The Corvallis gazette. (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, November 13, 1885, Page 3, Image 3

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A ww, brown maid on the doorstep gat,
Her small face hid 'neath a wide-brimmed
A broken clock on her baby knee
She wound with an ancient, rusty key.
"What are you doing, my pretty one?
Playing with Time?" I asked in fun.
Large and wise were the soft, dark eyes, "
Lifted to mine in grave surprise.
"I'se winding him up to make him go,
For he's so drefful pokey and slow.
Winding up Time? Ah, baby mine,
How crawl these lengthened moments of
How sadly slow goes the staid old man!
But he has not changed since the world be
gan. He does not change; but in after years,
When he mingles our cup of joy with tears;
And duties are many and pleasures fleet,
And the way grows rough 'neath our tired
When the day is too short for its crowd of
And night surprises us unawares,
We do not wish to hurry his feet,
But find his going all too fleet.
Ah, baby mine, some future day,
You will throw that rusted key away
And to Phoebus car will madly cling,
As it whirs along like a winged thing.
And wonder how, years and years ago,
You could ever have thought that Time was
Chicago Current.
It was certainly an odd adventure
and one in which I exhibited a degree
of audacity that I can scarcely credit
it now; but it brought me such good
fortune that I have never regretted it,,
especially with such a reputation for
dignity as I now enjoy. It is not a
very long story; yet I think it will in
terest you. My wife says I have told
it too many times; but I believe it
will bear one more repitition. It was
in the year 1850. I was in the em
ploy of a large mercantile house in the
city of Boston. I had begun with
them six years before, fresh from a
country town, and had gradually been
promoted until I was confidential clerk,
and had charge ot the corps of book
keepers which the business demanded.
I was of a reserved disposition, of
studious habits, and was fast becom
ing a confirmed bachelor, when the
events I shall narrate occured, chang
ing the tenor of my life.
It was in the month of December; I
remember the evening as distinctly as
though it were just passed. The snow
was several inches deep, and the sky
was filled with the small, white mes
sengers. The gas light glimmered
feebly; the shop windows were obscur
ed; travel in the street had nearly
ceased; while the few who were out
hurried as fast as possible to their re
spective destinations. Important bus
iness demanded my attention in JSew
York, and I was to leave on the mid
night train for that city. I had taken
my supper, or more properly speak
ing, a light lunch near the store, where
I was employed, until teno'clock, with
the accounts and papers which were
necessary in the transaction of the
business whirh called me away.
I looked at my wateh, and formd I
had but scant time to go home and get
my valise, which I had unfortunately
(as I blindly thought) forgotten to
bring with me. As I left the warm store
and stepped out into the wintry air,
and breasted the storm, the sensa
tion, instead of being unpleasant, was
rather exhilerating. I found in a few
minutes, Irowever, that the storm was
more severe than I had imagined, and
my progress was very difficult. It
took much longer to get "to D street
than I -anticipated, so I was .in .a great
hurry. .
I lived in a long Mock of 'houses, all
just alike, ;and knew nothing of those
who lived aipon either side; ifor I was
away early in the morning, was gone
all day, and a'ter returning at night I
devoted say self to my pipe and books,
very rarely going out again.
The storm seemed have-redoubled
its fury as I went isp the steps, and
opened the door. I was Wown into
the hall, and the door swung violently
behind me. All wasdark, but I knew
just where nqy valise was allifeady, so
I crept op-stairs, cautiously.ifsund my
room ioor open, aaard right in the
corner, as lexpected, ray valise.
Without .an instant' delay , I rushed
down-stairs and was soon out .in the
blinding sleet. I was nearly exhausted
when I got the station, and to add
to my trials, I was just in time to see
the train slowly moving off. After I
had run I gotton the last car, rcov
ed my breath.-as soon as I could, put
my valise into a rack, gave the con
ductor my ticket, and settled anyself
for a nap.
