A FAIR RETORT.
It is quite as hard as ever to get ahead of Pat. This was proved the other day during a trial in an English court-room, an Irish witness being examined as to his knowledge of a shooting affair.
"Did you see the shot fired?" the magistrate asked, when Pat had been sworn.
"No, sorr. I only heard it," was the evasive reply.
"That evidence is not satisfactory," replied the magistrate, sternly, "Stand down!"
The witness proceeded to leave the box, and directly his back was turned he laughed derisively. The magistrate, indignant at the contempt of court, called him back, and asked him how he dared to laugh in court.
"Did ye see me laugh, your Honor?" queried the offender.
"No, sir; but I heard you," was the irate reply.
"That evidence is not satisfactory," said Pat, quietly, but with a twinkle in his eye.
And this time everybody laughed, even the magistrate.
[DANIEL WEBSTER'S SCHOOL DAYS.]
BY ALBERT LEE.
The house where Daniel Webster boarded while he was a scholar at the Phillips Academy, Exeter, still stands at the corner of Water and Clifford streets, in that little New Hampshire town. The external appearance of the building has been changed somewhat; the protruding logs in the back part of the house have been covered with planed boards, and the large old-fashioned chimney that stood until within a few years has been torn down, but the little room on the second floor is still in about the same condition as it was in the days when Webster studied there.
He was fourteen years of age when brought by his father to Exeter and placed in charge of Mr. Clifford, a worthy gentleman of the town. The precise date of Daniel Webster's entrance at the academy is the 25th of May, 1796. It was the first time that the boy had been away from home, and he describes his feelings himself as follows: "The change overpowered me. I hardly remained master of my own senses among ninety boys, who had seen so much more and appeared to know so much more than I did." When Webster's father had bidden his son farewell, he said to Mr. Clifford that "he must teach Daniel to hold his fork and knife, for Daniel knows no more about it than a cow does about holding a spade."
From all accounts this comparison must have been a good one, for Daniel Webster's table manners were so rude that it is said that the other boys who boarded at Mr. Clifford's requested the latter to send Webster away. But Mr. Clifford, of course, never for a moment considered this, and knowing that young Webster was of a most sensitive disposition, he tried to correct the lad by example rather than by advice and remonstrance. Webster was accustomed to hold his knife and fork in his fists; one day Mr. Clifford held his own knife and fork in the same way, and continued doing so at intervals, until Webster saw how ungraceful it was, and corrected himself.
Daniel Webster was not much of a success as a student while at Exeter. He admits this in his autobiography. He seemed unable to recite in a room full of boys; and although he spent many hours in study, he could never, having learned his lesson, make a good recitation. The strangest thing of all, however, is that he could not be induced to speak in public; and when the day came on which it was usual for his class to declaim, although he had learned his piece, he was utterly incapable of rising from his seat when his name was called. "The kind and excellent Buckminster," says Webster in his autobiography, "sought especially to persuade me to perform the exercise of declamation, like other boys, but I could not do it. Many a piece did I commit to memory, yet when the day came when the school elected to hear declamations, when my name was called and I saw all eyes turned to my seat, I could not raise myself from it. Sometimes the instructors frowned; sometimes they smiled. Mr. Buckminster always pressed and entreated most winningly that I would venture, but I could never command sufficient resolution. When the occasion was over, I went home and wept bitter tears of mortification." To think that such should have been the nature of the boy who afterward became so famous an orator, and whose speeches, as a man, have become classical, and whose presence "has graced the courts of justice in the national halls of legislation"!
Daniel Webster was so greatly discouraged at this inability to declaim before his comrades, and by the treatment he received at the hands of his fellow-students because of his awkwardness and shyness, that at the end of his first term he said to Dr. Abbott, the principal, that he thought he would not return after Christmas. The principal knew very well that Webster's rustic manners and coarse clothing had been the cause of the misconduct of the other boys toward him, and he therefore encouraged Webster to remain in school, and assured him that he was a better scholar than most of the boys in his class, and he promised the lad that if he would return at the commencement of the next term, he would be placed in a higher class, where he should "no longer be hindered by the boys who cared more for play and dress than for solid improvement." Webster says that these were the first encouraging words that he had ever received with regard to his studies, and because of them he resolved to return to school, and to work with all the ability he possessed.
