 XII. The eloquent language in which the great cataract was described by Sir Edwin Arnold and John Galt's romantic account of its discovery. The compass of the honeymooner, like the compass of the mariner, has four points, but on that of the honeymooner the points are rather differently indicated. The east is represented by the term abroad, the south by Washington, the west by almost anything lying between Pittsburgh and the Pacific, and the north by Niagara. The honeymooner, who finds it less difficult to make money than to kill time, shapes his matrimonial course via Pittsburgh or Paris. The good patriotic, homespun sort of chap, who finds it more easy to kill time than to make money, and who may one day be the father of the President of the United States, whirls his bride off to Washington or Niagara. Washington is a little dull, and rather warm after Congress adjourns, so the June bride is most likely to pick the last of the rice grains out of her hair with an earshot of the great northern cataract. Two selections that have to do with the big waterfall are given herewith. Of these, one has been called the finest description of Niagara ever written. It is from the pen of the late Sir Edwin Arnold, the author of The Light of Asia, and appeared originally in the London Daily Telegraph. The second selection is John Galt's account, partly historical and partly imaginative, of the discovery of the cataract. John Galt, 1779 to 1839, was a native of Scotland. He was the author of several novels that were popular in their day. He traveled extensively and wrote many articles on historical and geographical subjects. The Splendour of Niagara by Sir Edwin Arnold. Before my balcony the great cataract is thundering, smoking, glittering with green and white rollers and rapids, hurling the waters of a whole continent in splendor and speed over the sharp ledges of the long brown rock by which, eerie, the broad steps proudly down to Ontario, the beautiful. The smaller but very imposing American Falls speaks with a louder voice of the two, because its coiling spirals of twisted and furious flood crash in full impulse of dissent upon the talus of massive boulders heaped up at its foot. The resounding impact of water on rocks, the clouds of water smoke which rise high in the air, and the river below churned into a whirling cream of eddy and surge and backwater, unite in a composite effect, at once magnificent and bewildering. Far away Niagara River is seen winding eagerly to its prodigious leap. You can discern the line of the first breakers where the river fills the fatal draw of the cataracts, its current seeming suddenly to leap forward, stimulated by mad desire, a hidden spell, a dreadful and irresistible doom. Far back along the gilded surface of the upper stream, these lines of dancing, tossing, eager, anxious and fate-impelled breakers and billows multiply their white ranks and spread and close together their leaping ridges into a wild chaos of racing waves as the brink is approached, and then at the brink there is a curious pause, the momentary peace of the irrevocable. Those mad upper waters, reaching the great leap, are suddenly all quiet and glassy, and appear rounded and green as the border of a field of young rye, at the moment when they turn the angle of the dreadful ledge and hurl themselves into the snow-white gulf of noise and mist and mystery underneath. There is nothing more translucently green, nor more perennially still and lovely than Niagara, the greater. At this her awful brink, the whole architrave of the main abyss, gleams like a fixed and glorious work wrought in polished aquamarine or emerald. This exquisitely covered cornice of the enormous waterfall, this brim of bright tranquility between fervor of rush and fury of plunge, is its principal feature, and stamps it as far more beautiful than terrible. Even the central solemnity and shudder-fraught miracle of the monstrous uproar and glory is rendered exquisite, reposeful and soothing by the lovely rainbows hanging over the turmoil and clamour. From its crest of chrysoprase and silver, indeed, to its broad foot of milky foam and of its white stunned waves, too broken and two days to begin at first to float away, Niagara appears not terrible, but divinely and deliciously graceful, glad and lovely, a specimen of the splendor of water at its finest, a sight to dwell and linger in the mind with ineffacable images of happy and grateful thought, by no means to affect it and sing or to haunt it in future days of memory with any wild reminiscences of terror or of gloom. The Discovery of Niagara by John Galt Among the earliest missionaries sent to convert the Indians to the Christian belief was Joseph Price, a young man who had received directions to penetrate farther into the vast forests which clothed the continent of America toward the North, then had been, at the time, accomplished. In this hazardous undertaking he was accompanied by Henry Wilmington, who actuated by the same religious motives had volunteered to attend him. They had been landed at Boston, then a very small but thriving village about a month previous, where they made the necessary preparations for their expedition and recruited themselves after a passage of thirteen weeks from Plymouth for so long a passage was not uncommon in those times, introversing the Atlantic. It was a fine morning in the latter end of May when they bade adieu to the inhabitants by whom they had been hospitably entertained and accompanied by the good wishes of all proceeded toward the hitherto unexplored forest. The buds were now beginning to expand into leaves, and the sun was often darkened by the vast flocks of migratory pigeons which, when the woods allowed, sometimes flew so close to the ground that the travellers could beat them down with their sticks. Before sailing from England they had often heard persons who had crossed the Atlantic mention this circumstance, but they suspected them of exaggeration until they witnessed it themselves. It was their intention to visit a distant tract of country of which nothing was known except vague reports of sheets of water so immense that, but for the circumstance of their being fresh, might have led them to suppose they were on an island. These reports were, for the most part, gathered from the Indians, on whose testimony little reliance could be placed, as none of their informers could speak from their own knowledge. Into the Wilderness. To aid them in their pursuit they were provided with compasses and armed with fouling pieces. They, directing their course toward the place to which most of the Indians were eluded, had, it is true, but slight grounds on which to rest their hopes of success. Animated, however, with the desire of fulfilling what they had undertaken, they fought little of the difficulties which might attend it. Accordingly, it was without regret that they were now leaving the subtle part of the country. Having traveled several days without seeing anything worthy of notice, they arrived at the ultimate farm they could expect to meet with before their return. After remaining there for the night, they continued their journey through the forest, which had most likely never been previously trodden by the feet of civilized men. These startled deer frequently crossed their path, and a few birds were the only objects that varied the silent solitude around. Guided by their compasses, they continued their progress many days until they arrived at the banks of a large and rapid river, which they, in vain, attempted to pass, as its breadth and swiftness precluded the hope of their being able to swim across it. After proposing many expedients, all of which they soon found to be impracticable, they determined on trusting themselves to some one of the many fallen trees which lay in every eddy along its banks, and having selected one whose branches lay in such a manner, as would prevent it from turning over, they entwined boughs to form a small kind of basket, into which, having provided themselves with stout poles, they entered, taking care that neither their guns nor ammunition suffered from the water. They then suddenly pushed it from the shore into the stream, and continued doing so until the water grew so deep that the poles were of no avail, and they were obliged to trust and providence to carry them to the other side. For some time they continued in the middle of the river, without inclining toward either bank. When they perceived that, by the help of the wind, they were quickly gaining on a large pine, which was slowly floating downward. On reaching it, they stretched out their poles with a great effort, and succeeded in pushing themselves into water, where they could again find bottom. After much labour, our travelers touched the bank, on which they quickly leapt, and having taken out their arms, they continued their journey, rejoicing. A battle of stags. They soon, after arrived at a spot where they deemed it fit to wait till the following morning, and it being their custom, they went out hunting in order to provide provision for the next day as