When I awdks it was maorhins' and
;I found to amy .-dismay, that we were
jGnow-bound, and had made but little
progress on ourway. There was noth
ing to do, however, but to make the
most of it. I Bead a little wMIe, smok-
U awhile, walked impatiently through
the cars, and e.vea lent tisema ihand
at clearing the tisck; after .other, de
vises to kill tame, I thought 1 would
look over my feusiness matters. As I
took down my valise it felt so Uaghtiit
attracted my attention at onee, so
that 3 involuntarily looked it aM over
attentively. It eertainly appeared
right. There was my initials, C. & R
in the proper plaee. tSomething intui
tively -told me I had made a mistake,
and brfere opening it I tried to thank
ho w it ifaad happened. Although I had
taken it in the dark, I recalled the
stairway, the room at tflie end of the
nipper hall, the position of things a
tthey appeared in what little light there
was, and the valise in the corner
whence I took it. There could be no
mistake, and yet the valise seemed on
3y about half as heavy as it ought. It
may appear strange that I had not
noticed it before, but in my hurry to
the station, I doubt I should have
noticed had it been empty.
To olve the mystery I opened it,
and the contents certainly were not
mine. Jterhaps some of the fellows in
the house bad played a trick on me.
I found soiuje toilet articles, some ap
ples, a book, and at the bottom, a
roll which appeared to be a lecture in
manuscript upon "Grecian Art," with
t'ie name Chester Sylvanus Richard
s mat the end. Who the dickens he
was, was a mystery, and how I came by
his valise was still a greater problem.
After more study over it, it flashed
upon me that I must have gone into
one of the other houses in the block.
This eased my mind a little, though I
still' felt anxious about my 'papers.
There was nothing I could do but ex
ercise patience, so I began reading the
lecture. Although somewhat beyond
my acquirements, I found it interest
ing and instructive.
Toward 4 o'clock in the afternoon
we arrived in the manufacturing town
of S , whose inhabitants were of the
wide awake, knowledge seeking class,
so often found in New England vil
lages. As it was impossible to trans
act my business in full without, my pa
pers, and I was weary with the slow
progress we had made, I formed a sud
den resolution to stop over night in
S , telegraph for my valise, and go to
New York some time the next day,
when it airived.
The snow about the town was fairly
beaten down, considering the fierceness
of the storm and the short time since
it had abated.
After getting out of thecars I didnot
hurry, but leisurely passed along the
platform in the rear of the other pas
sengers. As I was about stepping off theplat
form to the sidewalk, to my surprise,
two gentlemen of nice appearance,
seemed about to accost me; I, of course,
supposed myself mistaken and passed
In a moment they were by my side,
and one of them said, very politely:
"Excuse me, professor; I thought it
was you, but did not feel sure until I
saw your initials on your valise. Iam
sorry you have made such a rough
journey, bat I can assure you a good
audience, despite the storm."
I was so dumbfounded that I could
not resist his efforts as he and his
friend escorted me to the carriage,
placed me in it , and then entered them
selves. Before I had a chance to
spenk, the elder gentleman said:
"I trust, nrofessor, you will at once
fee! at home with us. You have many
warm friends in town, though person
ally you are a stranger to us."
"Yes," broke in the other man. "I
am Mr. Ackerman, chairman of the
lecture committee, and my friend here
is Judge Lincoln, who would assist
you should you make your headquar
ters at his house."
I saw where the mistake was; but
how to get out of the matter caused
me to fall into a reverie, during which
my companions politely ceased to talk
with me. A few minutes' thought, and
I determined to perform the part so
unexpectedly thrust upon me, and give
the lecture as best I could. Thanking
the gentlemen, and fearing the conver
sation might drift into channels where
I could not creditably sustain it, I
begged permission to remain quiet, as
my journey had been very fatiguing.
