Among the Humorists and After Dinner Speakers, Vol. 1 A New Collection of Humorous Stories and Anecdotes

[Illustration: OLIVER HERFORD]

Among The Humorists And After-Dinner Speakers

A New Collection Of Humorous Stories And Anecdotes

Selected And Arranged By William Patten

Editor of American Short Story Classics, Foreign Short Story Classics, etc.

Vol. I

P. F. Collier & Son New York

Copyright 1909 By P. F. Collier & Son

Partial List Of The Names Of Story-Tellers In This Volume

George Ade Sir Wilfrid Laurier

Bret Harte Oliver Herford

Mark Twain J. M. Barrie

Sec. Of State P. C. Knox Richard Mansfield

W. M. Evarts John Sharp Williams

De Wolf Hopper J. G. Blaine

King Edward Of England Phillips Brooks

Joseph Jefferson Daniel J. Sully

Lord Beaconsfield Bill Nye

Abraham Lincoln John C. Spooner

Alvey A. Adee Robert Edeson

Patrick A. Collins Andrew Lang

Horace T. Eastman Benjamin R. Tillman

D. G. Rossetti William E. Gladstone

J. M. Maclaren Charles Lamb

Dean Swift Edwin Booth

Clyde Fitch Weedon Grossmith

J. Mcneill Whistler Senator W. A. Clark

Leigh Hunt Francis Wilson

Edward Everett Hale Chauncey M. Depew

Dean Hole Albert J. Beveridge

Irving Bacheller Beerbohm Tree

Thomas B. Reed Herbert S. Stone

J. C. S. Blackburn Frank R. Stockton

N. C. Goodwin Henry James

Brander Matthews William Allen White

Andrew Carnegie Bishop Brewster

Speaker Cannon Frederic Remington

Walter Damrosch Julian Ralph

Rev. Robert Collyer Senator John T. Morgan

Rev. Sam Jones J. J. Ingalls

Dean Kirchwey Archbishop Ryan

John Wanamaker J. A. Tawney

Henry Guy Carleton Thos. Bailey Aldrich

Charles Francis Adams Elihu Root

_Preface_

_The collection of these humorous paragraphs has extended over a number of years. Even a small beginning became a source of such entertainment that the collection grew and grew, always without any thought of publication._

_The man who can not laugh has yet to be found. Therein lies that immediate appeal to a common ground which the sense of humor gives, and it has been a conspicuous characteristic of those who look to the public for appreciation and support. Lord Palmerston and Abraham Lincoln were two notable examples of men for whom sympathy quickened through their ready wit, and no political speaker drives home his arguments half so well as he who can introduce a witty illustration. The joke has ever been a potent factor in combating oppression and corruption, in ridiculing shams. It has embalmed some reputations, and has blasted others. It is the champion of the weak against the strong, and has often illuminated for us, as in a flash, a glimpse of character or custom that would otherwise have been lost to the world._

_There is only one similar collection of which I am aware, the “Jest Book” by Mark Lemon, who was for twenty-nine years the editor of “Punch.” Alas that there should be fashions in jokes as well as in hats, for much of his book that we know must have been humorous reading to his contemporaries, leaves us, of the present generation in America, indifferent._

_I shall be glad if some of my readers are minded to do a graceful act and send me, in return, some paragraphs to add to my collection._

_I wish to take this opportunity to thank the following publications for the paragraphs borrowed from their columns:_

_Evening Sun, Lippincott’s, Pittsburg Dispatch, San Francisco News-Letter, Ladies’ Home Journal, Washington Star, Mail and Express, Youth’s Companion, Life, Good Housekeeping, Argonaut, Buffalo Commercial, Tit-Bits, Punch, The Tattler, Harper’s Weekly, Harper’s Monthly, Democratic Telegram, Cleveland Plaindealer, Harvard Lampoon, Judge, Philadelphia Ledger, Saturday Evening Post, Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, Boston Herald, Kansas City Star, Washington Post, Success, Atchison Globe, New York Times, Woman’s Home Companion, London Mail, Louisville Courier-Journal, Rochester Post-Express, New York Tribune, New York Observer, Chicago Daily News, Pittsburg Post, Pittsburg Observer, Philadelphia Public Ledger, New York World, Pick-me-up, Harper’s Bazar, The Green Bag, Tacoma Ledger, Pittsburg Dispatch, The Wasp, Cornell Widow, Washington Post, Kansas City Independent, Short Stories._

_W. P._

Among The Humorists And After-Dinner Speakers

There is a delicious flavor about this story of a Virginia lady, married to a man who, though uniformly unsuccessful in his hunting trips, boastingly spoke of his “killings.”

One day, returning from a trip, with the usual accompaniment of an empty bag, it occurred to him that his wife would make fun of him if he returned without even one proof of his oft-boasted skill. So he purchased a brace of partridges to deceive his trusting spouse. As he threw them on the table in front of her, he observed: “Well, my dear, you see I am not so awkward with the gun after all.”

“Dick,” replied the wife, turning from the birds with a grimace, after a brief examination, “you were quite right in shooting these birds to-day; to-morrow it would have been too late.”

* * * * *

Uncle Toby was aghast at finding a strange darky with his arm around Mandy’s waist.

“Mandy, tell dat niggah to take his ahm ’way from round yo’ waist,” he indignantly commanded. “Tell him yo’self,” said Mandy haughtily. “He’s a puffect stranger to me.”

* * * * *

A Cockney tourist was on a visit to a Highland town famous for its golf-links. Through wearing a pair of stiff leather gaiters several sizes too large for him, he was compelled to walk bow-legged. Being a very slow player, others were forced to wait for him at every hole. At the fourth hole a Highlander after watching the visitor miss the ball three times was unable to wait any longer, and drove his ball clean between the tourist’s legs. “What!” he of the gaitered legs yelled furiously. “Do you call that golf?” “Mebbe no,” replied the Gael, “but it’s very good croquet.”

* * * * *

After the sermon on Sunday morning the rector welcomed and shook hands with a young German.

“And are you a regular communicant?” said the rector.

“Yes,” said the German, “I take the 7.45 every morning.”

* * * * *

Meeting a negro, a certain Southern gentleman asked him how he was getting on.

The negro assumed a troubled look, and replied:

“Oh, so far’s physicality goes, I’m all right; but I sure do have ma troubles wif ma wife.”

“Well, Sam, I’m sorry to hear that. What seems to be the matter?”

“She thinks money grows on trees, I reckon. All de time she keeps pesterin’ me foh pinch o’ change. If it ain’t a dollah it’s half or a quarter she wants.”

“What on earth does she do with the money?”

“I dunno. Ain’t nevah give her none yet.”

* * * * *

A mountaineer of one of the back counties of North Carolina was arraigned with several others for illicit distilling. “Defendant,” said the court, “what is your name?”

“Joshua,” was the reply.

“Are you the man who made the sun stand still?”

Quick as a flash came the answer, “No, sir; I am the man who made the moonshine.”

* * * * *

“They thought more of the Legion of Honor in the time of the first Napoleon than they do now,” said a well-known Frenchman. “The emperor one day met an old one-armed veteran.

“‘How did you lose your arm?’ he asked.

“‘Sire, at Austerlitz.’

“‘And were you not decorated?’

“‘No, sire.’

“‘Then here is my own cross for you; I make you chevalier.’

“‘Your Majesty names me chevalier because I have lost one arm! What would your Majesty have done had I lost both arms?’

“‘Oh, in that case I should have made you Officer of the Legion.’

“Whereupon the old soldier immediately drew his sword and cut off his other arm.”

There is no particular reason to doubt this story. The only question is, how did he do it?

* * * * *

A stranger in Boston was interested to discover, when dining with friends once, that the dessert he would have classed as cream layer cake at home was known in Boston as “Washington pie.” And the next time he lunched at a restaurant, he ordered the same thing; but the waiter put before him a rather heavy looking square of cake covered with chocolate, instead of the cream cake the guest had made up his mind to enjoy. A puzzled expression came over his face as he said reprovingly, “I ordered _Washington_ pie, waiter.”

“That is Washington pie, sir.”

“Well,” expostulated the disappointed man, “I did not mean Booker T.--I want _George!_“

* * * * *

George Ade, automobiling in Indiana, dined at a country hotel among a roomful of ministers.

The ministers, who were holding a convention in the town, were much amused when Mr. Ade’s identity was disclosed to them.

One of them said during dinner:

“How does a humorist of your stamp feel, sir, in such reverend company as this?”

“I feel,” said Mr. Ade promptly, “like a lion in a den of Daniels.”

* * * * *

It was a crowded tram car. Among those who could not find seats was a young lady. Close to where she stood an old man was sitting. He struggled as if to rise. The young woman cast a glance of scorn at one or two men hiding behind newspapers. “Please don’t get up,” she said to the old man, “I beg you won’t.” The conductor rang the bell and the car went on. The old man’s features worked convulsively and he mopped his face with his handkerchief. At the next stopping place he again tried to rise and again the young woman tried to stop him. “I would much rather stand,” she said, continuing to block his way. “I don’t care whether you would or not,” said the old man, crimson with fury, “I want to get out. You’ve made me come half a mile too far already. Here, you, stop the car.” But it was too late, the bell had already rung and he had to wait until the next stopping place was reached.

* * * * *

“I want some cigars for my husband for Christmas.”

“What kind, madam?”

“Well, I don’t know, exactly; but he is a middle-aged man and always dresses in black.”

* * * * *

John D. Rockefeller, Jr., tells a story of his father:

“Father tells many stories. Sometimes he tells a new one. Not long ago he related one to me that concerned a man who had imbibed rather too freely. The man, in this condition, fell into a watering trough. To the officer who came to help him out as he wallowed in the water, he said:

“‘Offzer, I ken save self. You save women an’ shildern.’”

* * * * *

“On Sunday, September 20, the wife of ---- of a daughter. Others please copy.”

* * * * *

Bret Harte was so frequently complimented as the author of “Little Breeches” that he was almost as sorry it was ever written as was Colonel John Hay, who preferred his fame to rest on more ambitious works. A gushing lady who prided herself upon her literary tastes, said to him once: “My dear Mr. Harte, I am so delighted to meet you. I have read everything you ever wrote, but of all your dialect verse there is none that compares to your ‘Little Breeches.’”

“I quite agree with you, madam,” said Mr. Harte, “but you have put the little breeches on the wrong man.”

* * * * *

Mr. Knox, the Secretary of State in Taft’s Cabinet, was formerly engaged in the practise of law in Pittsburg.

One day, says a friend, Mr. Knox was much put out to find on his arrival at his office that everything was topsy-turvy and that the temperature of his rooms was much too low for comfort. Summoning his office-boy, a lad but recently entered his employ, the lawyer asked who had raised every window in the place on such a cold morning.

“Mr. Muldoon, sir,” was the answer.

“Who is Mr. Muldoon?” asked the attorney.

“The janitor, sir.”

“Who carried off my waste-basket?” was the next question.

“Mr. Reilly, sir.”

“And who is Mr. Reilly?”

“He’s the man that cleans the rooms.”

Mr. Knox looked sternly at the boy and said: “See here, Richard, we call men by their first names here. We don’t ‘mister’ them in this office. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” And the boy retired.

In a few minutes he reappeared and in a shrill, piping voice announced:

“There’s a gentleman that wants to see you, Philander.”

* * * * *

A Scottish parson, still on the under side of forty, was driving home from an outlying hamlet when he overtook a young woman. He recognized her as the maid of all work at a farm which he would pass, so he pulled up and offered her a lift. Mary gladly accepted his offer and they chatted pleasantly all the way to the farm gate.

“Thank you, sir,” she said as she got down.

“Don’t mention it, Mary. Don’t mention it,” he told her politely.

“No, I won’t,” Mary obligingly assured him.

* * * * *

A little girl was shown her newly-arrived baby brother. Looking at him lovingly she said, “When will he talk, mother?” “Oh not for a long time yet,” said the mother. “Yes, but when?” persisted the child. “Well, not for a year or so.” After thinking for minute the child exclaimed, “How funny. Miss Clark read out of the Bible this morning that Job cursed the hour he was born.”

* * * * *

W. A. Sponsler, when in the Pennsylvania State Legislature, was given to the making of very elaborate and florid speeches, and one day brought an address to a close with “_Vox populi, vox Dei_.”

“I’ll bet you don’t know the meaning of what Sponsler just said,” said Al Crawford to Hugh E. Mackin.

“I don’t know!” replied Mackin, indignantly. “Of course, I know!”

“You don’t know for ten dollars!” suggested Crawford.

Mackin, still indignant, posted his part of the wager with another member of the Legislature, and Crawford said tauntingly:

“Well, now, tell us, what does it mean?”

“_Vox populi, vox Dei_,” quoted Mackin, solemnly, “as everybody knows, is French for ‘My God! why hast thou forsaken me?’”

“Give him the money,” said Crawford. “Darned if he don’t know after all!”

* * * * *

There is an old lady living in a small town in southern Pennsylvania who makes great efforts to keep abreast of the times. Her opportunities, however, are circumscribed, and she is sometimes compelled to resort to her imagination. She went to a church sociable lately, and as she entered the room one of the attendants said:

“Good evening, auntie. I am glad you came. We are going to have tableaux this evening.”

“Yes, I know,” replied the old lady; “I smelt ’em when I first came in.”

* * * * *

Fifer was a dog of friendly and social habits, but when he wandered into the lecture-tent at a well-known New Thought summer school and went to sleep between the chairs, he did a very foolish thing. A woman coming in poked him in the ribs with her parasol, startling him from his peaceful dreams, and he sprang upon her with a savage bite. A man grabbed him and he grabbed the man. The excitement was intense when an earnest little woman standing on a chair cried, “Some one hold the Thought!” “Hang the Thought!” shouted a man in the rear. “Some one hold the dog!”

* * * * *

The boy was going away to school, full of high hope.

“I shall make the football team and color two pipes the first year!” he said bravely.

His mother kissed him and wept. His father wrung his hand in silence.

They were too full for speech then.

But when he was gone, and they were calmer, they talked together of him, and prayed his ambition might not carry him beyond his strength.

* * * * *

The car was entirely empty with the exception of one man, but as I entered he rose, made me an unsteady but magnificent bow, and said: “Madam, pleashe be kind ’nough to asshept thish plashe.”

There was nothing else for me to do, so I thanked him and sat down. And for twenty blocks that idiot hung from a strap, swaying in the breeze, with not a soul in the car but ourselves. Occasionally I have been taken for other women; but I never before had any one think that I was a carful.

* * * * *

Husband (after the theater)--“Well, how do you like the piece?”

Wife--“Very much. There’s only one improbable thing in it. The second act takes place two years after the first, and they have the same servant.”

* * * * *

Thomas Hill (the original “Paul Pry”) was endeavoring one evening to cut up an orange in such a fashion as to represent a pig. After strewing the table with about a dozen peels, he gave up the futile experiment, saying, “Hang the pig! I can’t make him at all.”

“Nonsense, Hill,” said Theodore Hook, pointing to the table; “you have done splendidly. Instead of a pig you have made a litter.”

* * * * *

An elderly churchwarden in shaving himself one Sunday before church-time made a slight cut with the razor on the extreme end of his nose. Quickly calling to his wife, he asked her if she had any court-plaster in the house. “You will find some in my sewing basket,” she said. The warden soon had the cut covered. At church in assisting with the collection he noticed everyone smile as he passed the plate, and some of the younger people laughed outright. Very much annoyed, he asked a friend if there was anything wrong with his appearance. “Well, I should think there is,” was the answer. “What is that on your nose?” “Court-plaster.” “No,” said his friend, “it is the label from a reel of cotton. It says, ‘Warranted 200 yd. long.’”

* * * * *

A man who stuttered very badly went to a specialist, and after ten difficult lessons learned to say quite distinctly, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” His friends congratulated him upon this splendid achievement.