once, at that time easily accomplished, as the forest abounded with herds of deer, which, having been seldom disturbed, were exceedingly tame. On this occasion they soon beheld a great number watching, a furious encounter between two large bucks, which, with the utmost animosity, were endeavouring to gore each other. Surprised at a sight they had never before seen, they determined to await the result, and after some time, one of the combatants, by an amazing leap, sprang past the other, and, swiftly turning round, drove his horns into the side of his adversary, and instantly killed him. The missionaries, running to the spot, frightened away the remainder of the herd, while they took possession of the fallen one, and, having taken what would serve them for several days, left the carcass to the wolves. In about a week after, they reached a chain of mountains, where they rested for the night, and next morning proceeded to ascend their steep and sandy sides, up which they were enabled to drag themselves by grasping the trees. Nevertheless, they were several times nearly precipitated into the gulf below. Wellington, on one occasion in particular, when they were ascending a very dangerous part of the mountain, inadvertently seized a rotten branch, which, giving way, cost them to be hurried downward to the very brink of a precipice, where he saved himself by catching hold of a projecting bow. Thus they advanced for the remainder of that day, in the evening of which they took advantage of a small space of level ground to remain until the morning. About noon they succeeded in gaining the summit of the ridge, and in order that they might view this surrounding country, they ascended a barren crag that reared itself high above the others, for, without having met with this, the trees would have excluded every prospect. Climb Tree to See Lakes Having reached its loftiest pinnacle, they turned their eager eyes to see if they could behold any traces of the mighty seas of fresh water which had been described to them by the Indians, but to their sorrow, as far as their sight could stretch, only vast woods met their anxious gaze. While thus engaged, they sometimes heard the piercing cries of the hawk in pursuit of his prey, far under them, and among the trees, the drumming of the partridge and the tapping of the woodpecker could be clearly distinguished. Being somewhat disappointed, they silently commenced, winding their lonely way down the side of the mountain, but notwithstanding their utmost exertions, they could not succeed in descending the range that evening, and were compelled by the approaching darkness to seek a spot where they might safely rest. Early in the morning they awoke, and, continuing their descent with renewed energy, soon surpassed their formidable obstacle which the hills had opposed. Having rested for the remainder of that day, they again began to cross the level country, and continued doing so for many days, without having seen a single human being since their departure from the farm, when, one day, in a glade of the woods, they saw a band of Indians among the trees, who, having approached, spoke in a pleasant, but to them unknown language. Their gestures betoken their surprise at beholding people so different in color to themselves, and armed with what appeared to them only polished sticks. While thus employed, a flock of wild geese flew high above their heads, at which the Indians discharged their arrows, but they fell short of their intended mark, when Price and Wilmington, raising their guns, fired, and to the astonishment of the natives, two of the flock came fluttering to their feet. The spectators, crowded around the Europeans, and with much curiosity, began to admire the weapons which they had formally despised. Their wonder was not diminished, when they saw what they imagined pounded senders put into the muzzles of the guns, and then, on pulling a small piece of iron, a flash of fire, accompanied with smoke and a loud report, immediately followed. The chief, by signs, appeared to ask them to accompany him, that the rest of his tribe might see what seemed to them exceedingly wonderful, and having followed him they soon arrived at a place where several Indians were engaged in erecting small wigwamps of bark. The chief, however, made them understand that this was only their hunting-round, and told them that their village lay far off in the direction of the sun, which was then sinking behind the trees, into which they should soon return. From this time the missionaries commenced learning the language of their entertainers, in which they were able to converse with some facility by the time that the Indians returned to their village, which was situated on the Oneida. Having arrived there, Price began to teach them, but they, having patiently listened to his first sermon, to his great sorrow never assembled to hear him again, and in consequence he told Wilmington that he would try to discover whether there was any truth in the reports they had heard at Boston concerning the inland waters, and asked him if he was willing to be his companion. Had heard great roaring, Wilmington assented, and, having endeavored to inform the Indians of their intention, the chief, who had conducted them to the village, made them understand that the river which flowed past led to an immense basin, which they supposed was formed by the continual running of several large rivers, but that feel of his tribe had ever paddled far round its borders. There was, however, an old man who, in his youth, had ventured to proceed in his canoe for many suns along it, and returned with the report that he had arrived at an immense river which ran into the fresh sea, where, having landed for the purpose of hunting, he had heard a terrific roaring, as he thought, of waters, and advancing through the woods toward the sound, for some miles the stream became so rapid that no canoe could go up against it. Being very much alarmed, he had hurried back to his bark, and instantly commenced his return, but he was the only one of the tribe who had ever dared to sail so far, and from his account they supposed at the source of the lake. Having learned this, they asked the chief, whose name was Mayuk, whether he would allow any of his Indians to accompany them down the river to the lake, and ascertained from wince the sound that had alarmed the aged Indian arose. He at first tried to dissuade them by every argument in his power, but, finding his endeavors of no avail, he said that he would himself join them in their expedition. It was, therefore, agreed that they should sail down the river the week following, but before the time determined on, an event occurred that considerably delayed their departure. On rising one morning they remarked that large clouds of smoke were drifting over their heads, accompanied by an overpowering pressure of heat, which the Indians said was occasioned by the woods being on fire, and as the wind was high, showers of ashes frequently fell around them. To avoid these, they took shelter in their wigwams, but the hotness of the air, together with the smoke, increased so much that, being in danger of suffocation, the chief proposed that they should cast themselves into the Oneida, and as no better proposition could be made, they hurried into it, and remained with only their heads above water, being often obliged to immerse them likewise. They were thus situated many hours, while the water was black with the ashes that fell around them. The wind at last to their great joy changed, and relieved them, from their perilous position by driving the flames in the contrary direction. They did not, however, quit the water, as the ground was still covered with burning embers. On leaving the river they saw to their mortification that the village was on fire in several places, and it was some time before they succeeded in stopping the progress of the burning. The canoes which they had drawn up on the shore were also consumed. After repairing the damage in making other canoes, they began their expedition, and, having paddled for several days, one calm and beautiful evening they were astonished at the sight of Lake Ontario. As far as the eye could reach, they could only see what appeared to them boundless water, which lay without the slightest ripple on its glassy surface, undisturbed by the softest breath of wind. They then continued paddling round the shore, looking out for a place where they might safely moor their canoes during the night, and among the many-smile inlets they soon discovered one fitted for their purpose, which they immediately entered. At sunrise they again advanced on their adventurous expedition. As they coasted along the deer would sometimes look at them from among the thickets which fringed the borders of the lake, and at other times they saw them swimming across the mouths of the various creeks or rivers which they passed in their progress. They were, however, too much engaged in admiring the lonely magnificence of the surrounding scenery to interrupt the playful gambles of the deer by endeavouring to wound them