We speedily arrived at a handsome
residence, which I gladly entered. I i
was ushered into a warm, pleasant
sitting room, and when left alone my
conscience began to smite me. I had
not long to reproach myself when I
heard a. lady's voice, and the judge's
wne enterea ana cormany hade me
welcome. In conversing with her I
discovered tnat 1 was a very learned
and eloquent professor, and that the
public was very eager to hear me. I
trembled at my audacity; but I could
only carry out the character I had as
sumed. The lady informed me that
her son, who was very intimate with
me, (then I shuddered) was away (then
I breathed easier,) but 1 should meet
her daughter, Lily . The lady left, and
after a brief interval, which seemed
hours to me, I heard voices in the hall.
There was evidently an intention to
speak in a low tone; but nevertheless,
I distinctly heard all that was said,
as the door was slightly ajar.
"What is this wonderful prodigy of
learning like mamma? Is he a solemn
faced man, with sleek hair and spec
tacles, and erudition written on every
feature? 'Have I drawn a correct pic
ture, mamma?"
"Oh, no indeed!" was the answer.
"He is -much unlike what Charlie's
letters led me to suspect. He is really
a fine looking man, very gentlemanly,
and very pleasing to converse with;
but I must say I should never have
supposed he was such a learned man
as he undoubtedly is."
I began to feel doubly guilty, and
had not recovered my composure when
Miss Lilyfentered the room. She was
such a vision of loveliness that my
discomfiture was increased. I know I
must have seemed really stupid, but
my suppo?d wisdom doubtless encour
aged her to overlook it, and the grace
ot her weloome completed the fascina
tion her first appearance had created.
We were -soon talking so eagerly that
I forgot nqr embarrassment. I was
delighted o find that her range of
thought ansureading wre suohthf. : e
could talk very intelligently tog- -." ;r.
.1 pretended rto be a great lover of
rcusic, and oonversaticai turned upon
that topic, ae that, when her mother
cane to callius to tea, we were singing
together andienjoying e'-h others so
ciety as though we had been friends
Tta was soem over, asd the event
ful snoment was near. v. overheard
MissXily saying to her ruother in a
whisper; "Mamma, he is splendid."
This tifused me -with fresh (courage for
the oedeal. The jjudge an& wife, Miss
Liiy acid 1, rode to the ball. The
sight .of the brUKently ligteted room
and the expectant ifaces of tibe people
made rnp- knees trerable and sny heart
beat quiekly; but I left the jrdge and
his family, and ma&e mv war to the
.anteroom, where I found my friend,
the chairnan. In a few mo&oents I
wasraponthe platforna, facing an in
telligent looking audience, and con
spicuous among them the bright eyes
and charming face of MSss Lily. I do
not know what it was ihe chairman
saidI only know it was a panegyric
upon me, and that wwo he suva,
"Ladies and gentlemen. I now have
the honor and pleasure o presenting
to you the eminent lecturer aod schol
ar, Prof. Richardson," I arose and
stood before them, utjdecided whether
to speak or to turn ad run.
The applause which followed gave
me a little time to brace up. So.spreai-
ing the manuscript upon the desk, 1
began. I had devoted a little time to
elocution, and had looked the manu
script over in the cars, so that I was
fairly familiar with it, and as I pro
ceeded, I kept gaining additional cour
age, and the lecture was delivered in a
way that astonished myself and won
repeated plaudits.
A vote of thanks was unanimously
passed, the audience dispersed, and I
was soon seated in the judge's pleas
ant parlor, where he poured out a
stream of congratulatory remarks.
Miss Lilly was silent; but I thought
her looks indorsed her father's speech.
I was much tired by my exertions, and
gladly availed myself of that excuse
to retire.
Alone in my room, the possible con
sequences of that evening's perform
ance troubled me. I was deeply im
pressed by Miss Lily's beauty, culture
and bewitching manner. But how
could I continue the acquaintance?
