Rensselaer Republican, Volume 19, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 February 1887 — A New Discovery. [ARTICLE]

A New Discovery.

Mr. Porcupine Rue was a student in the occult sciences, and had lately been "developing,” as he called it, the as yet unknown s,-ience, somniloqnism; this was, I may say, his pet hobby. He had invented an apparatus to induce a fluidity of language. He had spent a year of nights in practice, and had forwarded to the publisher the manuscript of an elaborate treatise on the subject, to appear in book form, by which he would unfold to the world the utility of this ripening scheme. He had invited a friend and myself to his.home, to show us his inventions, and, i£, tho opportunity ottered itself, further our amusement by an experiment onhis coachman. Wo were seated in a room entirely lacking in order, with stacks of books, papers, and pamphlets scat-te-ed broadcast. The bust, of Dickens had at one time faced the fire-place, but had been turned, and now gazed boldly into a tangle of cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling. The fire-place was a large, open one, in front of which a pretty cat said her prayers and dozed in a sweet sleep. We smoked, chatted, and built air castles in tho living embers, until all sounds ceased in the adjoining apartment, where our victim slept.

Then our philosopher, after many stealthy maneuvres preparatory to the operation, informed us all was ready, and asked us to step quietly into the sleeper’s room, which he had lighted. Our host whispered : “By the aid of a small battery, copper wires, sponges, etc., I can cause a smooth and often a poetical speech to. flow from any subject. Now,” continued he, placing the inducer of conversation into the handsome coachman’s hands, “don’t say a word, but listen. ” Soon there came a nervous twitching of the face, then a scarcely audiblewhisper, which gradually became louder, and we found him murmuring of his little girl, who had recently passed away. He seemed living anew the death scene, and told us all that occurred on that occasion. “Methinks I see her now, with her pale, blue eyes, and her tender little arms wound round my neck, her fragile wasted form on the pillow, and she saying in a sweet whisper: "Just a little nearer, father; Lot me smooth away tho tear Tricklin’ down your lovin’ cheek, As if wantin’ for to peer A€youVTtttte-d-yisuEaßie 1 A whisperin’ to you here; , “You 'member, don’t you, papa, You’d come homo a awful sight, An’ nen mamma'd commence a crvin’, - An we knowod that you was tight, —...- Fer you used to get that way, pa, A’ almost every night.” “Curions,” said I, “that the little witch should admonish her old papa in such a moment, isn’t it?” “Listen,” said Porcuj “it runs on”: “Once you telled the preacher, father, When he made you man and wife, That yon’d love ma, and you’d keep ma, Thro’ all your mortal life ; But the way you’ve been a actin’, pa, It’s the breakin’ of her heart, Fer she always loved you dearly, An’ always done hor part.” Here his breath became short, but in a second he continued, while my friend laid his hand on my shoulder. I noticed that tears were resting on his eyelids, and our philosopher drew a handkerchief from its coat-tail home: “I can’t talk any more, pa. For I’m feeling perty weak, But when I git to heaven, Where the people's good and meek, I’ll just find my brother Bobbie, A climbin’ round about, An’ go slippin up behind him, An’ give a whoopin’ shout That’ll make him run and kiss me, An' then I'll tell him how I ketehed iho rusintism, But I hain’t got none now.”