Facts and fancies for the curious from the harvest-fields of literature

by Unknown

COMICAL BLUNDERS

Disinfecting a Telegram

The Milan journal, Pungolo, relates that a Turin merchant, who had correspondents in the French Department of Bouches du Rhône, received at his private house, at Pinerolo, a telegram from Marseilles. Upon reading it he discovered, to his great annoyance, that it must have been sent off some twenty-four hours before it was delivered to him. He called upon the telegraph clerk to account for the delay, and the honest man at once confessed that the despatch had indeed lain for a day and a night in his office. He went on to gravely explain that, as it had come from a place where cholera was known to be raging, he had felt himself bound, in compliance with the regulations of the Italian sanitary authorities, to disinfect it by exposing it to the fumes of burning sulphur!

The Wrong Man Made a Count

When King Gustavus III., of Sweden, was in Paris, he was visited by a deputation of the Sorbonne. That learned body congratulated the king on the happy fortune that had given him so great a man as Scheele, the discoverer of magnesium, as his subject and fellow-countryman. The king, who took small interest in the progress of science, felt somewhat ashamed that he should be so ignorant as never even to have heard of the renowned chemist. He dispatched a courier at once to Sweden with the laconic order, “Scheele is to be immediately raised to the dignity and title of a count.” “His majesty must be obeyed,” said the prime minister, as he read the order; “but who in the world is Scheele?” A secretary was told to make inquiries. He came back with very full information. “Scheele is a good sort of a fellow,” said he; “a lieutenant in the artillery, a capital shot, and first-rate hand at billiards.” The next day the lieutenant became a count, and the illustrious scholar and scientist remained a simple burgher.

Stiefel

M. Bouchitté, a learned Frenchman, has made a curious blunder in “The Dictionnaire de la Conversation.” He has compiled a biography of Jacob Böhme, and supplements it by a list of the numerous writings of the philosophical shoemaker. Among these he cites “Reflections sur les bottes d’Isaie.” The notion of a shoemaker devoting some time to reflections on Isaiah’s boots appears sufficiently in accordance with a well-known axiom invented for the instruction of the craft. But the fact is that what Jacob wrote was an essay on the theological dissertation of Professor Isaias Stiefel. Now, Stiefel is German for boots, and to that extent M. Bouchitté was correct enough in supposing that Jacob Böhme had been casting reflections on Isaiah’s boots.

A Happy Thought

At a dinner party in “town,” in August, there were two sisters present, one a widow who had just emerged from her weeds, the other not long married, whose husband had lately gone to India for a short term. A young barrister present was deputed to take the widow in to dinner. Unfortunately he was under the impression that his partner was the married lady, whose husband had just arrived in India. The conversation between them commenced by the lady’s remarking how hot it was. “Yes, it is very hot,” returned the young barrister. Then a happy thought suggested itself to him, and he added, with a cheerful smile, “but not so hot as the place to which your husband has gone.” The look with which the lady answered this “happy thought” will haunt that unhappy youth till his death.

Couldn’t Fool Him

It was in Pittsburg, and Mr. Irving was playing Shylock, when from the gallery “a voice fell like a falling star,” “Great gosh!” It fell from a countryman from Moon township, who, when the play was over, went to the stage door and wanted to thrash the actor. But he didn’t. Later, at a hotel, he was asked if he saw Shylock. “Yes, I seen him,” said he, “and it’s not the first time, either.” “When did you see him before?” “Why, I seen that fellow in Moon township last week peddling notions. It’s the same Jew, and you can bet a hundred if he ever comes out there again we will not split hairs with him about a pound of flesh, for Frank McGinnis and I will skin him alive.” “You are certainly mistaken about the man.” “No, sir. He was trading cuff-buttons for wool, and he had the same pair of scales and the same ugly look.” “But that Jew on the stage was Henry Irving, the celebrated English actor.” “That’s enough; you can’t fool me. I know my man, and I’ve been in the same fix myself as that young Antonio. That young fellow, Antonio, had been out ‘log-rolling,’ and having some fun with the boys, and that sheeny Shylock had lent him some money and then wanted the earth, and he would have killed the young fellow with that carver if I hadn’t been right there.” Critics will please never again say that Mr. Irving’s representations are “not natural.”

