The Foolish Dictionary<br />An exhausting work of reference to un-certain English words, their origi, Gideon Wurdz [book series for 10 year olds TXT] 📗

The original Mrs. Bloomer.

How to Mail a Letter.

After writing it, place it in a square or oblong envelope—round ones are no longer fashionable—seal it on the back and write a legible address on the front; then take a two-cent stamp, give it a good licking and retire it to the corner—the upper, right-hand corner, on the outside—never inside, as the postmaster is not a clairvoyant. Drop it in a letter-box and trust to luck. If it's a love letter, it will probably reach her all right, for Cupid is a faithful postman and carries a stout pair of wings. If it's a bill, by all means have it registered; otherwise, your debtor will swear he never got it. If it's cash for your tailor, heed the post-office warning, "Don't send money through the mails." Wait until you happen to meet him on the street. If he sees you first, you lose.

First-class Matter.

Anything you are ashamed to have the postmaster or postmistress read, and therefore seal up, is known as first-class matter. Also, postal cards, where you're only allowed to argue on one side. If you think your letter should travel slowly, invest ten cents in a Special Delivery Stamp. This will insure a nice, leisurely journey, lasting from one to two days longer than by the cheap two-cent route.

Second-class Matter.

This class was originated for the benefit of Patent Medicine Mixers, who print circulars on "What Ails You" four times a year, and pepper the land with "Before-and-after-taking" caricatures, at the rate of one cent a pound.

Third-class Matter.

While the quack nostrums travel second-class for one cent a pound, books, engravings, manuscript copy, and works of art have to go third-class and are taxed one cent for every two ounces. They must also be left open for inspection, thus affording the post-office employee a fleeting acquaintance with something really useful.

Fourth-class Matter.

Everything not included in the above, except poisons, explosives, live animals, insects, inflammable articles, and things giving off a bad odor. The last two do not include The Police Gazette or The Philistine.

Brought down to date in brief Notes by the Editor.

ACHILLES. A courageous Greek, who did a general slaughtering business in Troy in 1180 B.C., but was finally pinked in the heel—his only vulnerable spot—and died.

Long life often depends on being well heeled.

ADONIS. A beautiful youth, beloved by Venus and killed by a boar.

Bores have been the death of us ever since.

BACCHUS. A brewer, who supplied the Gods with nectar, the beer that made Olympus famous.

Those desiring a drink, please ask Dickens if "Bacchus is willin'."

CASTOR AND POLLUX. Two clever sports and twin brothers from Greece, Castor being a horse-trainer and Pollux a pugilist, whose sister, Helen, a respectable, married woman, disgraced the family by eloping with Paris.

Just because a man can break a broncho or win a prize fight, it's no sign he can manage a woman.

CERBERUS. A dog with three heads, a serpent's tail and several snakes around his neck, who guarded the main entrance to Hades.

When a man begins to see snakes and one head looks like three, it's a cinch he's not far from Hell.

CHARON. The gloomy gondolier of the Styx, who carried the dead to the Other World—if they paid him first.

And even to-day, he who patronizes Rapid Transit must pay his fare in advance.

CUPID. The son of Venus and the God of Love, who with bow and arrows punctured men's bosoms with the darts of admiration.

But now-a-days the arrow's not in it with a snug bathing suit or a decollette gown.

DAEDALUS. The original Santos Dumont, who invented and successfully operated a flying-machine that would fly. His son, Icarus, tried the trick, went too high and fell into the sea.

A flier frequently precedes a fall—especially in Wall Street.

DIANA. The goddess of the chase; unmarried.

And this is very fitting. May the chase always be for the unmarried only!

HERCULES. The Gritty Greek (no relation to the Terrible Turk), an independent laborer, who always had a good job awaiting him.

It is interesting to recall the days when non-union labor had all the work it wanted.

IXION. A king of Thessaly, who for his sins was broken on a wheel.

And men have been going broke on "the wheel" ever since.

LOTUS EATERS. A gang of ancient vegetarians, who chewed leaves and went to sleep.

Now succeeded by a club of New Yorkers, who chew the rag and keep awake.

MERCURY. A celestial messenger-boy, who wore wings on his shoes and knew how "to get there" in a hurry.

Now they all wear hobbles, and never exceed the speed limit in a public thoroughfare.

MIDAS. A Greek king, who had the power of turning into gold all that he touched.

That's nothing! There are plenty of men to-day who always get gold whoever they touch.

SAPPHO. A love-lorn poetess, who, failing to win the man she first loved, cured herself by jumping into the Mediterranean.

She probably acted on the old advice, "There's plenty more fish in the sea!"

TANTALUS. A proud king, who suffered in Hades the agonies of hunger and thirst, with food and drink always in sight, but always beyond reach.

Here on earth, the 50-cent table d'hote accomplishes the same result—besides costing you the fifty.

TROY. An ancient, oriental city, which took in a wooden horse and saw the domestic finish of Helen and Paris.

Do not confuse with Troy, N.Y., where they only take in washing and provide a domestic finish for collars and shirts.

VULCAN. The Olympian blacksmith, who always had his hammer with him.

But not all who carry hammers are blacksmiths.

JANUARY 1, New Year's Day. On this day the Flowing Bowl is filled—and emptied—and the Genial Palm circulated in forty-three States and Territories out of forty-nine. In Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, Arkansas, Oklahoma and the Indian Territory there is no celebration. The natives are too busy collecting good resolutions and bad bills.

FEBRUARY 22, Washington's Birthday. (George, not Booker), is remembered by thirty-eight of the States. On this day, in the public schools, are shown pictures of George Chopping the Cherry Tree and Breaking Up the Delaware Ice Trust, Valley Forge in Winter, and Mt. Vernon on a Busy Day. The Pride of the Class recites Washington's "Farewell to the Army," Minnie the Spieler belabors the piano with the "Washington Post March," and the scholars all eat Washington Pie, made of "Columbia, the Jam of the Ocean."

MARCH 17, St. Patrick's Day and Evacuation Day, when the British redcoats got out of Boston and Patrick evicted the snakes from Ireland. For observing the day, wear a turkey-red coat, or vest, and put a bit of green ribbon, or a shamrock, in the buttonhole—the green above the red. On Easter day, wear a scrambled egg in the same place.

APRIL 19, Patriot's Day. A New England successor to FAST DAY—the slowest day of the year. Originally invented for Fasting and Prayer. Now used exclusively for opening the Baseball Season, Locating a Seashore Home for the Summer, and watching Red-Shirted Diogenes at his Tub.