Page:Cyclopedia of illustrations for public speakers, containing facts, incidents, stories, experiences, anecdotes, selections, etc., for illustrative purposes, with cross-references; (IA cyclopediaofillu00scotrich).pdf/696



to say that "the landscape-painter who does not make his skies a very material part of his composition neglects to avail himself of one of his greatest aids." He says he was advised to consider his sky as "a white sheet thrown behind the objects." He claims that the skies have what he calls a natural history in the changes that they show. As West once told him: "Always remember, sir, that light and shade never stand still," adding: "In your skies always aim at brightness even the darkest effects there should be brightness. Your darks should look like the darks of silver, not of lead or of slate." It was the fault in the skies that led to the rejection of Constable's picture, "Flatford Mill," by the Royal Academy.

How much life depends upon its skies.

(2969)

SLACKNESS

Mr. C. E. Russell, in Hampton's Magazine, gives some experiences of Dr. H. H. Hart, of Chicago, member of the National Prison Association. One time he went to an Illinois jail in a small rural town, and asked to see the sheriff:  It appeared that the sheriff was visiting in another part of the county. Doctor Hart asked for the jailer. The jailer was absent, attending a funeral. Was any officer within range? Oh, yes, there was a deputy sheriff somewhere about. After diligent search, Doctor Hart succeeded in running down the deputy sheriff, and announced that he had come to inspect the jail. The deputy sheriff said he would get the key. He felt in one pocket after another, and at last announced, with some trace of annoyance, that he could not find the key. For a moment he stood silent and meditating, until at last a bright thought seemed to occur to him. "Wait a moment," he said, and disappeared into the barn. Presently he returned with another man. "This is one of the prisoners," said the deputy. "I guess he has the key." Accordingly, the prisoner dug the key out of a pocket and ushered Doctor Hart into the prison. On another occasion Doctor Hart visited a jail, and found it apparently deserted. He could discover no sheriff, no jailer, no deputy. A man was sweeping the sidewalk, and of him Doctor Hart asked for news of the county officers. The man shook his head. "I guess I'm the only prisoner here. The sheriff and the jailer have gone out into the country on a picnic." "What are you in for?" "Oh, for murder," said the man, nonchalantly, and resumed his sweeping. Incredible as it may seem, this man was telling the truth, and not long afterward he was tried and found guilty. (2970)  SLANDER   Against slander there is no defense. It starts with a word, with a nod, with a shrug, with a look, with a smile. It is pestilence walking in darkness, spreading contagion far and wide, which the most wary traveler can not avoid; it is the heart-searching dagger of the dark assassin; it is the poisoned arrow whose wounds are incurable; it is the mortal sting of the deadly adder, murder its employment, innocence its prey, and ruin its sport.—Catholic Telegraph.

(2971)

SLANDER IRREPARABLE

The man who breaks into my dwelling, or meets me on the public road and robs me of my property, does me injury. He stops me on the way to wealth, strips me of my hard-earned savings, involves me in difficulty, and brings my family to penury and want. But he does me an injury that can be repaired. Industry and economy may again bring me into circumstances of ease and affluence. The man who, coming at the midnight hour, fires my dwelling, does me an injury—he burns my roof, my pillow, my raiment, my very shelter from the storm and tempest; but he does me an injury that can be repaired. The storm may indeed beat upon me, and chilling blasts assail me, but Charity will receive me into her dwelling will give me food to eat, and raiment to put on; will timely assist me, raising a new roof over the ashes of the old, and I shall again sit by my own fireside, and taste the sweets of friendship and of home. But the man who circulates false reports concerning my character, who exposes every act of my life which may be represented to my disadvantage, who goes first to this, then to that individual, tells them he is very tender of my reputation, enjoins upon them the strictest secrecy, and then fills their ears with hearsays and rumors, and, what is worse, leaves them to dwell upon the hints and suggestions of his own busy imagination—the man who thus "filches from me my