I could not long remain in tbe char
acter of the professor, and an attempt
to explain might complicate matters
worse. The only way to do was to
leave without explaining and contrive
some way in the future to atone for
my folly. So, after breakfast I took
a long walk during which I considered
matters, and at last stepped into a
telegraph office to send for my valise,
which had almost escaped my recol
lection. While standing in the office
preparing my message, a man came in
and began chatting with the operator.
The operator read, the message, and
gave a cry of surprise.
"Look here, Bill," to the other man,
didn't Prof. Richardson iecture here
last night?"
Oh! what should I do if recognized as
the imposter!
"I don't know;" was the answer. "I
heard he did, though."
"Well, here is a message to the judge,
from him, which saysho couldn'tcome,
on account of the storm. Something
funny somewhere. I'd better get this
up to him as soon as possible."
So off he started to find a boy to
carry the message. Whatever I did
must be done quickly. I found that a
train left in 20 minutes. I rushed back
to the judge's house, got in without
being seen, grabbed my valise and was
soon on my way to New York from
which I telegraphed for my valise. My
heart smote me for treating my hos-,
pitable host so. But I felt the worse
at not being able to bid adieu to Miss
Lily. As soon as I arrived at my
hotel I sent the following note to the
Dear Sir: Unexpected circumstances
forced me into assuming the character
of one far more wise, but I trust, not
more deserving than myself. I shall
renew our acquaintance "in propria
persona" in a way that I hope will en
title me to your confidence, and ex
cuse the deceptions I have practised.
With much esteem and respect, yours,
Caleb S. Rochester.
I heard what excitement followed
the delivery of the telegram and the .
discovery of my absence. The judge
and his wife were furious, but Miss
Lily was confident that it would come
out all right. Somehow, when my
note was received, it tended somewhat
toward softening the judge's anger; but
for some time it was a mystery to 1
them all. The professor made a trip
to the place to investigate the matter,
and was invited to lecture. I am '
vain enough to be pleased with the fact
that the people declared thefalse pro
fessor was the more eloquent of the two. ;
Later, I called on the professor and
told him my story. He laughed heart
ily at my adventure and proved to be
a whole souled man. Our acquaint
ance ripened fast, and it was not long
before I was in S again, with a cor
dial indorsement from him. Miss Lily
herself answered my ling, and the Sook
of astonishment upon her counten
ance I shall never'forget. The profes
sor's letter had made every thing satis
factory. The judge laughed long and
loud as I told him how I left upon my
former visit. I called again and very
often, and one night there was a wed
ding in the quiet ;parlor, at which Miss
Lily became Mrs. Rochester. The
fudge declares that our boys have
Grecian countenances, and he calls one
Fhides and the other Praxiteles, al
Their Trials and Disadvantages as Com
pared with Opera-Singers.
Memory, the faculty by which ideas
are retained in the mind, is the main
reliance of the actors, and the cultiva
tion and use of this faculty is, to
say the least, yery singular. The
singer in the opera, who also depends
on memory, has the advantage of the
actor; for instance, if AdelinaPatti, in
her rendering of Violetta in "La Tra
viata," should, and the very best ar
tists areliable to it, omit a few notes,
the tenor fail to reach the high C easily,
or the chorus get out of time, one
wave of Sig. Arditi's baton, and the
fault is hidden from the audience.
Not so with the dramatic performer.
He has to speak plain English, and
there are no bars of music or anything
to hide his imperfections, except he
has the voice of the prompter, which
in the majority of cases only makes
his imperfections still more prominent.
It is, therefore, interesting to note the
different methods actors adopt to
study and retain their lines. No man
can tell you more about the vagaries
of memory than a member of the sock
and buskin. In the first place there
are what are called "quick studies"
men or women who can memorize a
part quickly but the very "quick
study," as a rule can not retain that
is, if he has studied a part quicks
and played it, if he is called upon to
repeat the same part after an in
terval of ' a few months, or
even weeks, he has to restudy it as
though it were an entirely newr role.