“Yes,” said the man, doubtfully, “but it’s s-s-such a d-d-deucedly d-d-d-difficult rem-mark to w-work into an ordin-n-nary c-c-convers-s-sa-tion, y’ know.”

* * * * *

Toastmaster (to chairman of public dinner)--“Would you like to propose your toast now, my lord, or should we let ’em enjoy themselves a bit longer?”

* * * * *

A visitor to a Sunday-school was asked to address a few remarks to the children. He took the familiar theme of the children who mocked Elisha on his journey to Bethel--how the youngsters taunted the poor old prophet and how they were punished when two she bears came out of the wood and ate forty-and-two of them. “And now, children,” said he, wishing to learn if his talk had produced any moral effect, “what does this story show?” “Please, sir,” came from a little girl well down in the front, “it shows how many children two she bears can hold.”

* * * * *

A curate who had left his parish on account of the attentions of his lady parishioners, meeting his successor one day in the street asked him how he got on in his new position. “Very well indeed,” returned the other. “But are not the ladies rather pressing in their attentions?” “Oh, my dear fellow, I manage that all right, I find safety in Numbers.” “I see,” returned his companion, “well, I found safety in Exodus.”

* * * * *

“I want some collars for my husband,” said a lady in a department store, “but I am afraid I have forgotten the size.”

“Thirteen and a half, ma’am?” suggested the clerk.

“That’s it. How on earth did you know?”

“Gentlemen who let their wives buy their collars for ’em are almost always about that size, ma’am,” explained the observant clerk.

* * * * *

On a recent occasion before leaving Marlborough House new clothes were ordered for Prince Edward, and according to custom a tailoress was sent to fit him at a time which would not interfere with his lessons. The tailoress duly arrived and was ushered to the Prince’s sitting-room, but on the door being opened she paused as she saw that a gentleman, whose face was turned toward the fireplace, was sitting smoking and chatting with the children. Prince Edward, whose manner is most friendly, at once ran forward and told her to come in, and seeing that she still hesitated added in a reassuring voice, “You needn’t mind, it’s only grandpapa.”

* * * * *

A physician engaged a nurse, recently graduated, for a case of delirium tremens. The physician succeeded in quieting his patient and left some medicine, instructing the nurse to administer it to him if he “began to see snakes again.” At the next call the physician found the patient again raving. To his puzzled inquiry the nurse replied that the man had been going on that way for several hours, and that she had not given him any medicine.

“But didn’t I tell you to give it to him if he began to see snakes again?” asked the physician.

“But he didn’t see snakes this time,” replied the nurse confidently. “He saw red, white, and blue turkeys with straw hats on.”

* * * * *

Shortly after his entrance into political life Disraeli stood for a certain Middlesex borough in the Conservative interest. It was a “personally conducted” canvass, and, among others, the future Prime Minister solicited the vote and interest of a well-to-do but somewhat irascible farmer, who was supposed to be rather doubtful in his political convictions.

“Vote for you!” he shouted when Mr. Disraeli made known the object of his call. “Why, I’d vote for the devil sooner.”

“Ah, quite so!” said Mr. Disraeli, suavely, “but in event of your friend not standing, may I hope for your interest?”

* * * * *

An ambitious youth once sent his first MS. to Dumas, asking the distinguished novelist to become his _collaborateur_. The latter was astounded at the impertinence. Angrily seizing his pen, he wrote: “How dare you, sir, yoke together a noble horse and a contemptible ass?”

He received the following reply:

“How dare you sir, call me a horse?”

His anger vanished and he laughingly penned the following:

“Send on your MS., my friend; I gladly accept your proposition.”

* * * * *

An old farmer recently came into possession of a check for $200. He finally summoned up nerve enough to go to the bank.

“What denomination?” said the teller, hastily, as the check was passed in through the window.

“Luther’n, gol darn it. But what has that got to do with it?”

* * * * *

A young woman was in company with a university graduate, and naturally the talk ran upon books. By and by there was a lull in the conversation, broken presently by the young woman, who said: “What do you think of Fielding, Mr. Smith?”

“Oh,” was the answer, “fielding is important, of course; but it isn’t worth much unless you have good pitching and batting.”

* * * * *

General Frederick D. Grant said to his servant one morning: “James, I have left my mess boots out. I want them soled.”

“Yes, sir,” the servant answered.

The general, dressing for dinner that night, said again:

“I suppose, James, that you did as I told you about those boots?”

James laid thirty-five cents on the bureau.

“Yes, sir,” said he, “and this is all I could get for them, though the corporal who bought ’em said he’d have given half a dollar if pay day hadn’t been so far off.”

* * * * *

President Lincoln once wrote to General McClellan, when the latter was in command of the army. General McClellan, as is well known, conducted a waiting campaign, being so careful not to make any mistakes that he made very little headway. President Lincoln sent this brief but exceedingly pertinent letter:

“_My dear McClellan_: If you don’t want to use the army I should like to borrow it for a while.

“Yours respectfully,

“A. Lincoln.”

* * * * *

It was at a children’s party in West Kensington. The youngsters had just done more than justice to the luxurious spread provided by their hostess, and games were now the order of the evening.

“Now, children,” said she, “we will play the zoo, and each of you must represent a different animal.”

Then, going to a little girl, she asked:

“Now, Carrie, what are you going to be?”

“I’ll be an elephant.”

“And you, Reggie, what are you going to be?”

“I’m going to be a lion.”

“And what are you going to be, Hilda?”

“I’m going to be a tiger.”

Then, crossing to the other side of the room, the hostess, noticing a youngster sitting all alone, asked:

“And what are you going to be, Tommy?”

“P-please,” was the halting reply, “p-please--I’m going--to be sick.”

* * * * *

A man who had been convicted of stealing was brought before a certain “down East” judge, well known for his tender-heartedness, to be sentenced.

“Have you ever been sentenced to imprisonment?” asked the judge, not unkindly.

“Never!” exclaimed the prisoner, suddenly bursting into tears.

“Well, well, don’t cry, my man,” said his honor consolingly; “you’re going to be now.”

* * * * *

The inventor of a new feeding bottle for infants sent out the following among his directions for using:

“When the baby is done drinking it must be unscrewed and laid in a cool place under the hydrant. If the baby does not thrive on fresh milk, it should be boiled.”

* * * * *

A well-known New York clergyman was telling his Bible class the story of the Prodigal Son at a recent session, and wishing to emphasize the disagreeable attitude of the elder brother on that occasion, he laid especial stress on this phase of the parable. After describing the rejoicing of the household over the return of the wayward son, he spoke of one who, in the midst of the festivities, failed to share in the jubilant spirit of the occasion.

“Can anybody in the class,” he asked, “tell me who this was?”

A small boy, who had been listening sympathetically to the story, put up his hand.

“I know,” he said, beamingly; “it was the fatted calf.”

* * * * *

“I understand,” said the old-time friend, “that you are gettin’ right exclusive.”

“Well,” answered Mr. Cumrox, “that’s what mother an’ the girls call it.”

“What do you call it?”

“Plain ‘lonesome’.”

* * * * *

“Tommy,” said the hostess, “you appear to be in deep thought.”

“Yes’m,” replied Tommy; “ma told me somethin’ to say if you should ask me to have some cake or anything, an’ I bin here so long now I forgit what it was.”

* * * * *

A Boston minister once noticed a crowd of urchins clustered around a dog of doubtful pedigree.

“What are you doing, my little men?” he asked with fatherly interest.

“Swappin’ lies,” volunteered one of the boys. “The feller that tells the biggest one gets the purp.”

“Shocking!” exclaimed the minister. “Why, when I was your age I never even _thought_ of telling an untruth.”

“Youse win,” chorused the urchins. “The dog’s yours, mister.”

* * * * *

A Brooklyn Sunday-school teacher once had occasion to catechise a new pupil whose ignorance of his Testament would have been amusing had it not been so appalling. One Sunday she asked the little fellow how many commandments there were.

To her surprise, the lad answered, glibly enough: “Ten, ma’am.”

“And now, Sammy,” pleasantly asked the teacher, “what would the result be if you should break one of them?”

“Then there’d be nine!” triumphantly answered the youngster.

* * * * *

William J. Carr, of the State Department, had occasion to call at the house of a neighbor late at night. He rang the door-bell. After a long wait a head was poked out of a second-floor window.

“Who’s there?” asked a voice.

“Mr. Carr,” was the reply.

“Well,” said the voice as the window banged shut, “what do I care if you missed a car? Why don’t you walk, and not wake up people to tell them about it?”

* * * * *

A clever veterinary has a system all his own. When he received an overfed toy dog he would consign him to a disused brick oven, with a crust of bread, an onion and an old boot. When the dog began to gnaw the bread, the anxious mistress was informed that her darling was “doing nicely.” When it commenced operation on the onion, word was sent that the pet was “decidedly better”; but when the animal tackled the boot, my lady was gratified to hear that her precious pet was “ready to be removed.”

* * * * *

A lady while going downstairs to dinner had the misfortune to step slightly on the dress of a lady in front of her. The man on whose arm the former was leaning rudely said aloud so that the couple in front might hear, “Always getting in the way like Balaam’s ass!” Upon which the lady whose gown had been trodden on, turning round, replied with a sweet smile, “Pardon me, it was the angel who stood in the way and the ass which spoke.”

* * * * *

A number of years ago, when the former Second Assistant Secretary of State, Alvey A. Adee, was Third Assistant, an employee of the State Department was called to the ’phone.

“Will you kindly give me the name of the Third Assistant Secretary of State?” asked the voice at the other end of the wire.

“Adee.”

“A. D. what?”

“A. A. Adee.”

“Spell it, please.”

“A.”

“Yes.”

“A.”

“Yes.”

“A----”

“You go to the d----!” and the receiver was indignantly hung up.

* * * * *

Smith and Jones, talking about the Kaiser:

Jones--“They tell me that unfortunately he is very bellicose.”

Smith--“Dear me! You surprise me! I always understood he was rather tall and slim.”

* * * * *

“I will be your valentine,” said the young man.

A shadow passed across the fair face of the girl. “I was so in hopes that I would not get any comics this year,” she said.

* * * * *

One of the favorite stories of Mayor Collins of Boston was about a man who, accompanied by his little boy, had occasion to cross a lot where a good-sized goat was feeding.

The father was a Christian Scientist and always carried a copy of Mrs. Eddy’s works in his pocket. As they approached the goat the boy showed fear, whereat his father told him to think it not possible for the animal to harm them, but the boy, remembering a previous encounter with a goat, in which he came out second best, did not grow any braver.

“Papa, you’re a Christian Scientist, all right,” he said, “and so am I; but the goat doesn’t know it.”

* * * * *

Horace T. Eastman, the inventor of the locomotive pilot, said the other day:

“This morning I was sitting in a drug store waiting to get a prescription filled when a young Irishman entered.

“The Irishman pointed to a stack of green Castile soap and said:

“‘Oi want a lump o’ thot.’

“‘Very well, sir,’ said the clerk. ‘Will you have it scented or unscented?’

“‘Oi’ll take ut with me,’ said the Irishman.”

* * * * *

Robert Smith, brother of Sydney Smith, and an ex-Advocate-General, on one occasion engaged in an argument with a physician over the relative merits of their respective professions.

“I don’t say that all lawyers are crooks,” said the doctor, “but you’ll have to admit that your profession doesn’t make angels of men.”

“No,” retorted Smith; “you doctors certainly have the best of us there.”

* * * * *

Small chap--“Say, papa, what is the race problem?”

Papa--“Picking winners.”

* * * * *

The temperance society was to meet that afternoon. Mrs. Philpots dressed in a hurry and came panting downstairs. She was a short, plump woman.

“Addie, run up to my room and get my blue ribbon rosette, the temperance badge,” she directed her maid. “I have forgotten it. You will know it, Addie--blue ribbon and gold lettering.”

“Yas’m, I knows it right well.” Addie could not read, but she knew a blue ribbon with gold lettering when she saw it, and therefore had no trouble in finding it and fastening it properly on the dress of her mistress.

Mrs. Philpots was too busy greeting her friends or giving close attention to the speakers at the meeting to note that they smiled when they shook hands with her.

When she reached home, supper was served, so she went directly to the dining-room, where the other members of the family were seated.

“Gracious me, mother!” exclaimed her son. “That blue ribbon--have you been wearing that at the temperance meeting?”

A loud laugh went up on all sides.

“Why, what is it, Harry?” asked the good woman, clutching at the ribbon in surprise.

“Why, mother, dear, didn’t you know that was the ribbon I wore at the show?”

The gold lettering on the ribbon read:

Atlanta Poultry Show. First Prize. Bantam.

* * * * *

At a dinner party recently given the subject of regular hours and plain diet was discussed. Several had spoken when one of the guests remarked, “You may not believe it, but for ten years I rose on the stroke of six, half an hour later was at breakfast, at seven was at work, dined at one, had supper at six, and was in bed at 9.30. In all that time I ate the plainest food and did not have a day’s sickness.” The silence that followed was awful, but finally another guest asked, “Will you permit a question?” “Certainly,” was the reply; “what do you wish to know?” “Well, just out of curiosity,” said the other, “I would like to know what you were in prison for?”

* * * * *

Watch--“Eight bells, and all’s well!”

Mrs. Pohunk (feebly)--“I guess, Josiah, he hasn’t looked on this side of the boat lately or he’d know better.”

* * * * *

When the minister, who was a bachelor, had been helped to Mrs. Porter’s biscuits for the third time, he looked across the table at Rhoda, staring at him with round, wondering eyes.

“I don’t often have such a good supper as this, my dear,” he said, in his most propitiatory tone, and Rhoda’s face dimpled.

“We don’t, always,” she said, in her clear little voice. “I’m awful glad you came.”

* * * * *

The late Charles Matthews now and then failed, like some of the rest of us, in meeting his bills as promptly as the tradespeople concerned could desire.

On one occasion a brisk young tailor, named Berry, lately succeeded to his father’s business, sent in his account somewhat ahead of time.

Whereupon Matthews, with virtuous rage, seized his pen and wrote him the following note:

“You must be a goose--Berry, to send me your bill--Berry, before it is due--Berry.

“Your father, the elder--Berry, would have had more sense.

“You may look very black--Berry, and feel very blue--Berry, but I don’t care a straw--Berry, for you and your bill--Berry.”

* * * * *

A clergyman in a Lawrence church on a recent occasion discovered, after beginning the service, that he had forgotten his notes. As it was too late to send for them, he said to his audience, by way of apology, that this morning he should have to depend upon the Lord for what he might say, but in the afternoon he would come better prepared.

* * * * *

An American visiting London for the first time, goaded to desperation by the incessant necessity for tips, finally entered the wash-room of his hotel, only to be faced with a large sign which read: “Please tip the basin after using.” “I’m hanged if I will!” said the Yankee, turning on his heel, “I’ll go dirty first!”

* * * * *

Mother could not attend church one Sunday. “But what a shame that little Mabel should have to lose the day’s lesson, and she _such_ a bright child,” she sadly reflected. Accordingly, Mabel was sent alone. When she returned, in reply to her mother’s interrogation as to the subject of the text, she replied, “Oh, yes, mother, I know; it was _‘Don’t get scared: You’ll get the quilt.’_“ Questioning failed to throw any light on the matter. Some days later the mother met the pastor, who, in answer to her request for the subject of his last sermon, replied, “It was, madam, ‘Fear not: Ye shall have the Comforter.’”

* * * * *

Mark Twain in his lecturing days, reached a small Eastern town one afternoon and went before dinner to a barber’s to be shaved.

“You are a stranger in town, sir?” the barber asked.

“Yes, I am a stranger here,” was the reply.

“We’re having a good lecture here to-night, sir,” said the barber, “a ‘Mark Twain’ lecture. Are you going to it?”

