Entries Tagged 'Same Today' ↓

Though “missing word” contests were declared illegal six months or a year ago in England and were supposed to have been definitely stopped, they are still being carried on. Unfortunately it is only the fraudulent ones that are now in existence. The “missing word contest” was so popular for many months after it was introduced that it has been kept up even against the law. It never attained any great popularity in this country. A sentence was printed with one word left blank, and the first person who supplied the missing word by mail got the chief prize, other awards being made up to a considerable sum. Each competitor sent in something like a shilling as entrance fee, and the total amount received in this way, generally an enormous sum, was distributed among the winners. That was the way the competition went when it was managed fairly. But the most of the the missing word games, if not all of them, are now running, are managed on no such principle. The periodicals now conducting them are generally printed somewhere on the continent, and are scattered broadcast on British soil. In many cases they are not periodicals at all, but merely circulars sealed up as letters giving the terms of the competition and the sentence to be completed. An instance of how one of these swindles works is that of a working man who sent three shillings abroad to a contest. A few days later he received in reply a letter marked “Private,” ostensibly from an employe of the foreign concern which offered in “revenge” to supply the missing word secretly for twenty shillings, or about $5. The deluded mechanic sent on the money and received the word. Shortly afterwards he got a letter from the company, saying that he had won, and that there were several hundred dollars standing to his credit. The only trouble was, so the letter ran, that another competitor had lodged a complaint and claimed two pounds. If he was willing to buy the man out, sending two pounds by postal, the prize money would be forwarded to him in full.

The working man started to pawn clothing in order to raise the money, when a friend suggested to him to have the company send the prize money minus the two pounds. He wrote to that effect. In answer came a letter stating that he need not send the money, as it had all been settled. But they had a charge on their books against him for “notarial and other costs of currency,” amounting to five shillings. Would he send that over immediately for expenses. Confidingly he did so, and never heard from the company afterwards.

One Henry Higden, a dramatic writer about the close of the seventeenth century, wrote a comedy, called the Wary Widow, in which he introduced so many drinking scenes, that the actors were completely drunk before the end of the third act, and being therefore unable to proceed with the play, they dismissed the audience.

Another snippet from The Mirror of Taste and Dramatic Censor (Volume 1, Issue 4, April 1810.).

Would you, guided by Old Nick,
March the Rogue’s March double quick,
In a cash-box span and spick,
Ere insured by Messrs. Slick,
Substitute for bullion brick;
Whatsoever ship you pick
Sail not in her–say you’re sick.
Though on deck the crowd be thick,
Why should that your conscience prick?
Hid in clock that will not tick
Till the fatal hammer click,
Dynamite will do the trick.
If by chance of fall or kick
Hatch precociously your chick,
Then, the dust of earth to lick,
Ere your neck the hangman rick,
In your brain a bullet stick.

Anonymous, Baily’s Magazine of Sports and Pastimes, Vol. 28, No. 193, Page 209. (March 1876.)

‘Gammon!’ said Harry. ‘Wait a moment,’ said I; ‘I shall throw sixes;’ and to be sure down came the sixes, striking him on the ‘seize’ point, and then rebounding to my own, swept every man from the table. The board was put up, and after a little closing chat with Mrs. H——, I was taking leave, when Harry called me back. ‘Julian,’ said he, ‘Come and breakfast to-morrow upon ‘Zounds and Sounds.’’ ‘Zounds and Sounds!’ said I, ‘I shall be delighted! What a charming dish! I remember of——’ ‘And Jule,’ said Harry, interrupting me, ‘perhaps Fanny would come?’ ‘Oh, impossible! you know she is delicate yet, and the mornings are quite chilly.’ ‘Well, good night; and don’t forget that we breakfast early.’ ‘My dear Sir,’ said I, ‘I could rise at cock-crow for Zounds and Sounds.’ • • • Now, I had never even heard the words before; but I pique myself on knowing strange and choice dishes; not the far-fetched things of the French, but things good per se, and without a sea of condiments; the delicate, the rare subtleties which our own women know so well to compound. Of course, I ought to know Zounds and Sounds, and of course, I should not hurry to disclaim that knowledge. Harry might have known, and then again he might not; but he remembered, as I have since ascertained, of having eaten something of the kind some thirty years since; something he had perhaps cloyed of, and so forgotten, but something very delectable; something that would perhaps touch his palate again like the maple-sugar and other dainties of his boyhood. Having found the article that day, he had secured a large quantity without asking what they were, and had them taken privately to his house, with a view of making up the dish himself. I came home, rolling the magic words ‘as a sweet morsel under my tongue,’ and immediately sought out a curious dictionary, in which various strange things are expounded; and failing in that, looked into Crabbe’s Synonymes, (by the rule of contraries, I suppose, for there certainly could be nothing like Zounds and Sounds,) but as Longfellow says, ‘All in vain!’ Fanny having retired, I got into my slippers and sat down by the fire to ruminate a little. ‘Zounds and Sounds!’ said I. ‘What an incomparable phrase! What a sweet suffusion of the z! What vibratory tingling upon the tympanum! How pleasantly percussive to the brain; and how even the teeth partake of the sensation! I declare! I must write a song upon Zounds and Sounds! I will. I will write an invitatory song to the Editor. Let me see. Zounds, rounds, bounds and hounds. Exactly! Now then:

Finishing the song, I looked about for my flute to find a tune for it, but reflecting that I should wake the house, put it by again for another time. ‘After all,’ said I, ‘a flute couldn’t touch that z sound. Indeed what can? What is there like it? Has a church-bell any tone approximating it even? Has a violin? Has a hautboy? Has a French horn? Has a jew’s-harp? Ay, that’s the thing! A Jew’s-harp has something like it; and so—so has a bumble-bee. A thought strikes me! It is possible that Zounds and Sounds are—Yes,’ said I, rising and shouting with the excitement, ‘Zounds and Sounds are bumble-bees!—bumble-bees curiously prepared; gathered in some warm climate where they abound, and pickled! Henceforth let no man call that bee ‘humble;’ he is bumble, most decidedly!’ And with this thought I hurried off to bed. • • • It may have been an hour afterward, while I was in the maze between sleeping and waking, that the words ‘Zounds and Sounds’ escaped me, unawares. ‘What’s that?’ said Fanny, starting up. ‘Are you sure that I spoke?’ said I. ‘Indeed, I am; you said something about going down town.’ ‘Did I? Well, I forgot to tell you. I am going down town; so you must not be surprised at my rising early to-morrow. I think of breakfasting out.’ ‘You think! I should think you did; thinking aloud, and asleep too! Don’t think so again, dear; you woke me out of a sound sleep.’ • • • At an early hour the next morning, I was at my friend’s house. How I got there, I do not now remember; but I have a distinct recollection of a ringing sensation in my head, and of not being quite sure that I was awake, till the romping of a dozen children, and a buzzing sound every where of Zounds and Sounds aroused me to a full sense of the great treat that was coming. Then it was that I sang the last night’s song, and it took immensely, especially with the children. Harry was not there to hear it, and lost that pleasure, (as I have never repeated it,) unless he heard it in the kitchen, where he was superintending the burden of the song. Shortly after, came the call of ‘breakfast,’ and we all walked in, at least fifteen of us, and took seats at the table before the Zounds and Sounds were brought in. Harry was already seated at the head. Presently the Zounds came in, piping hot; but before they had reached the table, Harry turned to me and asked if I had any preference. ‘Have you taken the stingers out?’ said I, thinking of bumble-bees. ‘Stingers!’ said Harry. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ said I; ‘only a joke;’ and making a bold guess at some white things that now appeared on the table, added, ‘A little of the breast.’ Harry smiled, but said nothing. Plates were now served all around. Breakfast went on, and Zounds and Sounds went down, and every body appeared to be perfectly charmed with the dish. One might say, to be sure, that they were a little saltish, and then again, with that exception, there was no remarkable flavor; but that might be the rarity, not to have any flavor. No one, however, thought aloud in this manner. On the contrary, there was a manifest inclination to detect resemblances of taste and flavor to those of very many rare and delicate cookeries; but after awhile there came a pause. It was during this pause, that my friend turned to his wife and inquired if she was quite sure they were seasoned properly. ‘I think they are a little salt,’ said Mrs. H——; but, my dear, you know you prepared them yourself.’ Harry looked thunder-clouds, and called one of the servants. ‘Mary,’ said he, ‘take the key and bring me a raw Zound. You will find two buckets-full in the wine-cellar.’ Wondering at this, we wondered still more at finding our coffee-cups all empty at the same time. Each one was waiting for drink. The raw Zound was now brought, and Harry, plunging his fork into it, while all eyes were fixed upon him, turned it over and over, examining it on all sides, and then, with his arm at a right angle, raised it deliberately to his nose. Almost instantaneously, and while still some distance off, there came a very wise expression about his nostrils, which, as the Zound came nearer, dilated still more and more, deepening the expression to a frightful extent, till, all doubts removed, he shouted out: ‘Codfish! by thunder!’

