Test Bank for Prelude to Programming, 6/E 6th

Edition : 013374163X download

http://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-prelude-to-
programming-6-e-6th-edition-013374163x/
TestBankBell.com: Your Ultimate Source for Test Banks and Academic Resources

TestBankBell.com is a leading online platform offering instant access to a wide

variety of test banks and academic resources. Whether you're a student, educator, or
professional, we provide the tools and materials you need to excel in your studies and
career. Our website features test banks for textbooks across multiple disciplines,
offering comprehensive solutions to enhance your learning experience.

Keywords:
test bank, academic resources, study guides, test preparation, testbankbell, download test
bank, textbook solutions

Contact Information:
Visit us at: https://testbankbell.com - For inquiries, email us:
[email protected]

Important Links:
Download Test Banks: https://testbankbell.com/

Copyright © 2025 TestBankBell. All Rights Reserved.

 Instant digital products (PDF, ePub, MOBI) ready for you
Download now and discover formats that fit your needs...

Start reading on any device today!

Solution Manual for Prelude to Programming, 6/E 6th

Edition : 013374163X

https://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-prelude-to-
programming-6-e-6th-edition-013374163x/

testbankbell.com

Test Bank for Introduction to Audiologic Rehabilitation,

6/E 6th Edition : 0132582570

https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-introduction-to-
audiologic-rehabilitation-6-e-6th-edition-0132582570/

testbankbell.com

Test Bank for C++ Programming: From Problem Analysis to

Program Design, 6th Edition – D.S. Malik

https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-c-programming-from-
problem-analysis-to-program-design-6th-edition-d-s-malik/

testbankbell.com

Solution Manual for Visual Basic 2012 How to Program, 6/E

6th Edition : 0133406954

https://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-visual-
basic-2012-how-to-program-6-e-6th-edition-0133406954/

testbankbell.com
Solution manual for C++ Programming: From Problem Analysis
to Program Design, 6th Edition – D.S. Malik

https://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-c-programming-
from-problem-analysis-to-program-design-6th-edition-d-s-malik/

testbankbell.com

Solutions Manual to accompany Introduction to Java

Programming 9th edition

https://testbankbell.com/product/solutions-manual-to-accompany-
introduction-to-java-programming-9th-edition/

testbankbell.com

Test bank for E-Marketing, 6/E 6th Edition : 0132147556

https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-e-marketing-6-e-6th-
edition-0132147556/

testbankbell.com

Test Bank for Programming with Microsoft Visual Basic

2012, 6th Edition

https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-programming-with-
microsoft-visual-basic-2012-6th-edition/

testbankbell.com

Test Bank for International Economics, 6/E 6th Edition

James Gerber

https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-international-
economics-6-e-6th-edition-james-gerber/

testbankbell.com
Prelude to Programming 6th edition Elizabeth Drake

Test Bank for Prelude to Programming Chapter 0

Test Bank for Prelude to Programming, 6/E 6th

Edition : 013374163X
full chapter at: https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-prelude-
to-programming-6-e-6th-edition-013374163x/
MULTIPLE CHOICE

1. Which of the following is not an attribute of a computer?

a. can act on intermediate results without human intervention
b. has its roots over 20,000 years in the past
c. can be a mechanical or an electronic device
d. can store, retrieve, and manipulate large amounts of information
e. works at high speed with great accuracy
ANS: B

2. One of the earliest computers, built in the mid-1800s, was called:

a. ADA
b. Babbage
c. Apple IIE
d. Analytical Engine

ANS: D

3. A microchip is made:
a. of silicon
b. from the same material as a postage stamp
c. by the Altair company
d. All of the above are true
ANS: A

4. One of the most important inventions of the 20th Century which subsequently allowed for the rapid
increase in types and uses of computers was the:
a. vacuum tube
b. ENIAC computer
c. transistor
d. Mark I
ANS: C

5. An integrated circuit is:

a. a network of vacuum tubes
b. a small package of transistors
c. a switching device
d. the same as a microchip
© 2015 Pearson Education 1
Prelude to Programming 6th edition Elizabeth Drake
ANS: B

© 2015 Pearson Education 2

Prelude to Programming 6th edition Elizabeth Drake

6. The operating system developed by Google is:

a. Motorola
b. iOS
c. Windows
d. Android
ANS: D

7. The brain of a computer is its:

a. hard drive
b. central processing unit
c. system unit
d. RAM
ANS: B

8. The basic unit of memory in a computer is:

a. hertz
b. bytes
c. characters
d. meters
ANS: B

9. DVDs and flash drives are types of:

a. internal memory
b. processors
c. external memory
d. programs
ANS: C

10. Which of the following is both an input and an output device?

a. keyboard
b. monitor
c. modem/Internet connection
d. mouse
ANS: C

11. The programs used by the computer to control and maintain hardware and to communicate with
the user are:
a. applications software
b. browsers
c. shareware
d. system software
ANS: D

© 2015 Pearson Education 3

Prelude to Programming 6th edition Elizabeth Drake

12. Which type of programming language is understood directly by the computer?

a. Assembly language
b. Machine language
c. VisualBasic
d. Java
ANS: B

13. The following instruction is an example of which type of programming language:

ADD C, D
a. Assembly language
b. Machine language
c. VisualBasic
d. Java
ANS: A

14. Which of the following is a scripting language?

a. Assembly language
b. Visual Basic
c. JavaScript
d. COBOL
ANS: C

15. Which of the following are normally used to write a program in a high-level language?
a. a text editor
b. a debugger
c. a compiler or interpreter
d. all of the above are needed
ANS: D

© 2015 Pearson Education 4

Prelude to Programming 6th edition Elizabeth Drake

TRUE/FALSE

1. True/False: The Analytical Engine was developed by Charles Babbage, assisted by Ada
Augusta Byron.
ANS: T

2. True/False: In early computers, vacuum tubes were used to do the internal switching necessary
for computations.
ANS: T

3. True/False: The transistor is a great improvement over the vacuum tube because it is much
more energy efficient.
ANS: T

4. True/False: The first desktop computer, the Altair 8800, was invented in 1955.
ANS: F

5. True/False: A supercomputer can process over 1 billion instructions per second.

ANS: T

6. True/False: Web2.0 is simply an updated version of the World Wide Web.

ANS: F

7. True/False: One byte consists of eight bits.

ANS: T

8. True/False: One bit is the amount of memory used to store one character of information.
ANS: F

9. True/False: Hard disks are a type of mass storage device.

ANS: T

10. True/False: Flash drives are less reliable than other storage devices because they consist of so
many small moveable parts.
ANS: F