“Yes, I think I will,” said Mr. Clemens.

“Have you got your ticket yet?” the barber asked.

“No, not yet,” said the other.

“Then, sir, you’ll have to stand.”

“Dear me!” Mr. Clemens exclaimed. “It seems as if I always do have to stand when I hear that man Twain lecture.”

* * * * *

During the visit of the Shah Nasr-ed-Din to England he dined one night with the then Prince of Wales, now King Edward. Among the courses was one of asparagus, a delicacy unknown to the Shah. He considered it for a time, discovered that the head alone was nice to eat, ate it accordingly and flung the rest of the stalk over his shoulder. The other diners were somewhat flabbergasted, but the tactful Prince, not wishing his Persian guest to feel that he had done anything ridiculous, promptly followed his example, throwing his own stalks over his shoulder. Naturally all the courtiers imitated him in turn, and the amazement of the royal servants was extreme to see the air suddenly full of flying asparagus stalks from one end of the lengthy room to the other.

* * * * *

On one of his frequent trips to the other side, the weather being more than ordinarily rough, and the passengers on deck but few, the late Bishop Potter saw a lady reclining on one of the benches, and the unearthly pallor on her face and the hapless languidity of her manner indicated that she had reached that state of collapse which marks the limit of sea-sickness. “Touched by this piteous spectacle and approaching the poor creature, in my most compassionate tone I asked, ‘Madam, can I be of any service to you?’

“She did not open her eyes, but I heard her murmur faintly: ‘Thank you, sir, but there is nothing you can do--nothing at all.’ ‘At least, madam,’ said I tenderly, ‘permit me to bring you a glass of water.’ She moved her head feebly and answered: ‘No, I thank you--nothing at all.’ ‘But your husband, madam,’ said I, ‘the gentleman lying there with his head in your lap--shall I not bring something to revive him?’ The lady again moved her head feebly, and again she murmured faintly between gasps: ‘Thank you, sir, but--he--is--not--my--husband. I--don’t--know--who he is!’”

* * * * *

“Well, Bobby, how do you like church?” asked his father, as they walked homeward from the sanctuary, to which Bobby had just paid his first visit.

“It’s fine,” ejaculated the young man. “How much did you get, father?”

“How much did I get? Why, what do you mean? How much what?” asked the parent, astonished at this evident irreverence.

“Why, don’t you remember when the funny old man passed the money around? I only got ten cents.”

* * * * *

One day a fussy fellow met Father Healy of Dublin by the seashore and thus accosted him: “Father Healy, I am undergoing a cure, and I take a tumbler of sea water three times a day. Now, I’ve had my full allowance to-day, but do you think I might have one, just one, tumbler more?”

Father Healy put his head on one side and looked at the ocean, lost in thought. “Well,” he said, at last, with a gravely judicial air, “I don’t think it would be missed.”

* * * * *

Wm. M. Evarts asked by a lady if he did not think that woman was the best judge of woman, he replied: “Not only the best judge, madam, but the best executioner.”

* * * * *

De Wolf Hopper was calling down a speaking-tube to the janitor of his apartment in New York. Mr. Hopper, unable to get the information he desired, finally blurted out, “Say, is there a blithering idiot at the end of this tube?” The reply came back with startling rapidity, “Not at this end, sir.”

* * * * *

Mrs. S.--“Surely, John, you haven’t brought anyone home to dinner?”

Mr. S.--“Sure I have. Haven’t you got anything for them?”

“Why no, you told me you’d bring home a couple of lobsters for dinner.”

“So I have, they’re in the parlor.”

* * * * *

One of his grandma’s maids of honor tells the following story of Prince Eddie when he was a few years younger:

Just after King Edward’s coronation, when he underwent an operation for appendicitis and was lying convalescent, he sent for his grandchildren.

The little ones trooped into the room, cautioned by their nurse that they must keep very quiet, and stood about their grandfather’s bed. He talked with them for a few minutes and they replied in awed whispers. Then when the nurse told them they must go, Prince Eddie said:

“But, grandpa, can’t we see the baby?”

* * * * *

Rossetti’s fondness for humorous stories and his interest in a particular soldier of fortune, or rather of misfortune, are shown in Hall Caine’s autobiography. Beginning life as the secretary of Ruskin, the man ultimately lived on his cleverness and audacity and made Rossetti in particular his conscious and delighted victim. Feeble as Rossetti was, the visits of this man did him good, and he laughed all the evening and told droll stories himself. One of the latter was of a man near to death to whom the clergyman came and said: “Dear friend, do you know who died to save you?” “Oh, meenister, meenister,” said the dying man, “is this a time for conundrums?”

* * * * *

It is interesting to recall, apropos of the recent Milton celebration, an anecdote of Milton that was told in an old family letter written in 1762, recently quoted in the columns of the London “Spectator”:

“Possibly you may not have heard this anecdote concerning him. John Vallack--who, I believe, died after you came to Tavistock--told me it, and he lived in London in 1696. Milton, as you know, was blind. Charles the Second had the curiosity to see him, and said: ‘God hath punished you for your malice, etc., to my father by taking away your eyesight.’

“‘Aye,’ says Milton, ‘but before I lost my eyes he lost his head.’”

* * * * *

In writing a sketch of Washington a pupil ended her essay by saying: “Washington married a famous belle, Martha Custis, and in due time became the father of his country.”

* * * * *

A certain regiment was on the march from Philadelphia to Gettysburg and the companies were ordered to move with a few minutes’ interval between them and to keep each other in sight, the band and drums leading.

The band soon got a long way ahead, and on reaching a bend, halted for a few minutes’ rest. Presently up galloped a mounted officer in hot haste and shouted for the band sergeant.

“What do you mean,” he said, “by getting out of sight of the leading company?”

“We were not out of sight, sir,” answered the sergeant.

“What do you mean by telling me that!” exclaimed the officer in a rage. “You were out of sight, I saw you myself.”

* * * * *

Several ladies sat after a card party at the University Club a few mornings ago, discussing the virtues of their husbands. “Mr. Bingleton,” said one of them, referring to her life partner, “never drinks and never swears--indeed, he has no bad habits.” “Does he ever smoke?” some one asked. “Yes; he likes a cigar just after he has eaten a good meal. But, I suppose, on an average, he doesn’t smoke more than once a month.”

* * * * *

Ian Maclaren was talking to a group of literary beginners in New York. “Begin your stories well,” he said emphatically. “There’s nothing like a good beginning. Indeed, it’s half the battle.” Then with a smile this excellent beginner of stories added: “Always bear in mind the case of the young man who, desiring to marry, secured a favorable hearing from his sweetheart’s irascible father by opening the interview with the words: ‘I know a way, sir, whereby you can save money.’”

* * * * *

Benevolent gentleman--“My little boy, have you no better way to spend this beautiful afternoon than by standing in front of the gate, idling away your time?”

Boy--“I ain’t idling away my time. There’s a chump inside with my sister, who is paying me ten cents an hour to watch for pa.”

* * * * *

That famous Scotch physician, Dr. George Fordyce, was unfortunately somewhat given to drink, and though he never was known to be dead drunk, yet he was often in a state which rendered him unfit for professional duties. One night when he was in such a condition, he was suddenly sent for to attend a lady of title who was very ill. He went, sat down, listened to her story, and felt her pulse. He found he was not up to his work. He lost his wits and in a moment of forgetfulness exclaimed, “Drunk, by Jove!” Still he managed to write out a mild prescription. Early next morning he received a message from the noble patient to call on her at once. Dr. Fordyce felt very uncomfortable. The lady evidently intended to upbraid him either for giving an improper prescription or for his disgraceful condition, but to his surprise and relief she thanked him for his prompt compliance with her pressing summons, and then confessed that he had rightly diagnosed her case. That unfortunately she occasionally indulged too freely in drink, but that she hoped he would preserve inviolable secrecy as to the condition in which he had found her. Fordyce listened to her as grave as a judge, then said:

“Madam, you may depend on me. I shall be as silent as the grave.”

* * * * *

A friend of Dean Swift one day sent him a turbot as a present by a servant lad who had frequently been on similar errands but had never received anything from the dean for his trouble. Having gained admission he opened the study door, and putting down the fish on the floor cried out rudely, “Master has sent you a turbot.” “Young man,” said the dean rising from the chair, “is that the way you deliver a message? Let me teach you better manners. Sit down in my chair; we will change places, and I will show you how to behave in future.” The boy sat down, and the dean going out came up to the door, and making a low bow said, “Sir, master presents his kind compliments, hopes you are well, and requests your acceptance of a small present.” “Does he?” replied the boy. “Return him my best thanks, and there’s half-a-crown for yourself.” The dean thus caught in his own trap laughed heartily and gave the boy a crown for his ready wit.

* * * * *

A spunky little mule was trying to throw his darky rider and in kicking about caught his hoof in a stirrup, upon which the darky cried out in frightened tones, “Say, if you’se gwine to git on, I’se gwine to git off.”

* * * * *

“I ought not to be surprised by anything at my time of life,” said a well-known minister, “but one of my flock did manage to take my breath away. I was preaching about the Father’s tender wisdom in caring for us all,” he said. “I illustrated by saying that the Father knows which of us grows best in sunlight and which of us must have shade. ‘You know you plant roses in the sunshine,’ I said, ‘and heliotrope and geraniums; but if you want your fuchsias to grow they must be kept in a shady nook.’ After the sermon, which I hoped would be a comforting one, a woman came up to me, her face glowing with pleasure that was evidently deep and true. ‘O, Dr. ----, I am so grateful for that sermon,’ she said, clasping my hand and shaking it warmly. My heart glowed for a moment, while I wondered what tender place in her heart and life I had touched. Only for a moment, though. ‘Yes,’ she went on, fervently, ‘I never knew before what was the matter with my fuchsias.’”

* * * * *

There are some singular discounts allowed in the book trade. They were happily illustrated on one occasion by Mark Twain. One day while the humorist was connected with a publishing house he went into a book store and picking up a volume asked the price. He then suggested that as a publisher he was entitled to 50 per cent discount. To this the clerk assented.

“As I am also an author,” said Mark, “it would appear that I am again entitled to 50 per cent discount.”

Again the clerk bowed.

“And as a personal friend of the proprietor,” he modestly continued, “I presume that you will allow me the usual 25 per cent. discount.”

Another bow from the salesman.

“Well,” drawled the unblushing humorist, “under these conditions I think I may as well take the book. What’s the tax?”

The clerk took out his pencil and figured industriously. Then he said with the greatest obsequiousness:

“As near as I can calculate we owe you the book and about 37-1/2 cents.”

* * * * *

Clyde Fitch tells a new story of Whistler. The artist was in Paris at the time of the coronation of King Edward, and at a reception one evening a duchess said to him: “I believe you know King Edward, Mr. Whistler.”

“No, madame,” replied Whistler.

“Why, that’s odd,” she murmured; “I met the King at a dinner-party last year, and he said that he knew you.”

“Oh,” said the painter, “that was just his brag.”

* * * * *

A London friend who was a member of the same club as Mr. Whistler writes me this, which I have not seen before in print. It seems that the gentle artist in making enemies had not paid his dues and was dunned for them in vain. He either took no notice of requests for a settlement, or replied to them with his usual airy mockery. Finally the secretary wrote to him:

_“Dear Mr. Whistler_--It is not a Nocturne in Purple, or a Symphony in Blue and Gray, that we are after, but An Arrangement in Gold and Silver.”

This drew forth the required pounds and shillings.

* * * * *

Here is another story typical of the great maker of enemies:

Whistler had a French poodle of which he was extravagantly fond. The poodle was seized with an affection of the throat, and Whistler had the audacity to send for the great throat specialist Mackenzie.

Sir Morell, when he saw that he had been called in to treat a dog, didn’t like it much, it was plain. But he said nothing. He prescribed, pocketed a big fee, and drove away.

The next day he sent post-haste for Whistler; and Whistler, thinking he was summoned on some matter connected with his beloved dog, dropped his work and rushed like the wind to Mackenzie’s.

On his arrival Sir Morell said gravely:

“How do you do, Mr. Whistler? I wanted to see you about having my front door painted.”

* * * * *

A story is told of a very popular cavalry officer. He was being tried for drunkenness, and among other witnesses was his Irish orderly. The court, anxious to give the officer every chance, put several questions to this witness with a view of eliciting any facts that might be in his master’s favor. When the orderly said that his master, on going to bed, had expressed a wish to be called early, the members of the court-martial were distinctly pleased.

A man who gave special instructions to be called early could not, surely--they argued to themselves--have been drunk. Hoping to get favorable particulars, the judge advocate put a further question.

“And why did the major wish to be called early?” he asked.

“Faith, an’ he tould me it was because he was to be Queen of the May,” came the answer.

That settled it.

* * * * *

A college professor, noted for his concentration of thought, returned home from a scientific meeting one night, still pondering deeply upon the subject that had been discussed. As he entered his room he heard a noise that seemed to come from under the bed.

“Is there some one there?” he asked absently.

“No, professor,” answered the intruder, who knew of his peculiarities.

“That’s strange,” muttered the professor. “I was almost sure I heard some one under the bed.”

* * * * *

Fond Mother--“Jane, has Johnny come home from school yet?”

Jane--“I think so. I haven’t seen him, but the cat is hiding under the stove.”

* * * * *

Somebody told Mr. Jenks that red flannel worn next to the skin would cure the rheumatism from which he suffered. So he purchased several sets of red flannel undergarments. The clerk assured him that the firm guaranteed the goods in every particular. About two months later, says the New York “Times,” Mr. Jenks revisited the shop, sought out the proprietor and told his woful story.

“The goods are the best in the house,” declared the proprietor. “Of course,” he said, in a reasonable tone used on unreasonable persons, “of course the shirts may have shrunk or faded a little--”

“Shrunk! Faded!” bellowed Mr. Jenks. “What do you think my wife said to me, when I came down to breakfast yesterday with one of them on?”

The proprietor looked bored.

“Well, sir,” said the aggrieved Jenks, “she looked at me a minute, and then said, ‘What is that little red line round your neck John? It isn’t the baby’s string of coral beads, is it?’”

* * * * *

“Now, Tommy,” said Mrs. Bull, “I want you to be good while I’m out.”

“I’ll be good for a nickel,” replied Tommy.

“Tommy,” she said, “I want you to remember that you can not be a son of mine unless you are good for nothing.”

* * * * *

Bill Jones is a country storekeeper down in Louisiana, and last spring he went to New Orleans to purchase a stock of goods. The goods were shipped immediately and reached home before he did. When the boxes of goods were delivered at his store by the drayman his wife happened to look at the largest; she uttered a loud cry and called for a hammer. A neighbor, hearing the screams, rushed to her assistance and asked what was the matter. The wife, pale and faint, pointed to an inscription on the box which read as follows:

“Bill inside.”

* * * * *

Customer--“Are these five or six wedding rings all you have in stock? Why, you’ve got a whole trayful of engagement rings.”

Jeweler--“Yes, sir, and it will take that whole trayful of engagement rings to work off those five or six wedding rings.”

* * * * *

They were newly married and on a honeymoon trip. They put up at a skyscraper hotel. The bridegroom felt indisposed, and the bride said she would slip out and do a little shopping.

In due time she returned and tripped blithely up to her room, a little awed by the number of doors that looked all alike. But she was sure of her own and tapped gently on the panel.

“I’m back, honey; let me in,” she whispered.

No answer.

“Honey, honey, let me in!” she called again, rapping louder. Still no answer.

“Honey, honey, it’s Mabel. Let me in.”

There was silence for several seconds; then a man’s voice, cold and full of dignity, came from the other side of the door:

“Madame, this is not a beehive; it’s a bathroom.”