Gibson’s Venus

When the Viceroy of Egypt was in London, at the time of the great exposition, Gibson’s beautiful statue of Venus was on exhibition. The viceroy stopped in front of the statue one day, and continued for some time to contemplate its beauties and to study the features. Upon one of his aides remarking to him that the afternoon was passing away and that much remained to be seen, the viceroy said: “No, do not disturb me. I wish to be able to recognize her, for I am going to dine with her this evening.” It was then revealed that the Egyptian ruler confounded Gibson’s Venus with the wife of Milner Gibson, a member of the cabinet, at whose house he was engaged to dine that evening. The nude statue he took for a life-like representation of the charms of his hostess.

Highgate

An amusing story is told of the daughter of a well-known London alderman, who was recently taken in to dinner by a judge who figured prominently in the Tichborne trial. The conversation turned on the young lady’s usual place of residence, which happened to be Highgate. “Don’t you think Highgate pretty?” she asked. Unfortunately, she was slightly uncertain in her aspirates. His lordship gave her one hurried glance of intense astonishment. “You get pretty?” he replied, gallantly, recovering his presence of mind. “No, Miss ——, I think you were always pretty.” However horrified at the compliment, the young lady quite justified it by her profuse blushes.

Both Sides

“Was your room on the port or the starboard side of the vessel?” asked an old traveller of a new one, who had just returned from his first trip to Europe. “Oh, I had the same room both ways,” was the answer. “It was on the port side going over, and so of course it was on the starboard side coming back.”

A Hopeless Case

A certain Philadelphia gentleman was ordered by his physician to travel for the benefit of his health. He went to England, and after tiring of London he decided to hire a trap and see the beauties of interior England in dignified ease and luxury. Just then he fell in with a hearty, good-natured Englishman, and as they soon became fast friends the American invited the other to attend him on his coaching trip.

The son of John Bull accepted, and during the days that followed, each frequently and in a joking manner improved every occasion to laud his own country and express his contempt of the other. On the evening of the fourth day, as they were driving along a dusty road, the American pulled the horses up suddenly and proceeded to read a sign, “To Manchester 20 miles,” and underneath were the words, “If you cannot read this sign, apply for information at the blacksmith shop.”

“Well, I’ll be darned,” said the American, “if that isn’t the most ridiculous sign I ever saw.”

“Jove, old man,” replied the Englishman, “that sign is all right, isn’t it? I don’t see anything the matter.”

“You don’t, eh? Well, then, you just sleep over it and see what you think of it in the morning.”

The next morning the Englishman came down beaming.

“I say, old man,” he said, wisely, “that was a funny sign to put up, for don’t you see the blacksmith might not be in after all, you know.”

A Question of Capacity

A gentleman in Ireland having built a large house was at a loss what to do with the rubbish. His steward advised him to have a pit dug large enough to contain it. “And what,” said the gentleman, “shall I do with the earth which is dug out of the pit?” To which the steward replied, “have the pit made large enough to hold all.”

An Unexpected Reception

One Sunday, during Mass in the chapel of the little village of Glengariff, three ladies of the Protestant faith were obliged to take shelter from one of those heavy summer showers which so frequently occur in the south of Ireland. The officiating priest, knowing who they were, and wishing to appear respectful to them, stooped down to his attendant, or clerk, who was on his knees, and whispered to him,—

“Three chairs for the Protestant ladies.”

The clerk, being an ignorant man, mistook the words, stood up, and shouted to the congregation,—

“Three cheers for the Protestant ladies!” which the congregation immediately took up, and gave three hearty cheers, while the clergyman stood dumfounded.