We had actually taken within us, and bepraised, the unfreshened tongues and bladders of codfish!

There are any number of indications that there is on foot a plan to force the nomination of Grant for the next Presidential vacancy. It scarcely needed the confirmatory information in another column from Boston, concerning the proposed series of grand receptions to be given Grant on his return from his Old World vagabondizing. This Boston revelation is simply an incident among many others, all tending in the same direction. It may be, and probably is, true, as stated in this scheme, that New York politicians will furnish the money for these public receptions, and that they expect to secure a return for the money invested. Both are probably true, the latter more especially. It has never been doubted by intelligent men, familiar with Grant’s administration, that he could be used by individuals to further private ends. The number of presents which he received, the vastness of the fortune he accumulated in a few years, and the rascally character of many of his appointments and personal friends, all go to show that Grant did not limit the employment of his powers as President to the Constitutionally and honestly belonging to his office. There was more corruption, malfeasance, rascality, swindling, speculation and deviltry generally under Grant’s Administration than during any other period in our history.

The men who grew wealthy from subsidy-schemes, the whisky rings, fluctuations in gold and Government securities, and in the scores of other dishonest practices connected with Grant’s official career, are the men who wish to see him once more in the White House. They are yearning for the return of the–to them–golden era of rascality, when honesty in office was the exception, and plunder the rule. To this class is added another large one whose members believe that Grant is the only man whom the party can elect. To them party is of more consequence than aught else, and they would welcome the nomination of Grant, were he thrice as culpable as he is, upon the assurance that he is the only man who could be elected. There are still others who, never having believed in Grant’s mercenary character, and his unfitness for office, still remember him as the man who received the sword of Lee, and who are willing as a matter of gratitude to keep him in the Presidential chair for life. All these classes make up a powerful element who may be able to overpower the good sense of others who fully understand this enigmatical humbug, but who are men in whom the sense of party allegiance is stronger than their convictions of right.

The tremendous onslaught which has been made on the South by so many of the party organs, and by certain officials, means the nomination of Grant. It is true that the President in his message only claimed that there had been any interference in the elections in two of the Southern States, and even then, only in certain parts of these. However, facts seem to be of no consequence to the party organs, and therefore they are teeming with denunciations of the entire South. Their purpose is to “fire the Northern heart;” to convey the idea that the entire South is in a state of rebellion, and that the country needs a strong arm to restrain these rebels. In due season Grant will be presented as the strong arm, and his nomination will be urged as that of the only man who can suppress the new rebellion. Stupid, malignant and insensate as are these indiscriminate attacks upon the entire South, they will have weight among that large class which feels much and reasons little, and takes for gospel whatever may be placed before it by its party press.

The proposed receptions have no connection whatever with a desire to do Grant personal honor. They are purely political. They are a part of the mortifying farce which has been in progress in the Old World ever since Grant landed on its shores. There Grant has never received a single personal compliment. Every reception given him, every honor of which he has been the recipient, have been paid to the country, of which, as ex-President, he was to some extent the representative. There is not a single city of any account which he has visited in which, in private, he has failed to be the subject of endless ridicule and caricature. Everywhere his boorish manners, his lack of knowledge of the ordinary forms of polite society, his sullen silence, and his intemperance have made him a more marked character than even his position as an ex-President and and ex-General. The reports about his having been offered the Bulgarian throne are simply silly lies, invented to give him consequence on this side [of] the water, and give him an impetus for the Presidential nomination. King of Bulgaria! Grant could not, to-day, secure the position of Constable on the London police force. He hasn’t the sobriety the patience, the dignity, that are essential to the position.–Chicago Times (Ind.)

