One of our corps of Philosophers (a trifle visionary, perhaps) has been
speculating as to certain possible (or, perhaps, impossible) results
flowing from the practice among publishers of ante-dating their monthly
issues. Thus, supposing that the world should be destroyed by fire (and
why not? it is bad enough) on the 15th of May, 1870, and a cover of,
say, _Putnam's_ for June, carried up by an air-current, should, after
floating about ever so long in space, finally descend on some friendly
planet--we will say, Venus. Here it would naturally get picked up by an
archaeologist, (who would be on the spot looking out for it,) and the
interesting relic would be promptly and reverently deposited among the
other Vestiges of Creation, in the Royal Cabinet. In the course of
years, some historian would probably have occasion to turn over these
curiosities, and would presently light on the scorched but still legible
waif. "Why," says he, in astonishment, "I thought the earth was burnt on
the 15th of May! To be sure, it was _in the night_, and nobody saw it
go, [think of that, conceited Worldling!] but it was missed by somebody
the day after. But here we have a document from the late unfortunate
planet dated the first of June!"
Of course, upon this the History of the Universe would have to be
rewritten, or that odd fortnight would play the mischief somewhere!
* * * * *
A Boston Boy.