Half-Truths

Mr. D., an Irish gentleman, was invited to dinner, on one occasion, by a well known Scottish resident, at whose generous table he met quite a number of the host’s countrymen. The conversation turned on Irish bulls, of which one and another repeated several, until the whole company was in a roar of laughter. Our Irish friend kept quiet until his patience was exhausted. Then he blurted out: “Stay, Mr. C., an’ do ye know what I think?” “Why, indeed, what do you think, Mr. D.?” “Shure, sir, and do ye know that I think, indade, that not more than one-half of these lies that they tell about the Irish are true.” This may be said to have “brought down” the table.

The Happening of the Unexpected

A witness was once examined before a Parliamentary Committee with the following result. Sergeant A. (to witness): “And on Thursday, the thirteenth, you say you called on Mr. Jones?” Witness: “I did.” Sergeant A.: “And what did he say?” Sergeant B. objected to this question. Sergeant A. argued that it could be put, and cited several precedents. The juniors hunted up all the cases. Sergeant B. replied at length, and stated his precedents. These arguments lasted two hours. The committee then retired to consider whether the question should be put or not, and after an absence of about an hour they returned, and stated that it might be asked. Up then rose Sergeant A., and said to witness: “And on Thursday, the thirteenth, you say you called on Mr. Jones?” Witness: “I did.” Sergeant A. (with an air of triumph): “And what did he say?” Witness: “He wasn’t at home.” Tableau!

A Great Mind

There are some curious blunders in indexing books. A seeker of knowledge, running his eye down an index through letter B, arrived at the reference, “Best, Mr. Justice, his great mind.” Desiring to be better acquainted with the particulars of this assertion, he turned to the page referred to, and there found, to his entire satisfaction, “Mr. Justice Best said he had a great mind to commit the witness for prevarication.”

Psoriasis

That reverend wag, Sydney Smith, while looking throughout the hot-house of a lady who was very proud of her flowers, and who had a habit of inaccurately using a profusion of botanical terms, inquired of her, “Madam, have you the Septennis psoriasis?” “No,” said she, “I had it last winter, and I gave it to the Archbishop of Canterbury; it came out beautifully in the spring.” For non-medical readers it maybe noted that “Septennis psoriasis” is the seven-year-itch.

Exchanging Errors

In the perusal of a very solid book on the progress of the ecclesiastical differences of Ireland, written by a native of that country, after a good deal of tedious and vexatious matter, the reader’s complacency is restored by an artless statement how an eminent person “abandoned the errors of the Church of Rome and adopted those of the Church of England.”

Betting on the Lord’s Prayer

A Western ranchman, as an old story goes, bet a pal five dollars that he could not repeat the Lord’s Prayer correctly. The bet was accepted, and after a few moments’ thought, the challenged party repeated the lines, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” etc. “Well, I swear,” said the loser, as he handed over the V; “I didn’t think you could do it.”

This story has a very old English counterpart, which was originally told as follows:

A reprobate fellow once laid an associate a bet of a guinea that he could not repeat the Creed. It was accepted, and his friend repeated the Lord’s Prayer. “Confound you,” cried the former, who imagined that he had been listening to the Creed, “I had no idea you had such a memory; there’s your money.”

Contradictory Phraseology

Judge Brackenridge, of Western Pennsylvania, used to relate the following:

I once had a Virginia lawyer object to an expression in one of the acts of the Assembly of Pennsylvania, which read, “that the State-house yard in the city of Philadelphia should be surrounded by a brick-wall, and remain an open inclosure forever.”

But I put him down by citing one of the acts of the Legislature of his own State, which is entitled, “A supplement to an act entitled an act making it penal to alter the mark of an unmarked hog.”