“Bicycling is not nearly so much of a craze in England as here; and the reason therefore, as I figured it out after much interested investigation, is illustrative of a notable difference between the United States and England in athletic and sporting matters, said a wheelman just returned from a transatlantic trip to a New York Sun reporter. “Because of the superb roads to be found in every part of England I expected to find the country simply overrun with bicyclists. But I didn’t. Of course there are bicyclists to be met all over the land, but I soon learned that the sport had by no means the general hold on the people disposed to exercise or athletics that it has here. It has taken a comparatively greater hold upon the women than the men which is entirely consistent with my theory. Here in the United States the growth of bicycling has meant very largely the growth of the habit of taking exercise. We do not go into sports actively, as the English do. We, as a people, don’t play baseball, football, or any other athletic game. We are mightily interested in sports, but mostly in seeing professionals at play in them. Of the twenty thousand people who go to see the three or four big football games in a year, how many play football? How many of the ten thousand or more cranks who watch the paid baseball nines ever play the game themselves? Now in England there are actually dozens of football and cricket clubs in every town, and every village and hamlet has its team. They play cricket all summer and football all winter. Every fine evening and every Saturday afternoon every bit of turf near a town or village is covered with players of some game or another. Sport is a profession here; a pastime there. Here the mass of the people are interested as spectators; there as participants. Bicycling is there only an alternative means of exercise and amusement; here it is practically the one form of athletics that the whole people have taken to. It’s a might good thing that something has turned up at last to turn the attention of the nation to healthful exercise and athletics. The bicycle fad will wane after a while, for it isn’t an ideal sport, although in many ways an attractive one. But other popular outdoor sport will follow in its wake, and I imagine the bicycle craze will figure as the beginning of an important era in American history.”

The real problem that stands in the way of poetry in machinery is not literary, nor æsthetic. It is sociological. It is in getting people to notice that an engineer is a gentleman and a poet.

from: Gerald Stanley Lee, The Voice of the Machines: An Introduction to the Twentieth Century, Mount Tom Press, 1906.

“Died at her residence, of a nauseous smell, Margaret Smith, in the 40th year of her age.” If in the mortuary column of this or every other paper, the expression “died of typhoid fever” was stricken out, and in it stead printed “died of a nauseous smell,” the frequency with which we should find these words occurring would not a little surprise and alarm us.

Is it, indeed true, that nauseous smells actually kill? That they are very disagreeable we all know, but that they are deadly not everyone is fully aware. We are accustomed to regard our olfactories as sources from which pleasure may be derived, rather than as monitors to warn us against unwholesome and destructive odors. Did we trust them in the latter capacity and heed their monitions, delicate and almost imperceptible as they frequently are, much sickness and many deaths would every year be prevented.

It is a fact now very well understood in the medical profession that all excrementitious matters of the human body received into the body again through the lungs, or the pores, or the mouth are direct and deadly poisons. They will kill as certainly as arsenic, or prussic acid, or a pellet of cold lead, if enough of them are taken.

Prince Albert died of a minute crevice in the mouldering mansion of an old London sewer that ran under a closet adjoining his summer sitting-room. The odor was imperceptible, but it made Queen Victoria a mourner all her days. One among the distinguished and lamented American dead in 1869 died of a water closet adjoining his office which was not properly drained. The papers said “typhoid fever,” and thousands mourned his “untimely removal from a field of extensive usefulness here, to his everlasting reward.” The clergy and pious people called it “an inscrutable and mysterious Providence;” the doctors said “imperfect sewerage.”

In the country there are fewer deaths from this cause than in the city, for reasons quite obvious: populations are not crowded together, and effete matters are returned more promptly to the soil. Yet in the most healthy localities typhoid fever sometimes occurs, and may always be traced to its only source.

In the summer of 1860 the writer of this article spent some months on the plateau of the Cumberland Mountains, that which, perhaps, the world does not afford a more salubrious region. Within a mile of our cottage an entire family lay prostrate with typhoid fever, and two of their number died. What was the matter there? In one large log cabin, imperfectly lighted and ill ventilated, ten persons, ate, slept, lived. There was carried on all the work of the family; the beds were never aired, the linen seldom ever washed, and the slops were thrown where ease and convenience suggested. To a healthy pair of lungs the atmosphere within and around the house was simply intolerable. But they had become accustomed to the odor, though it utterly refused to make peace with them.

As the warmth of the sun increases, more and more vigilance should be used by the house-keeper to keep everything in and around her premises perfectly sweet and wholesome. Dry earth will completely disinfect and deodorize every offensive substance. Where this cannot be applied, lime, dilute sulphuric acid, and copperas water form very good substitutes. Particular attention should be paid to the drainage of the sink, especially if that and the well are contiguous. Sleeping rooms should be thoroughly aired and sunned every day, and the bedding hung upon a line or fence at least once every week during hot weather. If these simple rules are religiously observed, whatever other diseases may affect the family, typhoid fever will not be among them.–Hearth and Home.