11. True/False: Computer games are a type of application software.

ANS: T

12. True/False: The computer’s master control program is the operating system.
ANS: T

13. True/False: Without an operating system, a personal computer would be virtually useless.
ANS: T

14. True/False: Assembly language consists of a sequence of bits that are all zeros and ones.
ANS: F

15. True/False: COBOL is an object-oriented language used mainly in Web sites to provide
dynamic content.
ANS: F

© 2015 Pearson Education 5

Prelude to Programming 6th edition Elizabeth Drake

SHORT ANSWER

1. A program is a(n) of to be carried out by a computer.

ANS: list, instructions

2. The next generation of the World Wide Web is called .

ANS: Web2.0

3. Components that are used by a computer but are located outside the system unit are known as
.
ANS: peripherals

4. The processor in a PC consists of many transistors that reside on a microchip which plugs into
the .
ANS: motherboard

5. The two types of internal memory are and .

ANS: RAM, ROM

6. is the type of internal memory that contains instructions used by the computer
during its startup process.
ANS: ROM

7. The type of internal memory that is used to hold data while the user is working on a computer,
but is lost when the computer is turned off, is called .
ANS: RAM

8. The computer uses devices to receive data.

ANS: input

9. The speed of a processor is usually measured in .

ANS: gigahertz

10. A printer is an example of a(n) device.

ANS: output

11. The most powerful and most efficient programs are written in language.
ANS: machine

12. To write a program in a high-level language, you type and edit the program in a(n)
.
ANS: text editor

13. When you write a program in a high-level language, a(n) or a(n)

translates the program into machine language.
ANS: compiler, interpreter

14. The two general categories of software are software and software.
ANS: application, system

© 2015 Pearson Education 6

Other documents randomly have
different content
and after I arrived home, I discovered that in spite of my expressed
determination to the contrary, I had expended exactly “thirteen” dollars!
I invited a few friends to a “clam-bake” in the summer of 1868, and
being determined the party should not be thirteen, I invited fifteen, and they
all agreed to go. Of course, one man and his wife were “disappointed,” and
could not go—and my party numbered thirteen. At Christmas, in the same
year, my children and grandchildren dined with me, and finding on
“counting noses,” that they would number the inevitable thirteen, I
expressly arranged to have a high chair placed at the table, and my youngest
grandchild, seventeen months old, was placed in it, so that we should
number fourteen. After the dinner was over, we discovered that my son-in-
law, Thompson, had been detained down town, and the number at dinner
table, notwithstanding my extra precautions, was exactly thirteen.
Thirteen was certainly an ominous number to me in 1865, for on the
thirteenth day of July, the American Museum was burned to the ground,
while the thirteenth day of November saw the opening of “Barnum’s New
American Museum,” which was also subsequently destroyed by fire.
Having concluded this veritable history of superstitious coincidences in
regard to thirteen, I read it to a clerical friend, who happened to be present;
and after reading the manuscript, I paged it, when my friend and I were a
little startled to find that the pages numbered exactly thirteen.
 CHAPTER XLV.

A STORY-CHAPTER.

“EVERY MAN TO HIS VOCATION” AND “NATURE WILL ASSERT

HERSELF”—REST BY THE WAYSIDE—A HALF-SHAVED PARTY—
CONSTERNATION OF A CLERGYMAN—NATIVES IN NEW YORK—
DOCTORING A CORN-DOCTOR—RELIGIOUS RAILWAYS—THE
BRIGHTON BUGLE BUSINESS—CASH AND CONSCIENCE—CASTLES IN
THE AIR—A DELUDED ANTIQUARIAN—GAMBLING AND POLITICS—
IRISH WIT—ABOUT CONDUCTORS—DR. CHAPIN AS A PUNSTER—
FOWL ATTEMPTS—A PAIR O’ DUCKS—CUTTING A SICK FRIEND—REV.
RICHARD VARICK DEY—HIS CRIME AND ITS CONSEQUENCES—FORE-
ORDINATION—PRACTICAL JOKING BY MY FATHER—A VALUABLE
RACE-HORSE—HOW HE WAS LET AND THEN KILLED—AGONY OF
THE HORSE-KILLER—THE FINAL “SELL”—FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC
FRENCH—COCKNEYISM—WICKED WORDS IN EXETER HALL.

AND now as a traveller, when almost home, sits down by the wayside to
rest, and meanwhile discourses to his companion about minor matters
relating to the journey, or revives reminiscenses of home and foreign lands,
so I stop to sum up in this chapter some of the incidents and anecdotes
which seem pertinent to my story.
The old adages, “Every man to his vocation,” and “Nature will assert
herself” are oftentimes amusingly illustrated. Every one knows the fable of
the man who prayed to Jupiter to convert his cat into a woman, and Jupiter
kindly gratified him and the man married the woman. This was well
enough, till one night the feline female heard a mouse scratching at the
door, when she jumped out of bed and began a vigorous hunt, to the
consternation of her husband, if not of the mouse. Something almost as
absurd and quite as illustrative of “instinct,” or “nature” occurred during my
management of the Museum.
I had brought out a play entitled “The Patriot Fathers,” or something of
the sort; it was patriotic at any rate, and required a great many people, who
had very little to do excepting to dress, group themselves, and go on and off
the stage at the proper times demanded by the incidents or situations of the
play. One night I suddenly found myself short of supernumeraries to do
these subordinate parts, so I sent up to Centre Market for a supply of young
men who were willing to be soldiers, Indians, or anything else which the
exigencies of Revolutionary times not less than my own immediate
necessities demanded.
Now, it fortunately happened that an engine company near by, the
famous “Forty” of by-gone days, had just returned from a fire, and my
messenger proposed to these men to come down and help me out of my
difficulty. The boys wanted no better fun. At least thirty of them came
headed by their foreman, Mr. William Racey. They were soon dressed, one
as a woman, a mother of the Revolution; others as Indians, British soldiers,
Hessian grenadiers, and Continentals. A very little drilling sufficed to put
these new recruits in order for presentation on the stage, for they had little
to do but to follow directions as to where they must stand, and when they
must go on and off. Numbers, not talent, were needed. They were apt
pupils, and did excellently well from the start.
But in the very midst of one of those convulsions which threatened the
fate of the struggle for Independence, the City Hall bell sounded out the
alarm for fire. That was enough. Racey shouted out on the stage:
“Boys, there’s a fire in the Seventh! Put for ‘Forty’ ”; and the thirty
incontinently fled in post haste for “Forty,” and soon after appeared in the
street, followed by a jeering, cheering crew, the most motley company that
ever dragged a fire engine through the streets of New York. They were in
full costume as they left the Museum. The red-coated British troops, the
Hessians in their tall bear-skin caps, the Indians in their paint and feathers,
and even the “woman” helped to drag the machine, and at the fire these
strange people, including the woman, helped to “man” the brakes. It is
unnecessary to say that they succeeded in creating in the street, what I
hoped they would have done on the stage, a positive sensation.
I confess that I am fond of story-telling as well as fun, and I inherit this I
think from my maternal grandfather, whom I have already chronicled in
these pages as a “practical joker of the old school.” One of the best
illustrations of his peculiar fondness for this amusement appears in the
following:
Danbury and Bethel were and still are manufacturing villages. Hats and
combs were the principal articles of manufacture. The hatters and comb
makers had occasion to go to New York every spring and fall, and they
generally managed to go in parties, frequently taking in a few “outsiders,”
who merely wished to visit the city for the fun of the thing. They usually
took passage on board a sloop at Norwalk, and the length of their passage
depended entirely upon the state of the wind. Sometimes the run would be
made in eight hours, and at other times nearly as many days were required.
It, however, made little difference with the passengers. They went in for a
“spree,” and were sure

