Chapter VII: Part 7

Two visits to this country were made by the Prince de Joinville, third son of Louis Philippe, and brother-in-law of the late Dom Pedro, Emperor of Brazil. On the first he arrived in New York in 1842, where he met with a reception due the son of a king of France, who had also been the custodian of the remains of the great emperor when they were brought from St. Helena to Paris.

On the second visit, made in 1861, the Prince de Joinville was accompanied by his son, the Duc de Penthievre, and his nephews, the Comte de Paris and the Duc de Chartres. He placed his son in the naval service, and accepted for himself and nephews commissions on General McClellan's staff, as the Army of the Potomac was about to resume the march upon Richmond. After the removal of "Little Mac" the prince returned to France.

The Prince of Wales's Tour.

In September, 1860, the Prince of Wales, traveling as Baron Renfrew, with his tutor, the Duke of Newcastle, arrived at Detroit, after a tour through Canada. He received a most generous series of ovations in the United States, going as far west as Illinois, and while in Washington he was the special guest of President Buchanan.

Shortly after the departure of the Prince of Wales we had a visit from Prince Napoleon and his bride, the Princess Clothilde, daughter of Victor Emmanuel II, and aunt of the present King of Italy. This prince was a son of Jerome Bonaparte and his second wife, Catharine of Wuertemberg. The couple made many friends during their brief sojourn.

Queen Emma, widow of a former king of the Sandwich Islands, landed at San Francisco in 1866, and, after making a thorough inspection of our religious and educational systems, she went to England via New York.

On January 21, 1870, Prince Arthur, third son of Queen Victoria, who is now the Duke of Connaught, arrived in New York from Montreal, whither he had been ordered on military service. Three days later he was introduced to President Grant by the British minister, and was honored with a grand ball in the Masonic Temple in Washington.

Early on the morning of November 19, 1871, the Grand Duke Alexis, son of the Czar Alexander II of Russia, appeared in his flagship in the lower bay of New York Harbor. His reception was of a dual character: first as an officer of the Russian navy, and then as the son of an imperial father.

Kings and Princes From Many Lands.

Kalakaua, King of the Hawaiian Islands, stepped ashore at San Francisco, in November, 1874, visited our chief ports, examined our industrial resources and capabilities, and endeavored to hasten the negotiation of a commercial treaty between his government and that of the United States.

The Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro, visited the United States in 1876, during the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia.

Queen Liliuokalani came to plead her cause after she was deposed from the Hawaiian throne, during President Cleveland's second administration.

The Comte de Paris, accompanied by his son, the present Duc d'Orleans, again came to the United States in 1890 to visit the grave of General McClellan, on whose staff he had served during our Civil War.

In 1893 the Princess Eulalia, daughter of the late Queen Isabella of Spain, and aunt of the present king, came to the United States as the official representative of the queen regent at the time of the World's Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago.

The Crown Prince of Siam, Somdetch Chowfa Maha Vajiravudh, with his brother, who is next in succession to the throne, visited this country on his way home from his ten years' college life in England, in 1902. In that same year the Grand Duke Boris, of Russia, cousin of the Czar, and Prince Henry of Prussia, brother of the German Kaiser, also visited us.

His Highness the Maharajah Gaekwar of Baroda, Hindu prince of the first rank, came to the United States in May of this year. He was chosen ruler when a boy of twelve, and he began at once the careful study of the needs of his state and people. Under his rule the slovenly Hindu town of Baroda became a fine modern city with colleges for men and women, and a technical school.

THE AGE OF THE EARTH.

On this Subject Our Planet Is as Secretive as a Woman, and Inquisitive
Scientists Can Do Nothing More Than Guess at It.

The earth is almost as secretive on the subject of its age as is a woman who has passed the thirty mark. Several years ago Richard A. Proctor, the celebrated astronomer, addressed himself to an investigation of the subject, and then wrote as follows:

The age of the earth is placed by some at five hundred millions of years; by others, one hundred million years; and still others, of later time, among them the Duke of Argyll, place it at ten million years. None place it lower than ten millions, knowing what processes have been gone through.

Other planets go through the same process. The reason that other planets differ so much from the earth is that they are in so much earlier or later stages of existence. The earth must become old. Newton surmised that it would lose all its water and become perfectly dry. Since then other scientists have confirmed his opinion.

