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thought himself passable, and lie resolved to
pass off for a dinner, if possible. A stranger
lolling easily on a settee near him looked vul
nerable, and Tom, approaching him in a very
bland and friendly manner, remarked .
“Excuse me, sir, but you look so like an
old friend of mine, J. B , who has resi
led for years in the south, that l can’t help
addressing you.”
“I am from the south, sir,” answered the
stranger, courteously, “but not the person
you speak of —know him, however, and am
pleased to encounter a friend of his.”
“That’s it,” said Tom to himself, “gothim
as easy as rolling off a log.”
An animated conversation ensued, which
ended by Tom being asked to dine, and when
the gong proclaimed the table spread, in walk
ed the stranger and Tom, arm-in-arm, large
life and twice as natural. He called the
waiters with an air of ease, passed the strang
ers wine with friendly freedom, laughed mu
sically, jested with spirit, wiped his mouth
with grace, and, in short, completely captiva
ted the southerner. During the period of
Tom’s luxuriating, he was observed by the
landlord, who indignant, sent a servant to or
der him from the table. Tom had “come it”
over him for so many odd dinners, without a
shadow of prospect for pay, that he could
stand it no longer. The servant approached,
whispered in his ear, and stood off’to give
him room to move. Tom clutched the wine
bo tie, with the intention of hurling it at his
head, but altered his purpose, and poured out
another glass, drank it off, looked daggers at
the servant, and in a moment more smiled
confidence upon his friend.
“Would you believe it,” said Tom. to the
southerner, “ that since my absence from the
city for a few days past, a rival house of our
“shipping firms” has whispered the possibili
ty of our failure, and this rascally landlord,
having heard the calumny, has insulted me
here at table by sending rt servant to demand
the trifling sum I owe him.”
The southerner was burning with indigna
tion.
“It is too humiliating;” added Tom. “ not
dreaming of such an outrage, 1 am entirely
unprovided at the moment.”
“ Here, my dear fellow,” promptly'profTer
ed his friend, “ here is my pocket-book, make
use of it without hesitation.
“You’re very kind,” said Tom, “very, I
will but borrow this thousand dollar bill for
a moment —I know the rascal can't change
it!”
With an air of offended dignity, Tom ap
proached the office of the hotel, the landlord,
frowning with anger’ stood at the desk, the
offended “diner out,” put his hand to his eyes
as if hiding deep emotion, and then addressing
the landlord in a grief-stricken voice, he
.said:
“ I never dreamed of such an insult from
you, sir, at such a time, too, just as my un
cle in the South has expired,—and his agent
with me to deliver up the portion bequeathed
to me —it is—it— sir, 1 cannot express in lan
guage my feelings. Take out of that the
paltry sum I owe you,” —throwing down the
thousand dollar bill,—“ and henceforth I nev
er will enter your door. Just at a time too,”
lie further added, “ when I had intended to
make your house my home/and endeavor to
make some return for your forbearance. It
is too much—my feelings are lacerated,” and
here he became almost overpowered by emo
tion.
The stripe of crape around his hat—put
there to hide the greasy band—the thousand
dollar bill, and the renovated coat, which
looked like new on the possessor of such a
sum, all assured the landlord that he had
been hasty. He, therefore denied ‘he indigniy,
straight, said that it was an impertinence of
iiis servant, who had twice before offended
his best guests by his insolence, and assured
Tom that he would discharge the fellow
forthwith—pushed hack to him the t housand
dollar bill, and begged he would forget the
circumstance—indeed, he felt shocked that
such an outrage had been perpetrated upon
Ids oldest friend and customer. These warm
expressions mollified Tom’s wrath, and folding
up his bill he walked back, resumed his seat,
returned the bill to the southerner, merely re
marking he had “ brought the landlord to his
feelings,” and cheerfully sipped a little iced
champagne. As he left the table arm-in-arm
with his friend, the landlord approached,
bowing, and begged to know where he should
send for his trunk, as No. 24, a fine airy room
which would suit him to a charm, was at pre
sent empty. Tom said he would send the
baggage up, and after lighting a choice Ha
vana, strolled out with an air aristocratic.
