The Neihart herald. [volume] (Neihart, Mont.) 1890-1901, 1900-12-08

Matthew Arnold was accustomed to
bestow the presentation volumes of
verse sent to him by many unknown
bards Oh the Athenaeum's hall porter;
and it is remembered that when a new
waiter was asked whether Justin
Martyr was in the library" he replied:
Il don't think he is a member, my lord,
I'll go and ask the porter"
ambassador Choate recently had ar
amusing experience in a London book
shop, where he went to buy a copy of
Dante's Hell" The clerk departed to
seek the book, but soon returned to re-
mark:."I am very sorry, but we haven't
got HELL by Mr.. Dante. We've got
Twenty Years in South Africa by &C.
ell Rhodes, If that would do" And
feeling" concludes Mr.. Choate, that
that was practically the same thing,
took the book"
One of the ~parishioners Of a stately
and digniied clergyman was much ad-
dicted to drink, and n night the vicar
met him coming home in such a cOndi-
ton that he demonstrated with him on
the spot. He ~endeavored to point out
the degradation of such a state, and,
by way of clinching his argument, ask
ed: "What would you say if you were
to see me Keeling down the road in a
state Of hopeless intoxicationF' The
offender appeared to be deeply i'm
pressed, and answered, fervently: Il
wouldn't tell a soul, sir"
James Russell Lowell was dreamily
strolling along toward his home in
Cambridge, one unusually beautiful
night. Slowly, with serene, queenly
majesty, a full moon was ascending
her "azure throne" pouring her lavish
light over all things and softening into
semblances Of beauty eve the ugly
outlines of the conventional domestic
architecture round about. Duly illu-
minated by the loneliness of the spec
tacle, the poet, as he passed by the
house Of the estimable brother-man
who supplied meat to him regularly for
a slight consideration of profit, noticed
that valuable citizen leaning on his
fence and gazing up in a kin of rapt
way. 1t pleased Lowell to think that
the butchers immortal soul was bath
ing itself in the flood of semi-spiritual
moonlight, and, pausing, he remarked:
What a beautiful night it is, neigh
bor!!' Eyes, Mr.. Lowell, 1 was just
a-thinkin' what a bully night for a
slaughterin' this would be-" "Of
course, of course" gasped the poet,
beating a hasty retreat.
A few days before Ruskin's death q
New York editor dispatched his Lon
don representative to interview the
sage of Brentwood on the beauties and
benefits of bicycling. Ruskin, follow
ing his usual custom, gave the news
paper man SO cold a reception that the
latter lost nc time in making his return
trip to London, A few days later the
correspondent received a letter from
Ruskin, in which he said: "Some time
since l put myself on record as an an
tagonist of the devils own toy, the BIZ
cycle. l want to reiterate, with all the
emphasis of strong language, that l
condemn all manner of BIZ, tri-, and f.,
B., e., or Z cycles. Any continuance or
invention intended to supersede the use
of human feet on Gods own ground is
damnable. Walking, running, leaping,
and dancing are the legitimate and nat
ural joys of the body, and every at
tempt to stride on stills, dangle on
ropes, or wriggle on wheels is an af-
front to the Almighty. You can't i'm
prove on Gods appointed way of walk
ing by substituting an improved cart
wheel" 1t is hardly necessary to add
that the letter was not used In the
symposium on the beauties and bene.
fits of bicycling.