Individuals

A clergyman in Massachusetts, more than a century ago, addressed a letter to the General Court on some subject of interest which was then under discussion. The clerk read the letter, in which there seemed to be this very remarkable sentence: “I address you not as magistrates, but as Indian devils.” The clerk hesitated and looked carefully, and said, “Yes, he addresses you as Indian devils.” The wrath of the honorable body was aroused; they passed a vote of censure, and wrote to the reverend gentleman for an explanation, from which it appeared that he did not address them as magistrates, but as individuals.

Infelicities

One cannot help smiling at the infelicity of the tablet recently set up in the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York, in memory of Dr. John Hall. It simply gives the dates of his birth and death, and says that he was “pastor of this church from November 3, 1867, to September 17, 1898,” and then ends with this singular text, “There remaineth therefore a rest for the people of God.” That his departure should give rest to the people of God is what some who remember the dissensions in that church the last year or two of his life do not like to have suggested. That is not what the committee meant by the Scripture passage; neither did Cowper mean by the lines,—

“And Satan trembles when he sees

The weakest saint upon his knees,”

what the little girl supposed who asked her mother why any saint should want to get on Satan’s knees.

A “Sufficient” Guide-Post

Two gushing Boston girls were walking one day in the suburbs of the Hub, when they stumbled on a little old-fashioned mile-stone, forgotten in the march of improvement. One of them stooped, and, parting the grass, discovered the half-effaced inscription “I. m. from Boston,” upon which she exclaimed ecstatically, “Here is a grave, perhaps, of some young girl, who wished it written on her tombstone, ‘I’m from Boston.’ How touching! so simple, and so sufficient!”

Faux Pas

Rev. Dr. Wolcott Calkins, in The Congregationalist, tells an interesting story of his visit to Mr. McCall, the missionary to the French. Mr. McCall told him amusing stories, among which was one about an Englishman who undertook to address a meeting in one of the Salles, in broken but voluble French. After a while his preparation appeared to have run out and he faltered, till in desperation he exclaimed, “Mes chers amis! Je regrette beaucoup de ne pas connaître mieux la belle Française!” That was the end of the meeting. The smile broke into laughter and the whole audience, was soon in a tumult. The Englishman didn’t know that he had expressed regret for his lack of acquaintance with the beautiful French woman.

One Form of Vanity

A sturdy peasant from the Tyrol, says the Fremdenblatt, was standing at a shop-window in Vienna, looking at a reproduction of the fine group, by Rauch, of “The Three Graces.” The peasant did not seem insensible to the perfection of form, but after awhile he burst forth, “What fools these girls are! They have not got money enough to buy themselves a suit of clothes; yet what little they have, they spend to get their photograph taken.”

“Beats,” Not Turnips

The angry mother of a small girl, a pupil in a New York grammar-school, indignantly demanded of the principal that the music-teacher in that school be discharged. When asked why she wanted the teacher dismissed, the mother said that in the midst of a lesson the day before, she had asked the child to tell her how many turnips were in a peck. This, she added, was probably done to humiliate her daughter.

Thinking this a most peculiar question for the teacher to ask, the principal sent for her. The astonished teacher could not remember asking such a question; but on learning the name of the pupil a light dawned on her. “Oh,” said she, “your daughter misunderstood me. I asked her how many beats there were in a measure.”

Reasonable Excuse

The following is said to have been the postscript to a letter received lately by a sporting nobleman in Lancashire from his steward: “I beg your lordship will excuse me for having taken the liberty of writing this in my shirt-sleeves, but the excessive heat has compelled me to be guilty of this disrespect.”

Sending a Postscript

The wife of an Irish gentleman having been suddenly taken ill, he ordered a servant to get a horse ready to go for the doctor. By the time, however, that the horse was ready, and the note to the doctor written, the lady recovered from her sudden indisposition. Thereupon he added the following postscript to his note, and sent the servant off with it: “My wife having recovered, you need not come.”

Didn’t Understand Quakerese

There was a queer scene at the home of a Quaker family living in Philadelphia. The lady of the house had advertised for a servant girl, and a promising one, lately arrived, applied.

