Middletown transcript., 1869-04-10
A LIE WE'LL STUCK TO.
BY HENRY WARD DEECIIER.

In the nursery time of our life, lies of
small magnitude were called STORIES" and
we have sadly learned since that stories
are very often lies; and grotcsque story
an odd or funny onc-is destined, if one
may say so, to a sort of Immortality.
Many stories that have been walking up
and down the earth since the flood, are told
to-day of living public men, as undoubted
and veritable history. Many standing
jokes are traccable to the Middle Ages,
they re-appear in Roman history, aud may
be found again in old Greek anthologies,
and probably the Greeks borrowed them
from yet older people, and they from the
antodiluvians. 1t adds to the relish Of
these primitive Joe Millers to hear them
recited by some innocent friend, with q
guarantee, 81 knop that this story is true,
for it happened to Deacon Blossom, in my
native town, and was present" And
here ARISES very curious question, which
Prof. Porter, in his recent admirable trea-
tise on Mental Philosophy, seems to have
investigated in manner not unworthy of
his usual thoroughness-th question, we
mean, whether man can remember a
thing which never happened to him?
AT first sight any one will say he can
not. But such judgement will force a
great many good men and women into the
gulf of fJS. Either people can distinctly
remember what never happened to them,
or else the standard and staple jokes of So
ciety are sustained by false witnesses.
Il hoo f,,o,, ,abo 10
BILE construction, and avow our belief that
under peculiar conditions man may re-
member, distinctly, not only what never
happened to him, but things that never
happened at all q
A case in our own history shall illus
trate this matter. Some eighteen or nine
teen years ago, soon after our coming to
Brooklyn, we heard the following story
told of the now venerable DR.. Samuel Cox !,
the father of many brilliant sayings, as
we'll as of Bishop Cox, of western New
York, The story ran thus: "On Sun
day morning in August, DR.. Cox, rising
to the sermon, without warning or prefix,
began, 1T is id hot Looking around
in calm and pious way, he wiped his
forehead, and again said, 1T is id hot.
Waiting till he thought the words had
burnt in. he proceeded, These words, my
brethren, 1 heard from the lips of pro-
fame young man as entered the doors Of
the church. Thcreupon, the story goes,
he proceeded to give an edifying discourse
on the sin and folly of profane swearing"
When we first heard it, We recognized
the story. 1t was an old acquaintance.
1t had been doing service in England. 1t
was told of Rev. Rowland Hill, only in
his case, the topic was not the ,ceather, but
theatre, on which the young mans profan-
ity was expended. But stock stories, like
couriers, like to change horses. Before
we knew it the saddle was shifted to our
back, nor have we even been able to shake
it off, We have denied it, twice in print,
many times by letter, and hundred times
in conversation, all in vain. The saddle
sticks and every month we find q new fool
riding in it, u turns up in newspapers
periodically. 1t runs the rounds Of. neigh
borhoods. Some people are delighted with
the smartness of it, and "would walk fifty
miles to hear that man preach y and others
arc shocked at such impiety, and mourn
fully shaking their heads, declare that it
would be breaking Sunday to hear such
a fellow preach"
The story was sent to us from England,
our name and all. We saw it in Cali
fornia paper. It has been travelling and
swearing in France and in Germany
though we don't understand profane word
in either language, and if that Yankee
Chinaman, Mr.. Burlinghame, would only
tell the truth, we believe that he has seen
the very story, my name and all, cooked
up and grinning in those celestial hero
glyphics which adorn tea-chests and Chi
nesc pictures. Indeed, it is like to be the
chief memorial of our life. We are in
formed that in outermost places, on hear
ing our name, men say, "Ah, yes, we
know him! That's the man that said, Its
id hot"
What is to be done? Here is mild
and well-behaving minister, with story
fixed on him that he cannot unbuckle, MOI
cut, nor unite, nor rub off. Alas! is this
the punishment of some of our boyish
freaks of mischief? We fear! Once, when
annoyed by neighbor's flock of geese, We
fed them with corn, to certain kernels oi
which short strings were tied with bits Of
paper attached. When grain was swal-
lowed, the paper with each movement o.
the goose, bobbed up behind him and al
him. In few minutes the flock were ra.
cling and flying and squaking, each with
his paper whirling close behind him. L
this story whizzing behind us in like man
ner and for a punishment?
It is not, however, the story that afflict
us. 1t is the pious affiiction Of good peo
] pie, who, every year or two. have fit o
correspondence come over them, and pl,
| us with lettcrs of inquiry. Of rrief of hnl,