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KTtuldoon on tbe philosophy of
PART 13. A STAGE DEMONSTRATION. //4WLAPE!” The command low but forcible waz heard in ivery siction av the Lexiugton Opery House, an’ foorty-six pairs av eyebawls, glistenin’ an’ dilatin’ under the tintion av unnatural focus, rolled upward drawin’ the curtain av timporary oblivion. The spaker, a slight young man, liberally friscoed wid grase paint an’ accintuated in thinniss be the dingin’ folds av a full driss soot, turned triumphantly from a simy circle av lithargic humanity an addrissed his southern awydince in the followin’ worruds: “Lydies an’ gintlemin. Since our last visit to yer wondrous city av beautiful women an’ thorough brid min, we hov added manny noo faythers to our somewhat pe culiar program, notably, the in terrupted funeral av a resuscitated cadayver. Unusual as it is fer me to make an addriss in the midst av a performance, I fale humane ly impilled to preface in worruds the blud-curlin’ shrakes an’ fizzy cal coolture monstrossyties which are skidjooled to rampant thim silves ferninst ye in a few momints. The scane, grotisquely unake in character, has all the fiery passion av Bin Hur; all the ghastly hoor ors av a haunted house, an’ yit ’tiz intermingled wid jocose comi calities that wud sphlit an ordinary fince rail. “Amoong the two score av inert masses av fiish on this noble stage, foorty-foor are rizydint cityzins av Lexington, an’ ’tiz nadeliss to say that, to kape thim from iujoory an’ mesilf out av jail, this caution is respictfully appindixed. “Do not under anny considera tion attimpt to ixtrycate asoobjict if he shud become tangled wid the saynery, oorchistra or balcony railin’s. Anny interfayrince on the part av spictators may resoolt in disaster, besides, no payshint is in danger av tippin’ over his equi librium if unmolisted. Thankin’ ye fer yer kind attintion we will at wance procade wid the most sinsa tional piece av tragic-comidy iver projooced.” Conoloodin’ his remarks the profissor comminced to cut the air full av cabalistic hieroglyphics, occasionally prissin’ aich soobjict betwane the hoorns, or. oorgau av indyvidjooahty, a ceremony assig niffvcant to the thrance as straws are to fashionable cocktails. In the manetime the oorchistra waz goin’ into rhapsodical icstasies wid the Oryintal intermizzo Sa lome, lindin’ an air av mystery, harmoniously appropriate to the remarkable sayne in the foor ground. The stage, sit in the gorgeous grandeur av a palace garden, con trasted strangely wid its silint oc cupants, while the absince av border-lights, stringthenin’ the in tinsyty av the foot-lights in their concintrated glare on the grane baize, suggisted manny weird mys teries av occultism. Suddenly the oorchistra swerved into the low, pulsatin’ throbs av a Spanish waltz, an’ the hypnotist selictin’ wan av the min, procaded to cata lipse his body simultayneously ixplainin’ that the man wud rip resint the mangled remains av a tragic dith. Draggin’ the rigid body to the ixtreme right av the stage he placed a handkerchief over its face an’ turned to the rist. “Open yer eyes!” saysheimpay riously. “Look at me an’ tell me what yez mane be slapin’ whin this grotoe av nature’s beauty, this wilth av hiven’s issince is at yer disposal!” \ Hypnotism* Instantly ivery eyelid raised, ivery nostral dilated, but wid the maclianical motion av an awtomy ton, fer, as yit, the sinses per sayved nothin’. “Listen,” he continued; “we are in the most wondrous garden av flowers moortal man iver saw, an’ unliss we pick thim up at wance their precious perfume will be wasted.” His worruds wur iffictive, fer ivery man comminced to pick imaginary flowers, callin’ thim be name an’ inhalin’ their fragrance as naturally as if they ralely ix isted. Some picked indolently wid ixprissions av disgust, others rapturously made bokays ferswate hearts, while a few trampled on the bids an’ swiped foorgit-me nots from the rist; aich an’ ivery wan acted precisely as he wud in natural life accordin’ to his tim peramint. Be skilful manoovers the opyra tor lid thim towards the supposed did man, droppin’ hints occasion ally at the absince av their frind Billy. The oorchistra, taken the cue, switched into an antake fu neral march, at the same time the profissor discovered the did man. “Hivens!” he ixclaimed, clutch in’ ahold av his heart an’ stagger in’ backwards, “’tiz a did man, an’—good lord! ’tiz Billy kilt be the cars.” Imagine a party av picnicists accydintly stumblin’ across the stiff remains av a dear frind an’ ye can ridly com prehind the an guish, dismay an’ fear that tuk possission av these drame-staped awtomytons. Afther their sorrow had somewhat subsided the opy rator thraosported thim to a frish grave in an imaginary cimytary. Carryin’ the corpse shoulder high six av thim played hearse while closed carriages, more or lies tear stained brought up the rear. Ar rivin’ at the open hole, accompay nied be oorchistral wails av anguish an’ lost souls, they depos ited the corpse long enuff to lit wan rade the burial service. I wish to state, in parinthesis, that this man —a bartinder —rid the service wid the aise an’ preci sion av our ordained minister, an’ also, that he cud not in his natural state repate wan av the command mints not to mintion annythin’ ilse. These things are common in hypnosis, they prove the ixist ince av a dooal mind be showin’ that the subjictive faculty retains