“Whin do ye have your washin’ done?” asked the girl.

“We would wish to have thee do it every Second-day,” answered the Quakeress.

“Ivery second day? May the saints presarve us! Sure it’s not meself that will wash for ye ivery other day in the week!” said the girl, as she took her departure.

John the Baptist

A colored minister of the Baptist persuasion, in order to strengthen and confirm the faith of his congregation, took as the text of his discourse the first verse of the third chapter of Matthew: “In those days came John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness of Judea.” “Oh,” said he, “how I like to read these precious words in the blessed Bible. You don’t read anywhere in it about John the Presbyterian, or John the Methodist, or John the Episcopalian. No, it is John the Baptist. Oh, how I like to read that.”

A German Pickwick

Germany has a Pickwick indeed, without guile, according to a story told by the Schweizerische Dorfkalender. The antiquarian stood before a stable-door, in rapt delight, contemplating a stone fixed in the archway, which bore the inscription 1081. Calling the tenant farmer, he said, “Am I not right, my friend, in supposing that you procured this stone from the castle ruin on the hill yonder?” “It may be,” replied the owner, “that my grandfather fetched it when he built the stable.” The professor asked what he would take for the stone. “Since you seem to have a fancy for it,” said the farmer, “pay me down 40 guldens, and I will leave it at your house.” “That is rather a large sum,” said the professor; “never mind; bring it to me to-morrow morning, and you shall have the 40 guldens.” On the next morning, when the peasant brought the stone upon the truck, the zealous antiquarian eagerly turned it over to refresh his eyes with a sight of its chronological inscription. “Why,” cried he in amazement, “what is this? This is not the right stone. Yesterday I read the date 1081, while this bears the date 1801, which proves that the other was exactly 720 years older than this.” “The Herr Professor must not trouble himself about that small matter,” replied the boor. “You see, sir, the masons turned the stone upside down when they set it in the doorway, because it fitted better that way. You can turn it whichever way you like now it is your own, but, of course, I must have the 40 guldens.” The money was paid.

Not a Chiropodist

During his first visit to Paris Herr Lasalle, the distinguished German, presented himself at the house of a well-known lady, to whom he had sent letters of introduction in advance. When the servant opened the door and received his card, she conducted him to the boudoir and told him to be seated, saying, “Madame will come immediately.”

Presently the lady entered. She was in déshabillé, and her feet were bare, covered only with loose slippers. She bowed to him carelessly, and said, “Ah, there you are; good morning.”

She threw herself on a sofa, let fall a slipper and reached out to Lasalle her very pretty foot.

Lasalle was naturally completely astonished, but he remembered that at his home in Germany it was the custom sometimes to kiss a lady’s hand and he supposed it was the Paris mode to kiss her foot. Therefore he did not hesitate to imprint a kiss upon the fascinating foot so near him, but he could not avoid saying, “I thank you, madame, for this new mode of making a lady’s acquaintance. It is much better and certainly more generous than kissing the hand.”

The lady jumped up, highly indignant. “Who are you, sir, and what do you mean?”

He gave his name.

“You are not, then, a corn doctor?”

Unfamiliar Familiarity

Professor Phelps used to tell with glee of the way he gained a reputation for knowing a thing he hated. He took a walk with Professor Newton, who lived in the world of the higher mathematics, and started off at once to discuss an abstruse problem. Mr. Phelps’s mind could not follow, and wandered off to other things. At last he was called back when the professor wound up with “which you see gives us X.” “Does it?” asked Mr. Phelps, politely. “Why, doesn’t it?” exclaimed the professor, excitedly, alarmed at the possibility of a flaw in his calculations. Quickly his mind ran back and detected a mistake. “You are right, Mr. Phelps; you are right,” shouted the professor. “It doesn’t give us X; it gives us Y.” And from that time Mr. Phelps was looked upon as a mathematical prodigy, the first man who ever tripped the professor.