But in spite of his best determinations, Webster was never able to do well in the class-room, and he therefore left Phillips Academy after having attended its classes for nine months. His father placed him then, in February, 1797, in charge of the Rev. Samuel Wood at Boscawen, who prepared him for college. Even with Mr. Wood young Webster's success as a student was not very great, for at the end of a year the reverend gentleman said to his pupil, "I expected to keep you till next year, but I am tired of you, and I shall put you into college next month."
Daniel Webster went to Dartmouth College, and there he did much better, both in his studies and in his intercourse with his fellow-students, and he managed a number of times to speak in public.
[THE AMERICAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.]
A JAPANESE MATINÉE.
BY EMMA J. GRAY.
The members of the Senior Class in the Frotinbas Institute wished to give a complimentary entertainment to their friends. There were many informal suggestions and discussions as to the character of the entertainment, and had not a class meeting been called, such a condition of affairs might have been kept up indefinitely. But the meeting decided matters, for then the different suggestions were formally examined, weighed, and voted upon. That receiving the most votes being a Japanese matinée.
The question now settled, committees were appointed to complete arrangements, so that at the time of entertainment there would be neither balk nor anxiety.
To the girls were given the important duties of decoration and refreshment, the boys declaring that "girls had a knack at such things," and therefore there was not the slightest use of their blundering awkwardness.
While the boys on their part promised to furnish sufficient and clever amusement. And when the day of days at last arrived, for everything is sure to come in time, and too soon sometimes, no sky could be bluer, nor sunshine give heartier welcome, for it was a perfectly delicious atmosphere. As a consequence, therefore, the new gymnasium, in which this pretty entertainment was held, was crowded to its utmost limit. Such a wealth of charming girls and manly boys! There were older people there, too—mothers and fathers, whose love for their children made them sure to come and see how they did things, and, indeed, to be quite honest, we must not fail to mention the dearest of dear little people, whose chubby dimpled hands would clap with all their baby might, and whose gleeful laugh, whenever their big brothers or sisters would particularly delight them, would spread contagion through the entire audience.
All the girls looked quaint and interesting in Japanese costume. Some of these had been hired, and others made at home by the nimble fingers of the wearers. In order to learn how to do things, the girls carefully examined the portraits of Japanese women, and also received many ideas from a large Japanese emporium. At this place they made all their purchases, even to such small though important items as hair-pins, for, notwithstanding that none of the girls were over sixteen, each had her hair rolled, and altogether dressed in the Japanese fashion. This hair-dressing effected an enormous change, for instead of a cloud of windy curls, long waving hair, or braids, to which we were accustomed, the smoothly arranged and fantastically decorated locks seemed odd indeed, and gave the girlish faces an almost unnatural look, as though they were masquerading after the fashion of their baby sisters when they roguishly look through grandmother's spectacles. But notwithstanding the change wrought by upturned hair, there was no change in their winsome manner, and therefore every guest was instantly won.
The gymnasium had been arranged to represent a salon. The boys and girls hall contributed some of the furnishing, such as bric-à-brac and hangings, the sort that could be most safely conveyed from home, others had been hired, and some of the less expensive articles, for example—large paper parasols, balloons, cotton crêpe materials, and fans—had been bought. The tone of the room was perfect, indicating the thought with which the different articles had been selected and placed.
There was a raised platform, so that the tricks, which were the prime feature of the entertainment, could be seen. This platform was artistically decorated, and chairs, screens, tables, gauze hangings, and all the accessories required by the exhibitors were conveniently near. To the left of the platform there stood an upright piano, on which low music was played throughout the performance.
The hour stated for the matinée was three in the afternoon, and as most of the guests were present, it opened promptly with a succession of college songs furnished by a mandolin quartet, after which the following tricks, were shown.
It will be noticed that many of these tricks are already familiar, and very easily executed, when you know how. We will hope the accompanying explanation will stimulate some readers to try
THE NUT TRICK.
The shell must be prepared before the performance. Remove the kernel by boring a hole, or opening the nut at one end. Take out the contents by the aid of a lady's hat-pin, and instead of the kernel, slip in a short piece of scarlet-colored baby-width ribbon. Then putty or wax the opening over, and color the putty or wax with a dye, crayon, or paint the exact shade of the nut. The nut being thus prepared, you may now lay it on the table before your friends, and present a bunch of many-colored ribbons of the same width and length to them. Ask that some one select any piece he choose; you must have a don't-care air, as though it didn't make any difference to you which piece was chosen. While, on the contrary, you care so much, that should a wrong selection be made you must at once tell an interesting story, which will help your friends to forget that the ribbon has already been selected, and you should make use of this opportunity to offer the ribbons over again. This time the selection will likely be correct. It would be wise to have the majority of pieces of ribbon the color of the piece in the nut, as that color would catch the eye first and stand a better chance of being taken.
