Towns > Dalkeith > 1899, 1902 - Carment's directory for Dalkeith and district and year book > 1899

tbe appointment of their father to
the presiiiency of Lane Theological
Seminary at Cincinnati, Ohio, ad-
i'linin.!,' the slavestate of Kentncl<y.
Hf-re Harriet saw much of the
jiracticil workings of the insti n-
tion of slavery, and beciiue ac-
quainted with the sc ■IK'S and
incidents she afterwards so graphi-
cally described in her anti-slavery
writings.
She niarriod in 1838 the Rev. 0. B.
Stowe, a theological professor at
Lane Seminary. Her liiSD work
was a series of sketches of the
descendants of the Pilgrim Father.-:.
Two years Jater "Uncle Tom's
Cabin" was contributi d as a serial
to an anti-slavery newsiiaper.
It fell in wiih the niodd of the
time, and speedily atta ned a cir-
culation which has rarely been
equalled. More thanamilliou copies
have Ijsen pr nted in English, while
it has been translated into juany
-foreign languages.
After this early success Mrs.
Beecher Stowe wrote numerous
stories but thonsh none of them
could becalledmediocn-jthey failed
to take a hold on the public.
IS.— We liave heard of a military
poet— liiinself owning the title of
lieutenant to a foot rc,u:iment— who,
in writin.g some verseson Waterloo,
conveyed one of his reminiscences
of the battle in the following
heraldic couplet :—
'"^Yt'p forth. Liaitennnt Cobden, of
ller Majesty's hundred ennl gecnnd
foot— step fortJi unto thefrmit'
Cried Major- General Sir Ilussei/
Vivian, K.C.D. — 'and hear the
battle's brunt/'"
29. — Since the days of the
Apostles the head of tne Catholic
Church has never either retainolor
assumed the name of Peter. The
oei-n pants of the Papal chair have
always felt that it would 1)0 pre-
sumption to have oneself styled
Peter the second.
30.— The poet Rogers was afflicted
witn a notably unpleasant, c .daver-
ouscountenance, which, with all his
Intellectual power, " as a mortiHca-
tion to him. To h de his annoyance
he joked about his ugliness inces-
saiuly,.%nd ueceivrdhis friends into
suppo ing him iudilferent to it. He
once turned to Sydney Smith, who,
with Byrou and !\roi)i-e, was diuiu ;
with him, and said —
"Chantrey wants to perpetuate
this niisei-al)le face of mine. What
pose would you siiggCrt that I
should take ?"
"If you really wish to spare the
world as much as jiossiiilc," sail
the wit, " I would, if I were you, be
taken at my prayers ; iny face
buried in my hands."
Rogers laughed with ihe other
persons present, l)ut l:e shuc a
maligprint glance at the ieste'-, and,
it is said, never fully forgave him
for the bon mot.
A GOOD DOSE OF RHUBARB.
A SENSIBLE GIRL'S REPLY TO
MOORE'S
" Our couch sheM be roses all spangled
with deir."
It would give me rheumatics, and so
it -would 1,0 :i
WAI/riili SAVAGE Landob.
THE following bit of autobiography appecrs in a sketch of
the late Yen. Archdeacoii Denison, who was born in
1S05, and who died in 1891.
When he was a young man, his mother gave him a
medicine chest. "I had a gardener then," he says, "an
old soldier, William Finlay. He came to me and said—
" ' I'm b:td all over, inside and out, wants yon to give me
some physic. They tells me you've got a medicine-chest, and
a book as belongs to it." ' Well,' said I, ' I liave ; what will
you take?' ' Some rhubarb,' said he. ' I'll look in the book,'
I said, ' and see how much.'
"Now the book has — I have it still with the chest—
the book has at the beginning a table of doses, quite an
inexcusable snare, I think, to simple peonle. It is con-
structed on a hypothetical principle—' If to an adult a dram,
so much to other ages.' The hypothetical part escaped me ;
an adult one dram— a dram, that's 60 grains -magnesia to be
added upon experience; how much'? I suppose half— 30
grains— 90 grains in all.
" It looked a great deal ; but I said to myself, ' Must be all
right, here's the book ; Finlay's an adult.' He was over
seventy. So I rang the bell. ' Here's your physic ; I liope it
will put you all right.' ' I be to take all that ? ' ' Yes, that's
just what the book says; small doses foolish things.' 'All
right,' says he. Then I began to encourage hiii'i. 'Now
Finlay, you're not veiy well ; don't try and do any work
to-day; go home, keen yourself Avarm, and tell your wife to
mix it up in some warm water— not too much water. You'll
be much better in the morning. I should, if I were you, take
it at once.' ' All right,' he said.
" Poor man ! his coiitidence in me had no limits. I thought
no more about it till next morning. My conscience was
quite easy. I had done a wise and kind thing.
"When I was dressing in the morning I looked out of the
window. There was Finlay standing between me and the garden
wall. He looked, so to speak, shadowy— almost ghostly. The
wall, as it were, was visible through him. But, as it was
daylight, I wasn't afraid. ' Hope you're better this morning ;
glad to think you must be, or you would not have come up '
' Well,' he said, ' I be a trifle better.' ' Ah,' I said, ' I thouo-li't
so. You took your physic, of course ? ' ' Why, didn't you tell
me to take it? I'll tell you all about it. I goes home to my
wife and says, "There, you mix that up; mind, not mucli
water." " Lord's sake," she said, " you not be going to take all
that'? Why, it would kill a horse and a cow !" " Yon foolish
woman, hold your tongue ; go and do as I bids yon. Master's
got a book and knows a sight more than you." So she goes
and mixes it up in a slop-b.isin, and brings it back with a
spoon standing up in the middle.' At this part of his report
I began to have misgivings. He went on : 'I got him down,
but it was a tough job, ami goes to bed.' I draw a veil over
what followed. I struggled to look sympathetic, but mv
misgivings increased. ' Well,' I said, as soon as I could
steady my voice, 'go into the kitchen and have some nice
warm breakfast, and then we'll see what is to be done next.'
"Half an hour after I was on my way to Oxford as fast as I
cottld go, and went to my dear friend Dr. Wootton. In the
course of conversation I asked liint in a kind of careless way
about I'hubarb, as a guide for my parochial practice. ' Well,'
he said, ' it's a line medicine, and I give good doses of it'.
'Yes; what is a good dose?' 'Eighteen grains is quite
enough for anybody.' 'Eighteen grains,' I said. 'Why, I
gave a man sixty yesterday and thirty magnesia.' He opened
his great eyes, and said, 'Is lie very old?' 'Yes; over
seventy. Then perhaps he won't die ! Go home as fast as
you can and pour in porter and poit wine.'" And Finlay
didn't die. He survived for many years his experience of the
Archdeacon's medicine-chest.