will go. This is +because + of natural science. + </p> + <p> + (b) If you fall from a high tower, you fall quicker and quicker +and + quicker; a judicious selection of a tower will ensure any rate of +speed. + </p> + <p> + (c) If you put your thumb in between two cogs it will go on and +on, until + the wheels are arrested, by your suspenders. This is machinery. + </p> + <p> + (d) Electricity is of two kinds, positive and negative. The +difference is, + I presume, that one kind comes a little more expensive, but is +more + durable; the other is a cheaper thing, but the moths get into it. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking, +underhand + method, and the sooner it's exposed the better. + </p> + <p> + For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of night and +palm off a + ten-cent necktie on a boy who had been expecting a ten-dollar +watch, and + then say that an angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low. + </p> + <p> + I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked this +Christmas, + in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin, the son and heir of the +McFiggins, + at whose house I board. + </p> + <p> + Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy—a religious boy. He had been +given to + understand that Santa Claus would bring nothing to his father and +mother + because grown-up people don't get presents from the angels. So he +saved up + all his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father +and a + seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother. His own fortunes +he left + in the hands of the angels. But he prayed. He prayed every night +for weeks + that Santa Claus would bring him a pair of skates and a puppy-dog +and an + air-gun and a bicycle and a Noah's ark and a sleigh and a +drum—altogether + about a hundred and fifty dollars' worth of stuff. + </p> + <p> + I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning. I had an +idea + that the scene would be interesting. I woke him up and he sat up +in bed, + his eyes glistening with radiant expectation, and began hauling +things out + of his stocking. + </p> + <p> + The first parcel was bulky; it was done up quite loosely and had +an odd + look generally. + </p> + <p> + "Ha! ha!" Hoodoo cried gleefully, as he began undoing it. "I'll +bet it's + the puppy-dog, all wrapped up in paper!" + </p> + <p> + And was it the puppy-dog? No, by no means. It was a pair of nice, +strong, + number-four boots, laces and all, labelled, "Hoodoo, from Santa +Claus," + and underneath Santa Claus had written, "95 net." + </p> + <p> + The boy's jaw fell with delight. "It's boots," he said, and +plunged in his + hand again. + </p> + <p> + He began hauling away at another parcel with renewed hope on his +face. + </p> + <p> + This time the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo tore +the paper + off it with a feverish hand. He shook it; something rattled +inside. + </p> + <p> + "It's a watch and chain! It's a watch and chain!" he shouted. +Then he + pulled the lid off. + </p> + <p> + And was it a watch and chain? No. It was a box of nice, brand-new + celluloid collars, a dozen of them all alike and all his own size. + </p> + <p> + The boy was so pleased that you could see his face crack up with +pleasure. + </p> + <p> + He waited a few minutes until his intense joy subsided. Then he +tried + again. + </p> + <p> + This time the packet was long and hard. It resisted the touch and +had a + sort of funnel shape. + </p> + <p> + "It's a toy pistol!" said the boy, trembling with excitement. +"Gee! I hope + there are lots of caps with it! I'll fire some off now and wake up + father." + </p> + <p> + No, my poor child, you will not wake your father with that. It is +a useful + thing, but it needs not caps and it fires no bullets, and you +cannot wake + a sleeping man with a tooth-brush. Yes, it was a +tooth-brush—a + regular beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a little +paper, + "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus." + </p> + <p> + Again the expression of intense joy passed over the boy's face, +and the + tears of gratitude started from his eyes. He wiped them away with +his + tooth-brush and passed on. + </p> + <p> + The next packet was much larger and evidently contained something +soft and + bulky. It had been too long to go into the stocking and was tied +outside. + </p> + <p> + "I wonder what this is," Hoodoo mused, half afraid to open it. +Then his + heart gave a great leap, and he forgot all his other presents in +the + anticipation of this one. "It's the drum!" he gasped. "It's the +drum, all + wrapped up!" + </p> + <p> + Drum nothing! It was pants—a pair of the nicest little +short pants—yellowish-brown + short pants—with dear little stripes of colour running +across both + ways, and here again Santa Claus had written, "Hoodoo, from Santa +Claus, + one fort net." + </p> + <p> + But there was something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes! There was a +pair of + braces wrapped up in it, braces with a little steel sliding thing +so that + you could slide your pants up to your neck, if you wanted to. + </p> + <p> + The boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took out his last +present. + "It's a book," he said, as he unwrapped it. "I wonder if it is +fairy + stories or adventures. Oh, I hope it's adventures! I'll read it +all + morning." + </p> + <p> + No, Hoodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a small +family Bible. + Hoodoo had now seen all his presents, and he arose and dressed. +But he + still had the fun of playing with his toys. That is always the +chief + delight of Christmas morning. + </p> + <p> + First he played with his tooth-brush. He got a whole lot of water +and + brushed all his teeth with it. This was huge. + </p> + <p> + Then he played with his collars. He had no end of fun with them, +taking + them all out one by one and swearing at them, and then putting +them back + and swearing at the whole lot together. + </p> + <p> + The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there, putting +them on and + taking them off again, and then trying to guess which side was +which by + merely looking at them. + </p> + <p> + After that he took his book and read some adventures called +"Genesis" till + breakfast-time. + </p> + <p> + Then he went downstairs and kissed his father and mother. His +father was + smoking a cigar, and his mother had her new brooch on. Hoodoo's +face was + thoughtful, and a light seemed to have broken in upon his mind. +Indeed, I + think it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on to +his own + money and take chances on what the angels bring. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> The Life of John Smith</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + The lives of great men occupy a large section of our literature. +The great + man is certainly a wonderful thing. He walks across his century +and leaves + the marks of his feet all over it, ripping out the dates on his +goloshes + as he passes. It is impossible to get up a revolution or a new +religion, + or a national awakening of any sort, without his turning up, +putting + himself at the head of it and collaring all the gate-receipts for +himself. + Even after his death he leaves a long trail of second-rate +relations + spattered over the front seats of fifty years of history. + </p> + <p> + Now the lives of great men are doubtless infinitely interesting. +But at + times I must confess to a sense of reaction and an idea that the +ordinary + common man is entitled to have his biography written too. It is to + illustrate this view that I write the life of John Smith, a man +neither + good nor great, but just the usual, everyday homo like you and me +and the + rest of us. + </p> + <p> + From his earliest childhood John Smith was marked out from his +comrades by + nothing. The marvellous precocity of the boy did not astonish his + preceptors. Books were not a passion for him from his youth, +neither did + any old man put his hand on Smith's head and say, mark his words, +this boy + would some day become a man. Nor yet was it his father's wont to +gaze on + him with a feeling amounting almost to awe. By no means! All his +father + did was to wonder whether Smith was a darn fool because he +couldn't help + it, or because he thought it smart. In other words, he was just +like you + and me and the rest of us. + </p> + <p> + In those athletic sports which were the ornament of the youth of +his day, + Smith did not, as great men do, excel his fellows. He couldn't +ride worth + a darn. He couldn't skate worth a darn. He couldn't swim worth a +darn. He + couldn't shoot worth a darn. He couldn't do anything worth a +darn. He was + just like us. + </p> + <p> + Nor did the bold cast of the boy's mind offset his physical +defects, as it + invariably does in the biographies. On the contrary. He was +afraid of his + father. He was afraid of his school-teacher. He was afraid of +dogs. He was + afraid of guns. He was afraid of lightning. He was afraid of +hell. He was + afraid of girls. + </p> + <p> + In the boy's choice of a profession there was not seen that keen +longing + for a life-work that we find in the celebrities. He didn't want +to be a + lawyer, because you have to know law. He didn't want to be a +doctor, + because you have to know medicine. He didn't want to be a +business-man, + because you have to know business; and he didn't want to be a + school-teacher, because he had seen too many of them. As far as +he had any + choice, it lay between being Robinson Crusoe and being the Prince +of + Wales. His father refused him both and put him into a dry goods + establishment. + </p> + <p> + Such was the childhood of Smith. At its close there was nothing +in his + outward appearance to mark the man of genius. The casual observer +could + have seen no genius concealed behind the wide face, the massive +mouth, the + long slanting forehead, and the tall ear that swept up to the + close-cropped head. Certainly he couldn't. There wasn't any +concealed + there. + </p> + <p> + It was shortly after his start in business life that Smith was +stricken + with the first of those distressing attacks, to which he +afterwards became + subject. It seized him late one night as he was returning home +from a + delightful evening of song and praise with a few old school +chums. Its + symptoms were a peculiar heaving of the sidewalk, a dancing of +the street + lights, and a crafty shifting to and fro of the houses, requiring +a very + nice discrimination in selecting his own. There was a strong +desire not to + drink water throughout the entire attack, which showed that the +thing was + evidently a form of hydrophobia. From this time on, these painful +attacks + became chronic with Smith. They were liable to come on at any +time, but + especially on Saturday nights, on the first of the month, and on + Thanksgiving Day. He always had a very severe attack of +hydrophobia on + Christmas Eve, and after elections it was fearful. + </p> + <p> + There was one incident in Smith's career which he did, perhaps, +share with + regret. He had scarcely reached manhood when he met the most +beautiful + girl in the world. She was different from all other women. She +had a + deeper nature than other people. Smith realized it at once. She +could feel + and understand things that ordinary people couldn't. She could +understand + him. She had a great sense of humour and an exquisite +appreciation of a + joke. He told her the six that he knew one night and she thought +them + great. Her mere presence made Smith feel as if he had swallowed a +sunset: + the first time that his finger brushed against hers, he felt a +thrill all + through him. He presently found that if he took a firm hold of +her hand + with his, he could get a fine thrill, and if he sat beside her on +a sofa, + with his head against her ear and his arm about once and a half +round her, + he could get what you might call a first-class, A-1 thrill. Smith +became + filled with the idea that he would like to have her always near +him. He + suggested an arrangement to her, by which she should come and +live in the + same house with him and take personal charge of his clothes and +his meals. + She was to receive in return her board and washing, about +seventy-five + cents a week in ready money, and Smith was to be her slave. + </p> + <p> + After Smith had been this woman's slave for some time, baby +fingers stole + across his life, then another set of them, and then more and more +till the + house was full of them. The woman's mother began to steal across +his life + too, and every time she came Smith had hydrophobia frightfully. +Strangely + enough there was no little prattler that was taken from his life +and + became a saddened, hallowed memory to him. Oh, no! The little +Smiths were + not that kind of prattler. The whole nine grew up into tall, lank +boys + with massive mouths and great sweeping ears like their father's, +and no + talent for anything. + </p> + <p> + The life of Smith never seemed to bring him to any of those great + turning-points that occurred in the lives of the great. True, the +passing + years brought some change of fortune. He was moved up in his +dry-goods + establishment from the ribbon counter to the collar counter, from +the + collar counter to the gents' panting counter, and from the gents' +panting + to the gents' fancy shirting. Then, as he grew aged and +inefficient, they + moved him down again from the gents' fancy shirting to the gents' +panting, + and so on to the ribbon counter. And when he grew quite old they +dismissed + him and got a boy with a four-inch mouth and sandy-coloured hair, +who did + all Smith could do for half the money. That was John Smith's +mercantile + career: it won't stand comparison with Mr. Gladstone's, but it's +not + unlike your own. + </p> + <p> + Smith lived for five years after this. His sons kept him. They +didn't want + to, but they had to. In his old age the brightness of his mind +and his + fund of anecdote were not the delight of all who dropped in to +see him. He + told seven stories and he knew six jokes. The stories were long +things all + about himself, and the jokes were about a commercial traveller +and a + Methodist minister. But nobody dropped in to see him, anyway, so +it didn't + matter. + </p> + <p> + At sixty-five Smith was taken ill, and, receiving proper +treatment, he + died. There was a tombstone put up over him, with a hand pointing + north-north-east. + </p> + <p> + But I doubt if he ever got there. He was too like us. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> On Collecting Things</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Like most other men I have from time to time been stricken with a +desire + to make collections of things. + </p> + <p> + It began with postage stamps. I had a letter from a friend of +mine who had + gone out to South Africa. The letter had a three-cornered stamp +on it, and + I thought as soon as I looked at it, "That's the thing! Stamp +collecting! + I'll devote my life to it." + </p> + <p> + I bought an album with accommodation for the stamps of all +nations, and + began collecting right off. For three days the collection made +wonderful + progress. It contained: + </p> + <p> + One Cape of Good Hope stamp. + </p> + <p> + One one-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One two-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One five-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + One ten-cent stamp, United States of America. + </p> + <p> + After that the collection came to a dead stop. For a while I used +to talk + about it rather airily and say I had one or two rather valuable +South + African stamps. But I presently grew tired even of lying about it. + </p> + <p> + Collecting coins is a thing that I attempt at intervals. Every +time I am + given an old half-penny or a Mexican quarter, I get an idea that +if a + fellow made a point of holding on to rarities of that sort, he'd +soon have + quite a valuable collection. The first time that I tried it I was +full of + enthusiasm, and before long my collection numbered quite a few +articles of + vertu. The items were as follows: + </p> + <p> + No. 1. Ancient Roman coin. Time of Caligula. This one of course +was the + gem of the whole lot; it was given me by a friend, and that was +what + started me collecting. + </p> + <p> + No. 2. Small copper coin. Value one cent. United States of +America. + Apparently modern. + </p> + <p> + No. 3. Small nickel coin. Circular. United States of America. +Value five + cents. + </p> + <p> + No. 4. Small silver coin. Value ten cents. United States of +America. + </p> + <p> + No. 5. Silver coin. Circular. Value twenty-five cents. United +States of + America. Very beautiful. + </p> + <p> + No. 6. Large silver coin. Circular. Inscription, "One Dollar." +United + States of America. Very valuable. + </p> + <p> + No. 7. Ancient British copper coin. Probably time of Caractacus. +Very dim. + Inscription, "Victoria Dei gratia regina." Very valuable. + </p> + <p> + No. 8. Silver coin. Evidently French. Inscription, "Funf Mark. +Kaiser + Wilhelm." + </p> + <p> + No. 9. Circular silver coin. Very much defaced. Part of +inscription, "E + Pluribus Unum." Probably a Russian rouble, but quite as likely to +be a + Japanese yen or a Shanghai rooster. + </p> + <p> + That's as far as that collection got. It lasted through most of +the winter + and I was getting quite proud of it, but I took the coins down +town one + evening to show to a friend and we spent No. 3, No. 4, No. 5, No. +6, and + No. 7 in buying a little dinner for two. After dinner I bought a +yen's + worth of cigars and traded the relic of Caligula for as many hot +Scotches + as they cared to advance on it. After that I felt reckless and +put No. 2 + and No. 8 into a Children's Hospital poor box. + </p> + <p> + I tried fossils next. I got two in ten years. Then I quit. + </p> + <p> + A friend of mine once showed me a very fine collection of ancient +and + curious weapons, and for a time I was full of that idea. I +gathered + several interesting specimens, such as: + </p> + <p> + No. 1. Old flint-lock musket, used by my grandfather. (He used it +on the + farm for years as a crowbar.) + </p> + <p> + No. 2. Old raw-hide strap, used by my father. + </p> + <p> + No. 3. Ancient Indian arrowhead, found by myself the very day +after I + began collecting. It resembles a three-cornered stone. + </p> + <p> + No. 4. Ancient Indian bow, found by myself behind a sawmill on +the second + day of collecting. It resembles a straight stick of elm or oak. +It is + interesting to think that this very weapon may have figured in +some fierce + scene of savage warfare. + </p> + <p> + No. 5. Cannibal poniard or straight-handled dagger of the South +Sea + Islands. It will give the reader almost a thrill of horror to +learn that + this atrocious weapon, which I bought myself on the third day of + collecting, was actually exposed in a second-hand store as a +family + carving-knife. In gazing at it one cannot refrain from conjuring +up the + awful scenes it must have witnessed. + </p> + <p> + I kept this collection for quite a long while until, in a moment +of + infatuation, I presented it to a young lady as a betrothal +present. The + gift proved too ostentatious and our relations subsequently +ceased to be + cordial. + </p> + <p> + On the whole I am inclined to recommend the beginner to confine +himself to + collecting coins. At present I am myself making a collection of +American + bills (time of Taft preferred), a pursuit I find most absorbing. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Society Chit-Chat</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <h3> + AS IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN + </h3> + <p> + I notice that it is customary for the daily papers to publish a +column or + so of society gossip. They generally head it "Chit-Chat," or "On +Dit," or + "Le Boudoir," or something of the sort, and they keep it pretty +full of + French terms to give it the proper sort of swing. These columns +may be + very interesting in their way, but it always seems to me that +they don't + get hold of quite the right things to tell us about. They are +very fond, + for instance, of giving an account of the delightful dance at +Mrs. De + Smythe's—at which Mrs. De Smythe looked charming in a gown +of old + tulle with a stomacher of passementerie—or of the +dinner-party at + Mr. Alonzo Robinson's residence, or the smart pink tea given by +Miss + Carlotta Jones. No, that's all right, but it's not the kind of +thing we + want to get at; those are not the events which happen in our +neighbours' + houses that we really want to hear about. It is the quiet little +family + scenes, the little traits of home-life that—well, for +example, take + the case of that delightful party at the De Smythes. I am certain +that all + those who were present would much prefer a little paragraph like +the + following, which would give them some idea of the home-life of +the De + Smythes on the morning after the party. + </p> + <h3> + DÉJEUNER DE LUXE AT THE DE SMYTHE RESIDENCE + </h3> + <p> + On Wednesday morning last at 7.15 a.m. a charming little +breakfast was + served at the home of Mr. De Smythe. The <i>déjeuner</i> was +given in +honour of + Mr. De Smythe and his two sons, Master Adolphus and Master Blinks +De + Smythe, who were about to leave for their daily <i>travail</i> at +their +wholesale + <i>Bureau de Flour et de Feed</i>. All the gentlemen were very +quietly +dressed in + their <i>habits de work</i>. Miss Melinda De Smythe poured out +tea, the + <i>domestique</i> having <i>refusé</i> to get up so early after +the <i>partie</i> of +the night + before. The menu was very handsome, consisting of eggs and bacon, + <i>demi-froid</i>, and ice-cream. The conversation was sustained +and +lively. Mr. + De Smythe sustained it and made it lively for his daughter and his + <i>garçons</i>. In the course of the talk Mr. De Smythe stated +that the +next time + he allowed the young people to turn his <i>maison</i> topsy-turvy +he +would see + them in <i>enfer</i>. He wished to know if they were aware that +some ass +of the + evening before had broken a pane of coloured glass in the hall +that would + cost him four dollars. Did they think he was made of +<i>argent</i>. If +so, they + never made a bigger mistake in their <i>vie</i>. The meal closed +with +general + expressions of good-feeling. A little bird has whispered to us +that there + will be no more parties at the De Smythes' <i>pour long-temps</i>. + </p> + <p> + Here is another little paragraph that would be of general +interest in + society. + </p> + <h3> + DINER DE FAMEEL AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE DE MCFIGGIN + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday evening at half after six a pleasant little +<i>diner</i> was +given by + Madame McFiggin of Rock Street, to her boarders. The <i>salle à +manger</i> was + very prettily decorated with texts, and the furniture upholstered +with + <i>cheveux de horse</i>, <i>Louis Quinze</i>. The boarders were +all very quietly + dressed: Mrs. McFiggin was daintily attired in some old clinging +stuff + with a <i>corsage de Whalebone</i> underneath. The ample board +groaned +under the + bill of fare. The boarders groaned also. Their groaning was very + noticeable. The <i>pièce de resistance</i> was a <i>hunko de +bœuf boilé</i>, +flanked + with some old clinging stuff. The <i>entrées</i> were <i>pâté de +pumpkin</i>, +followed + by <i>fromage McFiggin</i>, served under glass. Towards the end +of the +first + course, speeches became the order of the day. Mrs. McFiggin was +the first + speaker. In commencing, she expressed her surprise that so few of +the + gentlemen seemed to care for the <i>hunko de bœuf</i>; her own +mind, +she said, + had hesitated between <i>hunko de bœuf boilé</i> and a pair of +roast +chickens + (sensation). She had finally decided in favour of the <i>hunko de +bœuf</i> (no + sensation). She referred at some length to the late Mr. McFiggin, +who had + always shown a marked preference for <i>hunko de bœuf</i>. +Several other + speakers followed. All spoke forcibly and to the point. The last +to speak + was the Reverend Mr. Whiner. The reverend gentleman, in rising, +said that + he confided himself and his fellow-boarders to the special +interference of + providence. For what they had eaten, he said, he hoped that +Providence + would make them truly thankful. At the close of the <i>Repas</i> +several +of the + boarders expressed their intention of going down the street to a + <i>restourong</i> to get <i>quelque chose à manger</i>. + </p> + <p> + Here is another example. How interesting it would be to get a +detailed + account of that little affair at the Robinsons', of which the +neighbours + only heard indirectly! Thus: + </p> + <h3> + DELIGHTFUL EVENING AT THE RESIDENCE OF MR. ALONZO ROBINSON + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday the family of Mr. Alonzo Robinson spent a very lively +evening at + their home on ——th Avenue. The occasion was the +seventeenth +birthday + of Master Alonzo Robinson, junior. It was the original intention +of Master + Alonzo Robinson to celebrate the day at home and invite a few of +<i>les + garçons</i>. Mr. Robinson, senior, however, having declared that +he +would be + <i>damné</i> first, Master Alonzo spent the evening in visiting +the +salons of the + town, which he painted <i>rouge</i>. Mr. Robinson, senior, spent +the +evening at + home in quiet expectation of his son's return. He was very +becomingly + dressed in a <i>pantalon quatre vingt treize</i>, and had his +<i>whippe de +chien</i> + laid across his knee. Madame Robinson and the Mademoiselles +Robinson wore + black. The guest of the evening arrived at a late hour. He wore +his <i>habits + de spri</i>, and had about six <i>pouces</i> of <i>eau de vie</i> +in him. He was +evidently + full up to his <i>cou</i>. For some time after his arrival a very +lively +time was + spent. Mr. Robinson having at length broken the <i>whippe de +chien</i>, +the + family parted for the night with expressions of cordial goodwill. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Insurance up to Date</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + A man called on me the other day with the idea of insuring my +life. Now, I + detest life-insurance agents; they always argue that I shall some +day die, + which is not so. I have been insured a great many times, for +about a month + at a time, but have had no luck with it at all. + </p> + <p> + So I made up my mind that I would outwit this man at his own +game. I let + him talk straight ahead and encouraged him all I could, until he +finally + left me with a sheet of questions which I was to answer as an +applicant. + Now this was what I was waiting for; I had decided that, if that +company + wanted information about me, they should have it, and have the +very best + quality I could supply. So I spread the sheet of questions before +me, and + drew up a set of answers for them, which, I hoped, would settle +for ever + all doubts as to my eligibility for insurance. + </p> +<div class="qanda"> + <p> + Question.—What is your age?<br />Answer.—I can't +think. + </p> + <p> + Q.—What is your chest measurement?<br />A.—Nineteen +inches. + </p> + <p> + Q.—What is your chest expansion?<br />A.—Half an inch. + </p> + + <p>Q.—What is your height?<br />A.—Six feet five, if +erect, but less when + I walk on all fours.</p> + + <p> + Q.—Is your grandfather dead?<br />A.—Practically. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Cause of death, if dead?<br />A.—Dipsomania, if +dead. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Is your father dead?<br />A.—To the world. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Cause of death?<br />A.—Hydrophobia. + </p> + <p> + Q.—Place of father's residence?<br />A.—Kentucky. + </p> + +<p>Q.—What illness have you had?<br />A.—As a child, +consumption, leprosy, and water on + the knee. As a man, whooping-cough, stomach-ache, + and water on the brain.</p> + + <p> + Q.—Have you any brothers?<br />A.—Thirteen; all +nearly dead. + </p> + +<p> +Q.—Are you aware of any habits or tendencies which + might be expected to shorten your life?<br />A.—I am aware. I +drink, I smoke, I take morphine and + vaseline. I swallow grape seeds and I hate exercise.</p> +</div> + + <p> + I thought when I had come to the end of that list that I had made +a dead + sure thing of it, and I posted the paper with a cheque for three +months' + payment, feeling pretty confident of having the cheque sent back +to me. I + was a good deal surprised a few days later to receive the +following letter + from the company: + </p> + <p> + "DEAR SIR,—We beg to acknowledge your letter of application +and + cheque for fifteen dollars. After a careful comparison of your +case with + the average modern standard, we are pleased to accept you as a +first-class + risk." + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Borrowing a Match</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + You might think that borrowing a match upon the street is a +simple thing. + But any man who has ever tried it will assure you that it is not, +and will + be prepared to swear to the truth of my experience of the other +evening. + </p> + <p> + I was standing on the corner of the street with a cigar that I +wanted to + light. I had no match. I waited till a decent, ordinary-looking +man came + along. Then I said: + </p> + <p> + "Excuse me, sir, but could you oblige me with the loan of a +match?" + </p> + <p> + "A match?" he said, "why certainly." Then he unbuttoned his +overcoat and + put his hand in the pocket of his waistcoat. "I know I have one," +he went + on, "and I'd almost swear it's in the bottom pocket—or, +hold on, + though, I guess it may be in the top—just wait till I put +these + parcels down on the sidewalk." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, don't trouble," I said, "it's really of no consequence." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, it's no trouble, I'll have it in a minute; I know there must +be one + in here somewhere"—he was digging his fingers into his +pockets as he + spoke—"but you see this isn't the waistcoat I generally...." + </p> + <p> + I saw that the man was getting excited about it. "Well, never +mind," I + protested; "if that isn't the waistcoat that you +generally—why, it + doesn't matter." + </p> + <p> + "Hold on, now, hold on!" the man said, "I've got one of the +cursed things + in here somewhere. I guess it must be in with my watch. No, it's +not there + either. Wait till I try my coat. If that confounded tailor only +knew + enough to make a pocket so that a man could get at it!" + </p> + <p> + He was getting pretty well worked up now. He had thrown down his + walking-stick and was plunging at his pockets with his teeth set. +"It's + that cursed young boy of mine," he hissed; "this comes of his +fooling in + my pockets. By Gad! perhaps I won't warm him up when I get home. +Say, I'll + bet that it's in my hip-pocket. You just hold up the tail of my +overcoat a + second till I...." + </p> + <p> + "No, no," I protested again, "please don't take all this trouble, +it + really doesn't matter. I'm sure you needn't take off your +overcoat, and + oh, pray don't throw away your letters and things in the snow +like that, + and tear out your pockets by the roots! Please, please don't +trample over + your overcoat and put your feet through the parcels. I do hate to +hear you + swearing at your little boy, with that peculiar whine in your +voice. Don't—please + don't tear your clothes so savagely." + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the man gave a grunt of exultation, and drew his hand up +from + inside the lining of his coat. + </p> + <p> + "I've got it," he cried. "Here you are!" Then he brought it out +under the + light. + </p> + <p> + It was a toothpick. + </p> + <p> + Yielding to the impulse of the moment I pushed him under the +wheels of a + trolley-car, and ran. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> A Lesson in Fiction</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Suppose that in the opening pages of the modern melodramatic +novel you + find some such situation as the following, in which is depicted +the + terrific combat between Gaspard de Vaux, the boy lieutenant, and +Hairy + Hank, the chief of the Italian banditti: + </p> + <p> + "The inequality of the contest was apparent. With a mingled yell +of rage + and contempt, his sword brandished above his head and his dirk +between his + teeth, the enormous bandit rushed upon his intrepid opponent. De +Vaux + seemed scarce more than a stripling, but he stood his ground and +faced his + hitherto invincible assailant. 'Mong Dieu,' cried De Smythe, 'he +is + lost!'" + </p> + <p> + Question. On which of the parties to the above contest do you +honestly + feel inclined to put your money? + </p> + <p> + Answer. On De Vaux. He'll win. Hairy Hank will force him down to +one knee + and with a brutal cry of "Har! har!" will be about to dirk him, +when De + Vaux will make a sudden lunge (one he had learnt at home out of a +book of + lunges) and— + </p> + <p> + Very good. You have answered correctly. Now, suppose you find, a +little + later in the book, that the killing of Hairy Hank has compelled +De Vaux to + flee from his native land to the East. Are you not fearful for +his safety + in the desert? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Frankly, I am not. De Vaux is all right. His name is on +the title + page, and you can't kill him. + </p> + <p> + Question. Listen to this, then: "The sun of Ethiopia beat +fiercely upon + the desert as De Vaux, mounted upon his faithful elephant, +pursued his + lonely way. Seated in his lofty hoo-doo, his eye scoured the +waste. + Suddenly a solitary horseman appeared on the horizon, then +another, and + another, and then six. In a few moments a whole crowd of solitary +horsemen + swooped down upon him. There was a fierce shout of 'Allah!' a +rattle of + firearms. De Vaux sank from his hoo-doo on to the sands, while the + affrighted elephant dashed off in all directions. The bullet had +struck + him in the heart." + </p> + <p> + There now, what do you think of that? Isn't De Vaux killed now? + </p> + <p> + Answer. I am sorry. De Vaux is not dead. True, the ball had hit +him, oh + yes, it had hit him, but it had glanced off against a family +Bible, which + he carried in his waistcoat in case of illness, struck some hymns +that he + had in his hip-pocket, and, glancing off again, had flattened +itself + against De Vaux's diary of his life in the desert, which was in +his + knapsack. + </p> + <p> + Question. But even if this doesn't kill him, you must admit that +he is + near death when he is bitten in the jungle by the deadly dongola? + </p> + <p> + Answer. That's all right. A kindly Arab will take De Vaux to the +Sheik's + tent. + </p> + <p> + Question. What will De Vaux remind the Sheik of? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Too easy. Of his long-lost son, who disappeared years ago. + </p> + <p> + Question. Was this son Hairy Hank? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Of course he was. Anyone could see that, but the Sheik +never + suspects it, and heals De Vaux. He heals him with an herb, a +thing called + a simple, an amazingly simple, known only to the Sheik. Since +using this + herb, the Sheik has used no other. + </p> + <p> + Question. The Sheik will recognize an overcoat that De Vaux is +wearing, + and complications will arise in the matter of Hairy Hank +deceased. Will + this result in the death of the boy lieutenant? + </p> + <p> + Answer. No. By this time De Vaux has realized that the reader +knows he + won't die and resolves to quit the desert. The thought of his +mother keeps + recurring to him, and of his father, too, the grey, stooping old +man—does + he stoop still or has he stopped stooping? At times, too, there +comes the + thought of another, a fairer than his father; she whose—but +enough, + De Vaux returns to the old homestead in Piccadilly. + </p> + <p> + Question. When De Vaux returns to England, what will happen? + </p> + <p> + Answer. This will happen: "He who left England ten years before a +raw boy, + has returned a sunburnt soldierly man. But who is this that +advances + smilingly to meet him? Can the mere girl, the bright child that +shared his + hours of play, can she have grown into this peerless, graceful +girl, at + whose feet half the noble suitors of England are kneeling? 'Can +this be + her?' he asks himself in amazement." + </p> + <p> + Question. Is it her? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh, it's her all right. It is her, and it is him, and it +is them. + That girl hasn't waited fifty pages for nothing. + </p> + <p> + Question. You evidently guess that a love affair will ensue +between the + boy lieutenant and the peerless girl with the broad feet. Do you +imagine, + however, that its course will run smoothly and leave nothing to +record? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Not at all. I feel certain that the scene of the novel +having + edged itself around to London, the writer will not feel satisfied +unless + he introduces the following famous scene: + </p> + <p> + "Stunned by the cruel revelation which he had received, +unconscious of + whither his steps were taking him, Gaspard de Vaux wandered on in +the + darkness from street to street until he found himself upon London +Bridge. + He leaned over the parapet and looked down upon the whirling +stream below. + There was something in the still, swift rush of it that seemed to +beckon, + to allure him. After all, why not? What was life now that he +should prize + it? For a moment De Vaux paused irresolute." + </p> + <p> + Question. Will he throw himself in? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Well, say you don't know Gaspard. He will pause +irresolute up to + the limit, then, with a fierce struggle, will recall his courage +and + hasten from the Bridge. + </p> + <p> + Question. This struggle not to throw oneself in must be dreadfully + difficult? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh! dreadfully! Most of us are so frail we should jump in +at once. + But Gaspard has the knack of it. Besides he still has some of the +Sheik's + herb; he chews it. + </p> + <p> + Question. What has happened to De Vaux anyway? Is it anything he +has + eaten? + </p> + <p> + Answer. No, it is nothing that he has eaten. It's about her. The +blow has + come. She has no use for sunburn, doesn't care for tan; she is +going to + marry a duke and the boy lieutenant is no longer in it. The real +trouble + is that the modern novelist has got beyond the happy-marriage +mode of + ending. He wants tragedy and a blighted life to wind up with. + </p> + <p> + Question. How will the book conclude? + </p> + <p> + Answer. Oh, De Vaux will go back to the desert, fall upon the +Sheik's + neck, and swear to be a second Hairy Hank to him. There will be a +final + panorama of the desert, the Sheik and his newly found son at the +door of + the tent, the sun setting behind a pyramid, and De Vaux's faithful + elephant crouched at his feet and gazing up at him with dumb +affection. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Helping the Armenians</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + The financial affairs of the parish church up at Doogalville have +been + getting rather into a tangle in the last six months. The people +of the + church were specially anxious to do something toward the general +public + subscription of the town on behalf of the unhappy Armenians, and +to that + purpose they determined to devote the collections taken up at a +series of + special evening services. To give the right sort of swing to the +services + and to stimulate generous giving, they put a new pipe organ into +the + church. In order to make a preliminary payment on the organ, it +was + decided to raise a mortgage on the parsonage. + </p> + <p> + To pay the interest on the mortgage, the choir of the church got +up a + sacred concert in the town hall. + </p> + <p> + To pay for the town hall, the Willing Workers' Guild held a +social in the + Sunday school. To pay the expenses of the social, the rector +delivered a + public lecture on "Italy and Her Past," illustrated by a magic +lantern. To + pay for the magic lantern, the curate and the ladies of the +church got up + some amateur theatricals. + </p> + <p> + Finally, to pay for the costumes for the theatricals, the rector +felt it + his duty to dispense with the curate. + </p> + <p> + So that is where the church stands just at present. What they +chiefly want + to do, is to raise enough money to buy a suitable gold watch as a + testimonial to the curate. After that they hope to be able to do +something + for the Armenians. Meantime, of course, the Armenians, the ones +right + there in the town, are getting very troublesome. To begin with, +there is + the Armenian who rented the costumes for the theatricals: he has +to be + squared. Then there is the Armenian organ dealer, and the +Armenian who + owned the magic lantern. They want relief badly. + </p> + <p> + The most urgent case is that of the Armenian who holds the +mortgage on the + parsonage; indeed it is generally felt in the congregation, when +the + rector makes his impassioned appeals at the special services on +behalf of + the suffering cause, that it is to this man that he has special +reference. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile the general public subscription is not getting +along very + fast; but the proprietor of the big saloon further down the +street and the + man with the short cigar that runs the Doogalville Midway +Plaisance have + been most liberal in their contributions. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> A Study in Still Life.—The Country Hotel</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + The country hotel stands on the sunny side of Main Street. It has +three + entrances. + </p> + <p> + There is one in front which leads into the Bar. There is one at +the side + called the Ladies' Entrance which leads into the Bar from the +side. There + is also the Main Entrance which leads into the Bar through the +Rotunda. + </p> + <p> + The Rotunda is the space between the door of the bar-room and the + cigar-case. + </p> + <p> + In it is a desk and a book. In the book are written down the +names of the + guests, together with marks indicating the direction of the wind +and the + height of the barometer. It is here that the newly arrived guest +waits + until he has time to open the door leading to the Bar. + </p> + <p> + The bar-room forms the largest part of the hotel. It constitutes +the hotel + proper. To it are attached a series of bedrooms on the floor +above, many + of which contain beds. + </p> + <p> + The walls of the bar-room are perforated in all directions with + trap-doors. Through one of these drinks are passed into the back + sitting-room. Through others drinks are passed into the passages. +Drinks + are also passed through the floor and through the ceiling. Drinks +once + passed never return. The Proprietor stands in the doorway of the +bar. He + weighs two hundred pounds. His face is immovable as putty. He is +drunk. He + has been drunk for twelve years. It makes no difference to him. +Behind the + bar stands the Bar-tender. He wears wicker-sleeves, his hair is +curled in + a hook, and his name is Charlie. + </p> + <p> + Attached to the bar is a pneumatic beer-pump, by means of which +the + bar-tender can flood the bar with beer. Afterwards he wipes up +the beer + with a rag. By this means he polishes the bar. Some of the beer +that is + pumped up spills into glasses and has to be sold. + </p> + <p> + Behind the bar-tender is a mechanism called a cash-register, +which, on + being struck a powerful blow, rings a bell, sticks up a card +marked NO + SALE, and opens a till from which the bar-tender distributes +money. + </p> + <p> + There is printed a tariff of drinks and prices on the wall. + </p> + <p> + It reads thus: + </p> +<div class="list"> +<p class="indent1"> Beer . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent2"> Whisky. . . . . . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent1"> Whisky and Soda. . . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent2"> Beer and Soda . . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent1"> Whisky and Beer and Soda . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent2"> Whisky and Eggs . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent2"> Beer and Eggs . . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent3"> Champagne. . . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent3"> Cigars . . . . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +<p class="indent1"> Cigars, extra fine . . . . . 5 cents.</p> +</div> + + <p> + All calculations are made on this basis and are worked out to +three places + of decimals. Every seventh drink is on the house and is not +followed by a + distribution of money. + </p> + <p> + The bar-room closes at midnight, provided there are enough people +in it. + If there is not a quorum the proprietor waits for a better +chance. A + careful closing of the bar will often catch as many as +twenty-five people. + The bar is not opened again till seven o'clock in the morning; +after that + the people may go home. There are also, nowadays, Local Option +Hotels. + These contain only one entrance, leading directly into the bar. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> An Experiment With Policeman Hogan</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Mr. Scalper sits writing in the reporters' room of The Daily +Eclipse. The + paper has gone to press and he is alone; a wayward talented +gentleman, + this Mr. Scalper, and employed by The Eclipse as a delineator of +character + from handwriting. Any subscriber who forwards a specimen of his + handwriting is treated to a prompt analysis of his character from +Mr. + Scalper's facile pen. The literary genius has a little pile of + correspondence beside him, and is engaged in the practice of his +art. + Outside the night is dark and rainy. The clock on the City Hall +marks the + hour of two. In front of the newspaper office Policeman Hogan +walks + drearily up and down his beat. The damp misery of Hogan is +intense. A + belated gentleman in clerical attire, returning home from a bed of + sickness, gives him a side-look of timid pity and shivers past. +Hogan + follows the retreating figure with his eye; then draws forth a +notebook + and sits down on the steps of The Eclipse building to write in +the light + of the gas lamp. Gentlemen of nocturnal habits have often +wondered what it + is that Policeman Hogan and his brethren write in their little +books. Here + are the words that are fashioned by the big fist of the policeman: + </p> + <p> + "Two o'clock. All is well. There is a light in Mr. Scalper's room +above. + The night is very wet and I am unhappy and cannot sleep—my +fourth + night of insomnia. Suspicious-looking individual just passed. +Alas, how + melancholy is my life! Will the dawn never break! Oh, moist, +moist stone." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper up above is writing too, writing with the careless +fluency of + a man who draws his pay by the column. He is delineating with +skill and + rapidity. The reporters' room is gloomy and desolate. Mr. Scalper +is a man + of sensitive temperament and the dreariness of his surroundings +depresses + him. He opens the letter of a correspondent, examines the +handwriting + narrowly, casts his eye around the room for inspiration, and +proceeds to + delineate: + </p> + <p> + "G.H. You have an unhappy, despondent nature; your circumstances +oppress + you, and your life is filled with an infinite sadness. You feel +that you + are without hope—" + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper pauses, takes another look around the room, and +finally lets + his eye rest for some time upon a tall black bottle that stands +on the + shelf of an open cupboard. Then he goes on: + </p> + <p> + "—and you have lost all belief in Christianity and a future +world + and human virtue. You are very weak against temptation, but there +is an + ugly vein of determination in your character, when you make up +your mind + that you are going to have a thing—" + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Scalper stops abruptly, pushes back his chair, and +dashes across + the room to the cupboard. He takes the black bottle from the +shelf, + applies it to his lips, and remains for some time motionless. He +then + returns to finish the delineation of G.H. with the hurried words: + </p> + <p> + "On the whole I recommend you to persevere; you are doing very +well." Mr. + Scalper's next proceeding is peculiar. He takes from the cupboard +a roll + of twine, about fifty feet in length, and attaches one end of it +to the + neck of the bottle. Going then to one of the windows, he opens +it, leans + out, and whistles softly. The alert ear of Policeman Hogan on the +pavement + below catches the sound, and he returns it. The bottle is lowered +to the + end of the string, the guardian of the peace applies it to his +gullet, and + for some time the policeman and the man of letters remain +attached by a + cord of sympathy. Gentlemen who lead the variegated life of Mr. +Scalper + find it well to propitiate the arm of the law, and attachments of +this + sort are not uncommon. Mr. Scalper hauls up the bottle, closes +the window, + and returns to his task; the policeman resumes his walk with a +glow of + internal satisfaction. A glance at the City Hall clock causes him +to enter + another note in his book. + </p> + <p> + "Half-past two. All is better. The weather is milder with a +feeling of + young summer in the air. Two lights in Mr. Scalper's room. +Nothing has + occurred which need be brought to the notice of the roundsman." + </p> + <p> + Things are going better upstairs too. The delineator opens a +second + envelope, surveys the writing of the correspondent with a +critical yet + charitable eye, and writes with more complacency. + </p> + <p> + "William H. Your writing shows a disposition which, though +naturally + melancholy, is capable of a temporary cheerfulness. You have known + misfortune but have made up your mind to look on the bright side +of + things. If you will allow me to say so, you indulge in liquor but +are + quite moderate in your use of it. Be assured that no harm ever +comes of + this moderate use. It enlivens the intellect, brightens the +faculties, and + stimulates the dormant fancy into a pleasurable activity. It is +only when + carried to excess—" + </p> + <p> + At this point the feelings of Mr. Scalper, who had been writing +very + rapidly, evidently become too much for him. He starts up from his +chair, + rushes two or three times around the room, and finally returns to +finish + the delineation thus: "it is only when carried to excess that this + moderation becomes pernicious." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper succumbs to the train of thought suggested and gives +an + illustration of how moderation to excess may be avoided, after +which he + lowers the bottle to Policeman Hogan with a cheery exchange of +greetings. + </p> + <p> + The half-hours pass on. The delineator is writing busily and +feels that he + is writing well. The characters of his correspondents lie bare to +his keen + eye and flow from his facile pen. From time to time he pauses and +appeals + to the source of his inspiration; his humanity prompts him to +extend the + inspiration to Policeman Hogan. The minion of the law walks his +beat with + a feeling of more than tranquillity. A solitary Chinaman, +returning home + late from his midnight laundry, scuttles past. The literary +instinct has + risen strong in Hogan from his connection with the man of genius +above + him, and the passage of the lone Chinee gives him occasion to +write in his + book: + </p> + <p> + "Four-thirty. Everything is simply great. There are four lights +in Mr. + Scalper's room. Mild, balmy weather with prospects of an +earthquake, which + may be held in check by walking with extreme caution. Two +Chinamen have + just passed—mandarins, I presume. Their walk was unsteady, +but their + faces so benign as to disarm suspicion." + </p> + <p> + Up in the office Mr. Scalper has reached the letter of a +correspondent + which appears to give him particular pleasure, for he delineates +the + character with a beaming smile of satisfaction. To the +unpractised eye the + writing resembles the prim, angular hand of an elderly spinster. +Mr. + Scalper, however, seems to think otherwise, for he writes: + </p> + <p> + "Aunt Dorothea. You have a merry, rollicking nature. At times you +are + seized with a wild, tumultuous hilarity to which you give ample +vent in + shouting and song. You are much addicted to profanity, and you +rightly + feel that this is part of your nature and you must not check it. +The world + is a very bright place to you, Aunt Dorothea. Write to me again +soon. Our + minds seem cast in the same mould." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper seems to think that he has not done full justice to +the + subject he is treating, for he proceeds to write a long private +letter to + Aunt Dorothea in addition to the printed delineation. As he +finishes the + City Hall clock points to five, and Policeman Hogan makes the +last entry + in his chronicle. Hogan has seated himself upon the steps of The +Eclipse + building for greater comfort and writes with a slow, leisurely +fist: + </p> + <p> + "The other hand of the clock points north and the second longest +points + south-east by south. I infer that it is five o'clock. The +electric lights + in Mr. Scalper's room defy the eye. The roundsman has passed and +examined + my notes of the night's occurrences. They are entirely +satisfactory, and + he is pleased with their literary form. The earthquake which I +apprehended + was reduced to a few minor oscillations which cannot reach me +where I sit—" + </p> + <p> + The lowering of the bottle interrupts Policeman Hogan. The long +letter to + Aunt Dorothea has cooled the ardour of Mr. Scalper. The generous +blush has + passed from his mind and he has been trying in vain to restore +it. To + afford Hogan a similar opportunity, he decides not to haul the +bottle up + immediately, but to leave it in his custody while he delineates a + character. The writing of this correspondent would seem to the + inexperienced eye to be that of a timid little maiden in her +teens. Mr. + Scalper is not to be deceived by appearances. He shakes his head + mournfully at the letter and writes: + </p> + <p> + "Little Emily. You have known great happiness, but it has passed. + Despondency has driven you to seek forgetfulness in drink. Your +writing + shows the worst phase of the liquor habit. I apprehend that you +will + shortly have delirium tremens. Poor little Emily! Do not try to +break off; + it is too late." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scalper is visibly affected by his correspondent's unhappy +condition. + His eye becomes moist, and he decides to haul up the bottle while +there is + still time to save Policeman Hogan from acquiring a taste for +liquor. He + is surprised and alarmed to find the attempt to haul it up +ineffectual. + The minion of the law has fallen into a leaden slumber, and the +bottle + remains tight in his grasp. The baffled delineator lets fall the +string + and returns to finish his task. Only a few lines are now required +to fill + the column, but Mr. Scalper finds on examining the correspondence +that he + has exhausted the subjects. This, however, is quite a common +occurrence + and occasions no dilemma in the mind of the talented gentleman. +It is his + custom in such cases to fill up the space with an imaginary +character or + two, the analysis of which is a task most congenial to his mind. +He bows + his head in thought for a few moments, and then writes as follows: + </p> + <p> + "Policeman H. Your hand shows great firmness; when once set upon +a thing + you are not easily moved. But you have a mean, grasping +disposition and a + tendency to want more than your share. You have formed an +attachment which + you hope will be continued throughout life, but your selfishness +threatens + to sever the bond." + </p> + <p> + Having written which, Mr. Scalper arranges his manuscript for the +printer + next day, dons his hat and coat, and wends his way home in the +morning + twilight, feeling that his pay is earned. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> The Passing of the Poet</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Studies in what may be termed collective psychology are +essentially in + keeping with the spirit of the present century. The examination +of the + mental tendencies, the intellectual habits which we display not as + individuals, but as members of a race, community, or crowd, is +offering a + fruitful field of speculation as yet but little exploited. One +may, + therefore, not without profit, pass in review the relation of the +poetic + instinct to the intellectual development of the present era. + </p> + <p> + Not the least noticeable feature in the psychological evolution +of our + time is the rapid disappearance of poetry. The art of writing +poetry, or + perhaps more fairly, the habit of writing poetry, is passing from +us. The + poet is destined to become extinct. + </p> + <p> + To a reader of trained intellect the initial difficulty at once +suggests + itself as to what is meant by poetry. But it is needless to +quibble at a + definition of the term. It may be designated, simply and fairly, +as the + art of expressing a simple truth in a concealed form of words, +any number + of which, at intervals greater or less, may or may not rhyme. + </p> + <p> + The poet, it must be said, is as old as civilization. The Greeks +had him + with them, stamping out his iambics with the sole of his foot. +The Romans, + too, knew him—endlessly juggling his syllables together, +long and + short, short and long, to make hexameters. This can now be done by + electricity, but the Romans did not know it. + </p> + <p> + But it is not my present purpose to speak of the poets of an +earlier and + ruder time. For the subject before us it is enough to set our age +in + comparison with the era that preceded it. We have but to contrast + ourselves with our early Victorian grandfathers to realize the +profound + revolution that has taken place in public feeling. It is only +with an + effort that the practical common sense of the twentieth century +can + realize the excessive sentimentality of the earlier generation. + </p> + <p> + In those days poetry stood in high and universal esteem. Parents +read + poetry to their children. Children recited poetry to their +parents. And he + was a dullard, indeed, who did not at least profess, in his hours +of + idleness, to pour spontaneous rhythm from his flowing quill. + </p> + <p> + Should one gather statistics of the enormous production of poetry +some + sixty or seventy years ago, they would scarcely appear credible. +Journals + and magazines teemed with it. Editors openly countenanced it. +Even the + daily press affected it. Love sighed in home-made stanzas. +Patriotism + rhapsodized on the hustings, or cited rolling hexameters to an +enraptured + legislature. Even melancholy death courted his everlasting sleep +in + elegant elegiacs. + </p> + <p> + In that era, indeed, I know not how, polite society was haunted +by the + obstinate fiction that it was the duty of a man of parts to +express + himself from time to time in verse. Any special occasion of +expansion or + exuberance, of depression, torsion, or introspection, was +sufficient to + call it forth. So we have poems of dejection, of reflection, of + deglutition, of indigestion. + </p> + <p> + Any particular psychological disturbance was enough to provoke an +excess + of poetry. The character and manner of the verse might vary with +the + predisposing cause. A gentleman who had dined too freely might +disexpand + himself in a short fit of lyric doggerel in which "bowl" and +"soul" were + freely rhymed. The morning's indigestion inspired a long-drawn +elegiac, + with "bier" and "tear," "mortal" and "portal" linked in sonorous +sadness. + The man of politics, from time to time, grateful to an +appreciative + country, sang back to it, "Ho, Albion, rising from the brine!" in +verse + whose intention at least was meritorious. + </p> + <p> + And yet it was but a fiction, a purely fictitious obligation, +self-imposed + by a sentimental society. In plain truth, poetry came no more +easily or + naturally to the early Victorian than to you or me. The lover +twanged his + obdurate harp in vain for hours for the rhymes that would not +come, and + the man of politics hammered at his heavy hexameter long indeed +before his + Albion was finally "hoed" into shape; while the beer-besotted +convivialist + cudgelled his poor wits cold sober in rhyming the light little + bottle-ditty that should have sprung like Aphrodite from the +froth of the + champagne. + </p> + <p> + I have before me a pathetic witness of this fact. It is the +note-book once + used for the random jottings of a gentleman of the period. In it +I read: + "Fair Lydia, if my earthly harp." This is crossed out, and below +it + appears, "Fair Lydia, COULD my earthly harp." This again is +erased, and + under it appears, "Fair Lydia, SHOULD my earthly harp." This +again is + struck out with a despairing stroke, and amended to read: "Fair +Lydia, DID + my earthly harp." So that finally, when the lines appeared in the + Gentleman's Magazine (1845) in their ultimate shape—"Fair +Edith, + when with fluent pen," etc., etc.—one can realize from what +a + desperate congelation the fluent pen had been so perseveringly +rescued. + </p> + <p> + There can be little doubt of the deleterious effect occasioned +both to + public and private morals by this deliberate exaltation of mental + susceptibility on the part of the early Victorian. In many cases +we can + detect the evidences of incipient paresis. The undue access of +emotion + frequently assumed a pathological character. The sight of a +daisy, of a + withered leaf or an upturned sod, seemed to disturb the poet's +mental + equipoise. Spring unnerved him. The lambs distressed him. The +flowers made + him cry. The daffodils made him laugh. Day dazzled him. Night +frightened + him. + </p> + <p> + This exalted mood, combined with the man's culpable ignorance of +the + plainest principles of physical science, made him see something +out of the + ordinary in the flight of a waterfowl or the song of a skylark. He + complained that he could HEAR it, but not SEE it—a +phenomenon too + familiar to the scientific observer to occasion any comment. + </p> + <p> + In such a state of mind the most inconsequential inferences were +drawn. + One said that the brightness of the dawn—a fact easily +explained by + the diurnal motion of the globe—showed him that his soul was + immortal. He asserted further that he had, at an earlier period +of his + life, trailed bright clouds behind him. This was absurd. + </p> + <p> + With the disturbance thus set up in the nervous system were +coupled, in + many instances, mental aberrations, particularly in regard to +pecuniary + matters. "Give me not silk, nor rich attire," pleaded one poet of +the + period to the British public, "nor gold nor jewels rare." Here +was an + evident hallucination that the writer was to become the recipient +of an + enormous secret subscription. Indeed, the earnest desire NOT to +be given + gold was a recurrent characteristic of the poetic temperament. The + repugnance to accept even a handful of gold was generally +accompanied by a + desire for a draught of pure water or a night's rest. + </p> + <p> + It is pleasing to turn from this excessive sentimentality of +thought and + speech to the practical and concise diction of our time. We have +learned + to express ourselves with equal force, but greater simplicity. To + illustrate this I have gathered from the poets of the earlier +generation + and from the prose writers of to-day parallel passages that may +be fairly + set in contrast. Here, for example, is a passage from the poet +Grey, still + familiar to scholars: + </p> +<div class="peotry"> +<p class="peotry"> "Can storied urn or animated bust</p> +<p class="peotry"> Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?</p> +<p class="peotry"> Can honour's voice invoke the silent dust</p> +<p class="peotry"> Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?"</p> +</div> + <p> + Precisely similar in thought, though different in form, is the +more modern + presentation found in Huxley's Physiology: + </p> + <p> + "Whether after the moment of death the ventricles of the heart +can be + again set in movement by the artificial stimulus of oxygen, is a +question + to which we must impose a decided negative." + </p> + <p> + How much simpler, and yet how far superior to Grey's elaborate + phraseology! Huxley has here seized the central point of the +poet's + thought, and expressed it with the dignity and precision of exact +science. + </p> + <p> + I cannot refrain, even at the risk of needless iteration, from +quoting a + further example. It is taken from the poet Burns. The original +dialect + being written in inverted hiccoughs, is rather difficult to +reproduce. It + describes the scene attendant upon the return of a cottage +labourer to his + home on Saturday night: + </p> +<div class="peotry"> +<p class="peotry"> "The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face</p> +<p class="peotry"> They round the ingle form in a circle wide;</p> +<p class="peotry"> The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,</p> +<p class="peotry"> The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride:</p> +<p class="peotry"> His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,</p> +<p class="peotry"> His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare:</p> +<p class="peotry"> Those strains that once did sweet in Zion +glide,</p> +<p class="peotry"> He wales a portion wi' judeecious care."</p> +</div> + <p> + Now I find almost the same scene described in more apt +phraseology in the + police news of the Dumfries Chronicle (October 3, 1909), thus: +"It appears + that the prisoner had returned to his domicile at the usual hour, +and, + after partaking of a hearty meal, had seated himself on his oaken +settle, + for the ostensible purpose of reading the Bible. It was while so +occupied + that his arrest was effected." With the trifling exception that +Burns + omits all mention of the arrest, for which, however, the whole +tenor of + the poem gives ample warrant, the two accounts are almost +identical. + </p> + <p> + In all that I have thus said I do not wish to be misunderstood. +Believing, + as I firmly do, that the poet is destined to become extinct, I am +not one + of those who would accelerate his extinction. The time has not +yet come + for remedial legislation, or the application of the criminal law. +Even in + obstinate cases where pronounced delusions in reference to plants, + animals, and natural phenomena are seen to exist, it is better +that we + should do nothing that might occasion a mistaken remorse. The +inevitable + natural evolution which is thus shaping the mould of human +thought may + safely be left to its own course. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Self-made Men</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + They were both what we commonly call successful business +men—men + with well-fed faces, heavy signet rings on fingers like sausages, +and + broad, comfortable waistcoats, a yard and a half round the +equator. They + were seated opposite each other at a table of a first-class +restaurant, + and had fallen into conversation while waiting to give their +order to the + waiter. Their talk had drifted back to their early days and how +each had + made his start in life when he first struck New York. + </p> + <p> + "I tell you what, Jones," one of them was saying, "I shall never +forget my + first few years in this town. By George, it was pretty uphill +work! Do you + know, sir, when I first struck this place, I hadn't more than +fifteen + cents to my name, hadn't a rag except what I stood up in, and all +the + place I had to sleep in—you won't believe it, but it's a +gospel fact + just the same—was an empty tar barrel. No, sir," he went +on, leaning + back and closing up his eyes into an expression of infinite +experience, + "no, sir, a fellow accustomed to luxury like you has simply no +idea what + sleeping out in a tar barrel and all that kind of thing is like." + </p> + <p> + "My dear Robinson," the other man rejoined briskly, "if you +imagine I've + had no experience of hardship of that sort, you never made a +bigger + mistake in your life. Why, when I first walked into this town I +hadn't a + cent, sir, not a cent, and as for lodging, all the place I had +for months + and months was an old piano box up a lane, behind a factory. Talk +about + hardship, I guess I had it pretty rough! You take a fellow that's +used to + a good warm tar barrel and put him into a piano box for a night +or two, + and you'll see mighty soon—" + </p> + <p> + "My dear fellow," Robinson broke in with some irritation, "you +merely show + that you don't know what a tar barrel's like. Why, on winter +nights, when + you'd be shut in there in your piano box just as snug as you +please, I + used to lie awake shivering, with the draught fairly running in +at the + bunghole at the back." + </p> + <p> + "Draught!" sneered the other man, with a provoking laugh, +"draught! Don't + talk to me about draughts. This box I speak of had a whole darned +plank + off it, right on the north side too. I used to sit there studying +in the + evenings, and the snow would blow in a foot deep. And yet, sir," +he + continued more quietly, "though I know you'll not believe it, I +don't mind + admitting that some of the happiest days of my life were spent in +that + same old box. Ah, those were good old times! Bright, innocent +days, I can + tell you. I'd wake up there in the mornings and fairly shout with +high + spirits. Of course, you may not be able to stand that kind of +life—" + </p> + <p> + "Not stand it!" cried Robinson fiercely; "me not stand it! By +gad! I'm + made for it. I just wish I had a taste of the old life again for +a while. + And as for innocence! Well, I'll bet you you weren't one-tenth as +innocent + as I was; no, nor one-fifth, nor one-third! What a grand old life +it was! + You'll swear this is a darned lie and refuse to believe +it—but I can + remember evenings when I'd have two or three fellows in, and we'd +sit + round and play pedro by a candle half the night." + </p> + <p> + "Two or three!" laughed Jones; "why, my dear fellow, I've known +half a + dozen of us to sit down to supper in my piano box, and have a +game of + pedro afterwards; yes, and charades and forfeits, and every other +darned + thing. Mighty good suppers they were too! By Jove, Robinson, you +fellows + round this town who have ruined your digestions with high living, +have no + notion of the zest with which a man can sit down to a few potato +peelings, + or a bit of broken pie crust, or—" + </p> + <p> + "Talk about hard food," interrupted the other, "I guess I know +all about + that. Many's the time I've breakfasted off a little cold porridge +that + somebody was going to throw away from a back-door, or that I've +gone round + to a livery stable and begged a little bran mash that they +intended for + the pigs. I'll venture to say I've eaten more hog's food—" + </p> + <p> + "Hog's food!" shouted Robinson, striking his fist savagely on the +table, + "I tell you hog's food suits me better than—" + </p> + <p> + He stopped speaking with a sudden grunt of surprise as the waiter +appeared + with the question: + </p> + <p> + "What may I bring you for dinner, gentlemen?" + </p> + <p> + "Dinner!" said Jones, after a moment of silence, "dinner! Oh, +anything, + nothing—I never care what I eat—give me a little cold + porridge, if you've got it, or a chunk of salt +pork—anything you + like, it's all the same to me." + </p> + <p> + The waiter turned with an impassive face to Robinson. + </p> + <p> + "You can bring me some of that cold porridge too," he said, with +a defiant + look at Jones; "yesterday's, if you have it, and a few potato +peelings and + a glass of skim milk." + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Jones sat back in his chair and looked hard +across at + Robinson. For some moments the two men gazed into each other's +eyes with a + stern, defiant intensity. Then Robinson turned slowly round in +his seat + and beckoned to the waiter, who was moving off with the muttered +order on + his lips. + </p> + <p> + "Here, waiter," he said with a savage scowl, "I guess I'll change +that + order a little. Instead of that cold porridge I'll take—um, +yes—a + little hot partridge. And you might as well bring me an oyster or +two on + the half shell, and a mouthful of soup (mock-turtle, consomme, +anything), + and perhaps you might fetch along a dab of fish, and a little +peck of + Stilton, and a grape, or a walnut." + </p> + <p> + The waiter turned to Jones. + </p> + <p> + "I guess I'll take the same," he said simply, and added; "and you +might + bring a quart of champagne at the same time." + </p> + <p> + And nowadays, when Jones and Robinson meet, the memory of the tar +barrel + and the piano box is buried as far out of sight as a home for the +blind + under a landslide. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> A Model Dialogue</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + In which is shown how the drawing-room juggler may be permanently +cured of + his card trick. + </p> + <p> + The drawing-room juggler, having slyly got hold of the pack of +cards at + the end of the game of whist, says: + </p> + <p> + "Ever see any card tricks? Here's rather a good one; pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, I don't want a card." + </p> + <p> + "No, but just pick one, any one you like, and I'll tell which one +you + pick." + </p> + <p> + "You'll tell who?" + </p> + <p> + "No, no; I mean, I'll know which it is don't you see? Go on now, +pick a + card." + </p> + <p> + "Any one I like?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Any colour at all?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, yes." + </p> + <p> + "Any suit?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes; do go on." + </p> + <p> + "Well, let me see, I'll—pick—the—ace of spades." + </p> + <p> + "Great Caesar! I mean you are to pull a card out of the pack." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, to pull it out of the pack! Now I understand. Hand me the +pack. All + right—I've got it." + </p> + <p> + "Have you picked one?