Then comes the "slow study" those
who have to labor at it carefully and
patiently, word by word, line by line,
before they can utter the words "trip
pingly on the tongue," but it is a sin
gular fact that the "slow study" as
a rule, is the Dest actor. The "quick
study" is too sure, he can gabble out
the words with ease; in short, he is
parrot-like. Salvini, the great Italian
tragedian, once said, "that nothing so
spoiled a dramatic entertainment as
when the actors appeared to antici
pate the dialogue or the action." The
slow one is nervous. To memorize
the words of his part has been hard
work; with him there is an effort to
retain them, and this very effort gives
him fire, and he acts his character with
an impulse which is, after all, the very
essence of the histrionic art. To com
mit to memory a long part say, for
instance, Hamlet, and which next to
Iago is the longest in the legitimate
drama is no easy task. A man play
ing that character has to recall to
mind thousands of words not only
what he has to say himself, but the
cues given to him by others, independ
ent of bearing in mind his own "advice
to the players" of "suiting the action
to the word, the word to the action,"
and the special observance that fol
lows. Different actors have different
methods of committing their lines to
memory one will keep in close seclu
sion, locking himself in a room to study;
another will study his part anywhere
and at any time, and it is not by any
means an uncommon occurence for a
Thespian to be memorizing his lines
while he is talking to a friend.
The late Charles Thorne used
to boast of the fact of hav
ing studied some of his best parts while
walking along the streets. Th,re is a
general impression that Shakspeare is
difficult to commit to memory, where
as he is far easier than many other
authors, for there is a musical rhythm
in his language that is easily fixed up
on the recollection. Among the com
paratively modern authors Bulwer is
far more difficult to memorize, but
there is no dramatic writer whose
works are as hard to memorize as
those of Knowles for his blank verse,
beautiful as it is, is so cramped that
old and experienced actors dread to
study it. Actors have, by the con
stant use of the memory, accomplish
ed some strange feats. Some twenty
years ago John Rider, in England, un
dertook to memorize the copy of a
London newspaper and recite it in
public, and he did it, recitingthe whole
paper from beginning to end. The
comedy of "TheGamcof Speculation"
t.linnnh hi 0,q ca .i was translated irom tne v rencn, re-
Rufus. Inderjendent i hearsed, and produced at the Lyceum
Mrs. Vandcrbilt.
New York Letter.
I came acress-a Vanderbilt privilege
of wealth unexpectedly in the estab
lishment of a tailor for women. Agirl
stood in the center of a work-room
while a fitted a garment
to her upper figure. "That is Mrs.
William K. Vanderbilt," said one.
"Nonsense," I ejaculated. "Willie
Vanderbilt's wiife hasn't red hair, nor
a face at all like that." "What I
mean," was tine explanation, "is'that
the girl is posing as Mis. Vanderbilt.
'The two are exactly the same size and
shape. This one is hired to serve in
the place of the millionairess in the
laborous matter of having costumes
.fitted. The garment now being tried
theater in London in four davs.
Charles Mathews, who played the
leading part, Affable Hawk, and who
is on the stage throughout four long
acts without hardly any intermission.
' committed the character perfectly to
I memory in twenty-four hours, or, to
make use of his own words after the
i first night: "I swallowed the whole
A sign, a motion from him will set
them right, but there are other 'old
actors to whom the prompter is of
little use, and it is of no infrequent oc
currence for them to "fish for words"
or substitute language of their own
until they remember the wtrds of the
author. iNew x ork (iraphic.
An Ocean-Bound Home.
