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©tletlic of lUit.
LAMINA TILTILLATUS.
In one of the many little towns in our east
ern States which are gladdened by the beauti
ful Connecticut, there dwelt a mighty man, a
man of lore, who was at the same tune a
wonder and an awe to the surrounding coun
try people. Insects for miles around were
bottled for his inspection, and butterflies pen
ned for his examination. There was no end
to the potatoes that were brought him to dis
cover the cause of the rot. There was no
mineral he had not grubbed up, no leaf he
had not gathered. The sensitive plants knew
it was no use for them to shut up when he
was by, and as for animals, just show him a
tooth, and he would describe the whole beast
from head to tail. With all this learning,
however, the doctor had a failing, as most
great men have. lie considered it disreput
able for a man to be ignorant of any one
point;. no matter what question you put, the
answer was as fresh and prompt as though it
had just been a subject of thought. The bod
ily fixtures of the doctor were as immense
and crooked as his mental arrangements. A
distant examination would give you an idea
of an intoxicated bull, but on a nearer ap
proach you saw merely a moveable air-tight
stove, of the hugest proportions with a pipkin
on its head, discoursing the unearthliest of
sounds. His habits, technically speaking,
were spongiferous, that is to say, he always
felt “quite at home'’ at any unlucky victim's
about two o’clock p. in., which he says “ is
my dinner hour.'’
But we wander; let us return to first ‘ prin
ciples,’ Now, it happened that in this same
town there were a set of medical students,
gay, frolicking fellows, who cut up bodies
by night and 4 shines’ by day, both to the
annoyance of the pious townspeople. Now,
’tis true, they were quiet; fun was at a pre
mium. jokes were unheard of; in fact they
were almost distracted for some new article
of life. To a party of four, sitting cosily
over their fires, their pipes brought no relief;
there were no more sprees, no amusements,
for a general torpor had seized upon them
all. At last, heaving a sigh, one of them,
the “spirit” of the party, rose up suddenly,
smote his forehead, and cried out gleefully,
“ I’ve got it now, boys : we’ve been weeping
here long enough ; let's have some fun ; you
know that old doctor down the street ”
be did not finish the sentence, but ran off’
saying he would be hack in an instant. Ev
ery one looked at the ottier but none could
“twig.” They did not wait long, for in he
came, breathless and panting, with one of the
large horned summer beetles, which are so
plentiful in the summer, in his hand. All
sprang up. “Why what are you going to
do with that diabolical looking thing?—
“ Hush, boys,” said he, looking cautiously
around; “lock that door, pull the leather
over the keyhole, sit down, and I’ll circulate
the plan. You see this beetle,” and as he
spoke he pulled otFthe two projectile horn
like feelers which ornamented the head. We
exclaimed against the cruelty, but could not
discover the design. He now proceeded to
insert the horns in the hinder partsof the ani
mal, accomplishing which he pulled a little
paint box out of his pocket, and began most
industriously to make sundry figures on his
back. We now fairly stared at him an 1 his
work in amazement. At last he finished,
and with a loud laugh laid his work on the
table. It was indeed a curious specimen.—
All the claws were torn off except two at
converse extremities; at the back were two
large gold and blue circles staring like an
ogre’s eye in a pantomime; divers other cab
alistic and unimaginable figures were dispers
ed over its back. With the two horns “in
extremis,” (as the monks say,) it was an en
tirely new animal. From the doctor’s well
known disposition, and the hint that had
been dropped, we saw at once the joke, and
a committee of the originator of the animal
and myself were appointed to present to his
view the insect which had come under our
observation,
*****
We, the committee, arose, (for it was al
ready dark.) and wended our way to ;he sa
van’s studio. It was a queer place, that
room; truly the dust of centuries might have
been said to have lighted on it. It was the
paradise of spiders, and the seventh heaven
of all dirt-loving vermin. There were rusty
tomes, antique'ed looking owls, once blilh
some humming birds, fragments of red sand
stone, half-cut potatoes, and looks of an
herbarian lying round in confusion. We
opened the door softly ; there was cur object
seated by a table, intently engaged on a book.
We ventured a ‘hem.’ The doctor turned, ,
grunted and resumed his book.
sosnriaßißiH &aif s &ib ® a suit if
“In rambling through the woods yester
day, we found this insect, and knowing your
skill in such matters, we have come to you
for enlightenment,” said I, stretching out my
hand, on which lay transfixed with a pin the
remarkable result of our labors.