The right ribbon now being chosen, make a great point of looking at it; hold it up at arm's length, so that all the audience may see it. Then ask the party who made the selection to put it back in the bunch with the others and mix them all up to please himself. When he has finished, face the bunch of ribbons, and loudly repeat, three times over, "Ribbon, go into the nut." Then ask your friend to go forward and take the little hammer which he will find on the table and crack the nut open. When the nut is opened, sure enough inside is a scarlet ribbon.
BURN A LADY'S HANDKERCHIEF, BUT RETURN IT WHOLE AGAIN.
This requires a tin cylinder about eight inches in diameter and twelve inches in height. Into this put a perfectly fitting tin vessel, which is divided strictly in half. When this vessel is slid inside of the cylinder the whole does not look unlike a canister with a cover at each end. Having the handkerchief, hold it so that everybody sees it, and talk fluently, keeping the body constantly in motion, indeed making so many motions that no one has noticed that you have packed this handkerchief in the upper division of the tin vessel, and that, as you are walking towards the candle, you have turned the cylinder upside down, and that also the handkerchief you are now holding is really not a handkerchief at all, but a thin piece of muslin you have prepared to simulate a handkerchief. Pour on it a few drops of alcohol, which will help it to burn even more rapidly; tear it, if you think it more effective. When the owner thinks that her handkerchief is forever destroyed, cleverly manage to invert the cylinder, take out the handkerchief, shake it well, holding it so that all the audience sees that it is not even scorched, and then return it to the lady.
THE BOWL TRICK.
Fill a tiny tumbler with water and cover it with a bowl. Then state you will drink the water in the tumbler underneath without moving the bowl.
Of course the company do not believe you, and you ask all to turn their backs, or close their eyes, if they will promise not to look, until one of the party counts ten. Immediately they have turned their backs, or closed their eyes, you pick up another glass of water and hastily swallow a few mouthfuls. They hear the sound, but no one can look until ten is counted. By that time the glass from which you drank is hidden again, and the company catch you wiping your moist lips. Undoubtedly one of the number will be so suspicious that he will lift the bowl to see, and then is your opportunity, for you at once pick up the glass and drink, saying, as you put it down, "I didn't touch the bowl."
AN IMPOSSIBLE JUMP.
Take a gentleman's hat, and, turning it around so that every one sees it, ask your friends whether, if you put it on the floor, they could jump over it. Of course they will answer "yes." Then stand it close to the wall, and tell them not to all try at once, but take their turn to jump.
TURN A GOBLET UPSIDE DOWN WITHOUT SPILLING THE WATER.
Fill a glass goblet so as not to allow any water to drop over the edge. Cover the top with a piece of paper; on the paper put your hand, and turn the goblet rapidly over; then remove the hand. The upward pressure of the air will prevent the water from spilling.
THE HAT OMELET.
Everybody who enjoys tricks is no doubt familiar with this. It is very easy to do.
First state that you are about to make an omelet. Then break three eggs into the hat, and appear to add a little milk and flour, after which shake all together and hold the hat over a lighted lamp, candle, or gas. After a few moments lift out the hot flaky omelet and pass it to your friends, otherwise they will think they have been deceived.
The secret is the omelet was cooked on the range, and was in the hat when you commenced to exhibit the trick, the hat being held too high for the audience to see inside. The eggs were not full, only the shells, the contents having been previously drawn through a tiny aperture at one end. Laugh and talk a great deal, and it will not be noticed that you do not put in the corn-starch and milk; also let a real egg drop, as if by accident, on a plate standing on the table before you, or let a table-spoon or knife fall. This will attract all eyes and further prevent discovery. As in other tricks, you should practice it before showing it to your friends.
THE WONDERFUL CARAFE.
An empty carafe is brought by your confederate. This you should rinse and drain in the presence of your audience in order to satisfy them that there is really no mistake, that the carafe is positively empty. After it has well drained dry it, wiping it around with the greatest care. In the towel which your confederate brought you he also brought a bladder, in which was a weak preparation made up of spirits of wine, sugar, and water. In this way the carafe is filled without the audience detecting. The glasses are already in position, and in each one has been put a drop or two of flavoring extract, such as pineapple, lemonade, orange, peppermint. The magician then inquires if any one would like a glass of lemonade, and being answered in the affirmative, he pours the same from the carafe by filling the glass in which the drops of lemonade extract have been placed. In like manner he will give a glass of orangeade, or whatever drink corresponds to the extract in the glasses.