As the earth keeps cooling, it will become porous, and great cavities will be formed in the interior, which will take in the water. It is estimated that this process is now in progress, so far that the water diminishes at the rate of the thickness of a sheet of paper each year.

At this rate, in six million years the water will have sunk a mile, and in fifteen million the water will have disappeared from the face of the globe.

The nitrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere are also diminishing all the time. It is in an inappreciable degree, but the time will come when the air will be so thin that no creature we know could breathe it and live; the time will come when the world cannot support life. That will be the period of old age, and then will come death.

AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE LINKS.

Flowers of History, Philosophy, and Mendacity Culled by Caddies to the
Muse Whose Metrical Feet Have Wandered Into the Debatable Territory
That Lies Between Fiction and Fact.

THE FANTOM OF THE LINKS.

By Jessie Pope.

When morning crowns the distant downs
With veil of azure gossam;
When black bat wheels, and twilight steals
The blush from every blossom--
Hist! to a sudden mysterious click,
The caddie shudders and shrinks,
The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick--
'Tis the fantom of the links.

The first was he on the family tree
Of canny professional laddies,
In Pluto's halls he hungers for balls--
They say he's a weakness for caddies.
Hist! when you feel a thrill in the breeze,
A whisper that rises and sinks,
When there looms a shape by the misty trees--
'Tis the fantom of the links.

Then fly the green tho' fit and keen
To drive like soaring rocket,
You'll search till dark for balls you mark--
They're in his intangible pocket.
Back from the cliff and the shimmering bay,
The dune and the pebble-strewn brinks,
Mortal, you'll get the worst of the play
With the fantom of the links.

When through the gray the dawning day
Slants over gorse and heather,
When sun has set and grass is wet.
And mist-wreaths twine together--
List to a sudden mysterious click,
The caddie shudders and shrinks,
The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick--
'Tis the fantom of the links.

_London Queen._

THE LOST BALL.

Standing one day on the golf-links,
I was weary and ill at ease;
And I baffled and foozled idly
Over the whins and tees.
I know not what I was dreaming,
Or where I was rubbering then;
But I swiped that ball, of a sudden,
With the force of two score men.

It sped through the crimson twilight
Like a shot from a ten-inch gun;
And it passed from my fevered vision
To the realm of the vanished sun;
It chasseed over the bunker,
It caromed hazard and hill;
It went like a thing infernal--
I suppose it is going still.

It shied each perplexing stymie
With infinite nerve and ease;
And bored right on through the landscape
As if it were loath to cease.
I have sought--but I seek it vainly--
That ball of the strenuous pace,
That went from the sole of my niblick
And entered into space.

It may be some blooming caddie
Can sooner or later explain;
It may be that only in heaven
I shall find that ball again.

_Smart Set._

GOLF IN CACTUS CENTER.

We were propped against the 'dobe of that joint o' Poker Bill's,
When a tenderfoot was spotted, actin' queerlike in the hills;
He'd a ball of gutta-percha, and was puttin' in his licks,
Jest a-knockin' it to glory with a bunch o' crooked sticks.

Well, we went up there quite cur'us, and we watched him paste the ball,
'Til a itchin fer to try it seemed to get a holt of all.
And at last Packsaddle Stevens asked to give the thing a swat,
And we gathered round to see him show the stranger what was what.

Well, the golfer stuck the speroid on a little pile o' dirt,
And Packsaddle swiped and swatted, but he didn't do no hurt.
He barked his shins terrific, and he broke his little stick,
And when he heard a snicker his guns came out too quick.

We dropped behind the cactus, with some holes clipped in our clothes,
While the golfer for the sky-line wagged his checker-boarded hose;
And when we took home Stevens and three others that was hurt
The golf-ball still was settin' on its little pile o' dirt.

So we ain't no new St. Andrews, and we hope no golfer thinks
He can cut loose here in Cactus with a set of oatmeal links;
We go in fer games that's quiet, and stir up no blood and fuss,
And down in Cactus Center poker's good enough for us.

_From an Old Scrap Book._

WHEN MACLAREN FOOZLED OUT.