“Ah yes! let me see, young man, where
did you find it—climbing upatree—crawling
on the ground, eh ? very remarkable, very ;”
and he took his microscope to examine it.—
In the mean time I turned to look at my fel
low legate. The fellow had in his mouth a
handkerchief and both fists, but it would not
do ; the convulsive twitching of his sides and
the expression of his eyes revealed the truth.
“ Yes,” growled the doctor: “ put in my cab
inet—genus motiscello—species ondontalga
cia—very plenty in South America- (here I
trembled) forceps emasculated, deniters, koug
lnobtate, slightly marke tin tergum; this is
the—eh—eh—the ah, Lamina Tilltillatus,
gentlemen, very rare —very. Good bye, sirs,
good bye;” and he reseated himself and re
sumed his book.
Now came the harrowing time; my coad
jutor on the committee, who had hitherto kept
silence, broke in—■
“The professors, sir, and many of the stu
dents have seen this bug, and have requested
us to ask you to give us the benefit of your
talents in a lecture on the subject. The col
lege rooms are at your service.” I looked
aghast, I never dreamt of this, and thought it
was carrying the thing too far; but the doct
or rose, made an attempt at a smile, betweon
an alligator’s grin and the rnouth of a crying
child, and said ‘‘much flattered—Monday
night.” We left; the one chuckling over the
joke, and I drealing the consequences.
Monday night came. The faculty had
been informed that Dr. B. would deliver a
lecture, but they little knew the subject. The
notice had been circulated round the town,
and the room was filled with “the beauty
and fashion of the place.” The doctor be
gan; he touched on Mexico, politics, red sand
stone, weights and measures, Letheon, potato
rot, megaihariums, red wheat, carbonic gas
and mastodons, till he finally came to the bug
which he held out at arm’s length, his fingers
clasping with great energy the pin which ran
through it, and his other band and arm point
ing to it in the fullness of his scientific elo
quence. He had already been describing its
genus, species, etc., had launched out on its
habits and idiosyncrasies, and was now expa
tiating upon the rarity of the animal, the
kindness of those who had presented it to
him, and his own infallibility in matters of
this sort. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he ex
claimed with enthusiastic fullness, “a lament
able gap in creation's history is at last filled
up, for upon a minute scientific anil entomo
logical analysis, 1 find that this is the identi
cal and wonderful insect,traditionary intima
tions of whose existence long excited the cu
rious enquiry of that prince of Naturalists,
Goldsmith, and in search of which that ac
complice 1 philosopher performed three fruit
less voyages around the terrestrial sphere;
and this invaluable acquisition to Natural
Science might have remained buried in end
less night had it not been for the revelations
of an obscure tribe in a distant province of
South America loa recent scientific traveler.”
At this stage of the Doctor’s eloquent har
range, a bustling motion was perceived, a
closer crowding together of our students, and
the form of our dean was seen coming into
the hall with gigantic strides. Hisbrow was
considerably darker than Erebus. 44 Doctor
B.” said he, stopping suddenly short, “you
have been imposed upon ; excuse me, sir, but
this is a vile hoax, and I shall bring the per
petrators to condign punishmentthen he
cast a withering look on the benches where
the “hard cases” and “spirits” were congre
gated.
“Eli—yes, I think I am something of an
entomologist,” said the doctor, with a ghast
ly fcmile; 44 1 have had considerable experi
ence in the line.”
“It is a pity, then, sir, that you allow your
self to be imposed upon. This assembly is
dismissed,” shouted the dean, turning to the
audience. I cannot describe the shout, the
yeil which succeeded these words. The spirit
of revenge which most of us had against the
doctor for his repealed borings burst forth.
“ Three cheers for the Lamina Tilltillatus,
hoys,” and out they came. The dean and
doctor went down the walk talking angrily
at one another. The following broken sent
ences reached cur ears—
“But, my dear sir, I am acquainted—must
be—South America—forceps emasculated
grinders”—and the words faded in the dis
tance. How the affair got wind no body
could find out; suffice it to say we were not
discovered. The doctor to this day main
tains his opinion, and the bug still forms one
oi the principal attractions in his cabinet. A
good specimen of the Lamina Tilltillatus, and
what is more and undeniable —a humbug.—
City Item.
’ THE AXE AND THE SAW.
