GOSSIP AND NOTE BOOK. Common sense generally recommends physicians as well as other men to popular favor, but there are exceptions where something uncommon is better received. The Hoosiers listened to a speech of General Jackson, but would hardly be satisfied that he was a great man till he shouted a string of Latin phrases, “E pluribus unum,” “Multum in parvo," "Sine qua non !" and then they rent the air with wild hurras for him. A nice invalid was even harder to satisfy than the Hoosiers. The first physician in his case was discharged because he was honest enough to tell him that he had a sore throat; and the second doctor, having some hint of the fact, answered the sick man, when questioned, that his case was highly abnormal, and had degenerated into synanche tonsi and believing that he had some sinister design towards them, they marched with their reindeer far into the interior of the peninsula, taking the enterprising man of science with them. He was finally rescued by some fishermen, but he lost all the insects he had collected, as the Samoyedes drank up the alcohol in which they were preserved. A Laughable Affair.—The following "fish story," which a good friend vouches for, is about equal to the old Greek tale of the dolphin that carried the fiddle on his back. A while since, as a fleet of fishing-vessels were at anchor in one of the banks with which our New England coast abounds, their boats wandering from place to place in search of good fishing-ground, they encountered a large school of swordfish. The men on board one of the boats struck one of them with a harpoon; and as they drew him in he came, in his gyrations, full at the stern of the boat, running his sword, several feet long, into the scull-hole, at the same time disengaging the iron from his flesh. Quick as thought one of the fishermen seized the sword, and getting astride of it, held him firmly. Meantime the fish, by the action of his tail, used as propeller, urged the boat forward at a good rate of speed until she reached the vessel to which she belonged, her head "Oh, doctor, it must be a monstrous bad complaint! fortunately being in that direction when he made his attack. Think you can cure me, doctor ?" “Now, though your diagnosis is clear, your prognosis is doubtful; yet I think, by prudent care and skillful treatment, you may recover." "Oh, well, doctor, do stay all night, and I will pay you anything you ask.” He got well of his sore throat, and paid the doctor a generous fee. Dryden and Otway were not only contemporaries but near neighbors, living opposite to each other in the same street. To maintain, however, that either the one or the other of these two great poets was strictly exemplary, even in his "daily walk" and conduct, to say nothing of his evening recreations, would perhaps be maintaining too much. Dryden, on reaching his own domicile late one evening, and knowing that Otway was on his "winding way" homewards, crossed over to the latter's residence, and wrote on his door, "Here lives Tom Otway-he's a wit." Otway was not too far gone fully to perceive and appreciate the satire, and at once turned around and wrote on Dryden's door, "Here lives John Dryden-opposite. A Professor in a Bad Crowd.-A member of the Moscow Society of Naturalists visited the Kanin Peninsula, east of the White Sea, in Northern Russia, during the past summer, to make natural history collections, and also to study the peculiarities of the Samoyede inhabitants of that region. These primitive people took alarm at his proceed ings, especially when he attempted to measure their heads, The novel scene was witnessed by all the members of the fleet, who greeted the strange performance with cheers and shouts of laughter. Fun at Church.-A funny scene took place once in St. John's Church, East Hartford, Connecticut, during the service. The choir had just finished chanting the psalter for the day, when a large corona of evergreens, holding a couple dozen of candles, was found to be on fire. It was suspended by wires, directly over the chancel, and held by large wreaths of evergreens, reaching to the ceiling and sacristy. It was impossible at the moment to pull these down, and they were soon on fire, the flames spreading rapidly along the heavy ropes of evergreens. The rector threw off his surplice, and so also did the choristers, who, with the males in the audience, rushed out of doors for snow, as no water was available. Then commenced a funny scene, all of these men throwing snow-balls at the burning wreaths. They thus succeeded in putting out the fire, which, but for their prompt efforts, might have proved serious. After the excitement had been quieted, the service was resumed, the rector announcing that the Te Deum would be sung, and all the congregation, which was a large one, joined in singing it. In consequence of the smoke which filled the church, the sermon was dispensed with. In the Midst of Life we are in Debt.