Alleged Danger of Rapid Movement

In the Archives of the Nürnberg Railway at Fürth, which was the first line constructed in Germany, a protest against railroads has been found, drawn up by the Royal College of Bavarian Doctors. In it occurs the following passage: “Travel in carriages drawn by a locomotive ought to be forbidden in the interest of public health. The rapid movement cannot fail to produce among the passengers the mental affection known as delirium furiosum. Even if travellers are willing to incur the risk, the government should at least protect the public. A single glance at a locomotive passing rapidly is sufficient to cause the same cerebral derangement; consequently it is absolutely necessary to build a fence ten feet in height on each side of the railway.”

Aaron and Hur

Said a well-known clergyman, “Coming home from a service where I had preached from the words, ‘And Aaron and Hur stayed up his hands,’ one of the congregation, a prominent man in the town, said to me, ‘I wonder you don’t touch on the argument in favor of female influence in that text to-night.’ I replied that ‘I don’t see where it comes in.’ ‘Why,’ said he, ‘it says her stayed up his hands as much as Aaron did.’ He thought Hur was the pronoun of her for she. I made the best of it by admitting frankly, ‘I never thought of it before.’ But it taught me to be very careful to explain terms, if a man who ought to be as intelligent as any one of my hearers could make such a blunder.”

Twenty Dunkards with an R

A party of twenty-five Dunkards was en route to the General Conference, via St. Louis. No agent accompanied them, and a telegram was sent to Union Depot Passenger Agent Bonner to “meet twenty Dunkards.”

The religious education of the telegraph operator who received the message had been neglected. He had never heard of the Dunkards, and, supposing a mistake had been made, he just inserted the letter “r,” and when Bonner received the message it read “Meet No. 4. Twenty drunkards aboard. Look after them.”

Bonner was somewhat taken aback. He did not know but that an inebriate asylum had broken loose, but any way prompt action was necessary. The twenty drunkards must be desperate men, or the despatch would not have been sent, and murder might have been committed on the road.

Bonner posted off to police head-quarters, and his story did not lose in the telling. The chief of police, alive to the exigencies of the situation, made a special detail of ten policemen and a patrol wagon.

The policemen were drawn up in a line at the depot, and intense excitement prevailed among the numerous depot loungers, a rumor having gained currency that a band of desperate train robbers was on the incoming train.

In due time the train arrived, but no party of roystering drunkards alighted. The party on the train was composed of several pious-looking gentlemen with broad-brimmed hats, who stood around as though expecting some one.

Bonner approached one of them and said, interrogatively,—

“Had any trouble on the road?”

“No, brother,” said the gentleman, “none that I know of. And now I’ll ask you a question. Do you know a gentleman named Bonner?”

“Yes, I am Mr. Bonner,” was the answer.

“Well, these brethren and myself are Dunkards, and you were to meet us and put us on the right train. Didn’t you get a telegram?”

Bonner was completely done for. He excused himself, and, calling the sergeant of police aside, he told him that it was all a mistake, and he and his men could go back to head-quarters. Then he disposed of his religious friends, went around and cussed the telegraph operator, after which he had to “set ’em up” for the whole police force on the promise to keep mum.

The Economy of Nature

A young man on a Staten Island boat explained to his fair companion that Robbin’s Reef Light-house was built upon a rock in the bay.

“Ah, yes,” said she. “Funny that the rock should be just where they wanted a light-house, wasn’t it?”

Desirable Uniformity

Mr. Colville was reading to his wife from a newspaper on Saturday morning, when he saw this paragraph: “Mr. and Mrs. James Clark, of Pulaski, New York, both came into the world on the same day, both died on the same day, and both were killed by a cancer.”

“Well, I declare! wasn’t that singular?” observed Mrs. Colville. “Born on the same day, died on the same day, and with the same disease. Now, if they’d only been married on the same day, the thing would have been complete.”

