Chapter III: Part 3

David Starr Jordan, president of Leland Stanford University, was asked what great man or woman most influenced him as a boy.

He replied, in writing:

"I was far more influenced by my mother than by any other person I ever knew or heard of."

Fulton, Franklin, and Astor.

Robert Fulton was only three years old when his father died. "So that," he said, "I grew up under the care of my blessed mother. She developed my early talent for drawing and encouraged me in my visits to the machine-shops of the town."

Robert was a dull pupil at school, however, and the teacher complained to his mother. Whereupon Mrs. Fulton replied proudly:

"My boy's head, sir, is so full of original notions that there is no vacant chamber in which to store the contents of your musty books."

"I was only ten years old at that time," said Fulton, "and my mother seemed to be the only human being who understood my natural bent for mechanics."

The fact that Fulton's mother let the boy have his own way in his "original notions" had its direct result later in the building of the first steamboat.

Benjamin Franklin many times, in his own story of his life, mentions the powerful influence which his mother had over him, referring to her always with peculiar affection.

"My son," said that mother, "is endowed with more than ordinary talent, and he shall enter one of the professions, perhaps the ministry."

The family was then very poor, the elder Franklin having no ambition beyond that of making a bare competence as a ship-chandler. Encouraged by his mother, however, young Benjamin "took to books" with such ardor that before he was ten years old his mother spoke of him as "our little professor," and added:

"He shall serve either humanity or his country; the one as a minister of the Gospel, the other as a diplomat."

The first John Jacob Astor said: "Whatever I have accomplished through thrift is due to the teachings of my mother. She trained me to the habit of early rising; she made me devote the first waking hours to reading the Bible. Those habits have continued through my life, and have been to me a source of unfailing comfort. Her death was the greatest grief of my existence."

WHEN THACKERAY WENT ON STRIKE.

In a Letter Written to the Publisher of an English Magazine, the Famous
Novelist Demanded as Good Pay as That of the "Monthly Nurse."

There are authors' clubs and authors' societies in nearly every national literary center in the world, but up to the present time the trade of authorship has not been formally affiliated with that of any kind of trade-unionism. For this very reason, authors are compelled to make their demands individually.

This was the situation that confronted William Makepeace Thackeray at a time when his writings were first beginning to win popularity in England. It was in 1837, the year after his marriage to Isabella Shawe--a chronological sequence which perhaps accounts for his increased need of money. He was contributing "The Yellowplush Papers" to the successive issues of _Fraser's Magazine_, and he had made up his mind that his work ought to yield him a more satisfactory financial return. The result was he went on strike, as may be seen by the following letter which he wrote to James Fraser, the proprietor of the magazine:

Boulogne, Monday, February.

MY DEAR FRASER:

I have seen the doctor, who has given me commands about the
hundredth number. I shall send him my share from Paris in a
day or two, and hope I shall do a good deal in the diligence
to-morrow. He reiterates his determination to write monthly
for you and deliver over the proceeds to me. Will you,
therefore, have the goodness to give the bearer a check (in
my wife's name) for the amount of his contributions for the
last two months? Mrs. Thackeray will give you a receipt for
the same. You have already Maginn's authority.

Now comes another and not a very pleasant point on which I
must speak. I hereby give notice that I shall strike for
wages. You pay more to others, I find, than to me, and so I
intend to make some fresh conditions about Yellowplush. I
shall write no more of that gentleman's remarks except at
the rate of twelve guineas a sheet and with a drawing for
each number in which his story appears--the drawing two
guineas.

Pray do not be angry at this decision on my part; it is
simply a bargain which it is my duty to make. Bad as he is,
Mr. Yellowplush is the most popular contributor to your
magazine, and ought to be paid accordingly; if he does not
deserve more than the Monthly Nurse or the Blue Friars, I am
a Dutchman. I have been at work upon his adventures to-day,
and will send them to you or not, as you like; but in common
regard for myself I won't work under prices.

Well, I dare say you will be very indignant, and swear I am
the most mercenary of individuals. Not so. But I am a better
workman than most of your crew, and desire a better price.
You must not, I repeat, be angry or, because we differ as
tradesmen, break off our connection as friends.

Believe me that, whether I write for you or not, I shall
always be glad of your friendship, and anxious to have your
good opinion. I am, ever, my dear Fraser (independent of L
s. d.), very truly yours,

W.M. THACKERAY.

MY LADY ON PARADE.

Verses, Old and New, Dealing With Various Phases of That Highly Important
Subject, the Philosophy of Feminine Costume.

WHAT THE CHOIR SANG.

By Harriette Hammond.

A foolish little maiden bought a foolish little bonnet,
With a ribbon, and a feather, and a bit of lace upon it.
And that the other maidens of the little town might know it,
She thought she'd go to meeting the next Sunday just to show it.

But though the little bonnet was scarce larger than a dime,
The getting of it settled proved to be a work of time;
So when 'twas fairly tied, all the bells had stopped their ringing,
And when she came to meeting, sure enough, the folks were singing.

So this foolish little maiden stood and waited at the door;
And as she shook her ruffles out behind, and smoothed them down before.
"Hallelujah! hallelujah!" sang the choir above her head--
"Hardly knew you! hardly knew you!" were the words she thought they
said.