-Twinkle is in trouble. Stocks went down and he went up. There was a meeting of creditors, the small tradesmen that called at his house the other morning, though he didn't call the meeting. He relates his experiences somewhat as follows: The tailor, on account of my breeches of faith, took measures to collect, and gave me fits. The boot-maker's temper got the upper hand of him. At last I waxed angry too, and in the end, poor sole, gave him the length of my foot. The hat-maker felt mad, and was brimful of impudence; so to crown the whole, or, rather, cap the climax, I hatter to put him out. The wine merchant entered with a rye face. "What ales you. Madeira sir?" said he. "I de-claret 's a shame, this re-Port! What is the horrid-gin of your trouble?" I told him my stock had gone down and I couldn't faucet it up, so he'd better cork up-which he did. With my laundress I was in hot water, and she treated me with sad-irony. Then the carriage-maker spoke; said he'd brought his reseat with him; that he was tired giving time since spring to such a felloe, or to any-body else. I threw shafts of ridicule at him. He only answered, "Wheel see!" The baker was naturally crusty, and sneered at me as being fancy-bread, and not well baked at that; and added how waffle it was for him to be done so brown. The grocer was spice-y in his remarks; said he didn't care a fig for me; that I was nothing butter fraud to make him weight so long; and then threatened me with as-salt. However, when he saw that it was fruit-less, he sub-cider-d, upon which I said "Cheese it! Let us soap for the best." Then I was board by the carpenter. He was sharp and cutting; said things didn't auger well a bit; and that I was beneath his level; that I wasn't on the square with him; and adze that he saw plane that I meant to chisel him out of his money, but he would compass me yet. A little plumber piped up, lead on by others, that I was worse than "Solder and Gomorrah." The butcher tried to fore-stall matters, when he heard my affairs were out of joint; but he hadn't much at steak, so went his weigh. Flowery Language.—This odorous billet-doux evidently blossomed from the brain of a flower-girl or a gardener's daughter. It was found trampled under foot in a not very sweet-scented horse-car. It is published in hopes it may meet the eye for which it was intended. "O-LEANDER :-At dawn I saw the sun-flower out in all its morning-glory, and I rose from my dreams that myrrhmured all the thyme of yew, and banished the night-shade away. "But should you ask me if my tulips are to remain inviolet till yew can can come up to thyme, thistle bee my answer, and perhaps it may a-maize and nettle yew. You'll find your heart's-ease has not rested on a shamrock if yew have anemone laid aside. Then oak come to me. If not, and a ladyslipper weak clover on such grounds, who can blame her. She must be garden her future. In such case, begonia, poor fellow! I re-fuchsia. Yours t-rue-ly, "ROSE-MARY. "P. S.-No of-fence intended." How to raise children: by hand-by the dome of the pantaloons. In-laid furniture: bedsteads. An early Rye, sir: an eye-opener. The man who keeps the pledge: the pawnbroker. The doctor's lament: "It made me cyonite when the lovely Io-dide.” Query for a druggist: Which is the easier,-to put prescriptions up or down? "Have you heard my last joke yet?" asked a would-be wag. "No," replied Twinkle, "but I wish I had." If a girl's hair is only plaited, you can't with propriety say she has golden hair. If a man don't feel well, it need not mean that he has in Even the fishmonger called me a scaly fellow that he'd anywise lost his sense of touch. like to fin-nish off. The milkman, when he heard what had oc-curd, said, "You have such a whey about you, I think I can wait." Said I, "You water." The landlord complained of rents in ar-rears. I suggested that they be immediately sewed up, especially in such a quarter. Twinkle is almost crazy, and no wonder. He swears if such is the punishment for debt, he'll never go there again. The frontiers are a great trouble to the United States. We know an editor they don't bother a bit: he never writes about them. It's not the frontiers that worry him, but his back ears. They interfere and are forever in each other's way. And then he can't wear a hat like other people, on account of these protuberances, any more than a winged angel could wear an ulster. A wrecked barque—a dead dog. How to provide for a rainy day-borrow an umbrella. Twinkle wants to know, if "time is money," why can't he take time to pay his debts. A Boston merchant closed his store "for improvements," sunk the floor about a foot, and then advertised to sell goods lower than ever before. For a long while the " pin-back”, mania was upon us; now it seems to be the "Pin-afore." A question for a committee of physicians: Is Dr. Mary Walker a pantaloon-atic? A Bustle.