Well, being that it’s Sunday and combining that with the fact that I haven’t come up with anything of my own to write this day, I’ll instead share with you this story from Mark Twain. Enjoy!

Now, you know, there are anecdotes and anecdotes, short metre and long metre. I shall give you a long metre one, with a snapper at the end. It is about a Scotch-Irish minister who thought he was called to preach the Gospel, while he knew that he had the gift of oratory, and he never missed an opportunity to display it. An opportunity was afforded on the occasion of a christening. There was a considerable audience, made up of relatives, friends and neighbors of the parents. The preacher began by saying:

“We have met together, my friends, on a very interesting occasion—the christening of this little child—but I see already a look of disappointment on your faces. Is it because this infant is so small? We must bear in mind that this globe upon which we live is made up of small things, infinitesimal objects, we might say. Little drops of water make the mighty ocean; the mountains which read their hoary heads toward Heaven and are often lost in the clouds are made up of little grains of sand. Besides, my friends, we must take into consideration the possibilities in the life of this little speck of humanity. He may become a great preacher, multitudes may be swayed by his eloquence and brought to see and believe in the truths of the Gospel. He may become a distinguished physician, and his fame as a healer of men may reach the uttermost ends of the earth, and his name go down to posterity as one of the great benefactors of his kind. He may become a great astronomer, and may read the heavens as an open book. He may discover new stars which may be coupled with those of Newton and many other great discoverers. He may become a distinguished statesman and orator, and by the strength of his intellect and eloquence he may control the destinies of nations, and his name be engraved upon monuments erected to perpetuate his memory by his admiring and grateful countrymen. He may become an author and a poet, and his name may yet appear among those now entombed at Westminster. He may become a great warrior and lead armies to battle and victory; his prowess and valor may change the map of Europe. Methinks I hear the plaudits of the people at the mention of his deeds and name. He may become—er—er—he might—er—” turning to the mother, “What is his name?”

The mother, very much bewildered: “What is the baby’s name?”

“Yes, what is his name?”

The mother: “Its name is Mary Ann.”

Not that a woman couldn’t do those things, of course!

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 11th, 2009 at 8:00 pm and is filed under Off the Wall. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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