Mrs.Rosebud," he proceeded, addressing the widow, "hob or nob ?" Mrs.Rosebud, knowing that he was nothing more nor less than a gouty old parson, bowed to him very coldly, but accepted his challenge, notwithstanding.
"Mrs.Rosebud," he added, "what kind of a man was old Rosebud ?" "His family name," replied the widow, "was not Rosebud but Yellowboy; and, indeed, to speak the truth, my dear old Rosebud had all the marks and tokens of the original family name upon him, for he was as thin as the philosopher there, and as yellow as saffron.

His mother, however, the night before he was born, dreamed that she was presented with a rosebud, and the name, being somewhat poetical, was adopted by himself and the family as a kind of set-off against the duck-foot color of the ancestral skin." The philosopher, in the meantime, finding himself interrupted, stood, with a complacent countenance, awaiting a pause in which he might proceed.

At length he got an opportunity of resuming.
"The world," he added, "knows but little of the great founder of so many systems and theories connected with human life and philosophy.

It was he who invented the multiplication table, and solved the forty-seventh proposition of the first book of Euclid.

It was he who, from his profound knowledge of music, first discovered the music of the spheres--a divine harmony, which, from its unbroken continuity, and incessant play in the heavenly bodies, we are incapable of hearing." "Where the deuce, then, is the use of it ?" cried Captain Culverin; "it must be a very odd kind of music which we cannot hear." "The great Samian, sir, could hear it; but only in his heart and intellect, and after he had discovered the truthful doctrine of the metempsychosis, or transmigration of souls." "The transmigration of soles; why, my dear sir, doesn't every fishwoman understand that ?" observed the captain.