THE VANISHING TEN-CENT PIECE.
Put this coin in the palm of your hand and take pains to let everybody see it. Then state that if any one of the audience will call out "Vanish" it will disappear.
The reason why is because the nail of your middle finger is covered with white wax, and closing the hand forcibly the coin instantly fastens itself to it. You must then open the hand wide and show that the ten-cent piece has really gone.
The tricks now being over, the audience rose to congratulate their young entertainers and also to exchange a few words with one another, and in so doing many of them did not discover that refreshments were about to be served until they were asked to take seats at the small tables that had most mysteriously appeared.
The refreshments were very simple, being only vanilla and strawberry rolled wafers, and delicious tea. The tea was, of course, poured into the prettiest of Japanese cups, and carried on richly decorated trays on which were laid divers colored Japanese napkins, while the graceful, cordial, Japanese-robed young girls added an indescribable charm.
And thus closed this dainty, interesting entertainment amid the pleasant chatter of the happily seated, congenial company.
[THE NORMAL EYE.]
BY JNO. GILMER SPEED.
If six persons casually thrown together look at the moon when it is high in the heavens, and each be asked how large the moon seems to be, it is more than likely that the questioner will receive six different answers. This probably would not be the case if the moon were near the horizon and just rising or just setting.
The differences in the answers to the first query will be due to the perfect or imperfect action of the various eyes. The comparative uniformity of the answers in the second instance would be due to the nicer adjustment of the eyes by seeing at the same time with the moon familiar objects on the earth, such as houses and trees, which would afford a standard of measurement.
Many persons old and young have remarked what I have just noted. I have often observed such differences of vision, but never gave any particular thought to the matter until the beautiful gilded statue of Diana on top of the lofty tower of the Madison Square Garden was erected as a weather-vane. The arrow of the chaste huntress points in the direction of the prevailing wind.
To me the statue, when it was first erected, seemed at least ten feet tall. To another of my friends it seemed a trifle smaller, and so did the appearance vary, until the sixth of my companions said that to him the statue seemed no larger than a good-sized doll—that is, about two feet in height.
Then we turned to the moon, and here again were six opinions. They varied from between attributing to the moon the size of a barrel-head, eighteen inches in diameter, and the size of a breakfast plate, about seven and a half inches. I was puzzled and interested, and as I saw larger than any of my friends, I was afraid that my eyes were in some way out of focus.
Next day I went to an optician to ascertain whether or not I had normal vision. I was put through the usual tests of reading, without the aid of glasses, sentences in different-sized letters. Then the optician declared that I saw with most unusual accuracy. I was puzzled at this, for I regarded Mr. Augustus St. Gaudens, who had made the weather-vane statue of Diana, as the most gifted sculptor in America, and Mr. Stanford White, the designer of the tower upon which the statue stands, as one of our most accomplished architects. These gentlemen could not have made a mistake, I thought, for surely they did not mean that Diana should have to one standing on the ground the appearance of a giantess.
It happened that the shop of the optician I consulted was in the neighborhood of Madison Square. Looking from the windows, one could see Diana changing her front as the spring winds shifted. Still she seemed at least ten feet in height. I turned to the optician.
"Have you normal vision?" I asked.
"I am not so fortunate," he replied.
"Is there any one here whose vision has been frequently tested, and about which there can be no doubt?"
A young man was sent for, and I was told that his eyesight was as perfect as human eyesight ever gets to be. I took him to the window and pointed out Diana, who now seemed in the act of shooting her arrow directly over our heads, and was therefore facing us.
"How large does she look?" I asked.
"Oh, she is too large," he responded, with a laugh; "she seems fully ten feet high to me." Here was confirmation of my own opinion.
I then went to Mr. St. Gaudens. He told me frankly that the statue was too large, and that it was to be replaced by a smaller one—five feet shorter, a diminished replica. With the modelling he was entirely satisfied, as are all other competent art critics, I believe, but he was convinced that the statue was too tall.
I asked him what the custom was in determining how much a figure that was to be placed at an elevation should be exaggerated. He told me that in modelling ordinary statues a platform could be made of the same size as the base upon which the finished work was to rest, and that then the sculptor's sense of proportion would guide him. In this case, however, where a statue was to be placed at an elevation of 325 feet, such a test was impracticable.
