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                              _Sheared Cream
                                 o’ Wit_

                  _A Classified Compilation of the Best
                              WIT and HUMOR_

                                   _By
                             CARL J. MITTLER
                             Louisville, Ky._

                              COPYRIGHT 1923
                                    BY
                             CARL J. MITTLER




_This little anthology is lovingly dedicated to Miss Jennie C. Benedict
and Miss Salome E. Kerr, with respect and admiration._




_By the Way_


_My Dear Mr. Mittler_:

_The old adage “what is one man’s laughter may be another man’s dirge” is
not inapplicable to the selections of wit and humor in your book._

    _Please let me “dib” this one suggestion,_
    _Gulping rich food brings on indigestion,_
    _Homeopath these rescued treasures,_
    _Little at a time conserves the pleasures._

_Good luck to “Sheared Cream o’ Wit”._

                                                       AUGUSTUS E. WILLSON




_Foreword_


The rare gift of originality is denied most of us, but a measure of
compensation rests in the gift of appreciation which has been so freely
bestowed, in some degree at least, upon nearly every one of the human
race. As one who enjoys this blessing, the compiler of this little volume
has counted it a labor of love, and hence a delight, to gather together
during a period of forty years choice bits of humor and quaint verse, for
his own amusement and the delectation of an inner circle of friends.

The growth of this collection, together with the care used in selection,
seems now to warrant its stepping into a wider field. The same
recognition of the finer things of wit and pathos which led to these
gleanings will be met in other hearts and the smile of kindred spirits
will broaden as this little book makes its new friends. Under the
evening lamp, the family circle may have many a hearty laugh together;
in the office or train, the tired business man may ease the strain of
concentration; in the hospitals, weary convalescents may cheer the hours
of waiting; the after-dinner speaker may find here some worth-while “I am
reminded” stories; far and wide are scattered the multitudes of those who
will welcome the coming of one whose mission it is to “scatter sunshine”
along life’s weary way.

The gems contained in these pages have been gathered from the _New
York Graphic_, _Texas Siftings_, _Ram’s Horn_, _Life_, _Paris Figaro_,
_Punch_, _London Tit Bits_, _Literary Digest_, _Ladies Home Journal_,
_Fliegende Blätter_, and from daily papers, living and dead. To all of
these, due acknowledgment is made and confidence is expressed that one
and all will endorse the propaganda for the spread of the gospel of
laughter.

All of the foregoing is set down to emphasize the simple truth that I
shall regard my labor as well rewarded, if a bit of new joy, a ray of new
brightness, may enter the life of some one who needs it today.

                                                        _Carl J. Mittler._




_Random Smiles_


Motto for young lovers: Sofa and no father.

       *       *       *       *       *

I would like some powder, please, said the young miss to the drugstore
clerk.

Yes, miss. Face, gun or bug?

       *       *       *       *       *

Diner (Scanning menu)—Have you frog legs?

Waitress—Oh, no sir! I walk this way on account of rheumatism.

       *       *       *       *       *

The new long skirts may make the women appear taller, but there is no
denying that the short skirts make the men look longer.

       *       *       *       *       *

Village Constable (to villager who has been knocked down by passing
motorist): You didn’t see the number, but could you swear to the man?

Villager: I did, but I don’t think ’e ’eard me.

       *       *       *       *       *

Messenger boy, with a telegram for Mr. Jenkins, rings the bell at
half-past one in the morning: Does Mr. Jenkins live here—

Feminine voice from upstairs, wearily: Yes; bring him in.

       *       *       *       *       *

Uncle Sam’s worries (Stevenson Americanized):

    There’s so much blues in the East of U. S.
    And so much booze in the West of U. S.
    That it ill behooves any of U. S.
    To say what it thinks of the rest of U. S.

       *       *       *       *       *

He—I feel like thirty cents.

She—How things have gone up since the war.

       *       *       *       *       *

Paw, said Tommy Tucker, am I descended from the monkey? Not on my side of
the house, replied Mr. Tucker, with much positiveness.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Reformer would change the name of Hollywood to Follywood.

The Hellywood.

