_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.