In good time, the trunk arrived —a rude
one, but very heavy. The landlord winked
as the servant bent beneath its weight, and
remarked, as he paid the porterage, that a
3 ® IS‘ff SSIE sa OaOTHiEASY
large quantity of bullion was generally rath
er heavy. Tom was in clover—the thousand
dollar bill got whispered about, and one of
his creditors, a fashionable tailor, insisted on
trusting him for another suit: he yielded, af
ter much persuasion, and it was astonishing
how everything altered with Tom's appear
ance. His note was good for any small sum
now, and it was a pleasure to make his ac
quaintance.
In the course of about six months the land
lord thought he would just hint to Tom that
a small check would be agreeable, as they
were hard pushed. The hint was given, and
he received a check —anything but a cash one,
though. Tom very coolly informed him that
the agent who had raised his hopes, was a
rascally impostor,
“ But the thousand dollar bill, Mr. H. / ?”
said the landlord, inquiringly.
• ‘ Was handed to me, by the rogue, to keep
up appearances,” coolly responded Tom.
“I shall seize your baggage, sir!” cried the
enraged host
“I can't help it, my dear fellow,” said
Tom : “ you know if I had a pocket full of
rocks, you should share them, for I like you,
vastly—l do—cuss me if I don't; so keep
cool, and keep the baggage until I make a
draw and raise the little sum.”
The trunk was seized, and so roughly that
it burst open, when the landlord discovered
that if Tom had no pocket full of rocks, it
was because he had stowed them all in his
trunk, and that accounted very naturally for
its being so heavy!
©nr Bouß of Panel).
THE MODEL MOTHER.
All her children are angels. She knows
no children like them. Tom can already
spell words of three syllables, and the little
fellow is only five years old next thirty-first
of July. Polly puts such curious questions,
that her papa is often puzzled to answer them.
It was but yesterday she asked him “Whj
he had such whiskers, and mama had none ?”
and Mr. Smith really didn’t know what to
say. Thank goodness! she has given all of
them a good education, and there isn't one
that can turn round and reproach her with a
moment’s neglect. She loves them all dearly,
and never ceases thinking of them. It does
her heart good to see them happy, and she
cannot understand how mothers can part with
their children, and put them out to nurse,
where they never see them, and leave them
entirely to “the care of a strange woman.
No wonder their children don’t love them !
Now, she has nursed every one of her family,
and is she any the worse for it, pray ? She
has no patience with such fine ladies. They
don't deserve having children. Why, look
at baby ! The little thing knows her, and
understands every word she says. If it cries
—though it is the quietest child in the world
—she has only to say ‘‘Be quiet, baby!” and
it goes off'to sleep directly. No ! those who
don’t behave as mothers, will never be loved
as mothers, and its her opinion that when
children turn out bad, it is because they have
been neglected in their childhood, and have
never known the comforts of a home. In
gratitude never grows up in a child’s heart,
unless it has been first sown there by the
hand of the parent. Why she has never had
a moments uneasiness with any one of her
children —and she has ten of them, —and
why? Because affection begets affection, and
she is positive they would not do a single
thing to make their mother miserable. It is
true that Ned is “ a little racketty,” hut boys
will be boys, and the lad is too good at heart
ever to go wrong. But if the worst should
happen —not that she fears it—the hoy never
will forget his happy infancy, and that’s a
blessing! The thought oi a happy child
hood has brought hack many a prodigal son.
and she knows well enough that her Ned
would never wander far without feeling that
chain round his heart gently pulling him to
wards home. But its all nonsense! The
boy’s right enough, if Mr. Smith wouldn’t be
so harsh to him!
