me about the grotesqueness of a drunkard. Alas for his home!
(832)
DUAL CHARACTER
Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) who was certainly
not the greatest writer of his age, perhaps
not even a great writer at all, but who
was nevertheless the dictator of English letters,
still looms across the centuries of a magnificent
literature as its most striking and
original figure. Here, moreover, is a huge, fat,
awkward man, of vulgar manners and appearance,
who monopolizes conversation, abuses
everybody, clubs down opposition—"Madam"
(speaking to his cultivated hostess at table),
"talk no more nonsense"; "Sir" (turning to a
distinguished guest), "I perceive you are a
vile Whig." While talking he makes curious
animal sounds, "sometimes giving a half
whistle, sometimes clucking like a hen"; and
when he has concluded a violent dispute and
laid his opponents low by dogmatism or
ridicule, he leans back to "blow out his breath
like a whale" and gulp down numberless cups
of hot tea. Yet this curious dictator of an
elegant age was a veritable lion, much sought
after by society; and around him in his own
poor house gathered the foremost artists,
scholars, actors, and literary men of London—all
honoring the man, loving him, and
listening to his dogmatism as the Greeks
listened to the voice of their oracle.—William
J. Long, "English Literature."
(833)
DUALITY
The peculiarity of the chameleon here described recalls Paul's description of the conflict between the natural and spiritual man:
Notwithstanding the strictly symmetrical
structure of the chameleon as to its two
halves, the eyes move independently of one
another and convey separate impressions to
their respective centers of perception. The
consequence is that when the animal is agitated
its movements resemble those of two
animals, or rather, perhaps, two halves of
animals glued together. Each half wishes
to go its own way and there is no concordance
of action. The chameleon, therefore,
is the only four-legged vertebrate that is
unable to swim; it becomes so frightened
when dropt into water that all faculty of
concentration is lost, and the creature tumbles
about as if in a state of intoxication.
(Text.)—The Scientific American.
(834)
Duality of Human Nature—See Nature Dual in Man.
Duel by Mail—See Make-believe.
Dutch Trait, A—See Hunger, Enduring.
DUST AND VIOLETS
O sister mine—hold on a space
In your dreadnaught campaign;
A few weeks more—the selfsame place
Will show more dust again;
Just take a sniff of springtime air
And let the cleaning wait;
For, "Dust will keep, but violets won't,"
As some find out too late.
—Ada M. Fitts, Unity.
(835)
Dust Particles—See Impurities.
DUTIES, CATCHING ONE'S
"Caleb Cobweb," of the Christian Endeavor World, gives the following quaint advice:
Some workmen were repairing the Boston
Elevated Railway. One of them took a red-hot
bolt in his pincers and threw it up to
another workman, who was to place it in the
hole drilled for it. The second workman
failed to catch it, and it fell to the street
below. There it struck a truck-load of
twenty bales of cotton, a thousand dollars'
worth, that was passing at the moment. The
cotton instantly took fire, but the driver
knew nothing of it. The flames had made
considerable headway when the cries of the
onlookers informed the driver of what was
going on. He had only enough time to leap
out of the way of the flames and save his
horse. The Boston Fire Department was
summoned and put out the fire.
This is a fair sample of what happens every time one of us workmen on the great edifice of human society misses a bolt that is thrown to him. They are many—these bolts—and they come thick and fast. They are red-hot, too, for they are duties that are in imperative need of getting done. If they are not at once stuck into the proper hole, and the top at once flattened out by sturdy blows, they grow cool and useless. They can not be put into the structure; or, if we go ahead and hammer them in, they are not tight and they may bring about disaster.
No, there is nothing for it but to catch the bolts on the fly. Let one fall, and some one gets hurt—or some thing, which in the end, means some one. No one knows what
