The herald., 1896-06-28
SPRING Street NOTE BOOK
s. B. ROSS

Necessity is the mother Of invention
Dull times bring to the front more IN
ventive genius than all other causes
combined.
A travelling fakir stood on Broadway
the other day holding in his hand
glass bulb, one side Of which tapered
out into q slender tube foot or more
in length The bulb was filled with
red liquid, and the enterprising gen.
tleman announced to the open-mouthed
crowd in attendance that for five cents
he would diagnose the circulating sys-
| tenn of their bodies to microscopic eX-
| actness, and give them prescription
for any discrepancies gratis. Applica-
tions were numerous, and as the useful
nickels were proffered, the juggler di-
rected the gullibles to grasp the glass
bulb in their hands and be enlightened.
| A lymphatic looking individual was
among the patients, and as he grasped
the globule the red liquor rose in the
stem until half way to the top, bubbling
like boarding house chicken fricassee
in quest of the chicken. Your blood is
thin" ratified off the professor" with
the grace Of an automaton. acquired by
long practice; "look out for heart fall
ure and paralysis; eat raw meat and get
an iron tonic; drink beer; next!"
! The clammy individual ambled away
| with much humidity on his lower lip,
| hungrier than ever, and five cents short
Of sufficient circulating medium where
with to satisfy his appetite. At mention
| Of the beer another applicant presented
| himself, burning with the desire to in
form himself as to the quality of his
sanguinary fluid and receive similar
prescription. He was built on the Teu-
tonic plan, head and neck resembling
small pyramid in proper position. When
he seized the bulb the liquid shot up the
spout like a young geyser, almost to
the top. Blood too rich; danger of apo
plexy; never touch liquor or beer; eat
three slices of bread and five ounces of
boiled cabbage every day for six months
nothing else" The descendant Of
Wulf and Odin wobbled off, wheeling
with every step. and something like this
fioated on the ozone: Pooled cappich;
poiled cappich; der teufel, klein Frank
furter noch bier; NIGHTS"
And so it went on. The fakir with his
glass vacuum and three cents worth OF
Redeemed alcohol, which will boil at less
than blood heat when removed from at
mospheric pressure, was following with
profit the lines laid down by the great
Barnum, for it was he, you know, who
said, The people love to be hum
bugged.'
Things are not always as they seem.
Because these monographs are groaning
under the. punishment of Nah Ange-
lina," Paradise Alley" and other mod
ern classical gems from every shooting
gallery and hallway, and showing their
objection by a grunting squeak like the
in breath of mountain burro in singing
trim, it is no proof that fellow who is
doing the talking under the floor has a
sore throat. A gentleman from the al
falfa district who hadn't lived in Sque-
dunk fur up'ards of thirty years fur
nuthin was attracted by the melody
OF one of the mechanical inquisitions the
other evening, and after delberation
informed theatrical lobbyist standing
guard in the neighborhood that THAT
man'll kill hisself yit; he yelled all the
afternoon through that horn at the race
track and it want no wonder he was
a-gittin' hoarse singin' EN- BLOWN cor
net all night"
The question, "Is suicide sin," has
become a subject of profound discussion
throughout Christendom within the
past few years, and especially so since
the great agnostic, Robert G.. Ingersoll,
sent forth to the world his now celebrat-
ed articles thsreon.
Through the matchless word painting
of the brilliant infidel, what was before
a matter of doubt an dread to many
poor wavering mind, driven to the
edge of the precipice by sickness, pow
erty or misfortune, resolved itself into
mere question of choice of means for
its accomplishment; the divine gift
oratory and eloquence, was undoubted-
ly the immediate cause of the deluge Of
suicides which followed the publication
of this article. For one has only to pick
up the thread Of Ingersoll's argument on
his chosen theme in order to realize the
powerful persuasion of his eloquence
His Mistakes Of Moses Skulls" and
other literary productions are full of
fascinations, tender thoughts dressed in
beautiful language. sparkling wit and
droll situations, cutting sarcasm, elo-
quent tribute to virtue, all serving to
hide the gloom in the background until
the merciful revulsion confronts the
thinker, what is there in this to make
the world better?''
There lives today no man in America
who can compare with Ingersoll as an
1dea-tranSformer, man in whom is
combined the poetic imagination, the le-
gal mind, the convincing, oratorical
power, and the eloquence which at times
scars to the classic altitude Of q Demos
themes or a Cicero and the next instant,
as the humber and less accomplished
listener gives up in temporary despair
awaiting the return of the brilliant Gre
alton to earth, he hears the magical,
silvery voice at his side, descended from
the heights above, with gem of tender
feeling from the bright side of human
nature upon its wings, speaking to him
In the tone and sentiment which brings
tears to his eyes and the hatred of re-
ligion to his heart. For the magnetism
of the man attracts the educated and ig-
norant, his persuasion appeals to the
higher mind and also the senses: some
of the most beautiful sentences he has
ever uttered were those which appealed
directly to the heart, without the colder,
more deliberative process of mental
scrutiny.
But no matter what his genius, nor
that much of his discourse is admirable
from moral standpoint, such men do
lnnn1tely more harm than good in this
world. Weak and more susceptible
minds are powerfully Influenced by such
mems reasoning faculties; but while the
listener drifts into the chill twilight of
utter disbelief or Indifference, and con-
sequent unhappiness (for without hope
life is melancholy existence, and ma
lures beauties but a mournful sarcasm)
the higher intellect of the cause of this
unhappy change sustains it's possessor
through it's philosophic adaptation to
the principles he enunciates and perhaps
believes
The closing lines of Bryant's "Thana-
topsis' are rightly classed among the
most exquisite productions of the poet.
out don't believe anyone ever felt hap