“What’s that?” suddenly interrogated Mr. Colville, looking curiously at her over the top of the paper.

“I say,” she repeated, “if they’d both been married on the—why, to be—” she embarrassingly added, as she caught the amused expression of his face—“that is—I wonder if I thought to put on the dish-water,” and she hastened into the kitchen to attend to it.

False Doctrine

A woman in a village in Kent lost three children from diphtheria, and when the clergyman’s wife went to condole with her, she railed against the doctors, and said she couldn’t think how they could go to church, and say that prayer, and then go and practice on the people as they did. In answer to the question what prayer she meant, she said, “Why they pray to be delivered from false doctoring, heresy, and schism, and then they go about and do false doctoring, and kill the children.”

Poor Children

A Mobile paper, speaking of Dan Bryant, says, “Bryant died, and, after a life of great profit, left his wife and five children as poor as they were when he was married.” It is a very expressive sentence so far as the children are concerned.

Help from Above

The wife of Emile de Girardin had the most absolute faith in his powers. A few days after the revolution of 1848 a lady who was greatly distressed about political events and troubled as to the future went to see Mme. de Girardin, whose parlor was exactly underneath her husband’s study and workroom. “Oh, my dear friend,” said the visitor, “what terrible times we live in! What awful events! Who then can extricate us from them?” “There is only one. He who is above (là haut) can do it!” responded gravely Mme. de Girardin. “Yes, that’s so—the good Lord; you are right!” “No; I am speaking of Emile!”

Minding One’s Business

An old dial in the Temple, London, bore the curious motto, “Begone about your business.” The maker, wishing to know what motto the benchers required for the dial, sent his lad to ascertain it. The boy applied while the benchers were dining, and one of them, annoyed at the unseasonable interruption, said, shortly, “Begone about your business.” The lad, thinking that this was the desired motto, reported it to his master, and the dial accordingly bore this novel inscription as long as the building upon which it was placed remained. The United States cent, which is usually called the Franklin cent, because its maxim was suggested by the philosopher, bore another legend, “Mind your business.” This has often been misquoted and altered to “Mind your own business,” which, of course, has an entirely different sense.

Direct Information

The late Mrs. Jane W—— was equally remarkable for kindness of heart and absence of mind. One day she was accosted by a beggar, whose stout and healthy appearance startled her into a momentary doubt of the needfulness of charity in this instance. “Why,” exclaimed the good old lady, “you look well able to work.” “Yes,” replied the supplicant, “but I have been deaf and dumb these seven years.” “Poor man, what a heavy affliction!” exclaimed Mrs. W——, at the same time giving him relief with a liberal hand. On returning home she mentioned the fact, remarking, “What a dreadful thing it is to be deprived of such precious faculties!” “But how,” asked her sister, “did you know that the poor man had been deaf and dumb for seven years?” “Why,” was the quiet and unconscious answer, “he told me so.”

Mistranslation

A daughter of James Fenimore Cooper once remarked that the translator who first rendered her father’s novel, “The Spy,” into the French tongue, among other mistakes, made the following: “Readers of the Revolutionary romance will remember that the residence of the Wharton family was called ‘The Locusts.’ The translator referred to his dictionary and found the rendering of the word to be Les Sauterelles, ‘The Grasshoppers.’ But when he found one of the dragoons represented as tying his horse to one of the locusts on the lawn, it would appear as if he might have been at fault. Nothing daunted, however, but taking it for granted that American grasshoppers must be of gigantic dimensions, he gravely informs his readers that the cavalryman secured his charger by fastening the bridle to one of the grasshoppers before the door, apparently standing there for that purpose.

