lady of splendid promise, dissembled purpose and disappointing

performance.
SLANG, n. The grunt of the human hog (_Pignoramus intolerabilis_)

with an audible memory. The speech of one who utters with his tongue
what he thinks with his ear, and feels the pride of a creator in

accomplishing the feat of a parrot. A means (under Providence) of
setting up as a wit without a capital of sense.

SMITHAREEN, n. A fragment, a decomponent part, a remain. The word is
used variously, but in the following verse on a noted female reformer

who opposed bicycle-riding by women because it "led them to the devil"
it is seen at its best:

The wheels go round without a sound --
The maidens hold high revel;

In sinful mood, insanely gay,
True spinsters spin adown the way

From duty to the devil!
They laugh, they sing, and -- ting-a-ling!

Their bells go all the morning;
Their lanterns bright bestar the night

Pedestrians a-warning.
With lifted hands Miss Charlotte stands,

Good-Lording and O-mying,
Her rheumatism forgotten quite,

Her fat with anger frying.
She blocks the path that leads to wrath,

Jack Satan's power defying.
The wheels go round without a sound

The lights burn red and blue and green.
What's this that's found upon the ground?

Poor Charlotte Smith's a smithareen!
John William Yope

SOPHISTRY, n. The controversial method of an opponent, distinguished
from one's own by superior insincerity and fooling. This method is

that of the later Sophists, a Grecian sect of philosophers who began
by teaching wisdom, prudence, science, art and, in brief, whatever men

ought to know, but lost themselves in a maze of quibbles and a fog of
words.

His bad opponent's "facts" he sweeps away,
And drags his sophistry to light of day;

Then swears they're pushed to madness who resort
To falsehood of so desperate a sort.

Not so; like sods upon a dead man's breast,
He lies most lightly who the least is pressed.

Polydore Smith
SORCERY, n. The ancient prototype and forerunner of political

influence. It was, however, deemed less respectable and sometimes was
punished by torture and death. Augustine Nicholas relates that a poor

peasant who had been accused of sorcery was put to the torture to
compel a confession" target="_blank" title="n.招供；认错；交待">confession. After enduring a few gentle agonies the

suffering simpleton admitted his guilt, but naively asked his
tormentors if it were not possible to be a sorcerer without knowing

it.
SOUL, n. A spiritual entity concerning which there hath been brave

disputation. Plato held that those souls which in a previous state of
existence (antedating Athens) had obtained the clearest glimpses of

eternal truth entered into the bodies of persons who became
philosophers. Plato himself was a philosopher. The souls that had

least contemplated divine truth animated the bodies of usurpers and
despots. Dionysius I, who had threatened to decapitate the broad-

browed philosopher, was a usurper and a despot. Plato, doubtless, was
not the first to construct a system of philosophy that could be quoted

against his enemies; certainly he was not the last.
"Concerning the nature of the soul," saith the renowned author of

_Diversiones Sanctorum_, "there hath been hardly more argument than
that of its place in the body. Mine own belief is that the soul hath

her seat in the abdomen -- in which faith we may discern and interpret
a truth hitherto unintelligible, namely that the glutton is of all men

most devout. He is said in the Scripture to 'make a god of his belly'
-- why, then, should he not be pious, having ever his Deity with him

to freshen his faith? Who so well as he can know the might and
majesty that he shrines? Truly and soberly, the soul and the stomach

are one Divine Entity; and such was the belief of Promasius, who
nevertheless erred in denying it mortality" target="_blank" title="n.致命性；死亡率">mortality" target="_blank" title="n.不死，不朽，永生，来生">immortality" target="_blank" title="n.致命性；死亡率">mortality. He had observed that

its visible and material substance failed and decayed with the rest of
the body after death, but of its immaterial essence he knew nothing.

This is what we call the Appetite, and it survives the wreck and reek
of mortality" target="_blank" title="n.致命性；死亡率">mortality, to be rewarded or punished in another world, according

to what it hath demanded in the flesh. The Appetite whose coarse
clamoring was for the unwholesome viands of the general market and the

public refectory shall be cast into eternalfamine, whilst that which
firmly through civilly insisted on ortolans, caviare, terrapin,

anchovies, _pates de foie gras_ and all such Christian comestibles
shall flesh its spiritual tooth in the souls of them forever and ever,

and wreak its divinethirst upon the mortal" target="_blank" title="a.不死的n.不朽的人物">immortal parts of the rarest and
richest wines ever quaffed here below. Such is my religious faith,

though I grieve to confess that neither His Holiness the Pope nor His
Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury (whom I equally and profoundly

revere) will assent to its dissemination."
SPOOKER, n. A writer whose imagination concerns itself with

supernatural phenomena, especially in the doings of spooks. One of
the most illustrious spookers of our time is Mr. William D. Howells,

who introduces a well-credentialed reader to as respectable and
mannerly a company of spooks as one could wish to meet. To the terror

that invests the chairman of a district school board, the Howells
ghost adds something of the mystery enveloping a farmer from another

township.
STORY, n. A narrative, commonlyuntrue. The truth of the stories

here following has, however, not been successfully impeached.
One evening Mr. Rudolph Block, of New York, found himself seated

at dinner alongside Mr. Percival Pollard, the distinguishedcritic.
"Mr. Pollard," said he, "my book, _The Biography of a Dead Cow_,

is published anonymously, but you can hardly be ignorant of its
authorship. Yet in reviewing it you speak of it as the work of the

Idiot of the Century. Do you think that fair criticism?"
"I am very sorry, sir," replied the critic, amiably, "but it did

not occur to me that you really might not wish the public to know who
wrote it."

Mr. W.C. Morrow, who used to live in San Jose, California, was
addicted to writing ghost stories which made the reader feel as if a

stream of lizards, fresh from the ice, were streaking it up his back
and hiding in his hair. San Jose was at that time believed to be

haunted by the visible spirit of a noted bandit named Vasquez, who had
been hanged there. The town was not very well lighted, and it is

putting it mildly to say that San Jose was reluctant to be out o'
nights. One particularly dark night two gentlemen were abroad in the

loneliest spot within the city limits, talking loudly to keep up their
courage, when they came upon Mr. J.J. Owen, a well-known journalist.

"Why, Owen," said one, "what brings you here on such a night as
this? You told me that this is one of Vasquez' favorite haunts! And

you are a believer. Aren't you afraid to be out?"
"My dear fellow," the journalist replied with a drear autumnal

cadence in his speech, like the moan of a leaf-laden wind, "I am
afraid to be in. I have one of Will Morrow's stories in my pocket and

I don't dare to go where there is light enough to read it."
Rear-Admiral Schley and Representative Charles F. Joy were

standing near the Peace Monument, in Washington, discussing the
question, Is success a failure? Mr. Joy suddenly broke off in the

middle of an eloquentsentence, exclaiming: "Hello! I've heard that
band before. Santlemann's, I think."

"I don't hear any band," said Schley.
"Come to think, I don't either," said Joy; "but I see General

Miles coming down the avenue, and that pageant always affects me in
the same way as a brass band. One has to scrutinize one's impressions

pretty closely, or one will mistake their origin."
While the Admiral was digesting this hasty meal of philosophy

General Miles passed in review, a spectacle of impressive dignity.
When the tail of the seemingprocession had passed and the two

observers had recovered from the transientblindness caused by its
effulgence --

"He seems to be enjoying himself," said the Admiral.
"There is nothing," assented Joy, thoughtfully, "that he enjoys

one-half so well."