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it's the three of hearts. Did you know it?" + </p> + <p> + "Hang it! Don't tell me like that. You spoil the thing. Here, try +again. + Pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "All right, I've got it." + </p> + <p> + "Put it back in the pack. Thanks. (Shuffle, shuffle, +shuffle—flip)—There, + is that it?" (triumphantly). + </p> + <p> + "I don't know. I lost sight of it." + </p> + <p> + "Lost sight of it! Confound it, you have to look at it and see +what it + is." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you want me to look at the front of it!" + </p> + <p> + "Why, of course! Now then, pick a card." + </p> + <p> + "All right. I've picked it. Go ahead." (Shuffle, shuffle, +shuffle—flip.) + </p> + <p> + "Say, confound you, did you put that card back in the pack?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, no. I kept it." + </p> + <p> + "Holy Moses! Listen. Pick—a—card—just +one—look at + it—see what it is—then put it back—do you +understand?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, perfectly. Only I don't see how you are ever going to do it. +You must + be awfully clever." + </p> + <p> + (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip.) + </p> + <p> + "There you are; that's your card, now, isn't it?" (This is the +supreme + moment.) + </p> + <p> + "NO. THAT IS NOT MY CARD." (This is a flat lie, but Heaven will +pardon you + for it.) + </p> + <p> + "Not that card!!!! Say—just hold on a second. Here, now, +watch what + you're at this time. I can do this cursed thing, mind you, every +time. + I've done it on father, on mother, and on every one that's ever +come round + our place. Pick a card. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—flip, +bang.) + There, that's your card." + </p> + <p> + "NO. I AM SORRY. THAT IS NOT MY CARD. But won't you try it again? +Please + do. Perhaps you are a little excited—I'm afraid I was +rather stupid. + Won't you go and sit quietly by yourself on the back verandah for +half an + hour and then try? You have to go home? Oh, I'm so sorry. It must +be such + an awfully clever little trick. Good night!" + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Back to the Bush</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + I have a friend called Billy, who has the Bush Mania. By trade he +is a + doctor, but I do not think that he needs to sleep out of doors. In + ordinary things his mind appears sound. Over the tops of his +gold-rimmed + spectacles, as he bends forward to speak to you, there gleams +nothing but + amiability and kindliness. Like all the rest of us he is, or was +until he + forgot it all, an extremely well-educated man. + </p> + <p> + I am aware of no criminal strain in his blood. Yet Billy is in +reality + hopelessly unbalanced. He has the Mania of the Open Woods. + </p> + <p> + Worse than that, he is haunted with the desire to drag his +friends with + him into the depths of the Bush. + </p> + <p> + Whenever we meet he starts to talk about it. + </p> + <p> + Not long ago I met him in the club. + </p> + <p> + "I wish," he said, "you'd let me take you clear away up the +Gatineau." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I wish I would, I don't think," I murmured to myself, but I +humoured + him and said: + </p> + <p> + "How do we go, Billy, in a motor-car or by train?" + </p> + <p> + "No, we paddle." + </p> + <p> + "And is it up-stream all the way?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," Billy said enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + "And how many days do we paddle all day to get up?" + </p> + <p> + "Six." + </p> + <p> + "Couldn't we do it in less?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," Billy answered, feeling that I was entering into the +spirit of the + thing, "if we start each morning just before daylight and paddle +hard till + moonlight, we could do it in five days and a half." + </p> + <p> + "Glorious! and are there portages?" + </p> + <p> + "Lots of them." + </p> + <p> + "And at each of these do I carry two hundred pounds of stuff up a +hill on + my back?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "And will there be a guide, a genuine, dirty-looking Indian +guide?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "And can I sleep next to him?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes, if you want to." + </p> + <p> + "And when we get to the top, what is there?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, we go over the height of land." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, we do, do we? And is the height of land all rock and about +three + hundred yards up-hill? And do I carry a barrel of flour up it? +And does it + roll down and crush me on the other side? Look here, Billy, this +trip is a + great thing, but it is too luxurious for me. If you will have me +paddled + up the river in a large iron canoe with an awning, carried over +the + portages in a sedan-chair, taken across the height of land in a +palanquin + or a howdah, and lowered down the other side in a derrick, I'll +go. Short + of that, the thing would be too fattening." + </p> + <p> + Billy was discouraged and left me. But he has since returned +repeatedly to + the attack. + </p> + <p> + He offers to take me to the head-waters of the Batiscan. I am +content at + the foot. + </p> + <p> + He wants us to go to the sources of the Attahwapiscat. I don't. + </p> + <p> + He says I ought to see the grand chutes of the Kewakasis. Why +should I? + </p> + <p> + I have made Billy a counter-proposition that we strike through the + Adirondacks (in the train) to New York, from there portage to +Atlantic + City, then to Washington, carrying our own grub (in the +dining-car), camp + there a few days (at the Willard), and then back, I to return by +train and + Billy on foot with the outfit. + </p> + <p> + The thing is still unsettled. + </p> + <p> + Billy, of course, is only one of thousands that have got this +mania. And + the autumn is the time when it rages at its worst. + </p> + <p> + Every day there move northward trains, packed full of lawyers, +bankers, + and brokers, headed for the bush. They are dressed up to look like + pirates. They wear slouch hats, flannel shirts, and leather +breeches with + belts. They could afford much better clothes than these, but they +won't + use them. I don't know where they get these clothes. I think the +railroad + lends them out. They have guns between their knees and big knives +at their + hips. They smoke the worst tobacco they can find, and they carry +ten + gallons of alcohol per man in the baggage car. + </p> + <p> + In the intervals of telling lies to one another they read the +railroad + pamphlets about hunting. This kind of literature is deliberately +and + fiendishly contrived to infuriate their mania. I know all about +these + pamphlets because I write them. I once, for instance, wrote up, +from + imagination, a little place called Dog Lake at the end of a +branch line. + The place had failed as a settlement, and the railroad had +decided to turn + it into a hunting resort. I did the turning. I think I did it +rather well, + rechristening the lake and stocking the place with suitable +varieties of + game. The pamphlet ran like this. + </p> + <p> + "The limpid waters of Lake Owatawetness (the name, according to +the old + Indian legends of the place, signifies, The Mirror of the +Almighty) abound + with every known variety of fish. Near to its surface, so close +that the + angler may reach out his hand and stroke them, schools of pike, +pickerel, + mackerel, doggerel, and chickerel jostle one another in the +water. They + rise instantaneously to the bait and swim gratefully ashore +holding it in + their mouths. In the middle depth of the waters of the lake, the +sardine, + the lobster, the kippered herring, the anchovy and other tinned +varieties + of fish disport themselves with evident gratification, while even +lower in + the pellucid depths the dog-fish, the hog-fish, the log-fish, and +the + sword-fish whirl about in never-ending circles. + </p> + <p> + "Nor is Lake Owatawetness merely an Angler's Paradise. Vast +forests of + primeval pine slope to the very shores of the lake, to which +descend great + droves of bears—brown, green, and bear-coloured—while +as the + shades of evening fall, the air is loud with the lowing of moose, +cariboo, + antelope, cantelope, musk-oxes, musk-rats, and other graminivorous + mammalia of the forest. These enormous quadrumana generally move +off about + 10.30 p.m., from which hour until 11.45 p.m. the whole shore is +reserved + for bison and buffalo. + </p> + <p> + "After midnight hunters who so desire it can be chased through +the woods, + for any distance and at any speed they select, by jaguars, +panthers, + cougars, tigers, and jackals whose ferocity is reputed to be such +that + they will tear the breeches off a man with their teeth in their +eagerness + to sink their fangs in his palpitating flesh. Hunters, attention! +Do not + miss such attractions as these!" + </p> + <p> + I have seen men—quiet, reputable, well-shaved men— +reading + that pamphlet of mine in the rotundas of hotels, with their eyes +blazing + with excitement. I think it is the jaguar attraction that hits +them the + hardest, because I notice them rub themselves sympathetically +with their + hands while they read. + </p> + <p> + Of course, you can imagine the effect of this sort of literature +on the + brains of men fresh from their offices, and dressed out as +pirates. + </p> + <p> + They just go crazy and stay crazy. + </p> + <p> + Just watch them when they get into the bush. + </p> + <p> + Notice that well-to-do stockbroker crawling about on his stomach +in the + underbrush, with his spectacles shining like gig-lamps. What is +he doing? + He is after a cariboo that isn't there. He is "stalking" it. With +his + stomach. Of course, away down in his heart he knows that the +cariboo isn't + there and never was; but that man read my pamphlet and went +crazy. He + can't help it: he's GOT to stalk something. Mark him as he crawls +along; + see him crawl through a thimbleberry bush (very quietly so that +the + cariboo won't hear the noise of the prickles going into him), +then through + a bee's nest, gently and slowly, so that the cariboo will not +take fright + when the bees are stinging him. Sheer woodcraft! Yes, mark him. +Mark him + any way you like. Go up behind him and paint a blue cross on the +seat of + his pants as he crawls. He'll never notice. He thinks he's a +hunting dog. + Yet this is the man who laughs at his little son of ten for +crawling round + under the dining-room table with a mat over his shoulders, and +pretending + to be a bear. + </p> + <p> + Now see these other men in camp. + </p> + <p> + Someone has told them—I think I first started the idea in my + pamphlet—that the thing is to sleep on a pile of hemlock +branches. I + think I told them to listen to the wind sowing (you know the word +I mean), + sowing and crooning in the giant pines. So there they are +upside-down, + doubled up on a couch of green spikes that would have killed St. + Sebastian. They stare up at the sky with blood-shot, restless +eyes, + waiting for the crooning to begin. And there isn't a sow in sight. + </p> + <p> + Here is another man, ragged and with a six days' growth of beard, +frying a + piece of bacon on a stick over a little fire. Now what does he +think he + is? The CHEF of the Waldorf Astoria? Yes, he does, and what's +more he + thinks that that miserable bit of bacon, cut with a tobacco knife +from a + chunk of meat that lay six days in the rain, is fit to eat. +What's more, + he'll eat it. So will the rest. They're all crazy together. + </p> + <p> + There's another man, the Lord help him who thinks he has the +"knack" of + being a carpenter. He is hammering up shelves to a tree. Till the +shelves + fall down he thinks he is a wizard. Yet this is the same man who +swore at + his wife for asking him to put up a shelf in the back kitchen. +"How the + blazes," he asked, "could he nail the damn thing up? Did she +think he was + a plumber?" + </p> + <p> + After all, never mind. + </p> + <p> + Provided they are happy up there, let them stay. + </p> + <p> + Personally, I wouldn't mind if they didn't come back and lie +about it. + They get back to the city dead fagged for want of sleep, sogged +with + alcohol, bitten brown by the bush-flies, trampled on by the moose +and + chased through the brush by bears and skunks—and they have +the nerve + to say that they like it. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes I think they do. + </p> + <p> + Men are only animals anyway. They like to get out into the woods +and growl + round at night and feel something bite them. + </p> + <p> + Only why haven't they the imagination to be able to do the same +thing with + less fuss? Why not take their coats and collars off in the office +and + crawl round on the floor and growl at one another. It would be +just as + good. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Reflections on Riding</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + The writing of this paper has been inspired by a debate recently +held at + the literary society of my native town on the question, +"Resolved: that + the bicycle is a nobler animal than the horse." In order to speak +for the + negative with proper authority, I have spent some weeks in +completely + addicting myself to the use of the horse. I find that the +difference + between the horse and the bicycle is greater than I had supposed. + </p> + <p> + The horse is entirely covered with hair; the bicycle is not +entirely + covered with hair, except the '89 model they are using in Idaho. + </p> + <p> + In riding a horse the performer finds that the pedals in which he +puts his + feet will not allow of a good circular stroke. He will observe, +however, + that there is a saddle in which—especially while the horse +is + trotting—he is expected to seat himself from time to time. +But it is + simpler to ride standing up, with the feet in the pedals. + </p> + <p> + There are no handles to a horse, but the 1910 model has a string +to each + side of its face for turning its head when there is anything you +want it + to see. + </p> + <p> + Coasting on a good horse is superb, but should be under control. +I have + known a horse to suddenly begin to coast with me about two miles +from + home, coast down the main street of my native town at a terrific +rate, and + finally coast through a platoon of the Salvation Army into its +livery + stable. + </p> + <p> + I cannot honestly deny that it takes a good deal of physical +courage to + ride a horse. This, however, I have. I get it at about forty +cents a + flask, and take it as required. + </p> + <p> + I find that in riding a horse up the long street of a country +town, it is + not well to proceed at a trot. It excites unkindly comment. It is +better + to let the horse walk the whole distance. This may be made to +seem natural + by turning half round in the saddle with the hand on the horse's +back, and + gazing intently about two miles up the road. It then appears that +you are + the first in of about fourteen men. + </p> + <p> + Since learning to ride, I have taken to noticing the things that +people do + on horseback in books. Some of these I can manage, but most of +them are + entirely beyond me. Here, for instance, is a form of equestrian + performance that every reader will recognize and for which I have +only a + despairing admiration: + </p> + <p> + "With a hasty gesture of farewell, the rider set spurs to his +horse and + disappeared in a cloud of dust." + </p> + <p> + With a little practice in the matter of adjustment, I think I +could set + spurs to any size of horse, but I could never disappear in a +cloud of dust—at + least, not with any guarantee of remaining disappeared when the +dust + cleared away. + </p> + <p> + Here, however, is one that I certainly can do: + </p> + <p> + "The bridle-rein dropped from Lord Everard's listless hand, and, +with his + head bowed upon his bosom, he suffered his horse to move at a +foot's pace + up the sombre avenue. Deep in thought, he heeded not the movement +of the + steed which bore him." + </p> + <p> + That is, he looked as if he didn't; but in my case Lord Everard +has his + eye on the steed pretty closely, just the same. + </p> + <p> + This next I am doubtful about: + </p> + <p> + "To horse! to horse!" cried the knight, and leaped into the +saddle. + </p> + <p> + I think I could manage it if it read: + </p> + <p> + "To horse!" cried the knight, and, snatching a step-ladder from +the hands + of his trusty attendant, he rushed into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + As a concluding remark, I may mention that my experience of +riding has + thrown a very interesting sidelight upon a rather puzzling point +in + history. It is recorded of the famous Henry the Second that he +was "almost + constantly in the saddle, and of so restless a disposition that +he never + sat down, even at meals." I had hitherto been unable to +understand Henry's + idea about his meals, but I think I can appreciate it now. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Saloonio</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> <br /> + <p class="subhead"> A STUDY IN SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM</p> +</div> + <p> + They say that young men fresh from college are pretty positive +about what + they know. But from my own experience of life, I should say that +if you + take a comfortable, elderly man who hasn't been near a college +for about + twenty years, who has been pretty liberally fed and dined ever +since, who + measures about fifty inches around the circumference, and has a +complexion + like a cranberry by candlelight, you will find that there is a +degree of + absolute certainty about what he thinks he knows that will put +any young + man to shame. I am specially convinced of this from the case of +my friend + Colonel Hogshead, a portly, choleric gentleman who made a fortune +in the + cattle-trade out in Wyoming, and who, in his later days, has +acquired a + chronic idea that the plays of Shakespeare are the one subject +upon which + he is most qualified to speak personally. + </p> + <p> + He came across me the other evening as I was sitting by the fire +in the + club sitting-room looking over the leaves of The Merchant of +Venice, and + began to hold forth to me about the book. + </p> + <p> + "Merchant of Venice, eh? There's a play for you, sir! There's +genius! + Wonderful, sir, wonderful! You take the characters in that play +and where + will you find anything like them? You take Antonio, take +Sherlock, take + Saloonio—" + </p> + <p> + "Saloonio, Colonel?" I interposed mildly, "aren't you making a +mistake? + There's a Bassanio and a Salanio in the play, but I don't think +there's + any Saloonio, is there?" + </p> + <p> + For a moment Colonel Hogshead's eye became misty with doubt, but +he was + not the man to admit himself in error: + </p> + <p> + "Tut, tut! young man," he said with a frown, "don't skim through +your + books in that way. No Saloonio? Why, of course there's a +Saloonio!" + </p> + <p> + "But I tell you, Colonel," I rejoined, "I've just been reading +the play + and studying it, and I know there's no such character—" + </p> + <p> + "Nonsense, sir, nonsense!" said the Colonel, "why he comes in all +through; + don't tell me, young man, I've read that play myself. Yes, and +seen it + played, too, out in Wyoming, before you were born, by fellers, +sir, that + could act. No Saloonio, indeed! why, who is it that is Antonio's +friend + all through and won't leave him when Bassoonio turns against him? +Who + rescues Clarissa from Sherlock, and steals the casket of flesh +from the + Prince of Aragon? Who shouts at the Prince of Morocco, 'Out, out, +you + damned candlestick'? Who loads up the jury in the trial scene and +fixes + the doge? No Saloonio! By gad! in my opinion, he's the most +important + character in the play—" + </p> + <p> + "Colonel Hogshead," I said very firmly, "there isn't any Saloonio +and you + know it." + </p> + <p> + But the old man had got fairly started on whatever dim +recollection had + given birth to Saloonio; the character seemed to grow more and +more + luminous in the Colonel's mind, and he continued with increasing + animation: + </p> + <p> + "I'll just tell you what Saloonio is: he's a type. Shakespeare +means him + to embody the type of the perfect Italian gentleman. He's an +idea, that's + what he is, he's a symbol, he's a unit—" + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile I had been searching among the leaves of the play. +"Look here," + I said, "here's the list of the Dramatis Personae. There's no +Saloonio + there." + </p> + <p> + But this didn't dismay the Colonel one atom. "Why, of course +there isn't," + he said. "You don't suppose you'd find Saloonio there! That's the +whole + art of it! That's Shakespeare! That's the whole gist of it! He's +kept + clean out of the Personae—gives him scope, gives him a free +hand, + makes him more of a type than ever. Oh, it's a subtle thing, sir, +the + dramatic art!" continued the Colonel, subsiding into quiet +reflection; "it + takes a feller quite a time to get right into Shakespeare's mind +and see + what he's at all the time." + </p> + <p> + I began to see that there was no use in arguing any further with +the old + man. I left him with the idea that the lapse of a little time +would soften + his views on Saloonio. But I had not reckoned on the way in which +old men + hang on to a thing. Colonel Hogshead quite took up Saloonio. From +that + time on Saloonio became the theme of his constant conversation. +He was + never tired of discussing the character of Saloonio, the +wonderful art of + the dramatist in creating him, Saloonio's relation to modern life, + Saloonio's attitude toward women, the ethical significance of +Saloonio, + Saloonio as compared with Hamlet, Hamlet as compared with +Saloonio—and + so on, endlessly. And the more he looked into Saloonio, the more +he saw in + him. + </p> + <p> + Saloonio seemed inexhaustible. There were new sides to +him—new + phases at every turn. The Colonel even read over the play, and +finding no + mention of Saloonio's name in it, he swore that the books were +not the + same books they had had out in Wyoming; that the whole part had +been cut + clean out to suit the book to the infernal public schools, +Saloonio's + language being—at any rate, as the Colonel quoted +it—undoubtedly + a trifle free. Then the Colonel took to annotating his book at +the side + with such remarks as, "Enter Saloonio," or "A tucket sounds; enter + Saloonio, on the arm of the Prince of Morocco." When there was no + reasonable excuse for bringing Saloonio on the stage the Colonel +swore + that he was concealed behind the arras, or feasting within with +the doge. + </p> + <p> + But he got satisfaction at last. He had found that there was +nobody in our + part of the country who knew how to put a play of Shakespeare on +the + stage, and took a trip to New York to see Sir Henry Irving and +Miss Terry + do the play. The Colonel sat and listened all through with his +face just + beaming with satisfaction, and when the curtain fell at the close +of + Irving's grand presentation of the play, he stood up in his seat, +and + cheered and yelled to his friends: "That's it! That's him! Didn't +you see + that man that came on the stage all the time and sort of put the +whole + play through, though you couldn't understand a word he said? +Well, that's + him! That's Saloonio!" + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Half-hours with the Poets</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> +<div class="section"> + <h3 id="link2H_4_0041"> + I.—MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL. + </h3> +</div> +<div class="peotry"> +<p class="peotry">"I met a little cottage girl,</p> +<p class="peotry"> She was eight years old she said,</p> +<p class="peotry"> Her hair was thick with many a curl</p> +<p class="peotry"> That clustered round her head."</p> + +<p class="indent3"> WORDSWORTH.</p> +</div> + + <p> + This is what really happened. + </p> + <p> + Over the dreary downs of his native Cumberland the aged laureate +was + wandering with bowed head and countenance of sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Times were bad with the old man. + </p> + <p> + In the south pocket of his trousers, as he set his face to the +north, + jingled but a few odd coins and a cheque for St. Leon water. +Apparently + his cup of bitterness was full. + </p> + <p> + In the distance a child moved—a child in form, yet the deep +lines + upon her face bespoke a countenance prematurely old. + </p> + <p> + The poet espied, pursued and overtook the infant. He observed that + apparently she drew her breath lightly and felt her life in every +limb, + and that presumably her acquaintance with death was of the most + superficial character. + </p> + <p> + "I must sit awhile and ponder on that child," murmured the poet. +So he + knocked her down with his walking-stick and seating himself upon +her, he + pondered. + </p> + <p> + Long he sat thus in thought. "His heart is heavy," sighed the +child. + </p> + <p> + At length he drew forth a note-book and pencil and prepared to +write upon + his knee. "Now then, my dear young friend," he said, addressing +the elfin + creature, "I want those lines upon your face. Are you seven?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, we are seven," said the girl sadly, and added, "I know what +you + want. You are going to question me about my afflicted family. You +are Mr. + Wordsworth, and you are collecting mortuary statistics for the +Cottagers' + Edition of the Penny Encyclopaedia." + </p> + <p> + "You are eight years old?" asked the bard. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose so," answered she. "I have been eight years old for +years and + years." + </p> + <p> + "And you know nothing of death, of course?" said the poet +cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + "How can I?" answered the child. + </p> + <p> + "Now then," resumed the venerable William, "let us get to +business. Name + your brothers and sisters." + </p> + <p> + "Let me see," began the child wearily; "there was Rube and Ike, +two I + can't think of, and John and Jane." + </p> + <p> + "You must not count John and Jane," interrupted the bard +reprovingly; + "they're dead, you know, so that doesn't make seven." + </p> + <p> + "I wasn't counting them, but perhaps I added up wrongly," said +the child; + "and will you please move your overshoe off my neck?" + </p> + <p> + "Pardon," said the old man. "A nervous trick, I have been +absorbed; + indeed, the exigency of the metre almost demands my doubling up +my feet. + To continue, however; which died first?" + </p> + <p> + "The first to go was little Jane," said the child. + </p> + <p> + "She lay moaning in bed, I presume?" + </p> + <p> + "In bed she moaning lay." + </p> + <p> + "What killed her?" + </p> + <p> + "Insomnia," answered the girl. "The gaiety of our cottage life, +previous + to the departure of our elder brothers for Conway, and the +constant + field-sports in which she indulged with John, proved too much for +a frame + never too robust." + </p> + <p> + "You express yourself well," said the poet. "Now, in regard to +your + unfortunate brother, what was the effect upon him in the +following winter + of the ground being white with snow and your being able to run +and slide?" + </p> + <p> + "My brother John was forced to go," answered she. "We have been +at a loss + to understand the cause of his death. We fear that the dazzling +glare of + the newly fallen snow, acting upon a restless brain, may have led +him to a + fatal attempt to emulate my own feats upon the ice. And, oh, +sir," the + child went on, "speak gently of poor Jane. You may rub it into +John all + you like; we always let him slide." + </p> + <p> + "Very well," said the bard, "and allow me, in conclusion, one +rather + delicate question: Do you ever take your little porringer?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes," answered the child frankly— + </p> +<div class="peotry"> +<p class="peotry"> "'Quite often after sunset,</p> +<p class="peotry"> When all is light and fair,</p> +<p class="peotry"> I take my little porringer'—</p> +</div> + <p> + "I can't quite remember what I do after that, but I know that I +like it." + </p> + <p> + "That is immaterial," said Wordsworth. "I can say that you take +your + little porringer neat, or with bitters, or in water after every +meal. As + long as I can state that you take a little porringer regularly, +but never + to excess, the public is satisfied. And now," rising from his +seat, "I + will not detain you any longer. Here is sixpence—or stay," +he added + hastily, "here is a cheque for St. Leon water. Your information +has been + most valuable, and I shall work it, for all I am Wordsworth." +With these + words the aged poet bowed deferentially to the child and +sauntered off in + the direction of the Duke of Cumberland's Arms, with his eyes on +the + ground, as if looking for the meanest flower that blows itself. + </p> + <div class="section"> + <h3 id="link2H_4_0042"> + II:—HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + </h3> +</div> + <p> + "If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear." + </p> + + + <h4> + PART I + </h4> + <p> + As soon as the child's malady had declared itself the afflicted +parents of + the May Queen telegraphed to Tennyson, "Our child gone crazy on +subject of + early rising, could you come and write some poetry about her?" + </p> + <p> + Alfred, always prompt to fill orders in writing from the country, +came + down on the evening train. The old cottager greeted the poet +warmly, and + began at once to speak of the state of his unfortunate daughter. + </p> + <p> + "She was took queer in May," he said, "along of a sort of bee +that the + young folks had; she ain't been just right since; happen you +might do + summat." + </p> + <p> + With these words he opened the door of an inner room. + </p> + <p> + The girl lay in feverish slumber. Beside her bed was an +alarm-clock set + for half-past three. Connected with the clock was an ingenious +arrangement + of a falling brick with a string attached to the child's toe. + </p> + <p> + At the entrance of the visitor she started up in bed. "Whoop," +she yelled, + "I am to be Queen of the May, mother, ye-e!" + </p> + <p> + Then perceiving Tennyson in the doorway, "If that's a caller," +she said, + "tell him to call me early." + </p> + <p> + The shock caused the brick to fall. In the subsequent confusion +Alfred + modestly withdrew to the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + "At this rate," he chuckled, "I shall not have long to wait. A +few weeks + of that strain will finish her." + </p> + + <h4> + PART II + </h4> + <p> + Six months had passed. + </p> + <p> + It was now mid-winter. + </p> + <p> + And still the girl lived. Her vitality appeared inexhaustible. + </p> + <p> + She got up earlier and earlier. She now rose yesterday afternoon. + </p> + <p> + At intervals she seemed almost sane, and spoke in a most pathetic +manner + of her grave and the probability of the sun shining on it early +in the + morning, and her mother walking on it later in the day. At other +times her + malady would seize her, and she would snatch the brick off the +string and + throw it fiercely at Tennyson. Once, in an uncontrollable fit of +madness, + she gave her sister Effie a half-share in her garden tools and an +interest + in a box of mignonette. + </p> + <p> + The poet stayed doggedly on. In the chill of the morning twilight +he broke + the ice in his water-basin and cursed the girl. But he felt that +he had + broken the ice and he stayed. + </p> + <p> + On the whole, life at the cottage, though rugged, was not +cheerless. In + the long winter evenings they would gather around a smoking fire +of peat, + while Tennyson read aloud the Idylls of the King to the rude old +cottager. + Not to show his rudeness, the old man kept awake by sitting on a +tin-tack. + This also kept his mind on the right tack. The two found that +they had + much in common, especially the old cottager. They called each +other + "Alfred" and "Hezekiah" now. + </p> + + <h4> + PART III + </h4> + <p> + Time moved on and spring came. + </p> + <p> + Still the girl baffled the poet. + </p> + <p> + "I thought to pass away before," she would say with a mocking +grin, "but + yet alive I am, Alfred, alive I am." + </p> + <p> + Tennyson was fast losing hope. + </p> + <p> + Worn out with early rising, they engaged a retired Pullman-car +porter to + take up his quarters, and being a negro his presence added a +touch of + colour to their life. + </p> + <p> + The poet also engaged a neighbouring divine at fifty cents an +evening to + read to the child the best hundred books, with explanations. The +May Queen + tolerated him, and used to like to play with his silver hair, but + protested that he was prosy. + </p> + <p> + At the end of his resources the poet resolved upon desperate +measures. + </p> + <p> + He chose an evening when the cottager and his wife were out at a + dinner-party. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall Tennyson and his accomplices entered the girl's room. + </p> + <p> + She defended herself savagely with her brick, but was overpowered. + </p> + <p> + The negro seated himself upon her chest, while the clergyman +hastily read + a few verses about the comfort of early rising at the last day. + </p> + <p> + As he concluded, the poet drove his pen into her eye. + </p> + <p> + "Last call!" cried the negro porter triumphantly. + </p> + <div class="section"> + <h3 id="link2H_4_0043"> + III.—OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE HESPERUS. + </h3> +</div> +<div class="peotry"> +<p class="peotry"> "It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the +wintry sea,</p> +<p class="peotry"> And the skipper had taken his little daughter to +bear + him company."—LONGFELLOW.</p> +</div> + <p> + There were but three people in the cabin party of the Hesperus: +old Mr. + Longfellow, the skipper, and the skipper's daughter. + </p> + <p> + The skipper was much attached to the child, owing to the singular + whiteness of her skin and the exceptionally limpid blue of her +eyes; she + had hitherto remained on shore to fill lucrative engagements as +albino + lady in a circus. + </p> + <p> + This time, however, her father had taken her with him for +company. The + girl was an endless source of amusement to the skipper and the +crew. She + constantly got up games of puss-in-the-corner, forfeits, and Dumb +Crambo + with her father and Mr. Longfellow, and made Scripture puzzles and + geographical acrostics for the men. + </p> + <p> + Old Mr. Longfellow was taking the voyage to restore his shattered +nerves. + From the first the captain disliked Henry. He was utterly unused +to the + sea and was nervous and fidgety in the extreme. He complained +that at sea + his genius had not a sufficient degree of latitude. Which was +unparalleled + presumption. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of the storm there had been a little jar between +Longfellow + and the captain at dinner. The captain had emptied it several +times, and + was consequently in a reckless, quarrelsome humour. + </p> + <p> + "I confess I feel somewhat apprehensive," said old Henry +nervously, "of + the state of the weather. I have had some conversation about it +with an + old gentleman on deck who professed to have sailed the Spanish +main. He + says you ought to put into yonder port." + </p> + <p> + "I have," hiccoughed the skipper, eyeing the bottle, and added +with a + brutal laugh that "he could weather the roughest gale that ever +wind did + blow." A whole Gaelic society, he said, wouldn't fizz on him. + </p> + <p> + Draining a final glass of grog, he rose from his chair, said +grace, and + staggered on deck. + </p> + <p> + All the time the wind blew colder and louder. + </p> + <p> + The billows frothed like yeast. It was a yeast wind. + </p> + <p> + The evening wore on. + </p> + <p> + Old Henry shuffled about the cabin in nervous misery. + </p> + <p> + The skipper's daughter sat quietly at the table selecting verses +from a + Biblical clock to amuse the ship's bosun, who was suffering from + toothache. + </p> + <p> + At about ten Longfellow went to his bunk, requesting the girl to +remain up + in his cabin. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour all was quiet, save the roaring of the winter +wind. + </p> + <p> + Then the girl heard the old gentleman start up in bed. + </p> + <p> + "What's that bell, what's that bell?" he gasped. + </p> + <p> + A minute later he emerged from his cabin wearing a cork jacket and + trousers over his pyjamas. + </p> + <p> + "Sissy," he said, "go up and ask your pop who rang that bell." + </p> + <p> + The obedient child returned. + </p> + <p> + "Please, Mr. Longfellow," she said, "pa says there weren't no +bell." + </p> + <p> + The old man sank into a chair and remained with his head buried +in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + "Say," he exclaimed presently, "someone's firing guns and there's +a + glimmering light somewhere. You'd better go upstairs again." + </p> + <p> + Again the child returned. + </p> + <p> + "The crew are guessing at an acrostic, and occasionally they get a + glimmering of it." + </p> + <p> + Meantime the fury of the storm increased. + </p> + <p> + The skipper had the hatches battered down. + </p> + <p> + Presently Longfellow put his head out of a porthole and called +out, "Look + here, you may not care, but the cruel rocks are goring the sides +of this + boat like the horns of an angry bull." + </p> + <p> + The brutal skipper heaved the log at him. A knot in it struck a +plank and + it glanced off. + </p> + <p> + Too frightened to remain below, the poet raised one of the +hatches by + picking out the cotton batting and made his way on deck. He +crawled to the + wheel-house. + </p> + <p> + The skipper stood lashed to the helm all stiff and stark. He +bowed stiffly + to the poet. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow on his +fixed + and glassy eyes. The man was hopelessly intoxicated. + </p> + <p> + All the crew had disappeared. When the missile thrown by the +captain had + glanced off into the sea, they glanced after it and were lost. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the final crash came. + </p> + <p> + Something hit something. There was an awful click followed by a +peculiar + grating sound, and in less time than it takes to write it +(unfortunately), + the whole wreck was over. + </p> + <p> + As the vessel sank, Longfellow's senses left him. When he +reopened his + eyes he was in his own bed at home, and the editor of his local +paper was + bending over him. + </p> + <p> + "You have made a first-rate poem of it, Mr. Longfellow," he was +saying, + unbending somewhat as he spoke, "and I am very happy to give you +our + cheque for a dollar and a quarter for it." + </p> + <p> + "Your kindness checks my utterance," murmured Henry feebly, very +feebly. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> A, B, and C</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> <br /> + <p class="subhead">THE HUMAN ELEMENT IN MATHEMATICS</p> +</div> + <p> + The student of arithmetic who has mastered the first four rules +of his + art, and successfully striven with money sums and fractions, +finds himself + confronted by an unbroken expanse of questions known as problems. +These + are short stories of adventure and industry with the end omitted, +and + though betraying a strong family resemblance, are not without a +certain + element of romance. + </p> + <p> + The characters in the plot of a problem are three people called +A, B, and + C. The form of the question is generally of this sort: + </p> + <p> + "A, B, and C do a certain piece of work. A can do as much work in +one hour + as B in two, or C in four. Find how long they work at it." + </p> + <p> + Or thus: + </p> + <p> + "A, B, and C are employed to dig a ditch. A can dig as much in +one hour as + B can dig in two, and B can dig twice as fast as C. Find how +long, etc. + etc." + </p> + <p> + Or after this wise: + </p> + <p> + "A lays a wager that he can walk faster than B or C. A can walk +half as + fast again as B, and C is only an indifferent walker. Find how +far, and so + forth." + </p> + <p> + The occupations of A, B, and C are many and varied. In the older + arithmetics they contented themselves with doing "a certain piece +of + work." This statement of the case however, was found too sly and + mysterious, or possibly lacking in romantic charm. It became the +fashion + to define the job more clearly and to set them at walking matches, + ditch-digging, regattas, and piling cord wood. At times, they +became + commercial and entered into partnership, having with their old +mystery a + "certain" capital. Above all they revel in motion. When they tire +of + walking-matches—A rides on horseback, or borrows a bicycle +and + competes with his weaker-minded associates on foot. Now they race +on + locomotives; now they row; or again they become historical and +engage + stage-coaches; or at times they are aquatic and swim. If their +occupation + is actual work they prefer to pump water into cisterns, two of +which leak + through holes in the bottom and one of which is water-tight. A, +of course, + has the good one; he also takes the bicycle, and the best +locomotive, and + the right of swimming with the current. Whatever they do they put +money on + it, being all three sports. A always wins. + </p> + <p> + In the early chapters of the arithmetic, their identity is +concealed under + the names John, William, and Henry, and they wrangle over the +division of + marbles. In algebra they are often called X, Y, Z. But these are +only + their Christian names, and they are really the same people. + </p> + <p> + Now to one who has followed the history of these men through +countless + pages of problems, watched them in their leisure hours dallying +with cord + wood, and seen their panting sides heave in the full frenzy of +filling a + cistern with a leak in it, they become something more than mere +symbols. + They appear as creatures of flesh and blood, living men with +their own + passions, ambitions, and aspirations like the rest of us. Let us +view them + in turn. A is a full-blooded blustering fellow, of energetic +temperament, + hot-headed and strong-willed. It is he who proposes everything, +challenges + B to work, makes the bets, and bends the others to his will. He +is a man + of great physical strength and phenomenal endurance. He has been +known to + walk forty-eight hours at a stretch, and to pump ninety-six. His +life is + arduous and full of peril. A mistake in the working of a sum may +keep him + digging a fortnight without sleep. A repeating decimal in the +answer might + kill him. + </p> + <p> + B is a quiet, easy-going fellow, afraid of A and bullied by him, +but very + gentle and brotherly to little C, the weakling. He is quite in +A's power, + having lost all his money in bets. + </p> + <p> + Poor C is an undersized, frail man, with a plaintive face. +Constant + walking, digging, and pumping has broken his health and ruined +his nervous + system. His joyless life has driven him to drink and smoke more +than is + good for him, and his hand often shakes as he digs ditches. He +has not the + strength to work as the others can, in fact, as Hamlin Smith has +said, "A + can do more work in one hour than C in four." + </p> + <p> + The first time that ever I saw these men was one evening after a +regatta. + They had all been rowing in it, and it had transpired that A +could row as + much in one hour as B in two, or C in four. B and C had come in +dead + fagged and C was coughing badly. "Never mind, old fellow," I +heard B say, + "I'll fix you up on the sofa and get you some hot tea." Just then +A came + blustering in and shouted, "I say, you fellows, Hamlin Smith has +shown me + three cisterns in his garden and he says we can pump them until +to-morrow + night. I bet I can beat you both. Come on. You can pump in your +rowing + things, you know. Your cistern leaks a little, I think, C." I +heard B + growl that it was a dirty shame and that C was used up now, but +they went, + and presently I could tell from the sound of the water that A was +pumping + four times as fast as C. + </p> + <p> + For years after that I used to see them constantly about town and +always + busy. I never heard of any of them eating or sleeping. Then owing +to a + long absence from home, I lost sight of them. On my return I was +surprised + to no longer find A, B, and C at their accustomed tasks; on +inquiry I + heard that work in this line was now done by N, M, and O, and +that some + people were employing for algebraical jobs four foreigners called +Alpha, + Beta, Gamma, and Delta. + </p> + <p> + Now it chanced one day that I stumbled upon old D, in the little +garden in + front of his cottage, hoeing in the sun. D is an aged labouring +man who + used occasionally to be called in to help A, B, and C. "Did I +know 'em, + sir?" he answered, "why, I knowed 'em ever since they was little +fellows + in brackets. Master A, he were a fine lad, sir, though I always +said, give + me Master B for kind-heartedness-like. Many's the job as we've +been on + together, sir, though I never did no racing nor aught of that, +but just + the plain labour, as you might say. I'm getting a bit too old and +stiff + for it nowadays, sir—just scratch about in the garden here +and grow + a bit of a logarithm, or raise a common denominator or two. But +Mr. Euclid + he use me still for them propositions, he do." + </p> + <p> + From the garrulous old man I learned the melancholy end of my +former + acquaintances. Soon after I left town, he told me, C had been +taken ill. + It seems that A and B had been rowing on the river for a wager, +and C had + been running on the bank and then sat in a draught. Of course the +bank had + refused the draught and C was taken ill. A and B came home and +found C + lying helpless in bed. A shook him roughly and said, "Get up, C, +we're + going to pile wood." C looked so worn and pitiful that B said, +"Look here, + A, I won't stand this, he isn't fit to pile wood to-night." C +smiled + feebly and said, "Perhaps I might pile a little if I sat up in +bed." Then + B, thoroughly alarmed, said, "See here, A, I'm going to fetch a +doctor; + he's dying." A flared up and answered, "You've no money to fetch a + doctor." "I'll reduce him to his lowest terms," B said firmly, +"that'll + fetch him." C's life might even then have been saved but they +made a + mistake about the medicine. It stood at the head of the bed on a +bracket, + and the nurse accidentally removed it from the bracket without +changing + the sign. After the fatal blunder C seems to have sunk rapidly. +On the + evening of the next day, as the shadows deepened in the little +room, it + was clear to all that the end was near. I think that even A was +affected + at the last as he stood with bowed head, aimlessly offering to +bet with + the doctor on C's laboured breathing. "A," whispered C, "I think +I'm going + fast." "How fast do you think you'll go, old man?" murmured A. "I +don't + know," said C, "but I'm going at any rate."—The end came +soon after + that. C rallied for a moment and asked for a certain piece of +work that he + had left downstairs. A put it in his arms and he expired. As his +soul sped + heavenward A watched its flight with melancholy admiration. B +burst into a + passionate flood of tears and sobbed, "Put away his little +cistern and the + rowing clothes he used to wear, I feel as if I could hardly ever +dig + again."—The funeral was plain and unostentatious. It +differed in + nothing from the ordinary, except that out of deference to +sporting men + and mathematicians, A engaged two hearses. Both vehicles started +at the + same time, B driving the one which bore the sable parallelopiped + containing the last remains of his ill-fated friend. A on the box +of the + empty hearse generously consented to a handicap of a hundred +yards, but + arrived first at the cemetery by driving four times as fast as B. +(Find + the distance to the cemetery.) As the sarcophagus was lowered, +the grave + was surrounded by the broken figures of the first book of +Euclid.—It + was noticed that after the death of C, A became a changed man. He +lost + interest in racing with B, and dug but languidly. He finally gave +up his + work and settled down to live on the interest of his +bets.—B never + recovered from the shock of C's death; his grief preyed upon his +intellect + and it became deranged. He grew moody and spoke only in +monosyllables. His + disease became rapidly aggravated, and he presently spoke only in +words + whose spelling was regular and which presented no difficulty to +the + beginner. Realizing his precarious condition he voluntarily +submitted to + be incarcerated in an asylum, where he abjured mathematics and +devoted + himself to writing the History of the Swiss Family Robinson in +words of + one syllable. + </p> + + <p> + <a id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + + <div class="chapter"> +<hr class="heading1" /> +<hr class="heading2" /> +<h2> +<i> Acknowledgments</i></h2> +<hr class="heading3" /> +</div> + <p> + Many of the sketches which form the present volume have already +appeared + in print. Others of them are new. Of the re-printed pieces, +"Melpomenus + Jones," "Policeman Hogan," "A Lesson in Fiction," and many others +were + contributions by the author to the New York Truth. The +"Boarding-House + Geometry" first appeared in Truth, and was subsequently +republished in the + London Punch, and in a great many other journals. The sketches +called the + "Life of John Smith," "Society Chit-Chat," and "Aristocratic +Education" + appeared in Puck. "The New Pathology" was first printed in the +Toronto + Saturday Night, and was subsequently republished by the London +Lancet, and + by various German periodicals in the form of a translation. The +story + called "Number Fifty-Six" is taken from the Detroit Free Press. +"My + Financial Career" was originally contributed to the New York Life, +and has + been frequently reprinted. The Articles "How to Make a Million +Dollars" + and "How to Avoid Getting Married," etc. are reproduced by +permission of + the Publishers' Press Syndicate. The wide circulation which some +of the + above sketches have enjoyed has encouraged the author to prepare +the + present collection. + </p> + <p> + The author desires to express his sense of obligation to the +proprietors + of the above journals who have kindly permitted him to republish +the + contributions which appeared in their columns. + </p> + + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT +GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions +will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85a918b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #6340 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6340) diff --git a/old/6340-h.zip b/old/6340-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d7db64 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/6340-h.zip diff --git a/old/6340.txt b/old/6340.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f073d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/6340.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6138 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Literary Lapses + +Author: Stephen Leacock + +Release Date: June 21, 2004 [EBook #6340] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + + + + +Produced by Gardner Buchanan + + + + + +LITERARY LAPSES + +By Stephen Leacock + + + + +CONTENTS + +MY FINANCIAL CAREER +LORD OXHEAD'S SECRET +BOARDING-HOUSE GEOMETRY +THE AWFUL FATE OF MELPOMENUS JONES +A CHRISTMAS LETTER +HOW TO MAKE A MILLION DOLLARS +HOW TO LIVE TO BE 200 +HOW TO AVOID GETTING MARRIED +HOW TO BE A DOCTOR +THE NEW FOOD +A NEW PATHOLOGY +THE POET ANSWERED +THE FORCE OF STATISTICS +MEN WHO HAVE SHAVED ME +GETTING THE THREAD OF IT +TELLING HIS FAULTS +WINTER PASTIMES +NUMBER FIFTY-SIX +ARISTOCRATIC EDUCATION +THE CONJURER'S REVENGE +HINTS TO TRAVELLERS +A MANUAL OF EDUCATION +HOODOO MCFIGGIN'S CHRISTMAS +THE LIFE OF JOHN SMITH +ON COLLECTING THINGS +SOCIETY CHIT-CHAT +INSURANCE UP TO DATE +BORROWING A MATCH +A LESSON IN FICTION +HELPING THE ARMENIANS +A STUDY IN STILL LIFE: THE COUNTRY HOTEL +AN EXPERIMENT WITH POLICEMAN HOGAN +THE PASSING OF THE POET +SELF-MADE MEN +A MODEL DIALOGUE +BACK TO THE BUSH +REFLECTIONS ON RIDING +SALOONIO +HALF-HOURS WITH THE POETS-- + I. MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL + II. HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + III. OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE "HESPERUS" +A. B, AND C + + + + +LITERARY LAPSES + + + + +My Financial Career + +When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; +the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; +everything rattles me. + +The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to +transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot. + +I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to +fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the +only place for it. + +So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. +I had an idea that a person about to open an account must +needs consult the manager. + +I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant +was a tall, cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. +My voice was sepulchral. + +"Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, +"alone." I don't know why I said "alone." + +"Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him. + +The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six +dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my pocket. + +"Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say +"alone" again, but without it the thing seemed self-evident. + +The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I +had an awful secret to reveal. + +"Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private +room. He turned the key in the lock. + +"We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down." + +We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no +voice to speak. + +"You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. + +He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a +detective. I knew what he was thinking, and it made me +worse. + +"No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that +I came from a rival agency. + +"To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted +to lie about it, "I am not a detective at all. I have +come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money +in this bank." + +The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded +now that I was a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould. + +"A large account, I suppose," he said. + +"Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit +fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly." + +The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the +accountant. + +"Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman +is opening an account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. +Good morning." + +I rose. + +A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. + +"Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe. + +"Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the +other way. + +I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball +of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if +I were doing a conjuring trick. + +My face was ghastly pale. + +"Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed +to mean, "Let us do this painful thing while the fit is +on us." + +He took the money and gave it to another clerk. + +He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in +a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam +before my eyes. + +"Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. + +"It is," said the accountant. + +"Then I want to draw a cheque." + +My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present +use. Someone gave me a chequebook through a wicket and +someone else began telling me how to write it out. The +people in the bank had the impression that I was an +invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and +thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it. + +"What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in +surprise. Then I realized that I had written fifty-six +instead of six. I was too far gone to reason now. I had +a feeling that it was impossible to explain the thing. +All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me. + +Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. + +"Yes, the whole thing." + +"You withdraw your money from the bank?" + +"Every cent of it." + +"Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, +astonished. + +"Never." + +An idiot hope struck me that they might think something +had insulted me while I was writing the cheque and that +I had changed my mind. I made a wretched attempt to look +like a man with a fearfully quick temper. + +The clerk prepared to pay the money. + +"How will you have it?" he said. + +"What?" + +"How will you have it?" + +"Oh"--I caught his meaning and answered without even +trying to think--"in fifties." + +He gave me a fifty-dollar bill. + +"And the six?" he asked dryly. + +"In sixes," I said. + +He gave it me and I rushed out. + +As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a +roar of laughter that went up to the ceiling of the bank. +Since then I bank no more. I keep my money in cash in my +trousers pocket and my savings in silver dollars in a +sock. + + + + +Lord Oxhead's Secret + +A ROMANCE IN ONE CHAPTER + +It was finished. Ruin had come. Lord Oxhead sat gazing +fixedly at the library fire. Without, the wind soughed +(or sogged) around the turrets of Oxhead Towers, the seat +of the Oxhead family. But the old earl heeded not the +sogging of the wind around his seat. He was too absorbed. + +Before him lay a pile of blue papers with printed headings. +From time to time he turned them over in his hands and +replaced them on the table with a groan. To the earl they +meant ruin--absolute, irretrievable ruin, and with it +the loss of his stately home that had been the pride of +the Oxheads for generations. More than that--the world +would now know the awful secret of his life. + +The earl bowed his head in the bitterness of his sorrow, +for he came of a proud stock. About him hung the portraits +of his ancestors. Here on the right an Oxhead who had +broken his lance at Crecy, or immediately before it. +There McWhinnie Oxhead who had ridden madly from the +stricken field of Flodden to bring to the affrighted +burghers of Edinburgh all the tidings that he had been +able to gather in passing the battlefield. Next him hung +the dark half Spanish face of Sir Amyas Oxhead of +Elizabethan days whose pinnace was the first to dash to +Plymouth with the news that the English fleet, as nearly +as could be judged from a reasonable distance, seemed +about to grapple with the Spanish Armada. Below this, +the two Cavalier brothers, Giles and Everard Oxhead, who +had sat in the oak with Charles II. Then to the right +again the portrait of Sir Ponsonby Oxhead who had fought +with Wellington in Spain, and been dismissed for it. + +Immediately before the earl as he sat was the family +escutcheon emblazoned above the mantelpiece. A child +might read the simplicity of its proud significance--an +ox rampant quartered in a field of gules with a pike +dexter and a dog intermittent in a plain parallelogram +right centre, with the motto, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, +hujus, hujus." + + * * * * * + +"Father!"--The girl's voice rang clear through the half +light of the wainscoted library. Gwendoline Oxhead had +thrown herself about the earl's neck. The girl was radiant +with happiness. Gwendoline was a beautiful girl of +thirty-three, typically English in the freshness of her +girlish innocence. She wore one of those charming walking +suits of brown holland so fashionable among the aristocracy +of England, while a rough leather belt encircled her +waist in a single sweep. She bore herself with that sweet +simplicity which was her greatest charm. She was probably +more simple than any girl of her age for miles around. +Gwendoline was the pride of her father's heart, for he +saw reflected in her the qualities of his race. + +"Father," she said, a blush mantling her fair face, "I +am so happy, oh so happy; Edwin has asked me to be his +wife, and we have plighted our troth--at least if you +consent. For I will never marry without my father's +warrant," she added, raising her head proudly; "I am too +much of an Oxhead for that." + +Then as she gazed into the old earl's stricken face, the +girl's mood changed at once. "Father," she cried, "father, +are you ill? What is it? Shall I ring?" As she spoke +Gwendoline reached for the heavy bell-rope that hung +beside the wall, but the earl, fearful that her frenzied +efforts might actually make it ring, checked her hand. +"I am, indeed, deeply troubled," said Lord Oxhead, "but +of that anon. Tell me first what is this news you bring. +I hope, Gwendoline, that your choice has been worthy of +an Oxhead, and that he to whom you have plighted your +troth will be worthy to bear our motto with his own." +And, raising his eyes to the escutcheon before him, the +earl murmured half unconsciously, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, +hujus, hujus," breathing perhaps a prayer as many of his +ancestors had done before him that he might never forget +it. + +"Father," continued Gwendoline, half timidly, "Edwin is +an American." + +"You surprise me indeed," answered Lord Oxhead; "and +yet," he continued, turning to his daughter with the +courtly grace that marked the nobleman of the old school, +"why should we not respect and admire the Americans? +Surely there have been great names among them. Indeed, +our ancestor Sir Amyas Oxhead was, I think, married to +Pocahontas--at least if not actually married"--the earl +hesitated a moment. + +"At least they loved one another," said Gwendoline simply. + +"Precisely," said the earl, with relief, "they loved one +another, yes, exactly." Then as if musing to himself, +"Yes, there have been great Americans. Bolivar was an +American. The two Washingtons--George and Booker--are +both Americans. There have been others too, though for +the moment I do not recall their names. But tell me, +Gwendoline, this Edwin of yours--where is his family +seat?" + +"It is at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, father." + +"Ah! say you so?" rejoined the earl, with rising interest. +"Oshkosh is, indeed, a grand old name. The Oshkosh are +a Russian family. An Ivan Oshkosh came to England with +Peter the Great and married my ancestress. Their descendant +in the second degree once removed, Mixtup Oshkosh, fought +at the burning of Moscow and later at the sack of Salamanca +and the treaty of Adrianople. And Wisconsin too," the +old nobleman went on, his features kindling with animation, +for he had a passion for heraldry, genealogy, chronology, +and commercial geography; "the Wisconsins, or better, I +think, the Guisconsins, are of old blood. A Guisconsin +followed Henry I to Jerusalem and rescued my ancestor +Hardup Oxhead from the Saracens. Another Guisconsin..." + +"Nay, father," said Gwendoline, gently interrupting, +"Wisconsin is not Edwin's own name: that is, I believe, +the name of his estate. My lover's name is Edwin Einstein." + +"Einstein," repeated the earl dubiously--"an Indian name +perhaps; yet the Indians are many of them of excellent +family. An ancestor of mine..." + +"Father," said Gwendoline, again interrupting, "here is +a portrait of Edwin. Judge for yourself if he be noble." +With this she placed in her father's hand an American +tin-type, tinted in pink and brown. The picture represented +a typical specimen of American manhood of that Anglo-Semitic +type so often seen in persons of mixed English and Jewish +extraction. The figure was well over five feet two inches +in height and broad in proportion. The graceful sloping +shoulders harmonized with the slender and well-poised +waist, and with a hand pliant and yet prehensile. The +pallor of the features was relieved by a drooping black +moustache. + +Such was Edwin Einstein to whom Gwendoline's heart, if +not her hand, was already affianced. Their love had been +so simple and yet so strange. It seemed to Gwendoline +that it was but a thing of yesterday, and yet in reality +they had met three weeks ago. Love had drawn them +irresistibly together. To Edwin the fair English girl +with her old name and wide estates possessed a charm that +he scarcely dared confess to himself. He determined to +woo her. To Gwendoline there was that in Edwin's bearing, +the rich jewels that he wore, the vast fortune that rumour +ascribed to him, that appealed to something romantic and +chivalrous in her nature. She loved to hear him speak of +stocks and bonds, corners and margins, and his father's +colossal business. It all seemed so noble and so far +above the sordid lives of the people about her. Edwin, +too, loved to hear the girl talk of her father's estates, +of the diamond-hilted sword that the saladin had given, +or had lent, to her ancestor hundreds of years ago. Her +description of her father, the old earl, touched something +romantic in Edwin's generous heart. He was never tired +of asking how old he was, was he robust, did a shock, a +sudden shock, affect him much? and so on. Then had come +the evening that Gwendoline loved to live over and over +again in her mind when Edwin had asked her in his +straightforward, manly way, whether--subject to certain +written stipulations to be considered later--she would +be his wife: and she, putting her hand confidingly in +his hand, answered simply, that--subject to the consent +of her father and pending always the necessary legal +formalities and inquiries--she would. + +It had all seemed like a dream: and now Edwin Einstein +had come in person to ask her hand from the earl, her +father. Indeed, he was at this moment in the outer hall +testing the gold leaf in the picture-frames with his +pen-knife while waiting for his affianced to break the +fateful news to Lord Oxhead. + +Gwendoline summoned her courage for a great effort. +"Papa," she said, "there is one other thing that it is +fair to tell you. Edwin's father is in business." + +The earl started from his seat in blank amazement. "In +business!" he repeated, "the father of the suitor of the +daughter of an Oxhead in business! My daughter the +step-daughter of the grandfather of my grandson! Are +you mad, girl? It is too much, too much!" + +"But, father," pleaded the beautiful girl in anguish, +"hear me. It is Edwin's father--Sarcophagus Einstein, +senior--not Edwin himself. Edwin does nothing. He has +never earned a penny. He is quite unable to support +himself. You have only to see him to believe it. Indeed, +dear father, he is just like us. He is here now, in this +house, waiting to see you. If it were not for his great +wealth..." + +"Girl," said the earl sternly, "I care not for the man's +riches. How much has he?" + +"Fifteen million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," +answered Gwendoline. Lord Oxhead leaned his head against +the mantelpiece. His mind was in a whirl. He was trying +to calculate the yearly interest on fifteen and a quarter +million dollars at four and a half per cent reduced to +pounds, shillings, and pence. It was bootless. His brain, +trained by long years of high living and plain thinking, +had become too subtle, too refined an instrument for +arithmetic... + + * * * * * + +At this moment the door opened and Edwin Einstein stood +before the earl. Gwendoline never forgot what happened. +Through her life the picture of it haunted her--her lover +upright at the door, his fine frank gaze fixed inquiringly +on the diamond pin in her father's necktie, and he, her +father, raising from the mantelpiece a face of agonized +amazement. + +"You! You!" he gasped. For a moment he stood to his full +height, swaying and groping in the air, then fell prostrate +his full length upon the floor. The lovers rushed to his +aid. Edwin tore open his neckcloth and plucked aside his +diamond pin to give him air. But it was too late. Earl +Oxhead had breathed his last. Life had fled. The earl +was extinct. That is to say, he was dead. + +The reason of his death was never known. Had the sight +of Edwin killed him? It might have. The old family doctor, +hurriedly summoned, declared his utter ignorance. This, +too, was likely. Edwin himself could explain nothing. +But it was observed that after the earl's death and his +marriage with Gwendoline he was a changed man; he dressed +better, talked much better English. + +The wedding itself was quiet, almost sad. At Gwendoline's +request there was no wedding breakfast, no bridesmaids, +and no reception, while Edwin, respecting his bride's +bereavement, insisted that there should be no best man, +no flowers, no presents, and no honeymoon. + +Thus Lord Oxhead's secret died with him. It was probably +too complicated to be interesting anyway. + + + + +Boarding-House Geometry + +DEFINITIONS AND AXIOMS + +All boarding-houses are the same boarding-house. + +Boarders in the same boarding-house and on the same flat +are equal to one another. + +A single room is that which has no parts and no magnitude. + +The landlady of a boarding-house is a parallelogram--that +is, an oblong angular figure, which cannot be described, +but which is equal to anything. + +A wrangle is the disinclination of two boarders to each +other that meet together but are not in the same line. + +All the other rooms being taken, a single room is said +to be a double room. + + +POSTULATES AND PROPOSITIONS + +A pie may be produced any number of times. + +The landlady can be reduced to her lowest terms by a +series of propositions. + +A bee line may be made from any boarding-house to any +other boarding-house. + +The clothes of a boarding-house bed, though produced ever +so far both ways, will not meet. + +Any two meals at a boarding-house are together less than +two square meals. + +If from the opposite ends of a boarding-house a line be +drawn passing through all the rooms in turn, then the +stovepipe which warms the boarders will lie within that +line. + +On the same bill and on the same side of it there should +not be two charges for the same thing. + +If there be two boarders on the same flat, and the amount +of side of the one be equal to the amount of side of the +other, each to each, and the wrangle between one boarder +and the landlady be equal to the wrangle between the +landlady and the other, then shall the weekly bills of +the two boarders be equal also, each to each. + +For if not, let one bill be the greater. + +Then the other bill is less than it might have been--which +is absurd. + + + + +The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones + +Some people--not you nor I, because we are so awfully +self-possessed--but some people, find great difficulty +in saying good-bye when making a call or spending the +evening. As the moment draws near when the visitor feels +that he is fairly entitled to go away he rises and says +abruptly, "Well, I think I..." Then the people say, "Oh, +must you go now? Surely it's early yet!" and a pitiful +struggle ensues. + +I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I +ever knew was that of my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, +a curate--such a dear young man, and only twenty-three! +He simply couldn't get away from people. He was too modest +to tell a lie, and too religious to wish to appear rude. +Now it happened that he went to call on some friends of +his on the very first afternoon of his summer vacation. +The next six weeks were entirely his own--absolutely +nothing to do. He chatted awhile, drank two cups of tea, +then braced himself for the effort and said suddenly: + +"Well, I think I..." + +But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no! Mr. Jones, can't +you really stay a little longer?" + +Jones was always truthful. "Oh, yes," he said, "of course, +I--er--can stay." + +"Then please don't go." + +He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling. +He rose again. + +"Well now," he said shyly, "I think I really..." + +"You must go?" said the lady politely. "I thought perhaps +you could have stayed to dinner..." + +"Oh well, so I could, you know," Jones said, "if..." + +"Then please stay, I'm sure my husband will be delighted." + +"All right," he said feebly, "I'll stay," and he sank +back into his chair, just full of tea, and miserable. + +Papa came home. They had dinner. All through the meal +Jones sat planning to leave at eight-thirty. All the +family wondered whether Mr. Jones was stupid and sulky, +or only stupid. + +After dinner mamma undertook to "draw him out," and showed +him photographs. She showed him all the family museum, +several gross of them--photos of papa's uncle and his +wife, and mamma's brother and his little boy, an awfully +interesting photo of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal +uniform, an awfully well-taken photo of papa's grandfather's +partner's dog, and an awfully wicked one of papa as the +devil for a fancy-dress ball. At eight-thirty Jones had +examined seventy-one photographs. There were about +sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones rose. + +"I must say good night now," he pleaded. + +"Say good night!" they said, "why it's only half-past +eight! Have you anything to do?" + +"Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about +staying six weeks, and then laughed miserably. + +Just then it turned out that the favourite child of the +family, such a dear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones's +hat; so papa said that he must stay, and invited him to +a pipe and a chat. Papa had the pipe and gave Jones the +chat, and still he stayed. Every moment he meant to take +the plunge, but couldn't. Then papa began to get very +tired of Jones, and fidgeted and finally said, with +jocular irony, that Jones had better stay all night, they +could give him a shake-down. Jones mistook his meaning +and thanked him with tears in his eyes, and papa put +Jones to bed in the spare room and cursed him heartily. + +After breakfast next day, papa went off to his work in the +City, and left Jones playing with the baby, broken-hearted. +His nerve was utterly gone. He was meaning to leave all day, +but the thing had got on his mind and he simply couldn't. +When papa came home in the evening he was surprised and +chagrined to find Jones still there. He thought to jockey +him out with a jest, and said