The links were bright and bonny wi' the tartan and the plaid
When the pride o' Skibo village met the best St. Andrews had;
The play was fast and furious, and sair the ball was thwacked,
And in the final test o' skill one point Maclaren lacked.

The caddies stood wi' bated breath, and every face was set,
For not a man was in the crowd but had his siller bet;
And one lad cried, as wi' his stick Maclaren loomed up tall:
"Hoot, mon! now show 'em hoo Old Skibo kills the ball!"

The gowlfer lookit at the sky, and then doon at the dirt,
And cannily he weighed his stock and loosed his plaided shirt;
He slowly planted both his feet, and then replanted each,
And dinna doot he swung his arms as high as he could reach.

Grim death at just that moment would have been Maclaren's wish,
For the atmosphere resounded to that mighty empty swish;
His stick flew like a rocket, but, alas! the wo decreed!
The ball rolled two feet sickly, when it just lay doon and deed.

Oh, somewhere in our bonny land the pipes skirl all the day,
And somewhere lads and lassies shout, and men are passing gay;
But we are dour in Skibo, and no joy is hereabout,
Since the day when, like one Casey, our Maclaren foozled out.

_Denver Republican._

THE LOST GRIP.

It was a joy to be alive,
When I could always see
My golf-ball, from a slashing drive,
Go soaring off the tee;
When, as my lowered handicap
Fell ever nearer scratch,
I held my own with any chap
In medal play and match.

Then foozles never made me groan;
Then, gripping like a vise,
I swung my club; then all unknown
Were top and pull and slice;
Then all my deft approaches sped
Directly to their goal;
Then all my longest putts lay dead,
Or fell into the hole.

Oh! cruel Fate that bade me look,
On one ill-omened day,
Upon the pictures in the book
Of Vardon's hints on play!
For, though I quickly laid it by,
That one unlucky dip
Into its pages made me try
The overlapping grip.

Now all my fingers are like thumbs,
My club turns round and round;
And divots, as it downward comes,
Fly upward from the ground.
My golf-ball skips to right or left
A few short yards and stops;
Or, with its surface deeply cleft,
Into a bunker drops.

And though I swear and fume and fret,
My efforts are in vain;
And, what is worse, I cannot get
The old style back again.
So now with sighs and tears and frowns
I curse the diagrams
That cost me numberless half-crowns,
And ah! so many--regrettable comments.

_Punch._

THE WORLD'S GREAT OPERAS.

Wagner's Rienzi--No. 1.

This is the first of a series of articles upon the great operas of the world offered to the readers of THE SCRAP BOOK. To the out-of-town devotees the echoes from stageland sound only remotely as they are given forth by the press. Moreover, the critics deal with the specific production, not with the opera itself in relation to the history of music, or the conceptions of the composers. It is our purpose in these articles to look at the opera from a different point of view, and to glimpse the minds of the great men who have developed the art of the music drama. Even those familiar with the subject may find new light here.

Rienzi.

The fourth opera written by Wagner. The first three, "The Wedding," "The Fairies," and "The Novice of Palermo" are scarcely known to-day. The music of "The Wedding" was never completed; "The Fairies," although finished in 1833, was first produced in 1888, five years after Wagner's death, when the theater at Munich obtained sole rights for its production. During the tour season it is still frequently placed on the boards of that theater, with all the scenic appurtenances of an operetta. Neither Wagner himself nor the admirers of his later work could claim for it any strong originality or power.

"The Novice of Palermo" had only one performance. That was conducted under Wagner's own direction, in 1836, in Magdeburg. The best comment upon this occasion was made by the succeeding performance, when the audience consisted of three persons--Wagner's housekeeper, her husband, and one Polish Jew!

After this discouraging event, Wagner abandoned Germany for Paris, and there wrote his five-act opera, "Rienzi," which was shortly afterward accepted by the Dresden Theater. Its success was immediate and brilliant, and this notwithstanding the fact that its performance lasted six hours.

The opera is still occasionally produced in Germany, but it is practically unknown to the lyric stage in the English-speaking countries.

Wagner.

Born in Leipsic, in 1813. He was a child of tastes and enthusiasms, but of no apparent genius. He loved philology, history, and mythology; but, most of all, he loved the drama. His early associations were musical, and at the age of sixteen he resolved to become a musician.