A GROTESQUE FIRE COMPANY.

to have a jolly time whether on land or water. They were all fond of
practical jokes, and before starting they usually entered into a solemn
compact, that any man who got angry at a practical joke should forfeit and
pay the sum of twenty dollars. This agreement frequently saved much
trouble; for occasionally an unexpected and rather severe trick would be
played off, and sadly chafe the temper of the victim.
Upon one of these occasions a party of fourteen men started from Bethel
on a Monday morning for New York. Among the number were my
grandfather, Capt. Noah Ferry, Benjamin Hoyt, Esq., Uncle Samuel Taylor,
(as he was called by everybody,) Eleazer Taylor, and Charles Dart. Most of
these were proverbial jokers, and it was doubly necessary to adopt the
stipulation in regard to the control of temper. It was therefore done in
writing, duly signed.
They arrived at Norwalk Monday afternoon. The sloop set sail the same
evening, with a fair prospect of reaching New York early the next morning.
Several strangers took passage at Norwalk, among the rest a clergyman. He
soon found himself in jolly company, and attempted to keep aloof. But they
informed him it was of no use, they expected to reach New York the next
morning, and were determined to “make a night of it,” so he might as well
render himself agreeable, for sleep was out of the question. His “reverence”
remonstrated at first, and talked about “his rights”; but he soon learned that
he was in a company where the rights of “the majority” were in the
ascendant; so he put a smooth face upon affairs, and making up his mind
not to retire that night, he soon engaged in conversation with several of his
fellow-passengers.
The clergyman was a slim, spare man, standing over six feet high in his
stockings; of light complexion, sandy hair, and wearing a huge pair of
reddish-brown whiskers. Some of the passengers joked him upon the
superfluity of hair upon his face, but he replied that nature had placed it
there, and although he thought proper, in accordance with modern custom,
to shave off a portion of his beard, he considered it neither unmanly nor
unclerical to wear whiskers. It seemed to be conceded that the clergyman
had the best of the argument, and the subject was changed.
Expectation of a speedy run to New York was most sadly disappointed.
The vessel appeared scarcely to move, and through long weary hours of day
and night, there was not a ripple on the surface of the water. Nevertheless
there was merriment on board the sloop, each voyager contributing good
humor to beguile the tediousness of time.
Friday morning came, but the calm continued. Five days from home, and
no prospect of reaching New York! We may judge the appearance of the
beards of the passengers. There was but one razor in the company; it was
owned by my grandfather, and he refused to use it, or to suffer it to be used.
“We shall all be shaved in New York,” said he.
On Saturday morning “all hands” appeared upon deck, and the sloop was
becalmed opposite Sawpits (now Port Chester)!
This tried the patience of the passengers sadly.
“I expected to start for home to-day,” said one.
“I supposed all my combs would have been sold at auction on
Wednesday, and yet here they are on board,” said another.
“I intended to have sold my hats surely this week, for I have a note to
pay in New-Haven on Monday,” added a third.
“I have an appointment to preach in New York this evening and to-
morrow,” said the clergyman, whose huge sandy whiskers overshadowed a
face now completely covered with a bright red beard a quarter of an inch
long.
“Well, there is no use crying, gentlemen,” replied the captain; “it is lucky
for us that we have chickens and eggs on freight, or we might have to be put
upon allowance.”
After breakfast the passengers, who now began to look like barbarians,
again solicited the loan of my grandfather’s razor.
“No, gentlemen,” he replied; “I insist that shaving is unhealthy and
contrary to nature, and I am determined neither to shave myself nor loan my
razor until we reach New York.”
Night came, and yet no wind. Sunday morning found them in the same
position. Their patience was well nigh exhausted, but after breakfast a slight
ripple appeared. It gradually increased, and the passengers were soon
delighted in seeing the anchor weighed and the sails again set. The sloop
glided finely through the water, and smiles of satisfaction forced themselves
through the swamps of bristles which covered the faces of the passengers.
“What time shall we reach New York if this breeze continues?” was the
anxious inquiry of half a dozen passengers.
 “About two o’clock this afternoon,” replied the good-natured captain,
who now felt assured that no calm would further blight his prospects.
“Alas! that will be too late to get shaved,” exclaimed several voices
—“the barber shops close at twelve.”
“And I shall barely be in time to preach my afternoon sermon,”
responded the red-bearded clergyman. “Mr. Taylor, do be so kind as to loan
me your shaving utensils,” he continued, addressing my grandfather.
The old gentleman then went to his trunk, and unlocking it, he drew
forth his razor, lather-box and strop. The passengers pressed around him, as
all were now doubly anxious for a chance to shave themselves.
“Now, gentlemen,” said my grandfather, “I will be fair with you. I did
not intend to lend my razor, but as we shall arrive too late for the barbers,
you shall all use it. But it is evident we cannot all have time to be shaved
with one razor before we reach New York, and as it would be hard for half
of us to walk on shore with clean faces, and leave the rest on board waiting
for their turn to shave themselves, I have hit upon a plan which I am sure
you will all say is just and equitable.”
“What is it?” was the anxious inquiry.
“It is that each man shall shave one half of his face, and pass the razor
over to the next, and when we are all half shaved we shall go on in rotation
and shave the other half.”
They all agreed to this except the clergyman. He objected to appearing
so ridiculous upon the Lord’s day, whereupon several declared that any man
with such enormous reddish whiskers must necessarily always look
ridiculous, and they insisted that if the clergyman used the razor at all he
should shave off his whiskers.
My grandfather assented to this proposal, and said: “Now, gentlemen, as
I own the razor, I will begin, and as our reverend friend is in a hurry he shall
be next—but off shall come one of his whiskers on the first turn, or he
positively shall not use my razor at all.”
The clergyman seeing there was no use in parleying, reluctantly agreed
to the proposition.
In the course of ten minutes one side of my grandfather’s face and chin,
in a straight line from the middle of his nose, was shaved as close as the
back of his hand, while the other looked like a thick brush fence in a
country swamp. The passengers burst into a roar of laughter, in which the
clergyman irresistibly joined, and my grandfather handed the razor to the
clerical gentleman.
The clergyman had already well lathered one half of his face and passed
the brush to the next customer. In a short time the razor had performed its
work, and the clergyman was denuded of one whisker. The left side of his
face was as naked as that of an infant, while from the other cheek four
inches of a huge red whisker stood out in powerful contrast. Nothing more
ludicrous could well be conceived. A deafening burst of laughter ensued,
and the poor clergyman slunk quietly away to wait an hour until his turn
should arrive to shave the other portion of his face.
The next man went through the same operation, and all the rest followed;
a new laugh breaking forth as each customer handed over the razor to the
next in turn. In the course of an hour and a quarter every passenger on
board was half shaved. It was then proposed that all should go upon deck
and take a drink before operations were commenced on the other side of
their faces. When they all gathered upon the deck, the scene was most
ludicrous. The whole party burst again into loud merriment, each man being
convulsed by the ridiculous appearance of the rest.
“Now, gentlemen,” said my grandfather, “I will go into the cabin and
shave off the other side. You can all remain on deck. As soon as I have
finished, I will come up and give the clergyman the next chance.”
“You must hurry or you will not all be finished when we arrive,”
remarked the captain; “for we shall touch Peck Slip wharf in half an hour.”
My grandfather entered the cabin, and in ten minutes he appeared upon
deck, razor in hand. He was smoothly shaved.
“Now,” said the clergyman, “it is my turn.”
“Certainly,” said my grandfather. “You are next, but wait a moment, let
me draw the razor across the strop once or twice.”
Putting his foot upon the side rail of the deck, and placing one end of the
strop upon his leg, he drew the razor several times across it. Then, as if by
mistake, the razor flew from his hand, and dropped into the water! My
grandfather, with well-feigned surprise, exclaimed in a voice of terror,
“Good heavens! the razor has fallen overboard!”
Such a picture of consternation as covered one-half of all the passengers’
faces, was never before witnessed. At first they were perfectly silent as if
petrified with astonishment. But in a few minutes murmurs began to be
heard, and soon swelled into exclamations. “An infernal hog!” said one.
“The meanest thing I ever knew,” remarked another. “He ought to be
thrown overboard himself,” cried several others; but all remembered that
every man who got angry was to pay a fine of twenty dollars, and they did
not repeat their remarks. Presently all eyes were turned upon the clergyman.
He was the most forlorn picture of despair that could be imagined.