This made the little maiden feel so very, _very_ cross,
That she gave her little mouth a twist, her little head a toss;
For she thought the very hymn they sang was all about her bonnet,
With the ribbon, and the feather, and the bit of lace upon it.

And she would not wait to listen to the sermon or the prayer,
But pattered down the silent street and hurried up the stair,
Till she reached her little bureau, and in a bandbox on it
Had hidden, safe from critic's eye, her foolish little bonnet.

Which proves, my little maidens, that each of you will find
In every Sabbath service but an echo of your mind;
And that the little head that's filled with silly little airs
Will never get a blessing from sermons or from prayers.

AN OMAR FOR LADIES.

By Josephine Dodge Daskam.

One for her Club and her own Latch-key fights,
Another wastes in Study her good Nights.
Ah, take the Clothes and let the Culture go,
Nor heed the grumble of the Women's Rights!

And she who saved her coin for Flannels red,
And she who caught Pneumonia instead,
Will both be Underground in Fifty Years,
And Prudence pays no Premium to the dead.

Th' exclusive Style you set your heart upon
Gets to the Bargain counters--and anon
Like monograms on a Saleslady's tie
Cheers but a moment--soon for you 'tis gone.

They say Sixth Avenue and the Bowery keep
The _dernier cri_ that once was far from cheap;
Green Veils, one season chic--Department stores
Mark down in vain--no profits shall they reap.

_Exchange._

SHE FELT OF HER BELT.

I saw her go shopping in stylish attire,
And she felt
Of her belt
At the back.
Her walk was as free as a springy steel wire,
And many a rubberneck turned to admire
As she felt
Of her belt
At the back.
She wondered if all the contraptions back there
Were fastened just right--'twas an unceasing care,
So she felt
Of her belt
At the back.

I saw her at church as she entered her pew;
And she felt
Of her belt
At the back.
She had on a skirt that was rustly and new,
And didn't quite know what the fastenings might do,
So she felt
Of her belt
At the back.
She fidgeted round while the first prayer was said,
She fumbled about while the first hymn was read--
Oh she felt
Of her belt
At the back.

Jack told her one night that he loved her like mad;
And she felt
For her belt
At the back.
She didn't look sorry, she didn't look glad--
She looked like she thought, "Well, that wasn't so bad."
And she felt
For her belt
At the back.
But--well, I don't think 'twas a great deal of harm,
For what should the maiden have found but an arm
When she felt
For her belt
At the back?

_Los Angeles Herald._

REGRETS.

By Carolyn Wells.

I cannot wear the old gowns
I wore a year ago,
The styles are so eccentric,
And fashion changes so;
These bygone gowns are out of date;
(There must be nine or ten!)
I cannot wear the old gowns,
Nor don those frocks again.

I cannot wear the old gowns,
The skirts are far too tight;
They do not flare correctly, and
The trimming isn't right.
The Spanish flounce is fagoted,
The plaits are box, not knife;
I cannot wear the old gowns--
I'd look like Noah's wife.

I cannot wear the old gowns,
The sleeves are so absurd;
They're tightly fitted at the top,
And at the wrist they're shirred!
The shoulder seams are far too long,
The collars too high-necked;
I cannot wear my old gowns
And keep my self-respect!

_Saturday Evening Post._

MY AUNT.

By Oliver Wendell Holmes.

My aunt! My dear unmarried aunt!
Long years have o'er her flown;
Yet still she strains the aching clasp
That binds her virgin zone;
I know it hurts her--though she looks
As cheerful as she can;
Her waist is ampler than her life,
For life is but a span.

My aunt, my poor deluded aunt!
Her hair is almost gray;
Why will she train that winter curl
In such a springlike way?
How can she lay her glasses down,
And say she reads as well,
When, through a double convex lens,
She just makes out to spell?

Her father--grandpa! Forgive
This erring lip its smiles--
Vowed she would make the finest girl
Within a hundred miles.
He sent her to a stylish school;
'Twas in her thirteenth June;
And with her, as the rules required,
"Two towels and a spoon."

They braced my aunt against a board
To make her straight and tall;
They laced her up, they starved her down,
To make her light and small;
They pinched her feet, they singed her hair,
They screw it up with pins--
Oh, never mortal suffered more
In penance for her sins!

So when my precious aunt was done,
My grandsire brought her back
(By daylight, lest some rabid youth
Might follow on the track);
"Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook
Some powder in his pan,
"What could this lovely creature do
Against a desperate man?"

Alas, nor chariot nor barouche
Nor bandit cavalcade
Tore from the trembling father's arms
His all-accomplished maid.
For her how happy had it been!
And heaven had spared to me
To see one sad, ungathered rose
On my ancestral tree.

MISMATED MEN OF GENIUS.

Some Distinguished Writers, Artists, and Composers Who Were Rather Less
Fortunate in Choosing Wives With Congenial Temperaments Than in Following
the Paths That Led Them On to Fame.

In writing on the subject of the influence of matrimony on men of genius, E.P. Whipple, the Boston essayist and lecturer, mentioned the cases of several who, like Moliere and Rousseau, have had unsympathetic wives. Among these was Sir Walter Scott, who while walking with his wife in the fields called her attention to some lambs, remarking that they were beautiful.

"Yes," echoed she, "lambs are beautiful--boiled!"

That incomparable essayist and chirping philosopher, Montaigne, married but once. When his good wife left him, he shed the tears usual on such occasions, and said he would not marry again, though it were to Wisdom herself.