During his period of apprenticeship he wrote a few concert pieces, but his love of drama led almost at once to his real vocation--the opera. In 1836 he married an actress, Minna Planer, who, despite beauty and a talent for her art, and despite a faithful nature, failed to comprehend Wagner's genius, or to make him happy.

For twenty-five years they struggled to appreciate each other, then separated. Wagner subsequently married Cosima, daughter of Liszt, and divorced wife of Von Buelow. The union was one of ideal happiness.

Argument.

The scene is laid in Rome of the fourteenth century, when the patriot, _Rienzi_, is leading his insurrection against the nobles. The first act represents a street riot, occasioned by the patricians, under _Orsini_, who have scaled _Rienzi's_ house by a ladder and are seeking to abduct his sister, _Irene_.

While _Irene_ struggles for freedom, a rival faction of patricians arrives, led by _Colonna_, whose son, _Adriano_, is in love with _Irene_. _Adriano_ fights his way to her side and protects her. Then, in the midst of the disturbance, _Rienzi_ appears and the crowd scatters.

A prelate, _Cardinal Raimondo_, asks _Rienzi_ how soon he is going to begin his warfare upon the nobles, and _Rienzi_ replies that when he hears a long trumpet-note sound across the city the hour will have come. He turns to _Adriano Colonna_, and fervently beseeches him to forsake his party and to join the popular cause of Roman freedom. Remembering _Irene_, _Adriano_ pledges his loyalty to _Rienzi_.

He is then left alone with the beautiful girl, and they sink into the tender ecstasies of love, till they are roused by the ominous sound of the trumpet-call which heralds the uprising. The day dawns, and within the church the organ and chorus simultaneously break out to greet it.

Borne in by the populace, _Rienzi_ arrives. The people seek to crown him king of Rome, but the only title he will accept is that of tribune. A great composite voice rises from the piazza, swearing vengeance on the nobles.

_Rienzi's_ cause triumphs, and in the hall of the capitol the patricians are forced to do homage to the victor. Goaded by wounded pride, _Orsini_ forms a conspiracy to stab _Rienzi_ during the festivities which are in preparation.

_Adriano_ hears the plot, and warns _Rienzi_, who consequently wears, when he appears at the festa, a steel breastplate.

This scene commences in an abandon of joyousness. The crowd cheers a pantomime, and knights fight in tourney.

Suddenly _Orsini_ presses his way to _Rienzi's_ side, and draws his knife. But _Rienzi_ is saved by his breastplate. He sentences all the nobles to death, and the festa ends in tragedy. But _Adriano_ pleads for his father's life, and finally _Rienzi_ pardons all the conspirators on their oath of submission.

The third act is ushered in by alarm-bells. The nobles are again in insurrection; the people clamor for _Rienzi_, who appears, swearing to exterminate the faithless patricians. He goes out to victory, and presently the body of _Colonna_ is borne past his son, _Adriano_, who forthwith deserts _Rienzi's_ cause.

_Adriano_ finds his opportunity for revenge in confirming a story which gains credence with the fickle Roman populace; he declares that _Rienzi_ is a traitor to his country, and meant himself to become a noble through the marriage of his sister with _Adriano_.

_Rienzi_ appears in a procession, marching toward church. As he places his foot on the steps, a malediction sounds from within the sanctuary. _Cardinal Raimondo_ steps to the door and pronounces upon him the ban of excommunication. The nobles have won victory for their cause by an alliance with the Church.

In the hall of the capitol, _Rienzi_ prays that his work for freedom may not be undone. _Irene_ and _Adriano_ enter, and _Rienzi_ begs them to flee together from danger. But _Irene_ refuses to desert her brother's cause. The noise outside the besieged capitol increases.

The scene shifts to the open square, where the populace, deaf to _Rienzi_, who from a balcony seeks to address them, sets fire to the capitol. _Adriano_, darting in and out among the mob, sees _Irene_ arm in arm with her brother, within a huge flower of flame which curls about them.

Through the fire he rushes toward her; at that moment the capitol collapses, and he is caught with _Rienzi_ and _Irene_ in its ruins. The nobles turn upon the people, and with drawn swords cut them down like blades of grass.