which they did only when their necessities compelled. Thus they paddled onward for several days without perceiving anything that might lead them to suppose they were approaching the spot to which the old Indian had alluded. When one hazy morning, having proceeded many miles before the sun, had power to dispel the thick mists, they were delighted of seeing themselves, as the air at noon cleared, about to enter a large river which flowed rapidly into the lake. As this, in some measure, coincided with the first part of what had been related to them, they determined on entering it, but after paddling up it for some time the current grew so strong that they were compelled to disembark and continue their journey by land on the edge of the high precipitous bank. The wind, softly blowing, rustled among the trees, but sometimes they fancied that a distant rumbling could be distinguished. Having followed the course of the stream along the edge of the cliff for some distance, Price proposed that one of them should ascend a tree and follow the course of the river upward with his eye, and try if he could discover whence the sound that reached them arose. Mayok, therefore, told one of his Indians to climb up a lofty pine which grew apart from the rust, and he had hardly ascended halfway when, uttering a cry of astonishment, he hastened to the ground and told his comrades that he had seen immense clouds of spray rising far above the trees, but he could not perceive from what cause they arose. The cataract, at last. Encouraged by this report, after refreshing themselves, being much worried by their toilsome march, they hastened along the edge of the cliffs, while a rushing sound that had been gradually increasing was every instant becoming more and more tremendous, and the velocity of the stream made them imagine that they were in the vicinity of a furious rapid. When, on advancing from the thick bushes, they suddenly found themselves on a bare ledge of rock, which overhung an immense chasm into which two streams and a mighty river were tumbling with the noise that drowned all their exclamations of surprise, and which was louder than the voice of the ocean and a storm. Springing back with terror from the edge of the precipice over which they had so nearly plunged, they eyed the thundering and foaming torrent with amazement, not noticing that part of the rock on which they had just been standing was tottering, and slowly separating itself from the adjoining mast, till they were roused by the crash with which it was precipitated into the gulf below, shaking the living rock from whence it had been detached, and resounding throughout the woods, far above the roaring of the stupendous cataract. The missionaries involuntarily leapt back among the trees, not daring to return to the place where they had been, and viewed with more composure the awful prospect before them. The river above the falls was, for some distance, a furious rapid, rushing with incredible force toward the precipice, but when on its very brink, it in some parts of the great stream became calm, other parts were white with foam. While thus engaged, Mayuk, with a loud cry, directed their attention to a large deer which, in vain, struggling against the overpowering suction of the falls, was rapidly coming to destruction. They watched its fruitless endeavors to reach the shore, but on arriving at the deceitful calm, it looked wildly with distended nostrils and outstretched neck, and seemed to be crying, but the roar of the cataracts drowned its voice, and it was soon precipitated into the boiling abyss. The French, from the province of Quebec, may have reached as far before, but Price and his companion believed they were the first who had penetrated to that spot, and when they returned back to the settlements, their description of the unparalleled magnificence of the cataracts, to which Mayuk gave the name Niagara, or the thundering waters, was deemed incredible, but the wilderness has now been banished, and festivity and commerce have there established themselves amidst the simple sublimity that distinguishes this, the most impressive spectacle of the kind to be seen on the whole earth. End of Section 12 Section 13 of the scrapbook, Volume 1, Sampler by Various, edited by Frank A. Muncie. This lip-revox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Bologna Times. Patrick Henry's Call to Arms. Section 13. The famous speech, which, delivered by the American Hampton in the Virginia Convention, kindled the fire of revolution in the thirteen colonies of 1775. In the thick of national crises, the ability to persuade others is the strongest power an individual can wield. Such a power was Patrick Henry's. From the earlier disagreements with the mother country, his influence was all for the assertion of colonial liberties. He was born May 9, 1736. In 1765, a young man not yet thirty, he became a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses. The Stamp Act had excited the people. Young Henry, with the presumption which angered many of his mature colleagues, offered resolutions setting forth the rights of the colony. In the debate he suddenly uttered the words. Caesar had his Brutus, Charles I, his Cromwell, and George III. A clamour arose, and cries of treason, treason! With perfect coolness the order continued. May profit by their example. Then firmly, if this be treason, make the most of it. Thus began the public life of a man whose youth had been most unpromising in its slovenliness and laziness, who had failed at farming and at business, and who had succeeded at law only after a dubious beginning which was turned into triumph by a quite unlooked for burst of eloquence. His services to his country continued until his voluntary retirement from public life in 1791, at the age of 55. Subsequently Washington and Adams offered him high offices, but Henry declined successively to be United States Senator, Secretary of State, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, or Minister to France. In 1799 urged by Washington he consented to be elected to the Virginia legislature, but died June 6 before taking his seat. We here print his great speech in the Virginia Convention 1775, as recorded by his first biographer. Mr. President, it is natural for men to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concerned their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the worst, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is a lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past, and judging by the past I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British Ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir. It will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation, the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir. She has none. They are meant for us. They can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rip it upon us those chains which the British Ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable, but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What term shall we find, which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned. We have remonstrated. We have supplicated. We have prostrated ourselves before the throne and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted. Our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult. Our supplications have been disregarded, and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve in violent those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight. I repeat it, sir, we must fight and appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that has left us. They tell us, sir, that we are weak, unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and in action? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty and in such a country as that which we possess are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not the strong alone. It is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevitable, and let it come. I repeat, sir, let it come. It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace, but there is no peace. The war has actually begun. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it that the gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God. I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death. End of Section 13. Section 14 of the scrapbook, Volume 1, Sampler by Various, edited by Frank A. Munsey. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, reading by Bologna Times. Our National Anthem, Section 14. The story of how its author received his inspiration, where he wrote the famous poem, and how various editors have altered its phraseology. Francis Scott Key wrote only one poem that entitled him to a lasting reputation, but so firmly has that one poem gripped the patriotic consciousness of the American people that its fame is assured as long as the nation continues. Key was born in Maryland, August 9, 1780. He practiced law at Frederick, Maryland in 1801, but he subsequently removed to Washington where he became district attorney for the District of Columbia. When the British ascended Chesapeake Bay in 1814 and captured Washington, General Ross and Admiral Cockburn set up headquarters in Upper Marlboro, Maryland, at the home of Dr. William Beans, one of Key's friends. Later, Dr. Beans was made prisoner by the British. Interesting himself in securing the release of his friend, Key planned to exchange for him a British prisoner in the hands of the Americans. President Madison approved the exchange and directed John S. Skinner, agent for the exchange of prisoners, to accompany Key to the British commander. General Ross consented to the exchange. He ordered, however, that Key and Skinner be detained until after the approaching attack on Baltimore. They had gone from Baltimore out to the British fleet in a vessel provided for them by order of President Madison. Now they were transferred to the British frigate Surprise, commanded by Admiral Cockburn's son, but soon afterward they were permitted to return, under guard to their own vessel. Once they witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry. By the glare of guns, they could see the flag flying over the fort during the night, but before morning the firing ceased and the two men passed a period of suspense, waiting for Don to see whether or not the attack had failed. When Key discovered that the flag was still there, his feelings found vent and verse. On the back of a letter he jotted down in the rough, the star-spangled banner. On his return to Baltimore, Key revised the poem and gave it to Captain Benjamin Eads of the 27th Baltimore Regiment, who had it printed. Taking a copy from the press, Eads went to the tavern next to the Holiday Street Theater, a gathering place for actors and their congenial acquaintances. Mr. Key had directed that the words be sung to the air. Inaugurion and Heaven, composed in England by John Stafford Smith between 1770 and 1775. The verses were first read aloud to the assembled crowd and then Ferdinand de Rang stepped upon a chair and sang them. Key died in Baltimore, January 11, 1843. James Lick bequeathed $60,000 for a monument to his memory. This noble memorial, the work of WW's story, stands in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. It is 51 feet high. Under a double arch is a seated figure of Key in bronze, while above all is a bronze figure of America with an unfolded flag. As Key wrote it, the poem varies in several lines from the versions that are sung today. We were print verbatim, a copy written out by Key himself, for James Marr, gardener of the White House. It may be worthwhile to preface it with certain explanations of his phraseology. He was describing an actual situation and he appears to have addressed the lines directly to his companion, Mr. Skinner. The smoke of battle explains the clouds of the fight. The line, the blood has washed out his foul footsteps pollution, modified by later editors, was his answer to the boasts of a British officer who declared before the bombardment that the fort would quickly be reduced. The change of on to are in the common versions of the phrase now shines on the stream is the result of bungling editing. Key was picturing the reflection of the flag on the water. In the author's version, here given, the words that have been changed by compilers are italicized. The references by numerals indicate the variations of other editions. The Star-Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key. Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming, whose broad stripes and bright stars through the clouds of the fight, or the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming. And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave, or the land of the free and the home of the brave? On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, what is that which the breeze, or the towering steep, as it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses. Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, in full glory reflected, now shines on the stream, it is the Star-Spangled Banner, O long-made wave, or the land of the free and the home of the brave. And where is the foe, that so vauntingly swore, that the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, at home and a country should leave us no more, this blood has washed out, his foul footsteps pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave from the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave, and the Star-Spangled Banner, and triumph doth wave, or the land of the free and the home of the brave. O thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand, between their loved homes and the war's desolation, blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation, then conquer we must when our cause it is just, and this be our motto in God is our trust, and that Star-Spangled Banner, and triumph shall wave, or the land of the free and the home of the brave. For Mr. Joss Marr of Washington City, from F.S. Key, Washington, June 7, 1842. End of Section 14. Section 15 of the scrapbook, Volume 1, Sampler, by Various, edited by Frank A. Munsee. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Bologna Times. From The Country Press by Various. Section 15. Samples of the journalistic fodder, which is handed out for daily consumption among the children of nature, who inhabit some of the quiet places in the tall timbers. Lash Gaudi's corn. Lash Gaudi, a well-known and popular passenger engineer who lives at Seymour, is raising some corn this year. A few days ago a gentleman called at Mr. Gaudi's house to see him, and was informed that he had gone out to look at his corn. The gentleman went down to the field, which he found grown over with weeds of a gigantic growth, with a sickly-looking stalk of corn peeping forth here and there. The gentleman looked across the field, but could not see the proprietor thereof. Finally the man climbed upon the fence and shouted, O Lash! To his surprise a reply came from among the weeds nearby, in the familiar voice of Mr. Gaudi. The gentleman took a second look, but could not quite locate Lash, and after a moment's hesitation said, Shake a weed, so I can tell where you are! Exchange. With Compliments to Faye. A Bulletin is in receipt of a copy of the Faye Observer, notwithstanding the fact that it has the appearance of being printed on a cider mill with three penny nails for type, it is a credit to the town. Geary. Oklahoma. Bulletin. Habits of the Codfish. A correspondent of the Evening Post says that the codfish frequents the table lands of the sea. The codfish, no doubt, does this to secure as nearly as possible a dry bracing atmosphere. This pure air of the submarine table lands gives to the codfish that breadth of chest and depth of lungs, which we have always noticed. The glad, free smile so characteristic of the codfish is largely attributed to the exhilaration of this ocean Altitudellium. The correspondent further says that the cod subsists largely on the sea cherry. Those who have not had the pleasure of seeing the codfish climb the sea cherry tree in search of food or clubbing the fruit from the heavy laden branches with chunks of coral have missed a very fine sight. The codfish, when at home, rambling through the submarine forest does not wear his vest unbuttoned as he does while loafing around the grocery stores of the United States. Laramie, Wyoming, Boomerang. The Placidity of Boswell. G.B. Boswell, while trying to ride his young mule after plowing him all day, was thrown to the ground. In the accident, Mr. Boswell caught his leg over the hamstick and tore his new overalls, which he paid forty-two cents for. We are glad to know that Mr. Boswell was not hurt except that he struck the funny bone of his elbow and his mule got away, which worried him, and had it not been for his Christian disposition he would probably have been a sinner in the sight of God. Wilson, North Carolina, Times. Ibsen in Nevada. Wilson's Norwegian play of Ghosts, with one setting of scenery, no music, and three knocks with a club on the floor to raise the curtain, was presented last evening. The play is certainly a moral hair-raiser, and the stuffing is knocked out of the decalogue at every turn. Mrs. Alving, the leading lady who keeps her chin high in the air, has married a moral monstrosity in the shape of a spavend rake, and hides it from the world. She wears a pleasant smile and gives society the glad hand, and finally lets go all holds when her husband gets gay with a hired girl and gives an old tar three hundred plunks to marry her, and stand the responsibility for the expected population. Oswald, the mother's only boy, is sent to Paris to paint views for marines, and takes kindly to the gay life of the capital, where the joy of living is the rage, and families are reared in a section where a printer running a job office, solely on marriage certificates, would hit the poor house with a dull thud. Regina, the result of Mr. Alving's attentions to the hired girl, also works in the family, and falls in love with a painter-boy on his return from Paris. They vote country life too slow, and plan to