manny things that we are other wise unconscious av. Actin’ under suggistion, the pallbearers now comminced to gintly lower the corpse into the clay an’ whin widin a few inches av the flure the opyrator awakened him. That waz the beginnin’ av an uproar which will always sthay grane in the mimory av Lexing ton’s thayatrical lovin’ pooblic. The struggles av the awakened soobjiot stoopyfied his mourners stiff, it rooted thim to the spot shakin’ wid the palsy av unspak able fear, an’ whin the profissor yilled ghosts, pandymonium broke loose. Shrakes, groans an’ curses filled the air, saynery crashed to the flure, an’ elictric bulbs popped wid incissint snapations. Foot bawl scrimages pale into insig niffycance whin half a hundred terror-stricken payple thry to crawl thru the same hole. Ye may ask why didn’t he wake thim an’ prevint this costly wrickage. H 9 wud hov if he cud, but he cudn’t. Ye see, he waz at the bottom av the pile, an' be the time he squirmed from undernaythe, wid his coat tails sphlit to the nick, the tidal wave had lift disolation in its wake. The interrupted fu- neral or a resuscitated cadayver waz reprodooced manny times af ther, but always wid effimynate lookin’ min, an’ few av thim at that. E. E. H. Poetry—A Throb of Fiction. Paper Read Before the Chwtaxuiua Circle. ONCE upon a time in the dim and misty past, before the traditions of a bygone race became hoary with antiquity, I had a beautiful dream. I dreamed I was the poet laureate of the fairyland of Fantasma. I am not sure whether it was Fan tasma; but I will call it that be cause it sounds nice, poetical —I might say grandiloquent, and even mysterious. There seems to be a glamour of romance thrown around it; a veil of mystery enshrouding it, well suited, I thought, to grace the portals of the fairy realm. It was peopled with nymphs and gnomes; traversed by limpid streams; and dotted with sparkling fountains, shimmering in the sub dued light, filtering thru the in terstices of the emerald foliage; while the dull murmur of a silvery cascade, faintly musical, sounded thru the sylvan glades. Knolls and terraces, unique and pictur esque, were all clad in their royal livery of flowering plants of many hues. It was simply gorgeous! A composite picture of the Lakes of Killarney and the hanging gar dens of ancient Babylon. Su premely fascinated, I wandered about the enchanted dells and fairy grottoes, oommuning with nature and the beautiful nymphs I met in my rambles. I invaded the sacred precincts of the great council cavern of the fairies. It dazzled with myriads of sparkling gems that encrusted the walls from pit to dome; it con tained galleries of ivory and gold and supported by columns of ala baster; and stairwayb of the purest of marble and balustrades of the richest of bronze. Oh! these fai ries were certainly up-to-date. It was plain to be seen that no cap tain of industry had ever sojourned in that locality. Reluctantly leav ing all this magnificence, I pad died across the ice-cream lake, in a dainty cut-glass canoe, with a silver spoon to the cigarette grove. Here I climbed the rock-candy mountain and explored the sponge cake cavern, carrying away with me a good-sized chunk of the cav ern for a souvenir. I had a quiet siesta at the lemonade springs, then, greatly refreshed, I passed on, regaling myself at the soda water fountain, gently murmur ing between gurgles; “This is the place for a poet.” As I passed thru the bower of melody, where the blue birds sang their glad refrain, the orb of day, a golden sphere of molten gran deur was slowly sinking below the western horizon, as it always has done about that time of day for the last seven million years. I thought I would mention this fact, as it is well to keep track of those things. Soon the cool shades of evening spread their mantle over the surroundings; the twittering of the feathered songsters ceased, and a deathless silence broods over the stillness. Again I mum bled: “This is the place for a poet.” Here, everything was pro vided in lavish splendor to delight the soul of the most fastidious and poetical poet. The rural sim plicity of the arrangements was reassuring. No auto buzzers that hadn’t ought to; no fire escapes that don’t escape; no life preserv ers that don’t preserve; no append icitis or canned goods to cause a catastrophe; no dire calamities to cause one to go about seeking their loved ones; no intrigues or conspiracies; no hitting the high places for Canada or Mexico. Everything lovely for a poet to feast his frenzied eyes on. I have observed in this world that poetry and money never travel hand in hand down the pathway of life. The trne poet spurns filthy lucre, then goes hungry for dinner. He often goes to bed on the city’s scales, using a ladder for a blanket. But here in this sylvan retreat no money was needed, and the duties were light. Just eat sponge-cake and ice-cream and write poetry. But could I write poetry? If so, the rest would be easy. The thought made me feel rather sick. Maybe it grows on trees, but I hadn’t noticed any. I began to lose my equipoise. My nerve was going out of commission. My self-confidence wanted to resign. It was poetry or bust. In frantic haste I searched the confines of this sylvan-gladed, fairy-grottoed paradise, but no poet tree could I find. So I concluded to surround the caramel patch, fill my pockets, and then jump the country, for I was an interloper in this beautiful land. At