he thought he'd have to charge +him for his board, he! he! The unhappy young man stared +wildly for a moment, then wrung papa's hand, paid him a +month's board in advance, and broke down and sobbed like +a child. + +In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable. +He lived, of course, entirely in the drawing-room, and +the lack of air and exercise began to tell sadly on his +health. He passed his time in drinking tea and looking +at the photographs. He would stand for hours gazing at +the photographs of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal +uniform--talking to it, sometimes swearing bitterly at +it. His mind was visibly failing. + +At length the crash came. They carried him upstairs in +a raging delirium of fever. The illness that followed +was terrible. He recognized no one, not even papa's +uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform. At times he would +start up from his bed and shriek, "Well, I think I..." +and then fall back upon the pillow with a horrible laugh. +Then, again, he would leap up and cry, "Another cup of +tea and more photographs! More photographs! Har! Har!" + +At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of +his vacation, he passed away. They say that when the last +moment came, he sat up in bed with a beautiful smile of +confidence playing upon his face, and said, "Well--the +angels are calling me; I'm afraid I really must go now. +Good afternoon." + +And the rushing of his spirit from its prison-house was +as rapid as a hunted cat passing over a garden fence. + + + + +A Christmas Letter + +(In answer to a young lady who has sent an invitation to +be present at a children's party) + +Madamoiselle, + +Allow me very gratefully but firmly to refuse your kind +invitation. You doubtless mean well; but your ideas are +unhappily mistaken. + +Let us understand one another once and for all. I cannot +at my mature age participate in the sports of children +with such abandon as I could wish. I entertain, and have +always entertained, the sincerest regard for such games +as Hunt-the-Slipper and Blind-Man's Buff. But I have now +reached a time of life, when, to have my eyes blindfolded +and to have a powerful boy of ten hit me in the back with +a hobby-horse and ask me to guess who hit me, provokes +me to a fit of retaliation which could only culminate in +reckless criminality. Nor can I cover my shoulders with +a drawing-room rug and crawl round on my hands and knees +under the pretence that I am a bear without a sense of +personal insufficiency, which is painful to me. + +Neither can I look on with a complacent eye at the sad +spectacle of your young clerical friend, the Reverend +Mr. Uttermost Farthing, abandoning himself to such gambols +and appearing in the role of life and soul of the evening. +Such a degradation of his holy calling grieves me, and +I cannot but suspect him of ulterior motives. + +You inform me that your maiden aunt intends to help you +to entertain the party. I have not, as you know, the +honour of your aunt's acquaintance, yet I think I may +with reason surmise that she will organize games--guessing +games--in which she will ask me to name a river in Asia +beginning with a Z; on my failure to do so she will put +a hot plate down my neck as a forfeit, and the children +will clap their hands. These games, my dear young friend, +involve the use of a more adaptable intellect than mine, +and I cannot consent to be a party to them. + +May I say in conclusion that I do not consider a five-cent +pen-wiper from the top branch of a Xmas tree any adequate +compensation for the kind of evening you propose. + + I have the honour + To subscribe myself, + Your obedient servant. + + + + +How to Make a Million Dollars + +I mix a good deal with the Millionaires. I like them. I +like their faces. I like the way they live. I like the +things they eat. The more we mix together the better I +like the things we mix. + +Especially I like the way they dress, their grey check +trousers, their white check waist-coats, their heavy gold +chains, and the signet-rings that they sign their cheques +with. My! they look nice. Get six or seven of them sitting +together in the club and it's a treat to see them. And +if they get the least dust on them, men come and brush +it off. Yes, and are glad to. I'd like to take some of +the dust off them myself. + +Even more than what they eat I like their intellectual +grasp. It is wonderful. Just watch them read. They simply +read all the time. Go into the club at any hour and you'll +see three or four of them at it. And the things they can +read! You'd think that a man who'd been driving hard in +the office from eleven o'clock until three, with only an +hour and a half for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a +bit. These men can sit down after office hours and read +the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the Pink Un, and +understand the jokes just as well as I can. + +What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and +catch the little scraps of conversation. The other day +I heard one lean forward and say, "Well, I offered him +a million and a half and said I wouldn't give a cent +more, he could either take it or leave it--" I just longed +to break in and say, "What! what! a million and a half! +Oh! say that again! Offer it to me, to either take it or +leave it. Do try me once: I know I can: or here, make it +a plain million and let's call it done." + +Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. +Don't think it. Of course they don't take much account +of big money, a hundred thousand dollars at a shot or +anything of that sort. But little money. You've no idea +till you know them how anxious they get about a cent, or +half a cent, or less. + +Why, two of them came into the club the other night just +frantic with delight: they said wheat had risen and they'd +cleaned up four cents each in less than half an hour. +They bought a dinner for sixteen on the strength of it. +I don't understand it. I've often made twice as much as +that writing for the papers and never felt like boasting +about it. + +One night I heard one man say, "Well, let's call up New +York and offer them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! +Imagine paying the cost of calling up New York, nearly +five million people, late at night and offering them a +quarter of a cent! And yet--did New York get mad? No, +they took it. Of course it's high finance. I don't pretend +to understand it. I tried after that to call up Chicago +and offer it a cent and a half, and to call up Hamilton, +Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and the operator +only thought I was crazy. + +All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how +the millionaires do it. I have. For years. I thought it +might be helpful to young men just beginning to work and +anxious to stop. + +You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when +he was a boy he had known what he knows now, instead of +being what he is he might be what he won't; but how few +boys stop to think that if they knew what they don't know +instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? +These are awful thoughts. + +At any rate, I've been gathering hints on how it is they +do it. + +One thing I'm sure about. If a young man wants to make +a million dollars he's got to be mighty careful about +his diet and his living. This may seem hard. But success +is only achieved with pains. + +There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million +dollars thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat +force and poached eggs, drink cold water at lunch, and +go to bed at 10 p.m. You can't do it. I've seen too many +millionaires for that. If you want to be a millionaire +you mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They never +do. They daren't. It would be as much as their business +is worth if they were seen on the street at half-past +nine. + +And the old idea of abstemiousness is all wrong. To be +a millionaire you need champagne, lots of it and all the +time. That and Scotch whisky and soda: you have to sit +up nearly all night and drink buckets of it. This is what +clears the brain for business next day. I've seen some +of these men with their brains so clear in the morning, +that their faces look positively boiled. + +To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But +you can buy that by the pint. + +Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved +on from your present status in business, change your +life. When your landlady brings your bacon and eggs for +breakfast, throw them out of window to the dog and tell +her to bring you some chilled asparagus and a pint of +Moselle. Then telephone to your employer that you'll be +down about eleven o'clock. You will get moved on. Yes, +very quickly. + +Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult +question. But one way is this. Strike the town with five +cents in your pocket. They nearly all do this; they've +told me again and again (men with millions and millions) +that the first time they struck town they had only five +cents. That seems to have given them their start. Of +course, it's not easy to do. I've tried it several times. +I nearly did it once. I borrowed five cents, carried it +away out of town, and then turned and came back at the +town with an awful rush. If I hadn't struck a beer saloon +in the suburbs and spent the five cents I might have been +rich to-day. + +Another good plan is to start something. Something on a +huge scale: something nobody ever thought of. For instance, +one man I know told me that once he was down in Mexico +without a cent (he'd lost his five in striking Central +America) and he noticed that they had no power plants. +So he started some and made a mint of money. Another man +that I know was once stranded in New York, absolutely +without a nickel. Well, it occurred to him that what was +needed were buildings ten stories higher than any that +had been put up. So he built two and sold them right +away. Ever so many millionaires begin in some such simple +way as that. + +There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. +I almost hate to tell this, because I want to do it +myself. + +I learned of it just by chance one night at the club. +There is one old man there, extremely rich, with one of +the best faces of the lot, just like a hyena. I never +used to know how he had got so rich. So one evening I +asked one of the millionaires how old Bloggs had made +all his money. + +"How he made it?" he answered with a sneer. "Why he made +it by taking it out of widows and orphans." + +Widows and orphans! I thought, what an excellent idea. +But who would have suspected that they had it? + +"And how," I asked pretty cautiously, "did he go at it +to get it out of them?" + +"Why," the man answered, "he just ground them under his +heels, that was how." + +Now isn't that simple? I've thought of that conversation +often since and I mean to try it. If I can get hold of +them, I'll grind them quick enough. But how to get them. +Most of the widows I know look pretty solid for that sort +of thing, and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot +of them. Meantime I am waiting, and if I ever get a large +bunch of orphans all together, I'll stamp on them and +see. + +I find, too, on inquiry, that you can also grind it out +of clergymen. They say they grind nicely. But perhaps +orphans are easier. + + + + +How to Live to be 200 + +Twenty years ago I knew a man called Jiggins, who had +the Health Habit. + +He used to take a cold plunge every morning. He said it +opened his pores. After it he took a hot sponge. He said +it closed the pores. He got so that he could open and +shut his pores at will. + +Jiggins used to stand and breathe at an open window for +half an hour before dressing. He said it expanded his +lungs. He might, of course, have had it done in a shoe-store +with a boot stretcher, but after all it cost him nothing +this way, and what is half an hour? + +After he had got his undershirt on, Jiggins used to hitch +himself up like a dog in harness and do Sandow exercises. +He did them forwards, backwards, and hind-side up. + +He could have got a job as a dog anywhere. He spent all +his time at this kind of thing. In his spare time at the +office, he used to lie on his stomach on the floor and +see if he could lift himself up with his knuckles. If he +could, then he tried some other way until he found one +that he couldn't do. Then he would spend the rest of his +lunch hour on his stomach, perfectly happy. + +In the evenings in his room he used to lift iron bars, +cannon-balls, heave dumb-bells, and haul himself up to +the ceiling with his teeth. You could hear the thumps +half a mile. He liked it. + +He spent half the night slinging himself around his room. +He said it made his brain clear. When he got his brain +perfectly clear, he went to bed and slept. As soon as he +woke, he began clearing it again. + +Jiggins is dead. He was, of course, a pioneer, but the +fact that he dumb-belled himself to death at an early +age does not prevent a whole generation of young men from +following in his path. + +They are ridden by the Health Mania. + +They make themselves a nuisance. + +They get up at impossible hours. They go out in silly +little suits and run Marathon heats before breakfast. +They chase around barefoot to get the dew on their feet. +They hunt for ozone. They bother about pepsin. They won't +eat meat because it has too much nitrogen. They won't +eat fruit because it hasn't any. They prefer albumen and +starch and nitrogen to huckleberry pie and doughnuts. +They won't drink water out of a tap. They won't eat +sardines out of a can. They won't use oysters out of a +pail. They won't drink milk out of a glass. They are +afraid of alcohol in any shape. Yes, sir, afraid. "Cowards." + +And after all their fuss they presently incur some simple +old-fashioned illness and die like anybody else. + +Now people of this sort have no chance to attain any +great age. They are on the wrong track. + +Listen. Do you want to live to be really old, to enjoy +a grand, green, exuberant, boastful old age and to make +yourself a nuisance to your whole neighbourhood with your +reminiscences? + +Then cut out all this nonsense. Cut it out. Get up in +the morning at a sensible hour. The time to get up is +when you have to, not before. If your office opens at +eleven, get up at ten-thirty. Take your chance on ozone. +There isn't any such thing anyway. Or, if there is, you +can buy a Thermos bottle full for five cents, and put it +on a shelf in your cupboard. If your work begins at seven +in the morning, get up at ten minutes to, but don't be +liar enough to say that you like it. It isn't exhilarating, +and you know it. + +Also, drop all that cold-bath business. You never did it +when you were a boy. Don't be a fool now. If you must +take a bath (you don't really need to), take it warm. +The pleasure of getting out of a cold bed and creeping +into a hot bath beats a cold plunge to death. In any +case, stop gassing about your tub and your "shower," as +if you were the only man who ever washed. + +So much for that point. + +Next, take the question of germs and bacilli. Don't be +scared of them. That's all. That's the whole thing, and +if you once get on to that you never need to worry again. + +If you see a bacilli, walk right up to it, and look it +in the eye. If one flies into your room, strike at it +with your hat or with a towel. Hit it as hard as you can +between the neck and the thorax. It will soon get sick +of that. + +But as a matter of fact, a bacilli is perfectly quiet +and harmless if you are not afraid of it. Speak to it. +Call out to it to "lie down." It will understand. I had +a bacilli once, called Fido, that would come and lie at +my feet while I was working. I never knew a more +affectionate companion, and when it was run over by an +automobile, I buried it in the garden with genuine sorrow. + +(I admit this is an exaggeration. I don't really remember +its name; it may have been Robert.) + +Understand that it is only a fad of modern medicine to +say that cholera and typhoid and diphtheria are caused +by bacilli and germs; nonsense. Cholera is caused by a +frightful pain in the stomach, and diphtheria is caused +by trying to cure a sore throat. + +Now take the question of food. + +Eat what you want. Eat lots of it. Yes, eat too much of +it. Eat till you can just stagger across the room with +it and prop it up against a sofa cushion. Eat everything +that you like until you can't eat any more. The only test +is, can you pay for it? If you can't pay for it, don't +eat it. And listen--don't worry as to whether your food +contains starch, or albumen, or gluten, or nitrogen. If +you are a damn fool enough to want these things, go and +buy them and eat all you want of them. Go to a laundry +and get a bag of starch, and eat your fill of it. Eat +it, and take a good long drink of glue after it, and a +spoonful of Portland cement. That will gluten you, good +and solid. + +If you like nitrogen, go and get a druggist to give you +a canful of it at the soda counter, and let you sip it +with a straw. Only don't think that you can mix all these +things up with your food. There isn't any nitrogen or +phosphorus or albumen in ordinary things to eat. In any +decent household all that sort of stuff is washed out in +the kitchen sink before the food is put on the table. + +And just one word about fresh air and exercise. Don't +bother with either of them. Get your room full of good +air, then shut up the windows and keep it. It will keep +for years. Anyway, don't keep using your lungs all the +time. Let them rest. As for exercise, if you have to take +it, take it and put up with it. But as long as you have +the price of a hack and can hire other people to play +baseball for you and run races and do gymnastics when +you sit in the shade and smoke and watch them--great +heavens, what more do you want? + + + + +How to Avoid Getting Married + +Some years ago, when I was the Editor of a Correspondence +Column, I used to receive heart-broken letters from young +men asking for advice and sympathy. They found themselves +the object of marked attentions from girls which they +scarcely knew how to deal with. They did not wish to give +pain or to seem indifferent to a love which they felt +was as ardent as it was disinterested, and yet they felt +that they could not bestow their hands where their hearts +had not spoken. They wrote to me fully and frankly, and +as one soul might write to another for relief. I accepted +their confidences as under the pledge of a secrecy, never +divulging their disclosures beyond the circulation of my +newspapers, or giving any hint of their identity other +than printing their names and addresses and their letters +in full. But I may perhaps without dishonour reproduce +one of these letters, and my answer to it, inasmuch as +the date is now months ago, and the softening hand of +Time has woven its roses--how shall I put it?--the mellow +haze of reminiscences has--what I mean is that the young +man has gone back to work and is all right again. + +Here then is a letter from a young man whose name I must +not reveal, but whom I will designate as D. F., and whose +address I must not divulge, but will simply indicate as +Q. Street, West. + +"DEAR MR. LEACOCK, + +"For some time past I have been the recipient of very +marked attentions from a young lady. She has been calling +at the house almost every evening, and has taken me out +in her motor, and invited me to concerts and the theatre. +On these latter occasions I have insisted on her taking +my father with me, and have tried as far as possible to +prevent her saying anything to me which would be unfit +for father to hear. But my position has become a very +difficult one. I do not think it right to accept her +presents when I cannot feel that my heart is hers. +Yesterday she sent to my house a beautiful bouquet of +American Beauty roses addressed to me, and a magnificent +bunch of Timothy Hay for father. I do not know what to +say. Would it be right for father to keep all this valuable +hay? I have confided fully in father, and we have discussed +the question of presents. He thinks that there are some +that we can keep with propriety, and others that a sense +of delicacy forbids us to retain. He himself is going to +sort out the presents into the two classes. He thinks +that as far as he can see, the Hay is in class B. Meantime +I write to you, as I understand that Miss Laura Jean +Libby and Miss Beatrix Fairfax are on their vacation, +and in any case a friend of mine who follows their writings +closely tells me that they are always full. + +"I enclose a dollar, because I do not think it right to +ask you to give all your valuable time and your best +thought without giving you back what it is worth." + +On receipt of this I wrote back at once a private and +confidential letter which I printed in the following +edition of the paper. + +"MY DEAR, DEAR BOY, + +"Your letter has touched me. As soon as I opened it and +saw the green and blue tint of the dollar bill which you +had so daintily and prettily folded within the pages of +your sweet letter, I knew that the note was from someone +that I could learn to love, if our correspondence were +to continue as it had begun. I took the dollar from your +letter and kissed and fondled it a dozen times. Dear +unknown boy! I shall always keep that dollar! No matter +how much I may need it, or how many necessaries, yes, +absolute necessities, of life I may be wanting, I shall +always keep THAT dollar. Do you understand, dear? I shall +keep it. I shall not spend it. As far as the USE of it +goes, it will be just as if you had not sent it. Even if +you were to send me another dollar, I should still keep +the first one, so that no matter how many you sent, the +recollection of one first friendship would not be +contaminated with mercenary considerations. When I say +dollar, darling, of course an express order, or a postal +note, or even stamps would be all the same. But in that +case do not address me in care of this office, as I should +not like to think of your pretty little letters lying +round where others might handle them. + +"But now I must stop chatting about myself, for I know +that you cannot be interested in a simple old fogey such +as I am. Let me talk to you about your letter and about +the difficult question it raises for all marriageable +young men. + +"In the first place, let me tell you how glad I am that +you confide in your father. Whatever happens, go at once +to your father, put your arms about his neck, and have +a good cry together. And you are right, too, about +presents. It needs a wiser head than my poor perplexed +boy to deal with them. Take them to your father to be +sorted, or, if you feel that you must not overtax his +love, address them to me in your own pretty hand. + +"And now let us talk, dear, as one heart to another. +Remember always that if a girl is to have your heart she +must be worthy of you. When you look at your own bright +innocent face in the mirror, resolve that you will give +your hand to no girl who is not just as innocent as you +are and no brighter than yourself. So that you must first +find out how innocent she is. Ask her quietly and +frankly--remember, dear, that the days of false modesty +are passing away--whether she has ever been in jail. If +she has not (and if YOU have not), then you know that +you are dealing with a dear confiding girl who will make +you a life mate. Then you must know, too, that her mind +is worthy of your own. So many men to-day are led astray +by the merely superficial graces and attractions of girls +who in reality possess no mental equipment at all. Many +a man is bitterly disillusioned after marriage when he +realises that his wife cannot solve a quadratic equation, +and that he is compelled to spend all his days with a +woman who does not know that X squared plus 2XY plus Y +squared is the same thing, or, I think nearly the same +thing, as X plus Y squared. + +"Nor should the simple domestic virtues be neglected. If +a girl desires to woo you, before allowing her to press +her suit, ask her if she knows how to press yours. If +she can, let her woo; if not, tell her to whoa. But I +see I have written quite as much as I need for this +column. Won't you write again, just as before, dear boy? + +"STEPHEN LEACOCK." + + + + +How to be a Doctor + +Certainly the progress of science is a wonderful thing. +One can't help feeling proud of it. I must admit that I +do. Whenever I get talking to anyone--that is, to anyone +who knows even less about it than I do--about the marvellous +development of electricity, for instance, I feel as if +I had been personally responsible for it. As for the +linotype and the aeroplane and the vacuum house-cleaner, +well, I am not sure that I didn't invent them myself. I +believe that all generous-hearted men feel just the same +way about it. + +However, that is not the point I am intending to discuss. +What I want to speak about is the progress of medicine. +There, if you like, is something wonderful. Any lover of +humanity (or of either sex of it) who looks back on the +achievements of medical science must feel his heart glow +and his right ventricle expand with the pericardiac +stimulus of a permissible pride. + +Just think of it. A hundred years ago there were no +bacilli, no ptomaine poisoning, no diphtheria, and no +appendicitis. Rabies was but little known, and only +imperfectly developed. All of these we owe to medical +science. Even such things as psoriasis and parotitis and +trypanosomiasis, which are now household names, were +known only to the few, and were quite beyond the reach +of the great mass of the people. + +Or consider the advance of the science on its practical +side. A hundred years ago it used to be supposed that +fever could be cured by the letting of blood; now we know +positively that it cannot. Even seventy years ago it was +thought that fever was curable by the administration of +sedative drugs; now we know that it isn't. For the matter +of that, as recently as thirty years ago, doctors thought +that they could heal a fever by means of low diet and +the application of ice; now they are absolutely certain +that they cannot. This instance shows the steady progress +made in the treatment of fever. But there has been the +same cheering advance all along the line. Take rheumatism. +A few generations ago people with rheumatism used to have +to carry round potatoes in their pockets as a means of +cure. Now the doctors allow them to carry absolutely +anything they like. They may go round with their pockets +full of water-melons if they wish to. It makes no +difference. Or take the treatment of epilepsy. It used +to be supposed that the first thing to do in sudden +attacks of this kind was to unfasten the patient's collar +and let him breathe; at present, on the contrary, many +doctors consider it better to button up the patient's +collar and let him choke. + +In only one respect has there been a decided lack of +progress in the domain of medicine, that is in the time +it takes to become a qualified practitioner. In the good +old days a man was turned out thoroughly equipped after +putting in two winter sessions at a college and spending +his summers in running logs for a sawmill. Some of the +students were turned out even sooner. Nowadays it takes +anywhere from five to eight years to become a doctor. Of +course, one is willing to grant that our young men are +growing stupider and lazier every year. This fact will +be corroborated at once by any man over fifty years of +age. But even when this is said it seems odd that a man +should study eight years now to learn what he used to +acquire in eight months. + +However, let that go. The point I want to develop is that +the modern doctor's business is an extremely simple one, +which could be acquired in about two weeks. This is the +way it is done. + +The patient enters the consulting-room. "Doctor," he +says, "I have a bad pain." "Where is it?" "Here." "Stand +up," says the doctor, "and put your arms up above your +head." Then the doctor goes behind the patient and strikes +him a powerful blow in the back. "Do you feel that," he +says. "I do," says the patient. Then the doctor turns +suddenly and lets him have a left hook under the heart. +"Can you feel that," he says viciously, as the patient +falls over on the sofa in a heap. "Get up," says the +doctor, and counts ten. The patient rises. The doctor +looks him over very carefully without speaking, and then +suddenly fetches him a blow in the stomach that doubles +him up speechless. The doctor walks over to the window +and reads the morning paper for a while. Presently he +turns and begins to mutter more to himself than the +patient. "Hum!" he says, "there's a slight anaesthesia +of the tympanum." "Is that so?" says the patient, in an +agony of fear. "What can I do about it, doctor?" "Well," +says the doctor, "I want you to keep very quiet; you'll +have to go to bed and stay there and keep quiet." In +reality, of course, the doctor hasn't the least idea what +is wrong with the man; but he DOES know that if he will +go to bed and keep quiet, awfully quiet, he'll either +get quietly well again or else die a quiet death. Meantime, +if the doctor calls every morning and thumps and beats +him, he can keep the patient submissive and perhaps force +him to confess what is wrong with him. + +"What about diet, doctor?" says the patient, completely +cowed. + +The answer to this question varies very much. It depends +on how the doctor is feeling and whether it is long since +he had a meal himself. If it is late in the morning and +the doctor is ravenously hungry, he says: "Oh, eat plenty, +don't be afraid of it; eat meat, vegetables, starch, +glue, cement, anything you like." But if the doctor has +just had lunch and if his breathing is short-circuited +with huckleberry-pie, he says very firmly: "No, I don't +want you to eat anything at all: absolutely not a bite; +it won't hurt you, a little self-denial in the matter of +eating is the best thing in the world." + +"And what about drinking?" Again the doctor's answer +varies. He may say: "Oh, yes, you might drink a glass of +lager now and then, or, if you prefer it, a gin and soda +or a whisky and Apollinaris, and I think before going to +bed I'd take a hot Scotch with a couple of lumps of white +sugar and bit of lemon-peel in it and a good grating of +nutmeg on the top." The doctor says this with real feeling, +and his eye glistens with the pure love of his profession. +But if, on the other hand, the doctor has spent the night +before at a little gathering of medical friends, he is +very apt to forbid the patient to touch alcohol in any +shape, and to dismiss the subject with great severity. + +Of course, this treatment in and of itself would appear +too transparent, and would fail to inspire the patient +with a proper confidence. But nowadays this element is +supplied by the work of the analytical laboratory. Whatever +is wrong with the patient, the doctor insists on snipping +off parts and pieces and extracts of him and sending them +mysteriously away to be analysed. He cuts off a lock of +the patient's hair, marks it, "Mr. Smith's Hair, October, +1910." Then he clips off the lower part of the ear, and +wraps it in paper, and labels it, "Part of Mr. Smith's +Ear, October, 1910." Then he looks the patient up and +down, with the scissors in his hand, and if he sees any +likely part of him he clips it off and wraps it up. Now +this, oddly enough, is the very thing that fills the +patient up with that sense of personal importance which +is worth paying for. "Yes," says the bandaged patient, +later in the day to a group of friends much impressed, +"the doctor thinks there may be a slight anaesthesia of +the prognosis, but he's sent my ear to New York and my +appendix to Baltimore and a lock of my hair to the editors +of all the medical journals, and meantime I am to keep +very quiet and not exert myself beyond drinking a hot +Scotch with lemon and nutmeg every half-hour." With that +he sinks back faintly on his cushions, luxuriously happy. + +And yet, isn't it funny? + +You and I and the rest of us--even if we know all this--as +soon as we have a pain within us, rush for a doctor as +fast as a hack can take us. Yes, personally, I even prefer +an ambulance with a bell on it. It's more soothing. + + + + +The New Food + +I see from the current columns of the daily press that +"Professor Plumb, of the University of Chicago, has just +invented a highly concentrated form of food. All the +essential nutritive elements are put together in the form +of pellets, each of which contains from one to two hundred +times as much nourishment as an ounce of an ordinary +article of diet. These pellets, diluted with water, will +form all that is necessary to support life. The professor +looks forward confidently to revolutionizing the present +food system." + +Now this kind of thing may be all very well in its way, +but it is going to have its drawbacks as well. In the +bright future anticipated by Professor Plumb, we can +easily imagine such incidents as the following: + +The smiling family were gathered round the hospitable +board. The table was plenteously laid with a soup-plate +in front of each beaming child, a bucket of hot water +before the radiant mother, and at the head of the board +the Christmas dinner of the happy home, warmly covered +by a thimble and resting on a poker chip. The expectant +whispers of the little ones were hushed as the father, +rising from his chair, lifted the thimble and disclosed +a small pill of concentrated nourishment on the chip +before him. Christmas turkey, cranberry sauce, plum +pudding, mince pie--it was all there, all jammed into +that little pill and only waiting to expand. Then the +father with deep reverence, and a devout eye alternating +between the pill and heaven, lifted his voice in a +benediction. + +At this moment there was an agonized cry from the mother. + +"Oh, Henry, quick! Baby has snatched the pill!" It was +too true. Dear little Gustavus Adolphus, the golden-haired +baby boy, had grabbed the whole Christmas dinner off the +poker chip and bolted it. Three hundred and fifty pounds +of concentrated nourishment passed down the oesophagus +of the unthinking child. + +"Clap him on the back!" cried the distracted mother. +"Give him water!" + +The idea was fatal. The water striking the pill caused +it to expand. There was a dull rumbling sound and then, +with an awful bang, Gustavus Adolphus exploded into +fragments! + +And when they gathered the little corpse together, the +baby lips were parted in a lingering smile that could +only be worn by a child who had eaten thirteen Christmas +dinners. + + + + +A New Pathology + +It has long been vaguely understood that the condition +of a man's clothes has a certain effect upon the health +of both body and mind. The well-known proverb, "Clothes +make the man" has its origin in a general recognition of +the powerful influence of the habiliments in their reaction +upon the wearer. The same truth may be observed in the +facts of everyday life. On the one hand we remark the +bold carriage and mental vigour of a man attired in a +new suit of clothes; on the other hand we note the +melancholy features of him who is conscious of a posterior +patch, or the haunted face of one suffering from internal +loss of buttons. But while common observation thus gives +us a certain familiarity with a few leading facts regarding +the ailments and influence of clothes, no attempt has as +yet been made to reduce our knowledge to a systematic +form. At the same time the writer feels that a valuable +addition might be made to the science of medicine in this +direction. The numerous diseases which are caused by this +fatal influence should receive a scientific analysis, +and their treatment be included among the principles of +the healing art. The diseases of the clothes may roughly +be divided into medical cases and surgical cases, while +these again fall into classes according to the particular +garment through which the sufferer is attacked. + + MEDICAL CASES + +Probably no article of apparel is so liable to a diseased +condition as the trousers. It may be well, therefore, to +treat first those maladies to which they are subject. + +I. Contractio Pantalunae, or Shortening of the Legs of +the Trousers, an extremely painful malady most frequently +found in the growing youth. The first symptom is the +appearance of a yawning space (lacuna) above the boots, +accompanied by an acute sense of humiliation and a morbid +anticipation of mockery. The application of treacle to +the boots, although commonly recommended, may rightly be +condemned as too drastic a remedy. The use of boots +reaching to the knee, to be removed only at night, will +afford immediate relief. In connection with Contractio +is often found-- + +II. Inflatio Genu, or Bagging of the Knees of the Trousers, +a disease whose symptoms are similar to those above. The +patient shows an aversion to the standing posture, and, +in acute cases, if the patient be compelled to stand, +the head is bent and the eye fixed with painful rigidity +upon the projecting blade formed at the knee of the +trousers. + +In both of the above diseases anything that can be done +to free the mind of the patient from a morbid sense of +his infirmity will do much to improve the general tone +of the system. + +III. Oases, or Patches, are liable to break out anywhere +on the trousers, and range in degree of gravity from +those of a trifling nature to those of a fatal character. +The most distressing cases are those where the patch +assumes a different colour from that of the trousers +(dissimilitas coloris). In this instance the mind of the +patient is found to be in a sadly aberrated condition. +A speedy improvement may, however, be effected by cheerful +society, books, flowers, and, above all, by a complete +change. + +IV. The overcoat is attacked by no serious disorders, +except-- + +Phosphorescentia, or Glistening, a malady which indeed +may often be observed to affect the whole system. It is +caused by decay of tissue from old age and is generally +aggravated by repeated brushing. A peculiar feature of +the complaint is the lack of veracity on the part of the +patient in reference to the cause of his uneasiness. +Another invariable symptom is his aversion to outdoor +exercise; under various pretexts, which it is the duty +of his medical adviser firmly to combat, he will avoid +even a gentle walk in the streets. + +V. Of the waistcoat science recognizes but one disease-- + +Porriggia, an affliction caused by repeated spilling of +porridge. It is generally harmless, chiefly owing to the +mental indifference of the patient. It can be successfully +treated by repeated fomentations of benzine. + +VI. Mortificatio Tilis, or Greenness of the Hat, is a +disease often found in connection with Phosphorescentia +(mentioned above), and characterized by the same aversion +to outdoor life. + +VII. Sterilitas, or Loss of Fur, is another disease of +the hat, especially prevalent in winter. It is not +accurately known whether this is caused by a falling out +of the fur or by a cessation of growth. In all diseases +of the hat the mind of the patient is greatly depressed +and his countenance stamped with the deepest gloom. He +is particularly sensitive in regard to questions as to +the previous history of the hat. + +Want of space precludes the mention of minor diseases, +such as-- + +VIII. Odditus Soccorum, or oddness of the socks, a thing +in itself trifling, but of an alarming nature if met in +combination with Contractio Pantalunae. Cases are found +where the patient, possibly on the public platform or at +a social gathering, is seized with a consciousness of +the malady so suddenly as to render medical assistance +futile. + + SURGICAL CASES + +It is impossible to mention more than a few of the most +typical cases of diseases of this sort. + +I. Explosio, or Loss of Buttons, is the commonest malady +demanding surgical treatment. It consists of a succession +of minor fractures, possibly internal, which at first +excite no alarm. A vague sense of uneasiness is presently +felt, which often leads the patient to seek relief in +the string habit--a habit which, if unduly indulged in, +may assume the proportions of a ruling passion. The use +of sealing-wax, while admirable as a temporary remedy +for Explosio, should never be allowed to gain a permanent +hold upon the system. There is no doubt that a persistent +indulgence in the string habit, or the constant use of +sealing-wax, will result in-- + +II. Fractura Suspendorum, or Snapping of the Braces, +which amounts to a general collapse of the system. The +patient is usually seized with a severe attack of explosio, +followed by a sudden sinking feeling and sense of loss. +A sound constitution may rally from the shock, but a +system undermined by the string habit invariably succumbs. + +III. Sectura Pantalunae, or Ripping of the Trousers, is +generally caused by sitting upon warm beeswax or leaning +against a hook. In the case of the very young it is not +unfrequently accompanied by a distressing suppuration of +the shirt. This, however, is not remarked in adults. The +malady is rather mental than bodily, the mind of the +patient being racked by a keen sense of indignity and a +feeling of unworthiness. The only treatment is immediate +isolation, with a careful stitching of the affected part. + +In conclusion, it may be stated that at the first symptom +of disease the patient should not hesitate to put himself +in the hands of a professional tailor. In so brief a +compass as the present article the discussion has of +necessity been rather suggestive than exhaustive. Much +yet remains to be done, and the subject opens wide to +the inquiring eye. The writer will, however, feel amply +satisfied if this brief outline may help to direct the +attention of medical men to what is yet an unexplored +field. + + + + +The Poet Answered + +Dear sir: + +In answer to your repeated questions and requests which +have appeared for some years past in the columns of the +rural press, I beg to submit the following solutions of +your chief difficulties:-- + +Topic I.--You frequently ask, where are the friends of +your childhood, and urge that they shall be brought back +to you. As far as I am able to learn, those of your +friends who are not in jail are still right there in your +native village. You point out that they were wont to +share your gambols. If so, you are certainly entitled to +have theirs now. + +Topic II.--You have taken occasion to say: + + "Give me not silk, nor rich attire, + Nor gold, nor jewels rare." + +But, my dear fellow, this is preposterous. Why, these +are the very things I had bought for you. If you won't +take any of these, I shall have to give you factory cotton +and cordwood. + +Topic III.--You also ask, "How fares my love across the +sea?" Intermediate, I presume. She would hardly travel +steerage. + +Topic IV.--"Why was I born? Why should I breathe?" Here +I quite agree with you. I don't think you ought to breathe. + +Topic V.--You demand that I shall show you the man whose +soul is dead and then mark him. I am awfully sorry; the +man was around here all day yesterday, and if I had only +known I could easily have marked him so that we could +pick him out again. + +Topic VI.--I notice that you frequently say, "Oh, for +the sky of your native land." Oh, for it, by all means, +if you wish. But remember that you already owe for a +great deal. + +Topic VII.--On more than one occasion you wish to be +informed, "What boots it, that you idly dream?" Nothing +boots it at present--a fact, sir, which ought to afford +you the highest gratification. + + + + +The Force of Statistics + +They were sitting on a seat of the car, immediately in +front of me. I was consequently able to hear all that +they were saying. They were evidently strangers who had +dropped into a conversation. They both had the air of +men who considered themselves profoundly interesting as +minds. It was plain that each laboured under the impression +that he was a ripe thinker. + +One had just been reading a book which lay in his lap. + +"I've been reading some very interesting statistics," he +was saying to the other thinker. + +"Ah, statistics" said the other; "wonderful things, sir, +statistics; very fond of them myself." + +"I find, for instance," the first man went on, "that a +drop of water is filled with little...with little...I +forget just what you call them...little--er--things, +every cubic inch containing--er--containing...let me +see..." + +"Say a million," said the other thinker, encouragingly. + +"Yes, a million, or possibly a billion...but at any +rate, ever so many of them." + +"Is it possible?" said the other. "But really, you know +there are wonderful things in the world. Now, coal...take +coal..." + +"Very, good," said his friend, "let us take coal," settling +back in his seat with the air of an intellect about to +feed itself. + +"Do you know that every ton of coal burnt in an engine +will drag a train of cars as long as...I forget the +exact length, but say a train of cars of such and such +a length, and weighing, say so much...from...from...hum! +for the moment the exact distance escapes me...drag it +from..." + +"From here to the moon," suggested the other. + +"Ah, very likely; yes, from here to the moon. Wonderful, +isn't it?" + +"But the most stupendous calculation of all, sir, is in +regard to the distance from the earth to the sun. +Positively, sir, a cannon-ball--er--fired at the sun..." + +"Fired at the sun," nodded the other, approvingly, as if +he had often seen it done. + +"And travelling at the rate of...of..." + +"Of three cents a mile," hinted the listener. + +"No, no, you misunderstand me,--but travelling at a fearful +rate, simply fearful, sir, would take a hundred million--no, +a hundred billion--in short would take a scandalously long +time in getting there--" + +At this point I could stand no more. I interrupted--"Provided +it were fired from Philadelphia," I said, and passed into the +smoking-car. + + + + +Men Who have Shaved Me + +A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can +tell you at what exact hour the ball game of the day is +to begin, can foretell its issue without losing a stroke +of the razor, and can explain the points of inferiority +of all the players, as compared with better men that he +has personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a +professional. He can do all this, and then stuff the +customer's mouth with a soap-brush, and leave him while +he goes to the other end of the shop to make a side bet +with one of the other barbers on the outcome of the Autumn +Handicap. In the barber-shops they knew the result of +the Jeffries-Johnson prize-fight long before it happened. +It is on information of this kind that they make their +living. The performance of shaving is only incidental to +it. Their real vocation in life is imparting information. +To the barber the outside world is made up of customers, +who are to be thrown into chairs, strapped, manacled, +gagged with soap, and then given such necessary information +on the athletic events of the moment as will carry them +through the business hours of the day without open +disgrace. + +As soon as the barber has properly filled up the customer +with information of this sort, he rapidly removes his +whiskers as a sign that the man is now fit to talk to, +and lets him out of the chair. + +The public has grown to understand the situation. Every +reasonable business man is willing to sit and wait half +an hour for a shave which he could give himself in three +minutes, because he knows that if he goes down town +without understanding exactly why Chicago lost two games +straight he will appear an ignoramus. + +At times, of course, the barber prefers to test his +customer with a question or two. He gets him pinned in +the chair, with his head well back, covers the customer's +face with soap, and then planting his knee on his chest +and holding his hand firmly across the customer's mouth, +to prevent all utterance and to force him to swallow the +soap, he asks: "Well, what did you think of the Detroit-St. +Louis game yesterday?" This is not really meant for a +question at all. It is only equivalent to saying: "Now, +you poor fool, I'll bet you don't know anything about +the great events of your country at all." There is a +gurgle in the customer's throat as if he were trying to +answer, and his eyes are seen to move sideways, but the +barber merely thrusts the soap-brush into each eye, and +if any motion still persists, he breathes gin and peppermint +over the face, till all sign of life is extinct. Then he +talks the game over in detail with the barber at the next +chair, each leaning across an inanimate thing extended +under steaming towels that was once a man. + +To know all these things barbers have to be highly +educated. It is true that some of the greatest barbers +that have ever lived have begun as uneducated, illiterate +men, and by sheer energy and indomitable industry have +forced their way to the front. But these are exceptions. +To succeed nowadays it is practically necessary to be a +college graduate. As the courses at Harvard and Yale have +been found too superficial, there are now established +regular Barbers' Colleges, where a bright young man can +learn as much in three weeks as he would be likely to +know after three years at Harvard. The courses at these +colleges cover such things as: (1) Physiology, including +Hair and its Destruction, The Origin and Growth of +Whiskers, Soap in its Relation to Eyesight; (2) Chemistry, +including lectures on Florida Water; and How to Make it +out of Sardine Oil; (3) Practical Anatomy, including The +Scalp and How to Lift it, The Ears and How to Remove +them, and, as the Major Course for advanced students, +The Veins of the Face and how to open and close them at +will by the use of alum. + +The education of the customer is, as I have said, the +chief part of the barber's vocation. But it must be +remembered that the incidental function of removing his +whiskers in order to mark him as a well-informed man is +also of importance, and demands long practice and great +natural aptitude. In the barbers' shops of modern cities +shaving has been brought to a high degree of perfection. +A good barber is not content to remove the whiskers of +his client directly and immediately. He prefers to cook +him first. He does this by immersing the head in hot +water and covering the victim's face with steaming towels +until he has him boiled to a nice pink. From time to time +the barber removes the towels and looks at the face to +see if it is yet boiled pink enough for his satisfaction. +If it is not, he replaces the towels again and jams them +down firmly with his hand until the cooking is finished. +The final result, however, amply justifies this trouble, +and the well-boiled customer only needs the addition of +a few vegetables on the side to present an extremely +appetizing appearance. + +During the process of the shave, it is customary for the +barber to apply the particular kind of mental torture +known as the third degree. This is done by terrorizing +the patient as to the very evident and proximate loss +of all his hair and whiskers, which the barber is enabled +by his experience to foretell. "Your hair," he says, very +sadly and sympathetically, "is all falling out. Better +let me give you a shampoo?" "No." "Let me singe your hair +to close up the follicles?" "No." "Let me plug up the +ends of your hair with sealing-wax, it's the only thing +that will save it for you?" "No." "Let me rub an egg +on your scalp?" "No." "Let me squirt a lemon on your +eyebrows?" "No." + +The barber sees that he is dealing with a man of +determination, and he warms to his task. He bends low +and whispers into the prostrate ear: "You've got a good +many grey hairs coming in; better let me give you an +application of Hairocene, only cost you half a dollar?" +"No." "Your face," he whispers again, with a soft, +caressing voice, "is all covered with wrinkles; better +let me rub some of this Rejuvenator into the face." + +This process is continued until one of two things happens. +Either the customer is obdurate, and staggers to his feet +at last and gropes his way out of the shop with the +knowledge that he is a wrinkled, prematurely senile man, +whose wicked life is stamped upon his face, and whose +unstopped hair-ends and failing follicles menace him with +the certainty of complete baldness within twenty-four +hours--or else, as in nearly all instances, he succumbs. +In the latter case, immediately on his saying "yes" there +is a shout of exultation from the barber, a roar of +steaming water, and within a moment two barbers have +grabbed him by the feet and thrown him under the tap, +and, in spite of his struggles, are giving him the +Hydro-magnetic treatment. When he emerges from their +hands, he steps out of the shop looking as if he had been +varnished. + +But even the application of the Hydro-magnetic and the +Rejuvenator do not by any means exhaust the resources of +the up-to-date barber. He prefers to perform on the +customer a whole variety of subsidiary services not +directly connected with shaving, but carried on during +the process of the shave. + +In a good, up-to-date shop, while one man is shaving the +customer, others black his boots; brush his clothes, darn +his socks, point his nails, enamel his teeth, polish his +eyes, and alter the shape of any of his joints which they +think unsightly. During this operation they often stand +seven or eight deep round a customer, fighting for a +chance to get at him. + +All of these remarks apply to barber-shops in the city, and +not to country places. In the country there is only one barber +and one customer at a time. The thing assumes the aspect of +a straight-out, rough-and-tumble, catch-as-catch-can fight, +with a few spectators sitting round the shop to see fair play. +In the city they can shave a man without removing any of his +clothes. But in the country, where the customer insists on +getting the full value for his money, they remove the collar +and necktie, the coat and the waistcoat, and, for a really +good shave and hair-cut, the customer is stripped to the +waist. The barber can then take a rush at him from the other +side of the room, and drive the clippers up the full length of +the spine, so as to come at the heavier hair on the back of +the head with the impact of a lawn-mower driven into long grass. + + + + +Getting the Thread of It + +Have you ever had a man try to explain to you what happened +in a book as far as he has read? It is a most instructive +thing. Sinclair, the man who shares my rooms with me, +made such an attempt the other night. I had come in cold +and tired from a walk and found him full of excitement, +with a bulky magazine in one hand and a paper-cutter +gripped in the other. + +"Say, here's a grand story," he burst out as soon as I +came in; "it's great! most fascinating thing I ever read. +Wait till I read you some of it. I'll just tell you what +has happened up to where I am--you'll easily catch the +thread of it--and then we'll finish it together." + +I wasn't feeling in a very responsive mood, but I saw no +way to stop him, so I merely said, "All right, throw me +your thread, I'll catch it." + +"Well," Sinclair began with great animation, "this count +gets this letter..." + +"Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?" + +"Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letter +from this Porphirio." + +"From which Porphirio?" + +"Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sent +it," Sinclair exclaimed a little impatiently--"sent it +through Demonio and told him to watch for him with him, +and kill him when he got him." + +"Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and who +is to get stabbed?" + +"They're going to stab Demonio." + +"And who brought the letter?" + +"Demonio." + +"Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring it +for?" + +"Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slick +part of it," and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at +the thought of it. "You see, this Carlo Carlotti the +Condottiere..." + +"Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?" + +"It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league +with this Fra Fraliccolo..." + +A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said +firmly, "if the scene of this story is laid in the +Highlands, I refuse to listen to it. Call it off." + +"No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right. +It's laid in Italy...time of Pius the something. He +comes in--say, but he's great! so darned crafty. It's +him, you know, that persuades this Franciscan..." + +"Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?" + +"Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly. +"You see, Pio tries to..." + +"Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?" + +"Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius. +He tries to get Fra Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the +Condottiere to steal the document from...let me see; +what was he called?...Oh, yes...from the Dog of Venice, +so that...or...no, hang it, you put me out, that's all +wrong. It's the other way round. Pio wasn't clever at +all; he's a regular darned fool. It's the Dog that's +crafty. By Jove, he's fine," Sinclair went on; warming +up to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything he wants. +He makes this Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings, +you know, he's the tool of the Dog)...makes him steal +the document off Porphirio, and..." + +"But how does he get him to do that?" I asked. + +"Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, so +he makes Demonio scheme round till he gets old Pio--er--gets +him under his thumb, and then, of course, Pio thinks that +Porphirio--I mean he thinks that he has Porphirio--er--has +him under his thumb." + +"Half a minute, Sinclair," I said, "who did you say was +under the Dog's thumb?" + +"Demonio." + +"Thanks. I was mixed in the thumbs. Go on." + +"Well, just when things are like this..." + +"Like what?" + +"Like I said." + +"All right." + +"Who should turn up and thwart the whole scheme, but this +Signorina Tarara in her domino..." + +"Hully Gee!" I said, "you make my head ache. What the +deuce does she come in her domino for?" + +"Why, to thwart it." + +"To thwart what?" + +"Thwart the whole darned thing," Sinclair exclaimed +emphatically. + +"But can't she thwart it without her domino?" + +"I should think not! You see, if it hadn't been for the +domino, the Dog would have spotted her quick as a wink. +Only when he sees her in the domino with this rose in +her hair, he thinks she must be Lucia dell' Esterolla." + +"Say, he fools himself, doesn't he? Who's this last girl?" + +"Lucia? Oh, she's great!" Sinclair said. "She's one of +those Southern natures, you know, full of--er--full of..." + +"Full of fun," I suggested. + +"Oh, hang it all, don't make fun of it! Well, anyhow, +she's sister, you understand, to the Contessa Carantarata, +and that's why Fra Fraliccolo, or...hold on, that's not +it, no, no, she's not sister to anybody. She's cousin, +that's it; or, anyway, she thinks she is cousin to Fra +Fraliccolo himself, and that's why Pio tries to stab Fra +Fraliccolo." + +"Oh, yes," I assented, "naturally he would." + +"Ah," Sinclair said hopefully, getting his paper-cutter +ready to cut the next pages, "you begin to get the thread +now, don't you?" + +"Oh, fine!" I said. "The people in it are the Dog and +Pio, and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere, and those others +that we spoke of." + +"That's right," Sinclair said. "Of course, there are more +still that I can tell you about if..." + +"Oh, never mind," I said, "I'll work along with those, +they're a pretty representative crowd. Then Porphirio is +under Pio's thumb, and Pio is under Demonio's thumb, and +the Dog is crafty, and Lucia is full of something all +the time. Oh, I've got a mighty clear idea of it," I +concluded bitterly. + +"Oh, you've got it," Sinclair said, "I knew you'd like +it. Now we'll go on. I'll just finish to the bottom of +my page and then I'll go on aloud." + +He ran his eyes rapidly over the lines till he came to +the bottom of the page, then he cut the leaves and turned +over. I saw his eye rest on the half-dozen lines that +confronted him on the next page with an expression of +utter consternation. + +"Well, I will be cursed!" he said at length. + +"What's the matter?" I said gently, with a great joy at +my heart. + +"This infernal thing's a serial," he gasped, as he pointed +at the words, "To be continued," "and that's all there +is in this number." + + + + +Telling His Faults + +"Oh, do, Mr. Sapling," said the beautiful girl at the +summer hotel, "do let me read the palm of your hand! I +can tell you all your faults." + +Mr. Sapling gave an inarticulate gurgle and a roseate +flush swept over his countenance as he surrendered his +palm to the grasp of the fair enchantress. + +"Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr. +Sapling!" she cried. + +Mr. Sapling looked it. + +"To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly and +reflectingly, "you are dreadfully cynical: you hardly +believe in anything at all, and you've utterly no faith +in us poor women." + +The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the features +of Mr. Sapling into a ray of chastened imbecility, was +distorted in an effort at cynicism. + +"Then your next fault is that you are too determined; +much too determined. When once you have set your will on +any object, you crush every obstacle under your feet." + +Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, but +began to feel calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had been +all these things without knowing it. + +"Then you are cold and sarcastic." + +Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. He +succeeded in a rude leer. + +"And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing. +You have drained philosophy to the dregs, and scoff at +everything." + +Mr. Sapling's inner feeling was that from now on he would +simply scoff and scoff and scoff. + +"Your only redeeming quality is that you are generous. +You have tried to kill even this, but cannot. Yes," +concluded the beautiful girl, "those are your faults, +generous still, but cold, cynical, and relentless. Good +night, Mr. Sapling." + +And resisting all entreaties the beautiful girl passed +from the verandah of the hotel and vanished. + +And when later in the evening the brother of the beautiful +girl borrowed Mr. Sapling's tennis racket, and his bicycle +for a fortnight, and the father of the beautiful girl +got Sapling to endorse his note for a couple of hundreds, +and her uncle Zephas borrowed his bedroom candle and used +his razor to cut up a plug of tobacco, Mr. Sapling felt +proud to be acquainted with the family. + + + + +Winter Pastimes + +It is in the depth of winter, when the intense cold +renders it desirable to stay at home, that the really +Pleasant Family is wont to serve invitations upon a few +friends to spend a Quiet Evening. + +It is at these gatherings that that gay thing, the indoor +winter game, becomes rampant. It is there that the old +euchre deck and the staring domino become fair and +beautiful things; that the rattle of the Loto counter +rejoices the heart, that the old riddle feels the sap +stirring in its limbs again, and the amusing spilikin +completes the mental ruin of the jaded guest. Then does +the Jolly Maiden Aunt propound the query: What is the +difference between an elephant and a silk hat? Or declare +that her first is a vowel, her second a preposition, and +her third an archipelago. It is to crown such a quiet +evening, and to give the finishing stroke to those of +the visitors who have not escaped early, with a fierce +purpose of getting at the saloons before they have time +to close, that the indoor game or family reservoir of +fun is dragged from its long sleep. It is spread out upon +the table. Its paper of directions is unfolded. Its cards, +its counters, its pointers and its markers are distributed +around the table, and the visitor forces a look of reckless +pleasure upon his face. Then the "few simple directions" +are read aloud by the Jolly Aunt, instructing each +player to challenge the player holding the golden letter +corresponding to the digit next in order, to name a dead +author beginning with X, failing which the player must +declare himself in fault, and pay the forfeit of handing +over to the Jolly Aunt his gold watch and all his money, +or having a hot plate put down his neck. + +With a view to bringing some relief to the guests at +entertainments of this kind, I have endeavoured to +construct one or two little winter pastimes of a novel +character. They are quite inexpensive, and as they need +no background of higher arithmetic or ancient history, +they are within reach of the humblest intellect. Here is +one of them. It is called Indoor Football, or Football +without a Ball. + +In this game any number of players, from fifteen to +thirty, seat themselves in a heap on any one player, +usually the player next to the dealer. They then challenge +him to get up, while one player stands with a stop-watch +in his hand and counts forty seconds. Should the first +player fail to rise before forty seconds are counted, +the player with the watch declares him suffocated. This +is called a "Down" and counts one. The player who was +the Down is then leant against the wall; his wind is +supposed to be squeezed out. The player called the referee +then blows a whistle and the players select another player +and score a down off him. While the player is supposed +to be down, all the rest must remain seated as before, +and not rise from him until the referee by counting forty +and blowing his whistle announces that in his opinion +the other player is stifled. He is then leant against +the wall beside the first player. When the whistle again +blows the player nearest the referee strikes him behind +the right ear. This is a "Touch," and counts two. + +It is impossible, of course, to give all the rules in +detail. I might add, however, that while it counts TWO +to strike the referee, to kick him counts THREE. To break +his arm or leg counts FOUR, and to kill him outright is +called GRAND SLAM and counts one game. + +Here is another little thing that I have worked out, +which is superior to parlour games in that it combines +their intense excitement with sound out-of-door exercise. + +It is easily comprehended, and can be played by any number +of players, old and young. It requires no other apparatus +than a trolley car of the ordinary type, a mile or two +of track, and a few thousand volts of electricity. It is +called: + + The Suburban Trolley Car + A Holiday Game for Old and Young. + +The chief part in the game is taken by two players who +station themselves one at each end of the car, and who +adopt some distinctive costumes to indicate that they +are "it." The other players occupy the body of the car, +or take up their position at intervals along the track. + +The object of each player should be to enter the car as +stealthily as possible in such a way as to escape the +notice of the players in distinctive dress. Should he +fail to do this he must pay the philopena or forfeit. Of +these there are two: philopena No. 1, the payment of five +cents, and philopena No. 2, being thrown off the car by +the neck. Each player may elect which philopena he will +pay. Any player who escapes paying the philopena scores +one. + +The players who are in the car may elect to adopt a +standing attitude, or to seat themselves, but no player +may seat himself in the lap of another without the second +player's consent. The object of those who elect to remain +standing is to place their feet upon the toes of those +who sit; when they do this they score. The object of +those who elect to sit is to elude the feet of the standing +players. Much merriment is thus occasioned. + +The player in distinctive costume at the front of the +car controls a crank, by means of which he is enabled to +bring the car to a sudden stop, or to cause it to plunge +violently forward. His aim in so doing is to cause all +the standing players to fall over backward. Every time +he does this he scores. For this purpose he is generally +in collusion with the other player in distinctive costume, +whose business it is to let him know by a series of bells +and signals when the players are not looking, and can be +easily thrown down. A sharp fall of this sort gives rise +to no end of banter and good-natured drollery, directed +against the two players who are "it." + +Should a player who is thus thrown backward save himself +from falling by sitting down in the lap of a female +player, he scores one. Any player who scores in this +manner is entitled to remain seated while he may count +six, after which he must remove himself or pay philopena +No. 2. + +Should the player who controls the crank perceive a player +upon the street desirous of joining in the game by entering +the car, his object should be: primo, to run over him +and kill him; secundo, to kill him by any other means in +his power; tertio, to let him into the car, but to exact +the usual philopena. + +Should a player, in thus attempting to get on the car +from without, become entangled in the machinery, the +player controlling the crank shouts "huff!" and the car +is supposed to pass over him. All within the car score +one. + +A fine spice of the ludicrous may be added to the game +by each player pretending that he has a destination or +stopping-place, where he would wish to alight. It now +becomes the aim of the two players who are "it" to carry +him past his point. A player who is thus carried beyond +his imaginary stopping-place must feign a violent passion, +and imitate angry gesticulations. He may, in addition, +feign a great age or a painful infirmity, which will be +found to occasion the most convulsive fun for the other +players in the game. + +These are the main outlines of this most amusing pastime. +Many other agreeable features may, of course, be readily +introduced by persons of humour and imagination. + + + + +Number Fifty-Six + +What I narrate was told me one winter's evening by my +friend Ah-Yen in the little room behind his laundry. +Ah-Yen is a quiet little celestial with a grave and +thoughtful face, and that melancholy contemplative +disposition so often noticed in his countrymen. Between +myself and Ah-Yen there exists a friendship of some years' +standing, and we spend many a long evening in the dimly +lighted room behind his shop, smoking a dreamy pipe +together and plunged in silent meditation. I am chiefly +attracted to my friend by the highly imaginative cast of +his mind, which is, I believe, a trait of the Eastern +character and which enables him to forget to a great +extent the sordid cares of his calling in an inner life +of his own creation. Of the keen, analytical side of his +mind, I was in entire ignorance until the evening of +which I write. + +The room where we sat was small and dingy, with but little +furniture except our chairs and the little table at which +we filled and arranged our pipes, and was lighted only +by a tallow candle. There were a few pictures on the +walls, for the most part rude prints cut from the columns +of the daily press and pasted up to hide the bareness of +the room. Only one picture was in any way noticeable, a +portrait admirably executed in pen and ink. The face was +that of a young man, a very beautiful face, but one of +infinite sadness. I had long been aware, although I know +not how, that Ah-Yen had met with a great sorrow, and +had in some way connected the fact with this portrait. +I had always refrained, however, from asking him about +it, and it was not until the evening in question that I +knew its history. + +We had been smoking in silence for some time when Ah-Yen +spoke. My friend is a man of culture and wide reading, +and his English is consequently perfect in its construction; +his speech is, of course, marked by the lingering liquid +accent of his country which I will not attempt to +reproduce. + +"I see," he said, "that you have been examining the +portrait of my unhappy friend, Fifty-Six. I have never +yet told you of my bereavement, but as to-night is the +anniversary of his death, I would fain speak of him for +a while." + +Ah-Yen paused; I lighted my pipe afresh, and nodded to +him to show that I was listening. + +"I do not know," he went on, "at what precise time +Fifty-Six came into my life. I could indeed find it out +by examining my books, but I have never troubled to do +so. Naturally I took no more interest in him at first +than in any other of my customers--less, perhaps, since +he never in the course of our connection brought his +clothes to me himself but always sent them by a boy. When +I presently perceived that he was becoming one of my +regular customers, I allotted to him his number, Fifty-Six, +and began to speculate as to who and what he was. Before +long I had reached several conclusions in regard to my +unknown client. The quality of his linen showed me that, +if not rich, he was at any rate fairly well off. I could +see that he was a young man of regular Christian life, +who went out into society to a certain extent; this I +could tell from his sending the same number of articles +to the laundry, from his washing always coming on Saturday +night, and from the fact that he wore a dress shirt about +once a week. In disposition he was a modest, unassuming +fellow, for his collars were only two inches high." + +I stared at Ah-Yen in some amazement, the recent +publications of a favourite novelist had rendered me +familiar with this process of analytical reasoning, but +I was prepared for no such revelations from my Eastern +friend. + +"When I first knew him," Ah-Yen went on, "Fifty-Six was +a student at the university. This, of course, I did not +know for some time. I inferred it, however, in the course +of time, from his absence from town during the four summer +months, and from the fact that during the time of the +university examinations the cuffs of his shirts came to +me covered with dates, formulas, and propositions in +geometry. I followed him with no little interest through +his university career. During the four years which it +lasted, I washed for him every week; my regular connection +with him and the insight which my observation gave me +into the lovable character of the man, deepened my first +esteem into a profound affection and I became most anxious +for his success. I helped him at each succeeding +examination, as far as lay in my power, by starching his +shirts half-way to the elbow, so as to leave him as much +room as possible for annotations. My anxiety during the +strain of his final examination I will not attempt to +describe. That Fifty-Six was undergoing the great crisis +of his academic career, I could infer from the state of +his handkerchiefs which, in apparent unconsciousness, he +used as pen-wipers during the final test. His conduct +throughout the examination bore witness to the moral +development which had taken place in his character during +his career as an undergraduate; for the notes upon his +cuffs which had been so copious at his earlier examinations +were limited now to a few hints, and these upon topics +so intricate as to defy an ordinary memory. It was with +a thrill of joy that I at last received in his laundry +bundle one Saturday early in June, a ruffled dress shirt, +the bosom of which was thickly spattered with the spillings +of the wine-cup, and realized that Fifty-Six had banqueted +as a Bachelor of Arts. + +"In the following winter the habit of wiping his pen upon +his handkerchief, which I had remarked during his final +examination, became chronic with him, and I knew that he +had entered upon the study of law. He worked hard during +that year, and dress shirts almost disappeared from his +weekly bundle. It was in the following winter, the second +year of his legal studies, that the tragedy of his life +began. I became aware that a change had come over his +laundry; from one, or at most two a week, his dress shirts +rose to four, and silk handkerchiefs began to replace +his linen ones. It dawned upon me that Fifty-Six was +abandoning the rigorous tenor of his student life and +was going into society. I presently perceived something +more; Fifty-Six was in love. It was soon impossible to +doubt it. He was wearing seven shirts a week; linen +handkerchiefs disappeared from his laundry; his collars +rose from two inches to two and a quarter, and finally +to two and a half. I have in my possession one of his +laundry lists of that period; a glance at it will show +the scrupulous care which he bestowed upon his person. +Well do I remember the dawning hopes of those days, +alternating with the gloomiest despair. Each Saturday I +opened his bundle with a trembling eagerness to catch +the first signs of a return of his love. I helped my +friend in every way that I could. His shirts and collars +were masterpieces of my art, though my hand often shook +with agitation as I applied the starch. She was a brave +noble girl, that I knew; her influence was elevating the +whole nature of Fifty-Six; until now he had had in his +possession a certain number of detached cuffs and false +shirt-fronts. These he discarded now,--at first the false +shirt-fronts, scorning the very idea of fraud, and after +a time, in his enthusiasm, abandoning even the cuffs. I +cannot look back upon those bright happy days of courtship +without a sigh. + +"The happiness of Fifty-Six seemed to enter into and fill +my whole life. I lived but from Saturday to Saturday. +The appearance of false shirt-fronts would cast me to +the lowest depths of despair; their absence raised me to +a pinnacle of hope. It was not till winter softened into +spring that Fifty-Six nerved himself to learn his fate. +One Saturday he sent me a new white waistcoat, a garment +which had hitherto been shunned by his modest nature, to +prepare for his use. I bestowed upon it all the resources +of my art; I read his purpose in it. On the Saturday +following it was returned to me and, with tears of joy, +I marked where a warm little hand had rested fondly on +the right shoulder, and knew that Fifty-Six was the +accepted lover of his sweetheart." + +Ah-Yen paused and sat for some time silent; his pipe had +sputtered out and lay cold in the hollow of his hand; +his eye was fixed upon the wall where the light and +shadows shifted in the dull flickering of the candle. At +last he spoke again: + +"I will not dwell upon the happy days that ensued--days +of gaudy summer neckties and white waistcoats, of spotless +shirts and lofty collars worn but a single day by the +fastidious lover. Our happiness seemed complete and I +asked no more from fate. Alas! it was not destined to +continue! When the bright days of summer were fading into +autumn, I was grieved to notice an occasional quarrel--only +four shirts instead of seven, or the reappearance of the +abandoned cuffs and shirt-fronts. Reconciliations followed, +with tears of penitence upon the shoulder of the white +waistcoat, and the seven shirts came back. But the quarrels +grew more frequent and there came at times stormy scenes +of passionate emotion that left a track of broken buttons +down the waistcoat. The shirts went slowly down to three, +then fell to two, and the collars of my unhappy friend +subsided to an inch and three-quarters. In vain I lavished +my utmost care upon Fifty-Six. It seemed to my tortured +mind that the gloss upon his shirts and collars would +have melted a heart of stone. Alas! my every effort at +reconciliation seemed to fail. An awful month passed; +the false fronts and detached cuffs were all back again; +the unhappy lover seemed to glory in their perfidy. At +last, one gloomy evening, I found on opening his bundle +that he had bought a stock of celluloids, and my heart +told me that she had abandoned him for ever. Of what my +poor friend suffered at this time, I can give you no +idea; suffice it to say that he passed from celluloid to +a blue flannel shirt and from blue to grey. The sight of +a red cotton handkerchief in his wash at length warned +me that his disappointed love had unhinged his mind, and +I feared the worst. Then came an agonizing interval of +three weeks during which he sent me nothing, and after +that came the last parcel that I ever received from him +an enormous bundle that seemed to contain all his effects. +In this, to my horror, I discovered one shirt the breast +of which was stained a deep crimson with his blood, and +pierced by a ragged hole that showed where a bullet had +singed through into his heart. + +"A fortnight before, I remembered having heard the street +boys crying the news of an appalling suicide, and I know +now that it must have been he. After the first shock of +my grief had passed, I sought to keep him in my memory +by drawing the portrait which hangs beside you. I have +some skill in the art, and I feel assured that I have +caught the expression of his face. The picture is, of +course, an ideal one, for, as you know, I never saw +Fifty-Six." + +The bell on the door of the outer shop tinkled at the +entrance of a customer. Ah-Yen rose with that air of +quiet resignation that habitually marked his demeanour, +and remained for some time in the shop. When he returned +he seemed in no mood to continue speaking of his lost +friend. I left him soon after and walked sorrowfully home +to my lodgings. On my way I mused much upon my little +Eastern friend and the sympathetic grasp of his imagination. +But a burden lay heavy on my heart--something I would +fain have told him but which I could not bear to mention. +I could not find it in my heart to shatter the airy castle +of his fancy. For my life has been secluded and lonely +and I have known no love like that of my ideal friend. +Yet I have a haunting recollection of a certain huge +bundle of washing that I sent to him about a year ago. +I had been absent from town for three weeks and my laundry +was much larger than usual in consequence. And if I +mistake not there was in the bundle a tattered shirt that +had been grievously stained by the breaking of a bottle +of red ink in my portmanteau, and burnt in one place +where an ash fell from my cigar as I made up the bundle. +Of all this I cannot feel absolutely certain, yet I know +at least that until a year ago, when I transferred my +custom to a more modern establishment, my laundry number +with Ah-Yen was Fifty-Six. + + + + +Aristocratic Education + +House of Lords, Jan. 25, 1920.