HALF-SHAVED.

“Oh, this is dreadful!” he drawled, in a tone which seemed as if every

word broke a heart-string.
 This was too much, and the whole crowd broke into another roar.
Tranquillity was restored! The joke, though a hard one, was swallowed. The
sloop soon touched the dock. The half-shaved passengers now agreed that
my grandfather, who was the only person on board who appeared like a
civilized being, should take the lead for the Walton House, in Franklin
Square, and all the rest should follow in “Indian file.” He reminded them
that they would excite much attention in the streets, and enjoined them not
to smile. They agreed, and away they started. They attracted a crowd of
persons before they reached the corner of Pearl Street and Peck Slip, but
they all marched with as much solemnity as if they were going to the grave.
The door of the Walton House was open. Old Backus, the landlord, was
quietly enjoying his cigar, while a dozen or two persons were engaged in
reading the papers, etc. In marched the file of nondescripts, with the rabble
at their heels. Mr. Backus and his customers started to their feet in
astonishment. My grandfather marched solemnly up to the bar—the
passengers followed, and formed double rows behind him. “Santa Cruz rum
for nineteen,” exclaimed my grandfather to the barkeeper. The astonished
liquor-seller produced bottles and tumblers in double-quick time, and when
Backus discovered that the nondescripts were old friends and customers, he
was excited to uncontrollable merriment.
“What in the name of decency has happened,” he exclaimed, “that you
should all appear here half shaved?”
“Nothing at all, Mr. Backus,” said my grandfather, with apparent
seriousness. “These gentlemen choose to wear their beards according to the
prevailing fashion in the place they came from; and I think it is very hard
that they should be stared at and insulted by you Yorkers because your
fashion happens to differ a trifle from theirs.”
Backus half believed my grandfather in earnest, and the bystanders were
quite convinced such was the fact, for not a smile appeared upon one of the
half-shaved countenances.
After sitting a few minutes the passengers were shown to their rooms,
and at tea-time every man appeared at the table precisely as he came from
the sloop. The ladies looked astonished, the waiters winked and laughed,
but the subjects of this merriment were as grave as judges. In the evening
they maintained the same gravity in the bar-room, and at ten o’clock they
retired to bed with all due solemnity. In the morning, however, bright and
early, they were in the barber’s shop, undergoing an operation that soon
placed them upon a footing with the rest of mankind.
It is hardly necessary to explain that the clergyman did not appear in that
singular procession of Sunday afternoon. He tied a handkerchief over his
face, and taking his valise in his hand, started for Market Street, where it is
presumed he found a good brother and a good razor in season to fill his
appointment.
Let me give an illustration of a “practical joke,” which is quite
professional as well as practical with the operator, and in nine cases out of
ten, no doubt, profitable withal. When I was in Paris in 1845, there came
one day to my room in the Hotel Bedford, where I was staying, a smart little
Frenchman with a case of instruments under his arm. He announced himself
as a chiropodist who could instantly remove the worst corns, not only
without pain, but he promised by means of a mysterious liniment in his
possession to immediately heal the spot from which he removed the corn.
Now I had not a corn on my feet, but willing to test his wonderful
powers, I told him to examine my left foot, and to remove a troublesome
corn on the little toe. Surely enough he did remove and exhibit such a corn
as I am sure would have prevented my walking, had I known that I was so
grievously afflicted. He then poured some of his red oil on the toe and
triumphantly showed me that the place had already entirely healed.
Pretending to be delighted with his skill, I held out another toe for
“operation,” and watching him carefully I saw him slip a manufactured corn
into his oil bottle, which, after fumbling awhile and pretending to pare the
unoffending toe, he “extracted.” More delighted than ever, I rang the bell,
and told the servant to send up the landlord, as I wished him to witness the
extraordinary skill of the corn-doctor. The landlord arrived, and, after a few
words of eulogy upon the chiropodist, I submitted another healthy toe, and
forth came another monstrous corn; for the same process of extraction, with
the same results, could have been performed on the foot of a marble statue.
It was now my turn, to “operate,” so I rose and bolted the door and took
off my coat, telling the “doctor” that I greatly admired his gold mounted
instruments and the brazen impudence with which he swindled the public,
but that this time he had “caught a Tartar,” and that he could not leave the
room till he had been searched.
 The quack bristled up in grand style at what he termed my
ungentlemanly behavior, and threatened if I touched him to bring me before
the “Tribunal.” I remarked that I rather thought the “Tribunal” was the last
place on earth at which he desired to appear, and then assuring the landlord
that the fellow was an arrant imposter, and that if he would assist me in
searching him I would prove it and warrant that no harm should come to the
searchers, he consented, and collared the chiropodist. The fellow seeing that
we were resolved, quietly submitted. We first searched his pockets and
found nothing; but upon examining his morocco instrument case, we
discovered a drawer in which were eighty ready-made corns and a small
piece of horn which furnished the raw material for the manufacture!
Fortunately, my right foot was not bare, and I forthwith gave the chiropodist
a lesson in the shape of a warm visitation of shoe-leather, which sent him
flying down stairs, where the dose was doubled by an attentive servant till
the chiropodist reached the street. He did not call at the Hotel Bedford again
during my stay.
I was a good deal amused when I was in Brighton, England, during the
same year, to see how some people manage to reconcile cash and
conscience. Every one knows that Brighton is a fashionable watering-place,