WHERE ROOSEVELT USED THE PHRASE "THE STRENUOUS LIFE."

In speaking to you, men of the greatest city of the West, men of the State which gave to the country Lincoln and Grant, men who preeminently and distinctly embody all that is most American in the American character, I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of =the strenuous life=--the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to preach that highest form of success which comes, not to the man who desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger, from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid ultimate triumph.

Theodore Roosevelt in a speech delivered before the Hamilton Club of Chicago, April 10, 1899.

SYMBOLISM OF PLAYING-CARDS.

Soldier Arrested for Shuffling the Pasteboards in Church During Divine
Service Won His Liberty by Convincing Magistrate That They May Be
Utilized as Pages of a Prayer-Book.

If the devil invented playing-cards, as more than once has been asserted, he was a very cosmopolitan devil; for cards have been used in every country whose people were intelligent enough to play with them. There is evidence that the Egyptians played cards in the days of Joseph. Later, the Hebrews brought cards into Palestine when they returned from the Babylonian exile. The Chinese played cards at a period when western Europe was a wilderness inhabited by wild beasts and prowling barbarians. In India the pack contained ten suits, each being symbolic of an incarnation of Vishnu.

Europe got its cards, apparently, from the Orient, in the days of the Crusades--for your Crusader was a great gambler. In the European history of the pack we find that the cards have frequently been used as symbols, political or social. But no more remarkable card symbolism has ever been evolved than that which is described in the following brief narrative:

A private soldier by the name of Richard Doe was taken
before a magistrate charged with playing cards during divine
service.

It appears that a sergeant commanded the soldiers at the
church, and when the parson had read the prayers, he took
the text.

Those who had Bibles took them out, but this soldier had
neither Bible nor Book of Common Prayer. Pulling out a pack
of cards, he spread them before him.

The sergeant of the company saw him, and said:

"Richard, put up the cards; this is no place for them."

"Never mind that," said Richard.

When the service was over, a constable took Richard before a
magistrate.

"Well," asked the magistrate, "what have you brought the
soldier here for?"

"For playing cards in church."

"Prisoner, what have you to say?"

"I have been," said the soldier, "about six weeks on the
march. I have neither Bible nor Book of Common Prayer. I
have nothing but a pack of cards, and I'll satisfy your
worship of the purity of my intentions."

And, spreading the cards before the magistrate, he began
with the ace:

"When I see the ace, it reminds me there is but one God.
When I see the deuce, it reminds me of Father and Son. When
I see the tray, it reminds me of the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost. When I see the four-spot, it reminds me of the four
evangelists--Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

"When I meet the five, it reminds me of the five wise
virgins that trimmed their lamps--there were ten, but only
five were wise, while five were foolish and were shut out.

"When I see the six, it reminds me that in six days the Lord
made heaven and earth. When I see the seven, it reminds me
that on the seventh day He rested from the great work He had
created, and hallowed it.

"When I see the eight, it reminds me of the eight righteous
persons that were saved when God destroyed the
world--namely, Noah and his wife, with his three sons and
their wives. When I see the nine, it reminds me of the nine
lepers that were cleansed by our Saviour; there were nine
out of ten who never returned thanks.

"When I see the ten, it reminds me of the Ten Commandments
which God handed down to Moses on tables of stone. When I
see the king, it reminds me of the King of Heaven, which is
God Almighty.

"When I see the queen, it reminds me of the Queen of Sheba,
who visited Solomon, for she was as wise a woman as he was a
man. She brought with her fifty boys and fifty girls, all
dressed in boys' apparel, for King Solomon to tell which
were boys and which were girls. King Solomon sent for water
for them to wash; the girls washed to the elbows and the
boys to the wrists, so King Solomon told by that."

"Well," said the magistrate, "you have given a good
description of all the cards but one."

"What is that?"

"The knave," said the magistrate.

"I will give your honor a description of that, too, if you
will not be angry."

"I will not," said the magistrate, "if you do not term me to
be the knave."

"Well," said the soldier, "the greatest knave that I know of
is the constable that brought me here."

"I do not know," said the magistrate, "if he is the greatest
knave, but I begin to think that he must have been a fool to
arrest so devout a man."