“Much laughter has been raised at a French littérateur who professed to be ‘doctus utriusque linguæ.’ Cibber’s play of ‘Love’s Last Shift’ was translated by a Frenchman who spoke ‘Inglees’ as ‘La Dernière Chemise de l’Amour;’ Congreve’s ‘Mourning Bride,’ by another, as ‘L’Epouse du Matin;’ and a French scholar included among his catalogue of works on natural history essays on ‘Irish Bulls’ by the Edgeworths. Jules Janin, the great critic, in his translation of ‘Macbeth,’ renders ‘Out, out, brief candle!’ as ‘Sortez, chandelle.’ And another, who traduced Shakespeare, commits an equally amusing blunder in rendering Northumberland’s famous speech in ‘Henry IV.’ In the passage

“‘Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone.’

the words italicized are rendered, ‘ainsi douleur! va-t’en!’-‘so grief, be off with you!’ Voltaire did no better with his translations of several of Shakespeare’s plays; in one of which the ‘myriad-minded’ makes a character renounce all claim to a doubtful inheritance, with an avowed resolution to carve for himself a fortune with his sword. Voltaire put it in French, which retranslated, reads, ‘What care I for lands? With my sword I will make a fortune cutting meat.’

“The French translator of one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels, knowing nothing of that familiar name for toasted cheese, ‘Welsh rabbit,’ rendered it literally by ‘un lapin du pays de Galles,’ or a rabbit of Wales, and then informed his readers in a foot-note that the lapins or rabbits of Wales have a very superior flavor, and are very tender, which cause them to be in great request in England and Scotland.”

Misplaced Zeal

“I was once sent to attend a man who had taken laudanum,” said the doctor. “I hurried to the place and found the would-be suicide being walked up and down the room as fast as they could walk by two friends of his. As they put him down on a chair for me to treat him one of them remarked, ‘Awful glad to see you, doctor; we’ve been walking Jim up and down for an hour and a half. It’s been terrible hard work to keep him alive all this time.’

“I made a slight examination; took my hat and started to go, when one of the pedestrians said, ‘What’s the matter, doctor? Ain’t you going to give him anything?’ ‘He’s been dead for an hour,’ I replied, and left.”

Before Railroads

A party of cultivated people were standing before an ancient cathedral admiring its grandeur, which several centuries of existence had failed to dim. The noise of the cars in the immediate vicinity so annoyed one of the ladies that she impulsively said, “I wonder why they built the cathedral so near the railroad!”

This is on a par with another innocent party’s commendation of the wisdom of Providence in making rivers flow past the largest towns.

The Wrong Word

A young Methodist missionary who had been stationed in Brazil long enough to acquire familiarity with Brazilian Spanish, after a brief absence in the United States, returned with his bride. She, anticipating the need of learning the Spanish language, studied diligently, and, for a time, there was some hesitation and embarrassment, but no trouble. Thinking she was getting along famously, she soon gained more confidence.

So all went well till the young couple set up an establishment and secured a man-servant with the fine manners of a Spanish grandee. The reverend gentleman’s wife stood in awe of him from the start. And her greatest trial was when her husband would be detained from home during the dinner hour, when she had to dine alone, except for that grand man-servant. One day that functionary was standing elegant and impressive, when she had occasion to ask him to hand her the cheese. The man stood immovable like a lay figure in a clothing-house. She felt sure that he had heard her, and she became angry when he made no move to do her bidding.

She repeated her command, as she thought, “Give me the cheese,” This time the grandee of a man-servant perceptibly laughed, but was immovable. In indignation, supposing him to be impertinent, or worse still, crazy, she rushed to the front door to call assistance, when she met the belated missionary, her husband, and promptly explained the situation.

“What did you say, my dear,” was his smiling query.

“‘Give me the cheese,’ was what I said.”

“Yes, but the word,” he insisted. ·

“I said beso,” replied the wife, still puzzled.

Then the unfeeling missionary fairly roared with laughter. His wife had begun to think that he, too, had gone mad, when he managed to keep calm long enough to explain. It was only a mistake in the sound of one letter that she had made, but it was a funnily fatal one that time. She should have said “queso” instead of “beso.” And instead of asking the man-servant for the “cheese” she had asked him without any qualification for a “kiss.”