A young painter of great promise once told Sir Joshua Reynolds that he had taken a wife. "Married!" ejaculated the horrified Sir Joshua; "then you are ruined as an artist."

Michelangelo, when asked why he never married, replied:

"I have espoused my art, and that occasions me sufficient domestic cares; for my works shall be my children."

The wives of Dante, Milton, Dryden, Addison, and Steele shed no glory on the sex, and brought no peace to their firesides.

The list of "unhappily married" is large and brilliant. It includes William Beckford, the author of "Vathek," who, however, does not seem to have deserved a happy life, and whose enormous fortune and great talents were alike wasted.

Lord Lytton was also unhappily, though romantically, married, and a large part, at least, of the subsequent misery was due to his temper and conduct. But perhaps full justice has not been done to the ill effects of the long and hard struggle with poverty, which he maintained with such success, but with such constant labor, during many years.

The temperaments of Charles Dickens and his wife were so different that they lived apart for several years preceding the great novelist's death.

Lord and Lady Byron separated about a year after their marriage, and they never met again.

Sir Henry Irving and his wife spent the last years of their married life in separate homes.

Haydn's marriage was unhappy. In 1758 the young composer had, after great struggles, got so far as to obtain a musical directorship with Count Morzin, and settled in Vienna. His salary was only two hundred florins, but he had board and lodging free. Many pupils came to him, and among others two daughters of the hairdresser Keller.

Haydn fell deeply in love with the younger, but his affection was not returned, for she entered a convent and became a nun.

Father Keller, who was very familiar with Haydn and had helped him oftentimes with small loans in his early struggles, persuaded the young composer to marry his elder daughter, and the marriage, after awhile, was celebrated November 26, 1760.

Maria Anna was, however, no wife for Joseph Haydn. She was extravagant, bigoted, scolded all day, and was utterly uncompanionable to a musician.

Finally she became so bad that she only did what she thought would annoy her husband. She dressed in a fashion quite unsuited to her position, invited clerical men to her table, tore Haydn's written musical scores and made curl-papers of them, etc., and yet the great composer bore it all as well as he could.

In one letter he says: "My wife is mostly sick, and is always in a bad temper. It is the same to her whether her husband is a shoemaker or an artist."

After he had suffered this state of things in a miserable marriage of thirty-two years he seemed exhausted, and wrote, then a renowned composer, to a friend from London:

"My wife, that infernal woman, has written me such horrible things that I will not return home again."

At last Haydn separated from his wife and placed her as a boarder with a schoolmaster in Baden, where she died in 1810. Her memory was always disagreeable to him, even after her death.

A Chapter on Puns.

BY THEODORE HOOK.

Theodore Hook (1788-1841) belonged to that singularly
fortunate class of writers whose fame was greater while they
lived than after death closed the book of life. To
present-day readers Hook is known only as the subject of
many a merry anecdote, the coiner of epigrams, and one of
the most celebrated practical jokers of his time.

But among his contemporaries Theodore Hook was something
more. Before he was twenty years old farces and comic operas
from his pen had been successfully produced on the London
stage, and he was a pet of London society. When he was
thirty he was the editor of the Tory paper _John Bull_, and
the novels that he published at this period attained a high
degree of popularity.

As a punster Hook had few equals, and "A Chapter on Puns,"
which is herewith reprinted for the readers of THE SCRAP
BOOK, constitutes an excellent specimen of the sort of humor
for which its author was famous.

There is one class of people who, with a depravity of appetite not excelled by that of the celebrated Anna Maria Schurman, who rejoiced in eating spiders, thirst after puns. If you fall in with these, you have no resource but to indulge them to their heart's content; but in order to rescue yourself from the imputation of believing punning to be wit, quote the definition of Swift, and be, like him, as inveterate a punster as you possibly can, immediately after resting everything, and hazarding all, upon the principle that the worse the pun the better.

In order to be prepared for this sort of _punic_ war (for the disorder is provocative and epidemic), the moment any one gentleman or lady has, as they say in Scotland, "let a pun," everybody else in the room who can or cannot do the same sets to work to endeavor to emulate the example. From that period all rational conversation is at an end, and a jargon of nonsense succeeds which lasts till the announcement of coffee, or supper, or the carriages puts a happy termination to the riot.

Addison says, "One may say of a pun, as the countryman described his nightingale, that it is _vox et praeterea nihil_, a sound, and nothing but a sound;" and in another place he tells us that "the greatest authors in their most serious works make frequent use of puns; the sermons of Bishop Andrews and the tragedies of Shakespeare are full of them; if a sinner was punned into repentance as in the latter, nothing is more usual than to see a hero weeping and grumbling for a dozen lines together;" but he also says, "It is indeed impossible to kill a weed which the soil has a natural disposition to produce. The seeds of punning are in the minds of all men, and though they may be subdued by reason, reflection, and good sense, they will be very apt to shoot up in the greatest genius that is not broken and cultivated by the rules of art."

Here is something like a justification of the enormity; and, as the pupil is to mix in all societies, he may as well be prepared.

Puns may be divided into different classes; they may be made in different ways, introduced by passing circumstances, or by references to bygone events; they may be thrown in _anecdotically_, or conundrumwise.