frequented by all sorts of people; but the actual residents, many of whom
are very wealthy, are supposed to be quite removed from the fashionable
and other follies of the visitors from abroad during the “season.” The
millionnaires of Brighton, when I was there, were great church-goers, and
at the same time were extensive owners in the stock of the railway which
brought so many visitors to the place. It was therefore for their interest that
trains should run on Sundays, as well as on other days, but as such a course
would clash with their religious professions, it was necessary that some
plan should be devised by which a compromise could be effected between
profits and profession, cash and conscience,—for the idea of ever
sacrificing interest to principle never enters the minds of those whose
religion may be in their heads while it never reaches their hearts. The
compromise between the duty and the dividends of the Brighton railway
shareholders was effected as follows:
After a great deal of talk pro and con on the subject, the trains on Sunday
were permitted to arrive and depart on the following conditions. But little
noise and confusion was manifest and there were fewer porters employed
about the station than on week-days, obliging the arriving and departing
passengers not only to look after, but to lift their baggage, and as bell-
ringing, that is, locomotive bell-ringing, would disturb the sanctity of the
Sabbath, a bugle gave notice of the incoming and outgoing of the trains. But
even this was not enough; it was expressly stipulated that the bugle-player
should play nothing but sacred music! Thus trains came in to “Old
Hundred,” or some similar Psalm tune, and went out to the air of
“Dismission” common to the hymn commencing, “Lord, dismiss us with
thy blessing.” I do not know that this custom is still kept up at Brighton, but
it certainly was so when I was there in 1845; and it was gravely
recommended to others who favored a very strict observance of Sunday,
and yet liked their dividends, or were eager for Sunday mails. In common
phrase, it was whipping the Evil One round the stump in a curious way.
It reminded me of the good old deacon in Connecticut who was in the
habit of selling milk to his neighbors on all days in the week. One Sunday,
however, his parson came home with him to tea, and while they were at the
table a little girl came in for a quart of milk. The deacon was afraid of being
scandalized in the presence of the parson, and so he told the girl he did not
sell milk on Sunday. The girl, who had been accustomed to buy on that day
as on other days, was much surprised and turned to go away, when the
sixpence in her hand was too much of a temptation for the deacon, who
called out:
“Here, little girl! you can leave the money now, and call and get the milk
to-morrow!”
During my journeyings abroad I was not wholly free from the usual
infirmity of travellers, viz, a desire to look at the old castles of feudal times,
whether in preservation or in ruins; but there was one of our party, Mr. H.
G. Sherman, who had a peculiar and irresistible taste for the antique. He
gathered trunks full of stone and timber mementos from every place of note
which we visited; and, if there was anything which he admired more than
all else, it was an old castle. He spent many hours in clambering the broken
walls of Kenilworth, in viewing the towers and dungeons of Warwick, and
climbing the precipices of Dumbarton. When travelling by coach, Sherman
always secured an outside seat, and, if possible, next to the coachman, so as
to be able to make inquiries regarding everything which he might happen to
see.
 On our journey from Belfast to Drogheda, Sherman occupied his usual
seat beside the driver, and asked him a thousand questions. The coachman
was a regular wag, with genuine Irish wit, and he determined to have a little
bit of fun at the expense of the inquisitive Yankee. As we came within eight
miles of Drogheda, the watchful eye of Sherman caught the glimpse of a
large stone pile, appearing like a castle, looming up among some trees in a
field half a mile from the roadside.
“Oh, look here! what do you call that?” exclaimed Sherman, giving the
coachman an elbowing in the ribs which was anything but pleasant.
“Faith,” replied the coachman, “you may well ask what we call that, for
divil a call do we know what to call it. That is a castle, sir, beyond all
question the oldest in Ireland; indade, none of the old books nor journals
contain any account of it. It is known, however, that Brian Borrhoime
inhabited it some time, though it is supposed to have been built centuries
before his day.”
“I’ll give you half-a-crown to stop the coach long enough for me to run
and bring a scrap of it away,” said Sherman.
“Sure, and isn’t this the royal mail coach? and I would not dare detain it
for half the Bank of Ireland,” replied the honest coachman.
“How far is it to Drogheda?” inquired Sherman.
“About eight miles, more or less,” answered the coachman.
“Stop your coach, and let me down then,” replied Sherman; “I’ll walk to
Drogheda, and would sooner walk three times the distance than not have a
nearer view, and carry off a portion of the oldest castle in Ireland.”
With that Sherman dismounted, and, raising his umbrella to protect him
from the cold rain which was falling in torrents, he marched off in the mud,
calling out to me that I might expect him in Dublin by the next train to that
which would take us from Drogheda, the railroad being then completed
only to that point from Dublin.
We arrived in Dublin about five o’clock, cold and uncomfortable; but
warm apartments and good fires were in waiting for us, and in a few hours
we had partaken of an excellent supper, and were as happy as lords. About
nine o’clock in the evening, the door of our parlor was opened, and who
should come in but poor Sherman, drenched to the skin with cold rain,—the
legs of his boots pulled over the bottoms of his pantaloons, and covered
with thick mud to the very tops, and himself looking like a half-famished,
weary and frozen traveller.
“For Heaven’s sake, let me get to the fire!” exclaimed Sherman, and we
were too much struck with his suffering appearance not to heed it.
“Well, Sherman,” I remarked, “that must have been a tedious walk for
you,—eight long Irish miles through the rain and mud.”
“I guess you would have thought so if you had walked it yourself,”