Hence the proportions had to be determined by a scale-drawing which showed all the various parts of the building and tower in relation to each other and to the whole. This drawing was modified until it completely satisfied the sense of proportion of both architect and sculptor. Such a method, however, appears not to have been exact enough to have prevented two of our ablest men from falling into a costly error of judgment.
By marking off a base-line for one side of a right-angled triangle, and letting another side of the triangle be the height of the tower, the length of the hypothenuse, or third side of the triangle, which would also have been the line of vision, could have been easily calculated. Then if another right-angled triangle be constructed, the hypothenuse of which is just as long as the normal human vision can see without diminishing an object of the size that it is desirable that the elevated object should appear when fixed in place, then the height of this given object would be to the hypothenuse of the second or subsidiary triangle as the hypothenuse of the larger triangle is to the height of the desired object. That is, if the normal vision will reach accurately 200 feet, that would be the hypothenuse of the second triangle. Suppose, then, that the hypothenuse of the first triangle be 500 feet, and it was desired that the elevated object should appear six feet high; then the architect would have to make it fifteen feet high for the proper result to be attained.
By applying such a plain mathematical rule as this the costly mistakes made in New York might have been obviated, and by its aid it can be determined at any time just how much an elevated object should be exaggerated so that it will look of a natural size. Such a rule as this can be applied by any school-boy who has mastered his trigonometry; but there are few, if any, architects who resort to calculations to determine a mere matter of size when it does not relate to the strength of the structure. The strength of walls and floors is of course calculated with mathematical nicety, but those matters of construction and ornamentation which only affect the appearance of buildings are determined by the taste and the sense of proportion of the designer.
And it may be that it is scarcely worth while for architects and designers to take any greater pains than they do to arrive at mathematical accuracy in those things which, after all, have only an æsthetic value. The first Diana on the tower was too large; but if a thousand had been randomly gathered in Madison Square Garden, and a census of their opinions taken, it would probably have been found that the vote stood something like this: 50 would have thought the statue 15 feet high; 100, 10 feet; 200, 8 feet; 200, 6 feet; 200, 5 feet; 100, 4 feet; 100, 3 feet; 50, 2 feet.
The statue, which was at an elevation of 325 feet from the ground, was really 18 feet in height. The present statue, which has replaced the one of which I have been speaking, is 13 feet high.
The percentage of persons having normal vision is very small, and those who by the use of glasses or spectacles correct such defects are also comparatively small, if we except those who realize the impairment of their vision as they realize, after the meridian of life has been passed, the impairment of other faculties. Children, as a rule, have normal vision; but I am assured by numerous practical opticians that not more than ten per cent. of the men and women who have passed their twenty-first birthday still have normal vision; and when a person has got beyond forty-five and can still see with the accuracy of youth, then that person affords so exceptional a case as to be worthy to be placed among the living curiosities. A small percentage of persons with abnormal vision see large, but, as a rule, eyes that are not as they should be see objects in a diminished form.
This being the case, an architect who has a normal vision, or corrects his vision by the aid of properly adjusted spectacles, and whose sense of proportion is also of a high order, will very likely continually be designing things that only a small percentage of those who are to look at them will be capable of appreciating. Out of a thousand grown persons who see his accurately proportioned work, one hundred will see it with normal eyes, and two hundred more, perhaps, will see it with eyes corrected by spectacles. Three hundred will therefore view his work as he does himself, and seven hundred, not knowing that their vision is defective, will judge that his work has been badly done. Therefore, build he ever so well, he is building only for a small minority. The children, with eyes ordinarily in a normal condition, should be the best friends an architect could cultivate, for they, in one sense, at least, usually have the capacity to look upon his work and say whether it be well done or not. But, unfortunately, about the time that young people reach an age when they begin to think seriously about art and architecture, the great majority of them also begin to lose that normal sight, without which distant objects can no longer be seen in accurate proportions. Or perhaps the architects might impress upon all those who criticise their work that a consultation with an oculist and a call upon a spectacle-maker would enable a critic to reform his adverse judgment. Such a course would be a good thing both for the eye specialist and the optician. But if an architect himself have defective vision, he can either design his structure by mathematical rules, or do for himself what has just been suggested for his critics. At any rate, the statistics available, and these are to a large extent only approximated, show that the eyesight of Americans is getting all the time more defective, and lead to the conclusion that in the course of a few more years the exceptional person will be the one who does not wear eye-glasses or spectacles or squint impertinently through the "monocle," that distinguishing mark of English and Continental dandyism.