It is to be observed that feeling, or pity, or commiseration, or grief are not to stand in the way of a pun--that personal defects are to be made available, and that sense, so as the sound answers, has nothing to do with the business.

If a man is pathetically describing the funeral of his mother or sister or wife, it is quite allowable to call it a "black-_burying_ party," or to talk of a "fit of _coffin_"; a weeping relative struggling to conceal his grief may be likened to a commander of "_private tears_"; throw in a joke about the phrase of "funerals _performed_" and a re-_hearsal_; and wind up with the anagram _real-fun_, funeral.

I give this instance first, in order to explain that nothing, however solemn the subject, is to stand in the way of a pun.

It is allowable, when you have run a subject dry in English, to hitch in a bit of any other language which may sound to your liking. For instance, on a fishing party. You say fishing is out of your _line_; yet, if you did not keep _a float_, you would deserve a _rod_; and if anybody affects to find fault with your joke, exclaim: "Oh, _vous bete_!"

There you have _line_, _rod_, _float_, and _bait_ ready to your hand.

Call two noodles from the city in a punt, endeavoring to catch small fry, "_East Angles_"; or, if you please, observe that "the _punters_ are losing the fish," "catching nothing but a cold," or that "the fish are too deep for them." Call the Thames a "_tidy_" river; but say you prefer the _Isis_ in hot weather.

Personal deformities or constitutional calamities are always to be laid hold of. If anybody tells you that a dear friend has lost his sight, observe that it will make him more hospitable than ever, since now he would be glad _to see anybody_.

If a clergyman breaks his leg, remark that he is no longer a clergyman, but a _lame man_. If a poet is seized with apoplexy, affect to disbelieve it, although you know it to be true, in order to say--

Poeta nascitur non _fit_;

and then, to carry the joke one step farther, add, "that it is not a _fit_ subject for a jest."

A man falling into a tan-pit, you may call "sinking in the _sublime_"; a climbing boy suffocated in a chimney meets with a _sootable_ death; and a pretty girl having caught the smallpox is to be much _pitted_.

On the subject of the ear and its defects, talk first of something in which _a cow sticks_, and end by telling the story of the man who, having taken great pains to explain something to his companion, at last got in a rage at his apparent stupidity, and exclaimed, "Why, my dear sir, don't you comprehend? The thing is as plain as A, B, C." "I dare say it is," said the other; "but I am D, E, F."

It may be as well to give the beginner something of a notion of the use he may make of the most ordinary words, for the purpose of quibbleism. For instance, in the way of observation: The loss of a hat is always _felt_; if you don't like sugar, you may _lump_ it; a glazier is a _panes_-taking man; candles are burnt because _wick-ed_ things always come to _light_; a lady who takes you home from a party is kind in her _carriage_, and you say "Nunc est _ridendum_" when you step into it; if it happen to be a chariot, she is a _charitable_ person; birds'-nests and king-killing are synonymous, because they are _high trees on_; a bill for building a bridge should be sanctioned by the Court of _Arches_ as well as the House of _Piers_; when a man is dull, he goes to the seaside to _Brighton_; a Cockney lover, when sentimental, should live in _Heigh Hoburn_; the greatest fibber is the man most to _re-lie_ upon; a dean expecting a bishopric looks _for lawn_; a _sui_-cide kills pigs, and not himself; a butcher is a gross man, but a fig-seller is a _grocer_; Joshua never had a father or mother, because he was the son of a _Nun_; your grandmother and great-grandmother were your _aunt's sisters_; a leg of mutton is better than heaven, because nothing is better than heaven, and a leg of mutton is better than nothing.

Races are matters of _course_; an ass never can be a horse, although he may be a _mayor_; the Venerable Bede was the mother of Pearl; a baker makes bread when he _kneads_ it; a doctor cannot be a doctor all at once, because he comes to it by _degrees_; a man hanged at Newgate has taken a _drop_ too much; the _bridle_ day is that on which a man leads a woman to the _halter_. Never mind the aspirate; in punning all's fair.

Puns interrogatory are at times serviceable. You meet a man carrying a hare: ask him if it is his own _hare_, or a wig?--there you stump him. Why is Parliament Street like a compendium? Because it goes to a _bridge_. Why is a man murdering his mother in a garret a worthy person? Because he is above committing a crime. Instances of this kind are innumerable; and if you want to render your question particularly pointed, you are, after asking it once or twice, to say "D'ye give it up?"--then favor your friends with the solution.

Puns scientific are effective whenever a scientific man or men are in company, because, in the first place, they invariably hate puns, especially those which are capable of being twisted into jokes which have no possible relation to the science of which the words to be joked upon are terms; and because, in the next place, dear, laughing girls, who are wise enough not to be sages, will love you for disturbing the self-satisfaction of the philosophers, and raising a laugh or titter at their expense.

Where there are three or four geologists of the party, if they talk of their scientific tours made to collect specimens, call the old ones "ninny-hammers," and the young ones "chips of the old block"; and then inform them that claret is the best specimen of _quartz_ in the world.

If you fall in with a botanist who is holding forth, talk of the quarrels of flowers as a sequel to the loves of the plants, and say they decide their differences with _pistols_.

In short, sacrifice everything to the pursuit of punning, and in the course of time you will acquire such a reputation for waggery that the whole company will burst into an immoderate fit of laughing if you only ask the servants for bread, or say "No" to the offer of a cutlet.