Probably the remotest and loneliest
spot on the earth is the little island of
Tristan d'Acunha. This speck of an
island, which is only seven miles loii
and six wide, lies almost midway be
tween Africa and South America, and
a thousand miles south of the equa
When Napoleon was imprisoned on
St. Helena, it was thought that the
loneliest place in the world had been
assigned to him as a prison. But St
Helena is fourteen hundred miles near
er a cont inent than is Tristan d' Acun
ha. Many hundreds of miles lie be
tween it and the smallest island near
est to it. Tristan, in short, is a tiny
oasis in a boundless wilderness of wa
ter, go from it in which direction you
It is a rocky and cliff-girt little isle,
with a solitary mountain a thousand
feet high rearing itselt trom the midst
Weeks and sometimes even months
elapse, without so much as the film of
a ship s sail being espied in the dis
tance from its shores.
Yet on this lonely speckof rock and
earth, there lives a bright, cheerful,
thrifty Christian community which is,
seeminglv, quite happy in its isolation
from all the rest of the world. There
are about a hundced inhabitants, all
Englishmen and Englishwomen. The
oldest inhabitant is a man of seventy
eight, who was wrecked on the island
fifty years ago, and has ever since
dwelt there, and has become the pa
triarch of the little company.
An English captain, returning from
a long vo5rage in the course of which
he anchored at Tristan, has recently
given a very interesting account of the
sommunity. Those who compose it
are one and all farmers, cattle-raisers,
and shepherds. In the valleys of the
island are fertile fields, where potatoes
mainly are grown. On tlieslopes were
grazing some seven hundred head of
cattle and as many sheep. The food
of the people consists for the most part
of beef, mutton, fowls, potatoes, and
As to the dwellings, they are describ
ed as being kept very clean and tidy,
as we might expect from English
people, and themselves are healthy,
robust and long-lived. They have
some whaling-boats, and are very ad
venturous in their sea-roaming after
whales. They sometimes row as far
as twenty miles out to sea to intercept
a passing ship.
It is often the case that that region
is assailed by mighty t empests of wind,
while the island is subjected at times
so what is called the "rollers" or huge
masses of high-raised water which
fairly inundate the lofty shores.
Tristan used formerly to produce
many fruits and vegetables which can
no longer be grown there. The reason
of this is that the island is overrun by
rats, which escaped from a ship that
anchored there, and which the people
have never been able to exterminate.
The people ha ve preserved the cus
toms of their English native land. In
the center of the settlement stands
the little English church, to which all
the inhabitants repair on Sunday
mornings. Thus the church-bells of
England and the prayer and praise of
the home churches find a faint echo
across the leagues of ocean which
stretch between the motherland and
the lonely rock of the Southern seas.
The people of Tristan, solitary as
their island is, steadfastly refuse to
leave it. They look upon it as their
home; to some it is their native land.
The ships which now .and then touch
upon its shores in vain offer to bring
them back to the haunts of civiliza
tion. They have grown to love their
loneliness, and to be content with a
lot whicn is strange and pathetic in
deed. Youth's Companions.
Tlie Conceit of New York.
Blakely Hall in San Francisco Argonaut.
To men born here and have lived
here long New York is miles and away
so superior to any other city in Amer
ica that he never thinks of uttering
them or mentioning them in the same
breath. This may be the sublimity of
When the curtain rose on the first
production of "Pizarro" the last act
of the drama was not written, and
Brinsley Sheridan wrote off the fifth
act in the green-room, the call-boy
taking it from him and then distribut
ing it to the different actors as
the first four acts were being
played, to be studied by . them
as best they could. The exercise
of the thinking powers by mem
bers of the profession is at times some
thing wonderful, and it proves how
that organ, like any other, can be
trained and be relied upon. It hap
pens at times that an actor is called
on, let out and generally adapted as "vy." v" .BUU"'
e T7- j , . . , notice, and a character that he is to-
ior Mrs. Vanderbdt, who is athereaae taly unacquainted with, and perhaps
an Newport, while the double endures ! ignorant of the very sense of the play
ithe hour or two ot tiresome standing.