* * * * *

Leigh Hunt was asked by a lady at dessert if he would not venture on an orange. “Madam,” he replied, “I should be happy to do so, but I am afraid I should tumble off.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Prattle looked at her visitor with reproach in her wide blue eyes. “Talk,” she said eagerly, “our baby talk? Well, I guess he can. He’s three months younger than my cousin’s boy and he’s a year ahead of him in language. You know often people tell you their children can say things, and when you hear them you have to work hard with your imagination to tell what they’re saying.

“Now, there’s my cousin’s baby--the one I spoke of. They declare that child has a vocabulary of fifteen words, but, my dear, if you could hear him. He says ‘bay’ for bread, and ‘flis’ for fish, and ‘cang’ for candle, and ‘hort’ for horse, and ‘apa’ for father. Now I’ll try Harold with those very words, and you’ll see the difference.

“Say bread, Harold--bread--bre-e-ad.”

“Wed,” said the baby.

“Now say fish, fi-sh.”

“Whish,” said the baby.

“And now horse,” said Harold’s mother. “Horse--ho-orse, ho-r-se.”

“Woss,” said the baby.

“And now will precious say father, fa-ather, fa-a-ar-ther?”

“Wahwah,” said the baby.

“There, you see!” cried Mrs. Prattle in triumph. “He seems to catch the sound of every word. Now say good-by, darling, and then nurse will take you upstairs. Good-by--goo-ood-by-y-y.”

“Wy wy,” said the baby.

* * * * *

The superintendent of a Sunday-school class in Philadelphia recently called upon a visitor to “say a few words” to the class, the members of which are mostly children of tender age.

The visitor, a speaker well known for his verbose and circumlocutory mode of speech, began his address as follows:

“This morning, children, I purpose to offer you an epitome of the life of St. Paul. It may be perhaps that there are among you some too young to grasp the meaning of the word ‘epitome.’

“‘Epitome,’ children, is in its signification synonymous with synopsis.”

* * * * *

A milliner endeavored to sell to a colored woman one of the last season’s hats at a very moderate price. It was a big white picture-hat.

“Law, no, honey!” exclaimed the woman. “I could nevah wear that. I’d look jes’ like a blueberry in a pan of milk.”

* * * * *

A few years ago the celebrated Potter family, of which Bishop Potter was a member, held a reunion the chief feature of which was a banquet. During the banquet the various heads of the different families of Potters arose and gave a short account of the pedigrees and deeds of their ancestors and each head seemed to be able to demonstrate that their branch was the oldest and most renowned. After all the speakers had finished, Honorable William M. Evarts, who was present as the legal adviser of the New York branch, was called upon for a speech and responded by saying that he felt there was little left for him to say, but after listening to the ancestry and history of the family he felt he could cast his eyes toward heaven and say, “Oh, Lord! thou art the clay and we are the Potters.”

* * * * *

A Massachusetts minister was making his first visit to Kentucky several years ago. He had to spend the night in a small mountain town where feuds and moonshine still abounded. Engaging in conversation with one of the natives, he said:

“My friend, this is a very bibulous State, I hear.”

“Lord!” replied the man, “there hain’t twenty-five Bibles in all Kentucky.”

* * * * *

An elderly gentleman opposed to the use of tobacco approached a young man who stood on a street corner smoking a cigar, and asked him severely, “How many cigars a day do you smoke?” “Three,” was the reply. “How much do you pay for them?” he went on. “Fifteen cents each,” replied the young man patiently. “Do you realize,” went on his inquisitor, “that if you would save that money, by the time you are as old as I am you would own that big building on the corner?” “Do _you_ own it?” inquired the smoker. “No,” was the response. “Well, I do,” said the young man.

* * * * *

Everybody’S Friend In Nova Scotia

J. R. Fuller,

Dealer in Soft and Hard Coal, Ice Cream, Wood, Lime, Cement, Perfumery, Nails, Putty, Spectacles, and Horse Radish. Chocolate Caramels and Tar Roofing, Gas-Fitting and Undertaking in all its Branches.

Hides, Tallow, and Maple Sirup, Fine Gold Jewelry, Silverware, and Salt, Glue, Codfish, and Gents’ Neckwear. Undertaker and Confectioner. Diseases of Horses and Children a Specialty. Five Islands, N. S.

* * * * *

A Lady going out for the day locked everything up carefully, and for the grocer’s benefit left a card on the back door.

“All out. Don’t leave anything,” it read.

On her return she found her house ransacked and all her choicest possessions gone. To the card on the door was added, “Thanks. We haven’t left much.”

* * * * *

“Edward Everett Hale,” said a lawyer, “was one of the guests at a millionaire’s dinner.

“The millionaire was a free spender, but he wanted full credit for every dollar put out.

“And as the dinner progressed, he told his guests what the more expensive dishes had cost.

“‘This terrapin,’ he would say, ‘was shipped direct from Baltimore. A Baltimore cook came on to prepare it. The dish actually cost one dollar a teaspoonful.’

“So he talked of the fresh peas, the hot-house asparagus, the Covent Garden peaches, and the other courses. He dwelt especially on the expense of the large and beautiful grapes, each bunch a foot long, each grape bigger than a plum. He told down to a penny what he had figured it out that the grapes had cost him apiece.

“The guests looked annoyed. They ate the expensive grapes charily. But Dr. Hale, smiling, extended his plate and said:

“‘Would you mind cutting me off about $1.87 worth more, please?’”

* * * * *

Joe Jefferson had but one person with him who did not reverence the man and the name.

This individual, one Bagley by name, was the property man and annoyed the great comedian with undue familiarity. He had called Mr. Jefferson “Joey” during his entire thirty years’ service.

Just previous to an auspicious opening in one of the big cities, Mr. Jefferson discharged Bagley for humiliating him before a number of friends. Bagley got drunk right away, and that night paid his way to the gallery to see Mr. Jefferson present “Rip Van Winkle.” The angry Frau has just driven poor, destitute Rip from the cottage when Rip turns and, with a world of pathos, asks: “Den haf I no interest in dis house?” The house is deathly still, the audience half in tears, when Bagley’s cracked voice responds: “Only eighty per cent, Joey--only eighty per cent.”

* * * * *

Dean Hole, the noted English clergyman who died recently, was the leading figure in many humorous stories. On one occasion he was crossing the Channel after a visit to the Continent, the voyage being very stormy.

The Dean was a bad sailor and had suffered a great deal on the trip. At Dover he was looking over the railway company’s rules on the station wall as a passenger came up. Said the Dean: “After that stormy voyage we have at least one advantage in making the subsequent trip to London. I see the company carries returning empties at reduced rates.”

* * * * *

Gilbert Stuart, though a celebrated artist, was likewise a great braggart. On one occasion a great public dinner was given to Isaac Hull by the town of Boston, and he was asked to sit for his picture to the artist.

When Hull visited the studio Stuart took great delight in entertaining him with anecdotes of his English success, stories of the marquis of this and the baroness of that, which showed how elegant was the society to which he had been accustomed.

Unfortunately, in the midst of this grandeur, Mrs. Stuart, who did not know that there was a sitter, came in with apron on and her head tied up with some handkerchiefs, from the kitchen, and cried out: “Do you mean to have that leg of mutton boiled or roasted?” to which Stuart replied, with great presence of mind, “Ask your mistress.”

* * * * *

This story is related of an old-time Judge in Sullivan County, N. Y.:

During a session of court there was so much talking and laughter going on that the Judge, becoming angry and confused, shouted in great wrath:

“Silence, here! We have decided half a dozen cases this morning, and I have not heard a word of one of them.”

* * * * *

Irving Bacheller, the author of “Eben Holden,” went a little farther north than usual one summer while on his vacation, and penetrated Newfoundland. He caught a good many fish, but this did not prevent his keeping an eye on the natives. He was particularly impressed by the men who spent the day lounging about the village stores.

“What do you fellows do when you sit around the store like this?” he asked of the crowd arranged in a circle of tilted chairs and empty boxes and maintaining a profound silence.

“Well,” drawled one of the oldest, “sometimes we set and think, and then again other times we jest set.”

* * * * *

Not long before his death Thomas B. Reed visited some friends at their summer residence at Watch Hill, R. I. Late in the afternoon he was driven up to Westerly to take the 7 o’clock train for Boston. It was a warm evening, the horses lagged and he missed the train, the last Boston-bound train stopping at Westerly that night.

As Mr. Reed had an important engagement in Boston early the next day, he seemed worried until he learned that there was a Boston express which passed Westerly at 9 o’clock. Then he smiled.

Going to the telegraph office, he directed a telegram to the superintendent of the road in Boston, and sent the following message:

“Will you stop the 9 o’clock express at Westerly to-night for a large party for Boston.”

The answer came: “Yes. Will stop train.”

Mr. Reed read the message, and smiled. When the train pulled in Mr. Reed quietly started to board it, when the conductor said: “Where is that large party we were to stop for?”

“I am the large party,” replied Mr. Reed, and he boarded the train.

* * * * *

Wilfred was sitting upon his father’s knee watching his mother arranging her hair.

“Papa hasn’t any Marcel waves like that,” said the father, laughingly.

Wilfred, looking up at his father’s bald pate, replied, “Nope; no waves; it’s all beach.”

* * * * *

The Prince of Wales is fond of telling a good story to his friends in connection with his visit to Ottawa some few years ago. The Prince--then Duke of York--stole away for a quiet bicycle spin early one morning, and in his ramblings met a farmer, heading marketward, his wagon temporarily stalled by the loss of a nut belonging to the whiffletree bolt. His Royal Highness, with his usual democratic kindness, assisted him in putting things right. On parting, the farmer expressed his rough thanks and asked if he might know the name of the person to whom he was indebted. The royal cyclist replied modestly: “I am the Duke of York. And may I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?” A broad, amused smile beamed from the farmer’s face as he said: “Me! Me! Why, I’m your uncle, the Czar of Russia!”

* * * * *

“All right on behind there?” called the conductor from the front of the car.

“Hold on,” cried a shrill voice. “Wait till I get my clothes on!”

The passengers craned their necks expectantly. A small boy was struggling to get a basket of laundry aboard.

* * * * *

One of the jokes of which Kentuckians never grow weary concerns Senator Blackburn and his loyal appreciation of the liquid products of his native State. The Senator had gone to pay a visit to a friend of his who lived many miles distant. His friend met the Senator as he alighted at the station.

“How are you Joe?” his friend asked.

“I’m up against it,” was the reply. “I lost the best part of my baggage en route.”

“Did you misplace it, or was it stolen?” his friend inquired solicitously.

“Neither,” said the Senator. “The cork came out.”

* * * * *

Kentucky Tailor--“What size shall I make your hip pockets, Colonel, pint or quart?”

* * * * *

Once, during his second term, Grover Cleveland was asked to speak at a function in a certain town, and when he arrived at the depot the wind was blowing a gale, sleet was driving, and hailstones nearly as large as marbles were fiercely falling. Of course, the inevitable brass band was there, and at the sight of the President the performers struck up with all the strenuosity at their command.

“That is the most realistic music I ever heard,” remarked Cleveland.

“What are they trying to play?” asked Secretary Olney, who accompanied him.

“‘Hail to the Chief’!” replied the President, with a cheerful smile.

* * * * *

The chaplain of one of his Majesty’s ships was giving a magic-lantern lecture, the subject of which was “Scenes from the Bible.” He arranged with a sailor who possessed a gramophone to discourse appropriate music between the slides. The first picture shown was Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. The sailor cudgeled his brain but could think of nothing suitable. “Play up,” whispered the chaplain. Suddenly a large idea struck the jolly tar and to the great consternation of the chaplain and the delight of the audience the gramophone burst forth with the strains of “There’s only one girl in the world for me.”

* * * * *

The craze for giving and accepting coupons for purchases of merchandise, to be redeemed by prizes, was given a more or less merited rebuke by Nat C. Goodwin. He bought a bill of goods, and the salesman offered him the coupons that the amount of the purchase called for. Mr. Goodwin shook his head. “I don’t want ’em,” he said.

“You had better take them, sir,” persisted the clerk; “we redeem them with very handsome prizes. If you can save up a thousand coupons we give a grand piano.”

“Say, look here,” replied Mr. Goodwin, “if I ever drank enough of your whisky or smoked enough of your cigars to get a thousand of those coupons I wouldn’t want a piano. I’d want a harp.”

* * * * *

He--“You’ve got to have a pull to get ahead.”

She--“Yes, and you’ve got to have a head to get a pull.”

* * * * *

A Southern lawyer tells of a case that came to him at the outset of his career, wherein his principal witness was a darky named Jackson, supposed to have knowledge of certain transactions not at all to the credit of his employer, the defendant.

“Now, Jackson,” said the lawyer, “I want you to understand the importance of telling the truth when you are put on the stand. You know what will happen, don’t you, if you don’t tell the truth?”

“Yassir,” was Jackson’s reply; “in dat case I expects our side will win de case.”

* * * * *

The Suitor--“They say that Love is blind.”

The Heiress--“But nowadays he has a marvelous sense of touch.”

* * * * *

A small boy who had recently passed his fifth birthday was riding in a suburban car with his mother, when they were asked the customary question, “How old is the boy?” After being told the correct age, which did not require a fare, the conductor passed on to the next person.

The boy sat quite still as if pondering over some question, and then, concluding that full information had not been given, called loudly to the conductor, then at the other end of the car: “And mother’s thirty-one!”

* * * * *

One of the uptown banks, on a conspicuous corner, gained a bad name with the daily crowd of New York pedestrians. Its financial standing was of course beyond question, but its clock ran on a very eccentric and confusing system. The timepiece stood in a spot easily observable and was consulted for years in spite of its tendency to wander from strict accuracy. A woman excusing her lateness for luncheon said she thought she was on time by the clock in the bank.

“Oh, nobody can go by that,” said her companion contemptuously. “We call that the bank where the wild time grows.”

* * * * *

In a certain home where the stork recently visited there is a six-year-old son of inquiring mind. When he was first taken in to see the new arrival he exclaimed: “Oh, mamma, it hasn’t any teeth! And no hair!” Then, clasping his hands in despair, he cried: “Somebody has done us! It’s an old baby.”

* * * * *

A prominent railroad man hurried down the lobby of a Binghamton hotel and up to the desk. He had just ten minutes in which to pay his bill and reach the station. Suddenly it occurred to him that he had forgotten something.

“Here, boy,” he called to a negro bellboy, “run up to 48 and see if I left a box on the bureau. And be quick about it, will you?”

The boy rushed up the stairs. The ten minutes dwindled to seven and the railroad man paced the office. At length the boy appeared.

“Yas, suh,” he panted breathlessly. “Yas, suh, yo’ left it, suh!”

* * * * *

A Boston minister tells of a little girl friend of his who, one day, proudly displayed for his admiration a candy cat.

“Are you going to eat it?” the minister asked.

“No, sir; it’s too pretty to eat. I’m going to keep it,” the little girl replied, as she stroked it with a moist little hand.

Several days later the minister saw her again, and inquired about the cat.

A regretful look came into her eyes.

“It’s gone,” she sighed. “You see, I saved it and saved it, till it got so dirty that I just _had_ to eat it.”

* * * * *

“Only fools are certain, Tommy; wise men hesitate.”

“Are you sure, uncle?”

“Yes, my boy; certain of it.”

* * * * *

“My rubber,” said Nat Goodwin, describing a Turkish bath that he once had in Mexico, “was a very strong man. He laid me on a slab and kneaded me and punched me and banged me in a most emphatic way. When it was over and I had gotten up, he came up behind me before my sheet was adjusted, and gave me three resounding slaps on the bare back with the palm of his enormous hand.

“‘What in blazes are you doing?’ I gasped, staggering.

“‘No offense, sir,’ said the man. ‘It was only to let the office know that I was ready for the next bather. You see, sir, the bell’s out of order in this room.’”