--The House of Lords +commenced to-day in Committee the consideration of Clause +No. 52,000 of the Education Bill, dealing with the teaching +of Geometry in the schools. + +The Leader of the Government in presenting the clause +urged upon their Lordships the need of conciliation. The +Bill, he said, had now been before their Lordships for +sixteen years. The Government had made every concession. +They had accepted all the amendments of their Lordships +on the opposite side in regard to the original provisions +of the Bill. They had consented also to insert in the +Bill a detailed programme of studies of which the present +clause, enunciating the fifth proposition of Euclid, was +a part. He would therefore ask their Lordships to accept +the clause drafted as follows: + +"The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are +equal, and if the equal sides of the triangle are produced, +the exterior angles will also be equal." + +He would hasten to add that the Government had no intention +of producing the sides. Contingencies might arise to +render such a course necessary, but in that case their +Lordships would receive an early intimation of the fact. + +The Archbishop of Canterbury spoke against the clause. +He considered it, in its present form, too secular. He +should wish to amend the clause so as to make it read: + +"The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are, in +every Christian community, equal, and if the sides be +produced by a member of a Christian congregation, the +exterior angles will be equal." + +He was aware, he continued, that the angles at the base +of an isosceles triangle are extremely equal, but he must +remind the Government that the Church had been aware of +this for several years past. He was willing also to admit +that the opposite sides and ends of a parallelogram are +equal, but he thought that such admission should be +coupled with a distinct recognition of the existence of +a Supreme Being. + +The Leader of the Government accepted His Grace's amendment +with pleasure. He considered it the brightest amendment +His Grace had made that week. The Government, he said, +was aware of the intimate relation in which His Grace +stood to the bottom end of a parallelogram and was prepared +to respect it. + +Lord Halifax rose to offer a further amendment. He thought +the present case was one in which the "four-fifths" +clause ought to apply: he should wish it stated that the +angles are equal for two days every week, except in the +case of schools where four-fifths of the parents are +conscientiously opposed to the use of the isosceles +triangle. + +The Leader of the Government thought the amendment a +singularly pleasing one. He accepted it and would like +it understood that the words isosceles triangle were not +meant in any offensive sense. + +Lord Rosebery spoke at some length. He considered the +clause unfair to Scotland, where the high state of morality +rendered education unnecessary. Unless an amendment in +this sense was accepted, it might be necessary to reconsider +the Act of Union of 1707. + +The Leader of the Government said that Lord Rosebery's +amendment was the best he had heard yet. The Government +accepted it at once. They were willing to make every +concession. They would, if need be, reconsider the Norman +Conquest. + +The Duke of Devonshire took exception to the part of the +clause relating to the production of the sides. He did +not think the country was prepared for it. It was unfair +to the producer. He would like the clause altered to +read, "if the sides be produced in the home market." + +The Leader of the Government accepted with pleasure His +Grace's amendment. He considered it quite sensible. He +would now, as it was near the hour of rising, present +the clause in its revised form. He hoped, however, that +their Lordships would find time to think out some further +amendments for the evening sitting. + +The clause was then read. + +His Grace of Canterbury then moved that the House, in +all humility, adjourn for dinner. + + + + +The Conjurer's Revenge + +"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer, "having +shown you that the cloth is absolutely empty, I will +proceed to take from it a bowl of goldfish. Presto!" + +All around the hall people were saying, "Oh, how wonderful! +How does he do it?" + +But the Quick Man on the front seat said in a big whisper +to the people near him, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + +Then the people nodded brightly at the Quick Man and +said, "Oh, of course"; and everybody whispered round the +hall, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + +"My next trick," said the conjurer, "is the famous +Hindostanee rings. You will notice that the rings are +apparently separate; at a blow they all join (clang, +clang, clang)--Presto!" + +There was a general buzz of stupefaction till the Quick +Man was heard to whisper, "He-must-have-had-another-lot- +up-his-sleeve." + +Again everybody nodded and whispered, "The-rings-were- +up-his-sleeve." + +The brow of the conjurer was clouded with a gathering +frown. + +"I will now," he continued, "show you a most amusing +trick by which I am enabled to take any number of eggs +from a hat. Will some gentleman kindly lend me his hat? +Ah, thank you--Presto!" + +He extracted seventeen eggs, and for thirty-five seconds +the audience began to think that he was wonderful. Then +the Quick Man whispered along the front bench, "He-has-a- +hen-up-his-sleeve," and all the people whispered it on. +"He-has-a-lot-of-hens-up-his-sleeve." + +The egg trick was ruined. + +It went on like that all through. It transpired from the +whispers of the Quick Man that the conjurer must have +concealed up his sleeve, in addition to the rings, hens, +and fish, several packs of cards, a loaf of bread, a +doll's cradle, a live guinea-pig, a fifty-cent piece, +and a rocking-chair. + +The reputation of the conjurer was rapidly sinking below +zero. At the close of the evening he rallied for a final +effort. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I will present to you, +in conclusion, the famous Japanese trick recently invented +by the natives of Tipperary. Will you, sir," he continued +turning toward the Quick Man, "will you kindly hand me +your gold watch?" + +It was passed to him. + +"Have I your permission to put it into this mortar and +pound it to pieces?" he asked savagely. + +The Quick Man nodded and smiled. + +The conjurer threw the watch into the mortar and grasped +a sledge hammer from the table. There was a sound of +violent smashing, "He's-slipped-it-up-his-sleeve," +whispered the Quick Man. + +"Now, sir," continued the conjurer, "will you allow me +to take your handkerchief and punch holes in it? Thank +you. You see, ladies and gentlemen, there is no deception; +the holes are visible to the eye." + +The face of the Quick Man beamed. This time the real +mystery of the thing fascinated him. + +"And now, sir, will you kindly pass me your silk hat and +allow me to dance on it? Thank you." + +The conjurer made a few rapid passes with his feet and +exhibited the hat crushed beyond recognition. + +"And will you now, sir, take off your celluloid collar +and permit me to burn it in the candle? Thank you, sir. +And will you allow me to smash your spectacles for you +with my hammer? Thank you." + +By this time the features of the Quick Man were assuming +a puzzled expression. "This thing beats me," he whispered, +"I don't see through it a bit." + +There was a great hush upon the audience. Then the conjurer +drew himself up to his full height and, with a withering +look at the Quick Man, he concluded: + +"Ladies and gentlemen, you will observe that I have, with +this gentleman's permission, broken his watch, burnt his +collar, smashed his spectacles, and danced on his hat. +If he will give me the further permission to paint green +stripes on his overcoat, or to tie his suspenders in a +knot, I shall be delighted to entertain you. If not, the +performance is at an end." + +And amid a glorious burst of music from the orchestra +the curtain fell, and the audience dispersed, convinced +that there are some tricks, at any rate, that are not +done up the conjurer's sleeve. + + + + +Hints to Travellers + +The following hints and observations have occurred to me +during a recent trip across the continent: they are +written in no spirit of complaint against existing railroad +methods, but merely in the hope that they may prove useful +to those who travel, like myself, in a spirit of meek, +observant ignorance. + +1. Sleeping in a Pullman car presents some difficulties +to the novice. Care should be taken to allay all sense +of danger. The frequent whistling of the engine during +the night is apt to be a source of alarm. Find out, +therefore, before travelling, the meaning of the various +whistles. One means "station," two, "railroad crossing," +and so on. Five whistles, short and rapid, mean sudden +danger. When you hear whistles in the night, sit up +smartly in your bunk and count them. Should they reach +five, draw on your trousers over your pyjamas and leave +the train instantly. As a further precaution against +accident, sleep with the feet towards the engine if you +prefer to have the feet crushed, or with the head towards +the engine, if you think it best to have the head crushed. +In making this decision try to be as unselfish as possible. +If indifferent, sleep crosswise with the head hanging +over into the aisle. + +2. I have devoted some thought to the proper method of +changing trains. The system which I have observed to be +the most popular with travellers of my own class, is +something as follows: Suppose that you have been told on +leaving New York that you are to change at Kansas City. +The evening before approaching Kansas City, stop the +conductor in the aisle of the car (you can do this best +by putting out your foot and tripping him), and say +politely, "Do I change at Kansas City?" He says "Yes." +Very good. Don't believe him. On going into the dining-car +for supper, take a negro aside and put it to him as a +personal matter between a white man and a black, whether +he thinks you ought to change at Kansas City. Don't be +satisfied with this. In the course of the evening pass +through the entire train from time to time, and say to +people casually, "Oh, can you tell me if I change at +Kansas City?" Ask the conductor about it a few more times +in the evening: a repetition of the question will ensure +pleasant relations with him. Before falling asleep watch +for his passage and ask him through the curtains of your +berth, "Oh, by the way, did you say I changed at Kansas +City?" If he refuses to stop, hook him by the neck with +your walking-stick, and draw him gently to your bedside. +In the morning when the train stops and a man calls, +"Kansas City! All change!" approach the conductor again +and say, "Is this Kansas City?" Don't be discouraged at +his answer. Pick yourself up and go to the other end of +the car and say to the brakesman, "Do you know, sir, if +this is Kansas City?" Don't be too easily convinced. +Remember that both brakesman and conductor may be in +collusion to deceive you. Look around, therefore, for +the name of the station on the signboard. Having found +it, alight and ask the first man you see if this is Kansas +City. He will answer, "Why, where in blank are your blank +eyes? Can't you see it there, plain as blank?" When you +hear language of this sort, ask no more. You are now in +Kansas and this is Kansas City. + +3. I have observed that it is now the practice of the +conductors to stick bits of paper in the hats of the +passengers. They do this, I believe, to mark which ones +they like best. The device is pretty, and adds much to +the scenic appearance of the car. But I notice with pain +that the system is fraught with much trouble for the +conductors. The task of crushing two or three passengers +together, in order to reach over them and stick a ticket +into the chinks of a silk skull cap is embarrassing for +a conductor of refined feelings. It would be simpler if +the conductor should carry a small hammer and a packet +of shingle nails and nail the paid-up passenger to the +back of the seat. Or better still, let the conductor +carry a small pot of paint and a brush, and mark the +passengers in such a way that he cannot easily mistake +them. In the case of bald-headed passengers, the hats +might be politely removed and red crosses painted on the +craniums. This will indicate that they are bald. Through +passengers might be distinguished by a complete coat of +paint. In the hands of a man of taste, much might be +effected by a little grouping of painted passengers and +the leisure time of the conductor agreeably occupied. + +4. I have observed in travelling in the West that the +irregularity of railroad accidents is a fruitful cause +of complaint. The frequent disappointment of the holders +of accident policy tickets on western roads is leading +to widespread protest. Certainly the conditions of travel +in the West are altering rapidly and accidents can no +longer be relied upon. This is deeply to be regretted, +in so much as, apart from accidents, the tickets may be +said to be practically valueless. + + + + +A Manual of Education + +The few selections below are offered as a specimen page +of a little book which I have in course of preparation. + +Every man has somewhere in the back of his head the wreck +of a thing which he calls his education. My book is +intended to embody in concise form these remnants of +early instruction. + +Educations are divided into splendid educations, thorough +classical educations, and average educations. All very +old men have splendid educations; all men who apparently +know nothing else have thorough classical educations; +nobody has an average education. + +An education, when it is all written out on foolscap, +covers nearly ten sheets. It takes about six years of +severe college training to acquire it. Even then a man +often finds that he somehow hasn't got his education just +where he can put his thumb on it. When my little book of +eight or ten pages has appeared, everybody may carry his +education in his hip pocket. + +Those who have not had the advantage of an early training +will be enabled, by a few hours of conscientious +application, to put themselves on an equal footing with +the most scholarly. + +The selections are chosen entirely at random. + + +I.--REMAINS OF ASTRONOMY + +Astronomy teaches the correct use of the sun and the +planets. These may be put on a frame of little sticks +and turned round. This causes the tides. Those at the +ends of the sticks are enormously far away. From time to +time a diligent searching of the sticks reveals new +planets. The orbit of a planet is the distance the stick +goes round in going round. Astronomy is intensely +interesting; it should be done at night, in a high tower +in Spitzbergen. This is to avoid the astronomy being +interrupted. A really good astronomer can tell when a +comet is coming too near him by the warning buzz of the +revolving sticks. + + +II.--REMAINS OF HISTORY + +Aztecs: A fabulous race, half man, half horse, half +mound-builder. They flourished at about the same time as +the early Calithumpians. They have left some awfully +stupendous monuments of themselves somewhere. + +Life of Caesar: A famous Roman general, the last who ever +landed in Britain without being stopped at the custom +house. On returning to his Sabine farm (to fetch something), +he was stabbed by Brutus, and died with the words "Veni, +vidi, tekel, upharsim" in his throat. The jury returned +a verdict of strangulation. + +Life of Voltaire: A Frenchman; very bitter. + +Life of Schopenhauer: A German; very deep; but it was +not really noticeable when he sat down. + +Life of Dante: An Italian; the first to introduce the +banana and the class of street organ known as "Dante's +Inferno." + +Peter the Great, +Alfred the Great, +Frederick the Great, +John the Great, +Tom the Great, +Jim the Great, +Jo the Great, etc., etc. + +It is impossible for a busy man to keep these apart. They +sought a living as kings and apostles and pugilists and +so on. + + +III.--REMAINS OF BOTANY. + +Botany is the art of plants. Plants are divided into +trees, flowers, and vegetables. The true botanist knows +a tree as soon as he sees it. He learns to distinguish +it from a vegetable by merely putting his ear to it. + + +IV.--REMAINS OF NATURAL SCIENCE. + +Natural Science treats of motion and force. Many of its +teachings remain as part of an educated man's permanent +equipment in life. Such are: + +(a) The harder you shove a bicycle the faster it will +go. This is because of natural science. + +(b) If you fall from a high tower, you fall quicker and +quicker and quicker; a judicious selection of a tower +will ensure any rate of speed. + +(c) If you put your thumb in between two cogs it will go +on and on, until the wheels are arrested, by your +suspenders. This is machinery. + +(d) Electricity is of two kinds, positive and negative. +The difference is, I presume, that one kind comes a little +more expensive, but is more durable; the other is a +cheaper thing, but the moths get into it. + + + + +Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas + +This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking, +underhand method, and the sooner it's exposed the better. + +For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of +night and palm off a ten-cent necktie on a boy who had +been expecting a ten-dollar watch, and then say that an +angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low. + +I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked +this Christmas, in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin, +the son and heir of the McFiggins, at whose house I board. + +Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy--a religious boy. He had +been given to understand that Santa Claus would bring +nothing to his father and mother because grown-up people +don't get presents from the angels. So he saved up all +his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father +and a seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother. +His own fortunes he left in the hands of the angels. But +he prayed. He prayed every night for weeks that Santa +Claus would bring him a pair of skates and a puppy-dog +and an air-gun and a bicycle and a Noah's ark and a sleigh +and a drum--altogether about a hundred and fifty dollars' +worth of stuff. + +I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning. +I had an idea that the scene would be interesting. I woke +him up and he sat up in bed, his eyes glistening with +radiant expectation, and began hauling things out of his +stocking. + +The first parcel was bulky; it was done up quite loosely +and had an odd look generally. + +"Ha! ha!" Hoodoo cried gleefully, as he began undoing +it. "I'll bet it's the puppy-dog, all wrapped up in +paper!" + +And was it the puppy-dog? No, by no means. It was a pair +of nice, strong, number-four boots, laces and all, +labelled, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus," and underneath +Santa Claus had written, "95 net." + +The boy's jaw fell with delight. "It's boots," he said, +and plunged in his hand again. + +He began hauling away at another parcel with renewed hope +on his face. + +This time the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo +tore the paper off it with a feverish hand. He shook it; +something rattled inside. + +"It's a watch and chain! It's a watch and chain!" he +shouted. Then he pulled the lid off. + +And was it a watch and chain? No. It was a box of nice, +brand-new celluloid collars, a dozen of them all alike +and all his own size. + +The boy was so pleased that you could see his face crack +up with pleasure. + +He waited a few minutes until his intense joy subsided. +Then he tried again. + +This time the packet was long and hard. It resisted the +touch and had a sort of funnel shape. + +"It's a toy pistol!" said the boy, trembling with +excitement. "Gee! I hope there are lots of caps with it! +I'll fire some off now and wake up father." + +No, my poor child, you will not wake your father with +that. It is a useful thing, but it needs not caps and it +fires no bullets, and you cannot wake a sleeping man with +a tooth-brush. Yes, it was a tooth-brush--a regular +beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a little +paper, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus." + +Again the expression of intense joy passed over the boy's +face, and the tears of gratitude started from his eyes. +He wiped them away with his tooth-brush and passed on. + +The next packet was much larger and evidently contained +something soft and bulky. It had been too long to go into +the stocking and was tied outside. + +"I wonder what this is," Hoodoo mused, half afraid to +open it. Then his heart gave a great leap, and he forgot +all his other presents in the anticipation of this one. +"It's the drum!" he gasped. "It's the drum, all wrapped +up!" + +Drum nothing! It was pants--a pair of the nicest little +short pants--yellowish-brown short pants--with dear little +stripes of colour running across both ways, and here +again Santa Claus had written, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus, +one fort net." + +But there was something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes! There +was a pair of braces wrapped up in it, braces with a +little steel sliding thing so that you could slide your +pants up to your neck, if you wanted to. + +The boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took out +his last present. "It's a book," he said, as he unwrapped +it. "I wonder if it is fairy stories or adventures. Oh, +I hope it's adventures! I'll read it all morning." + +No, Hoodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a +small family Bible. Hoodoo had now seen all his presents, +and he arose and dressed. But he still had the fun of +playing with his toys. That is always the chief delight +of Christmas morning. + +First he played with his tooth-brush. He got a whole lot +of water and brushed all his teeth with it. This was +huge. + +Then he played with his collars. He had no end of fun +with them, taking them all out one by one and swearing +at them, and then putting them back and swearing at the +whole lot together. + +The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there, +putting them on and taking them off again, and then trying +to guess which side was which by merely looking at them. + +After that he took his book and read some adventures +called "Genesis" till breakfast-time. + +Then he went downstairs and kissed his father and mother. +His father was smoking a cigar, and his mother had her +new brooch on. Hoodoo's face was thoughtful, and a light +seemed to have broken in upon his mind. Indeed, I think +it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on +to his own money and take chances on what the angels +bring. + + + + +The Life of John Smith + +The lives of great men occupy a large section of our +literature. The great man is certainly a wonderful thing. +He walks across his century and leaves the marks of his +feet all over it, ripping out the dates on his goloshes +as he passes. It is impossible to get up a revolution or +a new religion, or a national awakening of any sort, +without his turning up, putting himself at the head of +it and collaring all the gate-receipts for himself. Even +after his death he leaves a long trail of second-rate +relations spattered over the front seats of fifty years +of history. + +Now the lives of great men are doubtless infinitely +interesting. But at times I must confess to a sense of +reaction and an idea that the ordinary common man is +entitled to have his biography written too. It is to +illustrate this view that I write the life of John Smith, +a man neither good nor great, but just the usual, everyday +homo like you and me and the rest of us. + +From his earliest childhood John Smith was marked out +from his comrades by nothing. The marvellous precocity +of the boy did not astonish his preceptors. Books were +not a passion for him from his youth, neither did any +old man put his hand on Smith's head and say, mark his +words, this boy would some day become a man. Nor yet was +it his father's wont to gaze on him with a feeling +amounting almost to awe. By no means! All his father did +was to wonder whether Smith was a darn fool because he +couldn't help it, or because he thought it smart. In +other words, he was just like you and me and the rest of +us. + +In those athletic sports which were the ornament of the +youth of his day, Smith did not, as great men do, excel +his fellows. He couldn't ride worth a darn. He couldn't +skate worth a darn. He couldn't swim worth a darn. He +couldn't shoot worth a darn. He couldn't do anything +worth a darn. He was just like us. + +Nor did the bold cast of the boy's mind offset his physical +defects, as it invariably does in the biographies. On +the contrary. He was afraid of his father. He was afraid +of his school-teacher. He was afraid of dogs. He was +afraid of guns. He was afraid of lightning. He was afraid +of hell. He was afraid of girls. + +In the boy's choice of a profession there was not seen +that keen longing for a life-work that we find in the +celebrities. He didn't want to be a lawyer, because you +have to know law. He didn't want to be a doctor, because +you have to know medicine. He didn't want to be a +business-man, because you have to know business; and he +didn't want to be a school-teacher, because he had seen +too many of them. As far as he had any choice, it lay +between being Robinson Crusoe and being the Prince of +Wales. His father refused him both and put him into a +dry goods establishment. + +Such was the childhood of Smith. At its close there was +nothing in his outward appearance to mark the man of +genius. The casual observer could have seen no genius +concealed behind the wide face, the massive mouth, the +long slanting forehead, and the tall ear that swept up +to the close-cropped head. Certainly he couldn't. There +wasn't any concealed there. + +It was shortly after his start in business life that +Smith was stricken with the first of those distressing +attacks, to which he afterwards became subject. It seized +him late one night as he was returning home from a +delightful evening of song and praise with a few old +school chums. Its symptoms were a peculiar heaving of +the sidewalk, a dancing of the street lights, and a crafty +shifting to and fro of the houses, requiring a very nice +discrimination in selecting his own. There was a strong +desire not to drink water throughout the entire attack, +which showed that the thing was evidently a form of +hydrophobia. From this time on, these painful attacks +became chronic with Smith. They were liable to come on +at any time, but especially on Saturday nights, on the +first of the month, and on Thanksgiving Day. He always +had a very severe attack of hydrophobia on Christmas Eve, +and after elections it was fearful. + +There was one incident in Smith's career which he did, +perhaps, share with regret. He had scarcely reached +manhood when he met the most beautiful girl in the world. +She was different from all other women. She had a deeper +nature than other people. Smith realized it at once. She +could feel and understand things that ordinary people +couldn't. She could understand him. She had a great sense +of humour and an exquisite appreciation of a joke. He +told her the six that he knew one night and she thought +them great. Her mere presence made Smith feel as if he +had swallowed a sunset: the first time that his finger +brushed against hers, he felt a thrill all through him. +He presently found that if he took a firm hold of her +hand with his, he could get a fine thrill, and if he sat +beside her on a sofa, with his head against her ear and +his arm about once and a half round her, he could get +what you might call a first-class, A-1 thrill. Smith +became filled with the idea that he would like to have +her always near him. He suggested an arrangement to her, +by which she should come and live in the same house with +him and take personal charge of his clothes and his meals. +She was to receive in return her board and washing, about +seventy-five cents a week in ready money, and Smith was +to be her slave. + +After Smith had been this woman's slave for some time, +baby fingers stole across his life, then another set of +them, and then more and more till the house was full of +them. The woman's mother began to steal across his life +too, and every time she came Smith had hydrophobia +frightfully. Strangely enough there was no little prattler +that was taken from his life and became a saddened, +hallowed memory to him. Oh, no! The little Smiths were +not that kind of prattler. The whole nine grew up into +tall, lank boys with massive mouths and great sweeping +ears like their father's, and no talent for anything. + +The life of Smith never seemed to bring him to any of +those great turning-points that occurred in the lives of +the great. True, the passing years brought some change +of fortune. He was moved up in his dry-goods establishment +from the ribbon counter to the collar counter, from the +collar counter to the gents' panting counter, and from +the gents' panting to the gents' fancy shirting. Then, +as he grew aged and inefficient, they moved him down +again from the gents' fancy shirting to the gents' panting, +and so on to the ribbon counter. And when he grew quite +old they dismissed him and got a boy with a four-inch +mouth and sandy-coloured hair, who did all Smith could +do for half the money. That was John Smith's mercantile +career: it won't stand comparison with Mr. Gladstone's, +but it's not unlike your own. + +Smith lived for five years after this. His sons kept him. +They didn't want to, but they had to. In his old age the +brightness of his mind and his fund of anecdote were not +the delight of all who dropped in to see him. He told +seven stories and he knew six jokes. The stories were +long things all about himself, and the jokes were about +a commercial traveller and a Methodist minister. But +nobody dropped in to see him, anyway, so it didn't matter. + +At sixty-five Smith was taken ill, and, receiving proper +treatment, he died. There was a tombstone put up over +him, with a hand pointing north-north-east. + +But I doubt if he ever got there. He was too like us. + + + + +On Collecting Things + +Like most other men I have from time to time been stricken +with a desire to make collections of things. + +It began with postage stamps. I had a letter from a friend +of mine who had gone out to South Africa. The letter had +a three-cornered stamp on it, and I thought as soon as +I looked at it, "That's the thing! Stamp collecting! I'll +devote my life to it." + +I bought an album with accommodation for the stamps of +all nations, and began collecting right off. For three +days the collection made wonderful progress. It contained: + +One Cape of Good Hope stamp. + +One one-cent stamp, United States of America. + +One two-cent stamp, United States of America. + +One five-cent stamp, United States of America. + +One ten-cent stamp, United States of America. + +After that the collection came to a dead stop. For a +while I used to talk about it rather airily and say I +had one or two rather valuable South African stamps. But +I presently grew tired even of lying about it. + +Collecting coins is a thing that I attempt at intervals. +Every time I am given an old half-penny or a Mexican +quarter, I get an idea that if a fellow made a point of +holding on to rarities of that sort, he'd soon have quite +a valuable collection. The first time that I tried it I +was full of enthusiasm, and before long my collection +numbered quite a few articles of vertu. The items were +as follows: + +No. 1. Ancient Roman coin. Time of Caligula. This one of +course was the gem of the whole lot; it was given me by +a friend, and that was what started me collecting. + +No. 2. Small copper coin. Value one cent. United States +of America. Apparently modern. + +No. 3. Small nickel coin. Circular. United States of +America. Value five cents. + +No. 4. Small silver coin. Value ten cents. United States +of America. + +No. 5. Silver coin. Circular. Value twenty-five cents. +United States of America. Very beautiful. + +No. 6. Large silver coin. Circular. Inscription, "One +Dollar." United States of America. Very valuable. + +No. 7. Ancient British copper coin. Probably time of +Caractacus. Very dim. Inscription, "Victoria Dei gratia +regina." Very valuable. + +No. 8. Silver coin. Evidently French. Inscription, "Funf +Mark. Kaiser Wilhelm." + +No. 9. Circular silver coin. Very much defaced. Part of +inscription, "E Pluribus Unum." Probably a Russian rouble, +but quite as likely to be a Japanese yen or a Shanghai +rooster. + +That's as far as that collection got. It lasted through +most of the winter and I was getting quite proud of it, +but I took the coins down town one evening to show to a +friend and we spent No. 3, No. 4, No. 5, No. 6, and No. +7 in buying a little dinner for two. After dinner I bought +a yen's worth of cigars and traded the relic of Caligula +for as many hot Scotches as they cared to advance on it. +After that I felt reckless and put No. 2 and No. 8 into +a Children's Hospital poor box. + +I tried fossils next. I got two in ten years. Then I +quit. + +A friend of mine once showed me a very fine collection +of ancient and curious weapons, and for a time I was full +of that idea. I gathered several interesting specimens, +such as: + +No. 1. Old flint-lock musket, used by my grandfather. +(He used it on the farm for years as a crowbar.) + +No. 2. Old raw-hide strap, used by my father. + +No. 3. Ancient Indian arrowhead, found by myself the very +day after I began collecting. It resembles a three-cornered +stone. + +No. 4. Ancient Indian bow, found by myself behind a +sawmill on the second day of collecting. It resembles a +straight stick of elm or oak. It is interesting to think +that this very weapon may have figured in some fierce +scene of savage warfare. + +No. 5. Cannibal poniard or straight-handled dagger of +the South Sea Islands. It will give the reader almost a +thrill of horror to learn that this atrocious weapon, +which I bought myself on the third day of collecting, +was actually exposed in a second-hand store as a family +carving-knife. In gazing at it one cannot refrain from +conjuring up the awful scenes it must have witnessed. + +I kept this collection for quite a long while until, in +a moment of infatuation, I presented it to a young lady +as a betrothal present. The gift proved too ostentatious +and our relations subsequently ceased to be cordial. + +On the whole I am inclined to recommend the beginner to +confine himself to collecting coins. At present I am +myself making a collection of American bills (time of +Taft preferred), a pursuit I find most absorbing. + + + + +Society Chat-Chat + +AS IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN + +I notice that it is customary for the daily papers to +publish a column or so of society gossip. They generally +head it "Chit-Chat," or "On Dit," or "Le Boudoir," or +something of the sort, and they keep it pretty full of +French terms to give it the proper sort of swing. These +columns may be very interesting in their way, but it +always seems to me that they don't get hold of quite the +right things to tell us about. They are very fond, for +instance, of giving an account of the delightful dance +at Mrs. De Smythe's--at which Mrs. De Smythe looked +charming in a gown of old tulle with a stomacher of +passementerie--or of the dinner-party at Mr. Alonzo +Robinson's residence, or the smart pink tea given by Miss +Carlotta Jones. No, that's all right, but it's not the +kind of thing we want to get at; those are not the events +which happen in our neighbours' houses that we really +want to hear about. It is the quiet little family scenes, +the little traits of home-life that--well, for example, +take the case of that delightful party at the De Smythes. +I am certain that all those who were present would much +prefer a little paragraph like the following, which would +give them some idea of the home-life of the De Smythes +on the morning after the party. + +DEJEUNER DE LUXE AT THE DE SMYTHE RESIDENCE + +On Wednesday morning last at 7.15 a.m. a charming little +breakfast was served at the home of Mr. De Smythe. The +dejeuner was given in honour of Mr. De Smythe and his +two sons, Master Adolphus and Master Blinks De Smythe, +who were about to leave for their daily travail at their +wholesale Bureau de Flour et de Feed. All the gentlemen +were very quietly dressed in their habits de work. Miss +Melinda De Smythe poured out tea, the domestique having +refuse to get up so early after the partie of the night +before. The menu was very handsome, consisting of eggs +and bacon, demi-froid, and ice-cream. The conversation +was sustained and lively. Mr. De Smythe sustained it and +made it lively for his daughter and his garcons. In the +course of the talk Mr. De Smythe stated that the next +time he allowed the young people to turn his maison +topsy-turvy he would see them in enfer. He wished to know +if they were aware that some ass of the evening before +had broken a pane of coloured glass in the hall that +would cost him four dollars. Did they think he was made +of argent. If so, they never made a bigger mistake in +their vie. The meal closed with general expressions of +good-feeling. A little bird has whispered to us that +there will be no more parties at the De Smythes' pour +long-temps. + +Here is another little paragraph that would be of general +interest in society. + +DINER DE FAMEEL AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE DE MCFIGGIN + +Yesterday evening at half after six a pleasant little +diner was given by Madame McFiggin of Rock Street, to +her boarders. The salle a manger was very prettily +decorated with texts, and the furniture upholstered with +cheveux de horse, Louis Quinze. The boarders were all +very quietly dressed: Mrs. McFiggin was daintily attired +in some old clinging stuff with a corsage de Whalebone +underneath. The ample board groaned under the bill of +fare. The boarders groaned also. Their groaning was very +noticeable. The piece de resistance was a hunko de boeuf +boile, flanked with some old clinging stuff. The entrees +were pate de pumpkin, followed by fromage McFiggin, served +under glass. Towards the end of the first course, speeches +became the order of the day. Mrs. McFiggin was the first +speaker. In commencing, she expressed her surprise that +so few of the gentlemen seemed to care for the hunko de +boeuf; her own mind, she said, had hesitated between +hunko de boeuf boile and a pair of roast chickens +(sensation). She had finally decided in favour of the +hunko de boeuf (no sensation). She referred at some length +to the late Mr. McFiggin, who had always shown a marked +preference for hunko de boeuf. Several other speakers +followed. All spoke forcibly and to the point. The last +to speak was the Reverend Mr. Whiner. The reverend +gentleman, in rising, said that he confided himself and +his fellow-boarders to the special interference of +providence. For what they had eaten, he said, he hoped +that Providence would make them truly thankful. At the +close of the Repas several of the boarders expressed +their intention of going down the street to a restourong +to get quelque chose a manger. + +Here is another example. How interesting it would be to +get a detailed account of that little affair at the +Robinsons', of which the neighbours only heard indirectly! +Thus: + +DELIGHTFUL EVENING AT THE RESIDENCE OF MR. ALONZO ROBINSON + +Yesterday the family of Mr. Alonzo Robinson spent a very +lively evening at their home on ---th Avenue. The occasion +was the seventeenth birthday of Master Alonzo Robinson, +junior. It was the original intention of Master Alonzo +Robinson to celebrate the day at home and invite a few +of les garcons. Mr. Robinson, senior, however, having +declared that he would be damne first, Master Alonzo +spent the evening in visiting the salons of the town, +which he painted rouge. Mr. Robinson, senior, spent the +evening at home in quiet expectation of his son's return. +He was very becomingly dressed in a pantalon quatre vingt +treize, and had his whippe de chien laid across his knee. +Madame Robinson and the Mademoiselles Robinson wore black. +The guest of the evening arrived at a late hour. He wore +his habits de spri, and had about six pouces of eau de +vie in him. He was evidently full up to his cou. For some +time after his arrival a very lively time was spent. Mr. +Robinson having at length broken the whippe de chien, +the family parted for the night with expressions of +cordial goodwill. + + + + +Insurance up to Date + +A man called on me the other day with the idea of insuring +my life. Now, I detest life-insurance agents; they always +argue that I shall some day die, which is not so. I have +been insured a great many times, for about a month at a +time, but have had no luck with it at all. + +So I made up my mind that I would outwit this man at his +own game. I let him talk straight ahead and encouraged +him all I could, until he finally left me with a sheet +of questions which I was to answer as an applicant. Now +this was what I was waiting for; I had decided that, if +that company wanted information about me, they should +have it, and have the very best quality I could supply. +So I spread the sheet of questions before me, and drew +up a set of answers for them, which, I hoped, would settle +for ever all doubts as to my eligibility for insurance. + +Question.--What is your age? +Answer.--I can't think. + +Q.--What is your chest measurement? +A.--Nineteen inches. + +Q.--What is your chest expansion? +A.--Half an inch. + +Q.--What is your height? +A.--Six feet five, if erect, but less when + I walk on all fours. + +Q.--Is your grandfather dead? +A.--Practically. + +Q.--Cause of death, if dead? +A.--Dipsomania, if dead. + +Q.--Is your father dead? +A.--To the world. + +Q.--Cause of death? +A.--Hydrophobia. + +Q.--Place of father's residence? +A.--Kentucky. + +Q.--What illness have you had? +A.--As a child, consumption, leprosy, and water on + the knee. As a man, whooping-cough, stomach-ache, + and water on the brain. + +Q.--Have you any brothers? +A.--Thirteen; all nearly dead. + +Q.--Are you aware of any habits or tendencies which + might be expected to shorten your life? +A.--I am aware. I drink, I smoke, I take morphine and + vaseline. I swallow grape seeds and I hate exercise. + +I thought when I had come to the end of that list that +I had made a dead sure thing of it, and I posted the +paper with a cheque for three months' payment, feeling +pretty confident of having the cheque sent back to me. +I was a good deal surprised a few days later to receive +the following letter from the company: + +"DEAR SIR,--We beg to acknowledge your letter of application +and cheque for fifteen dollars. After a careful comparison +of your case with the average modern standard, we are +pleased to accept you as a first-class risk." + + + + +Borrowing a Match + +You might think that borrowing a match upon the street +is a simple thing. But any man who has ever tried it will +assure you that it is not, and will be prepared to swear +to the truth of my experience of the other evening. + +I was standing on the corner of the street with a cigar +that I wanted to light. I had no match. I waited till a +decent, ordinary-looking man came along. Then I said: + +"Excuse me, sir, but could you oblige me with the loan +of a match?" + +"A match?" he said, "why certainly." Then he unbuttoned +his overcoat and put his hand in the pocket of his +waistcoat. "I know I have one," he went on, "and I'd +almost swear it's in the bottom pocket--or, hold on, +though, I guess it may be in the top--just wait till I +put these parcels down on the sidewalk." + +"Oh, don't trouble," I said, "it's really of no +consequence." + +"Oh, it's no trouble, I'll have it in a minute; I know +there must be one in here somewhere"--he was digging +his fingers into his pockets as he spoke--"but you see +this isn't the waistcoat I generally..." + +I saw that the man was getting excited about it. "Well, +never mind," I protested; "if that isn't the waistcoat +that you generally--why, it doesn't matter." + +"Hold on, now, hold on!" the man said, "I've got one of +the cursed things in here somewhere. I guess it must be +in with my watch. No, it's not there either. Wait till +I try my coat. If that confounded tailor only knew enough +to make a pocket so that a man could get at it!" + +He was getting pretty well worked up now. He had thrown +down his walking-stick and was plunging at his pockets +with his teeth set. "It's that cursed young boy of mine," +he hissed; "this comes of his fooling in my pockets. By +Gad! perhaps I won't warm him up when I get home. Say, +I'll bet that it's in my hip-pocket. You just hold up +the tail of my overcoat a second till I..." + +"No, no," I protested again, "please don't take all this +trouble, it really doesn't matter. I'm sure you needn't +take off your overcoat, and oh, pray don't throw away +your letters and things in the snow like that, and tear +out your pockets by the roots! Please, please don't +trample over your overcoat and put your feet through the +parcels. I do hate to hear you swearing at your little +boy, with that peculiar whine in your voice. Don't--please +don't tear your clothes so savagely." + +Suddenly the man gave a grunt of exultation, and drew +his hand up from inside the lining of his coat. + +"I've got it," he cried. "Here you are!" Then he brought +it out under the light. + +It was a toothpick. + +Yielding to the impulse of the moment I pushed him under +the wheels of a trolley-car, and ran. + + + + +A Lesson in Fiction + +Suppose that in the opening pages of the modern melodramatic +novel you find some such situation as the following, in +which is depicted the terrific combat between Gaspard de +Vaux, the boy lieutenant, and Hairy Hank, the chief of +the Italian banditti: + +"The inequality of the contest was apparent. With a +mingled yell of rage and contempt, his sword brandished +above his head and his dirk between his teeth, the enormous +bandit rushed upon his intrepid opponent. De Vaux seemed +scarce more than a stripling, but he stood his ground +and faced his hitherto invincible assailant. 'Mong Dieu,' +cried De Smythe, 'he is lost!'" + +Question. On which of the parties to the above contest +do you honestly feel inclined to put your money? + +Answer. On De Vaux. He'll win. Hairy Hank will force him +down to one knee and with a brutal cry of "Har! har!" +will be about to dirk him, when De Vaux will make a sudden +lunge (one he had learnt at home out of a book of lunges) +and-- + +Very good. You have answered correctly. Now, suppose you +find, a little later in the book, that the killing of +Hairy Hank has compelled De Vaux to flee from his native +land to the East. Are you not fearful for his safety in +the desert? + +Answer. Frankly, I am not. De Vaux is all right. His name +is on the title page, and you can't kill him. + +Question. Listen to this, then: "The sun of Ethiopia beat +fiercely upon the desert as De Vaux, mounted upon his +faithful elephant, pursued his lonely way. Seated in his +lofty hoo-doo, his eye scoured the waste. Suddenly a +solitary horseman appeared on the horizon, then another, +and another, and then six. In a few moments a whole crowd +of solitary horsemen swooped down upon him. There was a +fierce shout of 'Allah!' a rattle of firearms. De Vaux +sank from his hoo-doo on to the sands, while the affrighted +elephant dashed off in all directions. The bullet had +struck him in the heart." + +There now, what do you think of that? Isn't De Vaux killed +now? + +Answer. I am sorry. De Vaux is not dead. True, the ball +had hit him, oh yes, it had hit him, but it had glanced +off against a family Bible, which he carried in his +waistcoat in case of illness, struck some hymns that he +had in his hip-pocket, and, glancing off again, had +flattened itself against De Vaux's diary of his life in +the desert, which was in his knapsack. + +Question. But even if this doesn't kill him, you must +admit that he is near death when he is bitten in the +jungle by the deadly dongola? + +Answer. That's all right. A kindly Arab will take De Vaux +to the Sheik's tent. + +Question. What will De Vaux remind the Sheik of? + +Answer. Too easy. Of his long-lost son, who disappeared +years ago. + +Question. Was this son Hairy Hank? + +Answer. Of course he was. Anyone could see that, but the Sheik +never suspects it, and heals De Vaux. He heals him with an +herb, a thing called a simple, an amazingly simple, known only +to the Sheik. Since using this herb, the Sheik has used no other. + +Question. The Sheik will recognize an overcoat that De +Vaux is wearing, and complications will arise in the +matter of Hairy Hank deceased. Will this result in the +death of the boy lieutenant? + +Answer. No. By this time De Vaux has realized that the +reader knows he won't die and resolves to quit the desert. +The thought of his mother keeps recurring to him, and of +his father, too, the grey, stooping old man--does he +stoop still or has he stopped stooping? At times, too, +there comes the thought of another, a fairer than his +father; she whose--but enough, De Vaux returns to the +old homestead in Piccadilly. + +Question. When De Vaux returns to England, what will +happen? + +Answer. This will happen: "He who left England ten years +before a raw boy, has returned a sunburnt soldierly man. +But who is this that advances smilingly to meet him? Can +the mere girl, the bright child that shared his hours of +play, can she have grown into this peerless, graceful +girl, at whose feet half the noble suitors of England +are kneeling? 'Can this be her?' he asks himself in +amazement." + +Question. Is it her? + +Answer. Oh, it's her all right. It is her, and it is him, +and it is them. That girl hasn't waited fifty pages for +nothing. + +Question. You evidently guess that a love affair will +ensue between the boy lieutenant and the peerless girl +with the broad feet. Do you imagine, however, that its +course will run smoothly and leave nothing to record? + +Answer. Not at all. I feel certain that the scene of the +novel having edged itself around to London, the writer +will not feel satisfied unless he introduces the following +famous scene: + +"Stunned by the cruel revelation which he had received, +unconscious of whither his steps were taking him, Gaspard +de Vaux wandered on in the darkness from street to street +until he found himself upon London Bridge. He leaned over +the parapet and looked down upon the whirling stream +below. There was something in the still, swift rush of +it that seemed to beckon, to allure him. After all, why +not? What was life now that he should prize it? For a +moment De Vaux paused irresolute." + +Question. Will he throw himself in? + +Answer. Well, say you don't know Gaspard. He will pause +irresolute up to the limit, then, with a fierce struggle, +will recall his courage and hasten from the Bridge. + +Question. This struggle not to throw oneself in must be +dreadfully difficult? + +Answer. Oh! dreadfully! Most of us are so frail we should +jump in at once. But Gaspard has the knack of it. Besides +he still has some of the Sheik's herb; he chews it. + +Question. What has happened to De Vaux anyway? Is it +anything he has eaten? + +Answer. No, it is nothing that he has eaten. It's about her. +The blow has come. She has no use for sunburn, doesn't care +for tan; she is going to marry a duke and the boy lieutenant +is no longer in it. The real trouble is that the modern +novelist has got beyond the happy-marriage mode of ending. +He wants tragedy and a blighted life to wind up with. + +Question. How will the book conclude? + +Answer. Oh, De Vaux will go back to the desert, fall upon +the Sheik's neck, and swear to be a second Hairy Hank to +him. There will be a final panorama of the desert, the +Sheik and his newly found son at the door of the tent, +the sun setting behind a pyramid, and De Vaux's faithful +elephant crouched at his feet and gazing up at him with +dumb affection. + + + + +Helping the Armenians + +The financial affairs of the parish church up at Doogalville +have been getting rather into a tangle in the last six +months. The people of the church were specially anxious +to do something toward the general public subscription +of the town on behalf of the unhappy Armenians, and to +that purpose they determined to devote the collections +taken up at a series of special evening services. To give +the right sort of swing to the services and to stimulate +generous giving, they put a new pipe organ into the +church. In order to make a preliminary payment on the +organ, it was decided to raise a mortgage on the parsonage. + +To pay the interest on the mortgage, the choir of the +church got up a sacred concert in the town hall. + +To pay for the town hall, the Willing Workers' Guild held +a social in the Sunday school. To pay the expenses of +the social, the rector delivered a public lecture on +"Italy and Her Past," illustrated by a magic lantern. +To pay for the magic lantern, the curate and the ladies +of the church got up some amateur theatricals. + +Finally, to pay for the costumes for the theatricals, +the rector felt it his duty to dispense with the curate. + +So that is where the church stands just at present. What +they chiefly want to do, is to raise enough money to buy +a suitable gold watch as a testimonial to the curate. +After that they hope to be able to do something for the +Armenians. Meantime, of course, the Armenians, the ones +right there in the town, are getting very troublesome. +To begin with, there is the Armenian who rented the +costumes for the theatricals: he has to be squared. Then +there is the Armenian organ dealer, and the Armenian who +owned the magic lantern. They want relief badly. + +The most urgent case is that of the Armenian who holds +the mortgage on the parsonage; indeed it is generally +felt in the congregation, when the rector makes his +impassioned appeals at the special services on behalf of +the suffering cause, that it is to this man that he has +special reference. + +In the meanwhile the general public subscription is not +getting along very fast; but the proprietor of the big +saloon further down the street and the man with the short +cigar that runs the Doogalville Midway Plaisance have +been most liberal in their contributions. + + + + +A Study in Still Life.--The Country Hotel + +The country hotel stands on the sunny side of Main Street. +It has three entrances. + +There is one in front which leads into the Bar. There is +one at the side called the Ladies' Entrance which leads +into the Bar from the side. There is also the Main Entrance +which leads into the Bar through the Rotunda. + +The Rotunda is the space between the door of the bar-room +and the cigar-case. + +In it is a desk and a book. In the book are written down +the names of the guests, together with marks indicating +the direction of the wind and the height of the barometer. +It is here that the newly arrived guest waits until he +has time to open the door leading to the Bar. + +The bar-room forms the largest part of the hotel. It +constitutes the hotel proper. To it are attached a series +of bedrooms on the floor above, many of which contain +beds. + +The walls of the bar-room are perforated in all directions +with trap-doors. Through one of these drinks are passed +into the back sitting-room. Through others drinks are +passed into the passages. Drinks are also passed through +the floor and through the ceiling. Drinks once passed +never return. The Proprietor stands in the doorway of +the bar. He weighs two hundred pounds. His face is +immovable as putty. He is drunk. He has been drunk for +twelve years. It makes no difference to him. Behind the +bar stands the Bar-tender. He wears wicker-sleeves, his +hair is curled in a hook, and his name is Charlie. + +Attached to the bar is a pneumatic beer-pump, by means +of which the bar-tender can flood the bar with beer. +Afterwards he wipes up the beer with a rag. By this means +he polishes the bar. Some of the beer that is pumped up +spills into glasses and has to be sold. + +Behind the bar-tender is a mechanism called a cash-register, +which, on being struck a powerful blow, rings a bell, +sticks up a card marked NO SALE, and opens a till from +which the bar-tender distributes money. + +There is printed a tariff of drinks and prices on the wall. + +It reads thus: + + Beer . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky. . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Soda. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Soda . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Beer and Soda . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Eggs . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Eggs . . . . . . 5 cents. + Champagne. . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars, extra fine . . . . . 5 cents. + +All calculations are made on this basis and are worked +out to three places of decimals. Every seventh drink is +on the house and is not followed by a distribution of +money. + +The bar-room closes at midnight, provided there are enough +people in it. If there is not a quorum the proprietor +waits for a better chance. A careful closing of the bar +will often catch as many as twenty-five people. The bar +is not opened again till seven o'clock in the morning; +after that the people may go home. There are also, +nowadays, Local Option Hotels. These contain only one +entrance, leading directly into the bar. + + + + +An Experiment With Policeman Hogan + +Mr. Scalper sits writing in the reporters' room of The +Daily Eclipse. The paper has gone to press and he is +alone; a wayward talented gentleman, this Mr. Scalper, +and employed by The Eclipse as a delineator of character +from handwriting. Any subscriber who forwards a specimen +of his handwriting is treated to a prompt analysis of +his character from Mr. Scalper's facile pen. The literary +genius has a little pile of correspondence beside him, +and is engaged in the practice of his art. Outside the +night is dark and rainy. The clock on the City Hall marks +the hour of two. In front of the newspaper office Policeman +Hogan walks drearily up and down his beat. The damp misery +of Hogan is intense. A belated gentleman in clerical +attire, returning home from a bed of sickness, gives him +a side-look of timid pity and shivers past. Hogan follows +the retreating figure with his eye; then draws forth a +notebook and sits down on the steps of The Eclipse building +to write in the light of the gas lamp. Gentlemen of +nocturnal habits have often wondered what it is that +Policeman Hogan and his brethren write in their little +books. Here are the words that are fashioned by the big +fist of the policeman: + +"Two o'clock. All is well. There is a light in Mr. +Scalper's room above. The night is very wet and I am +unhappy and cannot sleep--my fourth night of insomnia. +Suspicious-looking individual just passed. Alas, how +melancholy is my life! Will the dawn never break! Oh, +moist, moist stone." + +Mr. Scalper up above is writing too, writing with the +careless fluency of a man who draws his pay by the column. +He is delineating with skill and rapidity. The reporters' +room is gloomy and desolate. Mr. Scalper is a man of +sensitive temperament and the dreariness of his surroundings +depresses him. He opens the letter of a correspondent, +examines the handwriting narrowly, casts his eye around +the room for inspiration, and proceeds to delineate: + +"G.H. You have an unhappy, despondent nature; your +circumstances oppress you, and your life is filled with +an infinite sadness. You feel that you are without hope--" + +Mr. Scalper pauses, takes another look around the room, +and finally lets his eye rest for some time upon a tall +black bottle that stands on the shelf of an open cupboard. +Then he goes on: + +"--and you have lost all belief in Christianity and a +future world and human virtue. You are very weak against +temptation, but there is an ugly vein of determination +in your character, when you make up your mind that you +are going to have a thing--" + +Here Mr. Scalper stops abruptly, pushes back his chair, +and dashes across the room to the cupboard. He takes the +black bottle from the shelf, applies it to his lips, and +remains for some time motionless. He then returns to +finish the delineation of G.H. with the hurried words: + +"On the whole I recommend you to persevere; you are doing +very well." Mr. Scalper's next proceeding is peculiar. +He takes from the cupboard a roll of twine, about fifty +feet in length, and attaches one end of it to the neck +of the bottle. Going then to one of the windows, he opens +it, leans out, and whistles softly. The alert ear of +Policeman Hogan on the pavement below catches the sound, +and he returns it. The bottle is lowered to the end of +the string, the guardian of the peace applies it to his +gullet, and for some time the policeman and the man of +letters remain attached by a cord of sympathy. Gentlemen +who lead the variegated life of Mr. Scalper find it well +to propitiate the arm of the law, and attachments of this +sort are not uncommon. Mr. Scalper hauls up the bottle, +closes the window, and returns to his task; the policeman +resumes his walk with a glow of internal satisfaction. +A glance at the City Hall clock causes him to enter +another note in his book. + +"Half-past two. All is better. The weather is milder with +a feeling of young summer in the air. Two lights in Mr. +Scalper's room. Nothing has occurred which need be brought +to the notice of the roundsman." + +Things are going better upstairs too. The delineator +opens a second envelope, surveys the writing of the +correspondent with a critical yet charitable eye, and +writes with more complacency. + +"William H. Your writing shows a disposition which, though +naturally melancholy, is capable of a temporary +cheerfulness. You have known misfortune but have made up +your mind to look on the bright side of things. If you +will allow me to say so, you indulge in liquor but are +quite moderate in your use of it. Be assured that no harm +ever comes of this moderate use. It enlivens the intellect, +brightens the faculties, and stimulates the dormant fancy +into a pleasurable activity. It is only when carried to +excess--" + +At this point the feelings of Mr. Scalper, who had been +writing very rapidly, evidently become too much for him. +He starts up from his chair, rushes two or three times +around the room, and finally returns to finish the +delineation thus: "it is only when carried to excess that +this moderation becomes pernicious." + +Mr. Scalper succumbs to the train of thought suggested +and gives an illustration of how moderation to excess +may be avoided, after which he lowers the bottle to +Policeman Hogan with a cheery exchange of greetings. + +The half-hours pass on. The delineator is writing busily +and feels that he is writing well. The characters of his +correspondents lie bare to his keen eye and flow from +his facile pen. From time to time he pauses and appeals +to the source of his inspiration; his humanity prompts +him to extend the inspiration to Policeman Hogan. The +minion of the law walks his beat with a feeling of more +than tranquillity. A solitary Chinaman, returning home +late from his midnight laundry, scuttles past. The literary +instinct has risen strong in Hogan from his connection +with the man of genius above him, and the passage of the +lone Chinee gives him occasion to write in his book: + +"Four-thirty. Everything is simply great. There are four +lights in Mr. Scalper's room. Mild, balmy weather with +prospects of an earthquake, which may be held in check +by walking with extreme caution. Two Chinamen have just +passed--mandarins, I presume. Their walk was unsteady, +but their faces so benign as to disarm suspicion." + +Up in the office Mr. Scalper has reached the letter of +a correspondent which appears to give him particular +pleasure, for he delineates the character with a beaming +smile of satisfaction. To the unpractised eye the writing +resembles the prim, angular hand of an elderly spinster. +Mr. Scalper, however, seems to think otherwise, for he +writes: + +"Aunt Dorothea. You have a merry, rollicking nature. At +times you are seized with a wild, tumultuous hilarity to +which you give ample vent in shouting and song. You are +much addicted to profanity, and you rightly feel that +this is part of your nature and you must not check it. +The world is a very bright place to you, Aunt Dorothea. +Write to me again soon. Our minds seem cast in the same +mould." + +Mr. Scalper seems to think that he has not done full +justice to the subject he is treating, for he proceeds +to write a long private letter to Aunt Dorothea in addition +to the printed delineation. As he finishes the City Hall +clock points to five, and Policeman Hogan makes the last +entry in his chronicle. Hogan has seated himself upon +the steps of The Eclipse building for greater comfort +and writes with a slow, leisurely fist: + +"The other hand of the clock points north and the second +longest points south-east by south. I infer that it is +five o'clock. The electric lights in Mr. Scalper's room +defy the eye. The roundsman has passed and examined my +notes of the night's occurrences. They are entirely +satisfactory, and he is pleased with their literary form. +The earthquake which I apprehended was reduced to a few +minor oscillations which cannot reach me where I sit--" + +The lowering of the bottle interrupts Policeman Hogan. +The long letter to Aunt Dorothea has cooled the ardour +of Mr. Scalper. The generous blush has passed from his +mind and he has been trying in vain to restore it. To +afford Hogan a similar opportunity, he decides not to +haul the bottle up immediately, but to leave it in his +custody while he delineates a character. The writing of +this correspondent would seem to the inexperienced eye +to be that of a timid little maiden in her teens. Mr. +Scalper is not to be deceived by appearances. He shakes +his head mournfully at the letter and writes: + +"Little Emily. You have known great happiness, but it +has passed. Despondency has driven you to seek forgetfulness +in drink. Your writing shows the worst phase of the liquor +habit. I apprehend that you will shortly have delirium +tremens. Poor little Emily! Do not try to break off; it +is too late." + +Mr. Scalper is visibly affected by his correspondent's +unhappy condition. His eye becomes moist, and he decides +to haul up the bottle while there is still time to save +Policeman Hogan from acquiring a taste for liquor. He is +surprised and alarmed to find the attempt to haul it up +ineffectual. The minion of the law has fallen into a +leaden slumber, and the bottle remains tight in his grasp. +The baffled delineator lets fall the string and returns +to finish his task. Only a few lines are now required to +fill the column, but Mr. Scalper finds on examining the +correspondence that he has exhausted the subjects. This, +however, is quite a common occurrence and occasions no +dilemma in the mind of the talented gentleman. It is his +custom in such cases to fill up the space with an imaginary +character or two, the analysis of which is a task most +congenial to his mind. He bows his head in thought for +a few moments, and then writes as follows: + +"Policeman H. Your hand shows great firmness; when once +set upon a thing you are not easily moved. But you have +a mean, grasping disposition and a tendency to want more +than your share. You have formed an attachment which you +hope will be continued throughout life, but your selfishness +threatens to sever the bond." + +Having written which, Mr. Scalper arranges his manuscript +for the printer next day, dons his hat and coat, and +wends his way home in the morning twilight, feeling that +his pay is earned. + + + + +The Passing of the Poet + +Studies in what may be termed collective psychology are +essentially in keeping with the spirit of the present +century. The examination of the mental tendencies, the +intellectual habits which we display not as individuals, +but as members of a race, community, or crowd, is offering +a fruitful field of speculation as yet but little exploited. +One may, therefore, not without profit, pass in review +the relation of the poetic instinct to the intellectual +development of the present era. + +Not the least noticeable feature in the psychological +evolution of our time is the rapid disappearance of +poetry. The art of writing poetry, or perhaps more fairly, +the habit of writing poetry, is passing from us. The poet +is destined to become extinct. + +To a reader of trained intellect the initial difficulty +at once suggests itself as to what is meant by poetry. +But it is needless to quibble at a definition of the +term. It may be designated, simply and fairly, as the +art of expressing a simple truth in a concealed form of +words, any number of which, at intervals greater or less, +may or may not rhyme. + +The poet, it must be said, is as old as civilization. +The Greeks had him with them, stamping out his iambics +with the sole of his foot. The Romans, too, knew +him--endlessly juggling his syllables together, long and +short, short and long, to make hexameters. This can now +be done by electricity, but the Romans did not know it. + +But it is not my present purpose to speak of the poets +of an earlier and ruder time. For the subject before us +it is enough to set our age in comparison with the era +that preceded it. We have but to contrast ourselves with +our early Victorian grandfathers to realize the profound +revolution that has taken place in public feeling. It is +only with an effort that the practical common sense of +the twentieth century can realize the excessive +sentimentality of the earlier generation. + +In those days poetry stood in high and universal esteem. +Parents read poetry to their children. Children recited +poetry to their parents. And he was a dullard, indeed, +who did not at least profess, in his hours of idleness, +to pour spontaneous rhythm from his flowing quill. + +Should one gather statistics of the enormous production +of poetry some sixty or seventy years ago, they would +scarcely appear credible. Journals and magazines teemed +with it. Editors openly countenanced it. Even the daily +press affected it. Love sighed in home-made stanzas. +Patriotism rhapsodized on the hustings, or cited rolling +hexameters to an enraptured legislature. Even melancholy +death courted his everlasting sleep in elegant elegiacs. + +In that era, indeed, I know not how, polite society was +haunted by the obstinate fiction that it was the duty of +a man of parts to express himself from time to time in +verse. Any special occasion of expansion or exuberance, +of depression, torsion, or introspection, was sufficient +to call it forth. So we have poems of dejection, of +reflection, of deglutition, of indigestion. + +Any particular psychological disturbance was enough to +provoke an excess of poetry. The character and manner of +the verse might vary with the predisposing cause. A +gentleman who had dined too freely might disexpand himself +in a short fit of lyric doggerel in which "bowl" and +"soul" were freely rhymed. The morning's indigestion +inspired a long-drawn elegiac, with "bier" and "tear," +"mortal" and "portal" linked in sonorous sadness. The +man of politics, from time to time, grateful to an +appreciative country, sang back to it, "Ho, Albion, rising +from the brine!" in verse whose intention at least was +meritorious. + +And yet it was but a fiction, a purely fictitious +obligation, self-imposed by a sentimental society. In +plain truth, poetry came no more easily or naturally to +the early Victorian than to you or me. The lover twanged +his obdurate harp in vain for hours for the rhymes that +would not come, and the man of politics hammered at his +heavy hexameter long indeed before his Albion was finally +"hoed" into shape; while the beer-besotted convivialist +cudgelled his poor wits cold sober in rhyming the light +little bottle-ditty that should have sprung like Aphrodite +from the froth of the champagne. + +I have before me a pathetic witness of this fact. It is +the note-book once used for the random jottings of a +gentleman of the period. In it I read: "Fair Lydia, if +my earthly harp." This is crossed out, and below it +appears, "Fair Lydia, COULD my earthly harp." This again +is erased, and under it appears, "Fair Lydia, SHOULD my +earthly harp." This again is struck out with a despairing +stroke, and amended to read: "Fair Lydia, DID my earthly +harp." So that finally, when the lines appeared in the +Gentleman's Magazine (1845) in their ultimate shape--"Fair +Edith, when with fluent pen," etc., etc.