Thus the Model Mother defends her child
ren. Their defects are beauties in her eyes ;
their very faults are dear to her. They can
do no wrong. If any breakage takes place,
it wasn’t the child's fault; she tells you she’s
only to blame. She stays the father’s arm
when his anger is about to fall, and stops his
voice when his parental passion is rising. If
any of the boys have gone to the theatre, she
sits up to let them in. When questioned the
next morning as to the hour they came home
she has forgotten everything about it—all she
recollects is, that young Tom ate a tremendous
supper. She supplies them with money, and
if her good nature is laughed at, she asks
you, “pray to inform her when lads are to
enjoy themselves, if not when they are
young?” She is continually sending presents
to Eliza, who, “poor thing! did not marry
so well as her sisters.” She is not afraid of
taking her daughters out with her, for fear of
Uieir age leading to the confession of her own,
nor does she dress like a young lady of six
teen, in order to look younger than they.—
To tell the truth, she carries her family every
where. The youngest she takes to the thea
tre ; on a Sunday they all go out together ;
she will not travel, or stir out of town, with
out the whole troop, or call on an acquaint
ance “just in a friendly way to take dinner,”
without having Julia, and Jackey, and Betsy,
and Agustus, and ever so many more with
her. She imagines that because she dearly
loves her children, every one must dearly
love them also. She discourses on their tal
ents for hours—the reading of the one, the
sewing of the other, the blue eyes of the
third, the superior accomplishments of the
eldest, the wonderful “Busy, Busy Bee” of
the youngest —and tells wonderful anecdotes
that prove them to he the greatest geniuses
that ever wore pinafores. She makes plum
cakes for the boys when at school, and has
them home on the Saturday, and every possi
ble holiday, though she’s told each time “that
it interleres sadly with their studies.”
The Model Mother is happiest, however,
at a wedding. She runs about, kisses her
daughter every time she meets her, looks af
ter the breakfast, puts all sorts of packages
into the traveling-carriage, runs up and down
stairs for nor one knows what, and laughs
and cries every alternate minute. She never
was so happy: and when her darling girl
says, “Good by, mother,” she throws her
arms round her neck and wishes her all the
happiness in the world, accompanied with a
hope that “ she will never forget her dear
mother,” and that “ she knows where there
is always a home for her.” Her joy, too, at
the birth of the first child is only equalled by
her pride and importance. She never leaves
her “pet’s” bedside, and stops to comfort her
and be the first to kiss the baby. She attends
every christening, and nearly ruins herself
in presents to the nurses, and coral necklaces,
and magnificent bibs and tuckers. At Christ
mas she has all her children to dine with her;
it has been the practice of the family as long
as she can recollect, and if there is a daugh
ter abroad, or a son in disgrace no one exact
ly knows where, she is the first to call recol
lection to the fact, and to propose the health
of the missing one after dinner, joined with
the prayer that he or she “ may soon be
among them again.” In the evening she ar
ranges the romps for the boys and girls, and
is not the least offended if any one calls her
“grandmother.” Little presents are given,
forfeits are played, glasses of weak negus
are handed round, and a Happy Christmas is
drank to all. Sir Roger de Coverley finishes
the amusements, in which she leads off the
dance with her husband, after dragging him I
away from the whist-table, and she keeps up
the fun as long as anybody. At last it is get
ting late ; her children crowd round her, they
kiss her. and hang about her, and there is
nothing but one loud “ God bless you, moth
er!” heard on all sides. This wish springs
from the heart of every one, for there is not
a child but who has felt, in sickness as in
health, in adversity as in prosperity, abroad
as at home, the love and kindness of the Mo
del Mother.
“0, DEAR! WHAT CAN THE MATTER BE ?”
This is the question one naturally asks,
when one hears of all the maladies among the
animal and vegetable kingdoms, which are
being regularly revolutionized, or turned up
side down, in accordance with the present or
der or disorder of things throughout the Con
tinent. The sheep are unfortunately laid up
with the small-pox; the pigs are suffering
from their old complaint, the measles; the
young Highland steers are all so bad, that
they are being dosed with Steer’s opodeldoc;
tne caterpillars can scarcely grub on ; the
gnats have lost their natty look : the blue
bottles are breaking fast ; and even the fish
may be said to be suffering under water on
the brain, or some other equally distressing
malady.
Besides the invalids of the finnv tribe, we
may particularize the Crustacea as being near
ly all indisposed; and though the mussels
are straining every nerve to keep up, while
the cockles are trying to stimulate the cockles
of their hearts by an assumed cheerfulness,
those who look deeper—namely, to the bot
tom of the sea—will perceive a general de
pression among the tenants of the briny ocean.