-A few days since, a young bride on Arch street, Philadelphia, by some mistake, got her marriage certificate mixed up with her bustle. At night it was discovered, and all the explanation she could make for such desecration, to her indignant husband, was that she thought it was a noose-paper. William Black, the novelist, got $20,000 from "Good Words" for writing "Macleod of Dare." Sending it to a magazine of that name was like giving "sweets to the sweet." The day after washing-day is one of sad-irony. Among the banners borne in a temperance procession in a country town was one reading, "All's well when daddy's sober." There is some advantage in being fat. A while since a bulky lady in Bridgeport, Connecticut, was awakened one night by the approach of burglars, and leaped out of bed with such force that she shook the house from garret to cellar, awakening the male lodger who slept on the lower floor, and frightening the burglars away in the double quick. When Charles Sumner was making his famous Civil Rights speech, a Washington negro was heard to say to another, "Is you goin' to de Cap'tol to-day to heah de Marsechusetts lion roah ?" Chief-Justice Chase heard it and told Mr. Sumner, and the Massachusett's lion was immensely delighted. "Oh, John, what lovely flowers!" exclaimed Clara, as she accepted the gorgeous bouquet he proffered. "They look as if they had just been gathered. Why, there's a little dew upon them." "Due upon them," echoed John, somewhat embarrassed. "Not a cent, Clara, I assure you, not a cent!" And then he wished he hadn't said anything. When the north wind rises in its wrath we always find that to lay Boreas is too laborious. It was an Albany lady who informed a visitor who came to see her new house, that she was having nicks made in the walls in which to place statutes, and in one of them a burst of her husband. A young lady in Iowa recently whipped out an incipient conflagration with her stockings. She had heard that firemen used " hose." Bartlett's "Familiar Quotations" is dedicated to Rezin A. Wright, Esq. The book has, doubtless, led many to reason aright. Darkness which may be felt-a black silk hat. The young man who, a few months ago, was "pressed by circumstances," has since had a "blowing up," so successful that he has fully regained his original proportions. The properties of tobacco must have been known for ages, and hundreds of years ago segars were almost as popular as now, Sir Walter Raleigh to the contrary notwithstanding. For proof of this does not Shakspeare say, in "Antony and Cleopatra," Act I., Scene 2, "O, then we bring forth weeds When our quick minds lie still." And again, in "Titus Andronicus," Act II., Scene 1, "Away with slavish weeds and idle thoughts!" Richard Grant White might give some light to these passages. A benign countenance-seven by nine. Of all our English songs, the Frenchman's favorite is, "Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder." Twinkle's nose is so long, that when he blows it he can scarcely hear it. Professor Swift, of Rochester, has for years carried on his astronomical studies in an old cider mill. Certainly he couldn't find a better place in which to study the sidereal heavens. There is one kind of sickness that politicians are not afraid of; in fact they like to be around where it is; and that is influence, sir (influenza). Is not a fisherman naturally a sell-fish man? "How flagrant it is," said Mrs. Partington, as she sniffed the odor of a bottle of Jamaica ginger. "It is as pleasant to the oil factories, and is warming to the diagram, and so accelerating to the cistern that it makes one forget all pain, like the oxhide gas that people take for the toothache. It should always have a place in every home where people are subject to bucolics and such like melodies, besides a spoonful is so salubrious when run down like a boot at the heel in walking, one feels like a new creature." Do we call the locomotive the "iron horse" because it's such an "animal of metal ?" "Reason resumes her throne," says the poet. How ridiculous! Of course he means that Reason resumes her crown. "Oh, look, Louise! Fred just sent me this sweet little puppy. Wasn't he kind ?" "Yes, dear; but it's just