--one can realize +from what a desperate congelation the fluent pen had been +so perseveringly rescued. + +There can be little doubt of the deleterious effect +occasioned both to public and private morals by this +deliberate exaltation of mental susceptibility on the +part of the early Victorian. In many cases we can detect +the evidences of incipient paresis. The undue access of +emotion frequently assumed a pathological character. The +sight of a daisy, of a withered leaf or an upturned sod, +seemed to disturb the poet's mental equipoise. Spring +unnerved him. The lambs distressed him. The flowers made +him cry. The daffodils made him laugh. Day dazzled him. +Night frightened him. + +This exalted mood, combined with the man's culpable +ignorance of the plainest principles of physical science, +made him see something out of the ordinary in the flight +of a waterfowl or the song of a skylark. He complained +that he could HEAR it, but not SEE it--a phenomenon too +familiar to the scientific observer to occasion any +comment. + +In such a state of mind the most inconsequential inferences +were drawn. One said that the brightness of the dawn--a fact +easily explained by the diurnal motion of the globe--showed +him that his soul was immortal. He asserted further that he +had, at an earlier period of his life, trailed bright clouds +behind him. This was absurd. + +With the disturbance thus set up in the nervous system +were coupled, in many instances, mental aberrations, +particularly in regard to pecuniary matters. "Give me +not silk, nor rich attire," pleaded one poet of the period +to the British public, "nor gold nor jewels rare." Here +was an evident hallucination that the writer was to become +the recipient of an enormous secret subscription. Indeed, +the earnest desire NOT to be given gold was a recurrent +characteristic of the poetic temperament. The repugnance +to accept even a handful of gold was generally accompanied +by a desire for a draught of pure water or a night's rest. + +It is pleasing to turn from this excessive sentimentality +of thought and speech to the practical and concise diction +of our time. We have learned to express ourselves with +equal force, but greater simplicity. To illustrate this +I have gathered from the poets of the earlier generation +and from the prose writers of to-day parallel passages +that may be fairly set in contrast. Here, for example, +is a passage from the poet Grey, still familiar to +scholars: + + "Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can honour's voice invoke the silent dust + Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?" + +Precisely similar in thought, though different in form, +is the more modern presentation found in Huxley's +Physiology: + +"Whether after the moment of death the ventricles of the +heart can be again set in movement by the artificial +stimulus of oxygen, is a question to which we must impose +a decided negative." + +How much simpler, and yet how far superior to Grey's +elaborate phraseology! Huxley has here seized the central +point of the poet's thought, and expressed it with the +dignity and precision of exact science. + +I cannot refrain, even at the risk of needless iteration, +from quoting a further example. It is taken from the poet +Burns. The original dialect being written in inverted +hiccoughs, is rather difficult to reproduce. It describes +the scene attendant upon the return of a cottage labourer +to his home on Saturday night: + + "The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face + They round the ingle form in a circle wide; + The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, + The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride: + His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, + His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare: + Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, + He wales a portion wi' judeecious care." + +Now I find almost the same scene described in more apt +phraseology in the police news of the Dumfries Chronicle +(October 3, 1909), thus: "It appears that the prisoner +had returned to his domicile at the usual hour, and, +after partaking of a hearty meal, had seated himself on +his oaken settle, for the ostensible purpose of reading +the Bible. It was while so occupied that his arrest was +effected." With the trifling exception that Burns omits +all mention of the arrest, for which, however, the whole +tenor of the poem gives ample warrant, the two accounts +are almost identical. + +In all that I have thus said I do not wish to be +misunderstood. Believing, as I firmly do, that the poet +is destined to become extinct, I am not one of those who +would accelerate his extinction. The time has not yet +come for remedial legislation, or the application of the +criminal law. Even in obstinate cases where pronounced +delusions in reference to plants, animals, and natural +phenomena are seen to exist, it is better that we should +do nothing that might occasion a mistaken remorse. The +inevitable natural evolution which is thus shaping the +mould of human thought may safely be left to its own +course. + + + + +Self-made Men + +They were both what we commonly call successful business +men--men with well-fed faces, heavy signet rings on +fingers like sausages, and broad, comfortable waistcoats, +a yard and a half round the equator. They were seated +opposite each other at a table of a first-class restaurant, +and had fallen into conversation while waiting to give +their order to the waiter. Their talk had drifted back +to their early days and how each had made his start in +life when he first struck New York. + +"I tell you what, Jones," one of them was saying, "I +shall never forget my first few years in this town. By +George, it was pretty uphill work! Do you know, sir, when +I first struck this place, I hadn't more than fifteen +cents to my name, hadn't a rag except what I stood up +in, and all the place I had to sleep in--you won't +believe it, but it's a gospel fact just the same--was an +empty tar barrel. No, sir," he went on, leaning back and +closing up his eyes into an expression of infinite +experience, "no, sir, a fellow accustomed to luxury like +you has simply no idea what sleeping out in a tar barrel +and all that kind of thing is like." + +"My dear Robinson," the other man rejoined briskly, "if +you imagine I've had no experience of hardship of that +sort, you never made a bigger mistake in your life. Why, +when I first walked into this town I hadn't a cent, sir, +not a cent, and as for lodging, all the place I had for +months and months was an old piano box up a lane, behind +a factory. Talk about hardship, I guess I had it pretty +rough! You take a fellow that's used to a good warm tar +barrel and put him into a piano box for a night or two, +and you'll see mighty soon--" + +"My dear fellow," Robinson broke in with some irritation, +"you merely show that you don't know what a tar barrel's +like. Why, on winter nights, when you'd be shut in there +in your piano box just as snug as you please, I used to +lie awake shivering, with the draught fairly running in +at the bunghole at the back." + +"Draught!" sneered the other man, with a provoking laugh, +"draught! Don't talk to me about draughts. This box I +speak of had a whole darned plank off it, right on the +north side too. I used to sit there studying in the +evenings, and the snow would blow in a foot deep. And +yet, sir," he continued more quietly, "though I know +you'll not believe it, I don't mind admitting that some +of the happiest days of my life were spent in that same +old box. Ah, those were good old times! Bright, innocent +days, I can tell you. I'd wake up there in the mornings +and fairly shout with high spirits. Of course, you may +not be able to stand that kind of life--" + +"Not stand it!" cried Robinson fiercely; "me not stand +it! By gad! I'm made for it. I just wish I had a taste +of the old life again for a while. And as for innocence! +Well, I'll bet you you weren't one-tenth as innocent as +I was; no, nor one-fifth, nor one-third! What a grand +old life it was! You'll swear this is a darned lie and +refuse to believe it--but I can remember evenings when +I'd have two or three fellows in, and we'd sit round and +play pedro by a candle half the night." + +"Two or three!" laughed Jones; "why, my dear fellow, I've +known half a dozen of us to sit down to supper in my +piano box, and have a game of pedro afterwards; yes, and +charades and forfeits, and every other darned thing. +Mighty good suppers they were too! By Jove, Robinson, +you fellows round this town who have ruined your digestions +with high living, have no notion of the zest with which +a man can sit down to a few potato peelings, or a bit of +broken pie crust, or--" + +"Talk about hard food," interrupted the other, "I guess +I know all about that. Many's the time I've breakfasted +off a little cold porridge that somebody was going to +throw away from a back-door, or that I've gone round to +a livery stable and begged a little bran mash that they +intended for the pigs. I'll venture to say I've eaten +more hog's food--" + +"Hog's food!" shouted Robinson, striking his fist savagely +on the table, "I tell you hog's food suits me better than--" + +He stopped speaking with a sudden grunt of surprise as +the waiter appeared with the question: + +"What may I bring you for dinner, gentlemen?" + +"Dinner!" said Jones, after a moment of silence, "dinner! +Oh, anything, nothing--I never care what I eat--give me +a little cold porridge, if you've got it, or a chunk of +salt pork--anything you like, it's all the same to me." + +The waiter turned with an impassive face to Robinson. + +"You can bring me some of that cold porridge too," he +said, with a defiant look at Jones; "yesterday's, if you +have it, and a few potato peelings and a glass of skim +milk." + +There was a pause. Jones sat back in his chair and looked +hard across at Robinson. For some moments the two men +gazed into each other's eyes with a stern, defiant +intensity. Then Robinson turned slowly round in his seat +and beckoned to the waiter, who was moving off with the +muttered order on his lips. + +"Here, waiter," he said with a savage scowl, "I guess +I'll change that order a little. Instead of that cold +porridge I'll take--um, yes--a little hot partridge. And +you might as well bring me an oyster or two on the half +shell, and a mouthful of soup (mock-turtle, consomme, +anything), and perhaps you might fetch along a dab of +fish, and a little peck of Stilton, and a grape, or a +walnut." + +The waiter turned to Jones. + +"I guess I'll take the same," he said simply, and added; +"and you might bring a quart of champagne at the same +time." + +And nowadays, when Jones and Robinson meet, the memory +of the tar barrel and the piano box is buried as far out +of sight as a home for the blind under a landslide. + + + + +A Model Dialogue + +In which is shown how the drawing-room juggler may be +permanently cured of his card trick. + +The drawing-room juggler, having slyly got hold of the +pack of cards at the end of the game of whist, says: + +"Ever see any card tricks? Here's rather a good one; pick +a card." + +"Thank you, I don't want a card." + +"No, but just pick one, any one you like, and I'll tell +which one you pick." + +"You'll tell who?" + +"No, no; I mean, I'll know which it is don't you see? Go +on now, pick a card." + +"Any one I like?" + +"Yes." + +"Any colour at all?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Any suit?" + +"Oh, yes; do go on." + +"Well, let me see, I'll--pick--the--ace of spades." + +"Great Caesar! I mean you are to pull a card out of the +pack." + +"Oh, to pull it out of the pack! Now I understand. Hand +me the pack. All right--I've got it." + +"Have you picked one?" + +"Yes, it's the three of hearts. Did you know it?" + +"Hang it! Don't tell me like that. You spoil the thing. +Here, try again. Pick a card." + +"All right, I've got it." + +"Put it back in the pack. Thanks. (Shuffle, shuffle, +shuffle--flip)--There, is that it?" (triumphantly). + +"I don't know. I lost sight of it." + +"Lost sight of it! Confound it, you have to look at it +and see what it is." + +"Oh, you want me to look at the front of it!" + +"Why, of course! Now then, pick a card." + +"All right. I've picked it. Go ahead." +(Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip.) + +"Say, confound you, did you put that card back in the +pack?" + +"Why, no. I kept it." + +"Holy Moses! Listen. Pick--a--card--just one--look at +it--see what it is--then put it back--do you understand?" + +"Oh, perfectly. Only I don't see how you are ever going +to do it. You must be awfully clever." + +(Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip.) + +"There you are; that's your card, now, isn't it?" (This +is the supreme moment.) + +"NO. THAT IS NOT MY CARD." (This is a flat lie, but Heaven +will pardon you for it.) + +"Not that card!!!! Say--just hold on a second. Here, now, +watch what you're at this time. I can do this cursed +thing, mind you, every time. I've done it on father, on +mother, and on every one that's ever come round our place. +Pick a card. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip, bang.) +There, that's your card." + +"NO. I AM SORRY. THAT IS NOT MY CARD. But won't you try +it again? Please do. Perhaps you are a little excited--I'm +afraid I was rather stupid. Won't you go and sit quietly +by yourself on the back verandah for half an hour and +then try? You have to go home? Oh, I'm so sorry. It must +be such an awfully clever little trick. Good night!" + + + + +Back to the Bush + +I have a friend called Billy, who has the Bush Mania. By +trade he is a doctor, but I do not think that he needs +to sleep out of doors. In ordinary things his mind appears +sound. Over the tops of his gold-rimmed spectacles, as +he bends forward to speak to you, there gleams nothing +but amiability and kindliness. Like all the rest of us +he is, or was until he forgot it all, an extremely +well-educated man. + +I am aware of no criminal strain in his blood. Yet Billy +is in reality hopelessly unbalanced. He has the Mania of +the Open Woods. + +Worse than that, he is haunted with the desire to drag +his friends with him into the depths of the Bush. + +Whenever we meet he starts to talk about it. + +Not long ago I met him in the club. + +"I wish," he said, "you'd let me take you clear away up +the Gatineau." + +"Yes, I wish I would, I don't think," I murmured to +myself, but I humoured him and said: + +"How do we go, Billy, in a motor-car or by train?" + +"No, we paddle." + +"And is it up-stream all the way?" + +"Oh, yes," Billy said enthusiastically. + +"And how many days do we paddle all day to get up?" + +"Six." + +"Couldn't we do it in less?" + +"Yes," Billy answered, feeling that I was entering into +the spirit of the thing, "if we start each morning just +before daylight and paddle hard till moonlight, we could +do it in five days and a half." + +"Glorious! and are there portages?" + +"Lots of them." + +"And at each of these do I carry two hundred pounds of +stuff up a hill on my back?" + +"Yes." + +"And will there be a guide, a genuine, dirty-looking +Indian guide?" + +"Yes." + +"And can I sleep next to him?" + +"Oh, yes, if you want to." + +"And when we get to the top, what is there?" + +"Well, we go over the height of land." + +"Oh, we do, do we? And is the height of land all rock +and about three hundred yards up-hill? And do I carry a +barrel of flour up it? And does it roll down and crush +me on the other side? Look here, Billy, this trip is a +great thing, but it is too luxurious for me. If you will +have me paddled up the river in a large iron canoe with +an awning, carried over the portages in a sedan-chair, +taken across the height of land in a palanquin or a +howdah, and lowered down the other side in a derrick, +I'll go. Short of that, the thing would be too fattening." + +Billy was discouraged and left me. But he has since +returned repeatedly to the attack. + +He offers to take me to the head-waters of the Batiscan. +I am content at the foot. + +He wants us to go to the sources of the Attahwapiscat. +I don't. + +He says I ought to see the grand chutes of the Kewakasis. +Why should I? + +I have made Billy a counter-proposition that we strike +through the Adirondacks (in the train) to New York, from +there portage to Atlantic City, then to Washington, +carrying our own grub (in the dining-car), camp there a +few days (at the Willard), and then back, I to return by +train and Billy on foot with the outfit. + +The thing is still unsettled. + +Billy, of course, is only one of thousands that have got +this mania. And the autumn is the time when it rages at +its worst. + +Every day there move northward trains, packed full of +lawyers, bankers, and brokers, headed for the bush. They +are dressed up to look like pirates. They wear slouch +hats, flannel shirts, and leather breeches with belts. +They could afford much better clothes than these, but +they won't use them. I don't know where they get these +clothes. I think the railroad lends them out. They have +guns between their knees and big knives at their hips. +They smoke the worst tobacco they can find, and they +carry ten gallons of alcohol per man in the baggage car. + +In the intervals of telling lies to one another they read +the railroad pamphlets about hunting. This kind of +literature is deliberately and fiendishly contrived to +infuriate their mania. I know all about these pamphlets +because I write them. I once, for instance, wrote up, +from imagination, a little place called Dog Lake at the +end of a branch line. The place had failed as a settlement, +and the railroad had decided to turn it into a hunting +resort. I did the turning. I think I did it rather well, +rechristening the lake and stocking the place with suitable +varieties of game. The pamphlet ran like this. + +"The limpid waters of Lake Owatawetness (the name, +according to the old Indian legends of the place, signifies, +The Mirror of the Almighty) abound with every known +variety of fish. Near to its surface, so close that the +angler may reach out his hand and stroke them, schools +of pike, pickerel, mackerel, doggerel, and chickerel +jostle one another in the water. They rise instantaneously +to the bait and swim gratefully ashore holding it in +their mouths. In the middle depth of the waters of the +lake, the sardine, the lobster, the kippered herring, +the anchovy and other tinned varieties of fish disport +themselves with evident gratification, while even lower +in the pellucid depths the dog-fish, the hog-fish, the +log-fish, and the sword-fish whirl about in never-ending +circles. + +"Nor is Lake Owatawetness merely an Angler's Paradise. +Vast forests of primeval pine slope to the very shores +of the lake, to which descend great droves of bears--brown, +green, and bear-coloured--while as the shades of evening +fall, the air is loud with the lowing of moose, cariboo, +antelope, cantelope, musk-oxes, musk-rats, and other +graminivorous mammalia of the forest. These enormous +quadrumana generally move off about 10.30 p.m., from +which hour until 11.45 p.m. the whole shore is reserved +for bison and buffalo. + +"After midnight hunters who so desire it can be chased +through the woods, for any distance and at any speed they +select, by jaguars, panthers, cougars, tigers, and jackals +whose ferocity is reputed to be such that they will tear +the breeches off a man with their teeth in their eagerness +to sink their fangs in his palpitating flesh. Hunters, +attention! Do not miss such attractions as these!" + +I have seen men--quiet, reputable, well-shaved men-- +reading that pamphlet of mine in the rotundas of hotels, +with their eyes blazing with excitement. I think it is +the jaguar attraction that hits them the hardest, because +I notice them rub themselves sympathetically with their +hands while they read. + +Of course, you can imagine the effect of this sort of +literature on the brains of men fresh from their offices, +and dressed out as pirates. + +They just go crazy and stay crazy. + +Just watch them when they get into the bush. + +Notice that well-to-do stockbroker crawling about on his +stomach in the underbrush, with his spectacles shining +like gig-lamps. What is he doing? He is after a cariboo +that isn't there. He is "stalking" it. With his stomach. +Of course, away down in his heart he knows that the +cariboo isn't there and never was; but that man read my +pamphlet and went crazy. He can't help it: he's GOT to +stalk something. Mark him as he crawls along; see him +crawl through a thimbleberry bush (very quietly so that +the cariboo won't hear the noise of the prickles going +into him), then through a bee's nest, gently and slowly, +so that the cariboo will not take fright when the bees +are stinging him. Sheer woodcraft! Yes, mark him. Mark +him any way you like. Go up behind him and paint a blue +cross on the seat of his pants as he crawls. He'll never +notice. He thinks he's a hunting dog. Yet this is the +man who laughs at his little son of ten for crawling +round under the dining-room table with a mat over his +shoulders, and pretending to be a bear. + +Now see these other men in camp. + +Someone has told them--I think I first started the idea +in my pamphlet--that the thing is to sleep on a pile of +hemlock branches. I think I told them to listen to the +wind sowing (you know the word I mean), sowing and crooning +in the giant pines. So there they are upside-down, doubled +up on a couch of green spikes that would have killed St. +Sebastian. They stare up at the sky with blood-shot, +restless eyes, waiting for the crooning to begin. And +there isn't a sow in sight. + +Here is another man, ragged and with a six days' growth +of beard, frying a piece of bacon on a stick over a little +fire. Now what does he think he is? The CHEF of the +Waldorf Astoria? Yes, he does, and what's more he thinks +that that miserable bit of bacon, cut with a tobacco +knife from a chunk of meat that lay six days in the rain, +is fit to eat. What's more, he'll eat it. So will the +rest. They're all crazy together. + +There's another man, the Lord help him who thinks he has +the "knack" of being a carpenter. He is hammering up +shelves to a tree. Till the shelves fall down he thinks +he is a wizard. Yet this is the same man who swore at +his wife for asking him to put up a shelf in the back +kitchen. "How the blazes," he asked, "could he nail the +damn thing up? Did she think he was a plumber?" + +After all, never mind. + +Provided they are happy up there, let them stay. + +Personally, I wouldn't mind if they didn't come back and +lie about it. They get back to the city dead fagged for +want of sleep, sogged with alcohol, bitten brown by the +bush-flies, trampled on by the moose and chased through +the brush by bears and skunks--and they have the nerve +to say that they like it. + +Sometimes I think they do. + +Men are only animals anyway. They like to get out into +the woods and growl round at night and feel something +bite them. + +Only why haven't they the imagination to be able to do +the same thing with less fuss? Why not take their coats +and collars off in the office and crawl round on the +floor and growl at one another. It would be just as good. + + + + +Reflections on Riding + +The writing of this paper has been inspired by a debate +recently held at the literary society of my native town +on the question, "Resolved: that the bicycle is a nobler +animal than the horse." In order to speak for the negative +with proper authority, I have spent some weeks in completely +addicting myself to the use of the horse. I find that +the difference between the horse and the bicycle is +greater than I had supposed. + +The horse is entirely covered with hair; the bicycle is +not entirely covered with hair, except the '89 model they +are using in Idaho. + +In riding a horse the performer finds that the pedals in +which he puts his feet will not allow of a good circular +stroke. He will observe, however, that there is a saddle +in which--especially while the horse is trotting--he is +expected to seat himself from time to time. But it is +simpler to ride standing up, with the feet in the pedals. + +There are no handles to a horse, but the 1910 model has +a string to each side of its face for turning its head +when there is anything you want it to see. + +Coasting on a good horse is superb, but should be under +control. I have known a horse to suddenly begin to coast +with me about two miles from home, coast down the main +street of my native town at a terrific rate, and finally +coast through a plantoon of the Salvation Army into its +livery stable. + +I cannot honestly deny that it takes a good deal of +physical courage to ride a horse. This, however, I have. +I get it at about forty cents a flask, and take it as +required. + +I find that in riding a horse up the long street of a +country town, it is not well to proceed at a trot. It +excites unkindly comment. It is better to let the horse +walk the whole distance. This may be made to seem natural +by turning half round in the saddle with the hand on the +horse's back, and gazing intently about two miles up the +road. It then appears that you are the first in of about +fourteen men. + +Since learning to ride, I have taken to noticing the +things that people do on horseback in books. Some of +these I can manage, but most of them are entirely beyond +me. Here, for instance, is a form of equestrian performance +that every reader will recognize and for which I have +only a despairing admiration: + +"With a hasty gesture of farewell, the rider set spurs +to his horse and disappeared in a cloud of dust." + +With a little practice in the matter of adjustment, I +think I could set spurs to any size of horse, but I could +never disappear in a cloud of dust--at least, not with +any guarantee of remaining disappeared when the dust +cleared away. + +Here, however, is one that I certainly can do: + +"The bridle-rein dropped from Lord Everard's listless +hand, and, with his head bowed upon his bosom, he suffered +his horse to move at a foot's pace up the sombre avenue. +Deep in thought, he heeded not the movement of the steed +which bore him." + +That is, he looked as if he didn't; but in my case Lord +Everard has his eye on the steed pretty closely, just +the same. + +This next I am doubtful about: + +"To horse! to horse!" cried the knight, and leaped into +the saddle. + +I think I could manage it if it read: + +"To horse!" cried the knight, and, snatching a step-ladder +from the hands of his trusty attendant, he rushed into +the saddle. + +As a concluding remark, I may mention that my experience +of riding has thrown a very interesting sidelight upon +a rather puzzling point in history. It is recorded of +the famous Henry the Second that he was "almost constantly +in the saddle, and of so restless a disposition that he +never sat down, even at meals." I had hitherto been unable +to understand Henry's idea about his meals, but I think +I can appreciate it now. + + + + +Saloonio + +A STUDY IN SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM + +They say that young men fresh from college are pretty +positive about what they know. But from my own experience +of life, I should say that if you take a comfortable, +elderly man who hasn't been near a college for about +twenty years, who has been pretty liberally fed and dined +ever since, who measures about fifty inches around the +circumference, and has a complexion like a cranberry by +candlelight, you will find that there is a degree of +absolute certainty about what he thinks he knows that +will put any young man to shame. I am specially convinced +of this from the case of my friend Colonel Hogshead, a +portly, choleric gentleman who made a fortune in the +cattle-trade out in Wyoming, and who, in his later days, +has acquired a chronic idea that the plays of Shakespeare +are the one subject upon which he is most qualified to +speak personally. + +He came across me the other evening as I was sitting by +the fire in the club sitting-room looking over the leaves +of The Merchant of Venice, and began to hold forth to me +about the book. + +"Merchant of Venice, eh? There's a play for you, sir! +There's genius! Wonderful, sir, wonderful! You take the +characters in that play and where will you find anything +like them? You take Antonio, take Sherlock, take Saloonio--" + +"Saloonio, Colonel?" I interposed mildly, "aren't you +making a mistake? There's a Bassanio and a Salanio in +the play, but I don't think there's any Saloonio, is +there?" + +For a moment Colonel Hogshead's eye became misty with +doubt, but he was not the man to admit himself in error: + +"Tut, tut! young man," he said with a frown, "don't skim +through your books in that way. No Saloonio? Why, of +course there's a Saloonio!" + +"But I tell you, Colonel," I rejoined, "I've just been +reading the play and studying it, and I know there's no +such character--" + +"Nonsense, sir, nonsense!" said the Colonel, "why he +comes in all through; don't tell me, young man, I've read +that play myself. Yes, and seen it played, too, out in +Wyoming, before you were born, by fellers, sir, that +could act. No Saloonio, indeed! why, who is it that is +Antonio's friend all through and won't leave him when +Bassoonio turns against him? Who rescues Clarissa from +Sherlock, and steals the casket of flesh from the Prince +of Aragon? Who shouts at the Prince of Morocco, 'Out, +out, you damned candlestick'? Who loads up the jury in +the trial scene and fixes the doge? No Saloonio! By gad! +in my opinion, he's the most important character in the +play--" + +"Colonel Hogshead," I said very firmly, "there isn't any +Saloonio and you know it." + +But the old man had got fairly started on whatever dim +recollection had given birth to Saloonio; the character +seemed to grow more and more luminous in the Colonel's +mind, and he continued with increasing animation: + +"I'll just tell you what Saloonio is: he's a type. +Shakespeare means him to embody the type of the perfect +Italian gentleman. He's an idea, that's what he is, he's +a symbol, he's a unit--" + +Meanwhile I had been searching among the leaves of the +play. "Look here," I said, "here's the list of the Dramatis +Personae. There's no Saloonio there." + +But this didn't dismay the Colonel one atom. "Why, of +course there isn't," he said. "You don't suppose you'd +find Saloonio there! That's the whole art of it! That's +Shakespeare! That's the whole gist of it! He's kept clean +out of the Personae--gives him scope, gives him a free +hand, makes him more of a type than ever. Oh, it's a +subtle thing, sir, the dramatic art!" continued the +Colonel, subsiding into quiet reflection; "it takes a +feller quite a time to get right into Shakespeare's mind +and see what he's at all the time." + +I began to see that there was no use in arguing any +further with the old man. I left him with the idea that +the lapse of a little time would soften his views on +Saloonio. But I had not reckoned on the way in which old +men hang on to a thing. Colonel Hogshead quite took up +Saloonio. From that time on Saloonio became the theme of +his constant conversation. He was never tired of discussing +the character of Saloonio, the wonderful art of the +dramatist in creating him, Saloonio's relation to modern +life, Saloonio's attitude toward women, the ethical +significance of Saloonio, Saloonio as compared with +Hamlet, Hamlet as compared with Saloonio--and so on, +endlessly. And the more he looked into Saloonio, the more +he saw in him. + +Saloonio seemed inexhaustible. There were new sides to +him--new phases at every turn. The Colonel even read over +the play, and finding no mention of Saloonio's name in +it, he swore that the books were not the same books they +had had out in Wyoming; that the whole part had been cut +clean out to suit the book to the infernal public schools, +Saloonio's language being--at any rate, as the Colonel +quoted it--undoubtedly a trifle free. Then the Colonel +took to annotating his book at the side with such remarks +as, "Enter Saloonio," or "A tucket sounds; enter Saloonio, +on the arm of the Prince of Morocco." When there was no +reasonable excuse for bringing Saloonio on the stage the +Colonel swore that he was concealed behind the arras, or +feasting within with the doge. + +But he got satisfaction at last. He had found that there +was nobody in our part of the country who knew how to +put a play of Shakespeare on the stage, and took a trip +to New York to see Sir Henry Irving and Miss Terry do +the play. The Colonel sat and listened all through with +his face just beaming with satisfaction, and when the +curtain fell at the close of Irving's grand presentation +of the play, he stood up in his seat, and cheered and +yelled to his friends: "That's it! That's him! Didn't +you see that man that came on the stage all the time and +sort of put the whole play through, though you couldn't +understand a word he said? Well, that's him! That's +Saloonio!" + + + + +Half-hours with the Poets + +I.--MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL. + + "I met a little cottage girl, + She was eight years old she said, + Her hair was thick with many a curl + That clustered round her head." + + WORDSWORTH. + +This is what really happened. + +Over the dreary downs of his native Cumberland the aged +laureate was wandering with bowed head and countenance +of sorrow. + +Times were bad with the old man. + +In the south pocket of his trousers, as he set his face +to the north, jingled but a few odd coins and a cheque +for St. Leon water. Apparently his cup of bitterness was +full. + +In the distance a child moved--a child in form, yet the +deep lines upon her face bespoke a countenance prematurely +old. + +The poet espied, pursued and overtook the infant. He +observed that apparently she drew her breath lightly and +felt her life in every limb, and that presumably her +acquaintance with death was of the most superficial +character. + +"I must sit awhile and ponder on that child," murmured +the poet. So he knocked her down with his walking-stick +and seating himself upon her, he pondered. + +Long he sat thus in thought. "His heart is heavy," sighed +the child. + +At length he drew forth a note-book and pencil and prepared +to write upon his knee. "Now then, my dear young friend," +he said, addressing the elfin creature, "I want those +lines upon your face. Are you seven?" + +"Yes, we are seven," said the girl sadly, and added, "I +know what you want. You are going to question me about +my afflicted family. You are Mr. Wordsworth, and you are +collecting mortuary statistics for the Cottagers' Edition +of the Penny Encyclopaedia." + +"You are eight years old?" asked the bard. + +"I suppose so," answered she. "I have been eight years +old for years and years." + +"And you know nothing of death, of course?" said the poet +cheerfully. + +"How can I?" answered the child. + +"Now then," resumed the venerable William, "let us get +to business. Name your brothers and sisters." + +"Let me see," began the child wearily; "there was Rube +and Ike, two I can't think of, and John and Jane." + +"You must not count John and Jane," interrupted the bard +reprovingly; "they're dead, you know, so that doesn't +make seven." + +"I wasn't counting them, but perhaps I added up wrongly," +said the child; "and will you please move your overshoe +off my neck?" + +"Pardon," said the old man. "A nervous trick, I have been +absorbed; indeed, the exigency of the metre almost demands +my doubling up my feet. To continue, however; which died +first?" + +"The first to go was little Jane," said the child. + +"She lay moaning in bed, I presume?" + +"In bed she moaning lay." + +"What killed her?" + +"Insomnia," answered the girl. "The gaiety of our cottage +life, previous to the departure of our elder brothers +for Conway, and the constant field-sports in which she +indulged with John, proved too much for a frame never +too robust." + +"You express yourself well," said the poet. "Now, in +regard to your unfortunate brother, what was the effect +upon him in the following winter of the ground being +white with snow and your being able to run and slide?" + +"My brother John was forced to go," answered she. "We +have been at a loss to understand the cause of his death. +We fear that the dazzling glare of the newly fallen snow, +acting upon a restless brain, may have led him to a fatal +attempt to emulate my own feats upon the ice. And, oh, +sir," the child went on, "speak gently of poor Jane. You +may rub it into John all you like; we always let him +slide." + +"Very well," said the bard, "and allow me, in conclusion, +one rather delicate question: Do you ever take your little +porringer?" + +"Oh, yes," answered the child frankly-- + + "'Quite often after sunset, + When all is light and fair, + I take my little porringer'-- + +"I can't quite remember what I do after that, but I know +that I like it." + +"That is immaterial," said Wordsworth. "I can say that +you take your little porringer neat, or with bitters, or +in water after every meal. As long as I can state that +you take a little porringer regularly, but never to +excess, the public is satisfied. And now," rising from +his seat, "I will not detain you any longer. Here is +sixpence--or stay," he added hastily, "here is a cheque +for St. Leon water. Your information has been most +valuable, and I shall work it, for all I am Wordsworth." +With these words the aged poet bowed deferentially to +the child and sauntered off in the direction of the Duke +of Cumberland's Arms, with his eyes on the ground, as if +looking for the meanest flower that blows itself. + + +II:--HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + +"If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear." + + +PART I + +As soon as the child's malady had declared itself the +afflicted parents of the May Queen telegraphed to Tennyson, +"Our child gone crazy on subject of early rising, could +you come and write some poetry about her?" + +Alfred, always prompt to fill orders in writing from the +country, came down on the evening train. The old cottager +greeted the poet warmly, and began at once to speak of +the state of his unfortunate daughter. + +"She was took queer in May," he said, "along of a sort +of bee that the young folks had; she ain't been just +right since; happen you might do summat." + +With these words he opened the door of an inner room. + +The girl lay in feverish slumber. Beside her bed was an +alarm-clock set for half-past three. Connected with the +clock was an ingenious arrangement of a falling brick +with a string attached to the child's toe. + +At the entrance of the visitor she started up in bed. +"Whoop," she yelled, "I am to be Queen of the May, mother, +ye-e!" + +Then perceiving Tennyson in the doorway, "If that's a +caller," she said, "tell him to call me early." + +The shock caused the brick to fall. In the subsequent +confusion Alfred modestly withdrew to the sitting-room. + +"At this rate," he chuckled, "I shall not have long to +wait. A few weeks of that strain will finish her." + + +PART II + +Six months had passed. + +It was now mid-winter. + +And still the girl lived. Her vitality appeared +inexhaustible. + +She got up earlier and earlier. She now rose yesterday +afternoon. + +At intervals she seemed almost sane, and spoke in a most +pathetic manner of her grave and the probability of the +sun shining on it early in the morning, and her mother +walking on it later in the day. At other times her malady +would seize her, and she would snatch the brick off the +string and throw it fiercely at Tennyson. Once, in an +uncontrollable fit of madness, she gave her sister Effie +a half-share in her garden tools and an interest in a +box of mignonette. + +The poet stayed doggedly on. In the chill of the morning +twilight he broke the ice in his water-basin and cursed +the girl. But he felt that he had broken the ice and he +stayed. + +On the whole, life at the cottage, though rugged, was +not cheerless. In the long winter evenings they would +gather around a smoking fire of peat, while Tennyson read +aloud the Idylls of the King to the rude old cottager. +Not to show his rudeness, the old man kept awake by +sitting on a tin-tack. This also kept his mind on the +right tack. The two found that they had much in common, +especially the old cottager. They called each other +"Alfred" and "Hezekiah" now. + + +PART III + +Time moved on and spring came. + +Still the girl baffled the poet. + +"I thought to pass away before," she would say with a +mocking grin, "but yet alive I am, Alfred, alive I am." + +Tennyson was fast losing hope. + +Worn out with early rising, they engaged a retired +Pullman-car porter to take up his quarters, and being a +negro his presence added a touch of colour to their life. + +The poet also engaged a neighbouring divine at fifty +cents an evening to read to the child the best hundred +books, with explanations. The May Queen tolerated him, +and used to like to play with his silver hair, but +protested that he was prosy. + +At the end of his resources the poet resolved upon +desperate measures. + +He chose an evening when the cottager and his wife were +out at a dinner-party. + +At nightfall Tennyson and his accomplices entered the +girl's room. + +She defended herself savagely with her brick, but was +overpowered. + +The negro seated himself upon her chest, while the +clergyman hastily read a few verses about the comfort of +early rising at the last day. + +As he concluded, the poet drove his pen into her eye. + +"Last call!" cried the negro porter triumphantly. + + +III.--OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE HESPERUS. + + "It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintry sea, + And the skipper had taken his little daughter to bear + him company."--LONGFELLOW. + +There were but three people in the cabin party of the +Hesperus: old Mr. Longfellow, the skipper, and the +skipper's daughter. + +The skipper was much attached to the child, owing to the +singular whiteness of her skin and the exceptionally +limpid blue of her eyes; she had hitherto remained on +shore to fill lucrative engagements as albino lady in a +circus. + +This time, however, her father had taken her with him +for company. The girl was an endless source of amusement +to the skipper and the crew. She constantly got up games +of puss-in-the-corner, forfeits, and Dumb Crambo with +her father and Mr. Longfellow, and made Scripture puzzles +and geographical acrostics for the men. + +Old Mr. Longfellow was taking the voyage to restore his +shattered nerves. From the first the captain disliked +Henry. He was utterly unused to the sea and was nervous +and fidgety in the extreme. He complained that at sea +his genius had not a sufficient degree of latitude. Which +was unparalleled presumption. + +On the evening of the storm there had been a little jar +between Longfellow and the captain at dinner. The captain +had emptied it several times, and was consequently in a +reckless, quarrelsome humour. + +"I confess I feel somewhat apprehensive," said old Henry +nervously, "of the state of the weather. I have had some +conversation about it with an old gentleman on deck who +professed to have sailed the Spanish main. He says you +ought to put into yonder port." + +"I have," hiccoughed the skipper, eyeing the bottle, and +added with a brutal laugh that "he could weather the +roughest gale that ever wind did blow." A whole Gaelic +society, he said, wouldn't fizz on him. + +Draining a final glass of grog, he rose from his chair, +said grace, and staggered on deck. + +All the time the wind blew colder and louder. + +The billows frothed like yeast. It was a yeast wind. + +The evening wore on. + +Old Henry shuffled about the cabin in nervous misery. + +The skipper's daughter sat quietly at the table selecting +verses from a Biblical clock to amuse the ship's bosun, +who was suffering from toothache. + +At about ten Longfellow went to his bunk, requesting the +girl to remain up in his cabin. + +For half an hour all was quiet, save the roaring of the +winter wind. + +Then the girl heard the old gentleman start up in bed. + +"What's that bell, what's that bell?" he gasped. + +A minute later he emerged from his cabin wearing a cork +jacket and trousers over his pyjamas. + +"Sissy," he said, "go up and ask your pop who rang that +bell." + +The obedient child returned. + +"Please, Mr. Longfellow," she said, "pa says there weren't +no bell." + +The old man sank into a chair and remained with his head +buried in his hands. + +"Say," he exclaimed presently, "someone's firing guns +and there's a glimmering light somewhere. You'd better +go upstairs again." + +Again the child returned. + +"The crew are guessing at an acrostic, and occasionally +they get a glimmering of it." + +Meantime the fury of the storm increased. + +The skipper had the hatches battered down. + +Presently Longfellow put his head out of a porthole and +called out, "Look here, you may not care, but the cruel +rocks are goring the sides of this boat like the horns +of an angry bull." + +The brutal skipper heaved the log at him. A knot in it +struck a plank and it glanced off. + +Too frightened to remain below, the poet raised one of +the hatches by picking out the cotton batting and made +his way on deck. He crawled to the wheel-house. + +The skipper stood lashed to the helm all stiff and stark. +He bowed stiffly to the poet. The lantern gleamed through +the gleaming snow on his fixed and glassy eyes. The man +was hopelessly intoxicated. + +All the crew had disappeared. When the missile thrown by +the captain had glanced off into the sea, they glanced +after it and were lost. + +At this moment the final crash came. + +Something hit something. There was an awful click followed +by a peculiar grating sound, and in less time than it +takes to write it (unfortunately), the whole wreck was +over. + +As the vessel sank, Longfellow's senses left him. When +he reopened his eyes he was in his own bed at home, and +the editor of his local paper was bending over him. + +"You have made a first-rate poem of it, Mr. Longfellow," +he was saying, unbending somewhat as he spoke, "and I am +very happy to give you our cheque for a dollar and a +quarter for it." + +"Your kindness checks my utterance," murmured Henry +feebly, very feebly. + + + + +A, B, and C + +THE HUMAN ELEMENT IN MATHEMATICS + +The student of arithmetic who has mastered the first four +rules of his art, and successfully striven with money +sums and fractions, finds himself confronted by an unbroken +expanse of questions known as problems. These are short +stories of adventure and industry with the end omitted, +and though betraying a strong family resemblance, are +not without a certain element of romance. + +The characters in the plot of a problem are three people +called A, B, and C. The form of the question is generally +of this sort: + +"A, B, and C do a certain piece of work. A can do as much +work in one hour as B in two, or C in four. Find how long +they work at it." + +Or thus: + +"A, B, and C are employed to dig a ditch. A can dig as +much in one hour as B can dig in two, and B can dig twice +as fast as C. Find how long, etc. etc." + +Or after this wise: + +"A lays a wager that he can walk faster than B or C. A +can walk half as fast again as B, and C is only an +indifferent walker. Find how far, and so forth." + +The occupations of A, B, and C are many and varied. In +the older arithmetics they contented themselves with +doing "a certain piece of work." This statement of the +case however, was found too sly and mysterious, or possibly +lacking in romantic charm. It became the fashion to define +the job more clearly and to set them at walking matches, +ditch-digging, regattas, and piling cord wood. At times, +they became commercial and entered into partnership, +having with their old mystery a "certain" capital. Above +all they revel in motion. When they tire of +walking-matches--A rides on horseback, or borrows a +bicycle and competes with his weaker-minded associates +on foot. Now they race on locomotives; now they row; or +again they become historical and engage stage-coaches; +or at times they are aquatic and swim. If their occupation +is actual work they prefer to pump water into cisterns, +two of which leak through holes in the bottom and one of +which is water-tight. A, of course, has the good one; he +also takes the bicycle, and the best locomotive, and the +right of swimming with the current. Whatever they do they +put money on it, being all three sports. A always wins. + +In the early chapters of the arithmetic, their identity +is concealed under the names John, William, and Henry, +and they wrangle over the division of marbles. In algebra +they are often called X, Y, Z. But these are only their +Christian names, and they are really the same people. + +Now to one who has followed the history of these men +through countless pages of problems, watched them in +their leisure hours dallying with cord wood, and seen +their panting sides heave in the full frenzy of filling +a cistern with a leak in it, they become something more +than mere symbols. They appear as creatures of flesh and +blood, living men with their own passions, ambitions, +and aspirations like the rest of us. Let us view them in +turn. A is a full-blooded blustering fellow, of energetic +temperament, hot-headed and strong-willed. It is he who +proposes everything, challenges B to work, makes the +bets, and bends the others to his will. He is a man of +great physical strength and phenomenal endurance. He has +been known to walk forty-eight hours at a stretch, and +to pump ninety-six. His life is arduous and full of peril. +A mistake in the working of a sum may keep him digging +a fortnight without sleep. A repeating decimal in the +answer might kill him. + +B is a quiet, easy-going fellow, afraid of A and bullied +by him, but very gentle and brotherly to little C, the +weakling. He is quite in A's power, having lost all his +money in bets. + +Poor C is an undersized, frail man, with a plaintive +face. Constant walking, digging, and pumping has broken +his health and ruined his nervous system. His joyless +life has driven him to drink and smoke more than is good +for him, and his hand often shakes as he digs ditches. +He has not the strength to work as the others can, in +fact, as Hamlin Smith has said, "A can do more work in +one hour than C in four." + +The first time that ever I saw these men was one evening +after a regatta. They had all been rowing in it, and it +had transpired that A could row as much in one hour as +B in two, or C in four. B and C had come in dead fagged +and C was coughing badly. "Never mind, old fellow," I +heard B say, "I'll fix you up on the sofa and get you +some hot tea." Just then A came blustering in and shouted, +"I say, you fellows, Hamlin Smith has shown me three +cisterns in his garden and he says we can pump them until +to-morrow night. I bet I can beat you both. Come on. You +can pump in your rowing things, you know. Your cistern +leaks a little, I think, C." I heard B growl that it was +a dirty shame and that C was used up now, but they went, +and presently I could tell from the sound of the water +that A was pumping four times as fast as C. + +For years after that I used to see them constantly about +town and always busy. I never heard of any of them eating +or sleeping. Then owing to a long absence from home, I +lost sight of them. On my return I was surprised to no +longer find A, B, and C at their accustomed tasks; on +inquiry I heard that work in this line was now done by +N, M, and O, and that some people were employing for +algebraica jobs four foreigners called Alpha, Beta, Gamma, +and Delta. + +Now it chanced one day that I stumbled upon old D, in the little +garden in front of his cottage, hoeing in the sun. D is an aged +labouring man who used occasionally to be called in to help A, +B, and C. "Did I know 'em, sir?" he answered, "why, I knowed 'em +ever since they was little fellows in brackets. Master A, he +were a fine lad, sir, though I always said, give me Master B for +kind-heartedness-like. Many's the job as we've been on together, +sir, though I never did no racing nor aught of that, but just +the plain labour, as you might say. I'm getting a bit too old +and stiff for it nowadays, sir--just scratch about in the +garden here and grow a bit of a logarithm, or raise a common +denominator or two. But Mr. Euclid he use me still for them +propositions, he do." + +From the garrulous old man I learned the melancholy end of +my former acquaintances. Soon after I left town, he told +me, C had been taken ill. It seems that A and B had been +rowing on the river for a wager, and C had been running +on the bank and then sat in a draught. Of course the bank +had refused the draught and C was taken ill. A and B came +home and found C lying helpless in bed. A shook him +roughly and said, "Get up, C, we're going to pile wood." +C looked so worn and pitiful that B said, "Look here, A, +I won't stand this, he isn't fit to pile wood to-night." +C smiled feebly and said, "Perhaps I might pile a little +if I sat up in bed." Then B, thoroughly alarmed, said, +"See here, A, I'm going to fetch a doctor; he's dying." +A flared up and answered, "You've no money to fetch a +doctor." "I'll reduce him to his lowest terms," B said +firmly, "that'll fetch him." C's life might even then +have been saved but they made a mistake about the medicine. +It stood at the head of the bed on a bracket, and the +nurse accidentally removed it from the bracket without +changing the sign. After the fatal blunder C seems to +have sunk rapidly. On the evening of the next day, as +the shadows deepened in the little room, it was clear to +all that the end was near. I think that even A was affected +at the last as he stood with bowed head, aimlessly offering +to bet with the doctor on C's laboured breathing. "A," +whispered C, "I think I'm going fast." "How fast do you +think you'll go, old man?" murmured A. "I don't know," +said C, "but I'm going at any rate."--The end came soon +after that. C rallied for a moment and asked for a certain +piece of work that he had left downstairs. A put it in +his arms and he expired. As his soul sped heavenward A +watched its flight with melancholy admiration. B burst +into a passionate flood of tears and sobbed, "Put away +his little cistern and the rowing clothes he used to +wear, I feel as if I could hardly ever dig again."--The +funeral was plain and unostentatious. It differed in +nothing from the ordinary, except that out of deference +to sporting men and mathematicians, A engaged two hearses. +Both vehicles started at the same time, B driving the +one which bore the sable parallelopiped containing the +last remains of his ill-fated friend. A on the box of +the empty hearse generously consented to a handicap of +a hundred yards, but arrived first at the cemetery by +driving four times as fast as B. (Find the distance to +the cemetery.) As the sarcophagus was lowered, the grave +was surrounded by the broken figures of the first book +of Euclid.--It was noticed that after the death of C, A +became a changed man. He lost interest in racing with B, +and dug but languidly. He finally gave up his work and +settled down to live on the interest of his bets.--B +never recovered from the shock of C's death; his grief +preyed upon his intellect and it became deranged. He grew +moody and spoke only in monosyllables. His disease became +rapidly aggravated, and he presently spoke only in words +whose spelling was regular and which presented no difficulty +to the beginner. Realizing his precarious condition he +voluntarily submitted to be incarcerated in an asylum, +where he abjured mathematics and devoted himself to +writing the History of the Swiss Family Robinson in words +of one syllable. + + + + +Acknowledgments + +Many of the sketches which form the present volume have +already appeared in print. Others of them are new. Of +the re-printed pieces, "Melpomenus Jones," "Policeman +Hogan," "A Lesson in Fiction," and many others were +contributions by the author to the New York Truth. The +"Boarding-House Geometry" first appeared in Truth, and +was subsequently republished in the London Punch, and in +a great many other journals. The sketches called the +"Life of John Smith," "Society Chit-Chat," and "Aristocratic +Education" appeared in Puck. "The New Pathology" was +first printed in the Toronto Saturday Night, and was +subsequently republished by the London Lancet, and by +various German periodicals in the form of a translation. +The story called "Number Fifty-Six" is taken from the +Detroit Free Press. "My Financial Career" was originally +contributed to the New York Life, and has been frequently +reprinted. The Articles "How to Make a Million Dollars" +and "How to Avoid Getting Married," etc. are reproduced +by permission of the Publishers' Press Syndicate. The +wide circulation which some of the above sketches have +enjoyed has encouraged the author to prepare the present +collection. + +The author desires to express his sense of obligation to +the proprietors of the above journals who have kindly +permitted him to republish the contributions which appeared +in their columns. + +END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + +***** This file should be named 6340.txt or 6340.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/4/6340/ + +Produced by Gardner Buchanan + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Literary Lapses + +Author: Stephen Leacock + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6340] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 29, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + + + + +This etext was produced by Gardner Buchanan. + + + + + +LITERARY LAPSES + +By Stephen Leacock + + + + +CONTENTS + +MY FINANCIAL CAREER +LORD OXHEAD'S SECRET +BOARDING-HOUSE GEOMETRY +THE AWFUL FATE OF MELPOMENUS JONES +A CHRISTMAS LETTER +HOW TO MAKE A MILLION DOLLARS +HOW TO LIVE TO BE 200 +HOW TO AVOID GETTING MARRIED +HOW TO BE A DOCTOR +THE NEW FOOD +A NEW PATHOLOGY +THE POET ANSWERED +THE FORCE OF STATISTICS +MEN WHO HAVE SHAVED ME +GETTING THE THREAD OF IT +TELLING HIS FAULTS +WINTER PASTIMES +NUMBER FIFTY-SIX +ARISTOCRATIC EDUCATION +THE CONJURER'S REVENGE +HINTS TO TRAVELLERS +A MANUAL OF EDUCATION +HOODOO MCFIGGIN'S CHRISTMAS +THE LIFE OF JOHN SMITH +ON COLLECTING THINGS +SOCIETY CHIT-CHAT +INSURANCE UP TO DATE +BORROWING A MATCH +A LESSON IN FICTION +HELPING THE ARMENIANS +A STUDY IN STILL LIFE: THE COUNTRY HOTEL +AN EXPERIMENT WITH POLICEMAN HOGAN +THE PASSING OF THE POET +SELF-MADE MEN +A MODEL DIALOGUE +BACK TO THE BUSH +REFLECTIONS ON RIDING +SALOONIO +HALF-HOURS WITH THE POETS-- + I. MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL + II. HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + III. OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE "HESPERUS" +A. B, AND C + + + + +LITERARY LAPSES + + + + +My Financial Career + +When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; +the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; +everything rattles me. + +The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to +transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot. + +I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to +fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the +only place for it. + +So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. +I had an idea that a person about to open an account must +needs consult the manager. I went up to a wicket marked +"Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool devil. The +very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral. + +"Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, +"alone." I don't know why I said "alone." + +"Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him. + +The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six +dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my pocket. + +"Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say +"alone" again, but without it the thing seemed self-evident. + +The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I +had an awful secret to reveal. + +"Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private +room. He turned the key in the lock. + +"We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down." + +We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no +voice to speak. + +"You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. + +He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a +detective. I knew what he was thinking, and it made me +worse. + +"No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that +I came from a rival agency. + +"To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted +to lie about it," I am not a detective at all. I have +come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money +in this bank." + +The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded +now that I was a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould. + +"A large account, I suppose," he said. + +"Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit +fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly." + +The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the +accountant. + +"Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman +is opening an account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. +Good morning." + +I rose. + +A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. + +"Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe. + +"Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the +other way. + +I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball +of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if +I were doing a conjuring trick. + +My face was ghastly pale. + +"Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed +to mean, "Let us do this painful thing while the fit is +on us." + +He took the money and gave it to another clerk. + +He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in +a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam +before my eyes. + +"Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. + +"It is," said the accountant. + +"Then I want to draw a cheque." + +My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present +use. Someone gave me a chequebook through a wicket and +someone else began telling me how to write it out. The +people in the bank had the impression that I was an +invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and +thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it. + +"What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in +surprise. Then I realized that I had written fifty-six +instead of six. I was too far gone to reason now. I had +a feeling that it was impossible to explain the thing. +All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me. + +Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. + +"Yes, the whole thing." + +"You withdraw your money from the bank?" + +"Every cent of it." + +"Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, +astonished. + +"Never." + +An idiot hope struck me that they might think something +had insulted me while I was writing the cheque and that +I had changed my mind. I made a wretched attempt to look +like a man with a fearfully quick temper. + +The clerk prepared to pay the money. + +"How will you have it?" he said. + +"What?" + +"How will you have it?" + +"Oh"--I caught his meaning and answered without even +trying to think--"in fifties." + +He gave me a fifty-dollar bill. + +"And the six?" he asked dryly. + +"In sixes," I said. + +He gave it me and I rushed out. + +As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a +roar of laughter that went up to the ceiling of the bank. +Since then I bank no more. I keep my money in cash in my +trousers pocket and my savings in silver dollars in a +sock. + + + + +Lord Oxhead's Secret + +A ROMANCE IN ONE CHAPTER + +It was finished. Ruin had come. Lord Oxhead sat gazing +fixedly at the library fire. Without, the wind soughed +(or sogged) around the turrets of Oxhead Towers, the seat +of the Oxhead family. But the old earl heeded not the +sogging of the wind around his seat. He was too absorbed. + +Before him lay a pile of blue papers with printed headings. +From time to time he turned them over in his hands and +replaced them on the table with a groan. To the earl they +meant ruin--absolute, irretrievable ruin, and with it +the loss of his stately home that had been the pride of +the Oxheads for generations. More than that--the world +would now know the awful secret of his life. + +The earl bowed his head in the bitterness of his sorrow, +for he came of a proud stock. About him hung the portraits +of his ancestors. Here on the right an Oxhead who had +broken his lance at Crecy, or immediately before it. +There McWhinnie Oxhead who had ridden madly from the +stricken field of Flodden to bring to the affrighted +burghers of Edinburgh all the tidings that he had been +able to gather in passing the battlefield. Next him hung +the dark half Spanish face of Sir Amyas Oxhead of +Elizabethan days whose pinnace was the first to dash to +Plymouth with the news that the English fleet, as nearly +as could be judged from a reasonable distance, seemed +about to grapple with the Spanish Armada. Below this, +the two Cavalier brothers, Giles and Everard Oxhead, who +had sat in the oak with Charles II. Then to the right +again the portrait of Sir Ponsonby Oxhead who had fought +with Wellington in Spain, and been dismissed for it. + +Immediately before the earl as he sat was the family +escutcheon emblazoned above the mantelpiece. A child +might read the simplicity of its proud significance--an +ox rampant quartered in a field of gules with a pike +dexter and a dog intermittent in a plain parallelogram +right centre, with the motto, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, +hujus, hujus." + + * * * * * + +"Father!"