Even the sharks are giving vent to a melan
choly wailing, and tne shrimp, in its small
way, is laboring under the almost universal
illness that has afflicted the inmates of the
ocean. We recommend the throwing of 12,-
000,000 boxes of Parr’s Life Pills into the
sea, for the benefit of the fishes and the good
of the public, who otherwise might get hold of
the medicine.
Pl)ilo0opl)ti for tlje People.
VELOCITY OF ELECTRICITY.
It is not unfrequently a subject of wonder,
says the Journal of Commerce, that the velo
city of electricity has been so accurately mea
sured, when its speed is incredible ; and many
persons express entire disbelief in the correct
ness of any such measurement. It has nev
ertheless been accomplished, and that by a
contrivance so ingenious and yet so simple as
to be within the understanding of a child, and
at the same time incapable oi committing an
error. A small mirror, one inch long by a
half inch broad, is made to revolve on a piv
ot and attached to a spring and cog work
which gives it a swift revolution. It is, of
courfp, perfectly easy to regulate this veloci
ty to any acquired number of revolutions per
second. Coils of wires of various lengths are
provided. A coil is taken, say for example,
twenty five miles in length. The two ends
of this are brought near each other and fast
ened on a hoard on the flat surface of which
is left a break in each end of the wire, so that
the passing electricity shall make a spark as
it crosses each break. A Leyden jar is charg
ed, and a spark sent through the coil. To
the eye this appears to cross both breaks at
the same instant, although there are twenty
five miles of wire between. The experiment
is made in a room which has an arched ceil
ing, in a precise semicircle, carefully measur
ed and divided into sections. If then this
hoard he so placed that the revolving mirror
may reflect the spark, and (the room of course
being darkened) the mirror he put in motion
and the charge sent along tne coils of wire,
the first break in the wire will be marked by
a reflection of the mirror on the arch, and the
spark at the second break will be a little fur
ther along on the arch. Thus if the mirror
be making one hundred revolutions per se
cond, and the reflections of the two sparks he
one eightieth part of the circle distant from
one-another, it is absolute that the mirror has
made one-eightieth part of a revolution while
the electricity was passing twenty-five miles;
and the time occupied is of course one-eight
thousandth part of a second, which would
give a velocity of 200,000 miles per second.
After repeating the experiments with coils of
wire of various lengths, from five to a hun
dred miles, and finding the distance between
the reflections on the arched wall to vary pre
cisely in the same ratio with the lengths of
wire, and the final result to he unvarying, it
is evident that the problem has been solved
and the velocity of electricity ascertained.
FACTS ABOUT DIGESTION.
Wheat is most nutritious of all substances
except oil; containing ninety-five parts of nu
triment to five of waste matter. Dry peas,
nuts and barley are nearly as nutritious as
wheat. Garden vegetables stand lowest on
the list, inasmuch as they contain when fresh
a large portion of water. The quantity of
waste matter is more than eight-tenths of the
whole. Veal is the most nutritious, then
fowls, then beef, last pork. The most nutri
tious fruits are plumbs, grapes, apricots,
peaches, gooseberries and melons. Os all the
articles of food, boiled rice is digested in the
shortest time —one hour. As it also contains
eight-tenths of nutritious matter, it is a valu
able substance of diet, Tripe and pig’s feet
are digested almost as rapidly. Apples, if
sweet and ripe, are next in order. Venison is
digested almost as soon as apples. Roasted
potatoes are digested in half the time requir
ed by the same vegetable boiled, which occu
py three hours and a half—more than beef or
mutton. Bread occupies three hours and a
half—an hour more than is required by the
same article raw. Turkey and goose are con
verted in two hours and a half—an hour and
a half sooner than chicken. Roasted veal
and roast pork, and saltbeef occupy five hours
and a hall—the longest of all the articles of
food.
IMPROMPTU BUTTER.
We yesterday saw, says the N. Y. Mirror,
sweet milk converted into butter in four min
utes, probably a dash of iced-water would
have brought the butter in less time. This
wonderful effect was produced by one of the
most simple churning machines that we have
ever seen. It consists of a square box, hav
ing a hollow perpendicular shaft with two
hollow arms or tubes at the lower end. The
shaft rests on a pivot and is turned by a small
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