GREAT WRITERS OFTEN POOR TALKERS.

Among Those Who Were Singularly Deficient in the Art of Conversation Were
Corneille, Addison, Milton, Dante, and Goldsmith.

"He wrote like an angel and talked like poor poll," was the manner in which Oliver Goldsmith was described by one of his contemporaries, and all acounts agree that the author of "The Deserted Village" made a sorry figure as a conversationalist. But Goldsmith was far from being the only writer of undoubted genius whose conversation was devoid of charm. Indeed, there is a wealth of evidence to prove that the art of writing well and talking well are not akin.

Descartes, the famous mathematician and philosopher; La
Fontaine, celebrated for his witty fables; Buffon, the great
naturalist, were all singularly deficient in the powers of
conversation.

Marmontel, the novelist, was so dull in society that his
friend said of him, after an interview, that he must go and
read his tales to recompense himself for the weariness of
hearing him.

As to Corneille, the grandest dramatist in France, he was
completely lost in society--so absent and embarrassed that
he wrote of himself a witty couplet importing that he was
never intelligible but through the mouth of another.

Wit on paper seems to be something widely different from
that play of words in conversation, which, while it
sparkles, dies; for Charles II, the wittiest monarch that
sat on the English throne, was so charmed with the humor of
"Hudibras" that he caused himself to be introduced in the
character of a private gentleman to Butler, its author. The
witty king found the author a very dull companion, and was
of opinion, with many others, that so stupid a fellow could
never have written so clever a book.

Addison, whose classic elegance has long been considered a
model of style, was shy and absent in society, preserving,
even before a single stranger, stiff and dignified silence.

In conversation Dante was taciturn and satirical.

Rousseau was remarkably trite in conversation--not a word of
fancy or eloquence warmed him.

Milton was unsocial, and even irritable, when much pressed
by talk of others.

FAMOUS LOVE POEMS.

An Elizabethan Dramatist and One of the Cavaliers of
Charles I Gave to Our Language Two of
Its Most Charming Lyrics.

The English language is particularly rich in poetical expressions of the tender passion, but among these two have long been regarded as preeminent.

One, "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love," was written by Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593), the only great predecessor of Shakespeare in the British drama. This lyric, which is described by old Izaak Walton as "that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlowe," is one of the most beautiful of its kind that has come down to us from the Elizabethan period. It has frequently been imitated by minor poets, and a delightful reply to it was made by Sir Walter Raleigh.

The second famous love poem published herewith was from the pen of the gay, loyal, brave, but unfortunate Cavalier, Sir Richard Lovelace (1618-1658). The exquisite verses constituting his address "To Althea from Prison" were written while the young poet was confined as a prisoner, by order of the Puritan Parliament, in the Gatehouse of Westminster, for presenting to the Commons a petition from Kentish royalists in the king's favor. He was released on bail which amounted to two hundred thousand dollars. The young woman to whom the lines "To Althea" were written subsequently became the wife of another. Lovelace died in the most abject poverty.

* * * * *

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

* * * * *

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

BY RICHARD LOVELACE.

When Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fettered to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep.
When healths and draughts go free--
Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.

When like committed linnets I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my king;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free;
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

Speech on Duluth.

BY JAMES PROCTOR KNOTT.

James Proctor Knott was born in Kentucky on August 29, 1830.
He went to Missouri in 1850 and there began the practise of
law. In 1858 he was elected to the Missouri Legislature and
subsequently he became attorney-general. He returned to
Kentucky in 1862 and was elected to Congress from that State
in 1866. It was while in Congress that Mr. Knott attained
national fame as a humorist. As a satirist he had no equal
among his fellow members, and he was responsible for several
bills being "laughed out of the House."

Mr. Knott's most famous speech was delivered in the House of
Representatives, January 27, 1871, on the joint resolution
extending the time to construct a railroad from the St.
Croix River to the west end of Lake Superior. At that time
Duluth was a small and almost unknown village. Knott's
grandiloquent forecast of its future, intended as a satire,
has since been in great part verified by the city's
wonderful development. It now has a population of more than
fifty-five thousand persons, and as one of the principal
shipping points of the great Northwestern grain-fields it is
world-famous.

Of this speech, which has long been regarded as a model of
its kind, an abridged version is given below. The complete
text may be found in the third section of the appendix of
the _Congressional Globe_ for 1870-1871, beginning on page
68.

Mr. Speaker: As to those great trunk-lines of railway spanning the continent from ocean to ocean, I confess my mind has never been fully made up. But with regard to the transcendent merits of the gigantic enterprise contemplated in this bill--to construct a railroad from the St. Croix River, or lake, to the west end of Lake Superior and to Bayfield--I never entertained a shadow of a doubt.

Now, sir, who that is not as incredulous as St. Thomas himself will doubt for a moment that the Goshen of America is to be found in the sandy valleys and upon the pine-clad hills of the St. Croix?

Sir, I have been satisfied for years that if there was any portion of the inhabited globe absolutely in a suffering condition for a railroad, it was these teeming pine-barrens of the St. Croix.

At what particular point on that noble stream such a road should be commenced I knew was immaterial, and so it seems to have been considered by the draftsman of this bill. It might be up at the spring or down at the foot-log, or the water-gate, or the fish-dam, or anywhere along the bank, no matter where. But in what direction should it run, or where should it terminate, were always to my mind questions of the most painful perplexity, until I accidentally overheard some gentlemen the other day mention the name of "Duluth."

