The Portland daily press., 1879-04-26
Y0rick's Drawer.

IOrIck'S drawer.
Not a few readers may have seen
the phrase "a nobby stiff" and idly passed it
by as an advertisement by Medical College
in search OF material for the Demonstrators.
But "a nobby stiff is NOT "dem'd moist
disagreeable'' thing at all. 1t is a hat of
fashionable shape and infexible brim, just
the thing to lift to. the ladies' though in
their squeamishness over the name and its
dlsagreeable associations they may ignore the
bow or neglect to return it.
Let us change the subject, as they say
at the Medical College. 1t is a stock Joke,
grown stale by custom, that Thomson, who
wrote charming verses in praise of morning
and the sunrise, was sluggard who stayed
late abed, and took the early sunbeam as the
signal for folding of the hands to sleep. If
the jest be truth the author of The Seasons
was q sensible man who did not
let logic lead him to discomfort, and
knew better than to forsake warm nest in
the dreary time between moon and sun, to
60 out into world that was not ready to re-
ceive visitors and hadn't even made its first
toilette. He was wise enough to close his
eyes in slumber until the earth was gay and
warm, and the sun high in the heavens.
Yet Thomson was not hypocrite. He
was sincere in his praise of morning, as were
writers who preceded or followed him.
The fault is with us. Misled by the harsh
traditions of our youth we have mistaken the
time of which the poet writes and the man.
ner of enjoying it. The true lovers of the
morning hour were those who sat up all
night to greet the jocund day, and then
sought their rest until the earth should lay
warm under the sun. They did not get out
of bed and 60 forth shivering with glued eye
lids to see the sunlight and wander about in
the forbidding air and wish that breakfast or
night would come. They were of the breed
OF the Briton who went to Switzerland to see
an Alpine sunrise. When the waiter knocked
at the door he turned over lazily In bed and
went to sleep again, murmuring that he was
coming that way next year, and could see the
sight then. They knew however better than
to start on so preposterous journey. The
day-break is glorious thing to see, but. we
need not trouble ourselves to seek it. The
sight is sure to come, sooner or later.
There are times in every mans life when he
must rise with the early birds or keep vigils
with the most insomnolent of cats. He is
unwise in trying to anticipate the Inevitable
or go strange countries for to see" in search
OF something he cannot miss at home. 1t
was Charles Lamb who said he hated people
that met time halfway. And then too, if the
spectacle OF a sunrise is as glorious as we are
told, one sight of it ought to be sweet and
gracious "reminiscences and linger in mans
mind forever. To see it often would be to
make it common, to dull our sense of beauty,
to weary ones eyes with constant iteration.
No! The morning of the writer's is made
up OF the placid hours between midnight and
day-break, and is not passed in the bleak and
dark outer world, but in the lighted chamber.
There, surrounded and solaced by silence,
the half world about them quiet, free from
Interruptions and the little cares that vex
the day, above all enfortressed against that
most frighttul OF all pests the morning caller,
they give themselves up to thought. Their
own fancies keep them company, and the
fairies that fear the garish sunlight and dis.
appear at cock.crow come trooping in, and
the slaves of the lamp, the most powerful Of
the djnns, do their bidding. They live after
the words of the Psalmist: "Day unto day
uttereth speech, and night unto night shew-
iLg knowledge" With them as with the
Athenans the owl is the bird of wisdom.
These are the true morning houls, tina,
make the sedate and thought-inspiring sec
ond day. The evening may be given to
slumber, but at midnight the soul awakes,
the brain is quickened, the outside worlG
yelled in darkness suggests through memor,
and does not distract by importunate pres
ence. The night, as the old Goths said, il
the mother of occasions. 'The fair eldes
child of love-" Marlowe called her, who mo-
only ''shows stars and women in bette
light" as Byron said, but is "the noon o
| thought as Mrs. Barbauld tells US, the com
Portable and faDcy-breeding time that follow;
on ''the gaudy, blabbing and remorsefu
day. of which Shakespeare speaks. Th,
doubtful dawn, ":n russell mantle clad," put
their fancies to flight, and they wisely seel
repose. Their inspiration is gone. Whel
they wake it is In the rich tropic time of tn,
day, the sumptrous hour of noon. Thel
they 60 forth refreshed with sleep, as youn
giants with new wine, and absorb the sun
shine and the busy life of men, and the
stored vitality and knowledge and observa
ton are given out in the quiet hours tha
follow, as the blossoms of tropic climes yielt
their richest perfumes to the discreet ant
caressing winds of night. The wise mel
know what poor thing is the rising sun a
compared with the sun of noon-day. Th,
one is but spectacle, an empty pageant,
'sprelude to an imperial theme" The othe
is glorious warmth and light, the concen
trated splendor of thousands of summers
the mighty source of all power and lie upo
the earth. And for the night why the de
light in it is the mark of our civilization, tn
evidence that we have shaken off the childis
superstitions and craven fears Of the savage
1t is as strong an evidence of progress. of tn
enfranchisement of man from his barbara
surroundings, as is our acquired taste fo
tomatoes and tobacco.
| The deep delight of the wee sma' hour
ayant the twal has been drunk in by man
authors who have put them to nobler use
than did the Scottish bard, and given to the
employment the noblest faculties of tb
mind. The darkness and the stiffness {