"When I count the number of cards in a pack," continued the
soldier, "I find there are fifty-two, the number of weeks in
a year; and I find four suits, the number of weeks in a
month. I find there are twelve picture cards in a pack,
representing the number of months in a year; and on counting
the tricks, I find thirteen, the number of weeks in a
quarter. So, you see, a pack of cards serves for a Bible,
almanac, and prayer-book."

THE BATTLE OF THE "YATCHES."

The Rhythmical Lamentation of a British Tar On the Occasion of the Famous
Victory of the Yankee Yacht America in English Waters.

In no branch of sport is there a trophy more valuable or highly cherished than that which is so dear to the hearts of American yachtsmen--the America's Cup. While the original cost of this celebrated piece of silverware was only about five hundred dollars, the expenses of fitting out challengers and defenders and maintaining them while in commission have aggregated many millions of dollars.

The cup was originally offered by the Royal Yacht Club and was won on August 22, 1851, by the American schooner-yacht America, which had as competitors no less than fourteen British yachts. The Yankee boat won by eighteen minutes, and her victory inspired a general feeling of chagrin among the owners and crews of the British boats who had regarded their nation as invincible in the yachting world. The following verses, published shortly after the America's victory, are said to have been written by a sailor on a British ship of war from which a view of the race had been obtained:

Oh, weep, ye British sailors true,
Above or under hatches,
Here's Yankee Doodle's been and come,
And beat our crackest yatches!
They started all to run a race,
And wor well timed with watches;
But oh! they never had no chance,
Had any of our yatches.

The Yankee she delayed at first,
Says they, "She'll never catch us,"
And flung up their tarpaulin hats--
The owners of the yatches!
But presently she walked along;
"Oh, dear," says they, "she'll match us!"
And stuck on their tarpaulin hats,
The builder of our yatches.

Then deep we plows along the sea,
The Yankee scarcely scratches;
And cracks on every stitch of sail
Upon our staggering yatches.
But one by one she passes us,
While bitterly we watches,
And utters imprecations on
The builder of our yatches.

And now she's quite hull down a-head,
Her sails like little patches,
For sand-barges and colliers we
May sell our boasted yatches.
We faintly hear the club-house gun--
The silver cup she snatches--
And all the English clubs are done,
The English clubs of yatches!

They say she didn't go by wind,
But wheels, and springs, and satches;
And that's the way she weathered on
Our quickest-going yatches.
But them's all lies, I'm bound to say--
Although they're told by batches--
'Twas bulk of hull, and cut of sail,
That did for all our yatches.

But novelty, I hear them say,
Fresh novelty still hatches!
The Yankee yatch the keels will lay
Of many new club yatches.
And then we'll challenge Yankee land,
From Boston Bay to Natchez,
To run their crackest craft agin
Our spick-and-span new yatches.

Wit and Cruelty as Allies.

The Temptation to be Clever at Another's Expense is so Irresistible That
Whenever We Find a Modern Bon Mot We See a Victim
Picking Up Pieces of His Shattered Egotism.

It is almost a proverb that a witty person is also a cruel one. True wit does not need to be caustic; but it is so much easier to be clever at some one's expense than in any other way, that the person with a reputation to sustain for saying witty things will fall into the habit of sarcasm very readily if his heart is not particularly kind.

The Parson's Suggestion.

It is related of a famous English clergyman that when presiding at a meeting where the necessity of wood-paving a street in his parish was under discussion he became greatly disgusted at the want of intelligence displayed by many of those present. Finally, unable to control the annoyance which a more than usually frivolous objection occasioned him, he said:

"Gentlemen, do not let us discuss the matter further. You have only to put your heads together and the thing is done at once."

Lamb's Unkind Thrust.

Charles Lamb, than whom no gentler or kinder-hearted wit ever breathed, at times found it impossible to restrain himself from the personal; as, for instance, when he covered a friend with shame at a whist-party by blurting out:

"Gad, James, if--if dirt were t-t-trumps, what a hand you would have!"

A Weighty Politician.

A personal _bon mot_, perpetrated at the expense of the late Sir William Harcourt, is harmless enough:

"You must admit that he is a most weighty politician," insisted one of his admirers.

"A weighty politician!" said an irreverent one. "I should think so! When he moves to the east the west tips up."

Religiously Personal.