Early one spring morning, when the sun
had scarcely melted the hoar frost from the
brown face of the winkled earth, an old axe
happened to fall in with a saw. There was
a 4 cutting air’ abroad, that threatened the
newly shaven chin with chaps !
4 Ah! my old blade!’ said the Axe, ‘how
! goes it with you ? I came purposely to see
how you do.’
‘1 really feel much obliged to you,’ said
j the Saw, 4 but am sorry to say that my tenth
are very bad. My master has sent for the
doctor, who, ’tvvixt you and me and the post,
is no better than ‘an old file !’ I was in the
workshop last night, where,
‘Where, no doubt, you saic a great
deal,’ facetiously interrupted tile Axe.
The Saw showed his teeth in a sort of grin
betwixt melancholy and mirth, and resum
ed—
-4 Why, I may say so with some truth ; and
I consider it no more than a duty I owe Mr.
Carpenter, to do as much as l can, in spite of
my teeth for he is liberal—in point of hoard. 1
4 And, do you never grow rusty ? asked
the Axe.
‘Not with over work,’ replied the Saw;
‘and, indeed, I have always found that con
stant employment best preserves our polish
wn eh, alter ail, is only artificial.’
* You are quite a philosopher.’
‘Not exactly so : for 1 sometimes do grow
exceedingly hot. and lose my temper
4 And what says your master V
‘Why he generally desists awhile and I
soon grow cool again, and then I cutaway
like a razor through a piece of mottled soap!’
4 You are a happy fellow,’ said the Axe.
4 How differently am I situated ! My mas
ter is a chopping boy, with a thick block,
which is tantamount to saying he is a fat
fool. He is very sharp with me sometimes;
and when he finds I am inclined to be blunt,
he grinds me most cruelly.’
4 Alas!’ cried the Saw; ‘it’s the way of
the world, my friend ; for I have invariably
remarked, that the rich always grind the poor
for the sake of the ‘chips.’
4 Biavo!’ exclaimel the Axe.
4 V’ou see I’ve not lived in the world all this
time without getting a notch or two’ said the
Saw.
4 Nor I either,’ replied the Axe ; although
in obtaining the said notches. I have not on ly
lost my courage but a portion of my metal,
too!’
4 Well, I never saw !’ exclaimed my friend;
4 how you talk ! lam sure your teeth do not
give you any trouble, at afiy rate.’
4 1 ax your pardon, old boy,’ remonstrated
the Axe; ‘for. although 1 do not complain of
my teeth exactly, my chops give me a pretty
considerable deal of trouble, i can tell you.
The Saw grinned approval of the Axe’s
wit.
4 Peace !’ exclaimed the Axe. 4 Here comes
Mr. Carpenter; so ‘don’t show your teeih
till you can bite.’—! believe that is the maxim
of a relation of yours?’
‘Not a relation,’ said the other: although
they are the words of a wise old saw?
Compulsory Enjoyment. —A gentleman
who frequented a circus, noticed a hoy among
the audience who was sound asleep every
time he happened to be in. Curious to know
j why the urchin should resort to such a olace
I for somniferous purposes, our friend went up
one evening and accosted him.
“My little fellow, what do you go to sleep
j for ?”
44 1 can’t keep awake,” rejoined the boy;
“it is a terrible bore to see them doing the
same thing every night.”
44 But why do you come?”
“Oh, I can’t help it—l must come—l have
got a season ticket!”
An Unconscious Pun. — In the days of
I “lang syne,” there was Frenchman who had
j served in the Grand Arm te of Napoleon, who
; used to teach us boys the infantry drill, and
j who, by the way, didn’t speak English—we
ourself were so much amused at his attempts
to express himself, that we always refused to
help him out of his troubles with a scrap of
French. One day, lie had formed us into a
j column of march, and gave us the word to
| advance in French. We all shook our heads,
i Tim Frenchman in despair, rushed to the
! window, and pointing to a vehicle which was
passing, inquired what that was called—
meaning its motion. Misunderstanding the
purpoit of his question, we replied that it
was a wagon. “ Ah! test le mot /” exclaim
ed tlie b renchman—“ Yong sheutilemens, you
may— vag-on — wag-on — wag-on /” and then
amidst roars of laughter the column was put
in motion. y. a. and.
©ur Bowl of JJundj.
THE NIGHTINGALE THAT SINGS i
THE WINTER. U
TO JENNY LIND.