replied Sherman, doggedly.
“I hope you have brought away trophies enough from the castle to pay
you for all this trouble,” I continued.
“Oh, curse the castle!” exclaimed Sherman.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, in astonishment.
“Oh, you need not look surprised,” replied Sherman; “for I have no
doubt that you and that bog-trotting Irish coachman have had fun enough at
my expense before this time.”
I assured him that I positively had not heard the coachman speak on the
subject, and begged him to tell me what had occurred to vex him in this
manner.
“Why, if you don’t already know,” replied Sherman, “I would not have
you know for twenty pounds, for you would be sure to publish it. However,
now your curiosity is excited, you would be certain to find it all out, if you
had to hire a post-chaise, and ride there on purpose; so I may as well tell
you.”
“Do tell me,” I replied, “for I confess my curiosity is excited, and I am
unable to guess why you are so angry; for I know you love to see castles,
and that pleasure you surely have enjoyed, for I caught a glimpse of one
myself.”
“No, you have not seen a castle to-day, nor I either!” exclaimed
Sherman.
“What on earth was it, then?” I asked.
“A thundering old lime-kiln!” exclaimed Sherman; “and I only wish I
could pitch that infernal Irish coachman into it while it was under full
blast!”
It was many a long day before Sherman heard the last of the lime-kiln; in
fact, this trick of the Irish coachman rendered him cautious in making
inquiries of strangers.
One day we rode to Donnybrook, the place so much celebrated for its
fairs and its black eyes; for it would be quite out of character for Pat to
attend a fair without having a flourish of the shillelah, and a scrimmage
which would result in a few broken heads and bloody noses.
Near Donnybrook we saw something on the summit of a hill which
appeared like a round stone tower. It was probably sixty feet in
circumference and twenty-five feet high.
“I would like to know what that is,” said Sherman.
I advised him to inquire of the first coachman that came along, but, with
a forced smile, he declined my advice.
“It can’t be a lime-kiln, at any rate,” continued Sherman; “it must be a
castle of some description.”
The more we looked at it the more mysterious did it appear to us, and
Sherman’s castle-hunting propensities momentarily increased. At last he
exclaimed: “A man who travels with a tongue in his head is a fool if he
don’t use it; and I am not going within a hundred rods of what may be the
greatest curiosity in Ireland, without knowing it.”
With that he turned our horse’s head towards a fine-looking mansion on
our right, where we halted. Sherman jumped from the carriage, opened the
small gate, proceeded up the alley of the lawn fronting the house, and rang
the bell. A servant appeared at the door; but Sherman, knowing the stupidity
of Irish servants, was determined to apply at head-quarters for the
information he so much desired.
“Is your master in?” asked Sherman.
“I will see, sir. What name, if you plaze?”
“A stranger from the United States of America!” replied Sherman.
The servant departed, and in a minute returned and invited Sherman to
enter the parlor. He found the gentleman of the mansion sitting by a
pleasant fire, near which were also his lady and several visitors and
members of the family. Sherman was not troubled with diffidence. Being
seated, he hoped he would be excused for having called without an
invitation; but the fact was, he was an American traveller, desirous of
picking up all important information that might fall in his way.
 The gentleman politely replied that no apology was necessary, that he
was most happy to see him, and that any information which he could impart
regarding that or any other portion of the country should be given with
pleasure.
“Thank you,” replied Sherman; “I will not trouble you except on a single
point. I have seen all that is important in Dublin and its vicinity, and in and
about Donnybrook; there is but one thing respecting which I want
information, and that is the stone tower or castle which we see standing on
the hill, about a quarter of a mile south of your house. If you could give me
the name and history of that pile, I shall feel extremely obliged.”
“Oh, nothing is easier,” replied the gentleman, with a smile. “That ‘pile,’
as you call it, was built some forty years ago by my father; and it was a
lucky ‘pile’ for him, for it was the only windmill in these parts, and always
had plenty to do: but a few years ago a hurricane carried off the wings of
the mill, and ever since that it has stood as it now does, a memorial of its
former usefulness. Is there any other important information that I can give
you?” asked the gentleman, with a smile.
“Not any,” replied Sherman, rising to depart: “but perhaps I can give you
some; and that is, that Ireland is, beyond all dispute, the meanest country I
ever travelled in. The only two objects worthy of note that I have seen in all
Ireland are a lime-kiln and the foundation for a windmill!”
Upon resuming his seat in the carriage, Sherman laughed immoderately,
although he evidently felt somewhat chagrined by this second mistake in
searching for ancient castles.
Calling one day in one of the principal hotels in Dublin, I noticed among
the “rules” framed and hung in the coffee-room for the warning, instruction,
or entertainment of the guests of the house, the following:
“No Gambling or Politics will be allowed to take place in this house, by
any parties whatever.”
How politics could “take place” in an Irish hotel, or elsewhere, would
have been a mystery to me, if I did not remember that the “scrimmages”
and rows, which often follow the mere discussion of politics, seemed to
warrant the landlord in classing politics with gambling, or any other
dangerous amusement which might take place in the coffee-room of an Irish
inn.
 Speaking of Irishmen, I am reminded of an illustration of ready Irish wit,
which is located on the line of the Boston and Fitchburg Railroad. Some
years ago, the Reverend Thomas Whittemore, a wealthy Universalist
minister, who was a large stockholder in the road, was appointed president
of the company; and, as he was exceedingly conscientious in the discharge
of his duty, he once took upon himself to walk over every foot of the route,