--The girl's voice rang clear through the half +light of the wainscoted library. Gwendoline Oxhead had +thrown herself about the earl's neck. The girl was radiant +with happiness. Gwendoline was a beautiful girl of +thirty-three, typically English in the freshness of her +girlish innocence. She wore one of those charming walking +suits of brown holland so fashionable among the aristocracy +of England, while a rough leather belt encircled her +waist in a single sweep. She bore herself with that sweet +simplicity which was her greatest charm. She was probably +more simple than any girl of her age for miles around. +Gwendoline was the pride of her father's heart, for he +saw reflected in her the qualities of his race. + +"Father," she said, a blush mantling her fair face, "I +am so happy, oh so happy; Edwin has asked me to be his +wife, and we have plighted our troth--at least if you +consent. For I will never marry without my father's +warrant," she added, raising her head proudly; "I am too +much of an Oxhead for that." + +Then as she gazed into the old earl's stricken face, the +girl's mood changed at once. "Father," she cried, "father, +are you ill? What is it? Shall I ring?" As she spoke +Gwendoline reached for the heavy bell-rope that hung +beside the wall, but the earl, fearful that her frenzied +efforts might actually make it ring, checked her hand. +"I am, indeed, deeply troubled," said Lord Oxhead, "but +of that anon. Tell me first what is this news you bring. +I hope, Gwendoline, that your choice has been worthy of +an Oxhead, and that he to whom you have plighted your +troth will be worthy to bear our motto with his own." +And, raising his eyes to the escutcheon before him, the +earl murmured half unconsciously, "Hic, haec, hoc, hujus, +hujus, hujus," breathing perhaps a prayer as many of his +ancestors had done before him that he might never forget +it. + +"Father," continued Gwendoline, half timidly, "Edwin is +an American." + +"You surprise me indeed," answered Lord Oxhead; "and +yet," he continued, turning to his daughter with the +courtly grace that marked the nobleman of the old school, +"why should we not respect and admire the Americans? +Surely there have been great names among them. Indeed, +our ancestor Sir Amyas Oxhead was, I think, married to +Pocahontas--at least if not actually married"--the earl +hesitated a moment. + +"At least they loved one another," said Gwendoline simply. + +"Precisely," said the earl, with relief, "they loved one +another, yes, exactly." Then as if musing to himself, +"Yes, there have been great Americans. Bolivar was an +American. The two Washingtons--George and Booker--are +both Americans. There have been others too, though for +the moment I do not recall their names. But tell me, +Gwendoline, this Edwin of yours--where is his family +seat?" + +"It is at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, father." + +"Ah! say you so?" rejoined the earl, with rising interest. +"Oshkosh is, indeed, a grand old name. The Oshkosh are +a Russian family. An Ivan Oshkosh came to England with +Peter the Great and married my ancestress. Their descendant +in the second degree once removed, Mixtup Oshkosh, fought +at the burning of Moscow and later at the sack of Salamanca +and the treaty of Adrianople. And Wisconsin too," the +old nobleman went on, his features kindling with animation, +for he had a passion for heraldry, genealogy, chronology, +and commercial geography; "the Wisconsins, or better, I +think, the Guisconsins, are of old blood. A Guisconsin +followed Henry I to Jerusalem and rescued my ancestor +Hardup Oxhead from the Saracens. Another Guisconsin..." + +"Nay, father," said Gwendoline, gently interrupting, +"Wisconsin is not Edwin's own name: that is, I believe, +the name of his estate. My lover's name is Edwin Einstein." + +"Einstein," repeated the earl dubiously--"an Indian name +perhaps; yet the Indians are many of them of excellent +family. An ancestor of mine..." + +"Father," said Gwendoline, again interrupting, "here is +a portrait of Edwin. Judge for yourself if he be noble." +With this she placed in her father's hand an American +tin-type, tinted in pink and brown. The picture represented +a typical specimen of American manhood of that Anglo-Semitic +type so often seen in persons of mixed English and Jewish +extraction. The figure was well over five feet two inches +in height and broad in proportion. The graceful sloping +shoulders harmonized with the slender and well-poised +waist, and with a hand pliant and yet prehensile. The +pallor of the features was relieved by a drooping black +moustache. + +Such was Edwin Einstein to whom Gwendoline's heart, if +not her hand, was already affianced. Their love had been +so simple and yet so strange. It seemed to Gwendoline +that it was but a thing of yesterday, and yet in reality +they had met three weeks ago. Love had drawn them +irresistibly together. To Edwin the fair English girl +with her old name and wide estates possessed a charm that +he scarcely dared confess to himself. He determined to +woo her. To Gwendoline there was that in Edwin's bearing, +the rich jewels that he wore, the vast fortune that rumour +ascribed to him, that appealed to something romantic and +chivalrous in her nature. She loved to hear him speak of +stocks and bonds, corners and margins, and his father's +colossal business. It all seemed so noble and so far +above the sordid lives of the people about her. Edwin, +too, loved to hear the girl talk of her father's estates, +of the diamond-hilted sword that the saladin had given, +or had lent, to her ancestor hundreds of years ago. Her +description of her father, the old earl, touched something +romantic in Edwin's generous heart. He was never tired +of asking how old he was, was he robust, did a shock, a +sudden shock, affect him much? and so on. Then had come +the evening that Gwendoline loved to live over and over +again in her mind when Edwin had asked her in his +straightforward, manly way, whether--subject to certain +written stipulations to be considered later--she would +be his wife: and she, putting her hand confidingly in +his hand, answered simply, that--subject to the consent +of her father and pending always the necessary legal +formalities and inquiries--she would. + +It had all seemed like a dream: and now Edwin Einstein +had come in person to ask her hand from the earl, her +father. Indeed, he was at this moment in the outer hall +testing the gold leaf in the picture-frames with his +pen-knife while waiting for his affianced to break the +fateful news to Lord Oxhead. + +Gwendoline summoned her courage for a great effort. +"Papa," she said, "there is one other thing that it is +fair to tell you. Edwin's father is in business." + +The earl started from his seat in blank amazement. "In +business!" he repeated, "the father of the suitor of the +daughter of an Oxhead in business! My daughter the +step-daughter of the grandfather of my grandson! Are +you mad, girl? It is too much, too much!" + +"But, father," pleaded the beautiful girl in anguish, +"hear me. It is Edwin's father--Sarcophagus Einstein, +senior--not Edwin himself. Edwin does nothing. He has +never earned a penny. He is quite unable to support +himself. You have only to see him to believe it. Indeed, +dear father, he is just like us. He is here now, in this +house, waiting to see you. If it were not for his great +wealth..." + +"Girl," said the earl sternly, "I care not for the man's +riches. How much has he?" + +"Fifteen million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," +answered Gwendoline. Lord Oxhead leaned his head against +the mantelpiece. His mind was in a whirl. He was trying +to calculate the yearly interest on fifteen and a quarter +million dollars at four and a half per cent reduced to +pounds, shillings, and pence. It was bootless. His brain, +trained by long years of high living and plain thinking, +had become too subtle, too refined an instrument for +arithmetic... + + * * * * * + +At this moment the door opened and Edwin Einstein stood +before the earl. Gwendoline never forgot what happened. +Through her life the picture of it haunted her--her lover +upright at the door, his fine frank gaze fixed inquiringly +on the diamond pin in her father's necktie, and he, her +father, raising from the mantelpiece a face of agonized +amazement. + +"You! You!" he gasped. For a moment he stood to his full +height, swaying and groping in the air, then fell prostrate +his full length upon the floor. The lovers rushed to his +aid. Edwin tore open his neckcloth and plucked aside his +diamond pin to give him air. But it was too late. Earl +Oxhead had breathed his last. Life had fled. The earl +was extinct. That is to say, he was dead. + +The reason of his death was never known. Had the sight +of Edwin killed him? It might have. The old family doctor +hurriedly summoned declared his utter ignorance. This, +too, was likely. Edwin himself could explain nothing. +But it was observed that after the earl's death and his +marriage with Gwendoline he was a changed man; he dressed +better, talked much better English. + +The wedding itself was quiet, almost sad. At Gwendoline's +request there was no wedding breakfast, no bridesmaids, +and no reception, while Edwin, respecting his bride's +bereavement, insisted that there should be no best man, +no flowers, no presents, and no honeymoon. + +Thus Lord Oxhead's secret died with him. It was probably +too complicated to be interesting anyway. + + + + +Boarding-House Geometry + +DEFINITIONS AND AXIOMS + +All boarding-houses are the same boarding-house. + +Boarders in the same boarding-house and on the same flat +are equal to one another. + +A single room is that which has no parts and no magnitude. + +The landlady of a boarding-house is a parallelogram--that +is, an oblong angular figure, which cannot be described, +but which is equal to anything. + +A wrangle is the disinclination of two boarders to each +other that meet together but are not in the same line. + +All the other rooms being taken, a single room is said +to be a double room. + + +POSTULATES AND PROPOSITIONS + +A pie may be produced any number of times. + +The landlady can be reduced to her lowest terms by a +series of propositions. + +A bee line may be made from any boarding-house to any +other boarding-house. + +The clothes of a boarding-house bed, though produced ever +so far both ways, will not meet. + +Any two meals at a boarding-house are together less than +two square meals. + +If from the opposite ends of a boarding-house a line be +drawn passing through all the rooms in turn, then the +stovepipe which warms the boarders will lie within that +line. + +On the same bill and on the same side of it there should +not be two charges for the same thing. + +If there be two boarders on the same flat, and the amount +of side of the one be equal to the amount of side of the +other, each to each, and the wrangle between one boarder +and the landlady be equal to the wrangle between the +landlady and the other, then shall the weekly bills of +the two boarders be equal also, each to each. + +For if not, let one bill be the greater. + +Then the other bill is less than it might have been--which +is absurd. + + + + +The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones + +Some people--not you nor I, because we are so awfully +self-possessed--but some people, find great difficulty +in saying good-bye when making a call or spending the +evening. As the moment draws near when the visitor feels +that he is fairly entitled to go away he rises and says +abruptly, "Well, I think I..." Then the people say, "Oh, +must you go now? Surely it's early yet!" and a pitiful +struggle ensues. + +I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I +ever knew was that of my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, +a curate--such a dear young man, and only twenty-three! +He simply couldn't get away from people. He was too modest +to tell a lie, and too religious to wish to appear rude. +Now it happened that he went to call on some friends of +his on the very first afternoon of his summer vacation. +The next six weeks were entirely his own--absolutely +nothing to do. He chatted awhile, drank two cups of tea, +then braced himself for the effort and said suddenly: + +"Well, I think I..." + +But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no! Mr. Jones, can't +you really stay a little longer?" + +Jones was always truthful. "Oh, yes," he said, "of course, +I--er--can stay." + +"Then please don't go." + +He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling. +He rose again. + +"Well now," he said shyly, "I think I really..." + +"You must go?" said the lady politely. "I thought perhaps +you could have stayed to dinner..." + +"Oh well, so I could, you know," Jones said, "if..." + +"Then please stay, I'm sure my husband will be delighted." + +"All right," he said feebly, "I'll stay," and he sank +back into his chair, just full of tea, and miserable. + +Papa came home. They had dinner. All through the meal +Jones sat planning to leave at eight-thirty. All the +family wondered whether Mr. Jones was stupid and sulky, +or only stupid. + +After dinner mamma undertook to "draw him out," and showed +him photographs. She showed him all the family museum, +several gross of them--photos of papa's uncle and his +wife, and mamma's brother and his little boy, an awfully +interesting photo of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal +uniform, an awfully well-taken photo of papa's grandfather's +partner's dog, and an awfully wicked one of papa as the +devil for a fancy-dress ball. At eight-thirty Jones had +examined seventy-one photographs. There were about +sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones rose. + +"I must say good night now," he pleaded. + +"Say good night!" they said, "why it's only half-past +eight! Have you anything to do?" + +"Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about +staying six weeks, and then laughed miserably. + +Just then it turned out that the favourite child of the +family, such a dear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones's +hat; so papa said that he must stay, and invited him to +a pipe and a chat. Papa had the pipe and gave Jones the +chat, and still he stayed. Every moment he meant to take +the plunge, but couldn't. Then papa began to get very +tired of Jones, and fidgeted and finally said, with +jocular irony, that Jones had better stay all night, they +could give him a shake-down. Jones mistook his meaning +and thanked him with tears in his eyes, and papa put +Jones to bed in the spare room and cursed him heartily. + +After breakfast next day, papa went off to his work in +the City, and left Jones playing with the baby, broken- +hearted. His nerve was utterly gone. He was meaning to +leave all day, but the thing had got on his mind and he +simply couldn't. When papa came home in the evening he +was surprised and chagrined to find Jones still there. +He thought to jockey him out with a jest, and said he +thought he'd have to charge him for his board, he! he! +The unhappy young man stared wildly for a moment, then +wrung papa's hand, paid him a month's board in advance, +and broke down and sobbed like a child. + +In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable. +He lived, of course, entirely in the drawing-room, and +the lack of air and exercise began to tell sadly on his +health. He passed his time in drinking tea and looking +at the photographs. He would stand for hours gazing at +the photographs of papa's uncle's friend in his Bengal +uniform--talking to it, sometimes swearing bitterly at +it. His mind was visibly failing. + +At length the crash came. They carried him upstairs in +a raging delirium of fever. The illness that followed +was terrible. He recognized no one, not even papa's +uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform. At times he would +start up from his bed and shriek, "Well, I think I..." +and then fall back upon the pillow with a horrible laugh. +Then, again, he would leap up and cry, "Another cup of +tea and more photographs! More photographs! Har! Har!" + +At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of +his vacation, he passed away. They say that when the last +moment came, he sat up in bed with a beautiful smile of +confidence playing upon his face, and said, "Well--the +angels are calling me; I'm afraid I really must go now. +Good afternoon." + +And the rushing of his spirit from its prison-house was +as rapid as a hunted cat passing over a garden fence. + + + + +A Christmas Letter + +(In answer to a young lady who has sent an invitation to +be present at a children's party) + +Madamoiselle, + +Allow me very gratefully but firmly to refuse your kind +invitation. You doubtless mean well; but your ideas are +unhappily mistaken. + +Let us understand one another once and for all. I cannot +at my mature age participate in the sports of children +with such abandon as I could wish. I entertain, and have +always entertained, the sincerest regard for such games +as Hunt-the-Slipper and Blind-Man's Buff. But I have now +reached a time of life, when, to have my eyes blindfolded +and to have a powerful boy of ten hit me in the back with +a hobby-horse and ask me to guess who hit me, provokes +me to a fit of retaliation which could only culminate in +reckless criminality. Nor can I cover my shoulders with +a drawing-room rug and crawl round on my hands and knees +under the pretence that I am a bear without a sense of +personal insufficiency, which is painful to me. + +Neither can I look on with a complacent eye at the sad +spectacle of your young clerical friend, the Reverend +Mr. Uttermost Farthing, abandoning himself to such gambols +and appearing in the role of life and soul of the evening. +Such a degradation of his holy calling grieves me, and +I cannot but suspect him of ulterior motives. + +You inform me that your maiden aunt intends to help you +to entertain the party. I have not, as you know, the +honour of your aunt's acquaintance, yet I think I may +with reason surmise that she will organize games--guessing +games--in which she will ask me to name a river in Asia +beginning with a Z; on my failure to do so she will put +a hot plate down my neck as a forfeit, and the children +will clap their hands. These games, my dear young friend, +involve the use of a more adaptable intellect than mine, +and I cannot consent to be a party to them. + +May I say in conclusion that I do not consider a five-cent +pen-wiper from the top branch of a Xmas tree any adequate +compensation for the kind of evening you propose. + + I have the honour + To subscribe myself, + Your obedient servant. + + + + +How to Make a Million Dollars + +I mix a good deal with the Millionaires. I like them. I +like their faces. I like the way they live. I like the +things they eat. The more we mix together the better I +like the things we mix. + +Especially I like the way they dress, their grey check +trousers, their white check waist-coats, their heavy gold +chains, and the signet-rings that they sign their cheques +with. My! they look nice. Get six or seven of them sitting +together in the club and it's a treat to see them. And +if they get the least dust on them, men come and brush +it off. Yes, and are glad to. I'd like to take some of +the dust off them myself. + +Even more than what they eat I like their intellectual +grasp. It is wonderful. Just watch them read. They simply +read all the time. Go into the club at any hour and you'll +see three or four of them at it. And the things they can +read! You'd think that a man who'd been driving hard in +the office from eleven o'clock until three, with only an +hour and a half for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a +bit. These men can sit down after office hours and read +the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the Pink Un, and +understand the jokes just as well as I can. + +What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and +catch the little scraps of conversation. The other day +I heard one lean forward and say, "Well, I offered him +a million and a half and said I wouldn't give a cent +more, he could either take it or leave it--" I just longed +to break in and say, "What! what! a million and a half! +Oh! say that again! Offer it to me, to either take it or +leave it. Do try me once: I know I can: or here, make it +a plain million and let's call it done." + +Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. +Don't think it. Of course they don't take much account +of big money, a hundred thousand dollars at a shot or +anything of that sort. But little money. You've no idea +till you know them how anxious they get about a cent, or +half a cent, or less. + +Why, two of them came into the club the other night just +frantic with delight: they said wheat had risen and they'd +cleaned up four cents each in less than half an hour. +They bought a dinner for sixteen on the strength of it. +I don't understand it. I've often made twice as much as +that writing for the papers and never felt like boasting +about it. + +One night I heard one man say, "Well, let's call up New +York and offer them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! +Imagine paying the cost of calling up New York, nearly +five million people, late at night and offering them a +quarter of a cent! And yet--did New York get mad? No, +they took it. Of course it's high finance. I don't pretend +to understand it. I tried after that to call up Chicago +and offer it a cent and a half, and to call up Hamilton, +Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and the operator +only thought I was crazy. + +All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how +the millionaires do it. I have. For years. I thought it +might be helpful to young men just beginning to work and +anxious to stop. + +You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when +he was a boy he had known what he knows now, instead of +being what he is he might be what he won't; but how few +boys stop to think that if they knew what they don't know +instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? +These are awful thoughts. + +At any rate, I've been gathering hints on how it is they +do it. + +One thing I'm sure about. If a young man wants to make +a million dollars he's got to be mighty careful about +his diet and his living. This may seem hard. But success +is only achieved with pains. + +There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million +dollars thinking he's entitled to get up at 7.30, eat +force and poached eggs, drink cold water at lunch, and +go to bed at 10 p.m. You can't do it. I've seen too many +millionaires for that. If you want to be a millionaire +you mustn't get up till ten in the morning. They never +do. They daren't. It would be as much as their business +is worth if they were seen on the street at half-past +nine. + +And the old idea of abstemiousness is all wrong. To be +a millionaire you need champagne, lots of it and all the +time. That and Scotch whisky and soda: you have to sit +up nearly all night and drink buckets of it. This is what +clears the brain for business next day. I've seen some +of these men with their brains so clear in the morning, +that their faces look positively boiled. + +To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But +you can buy that by the pint. + +Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved +on from your present status in business, change your +life. When your landlady brings your bacon and eggs for +breakfast, throw them out of window to the dog and tell +her to bring you some chilled asparagus and a pint of +Moselle. Then telephone to your employer that you'll be +down about eleven o'clock. You will get moved on. Yes, +very quickly. + +Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult +question. But one way is this. Strike the town with five +cents in your pocket. They nearly all do this; they've +told me again and again (men with millions and millions) +that the first time they struck town they had only five +cents. That seems to have given them their start. Of +course, it's not easy to do. I've tried it several times. +I nearly did it once. I borrowed five cents, carried it +away out of town, and then turned and came back at the +town with an awful rush. If I hadn't struck a beer saloon +in the suburbs and spent the five cents I might have been +rich to-day. + +Another good plan is to start something. Something on a +huge scale: something nobody ever thought of. For instance, +one man I know told me that once he was down in Mexico +without a cent (he'd lost his five in striking Central +America) and he noticed that they had no power plants. +So he started some and made a mint of money. Another man +that I know was once stranded in New York, absolutely +without a nickel. Well, it occurred to him that what was +needed were buildings ten stories higher than any that +had been put up. So he built two and sold them right +away. Ever so many millionaires begin in some such simple +way as that. + +There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. +I almost hate to tell this, because I want to do it +myself. + +I learned of it just by chance one night at the club. +There is one old man there, extremely rich, with one of +the best faces of the lot, just like a hyena. I never +used to know how he had got so rich. So one evening I +asked one of the millionaires how old Bloggs had made +all his money. + +"How he made it?" he answered with a sneer. "Why he made +it by taking it out of widows and orphans." + +Widows and orphans! I thought, what an excellent idea. +But who would have suspected that they had it? + +"And how," I asked pretty cautiously, "did he go at it +to get it out of them?" + +"Why," the man answered, "he just ground them under his +heels, that was how." + +Now isn't that simple? I've thought of that conversation +often since and I mean to try it. If I can get hold of +them, I'll grind them quick enough. But how to get them. +Most of the widows I know look pretty solid for that sort +of thing, and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot +of them. Meantime I am waiting, and if I ever get a large +bunch of orphans all together, I'll stamp on them and +see. + +I find, too, on inquiry, that you can also grind it out +of clergymen. They say they grind nicely. But perhaps +orphans are easier. + + + + +How to Live to be 200 + +Twenty years ago I knew a man called Jiggins, who had +the Health Habit. + +He used to take a cold plunge every morning. He said it +opened his pores. After it he took a hot sponge. He said +it closed the pores. He got so that he could open and +shut his pores at will. + +Jiggins used to stand and breathe at an open window for +half an hour before dressing. He said it expanded his +lungs. He might, of course, have had it done in a shoe-store +with a boot stretcher, but after all it cost him nothing +this way, and what is half an hour? + +After he had got his undershirt on, Jiggins used to hitch +himself up like a dog in harness and do Sandow exercises. +He did them forwards, backwards, and hind-side up. + +He could have got a job as a dog anywhere. He spent all +his time at this kind of thing. In his spare time at the +office, he used to lie on his stomach on the floor and +see if he could lift himself up with his knuckles. If he +could, then he tried some other way until he found one +that he couldn't do. Then he would spend the rest of his +lunch hour on his stomach, perfectly happy. + +In the evenings in his room he used to lift iron bars, +cannon-balls, heave dumb-bells, and haul himself up to +the ceiling with his teeth. You could hear the thumps +half a mile. He liked it. + +He spent half the night slinging himself around his room. +He said it made his brain clear. When he got his brain +perfectly clear, he went to bed and slept. As soon as he +woke, he began clearing it again. + +Jiggins is dead. He was, of course, a pioneer, but the +fact that he dumb-belled himself to death at an early +age does not prevent a whole generation of young men from +following in his path. + +They are ridden by the Health Mania. + +They make themselves a nuisance. + +They get up at impossible hours. They go out in silly +little suits and run Marathon heats before breakfast. +They chase around barefoot to get the dew on their feet. +They hunt for ozone. They bother about pepsin. They won't +eat meat because it has too much nitrogen. They won't +eat fruit because it hasn't any. They prefer albumen and +starch and nitrogen to huckleberry pie and doughnuts. +They won't drink water out of a tap. They won't eat +sardines out of a can. They won't use oysters out of a +pail. They won't drink milk out of a glass. They are +afraid of alcohol in any shape. Yes, sir, afraid. "Cowards." + +And after all their fuss they presently incur some simple +old-fashioned illness and die like anybody else. + +Now people of this sort have no chance to attain any +great age. They are on the wrong track. + +Listen. Do you want to live to be really old, to enjoy +a grand, green, exuberant, boastful old age and to make +yourself a nuisance to your whole neighbourhood with your +reminiscences? + +Then cut out all this nonsense. Cut it out. Get up in +the morning at a sensible hour. The time to get up is +when you have to, not before. If your office opens at +eleven, get up at ten-thirty. Take your chance on ozone. +There isn't any such thing anyway. Or, if there is, you +can buy a Thermos bottle full for five cents, and put it +on a shelf in your cupboard. If your work begins at seven +in the morning, get up at ten minutes to, but don't be +liar enough to say that you like it. It isn't exhilarating, +and you know it. + +Also, drop all that cold-bath business. You never did it +when you were a boy. Don't be a fool now. If you must +take a bath (you don't really need to), take it warm. +The pleasure of getting out of a cold bed and creeping +into a hot bath beats a cold plunge to death. In any +case, stop gassing about your tub and your "shower," as +if you were the only man who ever washed. + +So much for that point. + +Next, take the question of germs and bacilli. Don't be +scared of them. That's all. That's the whole thing, and +if you once get on to that you never need to worry again. + +If you see a bacilli, walk right up to it, and look it +in the eye. If one flies into your room, strike at it +with your hat or with a towel. Hit it as hard as you can +between the neck and the thorax. It will soon get sick +of that. + +But as a matter of fact, a bacilli is perfectly quiet +and harmless if you are not afraid of it. Speak to it. +Call out to it to "lie down." It will understand. I had +a bacilli once, called Fido, that would come and lie at +my feet while I was working. I never knew a more +affectionate companion, and when it was run over by an +automobile, I buried it in the garden with genuine sorrow. + +(I admit this is an exaggeration. I don't really remember +its name; it may have been Robert.) + +Understand that it is only a fad of modern medicine to +say that cholera and typhoid and diphtheria are caused +by bacilli and germs; nonsense. Cholera is caused by a +frightful pain in the stomach, and diphtheria is caused +by trying to cure a sore throat. + +Now take the question of food. + +Eat what you want. Eat lots of it. Yes, eat too much of +it. Eat till you can just stagger across the room with +it and prop it up against a sofa cushion. Eat everything +that you like until you can't eat any more. The only test +is, can you pay for it? If you can't pay for it, don't +eat it. And listen--don't worry as to whether your food +contains starch, or albumen, or gluten, or nitrogen. If +you are a damn fool enough to want these things, go and +buy them and eat all you want of them. Go to a laundry +and get a bag of starch, and eat your fill of it. Eat +it, and take a good long drink of glue after it, and a +spoonful of Portland cement. That will gluten you, good +and solid. + +If you like nitrogen, go and get a druggist to give you +a canful of it at the soda counter, and let you sip it +with a straw. Only don't think that you can mix all these +things up with your food. There isn't any nitrogen or +phosphorus or albumen in ordinary things to eat. In any +decent household all that sort of stuff is washed out in +the kitchen sink before the food is put on the table. + +And just one word about fresh air and exercise. Don't +bother with either of them. Get your room full of good +air, then shut up the windows and keep it. It will keep +for years. Anyway, don't keep using your lungs all the +time. Let them rest. As for exercise, if you have to take +it, take it and put up with it. But as long as you have +the price of a hack and can hire other people to play +baseball for you and run races and do gymnastics when +you sit in the shade and smoke and watch them--great +heavens, what more do you want? + + + + +How to Avoid Getting Married. + +Some years ago, when I was the Editor of a Correspondence +Column, I used to receive heart-broken letters from young +men asking for advice and sympathy. They found themselves +the object of marked attentions from girls which they +scarcely knew how to deal with. They did not wish to give +pain or to seem indifferent to a love which they felt +was as ardent as it was disinterested, and yet they felt +that they could not bestow their hands where their hearts +had not spoken. They wrote to me fully and frankly, and +as one soul might write to another for relief. I accepted +their confidences as under the pledge of a secrecy, never +divulging their disclosures beyond the circulation of my +newspapers, or giving any hint of their identity other +than printing their names and addresses and their letters +in full. But I may perhaps without dishonour reproduce +one of these letters, and my answer to it, inasmuch as +the date is now months ago, and the softening hand of +Time has woven its roses--how shall I put it?--the mellow +haze of reminiscences has--what I mean is that the young +man has gone back to work and is all right again. + +Here then is a letter from a young man whose name I must +not reveal, but whom I will designate as D. F., and whose +address I must not divulge, but will simply indicate as +Q. Street, West. + +"DEAR MR. LEACOCK, + +"For some time past I have been the recipient of very +marked attentions from a young lady. She has been calling +at the house almost every evening, and has taken me out +in her motor, and invited me to concerts and the theatre. +On these latter occasions I have insisted on her taking +my father with me, and have tried as far as possible to +prevent her saying anything to me which would be unfit +for father to hear. But my position has become a very +difficult one. I do not think it right to accept her +presents when I cannot feel that my heart is hers. +Yesterday she sent to my house a beautiful bouquet of +American Beauty roses addressed to me, and a magnificent +bunch of Timothy Hay for father. I do not know what to +say. Would it be right for father to keep all this valuable +hay? I have confided fully in father, and we have discussed +the question of presents. He thinks that there are some +that we can keep with propriety, and others that a sense +of delicacy forbids us to retain. He himself is going to +sort out the presents into the two classes. He thinks +that as far as he can see, the Hay is in class B. Meantime +I write to you, as I understand that Miss Laura Jean +Libby and Miss Beatrix Fairfax are on their vacation, +and in any case a friend of mine who follows their writings +closely tells me that they are always full. + +"I enclose a dollar, because I do not think it right to +ask you to give all your valuable time and your best +thought without giving you back what it is worth." + +On receipt of this I wrote back at once a private and +confidential letter which I printed in the following +edition of the paper. + +"MY DEAR, DEAR BOY, + +"Your letter has touched me. As soon as I opened it and +saw the green and blue tint of the dollar bill which you +had so daintily and prettily folded within the pages of +your sweet letter, I knew that the note was from someone +that I could learn to love, if our correspondence were +to continue as it had begun. I took the dollar from your +letter and kissed and fondled it a dozen times. Dear +unknown boy! I shall always keep that dollar! No matter +how much I may need it, or how many necessaries, yes, +absolute necessities, of life I may be wanting, I shall +always keep THAT dollar. Do you understand, dear? I shall +keep it. I shall not spend it. As far as the USE of it +goes, it will be just as if you had not sent it. Even if +you were to send me another dollar, I should still keep +the first one, so that no matter how many you sent, the +recollection of one first friendship would not be +contaminated with mercenary considerations. When I say +dollar, darling, of course an express order, or a postal +note, or even stamps would be all the same. But in that +case do not address me in care of this office, as I should +not like to think of your pretty little letters lying +round where others might handle them. + +"But now I must stop chatting about myself, for I know +that you cannot be interested in a simple old fogey such +as I am. Let me talk to you about your letter and about +the difficult question it raises for all marriageable +young men. + +"In the first place, let me tell you how glad I am that +you confide in your father. Whatever happens, go at once +to your father, put your arms about his neck, and have +a good cry together. And you are right, too, about +presents. It needs a wiser head than my poor perplexed +boy to deal with them. Take them to your father to be +sorted, or, if you feel that you must not overtax his +love, address them to me in your own pretty hand. + +"And now let us talk, dear, as one heart to another. +Remember always that if a girl is to have your heart she +must be worthy of you. When you look at your own bright +innocent face in the mirror, resolve that you will give +your hand to no girl who is not just as innocent as you +are and no brighter than yourself. So that you must first +find out how innocent she is. Ask her quietly and +frankly--remember, dear, that the days of false modesty +are passing away--whether she has ever been in jail. If +she has not (and if you have not), then you know that +you are dealing with a dear confiding girl who will make +you a life mate. Then you must know, too, that her mind +is worthy of your own. So many men to-day are led astray +by the merely superficial graces and attractions of girls +who in reality possess no mental equipment at all. Many +a man is bitterly disillusioned after marriage when he +realises that his wife cannot solve a quadratic equation, +and that he is compelled to spend all his days with a +woman who does not know that X squared plus 2XY plus Y +squared is the same thing, or, I think nearly the same +thing, as X plus Y squared. + +"Nor should the simple domestic virtues be neglected. If +a girl desires to woo you, before allowing her to press +her suit, ask her if she knows how to press yours. If +she can, let her woo; if not, tell her to whoa. But I +see I have written quite as much as I need for this +column. Won't you write again, just as before, dear boy? + +"STEPHEN LEACOCK." + + + + +How to be a Doctor + +Certainly the progress of science is a wonderful thing. +One can't help feeling proud of it. I must admit that I +do. Whenever I get talking to anyone--that is, to anyone +who knows even less about it than I do--about the marvellous +development of electricity, for instance, I feel as if +I had been personally responsible for it. As for the +linotype and the aeroplane and the vacuum house-cleaner, +well, I am not sure that I didn't invent them myself. I +believe that all generous-hearted men feel just the same +way about it. + +However, that is not the point I am intending to discuss. +What I want to speak about is the progress of medicine. +There, if you like, is something wonderful. Any lover of +humanity (or of either sex of it) who looks back on the +achievements of medical science must feel his heart glow +and his right ventricle expand with the pericardiac +stimulus of a permissible pride. + +Just think of it. A hundred years ago there were no +bacilli, no ptomaine poisoning, no diphtheria, and no +appendicitis. Rabies was but little known, and only +imperfectly developed. All of these we owe to medical +science. Even such things as psoriasis and parotitis and +trypanosomiasis, which are now household names, were +known only to the few, and were quite beyond the reach +of the great mass of the people. + +Or consider the advance of the science on its practical +side. A hundred years ago it used to be supposed that +fever could be cured by the letting of blood; now we know +positively that it cannot. Even seventy years ago it was +thought that fever was curable by the administration of +sedative drugs; now we know that it isn't. For the matter +of that, as recently as thirty years ago, doctors thought +that they could heal a fever by means of low diet and +the application of ice; now they are absolutely certain +that they cannot. This instance shows the steady progress +made in the treatment of fever. But there has been the +same cheering advance all along the line. Take rheumatism. +A few generations ago people with rheumatism used to have +to carry round potatoes in their pockets as a means of +cure. Now the doctors allow them to carry absolutely +anything they like. They may go round with their pockets +full of water-melons if they wish to. It makes no +difference. Or take the treatment of epilepsy. It used +to be supposed that the first thing to do in sudden +attacks of this kind was to unfasten the patient's collar +and let him breathe; at present, on the contrary, many +doctors consider it better to button up the patient's +collar and let him choke. + +In only one respect has there been a decided lack of +progress in the domain of medicine, that is in the time +it takes to become a qualified practitioner. In the good +old days a man was turned out thoroughly equipped after +putting in two winter sessions at a college and spending +his summers in running logs for a sawmill. Some of the +students were turned out even sooner. Nowadays it takes +anywhere from five to eight years to become a doctor. Of +course, one is willing to grant that our young men are +growing stupider and lazier every year. This fact will +be corroborated at once by any man over fifty years of +age. But even when this is said it seems odd that a man +should study eight years now to learn what he used to +acquire in eight months. + +However, let that go. The point I want to develop is that +the modern doctor's business is an extremely simple one, +which could be acquired in about two weeks. This is the +way it is done. + +The patient enters the consulting-room. "Doctor," he +says, "I have a bad pain." "Where is it?" "Here." "Stand +up," says the doctor, "and put your arms up above your +head." Then the doctor goes behind the patient and strikes +him a powerful blow in the back. "Do you feel that," he +says. "I do," says the patient. Then the doctor turns +suddenly and lets him have a left hook under the heart. +"Can you feel that," he says viciously, as the patient +falls over on the sofa in a heap. "Get up," says the +doctor, and counts ten. The patient rises. The doctor +looks him over very carefully without speaking, and then +suddenly fetches him a blow in the stomach that doubles +him up speechless. The doctor walks over to the window +and reads the morning paper for a while. Presently he +turns and begins to mutter more to himself than the +patient. "Hum!" he says, "there's a slight anaesthesia +of the tympanum." "Is that so?" says the patient, in an +agony of fear. "What can I do about it, doctor?" "Well," +says the doctor, "I want you to keep very quiet; you'll +have to go to bed and stay there and keep quiet." In +reality, of course, the doctor hasn't the least idea what +is wrong with the man; but he DOES know that if he will +go to bed and keep quiet, awfully quiet, he'll either +get quietly well again or else die a quiet death. Meantime, +if the doctor calls every morning and thumps and beats +him, he can keep the patient submissive and perhaps force +him to confess what is wrong with him. + +"What about diet, doctor?" says the patient, completely +cowed. + +The answer to this question varies very much. It depends +on how the doctor is feeling and whether it is long since +he had a meal himself. If it is late in the morning and +the doctor is ravenously hungry, he says: "Oh, eat plenty, +don't be afraid of it; eat meat, vegetables, starch, +glue, cement, anything you like." But if the doctor has +just had lunch and if his breathing is short-circuited +with huckleberry-pie, he says very firmly: "No, I don't +want you to eat anything at all: absolutely not a bite; +it won't hurt you, a little self-denial in the matter of +eating is the best thing in the world." + +"And what about drinking?" Again the doctor's answer +varies. He may say: "Oh, yes, you might drink a glass of +lager now and then, or, if you prefer it, a gin and soda +or a whisky and Apollinaris, and I think before going to +bed I'd take a hot Scotch with a couple of lumps of white +sugar and bit of lemon-peel in it and a good grating of +nutmeg on the top." The doctor says this with real feeling, +and his eye glistens with the pure love of his profession. +But if, on the other hand, the doctor has spent the night +before at a little gathering of medical friends, he is +very apt to forbid the patient to touch alcohol in any +shape, and to dismiss the subject with great severity. + +Of course, this treatment in and of itself would appear +too transparent, and would fail to inspire the patient +with a proper confidence. But nowadays this element is +supplied by the work of the analytical laboratory. Whatever +is wrong with the patient, the doctor insists on snipping +off parts and pieces and extracts of him and sending them +mysteriously away to be analysed. He cuts off a lock of +the patient's hair, marks it, "Mr. Smith's Hair, October, +1910." Then he clips off the lower part of the ear, and +wraps it in paper, and labels it, "Part of Mr. Smith's +Ear, October, 1910." Then he looks the patient up and +down, with the scissors in his hand, and if he sees any +likely part of him he clips it off and wraps it up. Now +this, oddly enough, is the very thing that fills the +patient up with that sense of personal importance which +is worth paying for. "Yes," says the bandaged patient, +later in the day to a group of friends much impressed, +"the doctor thinks there may be a slight anaesthesia of +the prognosis, but he's sent my ear to New York and my +appendix to Baltimore and a lock of my hair to the editors +of all the medical journals, and meantime I am to keep +very quiet and not exert myself beyond drinking a hot +Scotch with lemon and nutmeg every half-hour." With that +he sinks back faintly on his cushions, luxuriously happy. + +And yet, isn't it funny? + +You and I and the rest of us--even if we know all this--as +soon as we have a pain within us, rush for a doctor as +fast as a hack can take us. Yes, personally, I even prefer +an ambulance with a bell on it. It's more soothing. + + + + +The New Food + +I see from the current columns of the daily press that +"Professor Plumb, of the University of Chicago, has just +invented a highly concentrated form of food. All the +essential nutritive elements are put together in the form +of pellets, each of which contains from one to two hundred +times as much nourishment as an ounce of an ordinary +article of diet. These pellets, diluted with water, will +form all that is necessary to support life. The professor +looks forward confidently to revolutionizing the present +food system." + +Now this kind of thing may be all very well in its way, +but it is going to have its drawbacks as well. In the +bright future anticipated by Professor Plumb, we can +easily imagine such incidents as the following: + +The smiling family were gathered round the hospitable +board. The table was plenteously laid with a soup-plate +in front of each beaming child, a bucket of hot water +before the radiant mother, and at the head of the board +the Christmas dinner of the happy home, warmly covered +by a thimble and resting on a poker chip. The expectant +whispers of the little ones were hushed as the father, +rising from his chair, lifted the thimble and disclosed +a small pill of concentrated nourishment on the chip +before him. Christmas turkey, cranberry sauce, plum +pudding, mince pie--it was all there, all jammed into +that little pill and only waiting to expand. Then the +father with deep reverence, and a devout eye alternating +between the pill and heaven, lifted his voice in a +benediction. + +At this moment there was an agonized cry from the mother. + +"Oh, Henry, quick! Baby has snatched the pill!" It was +too true. Dear little Gustavus Adolphus, the golden-haired +baby boy, had grabbed the whole Christmas dinner off the +poker chip and bolted it. Three hundred and fifty pounds +of concentrated nourishment passed down the oesophagus +of the unthinking child. + +"Clap him on the back!" cried the distracted mother. +"Give him water!" + +The idea was fatal. The water striking the pill caused +it to expand. There was a dull rumbling sound and then, +with an awful bang, Gustavus Adolphus exploded into +fragments! + +And when they gathered the little corpse together, the +baby lips were parted in a lingering smile that could +only be worn by a child who had eaten thirteen Christmas +dinners. + + + + +A New Pathology + +It has long been vaguely understood that the condition +of a man's clothes has a certain effect upon the health +of both body and mind. The well-known proverb, "Clothes +make the man" has its origin in a general recognition of +the powerful influence of the habiliments in their reaction +upon the wearer. The same truth may be observed in the +facts of everyday life. On the one hand we remark the +bold carriage and mental vigour of a man attired in a +new suit of clothes; on the other hand we note the +melancholy features of him who is conscious of a posterior +patch, or the haunted face of one suffering from internal +loss of buttons. But while common observation thus gives +us a certain familiarity with a few leading facts regarding +the ailments and influence of clothes, no attempt has as +yet been made to reduce our knowledge to a systematic +form. At the same time the writer feels that a valuable +addition might be made to the science of medicine in this +direction. The numerous diseases which are caused by this +fatal influence should receive a scientific analysis, +and their treatment be included among the principles of +the healing art. The diseases of the clothes may roughly +be divided into medical cases and surgical cases, while +these again fall into classes according to the particular +garment through which the sufferer is attacked. + + MEDICAL CASES + +Probably no article of apparel is so liable to a diseased +condition as the trousers. It may be well, therefore, to +treat first those maladies to which they are subject. + +I. Contractio Pantalunae, or Shortening of the Legs of +the Trousers, an extremely painful malady most frequently +found in the growing youth. The first symptom is the +appearance of a yawning space (lacuna) above the boots, +accompanied by an acute sense of humiliation and a morbid +anticipation of mockery. The application of treacle to +the boots, although commonly recommended, may rightly be +condemned as too drastic a remedy. The use of boots +reaching to the knee, to be removed only at night, will +afford immediate relief. In connection with Contractio +is often found-- + +II. Inflatio Genu, or Bagging of the Knees of the Trousers, +a disease whose symptoms are similar to those above. The +patient shows an aversion to the standing posture, and, +in acute cases, if the patient be compelled to stand, +the head is bent and the eye fixed with painful rigidity +upon the projecting blade formed at the knee of the +trousers. + +In both of the above diseases anything that can be done +to free the mind of the patient from a morbid sense of +his infirmity will do much to improve the general tone +of the system. + +III. Oases, or Patches, are liable to break out anywhere +on the trousers, and range in degree of gravity from +those of a trifling nature to those of a fatal character. +The most distressing cases are those where the patch +assumes a different colour from that of the trousers +(dissimilitas coloris). In this instance the mind of the +patient is found to be in a sadly aberrated condition. +A speedy improvement may, however, be effected by cheerful +society, books, flowers, and, above all, by a complete +change. + +IV. The overcoat is attacked by no serious disorders, +except-- + +Phosphorescentia, or Glistening, a malady which indeed +may often be observed to affect the whole system. It is +caused by decay of tissue from old age and is generally +aggravated by repeated brushing. A peculiar feature of +the complaint is the lack of veracity on the part of the +patient in reference to the cause of his uneasiness. +Another invariable symptom is his aversion to outdoor +exercise; under various pretexts, which it is the duty +of his medical adviser firmly to combat, he will avoid +even a gentle walk in the streets. + +V. Of the waistcoat science recognizes but one disease-- + +Porriggia, an affliction caused by repeated spilling of +porridge. It is generally harmless, chiefly owing to the +mental indifference of the patient. It can be successfully +treated by repeated fomentations of benzine. + +VI. Mortificatio Tilis, or Greenness of the Hat, is a +disease often found in connection with Phosphorescentia +(mentioned above), and characterized by the same aversion +to outdoor life. + +VII. Sterilitas, or Loss of Fur, is another disease of +the hat, especially prevalent in winter. It is not +accurately known whether this is caused by a falling out +of the fur or by a cessation of growth. In all diseases +of the hat the mind of the patient is greatly depressed +and his countenance stamped with the deepest gloom. He +is particularly sensitive in regard to questions as to +the previous history of the hat. + +Want of space precludes the mention of minor diseases, +such as-- + +VIII. Odditus Soccorum, or oddness of the socks, a thing +in itself trifling, but of an alarming nature if met in +combination with Contractio Pantalunae. Cases are found +where the patient, possibly on the public platform or at +a social gathering, is seized with a consciousness of +the malady so suddenly as to render medical assistance +futile. + + SURGICAL CASES + +It is impossible to mention more than a few of the most +typical cases of diseases of this sort. + +I. Explosio, or Loss of Buttons, is the commonest malady +demanding surgical treatment. It consists of a succession +of minor fractures, possibly internal, which at first +excite no alarm. A vague sense of uneasiness is presently +felt, which often leads the patient to seek relief in +the string habit--a habit which, if unduly indulged in, +may assume the proportions of a ruling passion. The use +of sealing-wax, while admirable as a temporary remedy +for Explosio, should never be allowed to gain a permanent +hold upon the system. There is no doubt that a persistent +indulgence in the string habit, or the constant use of +sealing-wax, will result in-- + +II. Fractura Suspendorum, or Snapping of the Braces, +which amounts to a general collapse of the system. The +patient is usually seized with a severe attack of explosio, +followed by a sudden sinking feeling and sense of loss. +A sound constitution may rally from the shock, but a +system undermined by the string habit invariably succumbs. + +III. Sectura Pantalunae, or Ripping of the Trousers, is +generally caused by sitting upon warm beeswax or leaning +against a hook. In the case of the very young it is not +unfrequently accompanied by a distressing suppuration of +the shirt. This, however, is not remarked in adults. The +malady is rather mental than bodily, the mind of the +patient being racked by a keen sense of indignity and a +feeling of unworthiness. The only treatment is immediate +isolation, with a careful stitching of the affected part. + +In conclusion, it may be stated that at the first symptom +of disease the patient should not hesitate to put himself +in the hands of a professional tailor. In so brief a +compass as the present article the discussion has of +necessity been rather suggestive than exhaustive. Much +yet remains to be done, and the subject opens wide to +the inquiring eye. The writer will, however, feel amply +satisfied if this brief outline may help to direct the +attention of medical men to what is yet an unexplored +field. + + + + +The Poet Answered. + +Dear sir: + +In answer to your repeated questions and requests which +have appeared for some years past in the columns of the +rural press, I beg to submit the following solutions of +your chief difficulties:-- + +Topic I.--You frequently ask, where are the friends of +your childhood, and urge that they shall be brought back +to you. As far as I am able to learn, those of your +friends who are not in jail are still right there in your +native village. You point out that they were wont to +share your gambols. If so, you are certainly entitled to +have theirs now. + +Topic II.--You have taken occasion to say: + + "Give me not silk, nor rich attire, + Nor gold, nor jewels rare." + +But, my dear fellow, this is preposterous. Why, these +are the very things I had bought for you. If you won't +take any of these, I shall have to give you factory cotton +and cordwood. + +Topic III.--You also ask, "How fares my love across the +sea?" Intermediate, I presume. She would hardly travel +steerage. + +Topic IV.--"Why was I born? Why should I breathe?" Here +I quite agree with you. I don't think you ought to breathe. + +Topic V.--You demand that I shall show you the man whose +soul is dead and then mark him. I am awfully sorry; the +man was around here all day yesterday, and if I had only +known I could easily have marked him so that we could +pick him out again. + +Topic VI.--I notice that you frequently say, "Oh, for +the sky of your native land." Oh, for it, by all means, +if you wish. But remember that you already owe for a +great deal. + +Topic VII.--On more than one occasion you wish to be +informed, "What boots it, that you idly dream?" Nothing +boots it at present--a fact, sir, which ought to afford +you the highest gratification. + + + + +The Force of Statistics + +They were sitting on a seat of the car, immediately in +front of me. I was consequently able to hear all that +they were saying. They were evidently strangers who had +dropped into a conversation. They both had the air of +men who considered themselves profoundly interesting as +minds. It was plain that each laboured under the impression +that he was a ripe thinker. + +One had just been reading a book which lay in his lap. + +"I've been reading some very interesting statistics," he +was saying to the other thinker. + +"Ah, statistics" said the other; "wonderful things, sir, +statistics; very fond of them myself." + +"I find, for instance," the first man went on, "that a +drop of water is filled with little ...with little... I +forget just what you call them... little--er--things, +every cubic inch containing--er--containing... let me +see..." + +"Say a million," said the other thinker, encouragingly. + +"Yes, a million, or possibly a billion... but at any +rate, ever so many of them." + +"Is it possible?" said the other. "But really, you know +there are wonderful things in the world. Now, coal... +take coal..." + +"Very, good," said his friend, "let us take coal," settling +back in his seat with the air of an intellect about to +feed itself. + +"Do you know that every ton of coal burnt in an engine +will drag a train of cars as long as... I forget the +exact length, but say a train of cars of such and such +a length, and weighing, say so much... from... from ... +hum! for the moment the exact distance escapes me... drag +it from..." + +"From here to the moon," suggested the other. + +"Ah, very likely; yes, from here to the moon. Wonderful, +isn't it?" + +"But the most stupendous calculation of all, sir, is in +regard to the distance from the earth to the sun. +Positively, sir, a cannon-ball--er--fired at the sun..." + +"Fired at the sun," nodded the other, approvingly, as if +he had often seen it done. + +"And travelling at the rate of... of..." + +"Of three cents a mile," hinted the listener. + +"No, no, you misunderstand me,--but travelling at a +fearful rate, simply fearful, sir, would take a hundred +million--no, a hundred billion--in short would take a +scandalously long time in getting there--" + +At this point I could stand no more. I interrupted-- +"Provided it were fired from Philadelphia," I said, and +passed into the smoking-car. + + + + +Men Who have Shaved Me + +A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can +tell you at what exact hour the ball game of the day is +to begin, can foretell its issue without losing a stroke +of the razor, and can explain the points of inferiority +of all the players, as compared with better men that he +has personally seen elsewhere, with the nicety of a +professional. He can do all this, and then stuff the +customer's mouth with a soap-brush, and leave him while +he goes to the other end of the shop to make a side bet +with one of the other barbers on the outcome of the Autumn +Handicap. In the barber-shops they knew the result of +the Jeffries-Johnson prize-fight long before it happened. +It is on information of this kind that they make their +living. The performance of shaving is only incidental to +it. Their real vocation in life is imparting information. +To the barber the outside world is made up of customers, +who are to be thrown into chairs, strapped, manacled, +gagged with soap, and then given such necessary information +on the athletic events of the moment as will carry them +through the business hours of the day without open +disgrace. + +As soon as the barber has properly filled up the customer +with information of this sort, he rapidly removes his +whiskers as a sign that the man is now fit to talk to, +and lets him out of the chair. + +The public has grown to understand the situation. Every +reasonable business man is willing to sit and wait half +an hour for a shave which he could give himself in three +minutes, because he knows that if he goes down town +without understanding exactly why Chicago lost two games +straight he will appear an ignoramus. + +At times, of course, the barber prefers to test his +customer with a question or two. He gets him pinned in +the chair, with his head well back, covers the customer's +face with soap, and then planting his knee on his chest +and holding his hand firmly across the customer's mouth, +to prevent all utterance and to force him to swallow the +soap, he asks: "Well, what did you think of the Detroit-St. +Louis game yesterday?" This is not really meant for a +question at all. It is only equivalent to saying: "Now, +you poor fool, I'll bet you don't know anything about +the great events of your country at all." There is a +gurgle in the customer's throat as if he were trying to +answer, and his eyes are seen to move sideways, but the +barber merely thrusts the soap-brush into each eye, and +if any motion still persists, he breathes gin and peppermint +over the face, till all sign of life is extinct. Then he +talks the game over in detail with the barber at the next +chair, each leaning across an inanimate thing extended +under steaming towels that was once a man. + +To know all these things barbers have to be highly +educated. It is true that some of the greatest barbers +that have ever lived have begun as uneducated, illiterate +men, and by sheer energy and indomitable industry have +forced their way to the front. But these are exceptions. +To succeed nowadays it is practically necessary to be a +college graduate. As the courses at Harvard and Yale have +been found too superficial, there are now established +regular Barbers' Colleges, where a bright young man can +learn as much in three weeks as he would be likely to +know after three years at Harvard. The courses at these +colleges cover such things as: (1) Physiology, including +Hair and its Destruction, The Origin and Growth of +Whiskers, Soap in its Relation to Eyesight; (2) Chemistry, +including lectures on Florida Water; and How to Make it +out of Sardine Oil; (3) Practical Anatomy, including The +Scalp and How to Lift it, The Ears and How to Remove +them, and, as the Major Course for advanced students, +The Veins of the Face and how to open and close them at +will by the use of alum. + +The education of the customer is, as I have said, the +chief part of the barber's vocation. But it must be +remembered that the incidental function of removing his +whiskers in order to mark him as a well-informed man is +also of importance, and demands long practice and great +natural aptitude. In the barbers' shops of modern cities +shaving has been brought to a high degree of perfection. +A good barber is not content to remove the whiskers of +his client directly and immediately. He prefers to cook +him first. He does this by immersing the head in hot +water and covering the victim's face with steaming towels +until he has him boiled to a nice pink. From time to time +the barber removes the towels and looks at the face to +see if it is yet boiled pink enough for his satisfaction. +If it is not, he replaces the towels again and jams them +down firmly with his hand until the cooking is finished. +The final result, however, amply justifies this trouble, +and the well-boiled customer only needs the addition of +a few vegetables on the side to present an extremely +appetizing appearance. + +During the process of the shave, it is customary for the +barber to apply the particular kind of mental torture +known as the third degree. This is done by terrorizing +the patient as to the very evident and proximate loss +of all his hair and whiskers, which the barber is enabled +by his experience to foretell. "Your hair," he says, very +sadly and sympathetically, "is all falling out. Better +let me give you a shampoo?" "No." "Let me singe your hair +to close up the follicles?" "No." "Let me plug up the +ends of your hair with sealing-wax, it's the only thing +that will save it for you?" "No." "Let me rub an egg +on your scalp?" "No." "Let me squirt a lemon on your +eyebrows?" "No." + +The barber sees that he is dealing with a man of +determination, and he warms to his task. He bends low +and whispers into the prostrate ear: "You've got a good +many grey hairs coming in; better let me give you an +application of Hairocene, only cost you half a dollar?" +"No." "Your face," he whispers again, with a soft, +caressing voice, "is all covered with wrinkles; better +let me rub some of this Rejuvenator into the face." + +This process is continued until one of two things happens. +Either the customer is obdurate, and staggers to his feet +at last and gropes his way out of the shop with the +knowledge that he is a wrinkled, prematurely senile man, +whose wicked life is stamped upon his face, and whose +unstopped hair-ends and failing follicles menace him with +the certainty of complete baldness within twenty-four +hours--or else, as in nearly all instances, he succumbs. +In the latter case, immediately on his saying "yes" there +is a shout of exultation from the barber, a roar of +steaming water, and within a moment two barbers have +grabbed him by the feet and thrown him under the tap, +and, in spite of his struggles, are giving him the +Hydro-magnetic treatment. When he emerges from their +hands, he steps out of the shop looking as if he had been +varnished. + +But even the application of the Hydro-magnetic and the +Rejuvenator do not by any means exhaust the resources of +the up-to-date barber. He prefers to perform on the +customer a whole variety of subsidiary services not +directly connected with shaving, but carried on during +the process of the shave. + +In a good, up-to-date shop, while one man is shaving the +customer, others black his boots; brush his clothes, darn +his socks, point his nails, enamel his teeth, polish his +eyes, and alter the shape of any of his joints which they +think unsightly. During this operation they often stand +seven or eight deep round a customer, fighting for a +chance to get at him. + +All of these remarks apply to barber-shops in the city, +and not to country places. In the country there is only +one barber and one customer at a time. The thing assumes +the aspect of a straight-out, rough-and-tumble, catch- +as-catch-can fight, with a few spectators sitting round +the shop to see fair play. In the city they can shave a +man without removing any of his clothes. But in the +country, where the customer insists on getting the full +value for his money, they remove the collar and necktie, +the coat and the waistcoat, and, for a really good shave +and hair-cut, the customer is stripped to the waist. The +barber can then take a rush at him from the other side +of the room, and drive the clippers up the full length +of the spine, so as to come at the heavier hair on the +back of the head with the impact of a lawn-mower driven +into long grass. + + + + +Getting the Thread of It + +Have you ever had a man try to explain to you what happened +in a book as far as he has read? It is a most instructive +thing. Sinclair, the man who shares my rooms with me, +made such an attempt the other night. I had come in cold +and tired from a walk and found him full of excitement, +with a bulky magazine in one hand and a paper-cutter +gripped in the other. + +"Say, here's a grand story," he burst out as soon as I +came in; "it's great! most fascinating thing I ever read. +Wait till I read you some of it. I'll just tell you what +has happened up to where I am--you'll easily catch the +thread of it--and then we'll finish it together." + +I wasn't feeling in a very responsive mood, but I saw no +way to stop him, so I merely said, "All right, throw me +your thread, I'll catch it." + +"Well," Sinclair began with great animation, "this count +gets this letter..." + +"Hold on," I interrupted, "what count gets what letter?" + +"Oh, the count it's about, you know. He gets this letter +from this Porphirio." + +"From which Porphirio?" + +"Why, Porphirio sent the letter, don't you see, he sent +it," Sinclair exclaimed a little impatiently--"sent it +through Demonio and told him to watch for him with him, +and kill him when he got him." + +"Oh, see here!" I broke in, "who is to meet who, and who +is to get stabbed?" + +"They're going to stab Demonio." + +"And who brought the letter?" + +"Demonio." + +"Well, now, Demonio must be a clam! What did he bring it +for?" + +"Oh, but he don't know what's in it that's just the slick +part of it," and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at +the thought of it. "You see, this Carlo Carlotti the +Condottiere..." + +"Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?" + +"It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league +with this Fra Fraliccolo..." + +A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said +firmly, "if the scene of this story is laid in the +Highlands, I refuse to listen to it. Call it off." + +"No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right. +It's laid in Italy... time of Pius the something. He +comes in--say, but he's great! so darned crafty. It's +him, you know, that persuades this Franciscan..." + +"Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?" + +"Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly. +"You see, Pio tries to..." + +"Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?" + +"Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius. +He tries to get Fra Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the +Condottiere to steal the document from... let me see; +what was he called?... Oh, yes... from the Dog of Venice, +so that... or... no, hang it, you put me out, that's all +wrong. It's the other way round. Pio wasn't clever at +all; he's a regular darned fool. It's the Dog that's +crafty. By Jove, he's fine," Sinclair went on; warming +up to enthusiasm again, "he just does anything he wants. +He makes this Demonio (Demonio is one of those hirelings, +you know, he's the tool of the Dog)... makes him steal +the document off Porphirio, and..." + +"But how does he get him to do that?" I asked. + +"Oh, the Dog has Demonio pretty well under his thumb, so +he makes Demonio scheme round till he gets old Pio--er--gets +him under his thumb, and then, of course, Pio thinks that +Porphirio--I mean he thinks that he has Porphirio--er--has +him under his thumb." + +"Half a minute, Sinclair," I said, "who did you say was +under the Dog's thumb?" + +"Demonio." + +"Thanks. I was mixed in the thumbs. Go on." + +"Well, just when things are like this..." + +"Like what?" + +"Like I said." + +"All right." + +"Who should turn up and thwart the whole scheme, but this +Signorina Tarara in her domino..." + +"Hully Gee!" I said, "you make my head ache. What the +deuce does she come in her domino for?" + +"Why, to thwart it." + +"To thwart what?" + +"Thwart the whole darned thing," Sinclair exclaimed +emphatically. + +"But can't she thwart it without her domino?" + +"I should think not! You see, if it hadn't been for the +domino, the Dog would have spotted her quick as a wink. +Only when he sees her in the domino with this rose in +her hair, he thinks she must be Lucia dell' Esterolla." + +"Say, he fools himself, doesn't he? Who's this last girl?" + +"Lucia? Oh, she's great!" Sinclair said. "She's one of +those Southern natures, you know, full of--er--full of..." + +"Full of fun," I suggested. + +"Oh, hang it all, don't make fun of it! Well, anyhow, +she's sister, you understand, to the Contessa Carantarata, +and that's why Fra Fraliccolo, or... hold on, that's not +it, no, no, she's not sister to anybody. She's cousin, +that's it; or, anyway, she thinks she is cousin to Fra +Fraliccolo himself, and that's why Pio tries to stab Fra +Fraliccolo." + +"Oh, yes," I assented, "naturally he would." + +"Ah," Sinclair said hopefully, getting his paper-cutter +ready to cut the next pages, "you begin to get the thread +now, don't you?" + +"Oh, fine!" I said. "The people in it are the Dog and +Pio, and Carlo Carlotti the Condottiere, and those others +that we spoke of." + +"That's right," Sinclair said. "Of course, there are more +still that I can tell you about if..." + +"Oh, never mind," I said, "I'll work along with those, +they're a pretty representative crowd. Then Porphirio is +under Pio's thumb, and Pio is under Demonio's thumb, and +the Dog is crafty, and Lucia is full of something all +the time. Oh, I've got a mighty clear idea of it," I +concluded bitterly. + +"Oh, you've got it," Sinclair said, "I knew you'd like +it. Now we'll go on. I'll just finish to the bottom of +my page and then I'll go on aloud." + +He ran his eyes rapidly over the lines till he came to +the bottom of the page, then he cut the leaves and turned +over. I saw his eye rest on the half-dozen lines that +confronted him on the next page with an expression of +utter consternation. + +"Well, I will be cursed!" he said at length. + +"What's the matter?" I said gently, with a great joy at +my heart. + +"This infernal thing's a serial," he gasped, as he pointed +at the words, "To be continued," "and that's all there +is in this number." + + + + +Telling His Faults + +"Oh, do, Mr. Sapling," said the beautiful girl at the +summer hotel, "do let me read the palm of your hand! I +can tell you all your faults." + +Mr. Sapling gave an inarticulate gurgle and a roseate +flush swept over his countenance as he surrendered his +palm to the grasp of the fair enchantress. + +"Oh, you're just full of faults, just full of them, Mr. +Sapling!" she cried. + +Mr. Sapling looked it. + +"To begin with," said the beautiful girl, slowly and +reflectingly, "you are dreadfully cynical: you hardly +believe in anything at all, and you've utterly no faith +in us poor women." + +The feeble smile that had hitherto kindled the features +of Mr. Sapling into a ray of chastened imbecility, was +distorted in an effort at cynicism. + +"Then your next fault is that you are too determined; +much too determined. When once you have set your will on +any object, you crush every obstacle under your feet." + +Mr. Sapling looked meekly down at his tennis shoes, but +began to feel calmer, more lifted up. Perhaps he had been +all these things without knowing it. + +"Then you are cold and sarcastic." + +Mr. Sapling attempted to look cold and sarcastic. He +succeeded in a rude leer. + +"And you're horribly world-weary, you care for nothing. +You have drained philosophy to the dregs, and scoff at +everything." + +Mr. Sapling's inner feeling was that from now on he would +simply scoff and scoff and scoff. + +"Your only redeeming quality is that you are generous. +You have tried to kill even this, but cannot. Yes," +concluded the beautiful girl, "those are your faults, +generous still, but cold, cynical, and relentless. Good +night, Mr. Sapling." + +And resisting all entreaties the beautiful girl passed +from the verandah of the hotel and vanished. + +And when later in the evening the brother of the beautiful +girl borrowed Mr. Sapling's tennis racket, and his bicycle +for a fortnight, and the father of the beautiful girl +got Sapling to endorse his note for a couple of hundreds, +and her uncle Zephas borrowed his bedroom candle and used +his razor to cut up a plug of tobacco, Mr. Sapling felt +proud to be acquainted with the family. + + + + +Winter Pastimes + +It is in the depth of winter, when the intense cold +renders it desirable to stay at home, that the really +Pleasant Family is wont to serve invitations upon a few +friends to spend a Quiet Evening. + +It is at these gatherings that that gay thing, the indoor +winter game, becomes rampant. It is there that the old +euchre deck and the staring domino become fair and +beautiful things; that the rattle of the Loto counter +rejoices the heart, that the old riddle feels the sap +stirring in its limbs again, and the amusing spilikin +completes the mental ruin of the jaded guest. Then does +the Jolly Maiden Aunt propound the query: What is the +difference between an elephant and a silk hat? Or declare +that her first is a vowel, her second a preposition, and +her third an archipelago. It is to crown such a quiet +evening, and to give the finishing stroke to those of +the visitors who have not escaped early, with a fierce +purpose of getting at the saloons before they have time +to close, that the indoor game or family reservoir of +fun is dragged from its long sleep. it is spread out upon +the table. Its paper of directions is unfolded. Its cards, +its counters, its pointers and its markers are distributed +around the table, and the visitor forces a look of reckless +pleasure upon his face. Then the "few simple directions +" are read aloud by the Jolly Aunt, instructing each +player to challenge the player holding the golden letter +corresponding to the digit next in order, to name a dead +author beginning with X, failing which the player must +declare himself in fault, and pay the forfeit of handing +over to the Jolly Aunt his gold watch and all his money, +or having a hot plate put down his neck. + +With a view to bringing some relief to the guests at +entertainments of this kind, I have endeavoured to +construct one or two little winter pastimes of a novel +character. They are quite inexpensive, and as they need +no background of higher arithmetic or ancient history, +they are within reach of the humblest intellect. Here is +one of them. It is called Indoor Football, or Football +without a Ball. + +In this game any number of players, from fifteen to +thirty, seat themselves in a heap on any one player, +usually the player next to the dealer. They then challenge +him to get up, while one player stands with a stop-watch +in his hand and counts forty seconds. Should the first +player fail to rise before forty seconds are counted, +the player with the watch declares him suffocated. This +is called a "Down" and counts one. The player who was +the Down is then leant against the wall; his wind is +supposed to be squeezed out. The player called the referee +then blows a whistle and the players select another player +and score a down off him. While the player is supposed +to be down, all the rest must remain seated as before, +and not rise from him until the referee by counting forty +and blowing his whistle announces that in his opinion +the other player is stifled. He is then leant against +the wall beside the first player. When the whistle again +blows the player nearest the referee strikes him behind +the right ear. This is a "Touch," and counts two. + +It is impossible, of course, to give all the rules in +detail. I might add, however, that while it counts TWO +to strike the referee, to kick him counts THREE. To break +his arm or leg counts FOUR, and to kill him outright is +called GRAND SLAM and counts one game. + +Here is another little thing that I have worked out, +which is superior to parlour games in that it combines +their intense excitement with sound out-of-door exercise. + +It is easily comprehended, and can be played by any number +of players, old and young. It requires no other apparatus +than a trolley car of the ordinary type, a mile or two +of track, and a few thousand volts of electricity. It is +called: + + The Suburban Trolley Car + A Holiday Game for Old and Young. + +The chief part in the game is taken by two players who +station themselves one at each end of the car, and who +adopt some distinctive costumes to indicate that they +are "it." The other players occupy the body of the car, +or take up their position at intervals along the track. + +The object of each player should be to enter the car as +stealthily as possible in such a way as to escape the +notice of the players in distinctive dress. Should he +fail to do this he must pay the philopena or forfeit. Of +these there are two: philopena No. 1, the payment of five +cents, and philopena No. 2, being thrown off the car by +the neck. Each player may elect which philopena he will +pay. Any player who escapes paying the philopena scores +one. + +The players who are in the car may elect to adopt a +standing attitude; or to seat themselves, but no player +may seat himself in the lap of another without the second +player's consent. The object of those who elect to remain +standing is to place their feet upon the toes of those +who sit; when they do this they score. The object of +those who elect to sit is to elude the feet of the standing +players. Much merriment is thus occasioned. + +The player in distinctive costume at the front of the +car controls a crank, by means of which he is enabled to +bring the car to a sudden stop, or to cause it to plunge +violently forward. His aim in so doing is to cause all +the standing players to fall over backward. Every time +he does this he scores. For this purpose he is generally +in collusion with the other player in distinctive costume, +whose business it is to let him know by a series of bells +and signals when the players are not looking, and can be +easily thrown down. A sharp fall of this sort gives rise +to no end of banter and good-natured drollery, directed +against the two players who are "it." + +Should a player who is thus thrown backward save himself +from falling by sitting down in the lap of a female +player, he scores one. Any player who scores in this +manner is entitled to remain seated while he may count +six, after which he must remove himself or pay philopena +No. 2. + +Should the player who controls the crank perceive a player +upon the street desirous of joining in the game by entering +the car, his object should be: primo, to run over him +and kill him; secundo, to kill him by any other means in +his power; tertio, to let him into the car, but to exact +the usual philopena. + +Should a player, in thus attempting to get on the car +from without, become entangled in the machinery, the +player controlling the crank shouts "huff!" and the car +is supposed to pass over him. All within the car score +one. + +A fine spice of the ludicrous may be added to the game +by each player pretending that he has a destination or +stopping-place, where he would wish to alight. It now +becomes the aim of the two players who are "it" to carry +him past his point. A player who is thus carried beyond +his imaginary stopping-place must feign a violent passion, +and imitate angry gesticulations. He may, in addition, +feign a great age or a painful infirmity, which will be +found to occasion the most convulsive fun for the other +players in the game. + +These are the main outlines of this most amusing pastime. +Many other agreeable features may, of course, be readily +introduced by persons of humour and imagination. + + + + +Number Fifty-Six + +What I narrate was told me one winter's evening by my +friend Ah-Yen in the little room behind his laundry. +Ah-Yen is a quiet little celestial with a grave and +thoughtful face, and that melancholy contemplative +disposition so often noticed in his countrymen. Between +myself and Ah-Yen there exists a friendship of some years' +standing, and we spend many a long evening in the dimly +lighted room behind his shop, smoking a dreamy pipe +together and plunged in silent meditation. I am chiefly +attracted to my friend by the highly imaginative cast of +his mind, which is, I believe, a trait of the Eastern +character and which enables him to forget to a great +extent the sordid cares of his calling in an inner life +of his own creation. Of the keen, analytical side of his +mind, I was in entire ignorance until the evening of +which I write. + +The room where we sat was small and dingy, with but little +furniture except our chairs and the little table at which +we filled and arranged our pipes, and was lighted only +by a tallow candle. There were a few pictures on the +walls, for the most part rude prints cut from the columns +of the daily press and pasted up to hide the bareness of +the room. Only one picture was in any way noticeable, a +portrait admirably executed in pen and ink. The face was +that of a young man, a very beautiful face, but one of +infinite sadness, I had long been aware, although I know +not how, that Ah-Yen had met with a great sorrow, and +had in some way connected the fact with this portrait. +I had always refrained, however, from asking him about +it, and it was not until the evening in question that I +knew its history. + +We had been smoking in silence for some time when Ah-Yen +spoke. My friend is a man of culture and wide reading, +and his English is consequently perfect in its construction; +his speech is, of course, marked by the lingering liquid +accent of, his country which I will not attempt to +reproduce. + +"I see," he said, "that you have been examining the +portrait of my unhappy friend, Fifty-Six. I have never +yet told you of my bereavement, but as to-night is the +anniversary of his death, I would fain speak of him for +a while." + +Ah-Yen paused; I lighted my pipe afresh, and nodded to +him to show that I was listening. + +"I do not know," he went on, "at what precise time +Fifty-Six came into my life. I could indeed find it out +by examining my books, but I have never troubled to do +so. Naturally I took no more interest in him at first +than in any other of my customers--less, perhaps, since +he never in the course of our connection brought his +clothes to me himself but always sent them by a boy. When +I presently perceived that he was becoming one of my +regular customers, I allotted to him his number, Fifty-Six, +and began to speculate as to who and what he was. Before +long I had reached several conclusions in regard to my +unknown client. The quality of his linen showed me that, +if not rich, he was at any rate fairly well off. I could +see that he was a young man of regular Christian life, +who went out into society to a certain extent; this I +could tell from his sending the same number of articles +to the laundry, from his washing always coming on Saturday +night, and from the fact that he wore a dress shirt about +once a week. In disposition he was a modest, unassuming +fellow, for his collars were only two inches high." + +I stared at Ah-Yen in some amazement, the recent +publications of a favourite novelist had rendered me +familiar with this process of analytical reasoning, but +I was prepared for no such revelations from my Eastern +friend. + +"When I first knew him," Ah-Yen went on, "Fifty-Six was +a student at the university. This, of course, I did not +know for some time. I inferred it, however, in the course +of time, from his absence from town during the four summer +months, and from the fact that during the time of the +university examinations the cuffs. of his shirts came to +me covered with dates, formulas, and propositions in +geometry. I followed him with no little interest through +his university career. During the four years which it +lasted, I washed for him every week; my regular connection +with him and the insight which my observation gave me +into the lovable character of the man, deepened my first +esteem into a profound affection and I became most anxious +for his success. I helped him at each succeeding +examination, as far as lay in my power, by starching his +shirts half-way to the elbow, so as to leave him as much +room as possible for annotations. My anxiety during the +strain of his final examination I will not attempt to +describe. That Fifty-Six was undergoing the great crisis +of his academic career, I could infer from the state of +his handkerchiefs which, in apparent unconsciousness, he +used as pen-wipers during the final test. His conduct +throughout the examination bore witness to the moral +development which had taken place in his character during +his career as an undergraduate; for the notes upon his +cuffs which had been so copious at his earlier examinations +were limited now to a few hints, and these upon topics +so intricate as to defy an ordinary memory. It was with +a thrill of joy that I at last received in his laundry +bundle one Saturday early in June, a ruffled dress shirt, +the bosom of which was thickly spattered with the spillings +of the wine-cup, and realized that Fifty-Six had banqueted +as a Bachelor of Arts. + +"In the following winter the habit of wiping his pen upon +his handkerchief, which I had remarked during his final +examination, became chronic with him, and I knew that he +had entered upon the study of law. He worked hard during +that year, and dress shirts almost disappeared from his +weekly bundle. It was in the following winter, the second +year of his legal studies, that the tragedy of his life +began. I became aware that a change had come over his +laundry, from one, or at most two a week, his dress shirts +rose to four, and silk handkerchiefs began to replace +his linen ones. It dawned upon me that Fifty-Six was +abandoning the rigorous tenor of his student life and +was going into society. I presently perceived something +more; Fifty-Six was in love. It was soon impossible to +doubt it. He was wearing seven shirts a week; linen +handkerchiefs disappeared from his laundry; his collars +rose from two inches to two and a quarter, and finally +to two and a half. I have in my possession one of his +laundry lists of that period; a glance at it will show +the scrupulous care which he bestowed upon his person. +Well do I remember the dawning hopes of those days, +alternating with the gloomiest despair. Each Saturday I +opened his bundle with a trembling eagerness to catch +the first signs of a return of his love. I helped my +friend in every way that I could. His shirts and collars +were masterpieces of my art, though my hand often shook +with agitation as I applied the starch. She was a brave +noble girl, that I knew; her influence was elevating the +whole nature of Fifty-Six; until now he had had in his +possession a certain number of detached cuffs and false +shirt-fronts. These he discarded now,--at first the false +shirt-fronts, scorning the very idea of fraud, and after +a time, in his enthusiasm, abandoning even the cuffs. I +cannot look back upon those bright happy days of courtship +without a sigh. + +"The happiness of Fifty-Six seemed to enter into and fill +my whole life. I lived but from Saturday to Saturday. +The appearance of false shirt-fronts would cast me to +the lowest depths of despair; their absence raised me to +a pinnacle of hope. It was not till winter softened into +spring that Fifty-Six nerved himself to learn his fate. +One Saturday he sent me a new white waistcoat, a garment +which had hitherto been shunned by his modest nature, to +prepare for his use. I bestowed upon it all the resources +of my art; I read his purpose in it. On the Saturday +following it was returned to me and, with tears of joy, +I marked where a warm little hand had rested fondly on +the right shoulder, and knew that Fifty-Six was the +accepted lover of his sweetheart." + +Ah-Yen paused and sat for some time silent; his pipe had +sputtered out and lay cold in the hollow of his hand; +his eye was fixed upon the wall where the light and +shadows shifted in the dull flickering of the candle. At +last he spoke again: + +"I will not dwell upon the happy days that ensued--days +of gaudy summer neckties and white waistcoats, of spotless +shirts and lofty collars worn but a single day by the +fastidious lover. Our happiness seemed complete and I +asked no more from fate. Alas! it was not destined to +continue! When the bright days of summer were fading into +autumn, I was grieved to notice an occasional quarrel--only +four shirts instead of seven, or the reappearance of the +abandoned cuffs and shirt-fronts. Reconciliations followed, +with tears of penitence upon the shoulder of the white +waistcoat, and the seven shirts came back. But the quarrels +grew more frequent and there came at times stormy scenes +of passionate emotion that left a track of broken buttons +down the waistcoat. The shirts went slowly down to three, +then fell to two, and the collars of my unhappy friend +subsided to an inch and three-quarters. In vain I lavished +my utmost care upon Fifty-Six. It seemed to my tortured +mind that the gloss upon his shirts and collars would +have melted a heart of stone. Alas! my every effort at +reconciliation seemed to fail. An awful month passed; +the false fronts and detached cuffs were all back again; +the unhappy lover seemed to glory in their perfidy. At +last, one gloomy evening, I found on opening his bundle +that he had bought a stock of celluloids, and my heart +told me that she had abandoned him for ever. Of what my +poor friend suffered at this time, I can give you no +idea; suffice it to say that he passed from celluloid to +a blue flannel shirt and from blue to grey. The sight of +a red cotton handkerchief in his wash at length warned +me that his disappointed love had unhinged his mind, and +I feared the worst. Then came an agonizing interval of +three weeks during which he sent me nothing, and after +that came the last parcel that I ever received from him +an enormous bundle that seemed to contain all his effects. +In this, to my horror, I discovered one shirt the breast +of which was stained a deep crimson with his blood, and +pierced by a ragged hole that showed where a bullet had +singed through into his heart. + +"A fortnight before, I remembered having heard the street +boys crying the news of an appalling suicide, and I know +now that it must have been he. After the first shock of +my grief had passed, I sought to keep him in my memory +by drawing the portrait which hangs beside you. I have +some skill in the art, and I feel assured that I have +caught the expression of his face. The picture is, of +course, an ideal one, for, as you know, I never saw +Fifty-Six." + +The bell on the door of the outer shop tinkled at the +entrance of a customer. Ah-Yen rose with that air of +quiet resignation that habitually marked his demeanour, +and remained for some time in the shop. When he returned +he seemed in no mood to continue speaking of his lost +friend. I left him soon after and walked sorrowfully home +to my lodgings. On my way I mused much upon my little +Eastern friend and the sympathetic grasp of his imagination. +But a burden lay heavy on my heart--something I would +fain have told him but which I could not bear to mention. +I could not find it in my heart to shatter the airy castle +of his fancy. For my life has been secluded and lonely +and I have known no love like that of my ideal friend. +Yet I have a haunting recollection of a certain huge +bundle of washing that I sent to him about a year ago. +I had been absent from town for three weeks and my laundry +was much larger than usual in consequence. And if I +mistake not there was in the bundle a tattered shirt that +had been grievously stained by the breaking of a bottle +of red ink in my portmanteau, and burnt in one place +where an ash fell from my cigar as I made up the bundle. +Of all this I cannot feel absolutely certain, yet I know +at least that until a year ago, when I transferred my +custom to a more modern establishment, my laundry number +with Ah-Yen was Fifty-Six. + + + + +Aristocratic Education + +House of Lords, Jan. 25, 1920.--The House of Lords +commenced to-day in Committee the consideration of Clause +No. 52,000 of the Education Bill, dealing with the teaching +of Geometry in the schools. + +The Leader of the Government in presenting the clause +urged upon their Lordships the need of conciliation. The +Bill, he said, had now been before their Lordships for +sixteen years. The Government had made every concession. +They had accepted all the amendments of their Lordships +on the opposite side in regard to the original provisions +of the Bill. They had consented also to insert in the +Bill a detailed programme of studies of which the present +clause, enunciating the fifth proposition of Euclid, was +a part. He would therefore ask their Lordships to accept +the clause drafted as follows: + +"The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are +equal, and if the equal sides of the triangle are produced, +the exterior angles will also be equal." + +He would hasten to add that the Government had no intention +of producing the sides. Contingencies might arise to +render such a course necessary, but in that case their +Lordships would receive an early intimation of the fact. + +The Archbishop of Canterbury spoke against the clause. +He considered it, in its present form, too secular. He +should wish to amend the clause so as to make it read: + +"The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are, in +every Christian community, equal, and if the sides be +produced by a member of a Christian congregation, the +exterior angles will be equal." + +He was aware, he continued, that the angles at the base +of an isosceles triangle are extremely equal, but he must +remind the Government that the Church had been aware of +this for several years past. He was willing also to admit +that the opposite sides and ends of a parallelogram are +equal, but he thought that such admission should be +coupled with a distinct recognition of the existence of +a Supreme Being. + +The Leader of the Government accepted His Grace's amendment +with pleasure. He considered it the brightest amendment +His Grace had made that week. The Government, he said, +was aware of the intimate relation in which His Grace +stood to the bottom end of a parallelogram and was prepared +to respect it. + +Lord Halifax rose to offer a further amendment. He thought +the present case was one in which the "four-fifths" +clause ought to apply: he should wish it stated that the +angles are equal for two days every week, except in the +case of schools where four-fifths of the parents are +conscientiously opposed to the use of the isosceles +triangle. + +The Leader of the Government thought the amendment a +singularly pleasing one. He accepted it and would like +it understood that the words isosceles triangle were not +meant in any offensive sense. + +Lord Rosebery spoke at some length. He considered the +clause unfair to Scotland, where the high state of morality +rendered education unnecessary. Unless an amendment in +this sense was accepted, it might be necessary to reconsider +the Act of Union of 1707. + +The Leader of the Government said that Lord Rosebery's +amendment was the best he had heard yet. The Government +accepted it at once. They were willing to make every +concession. They would, if need be, reconsider the Norman +Conquest. + +The Duke of Devonshire took exception to the part of the +clause relating to the production of the sides. He did +not think the country was prepared for it. It was unfair +to the producer. He would like the clause altered to +read, "if the sides be produced in the home market." + +The Leader of the Government accepted with pleasure His +Grace's amendment. He considered it quite sensible. He +would now, as it was near the hour of rising, present +the clause in its revised form. He hoped, however, that +their Lordships would find time to think out some further +amendments for the evening sitting. + +The clause was then read. + +His Grace of Canterbury then moved that the House, in +all humility, adjourn for dinner. + + + + +The Conjurer's Revenge + +"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer, "having +shown you that the cloth is absolutely empty, I will +proceed to take from it a bowl of goldfish. Presto!" + +All around the hall people were saying, "Oh, how wonderful! +How does he do it?" + +But the Quick Man on the front seat said in a big whisper +to the people near him, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + +Then the people nodded brightly at the Quick Man and +said, "Oh, of course"; and everybody whispered round the +hall, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve." + +"My next trick," said the conjurer, "is the famous +Hindostanee rings. You will notice that the rings are +apparently separate; at a blow they all join (clang, +clang, clang)--Presto!" + +There was a general buzz of stupefaction till the Quick +Man was heard to whisper, "He-must-have-had-another-lot- +up-his-sleeve." + +Again everybody nodded and whispered, "The-rings-were- +up-his-sleeve." + +The brow of the conjurer was clouded with a gathering +frown. + +"I will now," he continued, "show you a most amusing +trick by which I am enabled to take any number of eggs +from a hat. Will some gentleman kindly lend me his hat? +Ah, thank you--Presto!" + +He extracted seventeen eggs, and for thirty-five seconds +the audience began to think that he was wonderful. Then +the Quick Man whispered along the front bench, "He-has-a- +hen-up-his-sleeve," and all the people whispered it on. +"He-has-a-lot-of-hens-up-his-sleeve." + +The egg trick was ruined. + +It went on like that all through. It transpired from the +whispers of the Quick Man that the conjurer must have +concealed up his sleeve, in addition to the rings, hens, +and fish, several packs of cards, a loaf of bread, a +doll's cradle, a live guinea-pig, a fifty-cent piece, +and a rocking-chair. + +The reputation of the conjurer was rapidly sinking below +zero. At the close of the evening he rallied for a final +effort. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I will present to you, +in conclusion, the famous Japanese trick recently invented +by the natives of Tipperary. Will you, sir," he continued +turning toward the Quick Man, "will you kindly hand me +your gold watch?" + +It was passed to him. + +"Have I your permission to put it into this mortar and +pound it to pieces?" he asked savagely. + +The Quick Man nodded and smiled. + +The conjurer threw the watch into the mortar and grasped +a sledge hammer from the table. There was a sound of +violent smashing, "He's-slipped-it-up-his-sleeve," +whispered the Quick Man. + +"Now, sir," continued the conjurer, "will you allow me +to take your handkerchief and punch holes in it? Thank +you. You see, ladies and gentlemen, there is no deception; +the holes are visible to the eye." + +The face of the Quick Man beamed. This time the real +mystery of the thing fascinated him. + +"And now, sir, will you kindly pass me your silk hat and +allow me to dance on it? Thank you." + +The conjurer made a few rapid passes with his feet and +exhibited the hat crushed beyond recognition. + +"And will you now, sir, take off your celluloid collar +and permit me to burn it in the candle? Thank you, sir. +And will you allow me to smash your spectacles for you +with my hammer? Thank you." + +By this time the features of the Quick Man were assuming +a puzzled expression. "This thing beats me," he whispered, +"I don't see through it a bit." + +There was a great hush upon the audience. Then the conjurer +drew himself up to his full height and, with a withering +look at the Quick Man, he concluded: + +"Ladies and gentlemen, you will observe that I have, with +this gentleman's permission, broken his watch, burnt his +collar, smashed his spectacles, and danced on his hat. +If he will give me the further permission to paint green +stripes on his overcoat, or to tie his suspenders in a +knot, I shall be delighted to entertain you. If not, the +performance is at an end." + +And amid a glorious burst of music from the orchestra +the curtain fell, and the audience dispersed, convinced +that there are some tricks, at any rate, that are not +done up the conjurer's sleeve. + + + + +Hints to Travellers + +The following hints and observations have occurred to me +during a recent trip across the continent: they are +written in no spirit of complaint against existing railroad +methods, but merely in the hope that they may prove useful +to those who travel, like myself, in a spirit of meek, +observant ignorance. + +1. Sleeping in a Pullman car presents some difficulties +to the novice. Care should be taken to allay all sense +of danger. The frequent whistling of the engine during +the night is apt to be a source of alarm. Find out, +therefore, before travelling, the meaning of the various +whistles. One means "station," two, "railroad crossing," +and so on. Five whistles, short and rapid, mean sudden +danger. When you hear whistles in the night, sit up +smartly in your bunk and count them. Should they reach +five, draw on your trousers over your pyjamas and leave +the train instantly. As a further precaution against +accident, sleep with the feet towards the engine if you +prefer to have the feet crushed, or with the head towards +the engine, if you think it best to have the head crushed. +In making this decision try to be as unselfish as possible. +If indifferent, sleep crosswise with the head hanging +over into the aisle. + +2. I have devoted some thought to the proper method of +changing trains. The system which I have observed to be +the most popular with travellers of my own class, is +something as follows: Suppose that you have been told on +leaving New York that you are to change at Kansas City. +The evening before approaching Kansas City, stop the +conductor in the aisle of the car (you can do this best +by putting out your foot and tripping him), and say +politely, "Do I change at Kansas City?" He says "Yes." +Very good. Don't believe him. On going into the dining-car +for supper, take a negro aside and put it to him as a +personal matter between a white man and a black, whether +he thinks you ought to change at Kansas City. Don't be +satisfied with this. In the course of the evening pass +through the entire train from time to time, and say to +people casually, "Oh, can you tell me if I change at +Kansas City?" Ask the conductor about it a few more times +in the evening: a repetition of the question will ensure +pleasant relations with him. Before falling asleep watch +for his passage and ask him through the curtains of your +berth, "Oh, by the way, did you say I changed at Kansas +City?" If he refuses to stop, hook him by the neck with +your walking-stick, and draw him gently to your bedside. +In the morning when the train stops and a man calls, +"Kansas City! All change!" approach the conductor again +and say, "Is this Kansas City?" Don't be discouraged at +his answer. Pick yourself up and go to the other end of +the car and say to the brakesman, "Do you know, sir, if +this is Kansas City?" Don't be too easily convinced. +Remember that both brakesman and conductor may be in +collusion to deceive you. Look around, therefore, for +the name of the station on the signboard. Having found +it, alight and ask the first man you see if this is Kansas +City. He will answer, "Why, where in blank are your blank +eyes? Can't you see it there, plain as blank?" When you +hear language of this sort, ask no more. You are now in +Kansas and this is Kansas City. + +3. I have observed that it is now the practice of the +conductors to stick bits of paper in the hats of the +passengers. They do this, I believe, to mark which ones +they like best. The device is pretty, and adds much to +the scenic appearance of the car. But I notice with pain +that the system is fraught with much trouble for the +conductors. The task of crushing two or three passengers +together, in order to reach over them and stick a ticket +into the chinks of a silk skull cap is embarrassing for +a conductor of refined feelings. It would be simpler if +the conductor should carry a small hammer and a packet +of shingle nails and nail the paid-up passenger to the +back of the seat. Or better still, let the conductor +carry a small pot of paint and a brush, and mark the +passengers in such a way that he cannot easily mistake +them. In the case of bald-headed passengers, the hats +might be politely removed and red crosses painted on the +craniums. This will indicate that they are bald. Through +passengers might be distinguished by a complete coat of +paint. In the hands of a man of taste, much might be +effected by a little grouping of painted passengers and +the leisure time of the conductor agreeably occupied. + +4. I have observed in travelling in the West that the +irregularity of railroad accidents is a fruitful cause +of complaint. The frequent disappointment of the holders +of accident policy tickets on western roads is leading +to widespread protest. Certainly the conditions of travel +in the West are altering rapidly and accidents can no +longer be relied upon. This is deeply to be regretted, +in so much as, apart from accidents, the tickets may be +said to be practically valueless. + + + + +A Manual of Education + +The few selections below are offered as a specimen page +of a little book which I have in course of preparation. + +Every man has somewhere in the back of his head the wreck +of a thing which he calls his education. My book is +intended to embody in concise form these remnants of +early instruction. + +Educations are divided into splendid educations, thorough +classical educations, and average educations. All very +old men have splendid educations; all men who apparently +know nothing else have thorough classical educations; +nobody has an average education. + +An education, when it is all written out on foolscap, +covers nearly ten sheets. It takes about six years of +severe college training to acquire it. Even then a man +often finds that he somehow hasn't got his education just +where he can put his thumb on it. When my little book of +eight or ten pages has appeared, everybody may carry his +education in his hip pocket. + +Those who have not had the advantage of an early training +will be enabled, by a few hours of conscientious +application, to put themselves on an equal footing with +the most scholarly. + +The selections are chosen entirely at random. + + +I.--REMAINS OF ASTRONOMY + +Astronomy teaches the correct use of the sun and the +planets. These may be put on a frame of little sticks +and turned round. This causes the tides. Those at the +ends of the sticks are enormously far away. From time to +time a diligent searching of the sticks reveals new +planets. The orbit of a planet is the distance the stick +goes round in going round. Astronomy is intensely +interesting; it should be done at night, in a high tower +in Spitzbergen. This is to avoid the astronomy being +interrupted. A really good astronomer can tell when a +comet is coming too near him by the warning buzz of the +revolving sticks. + + +II.--REMAINS OF HISTORY + +Aztecs: A fabulous race, half man, half horse, half +mound-builder. They flourished at about the same time as +the early Calithumpians. They have left some awfully +stupendous monuments of themselves somewhere. + +Life of Caesar: A famous Roman general, the last who ever +landed in Britain without being stopped at the custom +house. On returning to his Sabine farm (to fetch something), +he was stabbed by Brutus, and died with the words "Veni, +vidi, tekel, upharsim" in his throat. The jury returned +a verdict of strangulation. + +Life of Voltaire: A Frenchman; very bitter. + +Life of Schopenhauer: A German; very deep; but it was +not really noticeable when he sat down. + +Life of Dante: An Italian; the first to introduce the +banana and the class of street organ known as "Dante's +Inferno." + +Peter the Great, +Alfred the Great, +Frederick the Great, +John the Great, +Tom the Great, +Jim the Great, +Jo the Great, etc., etc. + +It is impossible for a busy man to keep these apart. They +sought a living as kings and apostles and pugilists and +so on. + + +III.--REMAINS OF BOTANY. + +Botany is the art of plants. Plants are divided into +trees, flowers, and vegetables. The true botanist knows +a tree as soon as he sees it. He learns to distinguish +it from a vegetable by merely putting his ear to it. + + +IV.--REMAINS OF NATURAL SCIENCE. + +Natural Science treats of motion and force. Many of its +teachings remain as part of an educated man's permanent +equipment in life. Such are: + +(a) The harder you shove a bicycle the faster it will +go. This is because of natural science. + +(b) If you fall from a high tower, you fall quicker and +quicker and quicker; a judicious selection of a tower +will ensure any rate of speed. + +(c) If you put your thumb in between two cogs it will go +on and on, until the wheels are arrested, by your +suspenders. This is machinery. + +(d) Electricity is of two kinds, positive and negative. +The difference is, I presume, that one kind comes a little +more expensive, but is more durable; the other is a +cheaper thing, but the moths get into it. + + + + +Hoodoo McFiggin's Christmas + +This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking, +underhand method, and the sooner it's exposed the better. + +For a parent to get up under cover of the darkness of +night and palm off a ten-cent necktie on a boy who had +been expecting a ten-dollar watch, and then say that an +angel sent it to him, is low, undeniably low. + +I had a good opportunity of observing how the thing worked +this Christmas, in the case of young Hoodoo McFiggin, +the son and heir of the McFiggins, at whose house I board. + +Hoodoo McFiggin is a good boy--a religious boy. He had +been given to understand that Santa Claus would bring +nothing to his father and mother because grown-up people +don't get presents from the angels. So he saved up all +his pocket-money and bought a box of cigars for his father +and a seventy-five-cent diamond brooch for his mother. +His own fortunes he left in the hands of the angels. But +he prayed. He prayed every night for weeks that Santa +Claus would bring him a pair of skates and a puppy-dog +and an air-gun and a bicycle and a Noah's ark and a sleigh +and a drum--altogether about a hundred and fifty dollars' +worth of stuff. + +I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning. +I had an idea that the scene would be interesting. I woke +him up and he sat up in bed, his eyes glistening with +radiant expectation, and began hauling things out of his +stocking. + +The first parcel was bulky; it was done up quite loosely +and had an odd look generally. + +"Ha! ha!" Hoodoo cried gleefully, as he began undoing +it. "I'll bet it's the puppy-dog, all wrapped up in +paper!" + +And was it the puppy-dog? No, by no means. It was a pair +of nice, strong, number-four boots, laces and all, +labelled, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus," and underneath +Santa Claus had written, "95 net." + +The boy's jaw fell with delight. "It's boots," he said, +and plunged in his hand again. + +He began hauling away at another parcel with renewed hope +on his face. + +This time the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo +tore the paper off it with a feverish hand. He shook it; +something rattled inside. + +"It's a watch and chain! It's a watch and chain!" he +shouted. Then he pulled the lid off. + +And was it a watch and chain? No. It was a box of nice, +brand-new celluloid collars, a dozen of them all alike +and all his own size. + +The boy was so pleased that you could see his face crack +up with pleasure. + +He waited a few minutes until his intense joy subsided. +Then he tried again. + +This time the packet was long and hard. It resisted the +touch and had a sort of funnel shape. + +"It's a toy pistol!" said the boy, trembling with +excitement. "Gee! I hope there are lots of caps with it! +I'll fire some off now and wake up father." + +No, my poor child, you will not wake your father with +that. It is a useful thing, but it needs not caps and it +fires no bullets, and you cannot wake a sleeping man with +a tooth-brush. Yes, it was a tooth-brush--a regular +beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a little +paper, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus." + +Again the expression of intense joy passed over the boy's +face, and the tears of gratitude started from his eyes. +He wiped them away with his tooth-brush and passed on. + +The next packet was much larger and evidently contained +something soft and bulky. It had been too long to go into +the stocking and was tied outside. + +"I wonder what this is," Hoodoo mused, half afraid to +open it. Then his heart gave a great leap, and he forgot +all his other presents in the anticipation of this one. +"It's the drum!" he gasped. "It's the drum, all wrapped +up!" + +Drum nothing! It was pants--a pair of the nicest little +short pants--yellowish-brown short pants--with dear little +stripes of colour running across both ways, and here +again Santa Claus had written, "Hoodoo, from Santa Claus, +one fort net." + +But there was something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes! There +was a pair of braces wrapped up in it, braces with a +little steel sliding thing so that you could slide your +pants up to your neck, if you wanted to. + +The boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took out +his last present. "It's a book," he said, as he unwrapped +it. "I wonder if it is fairy stories or adventures. Oh, +I hope it's adventures! I'll read it all morning." + +No, Hoodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a +small family Bible. Hoodoo had now seen all his presents, +and he arose and dressed. But he still had the fun of +playing with his toys. That is always the chief delight +of Christmas morning. + +First he played with his tooth-brush. He got a whole lot +of water and brushed all his teeth with it. This was +huge. + +Then he played with his collars. He had no end of fun +with them, taking them all out one by one and swearing +at them, and then putting them back and swearing at the +whole lot together. + +The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there, +putting them on and taking them off again, and then trying +to guess which side was which by merely looking at them. + +After that he took his book and read some adventures +called "Genesis" till breakfast-time. + +Then he went downstairs and kissed his father and mother. +His father was smoking a cigar, and his mother had her +new brooch on. Hoodoo's face was thoughtful, and a light +seemed to have broken in upon his mind. Indeed, I think +it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on +to his own money and take chances on what the angels +bring. + + + + +The Life of John Smith + +The lives of great men occupy a large section of our +literature. The great man is certainly a wonderful thing. +He walks across his century and leaves the marks of his +feet all over it, ripping out the dates on his goloshes +as he passes. It is impossible to get up a revolution or +a new religion, or a national awakening of any sort, +without his turning up, putting himself at the head of +it and collaring all the gate-receipts for himself. Even +after his death he leaves a long trail of second-rate +relations spattered over the front seats of fifty years +of history. + +Now the lives of great men are doubtless infinitely +interesting. But at times I must confess to a sense of +reaction and an idea that the ordinary common man is +entitled to have his biography written too. It is to +illustrate this view that I write the life of John Smith, +a man neither good nor great, but just the usual, everyday +homo like you and me and the rest of us. + +From his earliest childhood John Smith was marked out +from his comrades by nothing. The marvellous precocity +of the boy did not astonish his preceptors. Books were +not a passion for him from his youth, neither did any +old man put his hand on Smith's head and say, mark his +words, this boy would some day become a man. Nor yet was +it his father's wont to gaze on him with a feeling +amounting almost to awe. By no means! All his father did +was to wonder whether Smith was a darn fool because he +couldn't help it, or because he thought it smart. In +other words, he was just like you and me and the rest of +us. + +In those athletic sports which were the ornament of the +youth of his day, Smith did not, as great men do, excel +his fellows. He couldn't ride worth a darn. He couldn't +skate worth a darn. He couldn't swim worth a darn. He +couldn't shoot worth a darn. He couldn't do anything +worth a darn. He was just like us. + +Nor did the bold cast of the boy's mind offset his physical +defects, as it invariably does in the biographies. On +the contrary. He was afraid of his father. He was afraid +of his school-teacher. He was afraid of dogs. He was +afraid of guns. He was afraid of lightning. He was afraid +of hell. He was afraid of girls. + +In the boy's choice of a profession there was not seen +that keen longing for a life-work that we find in the +celebrities. He didn't want to be a lawyer, because you +have to know law. He didn't want to be a doctor, because +you have to know medicine. He didn't want to be a +business-man, because you have to know business; and he +didn't want to be a school-teacher, because he had seen +too many of them. As far as he had any choice, it lay +between being Robinson Crusoe and being the Prince of +Wales. His father refused him both and put him into a +dry goods establishment. + +Such was the childhood of Smith. At its close there was +nothing in his outward appearance to mark the man of +genius. The casual observer could have seen no genius +concealed behind the wide face, the massive mouth, the +long slanting forehead, and the tall ear that swept up +to the close-cropped head. Certainly he couldn't. There +wasn't any concealed there. + +It was shortly after his start in business life that +Smith was stricken with the first of those distressing +attacks, to which he afterwards became subject. It seized +him late one night as he was returning home from a +delightful evening of song and praise with a few old +school chums. Its symptoms were a peculiar heaving of +the sidewalk, a dancing of the street lights, and a crafty +shifting to and fro of the houses, requiring a very nice +discrimination in selecting his own. There was a strong +desire not to drink water throughout the entire attack, +which showed that the thing was evidently a form of +hydrophobia. From this time on, these painful attacks +became chronic with Smith. They were liable to come on +at any time, but especially on Saturday nights, on the +first of the month, and on Thanksgiving Day. He always +had a very severe attack of hydrophobia on Christmas Eve, +and after elections it was fearful. + +There was one incident in Smith's career which he did, +perhaps, share with regret. He had scarcely reached +manhood when he met the most beautiful girl in the world. +She was different from all other women. She had a deeper +nature than other people. Smith realized it at once. She +could feel and understand things that ordinary people +couldn't. She could understand him. She had a great sense +of humour and an exquisite appreciation of a joke. He +told her the six that he knew one night and she thought +them great. Her mere presence made Smith feel as if he +had swallowed a sunset: the first time that his finger +brushed against hers, he felt a thrill all through him. +He presently found that if he took a firm hold of her +hand with his, he could get a fine thrill, and if he sat +beside her on a sofa, with his head against her ear and +his arm about once and a half round her, he could get +what you might call a first-class, A-1 thrill. Smith +became filled with the idea that he would like to have +her always near him. He suggested an arrangement to her, +by which she should come and live in the same house with +him and take personal charge of his clothes and his meals. +She was to receive in return her board and washing, about +seventy-five cents a week in ready money, and Smith was +to be her slave. + +After Smith had been this woman's slave for some time, +baby fingers stole across his life, then another set of +them, and then more and more till the house was full of +them. The woman's mother began to steal across his life +too, and every time she came Smith had hydrophobia +frightfully. Strangely enough there was no little prattler +that was taken from his life and became a saddened, +hallowed memory to him. Oh, no! The little Smiths were +not that kind of prattler. The whole nine grew up into +tall, lank boys with massive mouths and great sweeping +ears like their father's, and no talent for anything. + +The life of Smith never seemed to bring him to any of +those great turning-points that occurred in the lives of +the great. True, the passing years brought some change +of fortune. He was moved up in his dry-goods establishment +from the ribbon counter to the collar counter, from the +collar counter to the gents' panting counter, and from +the gents' panting to the gents' fancy shirting. Then, +as he grew aged and inefficient, they moved him down +again from the gents' fancy shirting to the gents' panting, +and so on to the ribbon counter. And when he grew quite +old they dismissed him and got a boy with a four-inch +mouth and sandy-coloured hair, who did all Smith could +do for half the money. That was John Smith's mercantile +career: it won't stand comparison with Mr. Gladstone's, +but it's not unlike your own. + +Smith lived for five years after this. His sons kept him. +They didn't want to, but they had to. In his old age the +brightness of his mind and his fund of anecdote were not +the delight of all who dropped in to see him. He told +seven stories and he knew six jokes. The stories were +long things all about himself, and the jokes were about +a commercial traveller and a Methodist minister. But +nobody dropped in to see him, anyway, so it didn't matter. + +At sixty-five Smith was taken ill, and, receiving proper +treatment, he died. There was a tombstone put up over +him, with a hand pointing north-north-east. + +But I doubt if he ever got there. He was too like us. + + + + +On Collecting Things + +Like most other men I have from time to time been stricken +with a desire to make collections of things. + +It began with postage stamps. I had a letter from a friend +of mine who had gone out to South Africa. The letter had +a three-cornered stamp on it, and I thought as soon as +I looked at it, "That's the thing! Stamp collecting! I'll +devote my life to it." + +I bought an album with accommodation for the stamps of +all nations, and began collecting right off. For three +days the collection made wonderful progress. It contained: + +One Cape of Good Hope stamp. + +One one-cent stamp, United States of America. + +One two-cent stamp, United States of America. + +One five-cent stamp, United States of America. + +One ten-cent stamp, United States of America. + +After that the collection came to a dead stop. For a +while I used to talk about it rather airily and say I +had one or two rather valuable South African stamps. But +I presently grew tired even of lying about it. + +Collecting coins is a thing that I attempt at intervals. +Every time I am given an old half-penny or a Mexican +quarter, I get an idea that if a fellow made a point of +holding on to rarities of that sort, he'd soon have quite +a valuable collection. The first time that I tried it I +was full of enthusiasm, and before long my collection +numbered quite a few articles of vertu. The items were +as follows: + +No. 1. Ancient Roman coin. Time of Caligula. This one of +course was the gem of the whole lot; it was given me by +a friend, and that was what started me collecting. + +No. 2. Small copper coin. Value one cent. United States +of America. Apparently modern. + +No. 3. Small nickel coin. Circular. United States of +America. Value five cents. + +No. 4. Small silver coin. Value ten cents. United States +of America. + +No. 5. Silver coin. Circular. Value twenty-five cents. +United States of America. Very beautiful. + +No. 6. Large silver coin. Circular. Inscription, "One +Dollar." United States of America. Very valuable. + +No. 7. Ancient British copper coin. Probably time of +Caractacus. Very dim. Inscription, "Victoria Dei gratia +regina." Very valuable. + +No. 8. Silver coin. Evidently French. Inscription, "Funf +Mark. Kaiser Wilhelm." + +No. 9. Circular silver coin. Very much defaced. Part of +inscription, "E Pluribus Unum." Probably a Russian rouble, +but quite as likely to be a Japanese yen or a Shanghai +rooster. + +That's as far as that collection got. It lasted through +most of the winter and I was getting quite proud of it, +but I took the coins down town one evening to show to a +friend and we spent No. 3, No. 4., No. 5, No. 6, and No. +7 in buying a little dinner for two. After dinner I bought +a yen's worth of cigars and traded the relic of Caligula +for as many hot Scotches as they cared to advance on it. +After that I felt reckless and put No. 2 and No. 8 into +a Children's Hospital poor box. + +I tried fossils next. I got two in ten years. Then I +quit. + +A friend of mine once showed me a very fine collection +of ancient and curious weapons, and for a time I was full +of that idea. I gathered several interesting specimens, +such as: + +No. 1. Old flint-lock musket, used by my grandfather. +(He used it on the farm for years as a crowbar.) + +No. 2. Old raw-hide strap, used by my father. + +No. 3. Ancient Indian arrowhead, found by myself the very +day after I began collecting. It resembles a three-cornered +stone. + +No. 4. Ancient Indian bow, found by myself behind a +sawmill on the second day of collecting. It resembles a +straight stick of elm or oak. It is interesting to think +that this very weapon may have figured in some fierce +scene of savage warfare. + +No. 5. Cannibal poniard or straight-handled dagger of +the South Sea Islands. It will give the reader almost a +thrill of horror to learn that this atrocious weapon, +which I bought myself on the third day of collecting, +was actually exposed in a second-hand store as a family +carving-knife. In gazing at it one cannot refrain from +conjuring up the awful scenes it must have witnessed. + +I kept this collection for quite a long while until, in +a moment of infatuation, I presented it to a young lady +as a betrothal present. The gift proved too ostentatious +and our relations subsequently ceased to be cordial. + +On the whole I am inclined to recommend the beginner to +confine himself to collecting coins. At present I am +myself making a collection of American bills (time of +Taft preferred), a pursuit I find most absorbing. + + + + +Society Chat-Chat + +AS IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN + +I notice that it is customary for the daily papers to +publish a column or so of society gossip. They generally +head it "Chit-Chat," or "On Dit," or "Le Boudoir," or +something of the sort, and they keep it pretty full of +French terms to give it the proper sort of swing. These +columns may be very interesting in their way, but it +always seems to me that they don't get hold of quite the +right things to tell us about. They are very fond, for +instance, of giving an account of the delightful dance +at Mrs. De Smythe's--at which Mrs. De Smythe looked +charming in a gown of old tulle with a stomacher of +passementerie--or of the dinner-party at Mr. Alonzo +Robinson's residence, or the smart pink tea given by Miss +Carlotta Jones. No, that's all right, but it's not the +kind of thing we want to get at; those are not the events +which happen in our neighbours' houses that we really +want to hear about. It is the quiet little family scenes, +the little traits of home-life that--well, for example, +take the case of that delightful party at the De Smythes. +I am certain that all those who were present would much +prefer a little paragraph like the following, which would +give them some idea of the home-life of the De Smythes +on the morning after the party. + +DEJEUNER DE LUXE AT THE DE SMYTHE RESIDENCE + +On Wednesday morning last at 7.15 a.m. a charming little +breakfast was served at the home of Mr. De Smythe. The +dejeuner was given in honour of Mr. De Smythe and his +two sons, Master Adolphus and Master Blinks De Smythe, +who were about to leave for their daily travail at their +wholesale Bureau de Flour et de Feed. All the gentlemen +were very quietly dressed in their habits de work. Miss +Melinda De Smythe poured out tea, the domestique having +refuse to get up so early after the partie of the night +before. The menu was very handsome, consisting of eggs +and bacon, demi-froid, and ice-cream. The conversation +was sustained and lively. Mr. De Smythe sustained it and +made it lively for his daughter and his garcons. In the +course of the talk Mr. De Smythe stated that the next +time he allowed the young people to turn his maison +topsy-turvy he would see them in enfer. He wished to know +if they were aware that some ass of the evening before +had broken a pane of coloured glass in the hall that +would cost him four dollars. Did they think he was made +of argent. If so, they never made a bigger mistake in +their vie. The meal closed with general expressions of +good-feeling. A little bird has whispered to us that +there will be no more parties at the De Smythes' pour +long-temps. + +Here is another little paragraph that would be of general +interest in society. + +DINER DE FAMEEL AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE DE MCFIGGIN + +Yesterday evening at half after six a pleasant little +diner was given by Madame McFiggin of Rock Street, to +her boarders. The salle a manger was very prettily +decorated with texts, and the furniture upholstered with +cheveux de horse, Louis Quinze. The boarders were all +very quietly dressed: Mrs. McFiggin was daintily attired +in some old clinging stuff with a corsage de Whalebone +underneath. The ample board groaned under the bill of +fare. The boarders groaned also. Their groaning was very +noticeable. The piece de resistance was a hunko de boeuf +boile, flanked with some old clinging stuff. The entrees +were pate de pumpkin, followed by fromage McFiggin, served +under glass. Towards the end of the first course, speeches +became the order of the day. Mrs. McFiggin was the first +speaker. In commencing, she expressed her surprise that +so few of the gentlemen seemed to care for the hunko de +boeuf; her own mind, she said, had hesitated between +hunko de boeuf boile and a pair of roast chickens +(sensation). She had finally decided in favour of the +hunko de boeuf (no sensation). She referred at some length +to the late Mr. McFiggin, who had always shown a marked +preference for hunko de boeuf. Several other speakers +followed. All spoke forcibly and to the point. The last +to speak was the Reverend Mr. Whiner. The reverend +gentleman, in rising, said that he confided himself and +his fellow-boarders to the special interference of +providence. For what they had eaten, he said, he hoped +that Providence would make them truly thankful. At the +close of the Repas several of the boarders expressed +their intention of going down the street to a restourong +to get quelque chose a manger. + +Here is another example. How interesting it would be to +get a detailed account of that little affair at the +Robinsons', of which the neighbours only heard indirectly! +Thus: + +DELIGHTFUL EVENING AT THE RESIDENCE OF MR. ALONZO ROBINSON + +Yesterday the family of Mr. Alonzo Robinson spent a very +lively evening at their home on ---th Avenue. The occasion +was the seventeenth birthday of Master Alonzo Robinson, +junior. It was the original intention of Master Alonzo +Robinson to celebrate the day at home and invite a few +of les garcons. Mr. Robinson, senior, however, having +declared that he would be damne first, Master Alonzo +spent the evening in visiting the salons of the town, +which he painted rouge. Mr. Robinson, senior, spent the +evening at home in quiet expectation of his son's return. +He was very becomingly dressed in a pantalon quatre vingt +treize, and had his whippe de chien laid across his knee. +Madame Robinson and the Mademoiselles Robinson wore black. +The guest of the evening arrived at a late hour. He wore +his habits de spri, and had about six pouces of eau de +vie in him. He was evidently full up to his cou. For some +time after his arrival a very lively time was spent. Mr. +Robinson having at length broken the whippe de chien, +the family parted for the night with expressions of +cordial goodwill. + + + + +Insurance up to Date + +A man called on me the other day with the idea of insuring +my life. Now, I detest life-insurance agents; they always +argue that I shall some day die, which is not so. I have +been insured a great many times, for about a month at a +time, but have had no luck with it at all. + +So I made up my mind that I would outwit this man at his +own game. I let him talk straight ahead and encouraged +him all I could, until he finally left me with a sheet +of questions which I was to answer as an applicant. Now +this was what I was waiting for; I had decided that, if +that company wanted information about me, they should +have it, and have the very best quality I could supply. +So I spread the sheet of questions before me, and drew +up a set of answers for them, which, I hoped, would settle +for ever all doubts as to my eligibility for insurance. + +Question.--What is your age? +Answer.--I can't think. + +Q.--What is your chest measurement? +A.--Nineteen inches. + +Q.--What is your chest expansion? +A.--Half an inch. + +Q.--What is your height? +A.--Six feet five, if erect, but less when + I walk on all fours. + +Q.--Is your grandfather dead? +A.--Practically. + +Q.--Cause of death, if dead? +A.--Dipsomania, if dead. + +Q.--Is your father dead? +A.--To the world. + +Q.--Cause of death? +A.--Hydrophobia. + +Q.--Place of father's residence? +A.--Kentucky. + +Q.--What illness have you had? +A.--As a child, consumption, leprosy, and water on + the knee. As a man, whooping-cough, stomach-ache, + and water on the brain. + +Q.--Have you any brothers? +A.--Thirteen; all nearly dead. + +Q.--Are you aware of any habits or tendencies which + might be expected to shorten your life? +A.--I am aware. I drink, I smoke, I take morphine and + vaseline. I swallow grape seeds and I hate exercise. + +I thought when I had come to the end of that list that +I had made a dead sure thing of it, and I posted the +paper with a cheque for three months' payment, feeling +pretty confident of having the cheque sent back to me. +I was a good deal surprised a few days later to receive +the following letter from the company: + +"DEAR SIR,--We beg to acknowledge your letter of application +and cheque for fifteen dollars. After a careful comparison +of your case with the average modern standard, we are +pleased to accept you as a first-class risk." + + + + +Borrowing a Match + +You might think that borrowing a match upon the street +is a simple thing. But any man who has ever tried it will +assure you that it is not, and will be prepared to swear +to the truth of my experience of the other evening. + +I was standing on the corner of the street with a cigar +that I wanted to light. I had no match. I waited till a +decent, ordinary-looking man came along. Then I said: + +"Excuse me, sir, but could you oblige me with the loan +of a match?" + +"A match?" he said, "why certainly." Then he unbuttoned +his overcoat and put his hand in the pocket of his +waistcoat. "I know I have one," he went on, "and I'd +almost swear it's in the bottom pocket--or, hold on, +though, I guess it may be in the top--just wait till I +put these parcels down on the sidewalk." + +"Oh, don't trouble," I said, "it's really of no +consequence." + +"Oh, it's no trouble, I'll have it in a minute; I know +there must be one in here somewhere"--he was digging +his fingers into his pockets as he spoke--"but you see +this isn't the waistcoat I generally..." + +I saw that the man was getting excited about it. "Well, +never mind," I protested; "if that isn't the waistcoat +that you generally--why, it doesn't matter." + +"Hold on, now, hold on!" the man said, "I've got one of +the cursed things in here somewhere. I guess it must be +in with my watch. No, it's not there either. Wait till +I try my coat. If that confounded tailor only knew enough +to make a pocket so that a man could get at it!" + +He was getting pretty well worked up now. He had thrown +down his walking-stick and was plunging at his pockets +with his teeth set. "It's that cursed young boy of mine," +he hissed; "this comes of his fooling in my pockets. By +Gad! perhaps I won't warm him up when I get home. Say, +I'll bet that it's in my hip-pocket. You just hold up +the tail of my overcoat a second till I..." + +"No, no," I protested again, "please don't take all this +trouble, it really doesn't matter. I'm sure you needn't +take off your overcoat, and oh, pray don't throw away +your letters and things in the snow like that, and tear +out your pockets by the roots! Please, please don't +trample over your overcoat and put your feet through the +parcels. I do hate to hear you swearing at your little +boy, with that peculiar whine in your voice. Don't--please +don't tear your clothes so savagely." + +Suddenly the man gave a grunt of exultation, and drew +his hand up from inside the lining of his coat. + +"I've got it," he cried. "Here you are!" Then he brought +it out under the light. + +It was a toothpick. + +Yielding to the impulse of the moment I pushed him under +the wheels of a trolley-car, and ran. + + + + +A Lesson in Fiction + +Suppose that in the opening pages of the modern melodramatic +novel you find some such situation as the following, in +which is depicted the terrific combat between Gaspard de +Vaux, the boy lieutenant, and Hairy Hank, the chief of +the Italian banditti: + +"The inequality of the contest was apparent. With a +mingled yell of rage and contempt, his sword brandished +above his head and his dirk between his teeth, the enormous +bandit rushed upon his intrepid opponent. De Vaux seemed +scarce more than a stripling, but he stood his ground +and faced his hitherto invincible assailant. 'Mong Dieu,' +cried De Smythe, 'he is lost!'" + +Question. On which of the parties to the above contest +do you honestly feel inclined to put your money? + +Answer. On De Vaux. He'll win. Hairy Hank will force him +down to one knee and with a brutal cry of "Har! har!" +will be about to dirk him, when De Vaux will make a sudden +lunge (one he had learnt at home out of a book of lunges) +and-- + +Very good. You have answered correctly. Now, suppose you +find, a little later in the book, that the killing of +Hairy Hank has compelled De Vaux to flee from his native +land to the East. Are you not fearful for his safety in +the desert? + +Answer. Frankly, I am not. De Vaux is all right. His name +is on the title page, and you can't kill him. + +Question. Listen to this, then: "The sun of Ethiopia beat +fiercely upon the desert as De Vaux, mounted upon his +faithful elephant, pursued his lonely way. Seated in his +lofty hoo-doo, his eye scoured the waste. Suddenly a +solitary horseman appeared on the horizon, then another, +and another, and then six. In a few moments a whole crowd +of solitary horsemen swooped down upon him. There was a +fierce shout of 'Allah!' a rattle of firearms. De Vaux +sank from his hoo-doo on to the sands, while the affrighted +elephant dashed off in all directions. The bullet had +struck him in the heart." + +There now, what do you think of that? Isn't De Vaux killed +now? + +Answer. I am sorry. De Vaux is not dead. True, the ball +had hit him, oh yes, it had hit him, but it had glanced +off against a family Bible, which he carried in his +waistcoat in case of illness, struck some hymns that he +had in his hip-pocket, and, glancing off again, had +flattened itself against De Vaux's diary of his life in +the desert, which was in his knapsack. + +Question. But even if this doesn't kill him, you must +admit that he is near death when he is bitten in the +jungle by the deadly dongola? + +Answer. That's all right. A kindly Arab will take De Vaux +to the Sheik's tent. + +Question. What will De Vaux remind the Sheik of? + +Answer. Too easy. Of his long-lost son, who disappeared +years ago. + +Question. Was this son Hairy Hank? Answer. Of course he +was. Anyone could see that, but the Sheik never suspects +it, and heals De Vaux. He heals him with an herb, a thing +called a simple, an amazingly simple, known only to the +Sheik. Since using this herb, the Sheik has used no other. + +Question. The Sheik will recognize an overcoat that De +Vaux is wearing, and complications will arise in the +matter of Hairy Hank deceased. Will this result in the +death of the boy lieutenant? + +Answer. No. By this time De Vaux has realized that the +reader knows he won't die and resolves to quit the desert. +The thought of his mother keeps recurring to him, and of +his father, too, the grey, stooping old man--does he +stoop still or has he stopped stooping? At times, too, +there comes the thought of another, a fairer than his +father; she whose--but enough, De Vaux returns to the +old homestead in Piccadilly. + +Question. When De Vaux returns to England, what will +happen? + +Answer. This will happen: "He who left England ten years +before a raw boy, has returned a sunburnt soldierly man. +But who is this that advances smilingly to meet him? Can +the mere girl, the bright child that shared his hours of +play, can she have grown into this peerless, graceful +girl, at whose feet half the noble suitors of England +are kneeling? 'Can this be her?' he asks himself in +amazement." + +Question. Is it her? + +Answer. Oh, it's her all right. It is her, and it is him, +and it is them. That girl hasn't waited fifty pages for +nothing. + +Question. You evidently guess that a love affair will +ensue between the boy lieutenant and the peerless girl +with the broad feet. Do you imagine, however, that its +course will run smoothly and leave nothing to record? + +Answer. Not at all. I feel certain that the scene of the +novel having edged itself around to London, the writer +will not feel satisfied unless he introduces the following +famous scene: + +"Stunned by the cruel revelation which he had received, +unconscious of whither his steps were taking him, Gaspard +de Vaux wandered on in the darkness from street to street +until he found himself upon London Bridge. He leaned over +the parapet and looked down upon the whirling stream +below. There was something in the still, swift rush of +it that seemed to beckon, to allure him. After all, why +not? What was life now that he should prize it? For a +moment De Vaux paused irresolute." + +Question. Will he throw himself in? + +Answer. Well, say you don't know Gaspard. He will pause +irresolute up to the limit, then, with a fierce struggle, +will recall his courage and hasten from the Bridge. + +Question. This struggle not to throw oneself in must be +dreadfully difficult? + +Answer. Oh! dreadfully! Most of us are so frail we should +jump in at once. But Gaspard has the knack of it. Besides +he still has some of the Sheik's herb; he chews it. + +Question. What has happened to De Vaux anyway? Is it +anything he has eaten? + +Answer. No, it is nothing that he has eaten. It's about +her. The blow has come. She has no use for sunburn, +doesn't care for tan; she is going to marry a duke and +the boy lieutenant is no longer in it. The real trouble +is that the modern novelist has got beyond the happy- +marriage mode of ending. He wants tragedy and a blighted +life to wind up with. + +Question. How will the book conclude? + +Answer. Oh, De Vaux will go back to the desert, fall upon +the Sheik's neck, and swear to be a second Hairy Hank to +him. There will be a final panorama of the desert, the +Sheik and his newly found son at the door of the tent, +the sun setting behind a pyramid, and De Vaux's faithful +elephant crouched at his feet and gazing up at him with +dumb affection. + + + + +Helping the Armenians + +The financial affairs of the parish church up at Doogalville +have been getting rather into a tangle in the last six +months. The people of the church were specially anxious +to do something toward the general public subscription +of the town on behalf of the unhappy Armenians, and to +that purpose they determined to devote the collections +taken up at a series of special evening services. To give +the right sort of swing to the services and to stimulate +generous giving, they put a new pipe organ into the +church. In order to make a preliminary payment on the +organ, it was decided to raise a mortgage on the parsonage. + +To pay the interest on the mortgage, the choir of the +church got up a sacred concert in the town hall. + +To pay for the town hall, the Willing Workers' Guild held +a social in the Sunday school. To pay the expenses of +the social, the rector delivered a public lecture on +"Italy and Her Past," illustrated by a magic lantern. +To pay for the magic lantern, the curate and the ladies +of the church got up some amateur theatricals. + +Finally, to pay for the costumes for the theatricals, +the rector felt it his duty to dispense with the curate. + +So that is where the church stands just at present. What +they chiefly want to do, is to raise enough money to buy +a suitable gold watch as a testimonial to the curate. +After that they hope to be able to do something for the +Armenians. Meantime, of course, the Armenians, the ones +right there in the town, are getting very troublesome. +To begin with, there is the Armenian who rented the +costumes for the theatricals: he has to be squared. Then +there is the Armenian organ dealer, and the Armenian who +owned the magic lantern. They want relief badly. + +The most urgent case is that of the Armenian who holds +the mortgage on the parsonage; indeed it is generally +felt in the congregation, when the rector makes his +impassioned appeals at the special services on behalf of +the suffering cause, that it is to this man that he has +special reference. + +In the meanwhile the general public subscription is not +getting along very fast; but the proprietor of the big +saloon further down the street and the man with the short +cigar that runs the Doogalville Midway Plaisance have +been most liberal in their contributions. + + + + +A Study in Still Life.