How Accidents Become Habits

1901

As to our mannerisms, says a writer in the Baltimore Sun, at first they are accidents, and afterward they become habits. It is singular how easy it is to convince a credulous public that a misfortune is a gift, just as an eccentricity is a mark of genius.

Your correspondent knows a lady who was asked in marriage by several gentlemen (for where one pastures others will follow), although she was neither beautiful nor clever nor rich but because she was affected with a trembling of the lids. In her inmost heart she who addresses you believes the trembling began with nervousness, but it was universal, and after a little what was curious began to be regarded as fascinating.

At any rate I know a well established, portly lady, married to a man who secured her, not without difficulty, whose only sorrow is the necessity of keeping up the girlish habit which procured her a spouse. He is not a sentimentalist, but he wants what he paid for. He married her because her eyelids trembled, and not unnaturally he wishes to be possessed of the same treasure.

Nuggets — "Genius is Inspiration"

1907

Genius is inspiration. Talent is perspiration.

Do not measure your enjoyment by the amount of money spent in producing it.

Education turns the wild sweetbrier into the queenly rose.

A vigorous initiative and strong self faith make up the man of power.

Be sure that the honors you are striving for are not really dishonors.

What men get and do not earn is often a curse instead of a blessing.

You can purchase a man's labor, but you've got to cultivate his good will.

Ignorance itself is a disease, the deepest, most treacherous and damning malady of the soul.

Worry poisons the mind just as much as a deadly drug would poison the body and just as surely.

While you stand deliberating which book your son shall read first, another boy has read both. — Success Magazine.

The Magical Box — Great Trick of Magicians

1874

MAGICAL BOX

A magician has lately been giving a series of performances, some of which are as surprising as they are entertaining and amusing. One of them is as follows:

A common empty packing box, with a lid hung by iron, hinges, is placed upon the stage, and a committee from the audience asked to examine it. They report that it is a firmly made packing box. After a thorough examination, outside and inside, they take a rope and tie it up, passing twice around the ends and sides, passing it through the staples for the two padlocks, and then tie the ends firmly, and seal them with sealing wax. They then envelop the box in a canvas, which covers all six sides, when another rope is added, tied and sealed. Surely the box is safe from any attempt to get into or out of it without removing the ropes!

The assistant then comes forward with a canvas sack, open at one end. This is examined by the committee and by the audience. It is then placed over the head of the assistant, and tied below his feet and the knots sealed. He is then laid in the box, and the box surrounded by a screen. In two and a half minutes the sack is thrown over the screen, the knot and seals untouched. The screen is instantly removed, and the committee, after examining the seals and finding them unbroken, commence untying the ropes and removing the canvas. The box is opened and the man found inside!


1909

No More Teddy Bears?

The days of the Teddy bear are over, but while they lasted, the inventor of that popular plaything reaped a rich harvest. It is said his profits are up in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.


Genius Hair

"Why is it," asks a writer in Fliegende Blatter, "that when a man discovers that he is a 'genius' he allows his hair to grow long, and that when a woman becomes similarly conscious she has her hair cut short?"

—Van Wert Daily Bulletin, Van Wert, Ohio, Nov. 30, 1909, p. 2.

An Odd Genius: Mortimer

1874

An Odd Genius

An Irishman died, a few weeks ago, in London, whose career and attainments entitle him to a niche in the annals of literature. The deceased was about fifty years of age, and was as odd a figure as one could meet in a day's ride. He was small, but firmly knit, generally wore a white hat and a dress coat, and always had an old volume under his arm. He was a confirmed book-worm. Mezzofanti was hardly a more accomplished linguist. Mortimer was a graduate of the University of Dublin, and deeply versed in classic lore, but he added a polish to his erudition by his intimacy with at least a dozen modern tongues. He spoke French, German, Russian, Polish, Spanish, Italian, Modern Greek, Turkish, Arabic, Irish, and Danish with fluency. In his youth he had been cabin-boy in an American bark, and subsequently became a medical student in Paris, but had to leave it on account of his connection with the June insurrection of '48.

He was a very strong man, and utilized his strength by taking an engagement as a Hercules in a circus in Australia. By turns he gave lectures on Shakespeare through Germany, was a Greek professor at Hamburg, had a troupe of Spanish ballet-dancers in Holland, and was a companion of Sir William Don, the baronet actor, in his wildest continental frolics. In his time he had been tutor to Charles Lever's children at Florence. He came to the surface one day in the employment of Tom Thumb; another in the company of Murphy the Irish giant, who was a distant cousin. He had been in London since the Franco-Prussian war, which ruined him in fortune. His learning was of little profit to him, for he died very poor in a ward of a hospital, and is buried in a nameless grave.