Duluth! The word fell on my ear with a peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a low fountain stealing forth in the midst of roses, or the soft, sweet accent of an angel's whisper in the bright, joyous dream of sleeping innocence.

Duluth! 'Twas the name for which my soul had panted for years, as the hart panteth for the water-brooks. But where was Duluth?

Never in all my limited reading had my vision been gladdened by seeing the celestial word in print. And I felt a profound humiliation in my ignorance that its dulcet syllables had never before ravished my delighted ear. I was certain the draftsman of this bill had never heard of it, or it would have been designated as one of the termini of this road.

I asked my friends about it, but they knew nothing of it. I rushed to the library and examined all the maps I could find. I discovered in one of them a delicate, hair-like line diverging from the Mississippi near a place called Prescott, which I supposed was intended to represent the river St. Croix; but I could nowhere find Duluth.

Nevertheless, I was confident that it existed somewhere, and that its discovery would constitute the crowning glory of the present century, if not of all modern times.

Thanks to the beneficence of that band of ministering angels who have their bright abodes in the far-off capital of Minnesota, just as the agony of my anxiety was about to culminate in the frenzy of despair, this blessed map was placed in my hands; and as I unfolded it a resplendent scene of ineffable glory opened before me, such as I imagine burst upon the enraptured vision of the wandering peri through the opening gates of paradise.

There, there for the first time my enchanted eye rested upon the ravishing word "Duluth."

If gentlemen will examine it, they will find Duluth not only in the center of this map, but represented in the center of concentric circles one hundred miles apart, and some of them as much as four thousand miles in diameter, embracing alike in their tremendous sweep the fragrant savannas of the sunlit South, and the eternal solitudes of snow that mantle the ice-bound North.

I find by reference to this map that Duluth is situated somewhere near the western end of Lake Superior; but as there is no dot or other mark indicating its exact location, I am unable to say whether it is actually confined to any particular spot, or whether "it is just lying around there loose."

But, however that may be, I am satisfied that Duluth is there or thereabout, for I see it stated here on this map that it is exactly thirty-nine hundred and ninety miles from Liverpool, though I have no doubt, for the sake of convenience, it will be moved back ten miles so as to make the distance an even four thousand.

Then, sir, there is the climate of Duluth, unquestionably the most salubrious and delightful to be found anywhere on the Lord's earth. Now, I have always been under the impression, as I presume other gentlemen have, that in the regions around Lake Superior it was cold enough, for at least nine months in the year, to freeze the smoke-stack off a locomotive.

But I see it represented on this map that Duluth is situated exactly half-way between the latitudes of Paris and Venice; so that gentlemen who have inhaled the exhilarating airs of the one or basked in the golden sunlight of the other may see at a glance that Duluth must be a place of untold delights, a terrestrial paradise, fanned by the balmy zephyrs of an eternal spring, clothed in the gorgeous sheen of ever-blooming flowers, and vocal with the silvery melody of Nature's choicest songsters.

As to the commercial resources of Duluth, sir, they are simply illimitable and inexhaustible, as shown by this map. I see it stated here that there is a vast scope of territory, embracing an area of over two million square miles, rich in every element of material wealth and commercial prosperity, all tributary to Duluth.

Look at this map; do not you see from the broad brown lines drawn around this immense territory, that the enterprising inhabitants of Duluth intend some day to enclose it all in one vast corral, so that its commerce would be bound to go there whether it would or not? And on this map, sir, I find within a convenient distance the Piegan Indians, which of all the many accessories to the glory of Duluth I consider the most inestimable.

For, sir, I see vast "wheat-fields" represented on this map in the immediate neighborhood of the buffaloes and the Piegans; and though the idea of there being these immense wheat-fields in the very heart of a wilderness, hundreds and hundreds of miles beyond the utmost verge of civilization, may appear to some gentlemen as rather incongruous, as rather too great a strain on the "blankets" of veracity, to my mind there is no difficulty in the matter whatever.

Here, you will observe, are the buffaloes, directly between the Piegans and Duluth, and here, on the right of Duluth, are the Creeks. Now, sir, when the buffaloes are sufficiently fat from grazing on these immense wheat-fields, you see it will be the easiest thing in the world for the Piegans to drive them on down, stay all night with their friends, the Creeks, and go into Duluth in the morning.

Sir, I might stand here for hours and hours and expatiate with rapture upon the gorgeous prospects of Duluth as depicted upon this map. But human life is far too short and the time of this House far too valuable to allow me to linger longer upon the delightful theme. Nevertheless, sir, it grieves my very soul to be compelled to say that I cannot vote for the grant of lands provided for in this bill.

Ah, sir, you can have no conception of the poignancy of my anguish that I am deprived of that blessed privilege! There are two insuperable obstacles in the way. In the first place, my constituents for whom I am acting here have no more interest in this road than they have in the great question of culinary taste now perhaps agitating the public mind of Dominica as to whether the illustrious commissioners who recently left this capital for that free and enlightened republic would be better fricasseed, boiled, or roasted; and in the second place, these lands which I am asked to give away, alas! are not mine to bestow.

My relation to them is simply that of trustee to an express trust. And shall I ever betray that trust?