go to Paris and start a family. The doting mother gives her consent, and Pastor Menders, who is throwing fits all through the play, has a spasm. The boy, on being informed that the girl of his choice is his half-sister, throws another, his mama, having also thrown a few in the other act. Engstrand, who runs a sort of sailor's and soldier's canteen, sets fire to an orphanage, and the boy, who has inherited a sort of mayonnaise-dressing brain from his awful dad, tears about the stage a spell, breaks some furniture, and upsets the wine. He finally takes rough unwraps, and dies a gibbering idiot, with his mother slobbering over him, and trying to figure out in her own mind that he was merely drunk and disorderly. As a sermon on the law of heredity, the play is great, but after seeing it, we are glad to announce that Haverly's minstrels will relieve the ipson gloom on November 6, next Monday night. Carson Nevada Appeal. Professional Obituary When an editor dies in Kansas, this is the way they write the obituary. The pen is silent, the scissors have been laid away to rust. The stillness of death pervades the very atmosphere, where once the horse-voice of the devil yelling, copy, or what the hell's this word, was wont to resound. The pace-pot has soured on the what-not. The cockroach is eating the composition off the roller, and the blue-bottle fly is dying in the rich folds of the printer's towel. Exchange The Widow's Gratitude A newly made widow of Gary County sent this card of thanks to the Republic for publication. I desire to thank my friends and neighbors most heartily in this manner for the united aid and cooperation during the illness and death of my late husband, who escaped from me by the hand of death on Friday last while eating breakfast. To the friends and all who contributed so willingly toward making the last moments and funeral of my husband a success, I desire to remember most kindly, hoping these few lines will find them enjoying the same blessing. I have a good milch cow and ron-gelding horse five years old, which I will sell cheap. God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps on the sea and rides upon the storm. Also a black and white shout, very low. Junction City, Kansas, Republic. All Off A card from Miss Sally Mackentz, to whom it may concern, the engagement which existed between Miss Sally Mackentz and R. N. Jordan of Cottageville has been mutually dissolved, it being their aim to disappoint those who reported the news of their marriage. This will allow anxious mothers with marriageable daughters the chance of opening their doors again to this esteemed young man, respectfully, S. Mackentz. Walter Burrell, S. Carolina, Press, and Standard. And a grieved subscriber. The following letter was received recently. Dear sir, I hereby offer my resignation as a subscriber to your paper, it being a pamphlet of such small consequence as not to benefit my family by taking it. What you need in your sheet is brains and someone to wrestle up news and write editorials on live topics. No mention has been made in your sheet of me butchering a Poland-China pig, weighing 369 pounds, or the gapes and the chickens out this way. You ignored the fact that I bought a brand new bobsled and that I traded my blind mule and say nothing about Hyde Semkin's Jersey calf breaking his two front legs, falling in a well. Two important chivalries have been utterly ignored by your sheet, and a three-column obituary notice, writ by me on the death of Grandpa Henry, was left out of your sheet to say nothing of the alphabetical poem beginning A is for and and also for arc, writ by me, darter. This is the reason why your paper is so unpopular here. If you don't want editorials from this place and ain't going to put up no news in your sheet, we don't want said sheet. P.S., if you print obituary in your next, I may sign again for your sheet. Holdenville Indian Territory, Tribune. End of Section 15. Section 16 of The Scrapbook, Volume 1, Sampler by Various. Edited by Frank A. Muncie. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Bologna Times. Liquor dealers come out for temperance by Anonymous. Section 16. Rumsellers in convention at Louisville praise the work of the societies that fight King alcohol. The National Liquor Dealers Association in annual convention at Louisville, Kentucky, early in June, issued a startling address to the public. These men, who are frequently thought to have no stronger desire than that every person drink more than is good for him, actually commend the work of the various temperance societies, and urge that intoxication should be considered a crime. They say, from time to time, during the past 75 or 100 years, waves of public sentiment antagonistic to the manufacture and sale of wine and spirits and other alcoholic beverages have passed over this country, leaving in their train state, county, and municipal legislation of a more or less drastic character, legislation entirely out of sympathy with the spirit of American institutions, legislation that was bound to fail in its purpose in practically every instance. And this because the sentiment that compelled it was a sentiment engendered by agitation and totally unripe for its enforcement. Prohibitory laws evaded. That prohibitory laws are all evaded is clearly shown by the fact that, notwithstanding the adoption of prohibition by a number of states and by innumerable counties, until at the present time it is unlawful to sell wines or spirits in more than one half of the geographical limits of the United States, the demand for such beverages has increased in almost the same proportion as our population from the legitimate trade and in an enormously greater proportion from illicit distillers and retailers. We shall not be so uncharitable as to contend that the agitation from which this public sentiment originates owes its persistent recurrence to mercenary motives on the part of men who make merchandise of aroused emotions, because it gives a pleasurable excitement to the women who tire of the monotony of home, but on the contrary, we shall be candid in the admission that there is good and sufficient reason for an arousing of public sentiment in this country. And we confess a feeling of sympathy with the movements for the uplifting of mankind and for the purification of society. The White Ribbon Movement, the Blue Ribbon Movement, the Prohibition Movement, and the Anti-Saloon League Movement were, or are, protests upon the part of good men and women against two of the greatest evils connected with our civilization, and unfortunately for us, connected with our trade. We refer to drunkenness into those saloons which are conducted in a disreputable manner, or in such a way as to demoralize rather than to elevate those who patronize them. And we, the delegates to this convention of the wine and spirit trade, desire to express in no uncertain tones our entire sympathy with the efforts that have been, or may be put forth to exterminate the evils, and our willingness to lend cooperation and assistance by every means in our power. We do not desire to deceive or to mislead, not to be misunderstood, and in all candor we declare our views to be as follows. We believe that wines and spirits are blessings, per se, intended by an all-wise providence to bring health and happiness to mankind. We believe that the legitimate manufacture and sale of wines and spirits is an honorable trade, and one that should be respected by society and by laws. We believe that the saloon and cafe can and should be so conducted that men would not hesitate to visit them, accompanied by their wives and children, and that the atmosphere of such places should be beneficial to both mind and body. Intoxication should be crime. We believe that it should be made a crime for a man to become intoxicated. We hold that no man has a right to deliberately overthrow his reason and render himself a dangerous factor in society, and therefore we would gladly welcome the passage of laws providing severe penalties for such offenses and a firm, rigid enforcement without regard to wealth or influence of the offender. For the evils to which we have referred, prohibitory laws have proved no remedy, and if they should be enforced, we believe they are dangerous to liberty, but the suggestions that we have offered are practicable, and have proven to be remedies in most of the countries of continental Europe, where drunkenness is seldom in evidence. And furthermore, we can apply such laws without giving offense, saved to those who by common consent are deserving of condemnation as having done that which mankind recognizes to be wrong, and having thereby placed themselves without the pale. That the liquor dealers should take this position is not so surprising, as at first thought it seems. Economically, the best condition for the liquor business is temperance. End of Section 16. Section 17 of the scrapbook, Volume 1, Sampler, by Various, edited by Frank A. Munsey. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Bologna Times. Good Manors, Fifty Years Ago, by Eliza Leslie. Section 17. Easier for a camel to pass through a needle's eye than for the modern aspirant to butt into society through the rules of deportment prevalent in the middle of the last century. Eliza Leslie was born in Philadelphia in 1787. Her father was a personal friend of Franklin, Jefferson, and other eminent men. She went with her family to England as a child, remaining until her sixteenth year. She wrote some verse at different periods, but not until her fortieth year did she publish any prose. This took the form of a cookery book, which met with great success. Later, Goatie's Ladies' Book published a prize story from her pen, Mrs. Washington Potts, and she adopted literature as a profession. Several books on household topics and manners were among her most popular productions, and in one of the latest of these, the Behavior Book, published in 1853, one may find so many illuminating suggestions and such a wealth of instruction for ladies as regards their conversation, manners, dress, introductions, entree to society, shopping, conduct in the street, at places of amusement, in traveling, at the table, either at home, in company, or at hotels, deportment in gentlemen's society, lips, complexion, teeth, hands, the hair, etc., etc., that it would seem to have been a straight way and a narrow gate, indeed, which led to the land of good form and good looks fifty years ago. It would also seem, from her having addressed the work particularly to ladies, that they were the worst offenders in matters of manners. She avows her purpose, however, in a conciliatory preface, to be to amend and not to offend, to improve her young countrywomen, and not to annoy them. The few habitual misbehavements to which she would call their attention, she has noted during a long course of observation on a very diversified field, shopping. When circumstances render it expedient to carry much money out with you, divide it, putting half in one purse, or pocket-book, and half in another, and put these portions in two pockets. Gentlemen consider it a very irksome task to go on shopping expeditions, and their ill-concealed impatience becomes equally irksome to you. Do not interfere with the shopping of other customers, who may chance to stand near you at the counter, by either praising or depreciating any of the articles they are looking at. Leave them to the exercise of their own judgment, unless they ask your opinion, and then give it in a low voice, and sincerely, always object to a parcel being put up in newspaper, because the printing ink will rub off and soil the article enclosed. If it is a little thing that you are going to take home in your own hand, it will smear your gloves. All shopkeepers in good business can afford to buy proper wrapping paper, and they generally do so. It is very cheap. See also that they do not wrap your purchase in so small a bit of paper, as to squeeze and crush it. We knew an instance of a lady in New York giving a hundred dollar note to a strawberry woman instead of a note of one dollar. Neither note nor woman were seen or heard of more. In getting change, see that three-cent pieces are not given you for five cents. Travelling Previous to departing, put into the hand of your escort rather more than a sufficient sum for the expenses of your journey, so as to provide for all possible contingencies. He will return you the balance when all is paid. Having done this, should any person belonging to the line come to you for your fare, refer them to the gentleman mentioning his name, and take care to pay nothing yourself. Dress very plainly when traveling. Few ladies that are ladies wear finery in railcars and steamboats. The less in stages, stage roads being usually very dusty. Showy soaks and what are called dress-bonnets are preposterous, so are jewelry ornaments, which, if real, you run a great risk of losing, and if false, are very ungentile. Above all, do not travel in white-kid gloves. Respectable women never do. Which are the facilities of travelling that a lady evidently respectable, plainly dressed, and behaving properly, may travel very well without a gentleman? Two ladies still better. On commencing the journey she should speak to the conductor, requesting him to attend to her and her baggage, and to introduce her to the captain of the boat, who will, of course, take charge of her during the voyage. On arriving at the hotel, ask immediately to see the proprietor, give him your name and address, tell how long you purpose staying, and request him to see that you are provided with a good room. Request him also to conduct you to the dining room at dinner time, and allot you a seat near his own. For this purpose he will wait for you near the door. Do not keep him waiting. Or meet you in the lady's drawing-room. While at table, if the proprietor, or any other gentleman, asks you to take wine with him, politely refuse. If you do not wish to be encumbered by carrying the key in your pocket, let it be left during your absence with the clerk in the office, or with the barkeeper, and send to him for it on your return. Bear the servant who attends the door to show no person up to your room during your absence. If visitors wish to wait for your return, it is best they should do so in the parlor. In a public parlor it is selfish and unmennerly to sit down to the instrument uninvited, and fall to playing or practicing without seeming to consider the probability of your interrupting or annoying the rest of the company, particularly when you see them all engaged in reading or in conversation. If you want amusement you had better read or occupy yourself with some light sewing or knitting work. If you have breakfasted early it will be well to put some gingerbread nuts or biscuits into your satchel when you go out, as you may become very hungry before dinner. Hotel Breakfast Always take butter with the butter knife, and then do not forget to return that knife to the butter plate. Carefully avoid cutting bread with your own knife, or taking salt with it from the salt cellar. It looks as if you had not been accustomed to butter knives and salt spoons. Please no longer eat salt fish at a public table. The odor of it is now considered extremely un-genteel, and it is always very disagreeable to those who do not eat it. If you breakfast alone you can then indulge in it. It is un-genteel to go to the breakfast table in any costume approaching to full dress. There must be no flowers or ribbons in the hair. A morning cap should be as simple as possible. The most genteel morning dress is a close gown of some plain material with long sleeves, which in summer may be white muslin. A merino or cashmere wrapper, gray, brown, purple, or olive, faced or trimmed with other merino of an entirely different color, such as crimson, scarlet, green, or blue, is a becoming morning dress for winter. In summer a white cambrick muslin morning robe is the handsomest breakfast attire, but one of gingham or printed muslin the most convenient. The colored dress may be made open in front with short loose sleeves and a pointed body. Beneath it a white underdress, having a chemizette front down to the belt and long white sleeves down to the wrist, this forms a very graceful morning costume, the white skirt appearing where the colored skirt opens. The fashion of wearing black silk mittens at breakfast is now obsolete. It was always inconvenient and neither useful nor ornamental. Hotel dinner. When eating fish, remove the bones carefully and lay them on the edge of your plate. Then with the fork in your right hand, the concave or hollow side held uppermost, and a small piece of bread in your left, take up the flakes of fish. Servants and all other persons should be taught that the butter sauce should not be poured over the fish, but put on one side of the plate that the eater may use it profusely or sparingly according to taste, and be able to mix it conveniently with the sauce from the fish casters. Pouring butter sauce over anything is now un-gentil. It is an affectation of ultra fashion to eat pie with a fork, and has a very awkward and inconvenient look. Cut it up with your knife and fork, then proceed to eat it with the fork in your right hand. Much of this determined fork exercise may be considered foolish, but it is fashionable. It is, however, customary in eating sweet potatoes of a large size to break them in two, and taking a piece in your hand to pierce down to the bottom with your fork, and then mix in some butter, continuing to hold it thus while eating it. If a lady wishes to eat lobster, let her request the waiter that attends her to extract a portion of it from the shell and bring it to her on a clean plate, also to place a caster near her. On no consideration let any lady be persuaded to take two glasses of champagne. It is more than the head of an American female can bear, and she may rest assured that, though unconscious of it herself, all present will find her cheeks flushing, her eyes twinkling, her tongue unusually voluble, her talk loud and silly, and her laugh incessant. Champagne is very insidious, and two glasses may throw her into this