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Page 60
ABOUT PARROTS.
Deacon Green was talking about parrots the other day. He said he once
knew a parrot that was not as polite as "Pippity," the one mentioned in
a story called "Tower-Mountain." The parrot that he knew would swear
whenever he opened his bill. It had been taught by the sailors on board
the ship in which it had come from South America. When the deacon knew
it, it belonged to the widow of a very strict minister. It had been
brought to her by her nephew, a midshipman, as a Christmas present. It
was lucky for him, just then, that the old lady was stone deaf. She was
very cross with the neighbors when they told her what wicked words the
bird used. It was a great pet, and she would not believe anything bad
about it. But at last it swore at a visitor who was a bishop, and soon
after, it was no more.
Since the Deacon told that story I have had a paragram about another
parrot; one that lived in Edinburgh, Scotland, five years ago. This one
could laugh, weep, sing songs, make a noise like "smacking the lips,"
and talk. His talking was not merely by rote; he would speak at the
right times, and say what was just right to be said then and there. He
spoke the words plainly, bowed, nodded, shook his head, winked, rolled
from side to side, or made other motions suited to the sense of what he
was saying. His voice was full and clear, and he could pitch it high or
low, and make it seem joyful or sad. Many curious tales, are told of
him, but the most remarkable thing about him is that he actually lived
and really did the things named.
That's what the paragram says. Stop--let me think a moment. May be that
parrot himself sent it? But no; he wasn't smart enough for _that_; I
remember, now, the signature was "Chambers."
THE WRITING OF THE PULSE.
Did you ever hear of a sphygmograph? Of course not. Well, in its
present improved state, it is something new and very wonderful. It
takes its name from two Greek words, _sphugmos_, the pulse, and
_grapho_, I describe. It is an implement to be used by physicians, and
forces the patient's pulse to tell its own story, or, in other words,
make a full confession of all its ups and downs and irregularities. Not
only make a confession, my beloveds, but actually _write_ it down in
plain black and white!
So you see that a man's pulse in Maine may write a letter to a
physician in Mexico, telling him just what it's about, and precisely in
what manner its owner's heart beats--how fast or slow, and, in fact,
ever so much more.
Now, isn't that queer? Should you like to see some specimens of
pulse-writing? Here they are:
[Illustration: 1.]
[Illustration: 2.]
[Illustration: 3.]
[Illustration: 4.]
No. 1, according to the doctors, writes that he is the pulse of a
strong, healthy boy, and that his owner is getting on admirably. No. 2
writes that his proprietor has trouble with his heart. No. 3 tells a
sad story of typhoid fever; and No. 4 says that his owner is dying.
I am only a Jack-in-the-Pulpit, you know, quite dependent upon what
the birds and other bipeds tell me, so you cannot expect a full
description and explanation of the sphygmograph here. Ask your papas
and friends about it.
There's a great deal going on in the world that you and I know very
little about; but such things as the sphygmograph give us a hint of the
achievements of science in its efforts to help God's children out of
their many ills and pains.
The deacon says that, wonderful as the sphygmograph is, the pulse
itself is more wonderful still--a fact which no good ST. NICHOLAS child
will deny.
A PERUVIAN BONANZA.
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