Never, sir! Rather perish Duluth! Perish the paragon of cities! Rather let the freezing cyclones of the bleak Northwest bury it forever beneath the eddying sands of the raging St. Croix.

NATURE'S WILDERNESS COMPASSES.

Some Simple Facts Concerning Woodcraft Which Will Enable Wanderers in a
Forest to Get Their Bearings and Find Their Camps.

With the coming of vacation time, men's thoughts turn to woods and streams, and there is a general rush for "the tall timber."

That many will wander far afield and lose themselves in "trackless forests" is inevitable, but there is a sure way of finding oneself which is well worth remembering, for it is a serious matter to be actually lost in dense woods.

Find a mature tree that stands apart from its fellows. Even
if it is only slightly separate it will do. The bark on this
tree will be harder, drier, and lighter in color on the
south side. On the north it will be darker, and often at the
roots it will have a clump of mold or moss.

On the south side of all evergreen trees, gum which oozes
from wounds or knotholes will be hard and amber-colored; on
the north side this gum is softer, gets covered with dust,
and is of a dirty gray.

In fall or winter, trees which show a rough bark will have
nests of insects in the crevices on their south side.

Hardwood trees--the oak, the ash, elms, hickories, mesquits,
etc., have moss and mold on the north. Leaves are smaller,
tougher, lighter in color, and with darker veins on the
south; on the north they are longer, of darker green, and
with lighter veins. Spiders build on the south sides. In the
South, air plants attach themselves to the north sides.
Cedars bend their tips to the south.

Any sawed or cut stump will give you the compass points,
because the concentric rings are thicker on the south side.
The heart of the stump is thus nearer to the north side. All
these things are the effects of the sun.

Stones are bare on the south side, and if they have moss at
all, it will be on the north. At best, on the sunny side
only a thin covering of harsh, half-dry moss will be found.

On the south side of a hill the ground is more noisy
underfoot. On the north side ferns, mosses, and late flowers
grow.

If you are on a marsh, small bushes will give you the
lesson; then leaves and limbs show the same differences.
Almost all wild flowers turn their faces to the south. There
are many other signs that will aid the lost person, but you
will find these enough.

ALL KINDS OF THINGS.

Great Fortunes of To-day Compared With the Wealth of France
Under the Bourbons--The Dangers of Dust, and the
Eccentricities of Electricity--The World's Babel of
Languages--Amusing Anachronisms Perpetrated By Authors and
Artists--A Pin Scratch That Helped Nelson--With Other
Interesting Items Gathered From Various Sources.

FRENCH MILLIONAIRES OF OTHER CENTURIES.

GREATER EXTRAVAGANCE TO-DAY.

Prior to the Seventeenth Century No
Frenchman Had an Income That
Touched the Seven-Figure Mark.

Tales of the magnificent extravagances of France under the Bourbons have led a wondering later age to think that never since has gold been lavished upon luxury with so free a hand. But a French writer, the Vicomte Georges d'Avenel, has taken the trouble to make comparisons, and he has found that the incomes of to-day are relatively much larger than they were one, two, and three hundred years ago. The New York _World_ has summarized from the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ M. d'Avenel's discoveries:

For purposes of exact comparison M. d'Avenel estimates all
fortunes and incomes of bygone times in terms of their
equivalent value to-day, not as mere nominal sums. Up to the
end of the sixteenth century, he shows, no one had an income
of $1,000,000.

Louis IX in the exceptional year of the crusade of 1251
spent $775,000. After the Hundred Years' War, in 1450,
Charles VII's budget was $212,000. In 1516 Francis I, who
was noted for his taste for luxury, had only $259,000 for
his person and his court.

Napoleon III's civil list amounted to $5,000,000, but Louis
XIV had less than $4,000,000 for all expenses of an
extravagant court.

Richelieu and Mazarin derived tremendous incomes from their
privileges, Mazarin leaving by will nearly $40,000,000 to
the king, who refused it and let it pass to Mazarin's eight
nephews and nieces.

Except these three no person up to the time of the
Revolution enjoyed an income of $1,000,000, and the revenues
of Richelieu and Mazarin were subject in fact to charges
really connected with the state.

The conclusion of this investigator is that the very rich of to-day are six times as rich, or those of equal fortune are twelve times as many, as the richest men of the old regime; and they are ten times as rich, or twenty times as many, as the rich princes of the feudal period.

SERIOUS EXPLOSIONS ARE CAUSED BY DUST.

GRAVE DANGER LURKS IN SUGAR.

Particles of Cork Floating in the Atmosphere
of Linoleum Factories Must Be
Kept from Unprotected Lights.

Almost every kind of dust which is composed of inflammable material will explode when touched by a flame. For instance, the house-maid who uses the contents of the sugar bowl to light the fire knows that nothing burns more easily than powdered sugar. Proprietors of large sweetmeat factories have learned that there is danger from this source.

Some years ago an English inspector of mines conducted a
number of experiments on the explosive power of coal dust. A
disused shaft one hundred and fifty feet deep was chosen
for the purpose. Samples of dust from different collieries
were collected for the purpose. When two hundredweight of
dust was emptied down a shaft and a charge of gunpowder
fired, the result was startling.

Huge tongues of flame, sixty feet in height, shot up from
the mouth of the shaft, and enormous columns of smoke rose
high in the air, forming a great black pall over the scene
of the explosion.