Mechanical forms are common for
that purpose and tuost of our rich
elastomers keep theai with ns, which
eaaa ehanse position, walk about, sit
down and in other ways demonstrate
perfectly the effect of tih raiment un
der process of making. Mrs. Vjander
biit will not endure the fatigue of the
thing herself, even when in town, and
it was her own suggestion that adupli
cate of herseif be employed. Qa her
order we sought and found a perfect
counterpart a girl who was working
in a cloak shoj connected with our
business; and she has served in lieu of
Mrs. Vanderbilt nearly a year. Not
only in dimensions is she suited to the
requirements, but in movement and I before a vast crowd of people who are
carriage she is wonderfully like her i waiting to near him say sometmng
empjoyer; and so it is possible for the i and that something to desert him is
latter "to see herself as others see her i indeed painful. Some actors can take
in the matter of dress." -m ' the word quickly from the prompter.
dose, and don't think I spilled a drop." conceit perhaps it is but the fact re
mains, that New Yorkers consider there
is but one city in America. They may
travel all over the, world, but when
they return to America they live in
New York. In the same way we ob
serve that if a man makes a great for
tune in Chicago, Milwaukee, Cleveland,
Cincinnati or Pittsburg he comes here,
tor many of the magnificent palaces
on Fifth avenue have been purchased
by men from other cities who made
haste i o conte here as soon as they
had made vast fortunes. I don't
know whether they like New York or
not, but they seem to stay. It is true
that a man does not amount to much
here unless he a good deal of a man,
but still the advantages of life in the
most popular city in the Union are too
numerous to be overlooked. A man
worth $10,000,000 is of importance,
if only on account of his wealth, in
Cincinnati. But 10,000,000, unless
it is backed by social graces and other
advantages, will do little or nothing
for men in New York. I know that
this statement will not be accept
ed, because it is the general impres
sion that wealth opens the door3 to
society in New York; still such is not
the fact. There are hundreds of mill
ionaires along the avenues who live
magnificently and spend enormous in
comes, yet whom nobody knows or
cares to know. Not long ago a list of
the number of men who were worth
more than $5,000,000 was published
in one of the papers here. There were
hundreds of names, occupying consid
erably more than a column and a half,
and it is no exaggeration to say that
fully five-sixths of them were entirely
strange to the ears of New Yorkers.
itself. Not long ago, in one of the up
town theaters in this city, an actor
was brought to the theater at 7 :30 at
night to take the place of a brother
professional who was sick. He knew
nothing of the piece and had never
seen it, for it was a new one from Lon
don. He arrived at the theater a few
ssinutes only before the play would
taegin, and had to appear in one of
the leading roles. His orily oppor
tunity to commit the language to his
memory was during the intervals be
was off the stage. Yet that night he
was what isprofessionally known as a
"dead-letter perfect." Everyone knows
that the memory will at times be
treacherous, and no man feels this more
keenly than the actor. To be standing
The Man Who Talked Too Much
He slipped into an ice cream saloon
very softly, and, when the girl asked
him what he wanted, he replied:
"Corned beef, fried potatoes, pickles
and mince pie."
"This is not a restaurant; this is an
ice-cream parlor," she said.
"Then why did. you ask me what I
wanted? Why don't you bring on your-ice-cream?"
She went after it, and, as she re
turned, he continued:
"You see, my dear girl, you must in
feryou must reason. It isn't likely
that I would come into an ice-cream
parlor to buy a grindstone, is it? You
don't think I come in hereto ask if you
had any baled hay, did you?"
She looked at him in great surprise
and he went on:
"If I owned a hardware store, and
you came in, I would infer that yon
wanted something in my line. I would
not step out and ask if you wanted to
buy a mule, would I?"
She went away highly indignant.
An old lady was devouring a dish of
cream at the next table, and the stran
ger, after watching her a few moments,,
called out:
"My dear woman, have you found
any hairs or buttons in your dish?"
"Mercy, no!" she exclaimed, as she
wheeled around, and dropped her
"Well, I'm glad of it," he continued.
If you find any, just let me know."