--The Country Hotel + +The country hotel stands on the sunny side of Main Street. +It has three entrances. + +There is one in front which leads into the Bar. There is +one at the side called the Ladies' Entrance which leads +into the Bar from the side. There is also the Main Entrance +which leads into the Bar through the Rotunda. + +The Rotunda is the space between the door of the bar-room +and the cigar-case. + +In it is a desk and a book. In the book are written down +the names of the guests, together with marks indicating +the direction of the wind and the height of the barometer. +It is here that the newly arrived guest waits until he +has time to open the door leading to the Bar. + +The bar-room forms the largest part of the hotel. It +constitutes the hotel proper. To it are attached a series +of bedrooms on the floor above, many of which contain +beds. + +The walls of the bar-room are perforated in all directions +with trap-doors. Through one of these drinks are passed +into the back sitting-room. Through others drinks are +passed into the passages. Drinks are also passed through +the floor and through the ceiling. Drinks once passed +never return. The Proprietor stands in the doorway of +the bar. He weighs two hundred pounds. His face is +immovable as putty. He is drunk. He has been drunk for +twelve years. It makes no difference to him. Behind the +bar stands the Bar-tender. He wears wicker-sleeves, his +hair is curled in a hook, and his name is Charlie. + +Attached to the bar is a pneumatic beer-pump, by means +of which the bar-tender can flood the bar with beer. +Afterwards he wipes up the beer with a rag. By this means +he polishes the bar. Some of the beer that is pumped up +spills into glasses and has to be sold. + +Behind the bar-tender is a mechanism called a cash-register, +which, on being struck a powerful blow, rings a bell, +sticks up a card marked NO SALE, and opens a till from +which the bar-tender distributes money. + +There is printed a tariff of drinks and prices on the +wall. + +It reads thus: + + Beer . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky. . . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Soda. . . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Soda . . . . . 5 cents. + Whisky and Beer and Soda . 5 cents. + Whisky and Eggs . . . . 5 cents. + Beer and Eggs . . . . . 5 cents. + Champagne. . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars . . . . . . . 5 cents. + Cigars, extra fine . . . . 5 cents. + +All calculations are made on this basis and are worked +out to three places of decimals. Every seventh drink is +on the house and is not followed by a distribution of +money. + +The bar-room closes at midnight, provided there are enough +people in it. If there is not a quorum the proprietor +waits for a better chance. A careful closing of the bar +will often catch as many as twenty-five people. The bar +is not opened again till seven o'clock in the morning; +after that the people may go home. There are also, +nowadays, Local Option Hotels. These contain only one +entrance, leading directly into the bar. + + + + +An Experiment With Policeman Hogan + +Mr. scalper sits writing in the reporters' room of The +Daily Eclipse. The paper has gone to press and he is +alone; a wayward talented gentleman, this Mr. Scalper, +and employed by The Eclipse as a delineator of character +from handwriting. Any subscriber who forwards a specimen +of his handwriting is treated to a prompt analysis of +his character from Mr. Scalper's facile pen. The literary +genius has a little pile of correspondence beside him, +and is engaged in the practice of his art. Outside the +night is dark and rainy. The clock on the City Hall marks +the hour of two. In front of the newspaper office Policeman +Hogan walks drearily up and down his beat. The damp misery +of Hogan is intense. A belated gentleman in clerical +attire, returning home from a bed of sickness, gives him +a side-look of timid pity and shivers past. Hogan follows +the retreating figure with his eye; then draws forth a +notebook and sits down on the steps of The Eclipse building +to write in the light of the gas lamp. Gentlemen of +nocturnal habits have often wondered what it is that +Policeman Hogan and his brethren write in their little +books. Here are the words that are fashioned by the big +fist of the policeman: + +"Two o'clock. All is well. There is a light in Mr. +Scalper's room above. The night is very wet and I am +unhappy and cannot sleep--my fourth night of insomnia. +Suspicious-looking individual just passed. Alas, how +melancholy is my life! Will the dawn never break! Oh, +moist, moist stone." + +Mr. Scalper up above is writing too, writing with the +careless fluency of a man who draws his pay by the column. +He is delineating with skill and rapidity. The reporters' +room is gloomy and desolate. Mr. Scalper is a man of +sensitive temperament and the dreariness of his surroundings +depresses him. He opens the letter of a correspondent, +examines the handwriting narrowly, casts his eye around +the room for inspiration, and proceeds to delineate: + +"G.H. You have an unhappy, despondent nature; your +circumstances oppress you, and your life is filled with +an infinite sadness. You feel that you are without hope--" + +Mr. Scalper pauses, takes another look around the room, +and finally lets his eye rest for some time upon a tall +black bottle that stands on the shelf of an open cupboard. +Then he goes on: + +"--and you have lost all belief in Christianity and a +future world and human virtue. You are very weak against +temptation, but there is an ugly vein of determination +in your character, when you make up your mind that you +are going to have a thing--" + +Here Mr. Scalper stops abruptly, pushes back his chair, +and dashes across the room to the cupboard. He takes the +black bottle from the shelf, applies it to his lips, and +remains for some time motionless. He then returns to +finish the delineation of G.H. with the hurried words: + +"On the whole I recommend you to persevere; you are doing +very well." Mr. Scalper's next proceeding is peculiar. +He takes from the cupboard a roll of twine, about fifty +feet in length, and attaches one end of it to the neck +of the bottle. Going then to one of the windows, he opens +it, leans out, and whistles softly. The alert ear of +Policeman Hogan on the pavement below catches the sound, +and he returns it. The bottle is lowered to the end of +the string, the guardian of the peace applies it to his +gullet, and for some time the policeman and the man of +letters remain attached by a cord of sympathy. Gentlemen +who lead the variegated life of Mr. Scalper find it well +to propitiate the arm of the law, and attachments of this +sort are not uncommon. Mr. Scalper hauls up the bottle, +closes the window, and returns to his task; the policeman +resumes his walk with a glow of internal satisfaction. +A glance at the City Hall clock causes him to enter +another note in his book. + +"Half-past two. All is better. The weather is milder with +a feeling of young summer in the air. Two lights in Mr. +Scalper's room. Nothing has occurred which need be brought +to the notice of the roundsman." + +Things are going better upstairs too. The delineator +opens a second envelope, surveys the writing of the +correspondent with a critical yet charitable eye, and +writes with more complacency. + +"William H. Your writing shows a disposition which, though +naturally melancholy, is capable of a temporary +cheerfulness. You have known misfortune but have made up +your mind to look on the bright side of things. If you +will allow me to say so, you indulge in liquor but are +quite moderate in your use of it. Be assured that no harm +ever comes of this moderate use. It enlivens the intellect, +brightens the faculties, and stimulates the dormant fancy +into a pleasurable activity. It is only when carried to +excess--" + +At this point the feelings of Mr. Scalper, who had been +writing very rapidly, evidently become too much for him. +He starts up from his chair, rushes two or three times +around the room, and finally returns to finish the +delineation thus: "it is only when carried to excess that +this moderation becomes pernicious." + +Mr. Scalper succumbs to the train of thought suggested +and gives an illustration of how moderation to excess +may be avoided, after which he lowers the bottle to +Policeman Hogan with a cheery exchange of greetings. + +The half-hours pass on. The delineator is writing busily +and feels that he is writing well. The characters of his +correspondents lie bare to his keen eye and flow from +his facile pen. From time to time he pauses and appeals +to the source of his inspiration; his humanity prompts +him to extend the inspiration to Policeman Hogan. The +minion of the law walks his beat with a feeling of more +than tranquillity. A solitary Chinaman, returning home +late from his midnight laundry, scuttles past. The literary +instinct has risen strong in Hogan from his connection +with the man of genius above him, and the passage of the +lone Chinee gives him occasion to write in his book: + +"Four-thirty. Everything is simply great. There are four +lights in Mr. Scalper's room. Mild, balmy weather with +prospects of an earthquake, which may be held in check +by walking with extreme caution. Two Chinamen have just +passed--mandarins, I presume. Their walk was unsteady, +but their faces so benign as to disarm suspicion." + +Up in the office Mr. Scalper has reached the letter of +a correspondent which appears to give him particular +pleasure, for he delineates the character with a beaming +smile of satisfaction. To the unpractised eye the writing +resembles the prim, angular hand of an elderly spinster. +Mr. Scalper, however, seems to think otherwise, for he +writes: + +"Aunt Dorothea. You have a merry, rollicking nature. At +times you are seized with a wild, tumultuous hilarity to +which you give ample vent in shouting and song. You are +much addicted to profanity, and you rightly feel that +this is part of your nature and you must not check it. +The world is a very bright place to you, Aunt Dorothea. +Write to me again soon. Our minds seem cast in the same +mould." + +Mr. Scalper seems to think that he has not done full +justice to the subject he is treating, for he proceeds +to write a long private letter to Aunt Dorothea in addition +to the printed delineation. As he finishes the City Hall +clock points to five, and Policeman Hogan makes the last +entry in his chronicle. Hogan has seated himself upon +the steps of The Eclipse building for greater comfort +and writes with a slow, leisurely fist: + +"The other hand of the clock points north and the second +longest points south-east by south. I infer that it is +five o'clock. The electric lights in Mr. Scalper's room +defy the eye. The roundsman has passed and examined my +notes of the night's occurrences. They are entirely +satisfactory, and he is pleased with their literary form. +The earthquake which I apprehended was reduced to a few +minor oscillations which cannot reach me where I sit--" + +The lowering of the bottle interrupts Policeman Hogan. +The long letter to Aunt Dorothea has cooled the ardour +of Mr. Scalper. The generous blush has passed from his +mind and he has been trying in vain to restore it. To +afford Hogan a similar opportunity, he decides not to +haul the bottle up immediately, but to leave it in his +custody while he delineates a character. The writing of +this correspondent would seem to the inexperienced eye +to be that of a timid little maiden in her teens. Mr. +Scalper is not to be deceived by appearances. He shakes +his head mournfully at the letter and writes: + +"Little Emily. You have known great happiness, but it +has passed. Despondency has driven you to seek forgetfulness +in drink. Your writing shows the worst phase of the liquor +habit. I apprehend that you will shortly have delirium +tremens. Poor little Emily! Do not try to break off; it +is too late." + +Mr. Scalper is visibly affected by his correspondent's +unhappy condition. His eye becomes moist, and he decides +to haul up the bottle while there is still time to save +Policeman Hogan from acquiring a taste for liquor. He is +surprised and alarmed to find the attempt to haul it up +ineffectual. The minion of the law has fallen into a +leaden slumber, and the bottle remains tight in his grasp. +The baffled delineator lets fall the string and returns +to finish his task. Only a few lines are now required to +fill the column, but Mr. Scalper finds on examining the +correspondence that he has exhausted the subjects. This, +however, is quite a common occurrence and occasions no +dilemma in the mind of the talented gentleman. It is his +custom in such cases to fill up the space with an imaginary +character or two, the analysis of which is a task most +congenial to his mind. He bows his head in thought for +a few moments, and then writes as follows: + +"Policeman H. Your hand shows great firmness; when once +set upon a thing you are not easily moved. But you have +a mean, grasping disposition and a tendency to want more +than your share. You have formed an attachment which you +hope will be continued throughout life, but your selfishness +threatens to sever the bond." + +Having written which, Mr. Scalper arranges his manuscript +for the printer next day, dons his hat and coat, and +wends his way home in the morning twilight, feeling that +his pay is earned. + + + + +The Passing of the Poet + +Studies in what may be termed collective psychology are +essentially in keeping with the spirit of the present +century. The examination of the mental tendencies, the +intellectual habits which we display not as individuals, +but as members of a race, community, or crowd, is offering +a fruitful field of speculation as yet but little exploited. +One may, therefore, not without profit, pass in review +the relation of the poetic instinct to the intellectual +development of the present era. + +Not the least noticeable feature in the psychological +evolution of our time is the rapid disappearance of +poetry. The art of writing poetry, or perhaps more fairly, +the habit of writing poetry, is passing from us. The poet +is destined to become extinct. + +To a reader of trained intellect the initial difficulty +at once suggests itself as to what is meant by poetry. +But it is needless to quibble at a definition of the +term. It may be designated, simply and fairly, as the +art of expressing a simple truth in a concealed form of +words, any number of which, at intervals greater or less, +may or may not rhyme. + +The poet, it must be said, is as old as civilization. +The Greeks had him with them, stamping out his iambics +with the sole of his foot. The Romans, too, knew +him--endlessly juggling his syllables together, long and +short, short and long, to make hexameters. This can now +be done by electricity, but the Romans did not know it. + +But it is not my present purpose to speak of the poets +of an earlier and ruder time. For the subject before us +it is enough to set our age in comparison with the era +that preceded it. We have but to contrast ourselves with +our early Victorian grandfathers to realize the profound +revolution that has taken place in public feeling. It is +only with an effort that the practical common sense of +the twentieth century can realize the excessive +sentimentality of the earlier generation. + +In those days poetry stood in high and universal esteem. +Parents read poetry to their children. Children recited +poetry to their parents. And he was a dullard, indeed, +who did not at least profess, in his hours of idleness, +to pour spontaneous rhythm from his flowing quill. + +Should one gather statistics of the enormous production +of poetry some sixty or seventy years ago, they would +scarcely appear credible. Journals and magazines teemed +with it. Editors openly countenanced it. Even the daily +press affected it. Love sighed in home-made stanzas. +Patriotism rhapsodized on the hustings, or cited rolling +hexameters to an enraptured legislature. Even melancholy +death courted his everlasting sleep in elegant elegiacs. + +In that era, indeed, I know not how, polite society was +haunted by the obstinate fiction that it was the duty of +a man of parts to express himself from time to time in +verse. Any special occasion of expansion or exuberance, +of depression, torsion, or introspection, was sufficient +to call it forth. So we have poems of dejection, of +reflection, of deglutition, of indigestion. + +Any particular psychological disturbance was enough to +provoke an access of poetry. The character and manner of +the verse might vary with the predisposing cause. A +gentleman who had dined too freely might disexpand himself +in a short fit of lyric doggerel in which "bowl" and +"soul" were freely rhymed. The morning's indigestion +inspired a long-drawn elegiac, with "bier" and "tear," +"mortal" and "portal" linked in sonorous sadness. The +man of politics, from time to time, grateful to an +appreciative country, sang back to it, "Ho, Albion, rising +from the brine!" in verse whose intention at least was +meritorious. + +And yet it was but a fiction, a purely fictitious +obligation, self-imposed by a sentimental society. In +plain truth, poetry came no more easily or naturally to +the early Victorian than to you or me. The lover twanged +his obdurate harp in vain for hours for the rhymes that +would not come, and the man of politics hammered at his +heavy hexameter long indeed before his Albion was finally +"hoed" into shape; while the beer-besotted convivialist +cudgelled his poor wits cold sober in rhyming the light +little bottle-ditty that should have sprung like Aphrodite +from the froth of the champagne. + +I have before me a pathetic witness of this fact. It is +the note-book once used for the random jottings of a +gentleman of the period. In it I read: "Fair Lydia, if +my earthly harp." This is crossed out, and below it +appears, "Fair Lydia, COULD my earthly harp." This again +is erased, and under it appears, "Fair Lydia, SHOULD my +earthly harp." This again is struck out with a despairing +stroke, and amended to read: "Fair Lydia, DID my earthly +harp." So that finally, when the lines appeared in the +Gentleman's Magazine (1845) in their ultimate shape--"Fair +Edith, when with fluent pen," etc., etc.--one can realize +from what a desperate congelation the fluent pen had been +so perseveringly rescued. + +There can be little doubt of the deleterious effect +occasioned both to public and private morals by this +deliberate exaltation of mental susceptibility on the +part of the early Victorian. In many cases we can detect +the evidences of incipient paresis. The undue access of +emotion frequently assumed a pathological character. The +sight of a daisy, of a withered leaf or an upturned sod, +seemed to disturb the poet's mental equipoise. Spring +unnerved him. The lambs distressed him. The flowers made +him cry. The daffodils made him laugh. Day dazzled him. +Night frightened him. + +This exalted mood, combined with the man's culpable +ignorance of the plainest principles of physical science, +made him see something out of the ordinary in the flight +of a waterfowl or the song of a skylark. He complained +that he could HEAR it, but not SEE it--a phenomenon too +familiar to the scientific observer to occasion any +comment. + +In such a state of mind the most inconsequential inferences +were drawn. One said that the brightness of the dawn--a +fact easily explained by the diurnal motion of the globe +--showed him that his soul was immortal. He asserted +further that he had, at an earlier period of his life, +trailed bright clouds behind him. This was absurd. + +With the disturbance thus set up in the nervous system +were coupled, in many instances, mental aberrations, +particularly in regard to pecuniary matters. "Give me +not silk, nor rich attire," pleaded one poet of the period +to the British public, "nor gold nor jewels rare." Here +was an evident hallucination that the writer was to become +the recipient of an enormous secret subscription. Indeed, +the earnest desire NOT to be given gold was a recurrent +characteristic of the poetic temperament. The repugnance +to accept even a handful of gold was generally accompanied +by a desire for a draught of pure water or a night's +rest. + +It is pleasing to turn from this excessive sentimentality +of thought and speech to the practical and concise diction +of our time. We have learned to express ourselves with +equal force, but greater simplicity. To illustrate this +I have gathered from the poets of the earlier generation +and from the prose writers of to-day parallel passages +that may be fairly set in contrast. Here, for example, +is a passage from the poet Grey, still familiar to +scholars: + + "Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can honour's voice invoke the silent dust + Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?" + +Precisely similar in thought, though different in form, +is the more modern presentation found in Huxley's +Physiology: + +"Whether after the moment of death the ventricles of the +heart can be again set in movement by the artificial +stimulus of oxygen, is a question to which we must impose +a decided negative." + +How much simpler, and yet how far superior to Grey's +elaborate phraseology! Huxley has here seized the central +point of the poet's thought, and expressed it with the +dignity and precision of exact science. + +I cannot refrain, even at the risk of needless iteration, +from quoting a further example. It is taken from the poet +Burns. The original dialect being written in inverted +hiccoughs, is rather difficult to reproduce. It describes +the scene attendant upon the return of a cottage labourer +to his home on Saturday night: + + "The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face + They round the ingle form in a circle wide; + The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, + The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride: + His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, + His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare: + Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, + He wales a portion wi' judeecious care." + +Now I find almost the same scene described in more apt +phraseology in the police news of the Dumfries Chronicle +(October 3, 1909), thus: "It appears that the prisoner +had returned to his domicile at the usual hour, and, +after partaking of a hearty meal, had seated himself on +his oaken settle, for the ostensible purpose of reading +the Bible. It was while so occupied that his arrest was +effected." With the trifling exception that Burns omits +all mention of the arrest, for which, however, the whole +tenor of the poem gives ample warrant, the two accounts +are almost identical. + +In all that I have thus said I do not wish to be +misunderstood. Believing, as I firmly do, that the poet +is destined to become extinct, I am not one of those who +would accelerate his extinction. The time has not yet +come for remedial legislation, or the application of the +criminal law. Even in obstinate cases where pronounced +delusions in reference to plants, animals, and natural +phenomena are seen to exist, it is better that we should +do nothing that might occasion a mistaken remorse. The +inevitable natural evolution which is thus shaping the +mould of human thought may safely be left to its own +course. + + + + +Self-made Men + +They were both what we commonly call successful business +men--men with well-fed faces, heavy signet rings on +fingers like sausages, and broad, comfortable waistcoats, +a yard and a half round the equator. They were seated +opposite each other at a table of a first-class restaurant, +and had fallen into conversation while waiting to give +their order to the waiter. Their talk had drifted back +to their early days and how each had made his start in +life when he first struck New York. + +"I tell you what, Jones," one of them was saying, "I +shall never forget my first few years in this town. By +George, it was pretty uphill work! Do you know, sir, when +I first struck this place, I hadn't more than fifteen +cents to my name, hadn't a rag except what I stood up +in, and all the place I had to sleep in--you won't +believe it, but it's a gospel fact just the same--was an +empty tar barrel. No, sir," he went on, leaning back and +closing up his eyes into an expression of infinite +experience, "no, sir, a fellow accustomed to luxury like +you has simply no idea what sleeping out in a tar barrel +and all that kind of thing is like." + +"My dear Robinson," the other man rejoined briskly, "if +you imagine I've had no experience of hardship of that +sort, you never made a bigger mistake in your life. Why, +when I first walked into this town I hadn't a cent, sir, +not a cent, and as for lodging, all the place I had for +months and months was an old piano box up a lane, behind +a factory. Talk about hardship, I guess I had it pretty +rough! You take a fellow that's used to a good warm tar +barrel and put him into a piano box for a night or two, +and you'll see mighty soon--" + +"My dear fellow," Robinson broke in with some irritation, +"you merely show that you don't know what a tar barrel's +like. Why, on winter nights, when you'd be shut in there +in your piano box just as snug as you please, I used to +lie awake shivering, with the draught fairly running in +at the bunghole at the back." + +"Draught!" sneered the other man, with a provoking laugh, +"draught! Don't talk to me about draughts. This box I +speak of had a whole darned plank off it, right on the +north side too. I used to sit there studying in the +evenings, and the snow would blow in a foot deep. And +yet, sir," he continued more quietly, "though I know +you'll not believe it, I don't mind admitting that some +of the happiest days of my life were spent in that same +old box. Ah, those were good old times! Bright, innocent +days, I can tell you. I'd wake up there in the mornings +and fairly shout with high spirits. Of course, you may +not be able to stand that kind of life--" + +"Not stand it!" cried Robinson fiercely; "me not stand +it! By gad! I'm made for it. I just wish I had a taste +of the old life again for a while. And as for innocence! +Well, I'll bet you you weren't one-tenth as innocent as +I was; no, nor one-fifth, nor one-third! What a grand +old life it was! You'll swear this is a darned lie and +refuse to believe it--but I can remember evenings when +I'd have two or three fellows in, and we'd sit round and +play pedro by a candle half the night." + +"Two or three!" laughed Jones; "why, my dear fellow, I've +known half a dozen of us to sit down to supper in my +piano box, and have a game of pedro afterwards; yes, and +charades and forfeits, and every other darned thing. +Mighty good suppers they were too! By Jove, Robinson, +you fellows round this town who have ruined your digestions +with high living, have no notion of the zest with which +a man can sit down to a few potato peelings, or a bit of +broken pie crust, or--" + +"Talk about hard food," interrupted the other, "I guess +I know all about that. Many's the time I've breakfasted +off a little cold porridge that somebody was going to +throw away from a back-door, or that I've gone round to +a livery stable and begged a little bran mash that they +intended for the pigs. I'll venture to say I've eaten +more hog's food--" + +"Hog's food!" shouted Robinson, striking his fist savagely +on the table, "I tell you hog's food suits me better +than--" + +He stopped speaking with a sudden grunt of surprise as +the waiter appeared with the question: + +"What may I bring you for dinner, gentlemen?" + +"Dinner!" said Jones, after a moment of silence, "dinner! +Oh, anything, nothing--I never care what I eat--give me +a little cold porridge, if you've got it, or a chunk of +salt pork--anything you like, it's all the same to me." + +The waiter turned with an impassive face to Robinson. + +"You can bring me some of that cold porridge too," he +said, with a defiant look at Jones; "yesterday's, if you +have it, and a few potato peelings and a glass of skim +milk." + +There was a pause. Jones sat back in his chair and looked +hard across at Robinson. For some moments the two men +gazed into each other's eyes with a stern, defiant +intensity. Then Robinson turned slowly round in his seat +and beckoned to the waiter, who was moving off with the +muttered order on his lips. + +"Here, waiter," he said with a savage scowl, "I guess +I'll change that order a little. Instead of that cold +porridge I'll take--um, yes--a little hot partridge. And +you might as well bring me an oyster or two on the half +shell, and a mouthful of soup (mock-turtle, consomme, +anything), and perhaps you might fetch along a dab of +fish, and a little peck of Stilton, and a grape, or a +walnut." + +The waiter turned to Jones. + +"I guess I'll take the same," he said simply, and added; +"and you might bring a quart of champagne at the same +time." + +And nowadays, when Jones and Robinson meet, the memory +of the tar barrel and the piano box is buried as far out +of sight as a home for the blind under a landslide. + + + + +A Model Dialogue + +In which is shown how the drawing-room juggler may be +permanently cured of his card trick. + +The drawing-room juggler, having slyly got hold of the +pack of cards at the end of the game of whist, says: + +"Ever see any card tricks? Here's rather a good one; pick +a card." + +"Thank you, I don't want a card." + +"No, but just pick one, any one you like, and I'll tell +which one you pick." + +"You'll tell who?" + +"No, no; I mean, I'll know which it is don't you see? Go +on now, pick a card." + +"Any one I like?" + +"Yes." + +"Any colour at all?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"Any suit?" + +"Oh, yes; do go on." + +"Well, let me see, I'll--pick--the--ace of spades." + +"Great Caesar! I mean you are to pull a card out of the +pack." + +"Oh, to pull it out of the pack! Now I understand. Hand +me the pack. All right--I've got it." + +"Have you picked one?" + +"Yes, it's the three of hearts. Did you know it?" + +"Hang it! Don't tell me like that. You spoil the thing. +Here, try again. Pick a card." + +"All right, I've got it." + +"Put it back in the pack. Thanks. (Shuffle, shuffle, +shuffle--flip)--There, is that it?" (triumphantly). + +"I don't know. I lost sight of it." + +"Lost sight of it! Confound it, you have to look at it +and see what it is." + +"Oh, you want me to look at the front of it!" + +"Why, of course! Now then, pick a card." + +"All right. I've picked it. Go ahead." +(Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip.) + +"Say, confound you, did you put that card back in the +pack?" + +"Why, no. I kept it." + +"Holy Moses! Listen. Pick--a--card--just one--look at +it--see what it is--then put it back--do you understand?" + +"Oh, perfectly. Only I don't see how you are ever going +to do it. You must be awfully clever." + +(Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip.) + +"There you are; that's your card, now. isn't it?" (This +is the supreme moment.) + +"NO. THAT IS NOT MY CARD." (This is a flat lie, but Heaven +will pardon you for it.) + +"Not that card!!!! Say--just hold on a second. Here, now, +watch what you're at this time. I can do this cursed +thing, mind you, every time. I've done it on father, on +mother, and on every one that's ever come round our place. +Pick a card. (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle--flip, bang.) +There, that's your card." + +"NO. I AM SORRY. THAT IS NOT MY CARD. But won't you try +it again? Please do. Perhaps you are a little excited--I'm +afraid I was rather stupid. Won't you go and sit quietly +by yourself on the back verandah for half an hour and +then try? You have to go home? Oh, I'm so sorry. It must +be such an awfully clever little trick. Good night!" + + + + +Back to the Bush + +I have a friend called Billy, who has the Bush Mania. By +trade he is a doctor, but I do not think that he needs +to sleep out of doors. In ordinary things his mind appears +sound. Over the tops I of his gold-rimmed spectacles, as +he bends forward to speak to you, there gleams nothing +but amiability and kindliness. Like all the rest of us +he is, or was until he forgot it all, an extremely +well-educated man. + +I am aware of no criminal strain in his blood. Yet Billy +is in reality hopelessly unbalanced. He has the Mania of +the Open Woods. + +Worse than that, he is haunted with the desire to drag +his friends with him into the depths of the Bush. + +Whenever we meet he starts to talk about it. + +Not long ago I met him in the club. + +"I wish," he said, "you'd let me take you clear away up +the Gatineau." + +"Yes, I wish I would, I don't think," I murmured to +myself, but I humoured him and said: + +"How do we go, Billy, in a motor-car or by train?" + +"No, we paddle." + +"And is it up-stream all the way?" + +"Oh, yes," Billy said enthusiastically. + +"And how many days do we paddle all day to get up?" + +"Six." + +"Couldn't we do it in less?" + +"Yes," Billy answered, feeling that I was entering into +the spirit of the thing, "if we start each morning just +before daylight and paddle hard till moonlight, we could +do it in five days and a half." + +"Glorious! and are there portages?" + +"Lots of them." + +"And at each of these do I carry two hundred pounds of +stuff up a hill on my back?" + +"Yes." + +"And will there be a guide, a genuine, dirty-looking +Indian guide?" + +"Yes." + +"And can I sleep next to him?" + +"Oh, yes, if you want to." + +"And when we get to the top, what is there?" + +"Well, we go over the height of land." + +"Oh, we do, do we? And is the height of land all rock +and about three hundred yards up-hill? And do I carry a +barrel of flour up it? And does it roll down and crush +me on the other side? Look here, Billy, this trip is a +great thing, but it is too luxurious for me. If you will +have me paddled up the river in a large iron canoe with +an awning, carried over the portages in a sedan-chair, +taken across the height of land in a palanquin or a +howdah, and lowered down the other side in a derrick, +I'll go. Short of that, the thing would be too fattening." + +Billy was discouraged and left me. But he has since +returned repeatedly to the attack. + +He offers to take me to the head-waters of the Batiscan. +I am content at the foot. + +He wants us to go to the sources of the Attahwapiscat. +I don't. + +He says I ought to see the grand chutes of the Kewakasis. +Why should I? + +I have made Billy a counter-proposition that we strike +through the Adirondacks (in the train) to New York, from +there portage to Atlantic City, then to Washington, +carrying our own grub (in the dining-car), camp there a +few days (at the Willard), and then back, I to return by +train and Billy on foot with the outfit. + +The thing is still unsettled. + +Billy, of course, is only one of thousands that have got +this mania. And the autumn is the time when it rages at +its worst. + +Every day there move northward trains, packed full of +lawyers, bankers, and brokers, headed for the bush. They +are dressed up to look like pirates. They wear slouch +hats, flannel shirts, and leather breeches with belts. +They could afford much better clothes than these, but +they won't use them. I don't know where they get these +clothes. I think the railroad lends them out. They have +guns between their knees and big knives at their hips. +They smoke the worst tobacco they can find, and they +carry ten gallons of alcohol per man in the baggage car. + +In the intervals of telling lies to one another they read +the railroad pamphlets about hunting. This kind of +literature is deliberately and fiendishly contrived to +infuriate their mania. I know all about these pamphlets +because I write them. I once, for instance, wrote up, +from imagination, a little place called Dog Lake at the +end of a branch line. The place had failed as a settlement, +and the railroad had decided to turn it into a hunting +resort. I did the turning. I think I did it rather well, +rechristening the lake and stocking the place with suitable +varieties of game. The pamphlet ran like this. + +"The limpid waters of Lake Owatawetness (the name, +according to the old Indian legends of the place, signifies, +The Mirror of the Almighty) abound with every known +variety of fish. Near to its surface, so close that the +angler may reach out his hand and stroke them, schools +of pike, pickerel, mackerel, doggerel, and chickerel +jostle one another in the water. They rise instantaneously +to the bait and swim gratefully ashore holding it in +their mouths. In the middle depth of the waters of the +lake, the sardine, the lobster, the kippered herring, +the anchovy and other tinned varieties of fish disport +themselves with evident gratification, while even lower +in the pellucid depths the dog-fish, the hog-fish, the +log-fish, and the sword-fish whirl about in never-ending +circles. + +"Nor is Lake Owatawetness merely an Angler's Paradise. +Vast forests of primeval pine slope to the very shores +of the lake, to which descend great droves of bears--brown, +green, and bear-coloured--while as the shades of evening +fall, the air is loud with the lowing of moose, cariboo, +antelope, cantelope, musk-oxes, musk-rats, and other +graminivorous mammalia of the forest. These enormous +quadrumana generally move off about 10.30 p.m., from +which hour until 11.45 p.m. the whole shore is reserved +for bison and buffalo. + +"After midnight hunters who so desire it can be chased +through the woods, for any distance and at any speed they +select, by jaguars, panthers, cougars, tigers, and jackals +whose ferocity is reputed to be such that they will tear +the breeches off a man with their teeth in their eagerness +to sink their fangs in his palpitating flesh. Hunters, +attention! Do not miss such attractions as these!" + +I have seen men--quiet, reputable, well-shaved men-- +reading that pamphlet of mine in the rotundas of hotels, +with their eyes blazing with excitement. I think it is +the jaguar attraction that hits them the hardest, because +I notice them rub themselves sympathetically with their +hands while they read. + +Of course, you can imagine the effect of this sort of +literature on the brains of men fresh from their offices, +and dressed out as pirates. + +They just go crazy and stay crazy. + +Just watch them when they get into the bush. + +Notice that well-to-do stockbroker crawling about on his +stomach in the underbrush, with his spectacles shining +like gig-lamps. What is he doing? He is after a cariboo +that isn't there. He is "stalking" it. With his stomach. +Of course, away down in his heart he knows that the +cariboo isn't there and never was; but that man read my +pamphlet and went crazy. He can't help it: he's GOT to +stalk something. Mark him as he crawls along; see him +crawl through a thimbleberry bush (very quietly so that +the cariboo won't hear the noise of the prickles going +into him), then through a bee's nest, gently and slowly, +so that the cariboo will not take fright when the bees +are stinging him. Sheer woodcraft! Yes, mark him. Mark +him any way you like. Go up behind him and paint a blue +cross on the seat of his pants as he crawls. He'll never +notice. He thinks he's a hunting dog. Yet this is the +man who laughs at his little son of ten for crawling +round under the dining-room table with a mat over his +shoulders, and pretending to be a bear. + +Now see these other men in camp. + +Someone has told them--I think I first started the idea +in my pamphlet--that the thing is to sleep on a pile of +hemlock branches. I think I told them to listen to the +wind sowing (you know the word I mean), sowing and crooning +in the giant pines. So there they are upside-down, doubled +up on a couch of green spikes that would have killed St. +Sebastian. They stare up at the sky with blood-shot, +restless eyes, waiting for the crooning to begin. And +there isn't a sow in sight. + +Here is another man, ragged and with a six days' growth +of beard, frying a piece of bacon on a stick over a little +fire. Now what does he think he is? The CHEF of the +Waldorf Astoria? Yes, he does, and what's more he thinks +that that miserable bit of bacon, cut with a tobacco +knife from a chunk of meat that lay six days in the rain, +is fit to eat. What's more, he'll eat it. So will the +rest. They're all crazy together. + +There's another man, the Lord help him who thinks he has +the "knack" of being a carpenter. He is hammering up +shelves to a tree. Till the shelves fall down he thinks +he is a wizard. Yet this is the same man who swore at +his wife for asking him to put up a shelf in the back +kitchen. "How the blazes," he asked, "could he nail the +damn thing up? Did she think he was a plumber?" + +After all, never mind. + +Provided they are happy up there, let them stay. + +Personally, I wouldn't mind if they didn't come back and +lie about it. They get back to the city dead fagged for +want of sleep, sogged with alcohol, bitten brown by the +bush-flies, trampled on by the moose and chased through +the brush by bears and skunks--and they have the nerve +to say that they like it. + +Sometimes I think they do. + +Men are only animals anyway. They like to get out into +the woods and growl round at night and feel something +bite them. + +Only why haven't they the imagination to be able to do +the same thing with less fuss? Why not take their coats +and collars off in the office and crawl round on the +floor and growl at one another. It would be just as good. + + + + +Reflections on Riding + +The writing of this paper has been inspired by a debate +recently held at the literary society of my native town +on the question, "Resolved: that the bicycle is a nobler +animal than the horse." In order to speak for the negative +with proper authority, I have spent some weeks in completely +addicting myself to the use of the horse. I find that +the difference between the horse and the bicycle is +greater than I had supposed. + +The horse is entirely covered with hair; the bicycle is +not entirely covered with hair, except the '89 model they +are using in Idaho. + +In riding a horse the performer finds that the pedals in +which he puts his feet will not allow of a good circular +stroke. He will observe, however, that there is a saddle +in which--especially while the horse is trotting--he is +expected to seat himself from time to time. But it is +simpler to ride standing up, with the feet in the pedals. + +There are no handles to a horse, but the 1910 model has +a string to each side of its face for turning its head +when there is anything you want it to see. + +Coasting on a good horse is superb, but should be under +control. I have known a horse to suddenly begin to coast +with me about two miles from home, coast down the main +street of my native town at a terrific rate, and finally +coast through a plantoon of the Salvation Army into its +livery stable. + +I cannot honestly deny that it takes a good deal of +physical courage to ride a horse. This, however, I have. +I get it at about forty cents a flask, and take it as +required. + +I find that in riding a horse up the long street of a +country town, it is not well to proceed at a trot. It +excites unkindly comment. It is better to let the horse +walk the whole distance. This may be made to seem natural +by turning half round in the saddle with the hand on the +horse's back, and gazing intently about two miles up the +road. It then appears that you are the first in of about +fourteen men. + +Since learning to ride, I have taken to noticing the +things that people do on horseback in books. Some of +these I can manage, but most of them are entirely beyond +me. Here, for instance, is a form of equestrian performance +that every reader will recognize and for which I have +only a despairing admiration: + +"With a hasty gesture of farewell, the rider set spurs +to his horse and disappeared in a cloud of dust." + +With a little practice in the matter of adjustment, I +think I could set spurs to any size of horse, but I could +never disappear in a cloud of dust--at least, not with +any guarantee of remaining disappeared when the dust +cleared away. + +Here, however, is one that I certainly can do: + +"The bridle-rein dropped from Lord Everard's listless +hand, and, with his head bowed upon his bosom, he suffered +his horse to move at a foot's pace up the sombre avenue. +Deep in thought, he heeded not the movement of the steed +which bore him." + +That is, he looked as if he didn't; but in my case Lord +Everard has his eye on the steed pretty closely, just +the same. + +This next I am doubtful about: + +"To horse! to horse!" cried the knight, and leaped into +the saddle. + +I think I could manage it if it read: + +"To horse!" cried the knight, and, snatching a step-ladder +from the hands of his trusty attendant, he rushed into +the saddle. + +As a concluding remark, I may mention that my experience +of riding has thrown a very interesting sidelight upon +a rather puzzling point in history. It is recorded of +the famous Henry the Second that he was "almost constantly +in the saddle, and of so restless a disposition that he +never sat down, even at meals." I had hitherto been unable +to understand Henry's idea about his meals, but I think +I can appreciate it now. + + + + +Saloonio + +A STUDY IN SHAKESPEAREAN CRITICISM + +The say that young men fresh from college are pretty +positive about what they know. But from my own experience +of life, I should say that if you take a comfortable, +elderly man who hasn't been near a college for about +twenty years, who has been pretty liberally fed and dined +ever since, who measures about fifty inches around the +circumference, and has a complexion like a cranberry by +candlelight, you will find that there is a degree of +absolute certainty about what he thinks he knows that +will put any young man to shame. I am specially convinced +of this from the case of my friend Colonel Hogshead, a +portly, choleric gentleman who made a fortune in the +cattle-trade out in Wyoming, and who, in his later days, +has acquired a chronic idea that the plays of Shakespeare +are the one subject upon which he is most qualified to +speak personally. + +He came across me the other evening as I was sitting by +the fire in the club sitting-room looking over the leaves +of The Merchant of Venice, and began to hold forth to me +about the book. + +"Merchant of Venice, eh? There's a play for you, sir! +There's genius! Wonderful, sir, wonderful! You take the +characters in that play and where will you find anything +like them? You take Antonio, take Sherlock, take Saloonio--" + +"Saloonio, Colonel?" I interposed mildly, "aren't you +making a mistake? There's a Bassanio and a Salanio in +the play, but I don't think there's any Saloonio, is +there?" + +For a moment Colonel Hogshead's eye became misty with +doubt, but he was not the man to admit himself in error: + +"Tut, tut! young man," he said with a frown, "don't skim +through your books in that way. No Saloonio? Why, of +course there's a Saloonio!" + +"But I tell you, Colonel," I rejoined, "I've just been +reading the play and studying it, and I know there's no +such character--" + +"Nonsense, sir, nonsense!" said the Colonel, "why he +comes in all through; don't tell me, young man, I've read +that play myself. Yes, and seen it played, too, out in +Wyoming, before you were born, by fellers, sir, that +could act. No Saloonio, indeed! why, who is it that is +Antonio's friend all through and won't leave him when +Bassoonio turns against him? Who rescues Clarissa from +Sherlock, and steals the casket of flesh from the Prince +of Aragon? Who shouts at the Prince of Morocco, 'Out, +out, you damned candlestick'? Who loads up the jury in +the trial scene and fixes the doge? No Saloonio! By gad! +in my opinion, he's the most important character in the +play--" + +"Colonel Hogshead," I said very firmly, "there isn't any +Saloonio and you know it." + +But the old man had got fairly started on whatever dim +recollection had given birth to Saloonio; the character +seemed to grow more and more luminous in the Colonel's +mind, and he continued with increasing animation: + +"I'll just tell you what Saloonio is: he's a type. +Shakespeare means him to embody the type of the perfect +Italian gentleman. He's an idea, that's what he is, he's +a symbol, he's a unit--" + +Meanwhile I had been searching among the leaves of the +play. "Look here," I said, "here's the list of the Dramatis +Personae. There's no Saloonio there." + +But this didn't dismay the Colonel one atom. "Why, of +course there isn't," he said. "You don't suppose you'd +find Saloonio there! That's the whole art of it! That's +Shakespeare! That's the whole gist of it! He's kept clean +out of the Personae--gives him scope, gives him a free +hand, makes him more of a type than ever. Oh, it's a +subtle thing, sir, the dramatic art!" continued the +Colonel, subsiding into quiet reflection; "it takes a +feller quite a time to get right into Shakespeare's mind +and see what he's at all the time." + +I began to see that there was no use in arguing any +further with the old man. I left him with the idea that +the lapse of a little time would soften his views on +Saloonio. But I had not reckoned on the way in which old +men hang on to a thing. Colonel Hogshead quite took up +Saloonio. From that time on Saloonio became the theme of +his constant conversation. He was never tired of discussing +the character of Saloonio, the wonderful art of the +dramatist in creating him, Saloonio's relation to modern +life, Saloonio's attitude toward women, the ethical +significance of Saloonio, Saloonio as compared with +Hamlet, Hamlet as compared with Saloonio--and so on, +endlessly. And the more he looked into Saloonio, the more +he saw in him. + +Saloonio seemed inexhaustible. There were new sides to +him--new phases at every turn, The Colonel even read over +the play, and finding no mention of Saloonio's name in +it, he swore that the books were not the same books they +had had out in Wyoming; that the whole part had been cut +clean out to suit the book to the infernal public schools, +Saloonio's language being--at any rate, as the Colonel +quoted it--undoubtedly a trifle free. Then the Colonel +took to annotating his book at the side with such remarks +as, "Enter Saloonio," or "A tucket sounds; enter Saloonio, +on the arm of the Prince of Morocco." When there was no +reasonable excuse for bringing Saloonio on the stage the +Colonel swore that he was concealed behind the arras, or +feasting within with the doge. + +But he got satisfaction at last. He had found that there +was nobody in our part of the country who knew how to +put a play of Shakespeare on the stage, and took a trip +to New York to see Sir Henry Irving and Miss Terry do +the play. The Colonel sat and listened all through with +his face just beaming with satisfaction, and when the +curtain fell at the close of Irving's grand presentation +of the play, he stood up in his seat, and cheered and +yelled to his friends: "That s it! That's him! Didn't +you see that man that came on the stage all the time and +sort of put the whole play through, though you couldn't +understand a word he said? Well, that's him! That's +Saloonio!" + + + + +Half-hours with the Poets + +I.--MR. WORDSWORTH AND THE LITTLE COTTAGE GIRL. + + "I met a little cottage girl, + She was eight years old she said, + Her hair was thick with many a curl + That clustered round her head." + + WORDSWORTH. + +This is what really happened. + +Over the dreary downs of his native Cumberland the aged +laureate was wandering with bowed head and countenance +of sorrow. + +Times were bad with the old man. + +In the south pocket of his trousers, as he set his face +to the north, jingled but a few odd coins and a cheque +for St. Leon water. Apparently his cup of bitterness was +full. + +In the distance a child moved--a child in form, yet the +deep lines upon her face bespoke a countenance prematurely +old. + +The poet espied, pursued and overtook the infant. He +observed that apparently she drew her breath lightly and +felt her life in every limb, and that presumably her +acquaintance with death was of the most superficial +character. + +"I must sit awhile and ponder on that child," murmured +the poet. So he knocked her down with his walking-stick +and seating himself upon her, he pondered. + +Long he sat thus in thought. "His heart is heavy," sighed +the child. + +At length he drew forth a note-book and pencil and prepared +to write upon his knee. "Now then, my dear young friend," +he said, addressing the elfin creature, "I want those +lines upon your face. Are you seven?" + +"Yes, we are seven," said the girl sadly, and added, "I +know what you want. You are going to question me about +my afflicted family. You are Mr. Wordsworth, and you are +collecting mortuary statistics for the Cottagers' Edition +of the Penny Encyclopaedia." + +"You are eight years old?" asked the bard. + +"I suppose so," answered she. "I have been eight years +old for years and years." + +"And you know nothing of death, of course?" said the poet +cheerfully. + +"How can I?" answered the child. + +"Now then," resumed the venerable William, "let us get +to business. Name your brothers and sisters." + +"Let me see," began the child wearily; "there was Rube +and Ike, two I can't think of, and John and Jane." + +"You must not count John and Jane," interrupted the bard +reprovingly; "they're dead, you know, so that doesn't +make seven." + +"I wasn't counting them, but perhaps I added up wrongly," +said the child; "and will you please move your overshoe +off my neck?" + +"Pardon," said the old man. "A nervous trick, I have been +absorbed; indeed, the exigency of the metre almost demands +my doubling up my feet. To continue, however; which died +first?" + +"The first to go was little Jane," said the child. + +"She lay moaning in bed, I presume?" + +"In bed she moaning lay." + +"What killed her?" + +"Insomnia," answered the girl. "The gaiety of our cottage +life, previous to the departure of our elder brothers +for Conway, and the constant field-sports in which she +indulged with John, proved too much for a frame never +too robust." + +"You express yourself well," said the poet. "Now, in +regard to your unfortunate brother, what was the effect +upon him in the following winter of the ground being +White with snow and your being able to run and slide?" + +"My brother John was forced to go," answered she. "We +have been at a loss to understand the cause of his death. +We fear that the dazzling glare of the newly fallen snow, +acting upon a restless brain, may have led him to a fatal +attempt to emulate my own feats upon the ice. And, oh, +sir," the child went on, "speak gently of poor Jane. You +may rub it into John all you like; we always let him +slide." + +"Very well," said the bard, "and allow me, in conclusion, +one rather delicate question: Do you ever take your little +porringer?" + +"Oh, yes," answered the child frankly-- + + "'Quite often after sunset, + When all is light and fair, + I take my little porringer'-- + +"I can't quite remember what I do after that, but I know +that I like it." + +"That is immaterial," said Wordsworth. "I can say that +you take your little porringer neat, or with bitters, or +in water after every meal. As long as I can state that +you take a little porringer regularly, but never to +excess, the public is satisfied. And now," rising from +his seat, "I will not detain you any longer. Here is +sixpence--or stay," he added hastily, "here is a cheque +for St. Leon water. Your information has been most +valuable, and I shall work it, for all I am Wordsworth." +With these words the aged poet bowed deferentially to +the child and sauntered off in the direction of the Duke +of Cumberland's Arms, with his eyes on the ground, as if +looking for the meanest flower that blows itself. + + +II:--HOW TENNYSON KILLED THE MAY QUEEN + +"If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother +dear." + + +PART I + +As soon as the child's malady had declared itself the +afflicted parents of the May Queen telegraphed to Tennyson, +"Our child gone crazy on subject of early rising, could +you come and write some poetry about her?" + +Alfred, always prompt to fill orders in writing from the +country, came down on the evening train. The old cottager +greeted the poet warmly, and began at once to speak of +the state of his unfortunate daughter. + +"She was took queer in May," he said, "along of a sort +of bee that the young folks had; she ain't been just +right since; happen you might do summat." + +With these words he opened the door of an inner room. + +The girl lay in feverish slumber. Beside her bed was an +alarm-clock set for half-past three. Connected with the +clock was an ingenious arrangement of a falling brick +with a string attached to the child's toe. + +At the entrance of the visitor she started up in bed. +"Whoop," she yelled, "I am to be Queen of the May, mother, +ye-e!" + +Then perceiving Tennyson in the doorway, "If that's a +caller," she said, "tell him to call me early." + +The shock caused the brick to fall. In the subsequent +confusion Alfred modestly withdrew to the sitting-room. + +"At this rate," he chuckled, "I shall not have long to +wait. A few weeks of that strain will finish her." + + +PART II + +Six months had passed. + +It was now mid-winter. + +And still the girl lived. Her vitality appeared +inexhaustible. + +She got up earlier and earlier. She now rose yesterday +afternoon. + +At intervals she seemed almost sane, and spoke in a most +pathetic manner of her grave and the probability of the +sun shining on it early in the morning, and her mother +walking on it later in the day. At other times her malady +would seize her, and she would snatch the brick off the +string and throw it fiercely at Tennyson. Once, in an +uncontrollable fit of madness, she gave her sister Effie +a half-share in her garden tools and an interest in a +box of mignonette. + +The poet stayed doggedly on. In the chill of the morning +twilight he broke the ice in his water-basin and cursed +the girl. But he felt that he had broken the ice and he +stayed. + +On the whole, life at the cottage, though rugged, was +not cheerless. In the long winter evenings they would +gather around a smoking fire of peat, while Tennyson read +aloud the Idylls of the King to the rude old cottager. +Not to show his rudeness, the old man kept awake by +sitting on a tin-tack. This also kept his mind on the +right tack. The two found that they had much in common, +especially the old cottager. They called each other +"Alfred" and "Hezekiah" now. + + +PART III + +Time moved on and spring came. + +Still the girl baffled the poet. + +"I thought to pass away before," she would say with a +mocking grin, "but yet alive I am, Alfred, alive I am." + +Tennyson was fast losing hope. + +Worn out with early rising, they engaged a retired +Pullman-car porter to take up his quarters, and being a +negro his presence added a touch of colour to their life. + +The poet also engaged a neighbouring divine at fifty +cents an evening to read to the child the best hundred +books, with explanations. The May Queen tolerated him, +and used to like to play with his silver hair, but +protested that he was prosy. + +At the end of his resources the poet resolved upon +desperate measures. + +He chose an evening when the cottager and his wife were +out at a dinner-party. + +At nightfall Tennyson and his accomplices entered the +girl's room. + +She defended herself savagely with her brick, but was +overpowered. + +The negro seated himself upon her chest, while the +clergyman hastily read a few verses about the comfort of +early rising at the last day. + +As he concluded, the poet drove his pen into her eye. + +"Last call!" cried the negro porter triumphantly. + + +III.--OLD MR. LONGFELLOW ON BOARD THE HESPERUS. + + "It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintry + sea, And the skipper had taken his little daughter to + bear him company."--LONGFELLOW. + +There were but three people in the cabin party of the +Hesperus: old Mr. Longfellow, the skipper, and the +skipper's daughter. + +The skipper was much attached to the child, owing to the +singular whiteness of her skin and the exceptionally +limpid blue of her eyes; she had hitherto remained on +shore to fill lucrative engagements as albino lady in a +circus. + +This time, however, her father had taken her with him +for company. The girl was an endless source of amusement +to the skipper and the crew. She constantly got up games +of puss-in-the-corner, forfeits, and Dumb Crambo with +her father and Mr. Longfellow, and made Scripture puzzles +and geographical acrostics for the men. + +Old Mr. Longfellow was taking the voyage to restore his +shattered nerves. From the first the captain disliked +Henry. He was utterly unused to the sea and was nervous +and fidgety in the extreme. He complained that at sea +his genius had not a sufficient degree of latitude. Which +was unparalleled presumption. + +On the evening of the storm there had been a little jar +between Longfellow and the captain at dinner. The captain +had emptied it several times, and was consequently in a +reckless, quarrelsome humour. + +"I confess I feel somewhat apprehensive," said old Henry +nervously, "of the state of the weather. I have had some +conversation about it with an old gentleman on deck who +professed to have sailed the Spanish main. He says you +ought to put into yonder port." + +"I have," hiccoughed the skipper, eyeing the bottle, and +added with a brutal laugh that "he could weather the +roughest gale that ever wind did blow." A whole Gaelic +society, he said, wouldn't fizz on him. + +Draining a final glass of grog, he rose from his chair, +said grace, and staggered on deck. + +All the time the wind blew colder and louder. + +The billows frothed like yeast. It was a yeast wind. + +The evening wore on. + +Old Henry shuffled about the cabin in nervous misery. + +The skipper's daughter sat quietly at the table selecting +verses from a Biblical clock to amuse the ship's bosun, +who was suffering from toothache. + +At about ten Longfellow went to his bunk, requesting the +girl to remain up in his cabin. + +For half an hour all was quiet, save the roaring of the +winter wind. + +Then the girl heard the old gentleman start up in bed. + +"What's that bell, what's that bell?" he gasped. + +A minute later he emerged from his cabin wearing a cork +jacket and trousers over his pyjamas. + +"Sissy," he said, "go up and ask your pop who rang that +bell." + +The obedient child returned. + +"Please, Mr. Longfellow," she said, "pa says there weren't +no bell." + +The old man sank into a chair and remained with his head +buried in his hands. + +"Say," he exclaimed presently, "someone's firing guns +and there's a glimmering light somewhere. You'd better +go upstairs again." + +Again the child returned. + +"The crew are guessing at an acrostic, and occasionally +they get a glimmering of it." + +Meantime the fury of the storm increased. + +The skipper had the hatches battered down. + +Presently Longfellow put his head out of a porthole and +called out, "Look here, you may not care, but the cruel +rocks are goring the sides of this boat like the horns +of an angry bull." + +The brutal skipper heaved the log at him. A knot in it +struck a plank and it glanced off. + +Too frightened to remain below, the poet raised one of +the hatches by picking out the cotton batting and made +his way on deck. He crawled to the wheel-house. + +The skipper stood lashed to the helm all stiff and stark. +He bowed stiffly to the poet. The lantern gleamed through +the gleaming snow on his fixed and glassy eyes. The man +was hopelessly intoxicated. + +All the crew had disappeared. When the missile thrown by +the captain had glanced off into the sea, they glanced +after it and were lost. + +At this moment the final crash came. + +Something hit something. There was an awful click followed +by a peculiar grating sound, and in less time than it +takes to write it (unfortunately), the whole wreck was +over. + +As the vessel sank, Longfellow's senses left him. When +he reopened his eyes he was in his own bed at home, and +the editor of his local paper was bending over him. + +"You have made a first-rate poem of it, Mr. Longfellow," +he was saying, unbending somewhat as he spoke, "and I am +very happy to give you our cheque for a dollar and a +quarter for it." + +"Your kindness checks my utterance," murmured Henry +feebly, very feebly. + + + + +A, B, and C + +THE HUMAN ELEMENT IN MATHEMATICS + +The student of arithmetic who has mastered the first four +rules of his art, and successfully striven with money +sums and fractions, finds himself confronted by an unbroken +expanse of questions known as problems. These are short +stories of adventure and industry with the end omitted, +and though betraying a strong family resemblance, are +not without a certain element of romance. + +The characters in the plot of a problem are three people +called A, B, and C. The form of the question is generally +of this sort: + +"A, B, and C do a certain piece of work. A can do as much +work in one hour as B in two, or C in four. Find how long +they work at it." + +Or thus: + +"A, B, and C are employed to dig a ditch. A can dig as +much in one hour as B can dig in two, and B can dig twice +as fast as C. Find how long, etc. etc." + +Or after this wise: + +"A lays a wager that he can walk faster than B or C. A +can walk half as fast again as B, and C is only an +indifferent walker. Find how far, and so forth." + +The occupations of A, B, and C are many and varied. In +the older arithmetics they contented themselves with +doing "a certain piece of work," This statement of the +case however, was found too sly and mysterious, or possibly +lacking in romantic charm. It became the fashion to define +the job more clearly and to set them at walking matches, +ditch-digging, regattas, and piling cord wood. At times, +they became commercial and entered into partnership, +having with their old mystery a "certain" capital. Above +all they revel in motion. When they tire of +walking-matches--A rides on horseback, or borrows a +bicycle and competes with his weaker-minded associates +on foot. Now they race on locomotives; now they row; or +again they become historical and engage stage-coaches; +or at times they are aquatic and swim. If their occupation +is actual work they prefer to pump water into cisterns, +two of which leak through holes in the bottom and one of +which is water-tight. A, of course, has the good one; he +also takes the bicycle, and the best locomotive, and the +right of swimming with the current. Whatever they do they +put money on it, being all three sports. A always wins. + +In the early chapters of the arithmetic, their identity +is concealed under the names John, William, and Henry, +and they wrangle over the division of marbles. In algebra +they are often called X, Y, Z. But these are only their +Christian names, and they are really the same people. + +Now to one who has followed the history of these men +through countless pages of problems, watched them in +their leisure hours dallying with cord wood, and seen +their panting sides heave in the full frenzy of filling +a cistern with a leak in it, they become something more +than mere symbols. They appear as creatures of flesh and +blood, living men with their own passions, ambitions, +and aspirations like the rest of us. Let us view them in +turn. A is a full-blooded blustering fellow, of energetic +temperament, hot-headed and strong-willed. It is he who +proposes everything, challenges B to work, makes the +bets, and bends the others to his will. He is a man of +great physical strength and phenomenal endurance. He has +been known to walk forty-eight hours at a stretch, and +to pump ninety-six. His life is arduous and full of peril. +A mistake in the working of a sum may keep him digging +a fortnight without sleep. A repeating decimal in the +answer might kill him. + +B is a quiet, easy-going fellow, afraid of A and bullied +by him, but very gentle and brotherly to little C, the +weakling. He is quite in A's power, having lost all his +money in bets. + +Poor C is an undersized, frail man, with a plaintive +face. Constant walking, digging, and pumping has broken +his health and ruined his nervous system. His joyless +life has driven him to drink and smoke more than is good +for him, and his hand often shakes as he digs ditches. +He has not the strength to work as the others can, in +fact, as Hamlin Smith has said, "A can do more work in +one hour than C in four." + +The first time that ever I saw these men was one evening +after a regatta. They had all been rowing in it, and it +had transpired that A could row as much in one hour as +B in two, or C in four. B and C had come in dead fagged +and C was coughing badly. "Never mind, old fellow," I +heard B say, "I'll fix you up on the sofa and get you +some hot tea." Just then A came blustering in and shouted, +"I say, you fellows, Hamlin Smith has shown me three +cisterns in his garden and he says we can pump them until +to-morrow night. I bet I can beat you both. Come on. You +can pump in your rowing things, you know. Your cistern +leaks a little, I think, C." I heard B growl that it was +a dirty shame and that C was used up now, but they went, +and presently I could tell from the sound of the water +that A was pumping four times as fast as C. + +For years after that I used to see them constantly about +town and always busy. I never heard of any of them eating +or sleeping. Then owing to a long absence from home, I +lost sight of them. On my return I was surprised to no +longer find A, B, and C at their accustomed tasks; on +inquiry I heard that work in this line was now done by +N, M, and O, and that some people were employing for +algebraica jobs four foreigners called Alpha, Beta, Gamma, +and Delta. + +Now it chanced one day that I stumbled upon old D, in +the little garden in front of his cottage, hoeing in the +sun. D is an aged labouring man who used occasionally to +be called in to help A, B, and C. "Did I know 'em, sir?" +he answered, "why, I knowed 'em ever since they was little +fellows in brackets. Master A, he were a fine lad, sir, +though I always said, give me Master B for kind- +heartedness-like. Many's the job as we've been on together, +sir, though I never did no racing nor aught of that, but +just the plain labour, as you might say. I'm getting a +bit too old and stiff for it nowadays, sir--just scratch +about in the garden here and grow a bit of a logarithm, +or raise a common denominator or two. But Mr. Euclid he +use me still for them propositions, he do." From the +garrulous old man I learned the melancholy end of my +former acquaintances. Soon after I left town, he told +me, C had been taken ill. It seems that A and B had been +rowing on the river for a wager, and C had been running +on the bank and then sat in a draught. Of course the bank +had refused the draught and C was taken ill. A and B came +home and found C lying helpless in bed. A shook him +roughly and said, "Get up, C, we're going to pile wood." +C looked so worn and pitiful that B said, "Look here, A, +I won't stand this, he isn't fit to pile wood to-night." +C smiled feebly and said, "Perhaps I might pile a little +if I sat up in bed." Then B, thoroughly alarmed, said, +"See here, A, I'm going to fetch a doctor; he's dying." +A flared up and answered, "You've no money to fetch a +doctor." "I'll reduce him to his lowest terms," B said +firmly, "that'll fetch him." C's life might even then +have been saved but they made a mistake about the medicine. +It stood at the head of the bed on a bracket, and the +nurse accidentally removed it from the bracket without +changing the sign. After the fatal blunder C seems to +have sunk rapidly. On the evening of the next day, as +the shadows deepened in the little room, it was clear to +all that the end was near. I think that even A was affected +at the last as he stood with bowed head, aimlessly offering +to bet with the doctor on C's laboured breathing. "A," +whispered C, "I think I'm going fast." "How fast do you +think you'll go, old man?" murmured A. "I don't know," +said C, "but I'm going at any rate."--The end came soon +after that. C rallied for a moment and asked for a certain +piece of work that he had left downstairs. A put it in +his arms and he expired. As his soul sped heavenward A +watched its flight with melancholy admiration. B burst +into a passionate flood of tears and sobbed, "Put away +his little cistern and the rowing clothes he used to +wear, I feel as if I could hardly ever dig again."--The +funeral was plain and unostentatious. It differed in +nothing from the ordinary, except that out of deference +to sporting men and mathematicians, A engaged two hearses. +Both vehicles started at the same time, B driving the +one which bore the sable parallelopiped containing the +last remains of his ill-fated friend. A on the box of +the empty hearse generously consented to a handicap of +a hundred yards, but arrived first at the cemetery by +driving four times as fast as B. (Find the distance to +the cemetery.) As the sarcophagus was lowered, the grave +was surrounded by the broken figures of the first book +of Euclid.--It was noticed that after the death of C, A +became a changed man. He lost interest in racing with B, +and dug but languidly. He finally gave up his work and +settled down to live on the interest of his bets.--B +never recovered from the shock of C's death; his grief +preyed upon his intellect and it became deranged. He grew +moody and spoke only in monosyllables. His disease became +rapidly aggravated, and he presently spoke only in words +whose spelling was regular and which presented no difficulty +to the beginner. Realizing his precarious condition he +voluntarily submitted to be incarcerated in an asylum, +where he abjured mathematics and devoted himself to +writing the History of the Swiss Family Robinson in words +of one syllable. + + + + +Acknowledgments + +Many of the sketches which form the present volume have +already appeared in print. Others of them are new. Of +the re-printed pieces, "Melpomenus Jones," "Policeman +Hogan," "A Lesson in Fiction," and many others were +contributions by the author to the New York Truth. The +"Boarding-House Geometry" first appeared in Truth, and +was subsequently republished in the London Punch, and in +a great many other journals. The sketches called the +"Life of John Smith," "Society Chit-Chat," and "Aristocratic +Education" appeared in Puck. "The New Pathology" was +first printed in the Toronto Saturday Night, and was +subsequently republished by the London Lancet, and by +various German periodicals in the form of a translation. +The story called "Number Fifty-Six" is taken from the +Detroit Free Press. "My Financial Career" was originally +contributed to the New York Life, and has been frequently +reprinted. The Articles "How to Make a Million Dollars" +and "How to Avoid Getting Married," etc. are reproduced +by permission of the Publishers' Press Syndicate. The +wide circulation which some of the above sketches have +enjoyed has encouraged the author to prepare the present +collection. + +The author desires to express his sense of obligation to +the proprietors of the above journals who have kindly +permitted him to republish the contributions which appeared +in their columns. + + + + +END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Literary Lapses, by Stephen Leacock + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY LAPSES *** + +This file should be named ltlps10.txt or ltlps10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, ltlps11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ltlps10a.txt + +This etext was produced by Gardner Buchanan. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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