Coal is the carbonized remains of tree mosses. Oddly enough,
these mosses were the big forefathers of the moss we know as
lycopodium, which in a powdered state is used to produce
flash signals. This will help to give an idea of the
intensely inflammable nature of coal dust.

In the manufacture of linoleum no unprotected lights are
allowed in the mixing department. This is on account of the
great danger of exploding the cork dust floating in the air.
An additional danger in linoleum making is that the mixture
of cement and cork dust has the unpleasant property of
spontaneously igniting if left in a warm place. It is,
therefore, customary to mix the material a sackful at a time
in order to reduce the risks of an explosion.

SOME ECCENTRICITIES OF LIGHTNING BOLTS.

TARGETS OF HEAVEN'S ARTILLERY.

Belief That the Electric Fluid Never
Strikes Twice in the Same Place Is
Shown to Be Wrong.

Among the duties assigned to the students of the Agricultural College at Guelph, Ontario, is that of gathering statistics concerning loss and damage from lightning in the province. The results thus obtained seem to show the value of lightning-rods, if properly adjusted, and the desirability of having trees standing near buildings. Summarizing the last annual report from the college, the _Free Press_, of London, Ontario, gives out the following novel facts:

As to the question does lightning strike twice in the same
place, the report says that there may be warrant for the
idea in the fact that where lightning ever strikes there is
very little left to be struck a second time; but where a
barn has once been struck and another barn has been erected
on the same site, that second barn is just as likely to be
struck as the first, and, in some instances, more likely.

The statistics compiled by the college show that in the five
years since 1901 ninety-four trees were struck by lightning,
as follows: Elm, 28; pine, 17; oak, 9; basswood, 7; maple,
7; ash, 4; poplar, 4; cedar, 3; apple, 3; hemlock, 2;
willow, 2; spruce, beech, chestnut, balsam, hickory,
butternut, and fir, 1 each.

The number of cattle killed in the same period was 114;
sheep, 64; horses, 46; pigs, 4. Total, 228.

Barns struck, 179; other buildings, 66.

LIVING LANGUAGES ARE STILL A BABEL.

MODERN CONFUSION OF TONGUES.

Linguists Attempt an Impossible Task if
They Try to Master the Hundreds of
Languages Still Spoken.

Language is, of course, a wonderful telegraph system between minds; but what a multiplicity of codes! The living languages to-day number eight hundred and sixty, to say nothing of five thousand dialects. This is a Babel indeed.

Europe has eighty-nine languages; Asia, one hundred and twenty-three; Africa, one hundred and fourteen; America, one hundred and seventeen; and the islands of the Pacific and Indian oceans have four hundred and seventeen.

Probably the most remarkable linguist the world has ever
known was Giuseppe Caspar Mezzofanti, who was born at
Bologna in 1774, created cardinal in 1838, and died at Rome
in 1849. The list of languages and dialects which he
acquired reached the astounding total of one hundred and
fourteen.

It would be interesting to know what system was pursued by
Cardinal Mezzofanti in the study of languages, but little
light is now obtainable on this subject.

The most famous linguists of antiquity were Mithridates,
King of Pontus, who is said to have been thoroughly
conversant with the languages of the twenty-five nations
over which his rule extended; and Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt,
of whom Plutarch says that "she spoke most languages," and
that "there were but few of the foreign ambassadors to whom
she gave audience through an interpreter."

THE FLIGHT OF TIME CAUSES MANY ERRORS.

PAINTERS AND WRITERS MIX DATES.

Artists Have Portrayed Abraham Threatening
Isaac with a Blunderbuss, and
Romans Smoking Pipes.

Whether it be due to ignorance or careless impatience, it is true that many of the greatest writers and painters have been guilty of the most surprising anachronisms. Thus Shakespeare introduces cannon into the play of "Hamlet," and in "Julius Caesar" reference is made to the striking of the clock, though striking clocks were not invented until fourteen hundred years after Caesar's death. Schiller, in his "Piccolomini," refers to lightning-conductors--at least one hundred and fifty years before they were invented. Instances might be added almost indefinitely.

The anachronisms of painters are more noticeable, as a rule, than those of writers. In "The Fancies of Fact" is the following compilation of blunders by artists:

Tintoretto, in a picture of the Children of Israel gathering
manna, has taken the precaution to arm them with the modern
invention of guns. Cigoli painted the aged Simeon at the
circumcision of the Infant Saviour; and, as aged men in
these days wear spectacles, the artist has shown his
sagacity by placing them on Simeon's nose.

In a picture by Verrio of Christ healing the sick, the
lookers-on are represented as standing with periwigs on
their heads. To match, or rather to exceed, this ludicrous
representation, Duerer has painted the expulsion of Adam and
Eve from the Garden of Eden by an angel in a dress
fashionably trimmed with flounces.

The same painter, in his scene of Peter denying Christ,
represents a Roman soldier very comfortably smoking a pipe
of tobacco.

A Dutch painter, in a picture of the Wise Men worshiping the
Holy Child, has drawn one of them in a large white surplice,
and in boots and spurs, and he is in the act of presenting
to the child a model of a Dutch man-of-war.

In a Dutch picture of Abraham offering up his son, instead
of the patriarch's "stretching forth his hand and taking the
knife," as the Scriptures inform us, he is represented as
using a more effectual and modern instrument; he is holding
to Isaac's head a blunderbuss.