to see if every part of the road was in complete order. Walking along in this
way and alone, he came to a place where a loose rail lay alongside of the
track; and, seeing an Irishman near by, who was apparently employed on
the road, Mr. Whittemore called out to him:
“Here, Pat, pick up this rail, and lay it alongside of the fence out of the
way, till it is wanted.”
It never occurred to Mr. Whittemore that every man whom he met did
not know him and his official position; but Pat, not dreaming that his virtual
employer, the president of the railroad company, was giving him an order,
sharply answered:
“Jist go to the divil, will ye?”
“My dear friend,” said the smiling Whittemore, who instantly
comprehended “the situation”—that is, that Pat did not know him, and no
particular wonder, either—“ ‘go to the devil?’ why, that is the last place I
should desire to go to!”
“An’ faith, an’ I think it’s the last place you will be goin’ to,” responded
Pat.
Of railroads and railroad travel and employees I have heard and told no
end of stories; but one of the latest and best, I think, is told of a man in a
town “down East,” who had some difficulty with a conductor, and vowed
that not another cent of his money should ever go into the treasury of that
company.
“But,” said the conductor of the road, “you own property in one place on
the line, and do business in another place, and are obliged to go back and
forth almost every day: how are you going to help paying something to the
company?”
“Oh! hereafter I shall pay my fare to you in the cars,” was the reply.
It may be a joke, but conductors themselves, that is, some of them, are
more or less facetious on the subject of what in the vernacular is known as
“knocking down.” Soon after the conductors on the New York and New
Haven Railroad were put in costume while on duty, and were obliged to
wear a badge bearing the initials of the company, my friend Rev. Dr. Chapin
was accompanying me over the road to my Bridgeport home, when along
came a conductor, whom we both knew well, to collect our fares.
“Ah, I see,” said Dr. Chapin, pointing to the letters on the new badge,
“N. H., N. Y.,—‘Neither Here, Nor Yonder.”
“No,” whispered the conductor confidentially in the Doctor’s ear; “it
means, ‘New House, Next Year.’ ”
It is scarcely necessary to tell the thousands who know Dr. Chapin that
he is a man of most ready wit, and an inveterate punster. One day, when we
were dining together, I was carving a chicken, which the Doctor
pronounced a “hen-ous offence,” when, having some difficulty with a tough
wing, I exclaimed:
“How shall I get the thing off, anyhow?”
“Pullet,” gravely answered the Doctor.
“Eggsactly,” said I.
Then began what the Doctor called a “battle of the spurs,”—I trying to
“crow” over the Doctor, and he endeavoring to upset my “cackle-ations”;
urging me meanwhile to “scratch away,” till at last I told him, if he made
another pun on that “lay,” he would knock me off the roost.
“Oh, then,” said the Doctor, finally feathering his nest, “Sha’n’t I
clear?!”
An equally fowl pun of the Doctor’s was perpetrated in cold blood, or
rather in very cold water, down at Rockport, Massachusetts. Thither every
summer season were wont to congregate, for their vacation, such celebrated
clergymen as Starr King, Dr. Chapin, and others, mainly for the fine sea-
bathing there. One season Dr. Chapin arrived at least a fortnight behind the
rest; and, when they went down bathing together, the acclimated visitors
pronounced the water to be “delightful,” “just right,” and so on.
“But isn’t it cold?” asked Dr. Chapin.
“Oh, no,” replied Starr King; “you have only to go down and up twice,
and you are warm enough.”
“Ah, I see how it is,” said Dr. Chapin, who tried the experiment and
came up half frozen; “you are warm after down and up twice? Why, that’s a
pair o’ ducks!”
 Fowls naturally suggest the market, and this brings to mind a neighbor of
mine in New York who keeps two things,—a boarding-house, and “bad
hours.” His wife justly suspected him of gambling; but he generally
managed to get in before midnight, and always had money enough in his
pocket to go to market with in the morning. On one occasion, however,
after gambling all night, he did not come home till six o’clock in the
morning, when, after a sound scolding from his wife for staying out all
night and “gambling,” as she insisted, he was sent to market to get
something for breakfast. Returning, he was again berated by his wife for
gambling, he protesting all the while that he had been “spending the night
with a sick friend.”
His wife might have believed him, if he had not sat down at the head of
the table, half asleep, and solemnly passed the bread to the nearest boarder
with the exclamation,—
“Cut!”
“That’s your ‘sick friend!’ ” exclaimed the wife, while a general roar
around the table woke the host to the fact that he was passing bread, and not
a pack of cards.
This story-telling carries me back to my boyhood days at Bethel, and
brings to mind an old clerical acquaintance whom I knew long before I met
Dr. Chapin. The Rev. Richard Varick Dey, who resided at Greenfield,
Connecticut, was in the habit of coming to Bethel to preach on Sabbath
evenings. He was a very eloquent preacher, and an eccentric man. He
possessed fine talents; his sermons were rich in pathos and wit; and he was
exceedingly popular with the world’s people. The more straight-laced,
however, were afraid of him. His remarks both in and out of the pulpit
would frequently rub hard against some popular dogma, or knock in the
head some favorite religious tenet. Mr. Dey was therefore frequently in hot
water with the church, and was either “suspended,” or about to be brought
to trial for some alleged breach of ministerial duty, or some suspected
heresy. While thus debarred from preaching, he felt that he must do
something to support his family. With this view he visited Bethel, Danbury,
and other towns, and delivered “Lectures,” at the termination of which,
contributions for his benefit were taken up. I remember his lecturing in
Bethel on “Charity.” This discourse overflowed with eloquence and pathos,
and terminated in a contribution of more than fifty dollars.
 It was said that on one occasion Mr. Dey was about to be tried before an
ecclesiastical body at Middletown. There being no railroads in those days,