* * * * *

“I want to know,” said the irate matron, “how much money my husband drew out of this bank last week.” “I can’t give you that information, ma’am,” answered the man in the cage. “You’re the paying teller, aren’t you?” “Yes, but I’m not the telling payer.”

* * * * *

A lady once showed her little girl a beautiful new silk dress which had just arrived from the dressmaker, and by way of improving the occasion she said: “You know, dear, all this was given us by a poor worm.” The little girl looked puzzled for a minute or two and then said: “Do you mean dad, mama?”

* * * * *

When Blaine was a young lawyer, and cases were few, he was asked to defend a poverty-stricken tramp accused of stealing a watch. He pleaded with all the ardor at his command, drawing so pathetic a picture with such convincing energy that at the close of his argument the court was in tears and even the tramp wept. The jury deliberated but a few minutes and returned the verdict “not guilty.” Then the tramp drew himself up, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the future “Plumed Knight,” and said: “Sir, I have never heard so grand a plea, I have not cried before since I was a child. I have no money with which to reward you, but (drawing a package from the depths of his ragged clothes), here’s that watch; take it and welcome.”

* * * * *

The other day an ingenious-looking person called with the message to the housewife that her husband had sent him for his dress suit, which was to be pressed and redone by the tailor.

“Dear me,” said the housewife, “he said nothing to me about it. Did he look quite well?”

“Yes, mum; he wuz in good health and spirits.”

“And he seemed quite as if he knew what he was about?”

“He did that, mum.”

“And did he look as if he were quite content with things about him?”

“He was all that, mum.”

“Well,” said the lady, “it seems strange that he should only think of that dress suit now, because it’s ten years since he’s dead and buried, and I’ve often wondered how he’s been getting on.”

* * * * *

Two friends were walking down Bond Street, London. A man came up and saluted the elder: “How do you do, Lord ----?”

“Ah! how-do? Glad to see you. How’s the old complaint?”

The stranger’s face clouded over and he shook his head. “No better.”

“Dear me; so sorry. Glad to have met you. Good-by.”

“Who’s your friend?” asked the other, when the stranger was gone.

“No idea.”

“Why, you asked him about his old complaint!”

“Pooh, pooh!” replied the nobleman, unconcernedly. “The old fellow’s well over sixty; bound to have something the matter with him.”

* * * * *

“Did you tip the waiter?”

“Yes, so to speak. I turned him down.”

* * * * *

Dr. Jowett of Oxford was a formidable wit. At a gathering at which he was present the talk ran upon the comparative gifts of two Balliol men who had been made respectively a judge and a bishop. Prof. Henry Smith, famous in his day for his brilliancy, pronounced the bishop to be the greater man of the two for this reason: “A judge, at the most, can only say, ‘You be hanged,’ whereas a bishop can say, ‘You be damned!’”

“Yes,” said Dr. Jowett, but if the judge says, “‘You be hanged,’ you _are_ hanged.”

* * * * *

“I’m so glad you’ve come. We’re going to have a young married couple for dinner.”

“I’m glad too. They ought to be tender.”

* * * * *

“I pay as I go,” declared the pompous citizen.

“Not while I’m running these apartments,” declared the janitor. “You’ll pay as you move in.”

* * * * *

Among seven distinguished men who were to speak at the opening exercises of a new school was a professor well known for his lapses of memory. But his speech was clear that night, and as he seated himself his loving wife felt that he had fully earned the burst of applause that followed, and she clapped her little hands enthusiastically. Then her cheeks crimsoned.

“Did you see anything amusing about the close of my address, my dear?” asked the Professor as they started for home. “It seemed as if I heard sounds suggestive of merriment about me.”

“Well, dear,” said she, “of all the people who applauded your address, you clapped the loudest and longest.”

* * * * *

Teacher--“What is the Hague tribunal?”

Willie--“The Hague tribunal ar--”

Teacher--“Don’t say ‘The Hague tribunal are,’ Willie; use is.”

Willie--“The Hague tribunal isbitrates national controversies.”

* * * * *

Sir Wilfrid Laurier was once on an electioneering tour in Ontario and, as the elections were bitterly contested, every effort was made to stir up race and religious prejudice. One day a Quebec Liberal sent this telegram to Sir Wilfrid: “Report in circulation in this country that your children have not been baptized. Telegraph denial.” To this the Premier replied: “Sorry to say report is correct. I have no children.”

* * * * *

The teacher of one of the rooms in a school in the suburbs of Cleveland had been training her pupils in anticipation of a visit from the school commissioner. At last he came, and the classes were called out to show their attainments.

The arithmetic class was the first called, and in order to make a good impression the teacher put the first question to Johnny Smith, the star pupil.

“Johnny, if coal is selling at $6 per ton, and you pay the coal dealer $24, how many tons of coal will he bring you?”

“Three,” was the prompt reply from Johnny.

The teacher, much embarrassed, said, “Why, Johnny, that isn’t right.”

“Oh, I know it ain’t, but they do it anyhow.”

* * * * *

A publisher who occupied a loft in New York directed one of his clerks to hang out a “Boy wanted” sign at the entrance. The card had been swaying in the breeze only a few minutes when a red-headed little tad climbed to the publisher’s office with the sign under his arm.

“Say, mister,” he demanded of the publisher, “did youse hang out this here ‘Boy Wanted’ sign?”

“I did,” replied the publisher sternly. “Why did you tear it down?”

“Hully gee!” he blurted. “Why, I’m the boy!” And he was.

* * * * *

A distinguished surgeon, Dr. Abernethy by name, famed for his laconic speech as well as for his professional skill, met one day his equal in a woman of few words, who came to him with a hand badly swollen and inflamed.

“Burn?” asked the doctor.

“Bruise.”

“Poultice.”

The next day the patient returned and the dialogue was resumed.

“Better?”

“Worse.”

“More poultice.”

Two days later the woman called again, and this was the conversation:

“Better?”

“Well. Fee?”

“Nothing!” exclaimed the doctor. “Most sensible woman I ever met!”

* * * * *

Visitor--“Well, Harold, what are you going to be when you grow up?”

Harold--“Oh, I’m going to be a sailor; but baby’s only going to be just an ordinary father.”

* * * * *

No amount of persuasion or punishment could keep Johnnie from running away. The excitement of being pursued and of being brought back to a tearful family appealed to his sense of the dramatic and offset the slight discomfort that sometimes followed.

Finally his mother determined upon a new method. She decided, after many misgivings, that the next time Johnnie ran away no notice whatever should be taken of it. He should stay away as long as he pleased and return when he saw fit.

In a few days the youngster again disappeared. His mother was firm in her resolve and no search was made. Great was poor Johnnie’s disappointment. He managed to stay away all day, but when it began to grow dark his courage failed and he started for home. He sneaked ignominiously into the kitchen. Nobody spoke to him. Apparently his absence had not been noticed. This was too much. As soon as opportunity offered he remarked casually, “Well, I see you’ve got the same old cat.”

* * * * *

A gentleman who happened to come in rather late at a dinner found that the guests had finished soup and were on with the next course. When he had sat down a waiter came up and said, “Soup, sir?” “No, thanks,” he replied, whereupon the waiter went away. Another waiter, seeing he had nothing, said to him, “Soup, sir?” He replied rather testily, “No, thank you.” A third waiter, who saw him come in and took compassion on him, placed the soup in front of him. “Look here, my man, is this compulsory?” “No, sir; it’s mulligatawny,” replied the waiter.

* * * * *

A big, burly, fierce-looking man and a meek, inoffensive-looking little chap were sawing timber with a cross-cut saw. A strapping Irishman, passing that way, stopped to watch them. Back and forth, back and forth, they pulled at the saw. Finally the Irishman could stand it no longer. With a whoop and a yell he rushed at the big man and brought him to the ground, burying his knees deep into the sawyer’s chest.

Biff! Bang! Thump! Biff!

“There,” he said, letting him have one parting blow square on the nose, “now m’bbe ye’ll let the little felly hev it!”

* * * * *

Oliver Herford once entered a doubtful-looking restaurant in a small New York town and ordered a lamb-chop. After a long delay the waiter returned, bearing a plate on which reposed a dab of mashed potatoes and a much overdone chop of microscopical proportions with a remarkably long and slender rib attached. This the waiter set down before him and then hurried away.

“See here,” called Herford, “I ordered a chop.”

“Yessir,” replied the man, “there it is.”

“Ah, so it is,” replied Herford, peering at it closely. “I thought it was a crack in the plate.”

* * * * *

In one of the elevators of a city skyscraper, as the elevator shot toward the zenith, a stout man began to sputter. “Bub-but, rt-st-st-b’r’r’r,” he said, as the veins stood out upon his neck. At the twenty-third story the stout man’s eyes were nearly starting from his head, and as he grasped the arm of the elevator man the latter nervously pulled the lever, and the lift started for the bottom at a terrific rate. The solitary passenger danced about, gurgling spasmodically. As the car struck bottom, however, he rushed through the door and up to an important individual, whose cap bore the screed “Starter.” “S-s-s-say,” he sputtered, “t-t-this is the th-th-third trip I-I-I’ve t-t-taken in the elevator, ’n’ I-I-I-I w-w-wanter g-g-g-get off at the sev-sev-seventh fl-fl-fl-floor. Before I-I-I c-c-c-can say sev-sev-seven I-I-I-I’m up to the t-t-top, ’n’ be-be-before I-I-I can cat-cat-catch my br-br-breath I-I-I’m down h-h-here again, ’n’ I-I-I-I’m in a de-de-vil of a hurry.”

* * * * *

Nervous player (deprecatingly playing card)--“I really don’t know what to play. I’m afraid I’ve made a fool of myself.”

Partner (reassuringly)--“That all right. I don’t see what else you could have done!”

* * * * *

Some of Darwin’s boy friends once plotted a surprise for the naturalist. They slew a centipede, glued on it a beetle’s head, and also added to its body the wings of a butterfly and the long legs of a grasshopper. Then they put the new insect in a box and knocked at the great man’s door. “We found this in the fields,” they cried with eager voices. “Do tell us what it can be.” Darwin looked at the strange compound and then at the boys’ innocent faces. “Did it hum when you caught it?” he asked. “Oh yes, sir,” they answered quickly, nudging one another, “it hummed like anything.” “Then,” said the philosopher, “it is a humbug.”

* * * * *

A man had been sent by the house-agents to take an inventory of the drawing-room furniture. He was so long about his task that at last the mistress of the house went to see what was taking place. She found the man slumbering sweetly on the sofa with an empty bottle beside him; it was evident, however, that he had made a pathetic though solitary attempt to do his work, for in the inventory book was written, “One revolving carpet.”

* * * * *

The customs of military service require officers to visit the kitchens during cooking hours to see that the soldiers’ food is properly prepared. One old colonel, who let it be pretty generally known that his orders must be obeyed without question or explanation, once stopped two soldiers who were carrying a soup-kettle out of a kitchen.

“Here, you,” he growled, “give me a taste of that.”

One of the soldiers ran and fetched a ladle and gave the colonel the desired taste. The colonel spat and spluttered.

“Good heavens, man! You don’t call that stuff soup, do you?”

“No, sir,” replied the soldier meekly, “it’s dishwater we was emptyin’, sir.”

* * * * *

The ship upon clearing the harbor ran into a half-pitching, half-rolling sea, that became particularly noticeable about the time the twenty-five passengers at the captain’s table sat down to dinner.

“I hope that all twenty-five of you will have a pleasant trip,” the captain told them as the soup appeared, “and that this little assemblage of twenty-four will reach port much benefited by the voyage. I look upon these twenty-two smiling faces much as a father does upon his family, for I am responsible for the safety of this group of seventeen. I hope that all thirteen of you will join me later in drinking to a merry trip. I believe that we seven fellow passengers are most congenial and I applaud the judgment which chose from the passenger list these three persons for my table. You and I, my dear, sir, are--Here, steward! Bring on the fish and clear away these dishes.”

* * * * *

“Extra Billy” Smith, the Confederate General, was one of the most irascible as well as one of the most patriotic of men. Upon one occasion he was leading a regiment on a long and difficult march. Weary and exhausted they halted for a rest by the wayside. When it became necessary to move on, the General gave the order, but the tired men remained stretched upon the ground. The order was repeated peremptorily. Still no motion. By this time the temper of the General was at white heat. He thundered out:

“If you don’t get up and start at once I’ll march the regiment off and leave every d----d one of you behind.”

They started.

* * * * *

A Boston lawyer, who brought his wit from his native Dublin, while cross-examining the plaintiff in a divorce trial, brought forth the following:

“You wish to divorce this woman because she drinks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you drink yourself?”

“That’s _my_ business!”--angrily.

Whereupon the unmoved lawyer asked:

“Have you any other business?”

* * * * *

One rainy afternoon Aunt Sue was explaining the meaning of various words to her young nephew. “Now, an heirloom, my dear, means something that has been handed down from father to son,” she said.

“Well,” replied the boy thoughtfully, “that’s a queer name for my pants.”

* * * * *

“The easiest money that I ever made,” said a shipping man the other day, “was handed to me in New York not long ago. I was visiting there and had a little time to myself, so I bought a paper and went down to the river front. I saw an advertisement in the paper saying that a tug was to be auctioned off that day, so I went to the place and stood around examining the tug. After a while a man who had been watching me came over and began asking questions. I told him I was interested in boats and was from Philadelphia. Then he asked: ‘What are you doing down here?’ ‘I came down to this auction sale,’ I said. ‘Well,’ said the man, ‘if you want to keep on the right side of the boys you’ll do something for me. Here’s $100; do not bid on the tug.’ I took the money and departed. I had not the slightest intention of bidding.”

* * * * *

A bride and groom had been much troubled by the stares of people at hotels wherever they went. So when they arrived at the next hotel the groom called the colored head-waiter.

“Now, George,” he said, “we have been bothered to death by people staring at us because we are just married. We want to be free from that sort of thing here. Now, here’s two dollars, and remember I trust you not to tell people that we are just married, if they ask you. Understand?”

“Yas, sah!” said George; “I un’stand.”

All went well that day. But the following morning when the couple came down to breakfast the staring was worse than ever. Chambermaids in the hall snickered; the clerks behind the desk nudged each other; everybody in the dining-room stared. When the couple returned to their room it was only to see a head sticking out of nearly every room down the long hall.

This was too much.

This _was_ the limit!

Angered beyond control, the groom went to the desk and called for the head-waiter.

“Look here, you old fool,” said the groom, “didn’t I give you two dollars to protect my wife and myself from the staring business?”

“Yas, sah, you did,” said George. “’Pon me soul, I didn’t tell, sah.”

“Then how about this staring?” asked the irate groom. “It’s worse here than anywhere. Did anybody ask if we were married?”

“Yas, sah; several folks did,” replied George.

“Well, what did you tell them?”

“I tole ’em, sah,” replied the honest negro, “you wuzn’t married at all.”

* * * * *

A witty priest was once visiting a “self-made” millionaire, who took him to see his seldom-used library.

“There,” said the millionaire, pointing to a table covered with books, “there are my best friends.”

“Ah,” replied the wit, as he glanced at the leaves, “I’m glad you don’t cut them!”

* * * * *

Mrs. Maloney was before the Judge, charged with assault on Policeman Casey. She had been unusually attentive throughout the proceedings, and now the Judge was summing up the evidence.

“The evidence shows, Mrs. Maloney,” he began, “that you threw a stone at Policeman Casey.”

“It shows more than that, yer Honor,” interrupted Mrs. Maloney; “it shows that Oi hit him.”

* * * * *

When Mark Twain was a young and struggling newspaper writer, in San Francisco, a lady of his acquaintance saw him one day with a cigar-box under his arm looking in a shop window.

“Mr. Clemens,” she said, “I always see you with a cigar-box under your arm. I am afraid you are smoking too much.”