"Sir," said a little blustering man to a religious opponent--"I say, sir, do you know to what sect I belong?"

"Well, I don't exactly know," was the answer, "but to judge from your make, shape, and size, I should say you belong to a class called the in-sect."

A Beggar's Benison.

An Irish beggarwoman, following a gentleman who had had the misfortune to lose his nose, kept exclaiming:

"Heaven preserve your honor's eyesight!"

The gentleman was at last annoyed at her importunity, and said:

"Why do you wish my eyesight to be preserved? Nothing ails my eyesight, nor is likely to."

"No, your honor," said the Irishwoman, "but it will be a sad thing if it does, for you will have nothing to rest your spectacles upon."

Hard Hit by Napoleon.

When Napoleon was only an officer of artillery a Prussian officer said in his presence, with much pride:

"My countrymen fight only for glory, but Frenchmen for money."

"You are right," replied Napoleon; "each of them fights for what he is most in want of."

A Triumph for Billingsgate.

The Rev. Matthew Wilkes, a celebrated London preacher, was caught in a shower in the famous Billingsgate Market, where the profanity of the women who sell fish there is proverbial. As he stopped under a shed among them, he felt called upon to at least give his testimony against their wickedness.

"Don't you think," said he, speaking with the greatest deliberation and solemnity, "I shall appear as a swift witness against you in the day of judgment?"

"I presume so," said one, "for the biggest rogue always turns state's evidence."

David vs. Goliath.

Lord Roberts once found himself among new friends in a London club. There was a very tall man present, who, evidently believing himself to shine as a wit, seized every opportunity of raising a laugh at other people's expense.

On being introduced to Lord Roberts, the wit bent down patronizingly to his lordship and remarked:

"I have often heard of you, but"--shading his eyes with one hand as though the famous general, being so small, could be seen only with difficulty--"I have never seen you."

To this Lord Roberts promptly replied:

"I have often seen you, sir, but I have never heard of you."

An American Woman's Retort.

Lord Sackville was never much of a lover of America, and what love he ever had was considerably affected by his dismissal in disgrace as British ambassador in President Cleveland's administration.

Some time after his return he was a guest of honor at a dinner which was also attended by Lady Randolph Churchill, now Mrs. Cornwallis West, who is an American. His lordship did not air his personal grievances, but he lost no opportunity of decrying everything American. He was especially severe upon American table manners.

"Do you know," he remarked, "that I have seen Americans eating with their knives and spilling their soup on the table-cloth?"

Lady Randolph's eyes had flashed several times during the dinner, but this was a little too much. She leaned quietly toward the distinguished diplomat and remarked, in her cool, sarcastic voice:

"What poor letters of recommendation you must have had, my lord!"

Silencing the Surgeon.

At a certain dinner-table with General Miles, one night, was a distinguished Washington surgeon, who listened with a certain air of superiority to some of the soldier's reminiscences of various experiences during the Civil War.

"And how do you feel, general," he finally asked, with just a touch of sarcasm, "after you've professionally killed a man?"

"Oh," replied General Miles, "I dare say I don't mind doing that any more than you do."

Thomas Lawson's Sharp Tongue.

A Marblehead fisherman reports hearing, while out one day in the bay, this bit of repartee between Thomas Lawson and a young woman, evidently no respecter of persons.

As Mr. Lawson, in a naphtha launch, passed the rowboat containing the girl, she called out:

"Hullo, Tom, how's copper?"

Instantly came the retort: "First-rate. How's brass?"

The Deacon Smelled Sulfur.

Old Deacon Morse was as good at repartee as any man living. One time he was taking a vessel down New York Harbor. Another vessel collided with his, and the two drifted on together.

"Cut loose! Cut loose!" called the other captain.

Morse couldn't, but demanded that the other do so. This the stranger wouldn't do, but he warned Morse that if he didn't they would soon reach Hell Gate.

"Well," replied Morse, "you won't stop at the gate if you don't cut loose from us in about two minutes!"

Laying Up Treasure for Heaven.

Francis Baylies, an historian of note, on returning from a church meeting one Thanksgiving Day, met Nicholas Tillinghast, one of the most humorous and also one of the most eloquent of the members of the Bristol County bar, in the sitting-room of an hotel.