many persons travelled on horseback. Two days before the trial was to take
place, Mr. Dey started for Middletown alone, and on horseback. His valise
was fastened behind the saddle; and, putting on his large great-coat
surmounted with a half a dozen broad “capes,” as was the fashion of that
period, and donning a broad-brimmed hat, he mounted his horse and started
for the scene of trial.
On the second day of his journey, and some ten miles before reaching
Middletown, he overtook a brother clergyman, also on horseback, who was
wending his way to the Consociation.
He was a man perhaps sixty years of age, and his silvered locks stood
out like porcupine quills. His iron visage, which seemed never to have worn
a smile, his sinister expression, small, keen, selfish-looking eyes, and
compressed lips, convinced Mr. Dey that he had no hope of mercy from that
man as one of his judges. The reverend gentlemen soon fell into
conversation. The sanctimonious clergyman gave his name and residence,
and inquired those of Mr. Dey.
“My name is Mr. Richard,” replied Rev. Richard V. Dey, “and my
residence is Fairfield.” (Greenfield is a parish in the town of Fairfield.)
“Ah,” exclaimed the other clergyman; “then you live near Mr. Dey: do
you know him?”
“Perfectly well,” responded the eccentric Richard.
“Well, what do you think of him?” inquired the anxious brother.
“He is a wide-awake, cunning fellow, one whom I should be sorry to
offend, for I would not like to fall into his clutches; but, if compelled to do
so, I could divulge some things which would astonish our Consociation.”
“Is it possible? Well, of course your duty to the Church and the
Redeemer’s cause will prompt you to make a clean breast of it, and divulge
everything you know against the accused,” responded the excited
clergyman.
“It is hard to destroy a brother’s reputation and break up the peace of his
family,” answered the meek Mr. Richard.
“It is the duty of the elect to expose and punish the reprobates,” replied
the sturdy Puritan.
 “But had I not better first tell our brother his fault, and give him an
opportunity to confess and be forgiven?”
“Our brother, as you call him, is undoubtedly a heretic, and the true faith
is wounded by his presence amongst us. The Church must be purged from
unbelief. We must beware of those who would introduce damnable
heresies.”
“Are you sure that Mr. Dey is an unbeliever?” inquired the modest Mr.
Richard.
“I have heard that he throws doubt upon the Trinity,—shrugs his
shoulders at some portions of the Saybrook Platform, and has said that even
reprobates may sincerely repent, pray for forgiveness, and be saved; ay, that
he even doubts the damnation of unregenerate infants!”
“Horrible!” ejaculated Mr. Richard.
“Yes, horrible indeed! But I trust that our Consociation will
excommunicate him at once and forever. But what do you know concerning
his belief?”
“I know nothing specially against his belief,” responded Mr. Richard;
“but I have witnessed some of his acts, which I should be almost sorry to
expose.”
“A mistaken charity. It is your duty to tell the Consociation all you know
regarding the culprit, and I shall insist upon your doing so.”
“I certainly desire to do that which is right and just; and, as I am but
young in the ministry, I shall defer to your judgment, founded on age and
experience. But I would prefer at first to state to you what I know, and then
will be guided by your advice in regard to giving my testimony before the
Consociation.”
“A very proper course. You can state the facts to me, and I will give you
my counsel. Now what do you know?”
“I know that on more than one occasion I have caught him in the act of
kissing my wife,” replied the injured Mr. Richard.
“I am not at all astonished,” responded the clergyman; “such conduct
coincides exactly with the opinion I had formed of the man. I commiserate
you, sir, but I honor your sense of duty in divulging such important facts,
even at the expense of exposing serious troubles in your domestic relations.
But, sir, justice must have its course. These facts must be testified to before
the Consociation. Do you know anything else against the delinquent?”
“I know something more; but it is of a nature so delicate, and concerns
me personally so seriously, that I must decline divulging it.”
“Sir, you cannot do that. I will not permit it, but will insist on your
telling the whole truth before our Consociation, though your heart-strings
were to break in consequence. I repeat, sir, that I sympathize with you
personally, but personal feelings must be swallowed up in the promotion of
public good. No sympathy for an individual can be permitted to clash with
the interests of the true Church. You had better tell me, sir, all you know.”
“Since you say that duty requires it, I will do so. I have caught him,
under very suspicious circumstances, in my wife’s bedroom,” said the
unfortunate Mr. Richard.
“Was your wife in bed?” inquired the man with the iron face.
“She was,” faintly lisped the almost swooning Mr. Richard.
“Enough, enough,” was the response. “Our Consociation will soon
dispose of the Rev. Richard V. Dey.”
The two clergymen had now arrived at Middletown. The Rev. Mr.
Vinegarface rode to the parsonage while Mr. Dey, alias “Mr. Richard,” went
to a small and obscure inn.
The Consociation commenced the next day. This ecclesiastical body was
soon organized, and, after disposing of several minor questions, it was
proposed to take up the charges of heresy against the Rev. Mr. Dey. The
accused, with a most demure countenance, was conversing with his
quondam travelling companion of the day previous, who upon hearing this
proposition instantly sprang to his feet, and informed the reverend
Chairman that providentially he had been put in possession of facts which
must necessarily result in the immediate expulsion of the culprit from the
Church, and save the necessity of examining testimony on the question of
heresy. “In fact,” continued he, “I am prepared to prove that the Rev.
Richard V. Dey has frequently kissed the wife of one of our brethren, and
has also been caught in a situation which affords strong evidence of his
being guilty of the crime of adultery!”
A thrill of horror and surprise ran through the assembly. Every eye was
turned to Mr. Dey, who was seated so closely to the last speaker that he
touched him as he resumed his seat. Mr. Dey’s countenance was as placid as