“It isn’t that,” said Mark. “I’m moving again.”

* * * * *

A thunderstorm overtook the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria when out shooting in 1873 with old Emperor William of Germany and Victor Emmanuel. The three monarchs got separated from their party and lost their way. They were drenched to the skin, and, in search of shelter, hailed a peasant driving a covered cart drawn by oxen along the high road. The peasant took up the royal trio and drove on.

“And who may you be, for you are a stranger in these parts?” he asked, after a while, of Emperor William.

“I am the Emperor of Germany,” replied his Teutonic majesty.

“Ha, very good,” said the peasant, and then, addressing Victor Emmanuel, “and you, my friend?”

“Why, I am the King of Italy,” came the prompt reply.

“Ha, ha, very good, indeed! And who are you?” addressing Francis Joseph.

“I am the Emperor of Austria,” said the latter.

The peasant then scratched his head and said with a knowing wink: “Very good, and who do you suppose I am?”

Their majesties replied they would like very much to know.

“Why, I am his Holiness the Pope.”

* * * * *

In a cemetery at Middlebury, Vt., is a stone, erected by a widow to her loving husband, bearing this inscription:

“Rest in peace--until we meet again.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Gilroy, prominent in the church work of her small city, had acquired a new servant, willing but ignorant.

“Bridget,” she said, “I am going to lie down and do not wish to be disturbed. If any one calls, do not say I am not at home, but give an evasive answer.”

“What’s that, mum?” said Bridget.

Having explained as well as she could, the good lady retired and later appeared below stairs, much refreshed.

“Did any one call?” she asked.

“Yes, mum; the new minister, from your church.”

“Oh, Bridget. What did you tell him?”

“Well,” sez he, “is Mrs. Gilroy at home?” and I sez nuthin’, and sez he a little louder, “Is Mrs. Gilroy at home?” and sez I, “Was your grandmother a monkey?”

* * * * *

A young kindergarten teacher, of Manhattan, who is made much of by her pupils--frequently meeting their parents--has a very affable manner, and, on entering a Broadway car recently, exclaimed in her most cordial way to one of the passengers: “Why, how do you do, Mr. Brown!” As the man addressed evidently did not know her and looked rather dazed, she saw her mistake and hurriedly apologized, saying: “Oh, I beg your pardon-I thought you were the father of one of my children.”

Then every one within hearing looked so amused that the young lady left the car at the next stop.

* * * * *

A Mr. Johnson, of Boston, was the owner of a small yacht, in which he took much pleasure during the summer, cruising along the coast.

He had for a cook a young fellow from Denmark whose English was not always perfect, but who made himself so generally useful that Mr. Johnson kept him for several years at good wages. One summer they landed at a place where a camp-meeting was in full blast. Our friend, the Dane, was greatly interested and took a front seat.

Near the close of the meeting one of the brethren went about among the people exhorting them to “go forward.” Coming to the Dane, he said, “My friend, don’t you want to work for Jesus?”

“No,” said the Dane, “I’ve got a good yob with Yohnson.”

* * * * *

Johnny--“Pa, did Moses have the dyspepsia like you?”

Father--“How on earth do I know? What makes you ask such a question?”

“Why, our Sunday-school teacher says the Lord gave Moses two tablets.”

* * * * *

Elderly Aunt--“I suppose you wondered, dear little Hans, why I left you so abruptly in the lane. I saw a man, and oh, how I ran!”

Hans--“Did you get him?”

* * * * *

A man returned home late one night after having partaken rather freely of the “cup that cheers.” All might have been well had not one tree intercepted between him and his destination--one solitary tree at the foot of his own steps; but Mr. B---- suddenly came into such forcible contact with that tree that he was almost stunned. After recovering his senses, he wandered about, but repeatedly bumped into the same inoffensive barrier. At length he sank down on the ground and muttered helplessly:

“Lost! Lost! in an impenetrable forest!”

* * * * *

The intoxicated individual who, after bumping into the same tree thirteen times, bemoaned the fact that he was lost in an impenetrable forest, is no greater disgrace to modern civilization than the hero of this story:

A citizen of Seattle who had looked upon the wine when he was no longer sure what color it was, in the course of his journey home encountered a tree protected by an iron tree-guard. Grasping the bars, he cautiously felt his way around it twice.

“Curse it!” he moaned, sinking to the ground in despair. “Locked in!”

* * * * *

Stanley, aged four, was one of a large family. Besides numerous sisters and brothers, there were aunts and uncles galore and many cousins. The only very young people, however, were those in his immediate household.

One Thanksgiving dinner Stanley gazed solemnly around the table for a while, and then announced, oracularly:

“My mother and the cat seem to be the only people in this whole family that have any children!”

* * * * *

A clergyman was being shaved by a barber, who had evidently become unnerved by the previous night’s dissipation. Finally he cut the clergyman’s chin. The latter looked up at the artist reproachfully, and said:

“You see, my man, what comes of hard drinking.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the barber consolingly, “it makes the skin tender.”

* * * * *

Mistress--“Did the mustard plaster do you any good, Bridget?”

Maid--“Yes; but, begorry, mum, ut do bite the tongue!”

* * * * *

They had just met; conversation was somewhat fitful. Finally he decided to guide it into literary channels, where he was more at home, and, turning to his companion, asked:

“Are you fond of literature?”

“Passionately,” she replied. “I love books dearly.”

“Then you must admire Sir Walter Scott,” he exclaimed with sudden animation. “Is not his ‘Lady of the Lake’ exquisite in its flowing grace and poetic imagery? Is it not--”

“It is perfectly lovely,” she assented, clasping her hands in ecstasy. “I suppose I have read it a dozen times.”

“And Scott’s ‘Marmion,’” he continued, “with its rugged simplicity and marvelous description--one can almost smell the heather on the heath while perusing its splendid pages.”

“It is perfectly grand,” she murmured.

“And Scott’s ‘Peveril of the Peak’ and his noble ‘Bride of Lammermoor’--where in the English language will you find anything more heroic than his grand auld Scottish characters and his graphic, forceful pictures of feudal times and customs? You like them, I am sure.”

“I just dote upon them,” she replied.

“And Scott’s Emulsion,” he continued hastily, for a faint suspicion was beginning to dawn upon him.

“I think,” she interrupted rashly, “that it’s the best thing he ever wrote.”

* * * * *

“Why is Jones growing a beard?”

“Oh, I believe his wife made him a present of some ties.”

* * * * *

Wife--“Do come over to Mrs. Barker’s with me, John. She’ll make you feel just as if you were at home.”

Her Husband--“Then what’s the use of going?”

* * * * *

About forty years ago, walking down Market street, in this city, I heard a darky commenting on a sign he had just spelt out, stretched across the sidewalk in front of a livery stable:

“Jist like ’em. Aftah dars no moh slabry dey stick up signs foh me: ‘Man-ure Free’!”

* * * * *

In the audience at a lecture on China there was a very pious old lady who was slightly deaf. She thought the lecturer was preaching, and every time he came to a period she would say “Amen!” or some other pious exclamation. The people in the audience, which was composed mostly of the village church members, knew she was being reverent and did not even smile when she exclaimed, until finally the lecturer mentioned some far-off city in China, saying, “I live there.” At this point clearly and distinctly could be heard the old lady, saying, “Thank God for that.”

* * * * *

A pushing young actor who was playing understudy in one of Mr. Barrie’s plays found his opportunity one night through the illness of his principal. He accordingly flooded his managerial and influential acquaintances with telegrams announcing: “I play So-and-So’s part to-night.” Except that the theater was comparatively empty this breathless disclosure produced no result, except a telegram in reply from Mr. Barrie, to this effect: “Thanks for the warning.”

* * * * *

It was a busy day in the butcher-shop. The butcher yelled to the boy who helped him out in the shop: “Hurry up, John, and don’t forget to cut off Mrs. Murphy’s leg, and break Mrs. Jones’s bones, and don’t forget to slice Mrs. Johnson’s tongue.”

* * * * *

Ralph Waldo Emerson, like other men of genius, was absent-minded, and, when a fit of inspiration seized him, he was oblivious to the things of earth to a ludicrous extent. A story that is vouched for as true illustrates this.

The old-fashioned matches, in use in New England in Emerson’s time, were made in cards, or flat slabs, the matches being joined at the foot, and separating at the top, like the teeth of a deep comb. Emerson was accustomed, in the midnight watches, to lie awake communing with his own thoughts, and, if any especial inspiration developed itself, he would get up and write it down, lighting the lamp for that purpose.

One night, Mrs. Emerson was awakened by her gifted husband’s voice, as he called to her plaintively:

“What is the matter with the matches, my dear? I have struck seven, and not one will light. Where can I get some good ones?”

Mrs. Emerson got out of bed at once, and found the matches in their accustomed place. Her husband had not touched them.

“Why, what can you have been striking, in mistake for matches?” she asked, anxiously, and beheld her best carved tortoise-shell comb, which the absorbed philosopher, had broken up, tooth by tooth, in mistake for the card of matches.

* * * * *

Instructor in Public Speaking--“What is the matter with you, Mr. Jones; can’t you speak any louder? Be more enthusiastic. Open your mouth and throw yourself into it.”

* * * * *

“I confess that the subject of psychical research makes no great appeal to me,” Sir William Henry Perkin, the inventor of coal-tar dyes, told some friends in New York. “Personally, in the course of a fairly long career, I have heard at first hand but one ghost story. Its hero was a man whom I may as well call Snooks.

“Snooks, visiting at a country house, was put in the haunted chamber for the night. He said that he did not feel the slightest uneasiness, but nevertheless, just as a matter of precaution, he took to bed with him a revolver of the latest American pattern.

“He slept peacefully enough until the clock struck two, when he awoke with an unpleasant feeling of oppression. He raised his head and peered about him. The room was wanly illumined by the full moon, and in that weird, bluish light he thought he discerned a small, white hand clasping the rail at the foot of the bed.

“‘Who’s there?’ he asked tremulously.

“There was no reply. The small, white hand did not move.

“‘Who’s there?’ he repeated. ‘Answer me or I’ll shoot.’

“Again there was no reply.

“Snooks cautiously raised himself, took careful aim and fired.

“From that night on he’s limped. Shot off two of his own toes.”

* * * * *

When the Rev. Dr. Henson, then of Chicago, came to the New York Chautauqua to lecture on “Fools,” Bishop Vincent introduced him thus:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now to have a lecture on ‘Fools’ by one of the most distinguished----”

Here there was a long pause, the Bishop’s inflection indicating that he had finished. The audience roared with delight, and roared again, so that it was some time before the sentence was concluded--“men of Chicago.”

Dr. Henson, who is a man of ready wit, stepped to the front of the platform, and said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am not so great a fool as Bishop Vincent----” and then he paused as if he had finished, and the audience went fairly wild over the situation. When quiet was restored, Dr. Henson concluded--“would have you think.”

* * * * *

Doctor (feeling Sandy’s pulse in bed)--“What do you drink?”

Sandy (with brightening face)--“Oh, I’m nae particular, doctor! Anything you’ve got with ye.”

* * * * *

Every employee of the Bank of England is required to sign his name in a book on his arrival in the morning, and, if late, must give the reason therefor. The chief cause of tardiness is usually fog, and the first man to arrive writes “fog” opposite his name, and those who follow write “ditto.” One day, however, the first late man gave as the reason, “wife had twins,” and twenty other late men mechanically signed “ditto” underneath.

* * * * *

At a dinner in Washington there was told a Scotch story of a parishioner who had strayed from his own kirk.

“Why weren’t you at the kirk on Sunday?” asked the preacher of the culprit on meeting him a day or two later.

“I was at Mr. McClellan’s kirk,” said the other.

“I don’t like you running about to strange kirks like that,” continued the minister. “Not that I object to your hearing Mr. McClellan, but I’m sure you widna like your sheep straying into strange pastures.”

“I widna care a grain, sir, if it was better grass,” responded the parishioner.

* * * * *

Tommy, very sleepy, was saying his prayers. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” he began. “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

“‘If,’” his mother prompted.

“If he hollers let him go, eeny, meeny, miny, mo!”

* * * * *

Perish the thought that the novelist or playwright should be tied down to historical accuracy! Lady Dorothy Neville quotes an amusing correspondence between Bulwer Lytton and her brother, Horace Walpole.

“My dear Walpole: Here I am at Bath--bored to death. I am thinking of writing a play about your great ancestor Sir Robert. Had he not a sister Lucy, and did she not marry a Jacobite?”

Walpole promptly replied:

“My dear Lytton: I care little for my family, and less still for Sir Robert, but I know that he never had a sister Lucy, so she could not have married a Jacobite.”

However, this mattered little to Lord Lytton, for his answer ran:

“My dear Walpole: You are too late! Sir Robert _had_ a sister Lucy, and she _did_ marry a Jacobite.”

So in defiance of history, the play “Walpole” was written.

* * * * *

“Here’s a curious item, Joshua!” exclaimed Mrs. Lemington, spreading out the Billeville “Mirror” in her ample lap. “The _Nellie E. Williams_ of Gloucester reports that she saw two whales, a cow and a calf, floating off Cape Cod the day before yesterday.”

“Well, ma,” replied old Mr. Lemington, “what’s the matter with that?”

“Why, it’s all right about the two whales, Joshua, but what bothers me is how the cow and the calf got way out there.”

* * * * *

A Congressman once declared in an address to the House:

“As Daniel Webster says in his great dictionary--”

“It was Noah who wrote the dictionary,” whispered a colleague, who sat at the next desk.

“Noah, nothing,” replied the speaker. “Noah built the ark.”

* * * * *

Father (who has been called upon in the city and asked for his daughter’s hand)--“Louise, do you know what a solemn thing it is to be married?”

Louise--“Oh, yes, pa; but it is a good deal more solemn being single.”

* * * * *

Captain Roald Amundsen, Norway’s famous explorer, told this story about a National Guard encampment:

“A new volunteer, who had not quite learned his business, was on sentry duty, one night, when a friend brought him a pie from the canteen.

“As he sat on the grass eating pie, the major sauntered up in undress uniform. The sentry, not recognizing him, did not salute, and the major stopped and said:

“‘What’s that you have there?’

“‘Pie,’ said the sentry, good-naturedly. ‘Apple pie. Have a bite?’

“The major frowned.

“‘Do you know who I am?’ he asked.

“‘No,’ said the sentry, ‘unless you’re the major’s groom.’

“The major shook his head.

“‘Guess again,’ he growled.

“‘The barber from the village?’

“‘No.’

“‘Maybe--’ here the sentry laughed--‘maybe you’re the major himself?’

“‘That’s right. I am the major,’ was the stern reply.

“The sentry scrambled to his feet.

“‘Good gracious!’ he exclaimed. ‘Hold the pie, will you, while I present arms!’”

* * * * *

A player for many years associated with the late Richard Mansfield relates that one day in Philadelphia, as he was standing by a huge poster in front of the theater a poster that represented Mansfield in the character of “Henry V.,” a man who was strolling by stopped to gaze at the bill. Finally, with a snort of disgust, he muttered as he turned to go:

“_‘Henry V.--_’ what?”

* * * * *

“There is an old negro down in my town,” said John Sharp Williams, the former Democratic leader of the House, “who did me a service. I wanted to reward him, so I said:

“‘Uncle, which shall I give you--a ton of coal or a bottle of whisky?’

“‘Foh de Lo’d, Massa John,’ he replied, ‘you-all shorely knows I buhn wood.’”

* * * * *

“No,” remarked a determined lady to an indignant cabman who had received his legal fare, “you can not cheat me, my man. I haven’t ridden in cabs for the last twenty-five years for nothing.”

“Haven’t you, mum?” replied the cabman, bitterly, gathering up the reins. “Well, you’ve done your best!”

* * * * *

On the mighty deep.

The great ocean liner rolled and pitched.