When the Kate,, arc stark, and the crrst.ll
snow cr ystailine
Spa Ides keen and unchanged in the morn’s
glow, 111 8 ruddy
And the prisrn-co’oured icicles flash in the
I ne b.ttcr cold stills ali the song-birds bnt one
Now the linnet, the lark, and the throstle are H t
E en the stout little wren’s gallant heart i? ® b ’
And the Nightingale, warbler so wondrous of
That si g, in the winter, is tuneful alone
Sweet st creature, in song without rival or txvr
tarn tie mwa idly v.brate thy not* than tie ear
For tnere speaks in that music, pure, gentle, refined
1 he exqujsiio voice of a beautiful mind— e ’
()f a spi it of ca-nestncss. goodness and truth
Os a heart f ,11 of tender compassion and ruth’
Ever ready t > eomf,n t, and su cour, and bless
in sorrow andsuffe.ing, iu want and distress.’
And the Nightingale’s name by faint voices i,
p aukd, 19
Fe poverty aided rtnd charities raised ;
N<t m >ie good was the bird in whom childhood hx
lifeves
The Redbreast that cover'd the children wi*h
leaves.
t
And iu t ibute md love to a Memory revered.
By her m igioal voice noble monuments reared,
1 he high mi id< and < on.inunion w ith Genius attest
Which glm ioudy thrills in the N ighticgale’s breast.
Now tins Nightingale rare, in the winter who
. gs,
Bei g nut yet a se - aph, is one w ithout wings;
And her name, which has travel and as wide as the
wi and,
Is kind-hearted, g nerous, dear Jenny Lind
A YVjre-drawn Message.—The Electric
Telegraph has been complimented lately up
on an enormous feat of strength in transmit
ting, from one corner of America to the other,
the President’s Message. We are ready to
almitthis Herculean power of carrying a
weight, which no light porter, underthe uni
ted constitutions of Hercules and Atlas, could
possibly have lilted. There was never such
a Message, and the strongest pair of lungs
must have been exhausted in delivering it.
It occupied six or seven close columns of the
Times, and took the poor Electric Telegraph
some six-and-thirty hours before it got to the
end of ir. Still, we do not think the powers
of the Telegraph have been properly tested
even by this interminable Message.
There is a feat of strength stiii more won
derful for it to accomplish. It has never
been submitted yet to the ordeal of one of
Mr. Anstey’s speeches. If it succeeds in
getting through one of these—say the short
est— we will acknowledge that the Electric
Telegraph has powers of endurance to hold
up under anything ; but then, again, there is
a most serious question, which common sense
cannot help putting to the charitable mind—
What has the Electric Telegraph done to de
serve such an unparalleled shock of cruelty ‘
There is a limit to all things —the American
Sea-Serpent always excepted —and we thmK
the American Message is the utmost stretch
which wire is capable of yielding to. Hi*
is rash enough to undertake one of d’ho
Chisholm speeches, it will certainly require
nothing less than ether or chloroform, togeth
er with the magical aid of Mr. Robert Boud
in, to sustain it under the tremendous “Sus
pension iErienne.”
JONATHAN’S GOLDEN HARVEST.
From our American Correspondent.
I expect you have read in some of then
Greek and Roman story-books, that make*
the chief part of the schoolin’ of you Brit's
ers, the yarn of Jason and the Golden Fecce
and also about the Golden Apples oi t <■
Hesperidcs. The Golden Fleece, I tak e V
was great cry and very little wool,and es
mate that the Golden Apples warn’t no '':‘y
comparable to New Town Pippins- e '’
however, 1 can tell you that American I tu
flogs Ancient Mythology —that’s ahe-
We’ve got a real Golden Chersonesus
California, and a genuine Paclolusinthe rI L
Sacramento. I guess Midas would have p
his ears for our Mormon Diggins, am
Croesus would have swopped Lydia lor - ‘
Francisco. Tom Tidler’s groundarn tno
to this here location. There’s not a
gutter flowing into the main stream mi “
with a couple of active niggers,
scrape ten thousand doliars-worth o n
out on it in one week. You've onh £ ( ’
walk into the bed of the river anu P ,c .
the pebbles, which is a most pure ,u
The very airth of the banks stumps
March dust, a bushel of which, P ve tc k
say, is worth a king’s ransom. ‘ * u -