She looked at him for half a minute,,
picked up the spoon, laid it down
again, and then rose and left the room.
She must have said something to tbe
proprietor, for he came running in and
"Did you tell that woman that there
were hairs and buttons in my ice
cream?" "No, sir!"
"You didn't?"
"No, sir, I did not; I merely request
ed her, in case she found any such in
gredients, to inform me."
"Hell, sir, tnat was a mean trick."
"My dear sir," said the stranger
smiling softly, "did you expect me to
ask the woman if shefounda crow-bar
or a sledge-hammer in her cream? It is
impossible, sir, for such articles to hide
in such a small dish.
The proprietor went away growling,,
and as the stranger quietly sipped
away at his cream, two young ladies
came in, sat down near him, and or
dered some cream and cake. He wait
ed till they had eaten a little, and then-
"Beg pardon, ladies, but do you ob
serve anything peculiar m the taste ot
this ice-cream?"
They tasted, and smacked their lips,
and were not exactly certain.
"Does it taste to you as it a plug of
tobacco had fallen into the freezer?"'
he asked.
"Ah! Kah!" they exclaimed, and
tried to spit out what they had eaten.
Both rushed out, and it wasn't long;
before the proprietor rushed in.
See here, what in blazes are vouy
talkingabout?" hedemanded. "What
do you mean by plug tobacco in the
"My kind friend, I asked those la
dies if this ice-cream tasted of plug to
bacco. I don t taste any such tasta .
and I don't believe that you put a, 6it .:
of plug tobacco in it."
"Well you don't want to taEicthai;'
way around here," continued
prietor. "My ice-cream is pure, and
the man who says it is not, B'& do to .
He went away again, and a woman
with a long neek and a sad face sat
down and said to the girl that she
would take a small dish of lemon ice
It was brought, and she took about
two mouthfuls, when the stranger in
"Excuse me, madam, but do yow i
know how this cream was made? have
you any idea that they grate turnip
and chalk with the cream?"
She didn't reply. She slowly ros
up, wheeled around and made ior tne
door. The stranger followed aftea-.
By great luck his coat-tails cleared th-o
door an instant t oo soon to be struck
by a five-pound box of figs, hurled witha
great force by the indignant propri
etor. As he reached the curbstone ho
halted, looked at the door of the par
lor, and soliloquized:
'There arc times when people should '
infer, and then there are times when:
they shouldn't. I suppose if I had
asked that woman if she thought they
hashed up a saw-mill in the creant
she'd have felt a circular saw going
down her throat."
They Appreciate Grasshoppers.,
From the C'fiico (Oil.) Enterprise.
The unusually large number of grass
hoppers this spring, and the excite
ment they have caused with our local
newspaper itemizers, will now be
calmed. The Indians have started in
with twig-brooms, and are driving
them into round holes which they dig
in the ground. The modus operandi,
can be seen up Chico Creek, on t-he-plains,
where ten or twelve bands of
five or six indians in each are at work.
The first operation is to dig a funnel
shaped hole thiee feet across andL
about three feet deep; then the band.
scatter out on a skirmish line about
200 feet from the hole in different di
rections, and commence sweeping and
driving the hoppers toward the pit
hole and by working around in a cir
cle they gradually drive a good share
of the insects toward and into the
hole, from' which the poor hoppers
"can ne'er come out again," until the
frugal mahala lifts them out into the
wheat sack. The crawling, jumping
mass in the pit, when the drive is
done, would do any vengeful granger
good as he thinks of the horrid fate
in store for his enemies, to be roasted
to death at some Indian restaurant.
The process of cooking is unique of not
elegant. Hot stones are put into tbe
sack, and they are carefully shaken
backward and forward together until
the legs and wings of the hoppers are -broken
and burned off, when they ara
served without sance in all the "Lo"
caravansaries, and considered a great
luxury. We were informed by a young
buck that they were much better than
white man's shrimps, and he thought -not
so repulsive.