“Henry,” faltered the young bride, “do you still love me?”

“More than ever, darling!” was Henry’s fervent answer.

Then there was eloquent silence.

“Henry,” she gasped, turning her pale, ghastly face away. “I thought that would make me feel better, but it doesn’t!”

* * * * *

Once in Nice an Englishman and a Frenchman were about to separate on the Promenade des Anglais.

The Englishman, as he started toward the Cercle Mediterranee, called back:

“Au reservoir!”

And the Frenchman waved his hand and answered:

“Tanks.”

* * * * *

During a Baptist convention held in Charleston the Rev. Dr. Greene of Washington strolled down to the Battery one morning to take a look across the harbor at Fort Sumter. An old negro was sitting on the seawall fishing. Dr. Greene watched the lone fisherman, and finally saw him pull up an odd-looking fish, a cross between a toad and a catfish.

“What kind of a fish is that, old man?” inquired Dr. Greene.

“Dey calls it de Baptist fish,” replied the fisherman, as he tossed it away in deep disgust.

“Why do they call it the Baptist fish?” asked the minister.

“Because dey spoil so soon after dey comes outen de water,” answered the fisherman.

* * * * *

Blanche, Wilbur, and Thomas were in the garden playing, and making a great deal of noise, but small Jack sat in a corner very quietly, which for Jack was an unusual proceeding. After watching them for some time, the mother’s curiosity prompted her to ask:

“What are you playing?”

“We are playing house,” answered Wilbur. “Blanche and I are the mother and father, and Thomas is the child.”

“And what does Jack do?”

“Sh, sh! he isn’t born yet.”

* * * * *

Governor Chamberlain of Connecticut used to tell of an old friend who, because of his deafness, made some ludicrous and at times embarrassing mistakes. Once he was at a dinner party where the lady seated next to him tried to help him along in conversation. As the fruit was being passed, she asked him: “Do you like bananas?”

“No,” said the old gentleman, with a look of mild surprise. “The fact is,” he added in a confidential tone which could be heard in the next room, “I find the old-fashioned nightshirt is good enough for me.”

* * * * *

An Atchison woman with a little baby tells the following story. She says that a woman caller said: “What a dear little baby; how old is it?” “Sixteen months,” replied the Atchison woman. “Well, dear me, it looks older,” said the caller, and then went on and talked and talked and finally turned again to the baby, and said: “That precious baby, how old is it?” “Sixteen months,” replied the mother. “Well, dear me,” smilingly said the caller. “Oh, such a big baby for its age,” and went on talking and talking. Again turning to the baby the caller said: “What a darling angel the baby is; how old is it?” “Eighteen months,” said the exasperated mother. “Well, I declare, it looks two years old,” said the caller, and then talked and talked. Just as she was leaving the caller stooped and kissed the baby and said: “Bless its little heart; how old is it?” “Ten months,” shrieked the outraged mother, but the caller tripped gaily away; she had not noticed the replies to her questions, and had no idea and did not care how old the baby was.

* * * * *

A boy went into a confectioner’s shop and asked for a glass of lemonade. When it was given him he took it, looked at it, and said he would have a bun instead. The bun was given him; he ate it and was walking out of the shop when the confectioner called after him, “Hi, you haven’t paid for your bun.” “No,” said the boy, “I gave you back the lemonade for that.” “But,” said the man, “you did not pay for the lemonade.” “I didn’t drink it,” said the boy, and walked out of the shop leaving the confectioner calculating.

* * * * *

Two women overheard talking in a poor district of London: “Did ye ever ’ear tell of Lot’s wife?” “Well, no, Mrs. Brown, I can’t say I ever did. Why?” “Well, I don’t know very much about ’er myself, but I ’ave ’eard tell of ’er that she turned into a pillar of salt.” “Lord, did she? What funny things one does ’ear nowadays. It was only this morning I was out with my ’usband and ’e turned into a public-house.”

* * * * *

Willie Green was not only chewing gum, but had his feet sprawled out in the aisle in a most unbecoming manner.

“Willie,” said the teacher, “take that gum out of your mouth this instant, and put in your feet.”

* * * * *

William was considered the brightest boy in his grade; upon hearing a lesson recited in class once or twice he knew it quite well. Thus, while the other fellows were compelled to study hard he scarcely found it necessary to open a book. At the expiration of the term one of the questions in the written geography was, “What is the equator?”

William, always to be depended upon, wrote without delay:

“The equator is a menagerie lion running around the center of the earth.”

* * * * *

He was an earnest minister, and one Sunday, in the course of a sermon on the significance of little things, he said:

“The hand which made the mighty heavens made a grain of sand; which made the lofty mountains made a drop of water; which made you made the grass of the field; which made me made a daisy!”

* * * * *

A young Scotchman, bashful but desperately in love, finding no notice was taken of his visits to the house of his sweetheart, summoned up sufficient courage to address the fair one thus:

“Jean, I was here on Monday nicht.”

“Ay, ye were that,” replied she.

“An’ I was here on Tuesday nicht.”

“So ye were.”

“An’ I was here on Wednesday,” continued the ardent youth.

“Ay, an’ ye were on Thursday nicht an’ a’.”

“An’ I was here last nicht.”

“Weel,” she says, “what if ye were?”

“An’ I am here the nicht again.”

“An’ what about it even if ye came every nicht?”

“What about it, did ye say? Did ye no’ begin to smell a rat?”

* * * * *

Rustic--“Well, Miss, I be fair mazed wi’ the ways o’ that ’ere fisherman--that I be!”

Parson’s Daughter--“Why is that, Carver?”

Rustic--“The owd fool has been sittin’ there for the last six hours and hasn’t caught nothin’.”

Parson’s Daughter--“How do you know that?”

Rustic--“I’ve been a-watchin’ o’ he the whole time!”

* * * * *

A stately and venerable professor one morning, being unable to attend to his class on account of a cold, wrote on the blackboard:

“Dr. Dash, through indisposition, is unable to attend to his classes to-day.”

The students erased one letter in this notice, making it read:

“Dr. Dash, through indisposition, is unable to attend to his lasses to-day.”

But it happened a few minutes later that the professor returned for a box he had forgotten. Amid a roar of laughter he detected the change in his notice, and, approaching the blackboard, calmly erased one letter in his turn.

Now the notice read:

“Dr. Dash, through indisposition, is unable to attend to his asses to-day.”

* * * * *

The man in the smoker was boasting of his unerring ability to tell from a man’s looks exactly what city he came from. “You, for example,” he said to the man next to him, “you are from New Orleans?” He was right.

“You, my friend,” turning to the man on the other side of him, “I should say you are from Chicago?” Again he was right.

The other two men got interested.

“And you are from Boston?” he asked the third man.

“That’s right, too,” said the New Englander.

“And you from Philadelphia, I should say?” to the last man.

“No, sir,” answered the man with considerable warmth; “I’ve been sick for three months: that’s what makes me look that way!”

* * * * *

Five-year-old Nellie had been naughty all day. Finally her mama, a very portly woman, sat down and drew the little culprit across her ample lap to administer the long-delayed punishment. Nellie’s face was fairly buried in the folds of her mother’s dress. Before the maternal hand could descend Nellie turned her face to say, “Well, if I’m going to be spanked _I must have air_.”

* * * * *

“John,” said the woman with nine chapeaux, “I got another new hat to-day.” “My dear!” expostulated her husband, “that is the last straw.” “I know it,” she said; “just from Paris.”

* * * * *

A prominent Bostonian inquired of a London shopkeeper for Hare’s “Walks in London.”

The shopkeeper, after much search, found it on his shelves, but in two volumes.

“Ah,” said the Bostonian, “you have your Hare parted in the middle over here.”

“What!” exclaimed the Englishman, blankly, passing his hands over his head.

* * * * *

Mr. Blaine used to tell this story: Once, in Dublin, toward the end of the opera, Mephistopheles was conducting Faust through a trap-door which represented the gates of hell. His majesty got through all right--he was used to going below--but Faust was quite stout, got half-way in, and no squeezing would get him any farther. Suddenly an Irishman in the gallery exclaimed devoutly: “Thank God! hell’s full.”

* * * * *

An Ohio man who was recently elected to Congress, went to Washington to look around and see what his duties were. He was hospitably received, and was wined and dined a great many times by his colleagues. Before he went home he said to his friends: “By George, I have had a good time! I have had dinners and breakfasts and suppers galore given to me. In fact, I haven’t had my knife out of my mouth since I struck town.”

* * * * *

When Commissioner Allen had charge of the Patent Office in Washington he was very punctilious about the respect due him and his position, and demanded full tribute from everybody.

One day, as he was sitting at his desk, two men came in without knocking or announcement and without removing their hats.

Allen looked up and impaled the intruders with his glittering eye. “Gentlemen,” he said severely, “who are visitors to this office to see me are always announced, and always remove their hats.”

“Huh,” replied one of the men, “we ain’t visitors, and we don’t give a hoot about seeing you. We came in to fix the steam pipes.”

* * * * *

One time there was a fire in a small town. It was being discussed in the hearing of several of the citizens. One man said he believed it was incendiary. Another replied: “Incendiary, nonsense! It was set on fire!”

* * * * *

Addressing a political gathering the other day a speaker gave his hearers a touch of the pathetic. “I miss,” he said, brushing away a not unmanly tear, “I miss many of the old faces I used to shake hands with.”

* * * * *

The Rev. Moses Jackson was holding services in a small country church, and at the conclusion lent his hat to a member (as was the custom) to pass around for contributions. The brother canvassed the congregation thoroughly, but the hat was returned empty to its owner.

Bre’r Jackson looked into it, turned it upside down, and shook it vigorously, but not a copper was forthcoming. He sniffed audibly. “Brederen,” he said, “I sho’ is glad dat I got my hat back ergin.”

* * * * *

Pattern for all beneath the sun, To Taft award the palm and bun! They told him what they wanted done-- He done it.

* * * * *

Secretary Knox tells a good story of the last fight the late Senator Quay, of Pennsylvania, made in the Senate. Quay was working hard on the Oklahoma Statehood Bill, obstructing legislation, when a scheme was fixed up to get him away from the Senate for a time. Quay was very fond of tarpon fishing and had a winter place in Florida. One afternoon he received this telegram from a friend who thought the Senator might be in better business than pottering around about new States:

“Fishing never so good. Tarpon biting everywhere, sport magnificent; come.”

Quay read the telegram and smiled a little smile. Then he answered:

“Tarpon may be biting, but I am not.--M. S. Quay.”

* * * * *

“Now, children,” said the teacher, “I want each of you to think of some animal or bird and try for the moment to be like the particular one you are thinking about, and make the same kind of noises they are in the habit of making.”

Instantly the schoolroom became a menagerie. Lions roaring, dogs barking, birds singing and twittering, cows lowing, calves bleating, cats meowing, etc., all in an uproar and excitement--all with one exception, off in a remote corner a little fellow was sitting perfectly still, apparently indifferent and unmindful of the rest. The teacher observing him, approached and said: “Waldo, why are you not taking part with the other children?”

Waving her off with a deprecating hand and rebuking eyes he whispered: “Sh-sh-sh, teacher! I’m a rooster, and I’m a-layin’ a aig!”

* * * * *

Bishop Brewster, of Connecticut, while visiting some friends not long ago, tucked his napkin in his collar to avoid the juice of the grapefruit at breakfast. He laughed as he did it, and said it reminded him of a man he once knew who rushed into a restaurant and, seating himself at a table, proceeded to tuck his napkin under his chin. He then called a waiter and said, “Can I get lunch here?” “Yes,” responded the waiter in a dignified manner, “but not a shampoo.”

* * * * *

A man and his wife were once staying at a hotel, when in the night they were aroused from their slumbers by the cry that the hotel was afire.

“Now, my dear,” said the husband, “I will put into practise what I have preached. Put on all your indispensable apparel and keep cool.”

Then he slipped his watch into his vest pocket and walked with his wife out of the hotel. When all danger was past, he said, “Now you see how necessary it is to keep cool.”

The wife for the first time glanced at her husband.

“Yes, William,” she said, “it is a grand thing, but if I were you I would have put on my trousers.”

* * * * *

One evening as the mother of the little niece of Phillips Brooks was tucking her snugly in bed the maid stepped in and said there was a caller waiting in the parlor. The mother told the child to say her prayers and promised that she would be back in a few minutes.

The caller remained only a short time, and when the mother went upstairs again she asked the little girl if she had done as she was bidden.

“Yes, mama, I did and I didn’t,” she said.

“What do you mean by that, dear?”

“Well, mama, I was awfully sleepy, so I just asked God if he wouldn’t excuse me to-night and He said, ‘Oh, don’t mention it, Miss Brooks.’”

* * * * *

“Would you mind walking the other w’y and not passing the ’orse?” said a London cabman with exaggerated politeness to the fat lady who had just paid a minimum fare.

“Why?” she inquired.

“Because if ’e sees wot ’e’s been carryin’ for a shilling ’e’ll ’ave a fit.”

* * * * *

One afternoon during a recent sea voyage of Ex-Ambassador Choate the waves were unpleasantly high, and the ship was rolling a bit, to the discomfiture of some passengers.

Mr. Choate remarked: “’Tis better to have lunched and lost than never to have lunched at all.”

* * * * *

A certain minister was deeply impressed by an address on the evils of smoking given at a recent synod. He rose from his seat, went over to a fellow minister, and said:

“Brother, this morning I received a present of 100 good cigars. I have smoked one of them, but now I’m going home to burn the remainder in the fire.”

The other minister arose, and said it was his intention to accompany his reverend brother.

“I mean to rescue the ninety and nine,” he added.

* * * * *

Expecting a visit from the superintendent of an adjacent Sunday-school one Sunday afternoon, one enterprising teacher, anticipating the line of questions which would be asked of the scholars selected a boy from her class to answer each question. As she had figured it out, the visitor would first ask the pupils the question, “Who made you?” and the first pupil was, of course, to answer “God.” The next question was to be “Of what?” to which the answer was to be “Of the dust of the earth.” Unfortunately between the time that Sunday-school was called to order and the visiting superintendent took the floor, the first pupil was taken sick and obliged to go home. The teacher did not have the opportunity to readjust her forces, and when the first question was asked, the second boy thought it a good opportunity for him to get in his answer and have it off his mind; so to the question, “Who made you?” he answered, “Of the dust of the earth.”

“Oh, no,” said the visitor. “God made you.”

“No, sir; He did not,” said the youngster. “The little boy that God made has gone home sick, and I am the dust of the earth.”

* * * * *

When General Grant was in London on his trip around the world he was invited to Windsor Castle by Queen Victoria. The queen received the party in one of the private audience chambers and chatted with General Grant for a few moments before dinner was served.

Jesse Grant, then a small boy, was with the general, and stood just behind him. As the general was talking, Jesse pulled impatiently at his coat-tails a number of times. Finally, the general turned half-way, and Jesse whispered:

“Pa, can’t I be introduced?”

“Your Majesty,” said the general, “I should like to present my son, Master Jesse.”

The queen shook Jesse’s hand cordially, and that young man, thinking it incumbent on him to say something, glanced approvingly around the room and said: “Fine house you have here, ma’am.”

* * * * *

Daniel J. Sully, the former Cotton King, made a trip through the South one winter, and when he came back he told a story of an old negro who had been working for a cotton planter time out of mind. One morning he came to his employer and said:

“I’se gwineter quit, boss.”

“What’s the matter, Mose?”

“Well, sah, yer manager, Mistah Winter, ain’t kicked me in de las’ free mumfs.”

“I ordered him not to kick you any more. I don’t want anything like that around my place. I don’t want any one to hurt your feelings, Mose.”

“Ef I don’t git any more kicks I’se goin’ to quit. Ebery time Mistah Winter used ter kick and cuff me when he wuz mad he always git ’shamed of hisself and gimme a quarter. I’se done los’ enuff money a’ready wid dis heah foolishness ’bout hurtin’ ma feelin’s.”