pitiable condition. We have seen a young gentleman lift his plate of soup in both hands, hold it to his mouth, and drink, or rather lap it up. This was at no less a place than Niagara. On Shipboard. If you are sick yourself, say as little about it as possible, and never allude to it at table, where you will receive little sympathy, and perhaps render yourself disgusting to all who hear you. At no time talk about it to gentlemen. Many foolish commonplace sayings are uttered by ladies who attempt to describe the horrors of seasickness. For instance this. I felt all the time as if I wished somebody to take me up and throw me overboard. This is untrue. No human being ever really did prefer drowning to seasickness. A piano never sounds well on Shipboard. The cabins are too small, and the sailings too low. To the sick and nervous, and all who are seasick, become very nervous. This instrument is peculiarly annoying. Therefore, be kind enough to spare them the annoyance. You can practice when the weather is fine, and the invalids are on deck. Pianos have been abolished in many of the finest ships. Such instruments as can be carried on deck, and played in the open air are, on the contrary, very delightful at sea, when in the hands of good performers, particularly on a moonlight evening. Things not to do. Slapping a gentleman with your handkerchief, or tapping him with your fan, allowing him to take a ring off your finger to look at it, permitting him to unclasp your bracelet, or, still worse, to inspect your brooch. When these ornaments are to be shown to another person, always take them off for the purpose. Introductions Where the company is large, the ladies of the house should have tacked enough to avoid introducing and placing together persons who cannot possibly assimilate, or take pleasure in each other's society. The dull and the silly will be far happier with their compiers. To a woman of talent and a good conversationalist, it is a cruelty to put her unnecessarily in contact with stupid or unmeaning people. She is wasted and thrown away upon such as are neither amusing nor amusable. Neither is it well to bring together a gay, lively woman of the world, and a solemn, serious, repulsive dame, who is a contender of the world and all its enjoyments. Instead giving invitations to boars, they will come without. We saw no less a person than Charles Dickens compelled at a large party to devote the whole evening to writing autographs for a multitude of young ladies, many of whom, not satisfied with obtaining one of his signatures for themselves, desired half a dozen others for absent friends. All conversations ceased with the first requisition for an autograph. He had no chance of saying anything. We were a little ashamed of our fair townswomen. Section 18 The first realistic novel of which any portion has been preserved to modern times is the so-called satiricon of Gaius Patronius, who lived at Rome in the early part of the first century A.D. Patronius was the favorite courtier of the emperor Nero. Men knew him as one who set the fashions in dress and manners, so that he had been compared to Bobremel. He was, however, under all his vopishness, a person of much intellect, which he showed both as an administrator in high political office and as an author. Enemies who were jealous of him accused him to the emperor of Trezen, and knowing that his condemnation was certain, he resolved to die by his own hands. He therefore opened a vein and slowly bled to death, checking, however, the flow of blood from time to time, and down to the very last, chatting and joking with his friends. A very interesting and probably accurate pen-picture of him is given by Heinrich Sinckelwitz in his famous novel Quovedis. The satiricon of Patronius was originally a lengthy novel of which there remains to us only about a hundred pages. The book related the adventures of two disreputable sharpers who lived by their wits, and the portion which we still have, gives many glimpses of vagabond existence in ancient Italy. The selection here, reprinted, contains part of the account of a lavish dinner given by a vulgar old millionaire named Trimulchio, and the guests are mainly ignorant and boastful friends of the host who talk and brag after their own fashion. This passage is remarkable because it contains the only continuous specimen of Latin slang which we now possess, and which differs decidedly from the elegant Latin of literature. It bears many resemblances to the English and American slang of the present day, and makes the ancient Romans appear almost modern. The translation is that of Professor Harry Thurston Peck in his Trimulchio's Dinner, and is reprinted here by the courteous permission of Mr. Dodd Mead and Company, copyright 1898 by Dodd Mead and Company, New York. We had already taken our places, all except Trimulchio himself, for whom the seat of honor was reserved. Among the objects placed before us was a young ass made of Corinthian bronze, and fitted with a sort of peck saddle which contained on one side pale green olives and on the other side dark ones. Two dishes flanked this, and on the margin of them Trimulchio's name was engraved and the weight of the silver. Then there were little bridge-like structures of iron which held dormice seasoned with honey and poppy seed, and smoking sausages were arranged on a silver grill which had underneath it dark cerium plums to represent black coals, and scarlet pomegranate seeds to represent red-hot ones. In the midst of all this magnificence Trimulchio was brought in to the sound of music and propped up on a pile of well-stuffed cushions. The very sight of him almost made us laugh in spite of our souls, for his shaven paint was thrust out of a scarlet robe, and around his neck he had tucked a long-fringed napkin with a broad purple stripe running down the middle of it. On the little finger of his left hand he wore a huge gilt ring, and on the last joint of the next finger a ring that appeared to be of solid gold, but having little iron stars upon it. Moreover, lest we should fail to take in all his magnificence, he had bared his right arm, which was adorned with a golden bracelet and an ivory circle fastened by a glittering clasp. As he sat there picking his teeth with the silver toothpick, he remarked, Well, friends, it was just a bit of inconvenient for me to die now, but so as not to delay you by my absence I have denied myself a considerable amount of pleasure. While we were still eating the hors d'oeuvres a tray was brought in with a basket on which a wooden vow was placed with its wing spread out in a circle, after the fashion of setting hands. Immediately two slaves approached, and amid a burst of music began to poke around in the straw, and having presently discovered there some peahens' eggs they distributed them among the guests. Malkiu looked up during this operation, and said, Gentlemen, I had the hen's eggs placed under this vow, but I'm rather afraid they have young chickens in them. Let's see whether they still fit to suck. So we took our spoons, which weighed not less than half a pound each, and broke the eggshells, which were made of flour paste. As I did so, I was almost tempted to throw my egg on the floor, for it looked as though a chicken had just been formed inside. But when I heard an old diner out by my side saying, There's bound to be something good here. I thrust my finger through the shell, and drew out a plump reed-bird, surrounded by yolk of egg, well-seasoned with pepper. I was unable to eat another mouthful, and so, turning to my companion, I tried to draw as much information out of him as possible, and to get the run of the house, asking, in the first place, who the woman was who was darting here and there about the room. Oh! said he. That's Malkiu's wife. Her name is Fortunata. She has money to burn now, but a little while ago, what do you suppose she was? Your honor will excuse me for saying so, but really, in those days you wouldn't have taken a piece of bread from her hand. And now, without any why or wherefore, she's at the top notch, and is all the world to Malkiu. In fact, if she should say it was night or noonday, he'd believe her. As for Malkiu himself, he's so rich that he doesn't know how much money he's got. But this jade has an eye to everything, even the things that you wouldn't think about yourself. She doesn't drink. She's as straight as a string. In fact, a really smart woman, but she has an awfully sharp tongue, a regular magpie on a perch. If she likes anyone, she likes him way down to the ground, and if she doesn't like him, she just hates him. Malkiu's estates are so large that it would tire a bird to fly over them, and he has heaps on heaps of cash. Take his silver plate, for instance, why there's more of it in his janitor's office than most persons have in their entire outfit. And his slaves. Well, sir, they're so numerous that I don't think a tenth part of them would recognize their own master. In fact, when it comes to money, he can buy up any of these trumps here ten times over, and there's no reason for his paying out money