like him." "Friends of other days"-Orthodox Quakers. Query: Is photography a foe-to-graphic art? There's this difference between a fool and a wise man: the fool shows his folly and doesn't know it; the wise man knows his folly and doesn't show it. If the characters of our young men stood as high as their shirt-collars, the community would present a better aspect. VOL. XII. APRIL, 1879. THE CITY BY THE GOLDEN GATE. BY JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD. No. 88. GRAND as the entrance to the Golden Gate may be, there are few, I believe, who grow enthusiastic over it on their first approach to San Francisco by water. If it happen to be summer time, the islands, mountains, crags and points all seem to bear the same dun color, which changes to a dim red in Alcatraz Island, and in Telegraph Hill culminates in a hopeless, clayey yellow, made more hideous by the wasp-nests of houses glued all over it. But how different it all looks when perhaps months later we are out for a sail on the Bay, and we call to mind the feelings with which we first entered the harbor! We cast a look toward Fort Point and the Golden Gate. Surely, there is nothing grander and more beautiful than this harbor and the entrance to it! Angel Island, with its rich, warm tints, and Tamalpais with blue and purple shadows in its highest clefts; Alcatraz and its towered fortress rising defiantly from the waters, and Fort Point, low and threatening, in the distance; Point Lobos, dipping down into the waves, and beyond it the setting sun tints all the water waste and all the mountain tops with the golden hue that the name suggests. At the city front a forest of masts points upwards to the sky, and though Telegraph Hill again obtrudes itself on the eye, scarred and yellow, and distractingly ugly, we now know VOL. XII.-16 ST. JOHN'S CHURCH. of the wooden telegraph on the summit were thrown up to tell them that a ship bearing news and letters and papers from "home" was heaving into sight. How eager eyes were strained to catch the first glimpse of the vessel; how anxious hearts beat till the mail sacks had been safely landed and emptied of their contents at the rude adobe post-office; how handfuls of gold were paid to obtain a front rank in the long line that was formed to await the distribution of letters-all this, with the portrayal of the feelings of disap the Eastern States or the North Coast Territories, from Australia and the British Possessions, is about to enter the Golden Gate, the hotel clerk in his comfortable office is apprised of the fact by the harmonious tinkle of a little bell, which summons him to apply his ear to the telephone and learn all about the incoming steamer, and where she hails from. And no matter how many people the steamers bring from foreign shores, no matter how many more come in every night tired and dusty from a six days' ride across the continent. in palatial railroad cars, there is room for them all on their arrival, at the diferent hotels in the city. The hotels are really good here, and some of them, I believe, cannot be exIcelled either in the Eastern States or in Europe. Domestic servants, male or female, never abundant in San Francisco, and always preferring service at PELSE hotels to living in private fami lies, enable ho pointment and desolation consequent on the | tel-keepers to secure efficient help, and guests are announcement, "no letter for you!" has been described so often that it would be monotonous, were it not so pathetic a story, and so touchingly characteristic of early times in California. Since 1866, when the Merchants' Exchange was built, and the arrival of vessels was reported by electric telegraph from Point Lobos, the woodenarmed giant fell into disuse. Ships come and go by the dozen now, without receiving any attention save from those immediately concerned, and our letters from home are brought us day by day by the Union Pacific and Central Pacific Railroad. When one of the monster steamers, bringing its passengers and cargo from China and Japan, from nowhere better waited on than at San Francisco hotels. To a new-comer it seems odd that almost every department of internal hotel administration is filled by men-whites, Chinese or negroes, as the case may be. Only the chambermaids are women, and in the average California country hotel the average chambermaid too is a Chinaman. The laundry is "run" by Chinamen; the store-room, which in most places is presided over by some neat, white-aproned female, is here placed in charge of one of the sterner sex; the scrubbing, mopping and window cleaning is done by men, and the kitchen is considered so exclusively the dominion of the sons of |