* * * * *

A Chicago mistress had given the butcher her daily order over the telephone. Later in the day she decided to change it a little, and countermanded an order she had given for some liver.

Calling up the butcher, she said:

“You remember that I gave you an order this morning for a pound of liver?”

“Yes,” answered the butcher.

“Well, I find that I can get along without it, and you need not send it.”

Before she could put down the receiver she heard the butcher say to some one in the store:

“Cut out Mrs. Blank’s liver. She says she can get along without it.”

* * * * *

Tommy--“Ma, I met the minister on my way to Sunday-school and he asked me if I ever went fishing on Sunday.”

Mother--“And what did you say, darling?”

Tommy--“I said, ‘Get thee behind me, Satan,’ and ran right away from him.”

* * * * *

“My hair is falling out,” admitted the timid man in the chemist’s. “Can you recommend something to keep it in?”

“Certainly,” replied the obliging assistant. “Here is a nice cardboard box.”

* * * * *

An eloquent evangelist who was holding a series of protracted meetings had been interrupted on several occasions by the departure of some one of the audience. He determined to prevent further annoyance by making an example of the next one so doing. Therefore, when a young man arose to depart in the middle of a discourse, he said: “Young man, would you rather go to hell than listen to this sermon?” The individual addressed stopped midway up the aisle and, turning slowly about, answered: “Well, to tell the truth, I don’t know but I would.”

* * * * *

Mr. Seabury and his wife were on the point of moving to another flat. Both of them were anxious that the transfer should be made at the least possible expense, and the nearness of the new home promised materially to further this aim.

“I can carry loads of little things over in my brown bag,” announced Mrs. Seabury. “And you can take books and so on in your big satchel.”

In discussing further the matter of transportation, Mrs. Seabury remarked that, notwithstanding the heat, she could wear her winter coat over, and leave it, and return for her spring coat. The idea charmed her impractical husband.

“Why, I can do the same thing!” he said. “I’ll wear over one suit and then come back for another!”

* * * * *

The ghost of Noah Webster came to a spiritual medium in Alabama, not long ago, and wrote on a slip of paper: “It is tite times.” Noah was right, but we are sorry to see he has gone back on his dictionary.

* * * * *

Sydney Smith wrote to Jeffrey: “Tell Murray that I was much struck with the politeness of Miss Markham the day after he went. In carving a partridge I splashed her with gravy from head to foot; and, though I saw three distinct brown rills of juice trickling down her cheek, she had the complaisance to swear that not a drop had reached her. Such circumstances are the triumphs of civilized life.”

* * * * *

During a certain battle the colonel of an Irish regiment noticed that one of his men was extremely devoted to him, and followed him everywhere. At length he remarked, “Well, my man, you have stuck by me well to-day.”

“Yis, sorr,” replied Pat. “Shure me mither said to me, said she, just stick to the colonel, Patrick, me bhoy, and you’ll be all roight. Them colonels never gets hurted.”

* * * * *

Miss Frances Keller, of the Woman’s Municipal League of New York, illustrated admirably at a recent dinner party a point which she wished to make in reply to a man who had said, “Women are vainer than men.”

“Of course,” Miss Keller answered, “I admit that women are vain and men are not. There are a thousand proofs that this is so. Why, the necktie of the handsomest man in the room is even now up the back of his collar.”

There were six men present and each of them put his hand gently behind his neck.

* * * * *

As father was leaving the house one morning he looked in vain for his umbrella.

“I expect sister’s beau took it last night,” ventured six-year-old Willie.

“Oh, you naughty boy,” said Sister Mabel; “how can you say that?”

“Why, it’s so,” Willie insisted. “When he was saying good night I heard him say, ‘I am going to steal just one!’”

* * * * *

During a conversation with a young lady Mark Twain had occasion to mention the word drydock.

“What is a drydock, Mr. Clemens?” she asked.

“A thirsty physician,” replied the humorist.

* * * * *

Some officer had disobeyed or failed to comprehend an order. “I believe I’ll sit down,” said Secretary Stanton, “and give that man a piece of my mind.”

“Do so,” said Lincoln, “write him now while you have it on your mind. Make it sharp. Cut him all up.” Stanton did not need a second invitation. It was a bone crusher that he read to the President.

“That’s right,” said Lincoln; “that’s a good one.”

“Whom can I send it by?” mused the Secretary.

“Send it!” replied Lincoln. “Why, don’t send it at all. Tear it up. You have freed your mind on the subject, and that is all that is necessary. Tear it up. You never want to send such letters, I never do.”

* * * * *

A certain old gentleman’s lack of “polish” is a sad trial to his eldest daughter. Not long ago the family were gathered in the library, one of the windows of which was open.

“That air--” the father began, but was quickly interrupted.

“Father, dear, don’t say ‘that air’--say ‘that there,’” the daughter admonished.

“Well, this ear--” he again attempted, but was as quickly brought to a halt.

“Nor ‘this ’ere’; ‘this here’ is correct,” he was told.

The old gentleman rose with an angry snort. “Look here, Mary,” he said. “Of course I know you have been to school and all that, but I reckon I know what I want to say, an’ I am going to say it. I believe I feel cold in this ear from that air, and I’m going to shut the window!”

* * * * *

“If you please, sir?”

“Well, Jimmy?”

“Me grandmother, sir--”

“Aha, your grandmother! Go on, Jimmy.”

“Me grandmother an’ me mother--”

“What, and your mother, too! Both very ill, eh?”

“No, sir. Me grandmother an’ me mother are goin’ to the baseball game this afternoon an’ they want me to stay home an’ take care of me little brudder.”

* * * * *

Office-boy--“Please, Mr. Jones, my grandmother is dead, and so I must get off early to go to the funeral match--I mean the baseball ceremonies--that is--”

* * * * *

“That makes a difference,” said Willie, snipping off the left ear of one of the twins.

* * * * *

Bill Nye, when a young man, made an engagement with a lady to take her driving. The appointed day came, but at the livery stable all the horses were taken save one old, shaky, exceedingly gaunt beast. Mr. Nye hired it and drove to his friend’s residence. The lady kept him waiting over an hour before she was ready and then, viewing the shabby outfit, flatly refused to accompany Mr. Nye. “Why,” she exclaimed, “that horse may die of old age any moment!”

“Madam,” Mr. Nye replied, “when I arrived that horse was a prancing young colt.”

* * * * *

In “Some Reminiscences” by William Rossetti is the following anecdote of Tennyson: “The witness was Allingham, to whom the incident happened. He was at breakfast at the house of the poet laureate, who, in a rather feeble moment of facetiousness, asked: ‘Will you have a hegg?’ ‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Allingham, who had scarcely appropriated the proffered viand when Tennyson added, ‘I suppose you understand I was only joking when I said hegg?’”

* * * * *

“Long introductions when a man has a speech to make are a bore,” said former Senator John C. Spooner, one of the great Senate leaders. “I have had all kinds, but the most satisfactory one in my career was that of a German mayor of a small town in my State, Wisconsin.

“I was to make a political address, and the opera-house was crowded. When it came time to begin, the mayor got up.

“‘Mine friends,’ he said, ‘I hafe asked been to introduce Senator Spooner, who is to make a speech, yes. Veil, I haf dit so, und he vill now do so.’”

* * * * *

The “Outlook,” of New York, tells a story of two church workers from a small town who came to New York on a slum hunt, and were more than satisfied. One of them was asked by a friend, on her return, where she and her husband had been. “In the slums of New York for a day and a night,” she answered, enthusiastically. “My dear, it was hell upon earth. We had a _splendid_ time!”

* * * * *

On one occasion a schoolmaster was very much annoyed by the conduct of a certain boy in his class. At last, finding the culprit giggling for no apparent reason, he cried indignantly, “Now, then, W., what are you laughing at? Are you laughing at me?” “No, sir,” replied the astonished boy. “Then I don’t see what else there is to laugh at,” came the reply.

* * * * *

“Good by, Jessie!”

“Good by, Auntie May. I hope I’ll be a great, big girl before you come to make us another visit.”

* * * * *

The star pupil arose at the school entertainment to declaim his piece. “Lend me your ears!” he bawled. “Ha,” sneered the mother of the opposition but defeated pupil, “that’s Sarah Jane Doran’s boy. He wouldn’t be his mother’s son if he didn’t want to borrow something.”

* * * * *

“While walking in one of the business thoroughfares of Pittsburg one year,” says Robert Edeson, “my attention was arrested by a display of shirts in a haberdasher’s window, which for variety of sunset colors far excelled a Turner landscape when the sun is red and low, and there in the window in glaring green type a large sign read, ‘Listen!’”

* * * * *

One of a party of gentlemen left his corner seat in an already crowded railway car to go in search of something to eat, leaving a rug to reserve his place. On returning he found that in spite of the rug and the protests of his fellow passengers, the seat had been usurped by a woman clad in handsome clothes. With flashing eyes she turned upon him: “Do you know, sir, that I am one of the directors’ wives?” “Madam,” he replied, “were you the director’s only wife I should still protest.”

* * * * *

Mr. C., a distinguished lawyer of Boston, was on his way to Denver to transact some important business. During the afternoon he noticed, in the opposite section of the Pullman, a sweet-faced, tired-appearing woman traveling with four small children. Being fond of children and feeling sorry for the mother, he soon made friends with the little ones.

Early the next morning he heard their eager questions and the patient “Yes, dear,” of the mother as she tried to dress them, and looking out he saw a small white foot protruding beyond the opposite curtain. Reaching across the aisle, he took hold of the large toe and began to recite: “This little pig went to market; this little pig stayed at home; this little pig had roast beef; this little pig had none; this little pig cried wee wee all the way home.” The foot was suddenly withdrawn and a cold, quiet voice said: “That is quite sufficient, thank you.”

Mr. C. hastily withdrew to the smoker, where he remained until the train arrived in Denver.

* * * * *

“’Deed I am going to get married,” said little Winnie, the bright daughter of a tenant on a quiet farm in a quiet county in “The Northern Neck” of Virginia.

“I don’t believe anybody will have you,” said Miss Mabel, the landlord’s daughter, teasingly.

“Yes, they will; I’ll make ’em,” said Winnie. “I’m going to get married and have _five_ children--two of ’em colored,” thoughtfully, “to do my work.”

* * * * *

A reverend gentleman was addressing a Sunday-school class not long ago, and was trying to enforce the doctrine that when people’s hearts were sinful they needed regulating. Taking out his watch, and holding it up, he said:

“Now, here is my watch; suppose it doesn’t keep good time--now goes too fast, and now too slow--what shall I do with it?”

“Sell it,” promptly replied a boy.

* * * * *

The high-born dame was breaking in a new footman--stupid but honest.

In her brougham, about to make a round of visits, she found she had forgotten her bits of pasteboard. So she sent the lout back with orders to bring some of her cards that were on the mantelpiece in her boudoir, and put them in his pocket.

Here and there she dropped one and sometimes a couple, until at last she told Jeames to leave three.

“Can’t do it, mum.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ve only got two left--the ace of spades and the seven of clubs!”

* * * * *

The small son of a certain university professor, whose parents are deservedly popular for their tact and courteous speech, appeared at the home of a fellow professor and hesitatingly asked Mrs. X. if he might look at the parlor rug. Permission was, of course, granted, and Mrs. X. felt some surprise to see the little fellow stoop over the rug and stare silently for some half-minute. He straightened himself up and, meeting her wondering expression, said triumphantly:

“It doesn’t make _me_ sick!”

* * * * *

Uncle Harry was a bachelor and not fond of babies. Even winsome four-year-old Helen failed to win his heart. Every one made too much fuss over the youngster, Uncle Harry declared.

One day Helen’s mother was called downstairs and with fear and trembling asked Uncle Harry, who was stretched out on a sofa, if he would keep his eye on Helen. Uncle Harry grunted “Yes,” but never stirred from his position--in truth his eyes were tight shut.

By-and-by wee Helen tiptoed over to the sofa and leaning over Uncle Harry softly inquired:

“Feepy?”

“No,” growled Uncle Harry.

“Tired?” ventured Helen.

“No,” said her uncle.

“Sick?” further inquired Helen, with real sympathy in her voice.

“No,” still insisted Uncle Harry.

“Dus’ feel bum, hey?”

And that won the uncle!

* * * * *

A member of the faculty of the University of Wisconsin tells of some amusing replies made by a pupil undergoing an examination in English. The candidate had been instructed to write out examples of the indicative, the subjunctive, the potential, and the exclamatory moods. His effort resulted as follows:

“I am endeavoring to pass an English examination. If I answer twenty questions I shall pass. If I answer twelve questions I may pass. God help me!”

* * * * *

A clergyman was very anxious to introduce some hymn-books into the church, and arranged with his clerk that the latter was to give out the notice immediately after the sermon. The clerk, however, had a notice of his own to give out with reference to the baptism of infants. Accordingly, at the close of the sermon he arose and announced that “All those who have children whom they wish to have baptized please send in their names at once to the clerk.” The clergyman, who was stone deaf, assumed that the clerk was giving out the hymn-book notice, and immediately rose and said: “And I should say, for the benefit of those who haven’t any, that they may obtain some from the ushers any day from three to four o’clock; the ordinary little ones at twenty-five cents each, and special ones at fifty cents.”

* * * * *

Clyde Fitch, the brilliant playwright, said of a jeweled watch that had been sent him by a Scotch admirer in Peebles:

“A jeweled watch from Peebles. How strangely unexpected! It reminds me of an open-air performance of ‘As You Like It’ that I once rehearsed.

“I rehearsed this amateur performance in a garden that was overlooked by a building operation. As my amateurs postured and chanted the bard’s beautiful lines, bricklayers above us laid bricks, carpenters planed boards, and masons chipped stones.

“And one afternoon, during a silent pause in our rehearsal, we heard a voice from the building operation say gravely:

“‘I prithee, malapert, pass me yonder brick.’”

* * * * *

A clergyman who was very popular with his congregation saw a lady about to call whom he was anxious not to meet. So he said to his wife:

“I’ll run upstairs, my dear, and escape till she goes away.”

After about an hour he quietly tiptoed to the stair landing and listened. All was quiet below. Reassured, he began to descend, and called out over the balustrade:

“Well, my dear, you got rid of that old bore at last?”

The next instant a voice from below rooted him to the spot. It was the voice of the caller! Then came a response which sounded inexpressibly sweet to him. It was the voice of his wife:

“Yes, dear, she went away over an hour ago; but here is our good friend, Mrs. Blank, whom I am sure you want to meet.”

* * * * *

A lady and her little daughter were walking through a fashionable street when they came to a portion of the street strewn with straw, so as to deaden the noise of vehicles passing a certain house.

“What’s that for, ma?” said the child, to which the mother replied, “The lady who lives in that house, my dear, has had a little baby girl sent her.” The child thought a moment, looked at the quantity of straw, and said: “Awfully well packed, wasn’t she, ma?”

* * * * *

A politician, upon his arrival at one of the small towns in North Dakota, where he was to make a speech the following day, found that the two so-called hotels were crowded to the doors.

Not having telegraphed for accommodations, the politician discovered that he would have to make shift as best he could.

He was compelled for that night to sleep on a wire cot which had only some blankets and a sheet on it. As the statesman is a fat man, he found his improvised bed anything but comfortable.

“Well,” asked a friend, when the politician appeared in the dining-room in the morning, “how did you sleep?”

“Oh, fairly well,” replied the statesman, nonchalantly, “but I looked like a waffle when I got up.”

* * * * *

William Waldorf Astor, before he set out for his English home, said, apropos of the Russo-Japanese War: “Nations engaged in war not only harm each other, but they lay themselves open to harm at the hands of all sorts of other nations. In fact, two na