for anything at all, because he produces everything on his own place. Wool, and cedar, wood, and pepper. Why, if you were to ask for hensmoke, you'd get it. To give you an instance, he found that he wasn't getting very good wool, so he bought some rams and tarantum, and changed the breed of his sheep. Again, because he wanted to have Athenian honey right here on his estate, he imported bees from Athens, and incidentally these improved the breed of the native bees also. Only a few days ago he wrote an ordered mushroom seed to be sent him from India. He hasn't a single mule on his place that wasn't desired by a wild ass. Just see how many cushions he has here. Every single one of them has either purple or scarlet stuffing. That's what I call being rich. But you're not to suppose that his associates here are to be sneezed at, for they've got plenty of rocks, too. Just look at that man who has the last place at the table. Even he has today his little eight hundred thousand, and yet he started out with nothing. It wasn't very long ago that he was a porter carrying wood on his back through the street, but as the saying goes, he found a very wishing cup. I never gredge a man his good luck. It only means that he knows how to look out for himself, and this chap over here, not long ago, put up his shanty for sale with the sword of an advertisement. Gaius Pompeius Diogenes will let this lodging from July 1st, having just bought a large house for himself. Now take the case of that other man over there, who is the freedman's place at the table. How well off do you suppose he is? I don't know anything against him, but he's seen the time when he had his little million, only somehow or other. He went wrong. Today I don't imagine he has a hair on his head that isn't mortgaged, and it isn't his own fault, either, there's no better man in the world, but it's the fault of his confounded freedman, who made way with everything that he had. You know the saying, too many cooks spoil the broth, and the other saying that he, who loses money, loses friends, and what a fine profession he had too, just as you see him now. He was an undertaker. He used to dine like a king on wild boar with pastry and birds, and he had cooks and bakers by the score. They used to spill more wine under his table than most men have in their wine cellars. In fact, he was a fairy vision rather than a man. When his affairs got into Queer Street, and he was afraid his creditors would think that things were in a bad way, he wanted to raise some money on his goods and chattels, so he advertised an auction of them in this fashion. Julius Prochialus will hold an auction for the sale of his superfluous property. After this course, Tramulchio left the room for a few minutes, so that feeling a certain freedom in the absence of our master, we began to draw each other into conversation. Dama, first of all, calling for a goblet, remarked, A day is nothing. Night comes before you can turn around. That's why I think there's nothing better than to go from your bed straight to the dining-room. It's as cold climate we have here. Even a bath scarcely warms me up. In fact, a hot drink is my wardrobe. I've had several stiff drinks already, so that I'm loaded for bearer, for the wine has gone to my head. At this point, Seleucius interrupted him, remarking, Well, for my part, I don't take a bath every day. The cold water nips you so that when you bathe every day, your courage all oozes out of you. But after I've swigged a toby of booze, I tell the cold to go to the devil. But I couldn't take a bath today, anyhow, for I was to a funeral. Chrysanthus, a fine man, and such a good fellow, kicked the bucket. I saw him only the other day. In fact, I can hear him talking to me now. Dear me, we go around like blown-up bladders. We are of less consequence than even the flies, for flies have some spirit in them. While we are nothing but mere bubbles. But as to Chrysanthus, what if he wasn't a total abstainer? Anyhow, for five days before he died, he never threw a drink in his face, nor ate a crumb of bread. Well, well, he's joined the majority. It was the doctors that really killed him, or perhaps just his bad luck, for a doctor is nothing after all but a sort of consolation to your mind. He was laid out in great style on his best bed, with his best bed-clothes on, and he had a splendid wake, though his wife wasn't sincere in her mourning for him. But I say, what if he didn't treat her very well? A woman, so far as she is a woman, is a regular bird of prey. It isn't worthwhile to do a favor for a woman, because it's just as if you chucked it down a well, but love in time becomes a regular ball and chain on a man. He was getting to be rather boresome when philaros chimed in. Oh, let's think of the living. Your friend has got whatever was his due. He lived an honorable life, and he died an honorable death. What has he to complain of? From having nothing he made a fortune, for he was always ready to pull a piece of money out of a muck-eep with his teeth, and so he grew as rich as a honeycomb. I jove. I believe the fellow left a cool hundred thousand, and he had it all in cash. I'm giving you this straight, for I have a rough tongue. He was a man of unlimited cheek, a tonguey fellow, and he always had a chip on his shoulder. His brother was a good sort of chap, a friend to a friend, a man with an open hand, a generous table. At the start he had a hard row to hoe, but his first vintage set him on his legs again, for he sold his wine at his own price. But what especially kept his head above water was this, that he got hold of a legacy, and waltzed into a good deal more of it than had been really left to him. But this friend of yours, because he had quarreled with his brother, left his fortune to some outsider. I tell you a man has to go mighty far to get away from his relatives. Unfortunately he had slaves who blabbed all his secrets and harmed him. A man makes a mistake who trusts others too readily, especially if he's a business man. Nevertheless, while he lived, he enjoyed what he had. After Filaros had finished, Genomedes started in. All this talk of yours isn't the least bit to the point. No one here seems to care about the high price of grain. By Jove, I couldn't get a mouthful of bread today. And how the drought keeps on. We've had a sort of famine for a year. Confound the officials anyhow, who are standing in with the bakers. Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours, as the saying goes. So the public has to suffer for it, and their jaws get a long vacation. Oh, if we only had those roaring blades that I found here when I first arrived from Asia. I tell you, that was life. If the flour sold wasn't equal to the very best, they used to go for those poor devil officials as if Jupiter himself was angry with them. I remember Saphanias. In those days he used to live down by the old archway when I was a boy. He was hot stuff. Wherever he went he used to make the ground smoke. But he was perfectly straight, a man to rely on, a friend to a friend, a chap with whom you could safely throw dice with your eyes shut. In the courtroom, too, how he used to make things hum. And he didn't talk in figures either, but straight to the point. And when he was arguing, his voice used to swell like a trumpet. How affable he was. In those days, I tell you, grain was as cheap as dirt. If you bought a loaf of bread for a penny, you couldn't eat it up, even if you hired another man to help you. Whereas nowadays I've seen bullseyes that were bigger than the loaves. Dear, dear, every day things are getting worse. The town is growing backward, like a calf's tail. And why do we have a mayor who's no good, and who thinks more of a penny-piece than of the lives of all of us? He has a soft snap in private, for he takes in more money in a day than most of us have in our whole fortunes. I know one source from which he got a thousand gold pieces. If we had any spunk, he wouldn't be so stuck on himself. But our people, our lions in private, and foxes in public. As far as I'm concerned, I've already eaten up my wardrobe, and if this sort of a harvest keeps on, I'll have to sell my shanties. The thing had gone to a disgusting extreme when Tramolkyu, sodden with drink, hit upon a new sort of exhibition, and had hornblowers brought into the dining-room. Then having been propped up on pillows, he sprawled himself out upon the lowest couch, and said, Imagine that I am dead. Play a nice tune over me. The hornblowers blew a funeral march, and one of them, the slave of the undertaker, who was really the most respectable man in the crowd, though such a tremendous blast that he roused up the whole neighborhood. The police, who were on duty in the vicinity, thinking that Tramolkyu's house was on fire, suddenly broke down the door and rushed in with axes and water, as was their right. Seizing this very favorable opportunity, we gave Agamemnon the slip, and made our escape as hastily as though we were really fleeing from a conflagration. End of Section 18 End of The Scrap Book by Various Edited by Frank A. Munsey