the very first jump I landed against a stone wall which I had not noticed before; but that bump caused me to sit up and take notice. I was awake, very much so; and the stone wall was still there. Of course, all this was a dream; but it gave me an idea. Poets occasionally get ideas, and my idea was to be an expert on poetry, to insert an ad and make poets by mail. I therefore began to read up on poetry. I recited poetry all day and dreamed about it all night. I manufactured it in my sleep. It was good poetry, too, but I could not get it copyrighted. Then I proceeded to draft a few specimens while awake, but it was not so good as the nooturnal arti cle. I continued my researches in this prolifio field of genius, burning midnight oil, until the oil gave out. There was a lull in the proceedings, for the price of oil had gone up. But, strange to re late, the price of poetry had gone down. However, I persevered in my ohosen field of endeavor, and not until I had mastered every detail did I rest from my labors. I was now fully competent to hand down a deoision on the gentle art. I knew poetry from Dan to Bershe ba. In the meantime, my day light poetry flourished like a green bay tree, and I woke up one morning to find myself almost, but not quite, famous. That was a great surprise to me and to every one else. I never intended to be famous, any more than did Poult nev Bigelow intend to be a canal boat when he went to Panama. I just dropped into poetry to write about it. I must have absorbed some of the microbes that lay dor mant between the pages of those inspired volumes; but I was a poet, nevertheless. I couldn’t help it. The honor was thrust upon me, you might say, by those germs of genius. The only thing to do in order to prevent a plague of poets, was to denaturize those volumes and protect others from inoculation. If a huge wave of the bacillus poelicus went sweeping over the country, what would be the result? Why everything would be made to rhyme, and such rhymes! It would be something ferocious. Yes, I had become a full-fledged poet, and the proper thing to do now, was to bring my precious articles before the public with a little judicious advertising. But first, I concluded to try it on the dog before launching it on the public in carload lots. The afore- said dog was a friend I met on a recent holiday. Without any pre liminaries, I reeled off about four yards of good, up-to-date poetry. “There,” I said, “what do you think of that?” and I threw out my chest until my vertebra almost snapped in two. He would not commit himself, but walked away, frowning and shaking his ugly head. Later on 1 saw this friend talking to one of the M. D.’s, and pointing at me. The doctor list ened very attentively, and then shook his head as tho it was a very sad case. Later on I will give an exhibition of what I can do as a poet. K. Synonps-Their Use. Taken from G. F. Graham’s book on “English Synonyms.” To Have —To Possess. What we have does not always belong to us, and therefore we cannot dispose of it according to our will. We have entire power over what we possess, and it is con tinually shifting, as money, which circulates in all classes of society. What we possess is permanently our own, as an estate or a house. We are masters of what we possess, but not always of what we have. To have is the generic term; to possess is a species of saving. He who possesses has, but he who has does not always possess. A ncient—A ntiquei Ancient qualities the manners, institutions, oustoms, etc., of the nations of antiquity. Antique refers to the style of their work of art. Ancient architecture signifies the abstract science as it existed among the ancients. Antique architecture refers to the style of building among the anoients. We speak of an antique coin, an an tique cup, or gem; and of ancient laws and customs. Ancient is generic—antique specific; an anci ent temple is one built in the style of the ancients. Ancient is not modern; antique is not new-fash ioned. To Help—To Assist. To help is the generic term, and expresses a single act; to assist is a specific term, and expresses a mode of helping. A man is helped at his labor; assisted in any intel lectual pursuit. Help is more im mediately wanted than assistance. Help is wanted in labor, dangers, difficulties, etc.; assistance is re quired in the pursuit of some study, or the performance of some work. When a man is attacked by robbers, he calls for help, not for assistance. He who rescues a man in this situation from danger helps him; but if he should do more— if he should second his endeavors to put the ruffians to flight, or to capture some of them, he assists him. In fine, he who is suffering is helped; he who is doing is as sisted. To Gain —To Win. To gain is a general —to win is a specific term. These words ex press different modes of acquiring possession, and are to be distin guished by the circumstances which respectively attend them. We gain with intention, we win by chanoe. We may reasonably count upon our gains. Our win nings depend on fortune. We do not gain, but win a prize in the lottery. We do not win, but gain a fortune by continued attention to business. A victory may be both gained and won; gained, as concerns the endeavors of the vic tors; won, as far as it was a ques tion of chance which fortune decided in their favor. Credit, friends, power, influence, etc., are gained. A race, a wager, a prize, etc., are won.