In the course of the conversation which ensued Mr. Baylies said to Mr. Tillinghast:

"I have deposited a ten-cent piece in the contribution-box, to be placed on interest until I reach heaven."

Mr. Tillinghast replied:

"Ah, yes! That will amount to a very large sum before you will be admitted there."

Tact of Disraeli.

When it was more expedient to evade a question than to give a definite answer, Disraeli could do so with consummate tact. A story illustrative of this is told in the "Memoirs of Mary Duchess of Teck."

The great statesman was very fond of the princess, and admired her grasp of political problems; but he never allowed himself to be charmed into telling cabinet secrets.

One evening at dinner, during a crisis in foreign affairs, Princess Mary, who was puzzled at the inaction of the government, turned to him and said:

"What are we waiting for, Mr. Disraeli?"

The prime minister paused for a moment to take up the menu, and, looking at the princess, gravely replied:

"Mutton and potatoes, madam."

A HOROSCOPE OF THE MONTHS.

BY MARION Y. BUNNER.

What the Astrological Traditions Have to Say of the Characteristics and
the Destiny of Those Born Under the Sign "Leo."

_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.

LEO: THE LION.

JULY 24 to AUGUST 23.

CUSP: RUNS JULY 22 to JULY 28.

The constellation Leo--the fifth sign of the zodiac, and the middle point of the magnet of the Fire Triplicity--is a masculine, fiery, changeable, northern sign, governing the heart and blood of life. The higher attributes are belief and self-control.

Persons born under this sign are kind-hearted, sympathetic, and jovial. The willpower is firm, and is combined with enterprise and perseverance. Their bearing is perfectly natural and without self-consciousness. They are animated and convincing talkers, and excel in repartee. They always make a point, and never fail to see one.

Leo gives to those born under its influence a lofty mind, a spirit of fair play, an unbending dignity, and a generous heart. While they have a great respect for law and authority, their imperious and independent nature causes them to feel resentment when commanded.

The special aptitudes of the subject will be of a martial character. They make many friends to whom they are devotedly attached, and who frequently impose upon them. Their actions are guided by their impulses and emotions.

Leo people are steadfast, virile, proud, and liberal, with great brilliancy that may render them egotistical and presumptuous. The temper is kindly though firm, courageous, and magnanimous.

Those born under this sign are likely to have strong, wiry bodies, round heads, light complexions, keen perceptive faculties, deep, mellow voices, and friendly expressions of the eyes. They walk with a quick, buoyant step.

Their physical temperament will be nervous-sanguine, with remarkably fine health and a long life.

They will find their most congenial friends, first, among Sagittarius people; next, among those born under Libra and Aries.

The faults of these persons are trickery in business affairs, prevarication, and laziness. They are chronic borrowers. They are hot-headed, impetuous, fiery, and passionate. Leo is the only sign governed by the sun, and to this solar influence is ascribed the passion and impetuosity of its subjects.

A union with a person born in Sagittarius or in Aries is likely to be most happy and to produce the strongest offspring. Leo children are quick to observe any duplicity or inconsistency on the part of those around them, and will meet it with corresponding hypocrisy and a deep cunning.

The gems are the ruby, diamond, and sardonyx. The astral colors are red and green. The flower is the morning-glory, the one which responds most readily to the influence of the sun. The lucky months for a Leo subject are January and October. Sunday is traditionally the most fortunate day of the week.

The ancient Hebrew tribe over which Leo has rule is that of Joseph. The ruling angel of the sign is Verchiel.

August, originally Sextilis, the sixth month in the pre-Julian Roman year, received its present name from the Emperor Augustus, in the year 8 B.C. August was selected, not as being his natal month, but because in it his greatest good fortune had come to him, and it is a rather curious example of the irony of fate that he should have died August 29, 14 A.D.

As July contained thirty-one days, and August only thirty, another day was added, in order that Augustus might not be in any respect inferior to Julius Caesar, his predecessor, in whose honor the month of July was named.

Napoleon Bonaparte, Sir Walter Scott, General Ballington Booth, and Mrs. Grover Cleveland were born under Leo, and are good examples of the soldierly, commanding characteristics, and the ability to make friends, of the sign.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Scrap Book, Volume 1, No. 6, by Various