       *       *       *       *       *

Farmer—See here, young feller, what are you doing up that tree?

Boy—One of your apples fell down and I’m trying to put it back.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Yorkshireman recently entered an auction mart. Looking around and
catching the auctioneer’s eye during a lull in the bidding, he shouted
loudly enough to be heard by all: May I bid, sir?

Certainly, said the man of the hammer, thinking him a customer.

All eyes being turned on the questioner, he, making for the door, said:

Well, I’ll bid you good-night, then.

The laughter which followed stopped business for some time.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the sweet silence of the twilight they honey-spooned upon the beach.

Dearest, she murmured, trembling, now that we are married, I—I have a
secret to tell you!

What is it sweetheart? he asked softly.

Can you ever forgive me for deceiving you? she sobbed. My—my left eye is
made of glass!

Never mind, lovebird, he whispered, gently; so are the diamonds in your
engagement ring!

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Smith presented her husband with triplets, and two weeks later she
had twins.

How come?

One of the triplets died.

       *       *       *       *       *

An inebriated husband, who has returned after a night out, bringing with
him nothing but a charlotte russe, finds his wife very angry. I sent
you for fish last night and here you have come home with nothing but a
charlotte russe.

Husband (startled)—Did she come all the way home with me?

       *       *       *       *       *

An advertisement appeared in a newspaper lately praising a new make of
infant’s feeding bottle. Here is the advice it gave relative to its use:

When the infant is done drinking, it must be unscrewed and put in cold
place under a tap. If the baby does not thrive on raw milk, it should be
boiled.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jenkins’ mother-in-law was buried one day last week. Jenkins was visibly
affected as he followed the hearse.

Bear up, sir, said the undertaker. Don’t cry.

I can’t help it, sighed poor Jenkins. Poor woman! Do you know this is the
very first time we have been out together without quarreling?

       *       *       *       *       *

The stingiest man was scoring the hired man for his extravagance in
wanting to carry a lantern in going to call on his best girl.

The idea! he scoffed. When I was courtin’ I never carried no lantern; I
went in the dark.

The hired man proceeded to fill the lantern.

Yes, he said sadly, and look what you got.

       *       *       *       *       *

Collector—When can you pay this bill?

Business Manager—See the puzzle editor.

       *       *       *       *       *

Are you Hungary, Frances?

Yes, Siam.

Well, Russia long and I’ll Fiji.

       *       *       *       *       *

She—John, do you think that this hat is becoming to me?

He—I expect so, for the bill will be coming to me.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Wade Parker—Do you take a Sunday paper?

Mrs. Glen Villers—We do if we get up before our next-door neighbors.

       *       *       *       *       *

A young lady was caressing a pretty spaniel, and murmuring, I do love a
nice dog! Ah! sighed a dandy, standing near; I would I were a dog. Never
mind, retorted the young lady, sharply, you’ll grow!

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Knicker—Weren’t you frightened when the bull bellowed at you on
account of your new dress?

Mrs. Bocker—No, it was exactly the same way Henry behaved when he got the
bill.

       *       *       *       *       *

English specimen (with monocle)—Aw—do you serve lobstahs here?

Boston waiter—We make no unnecessary inquiries concerning our customers,
sir.

       *       *       *       *       *

This is from a retail grocer, found (not the grocer) in a basket of
Florida beans—

Dearest Sweet Pea—Do you carrot all for me? My heart beets for you. With
your radish hair and turnip nose, you are the apple of my eye. Give me
a date, if we cantaloupe. Lettuce marry anyway. I know we would make a
happy pear.

       *       *       *       *       *

Yes, dear, I was married last month. I’d like you to call on me and see
the pretty little flat I have.

I’ve seen him, my dear.

       *       *       *       *       *

What is the difference between a rooster, a soldier, and a vamp?

The rooster says, Cock a doodle do.

The soldier says, Yankee doodle do.

And the vamp says, Any dude’ll do.

       *       *       *       *       *

The prodigal son wrote the old man as follows—

I got religion at camp meeting the other day. Send me ten dollars.

But the old man replied—

Religion is free. You got the wrong kind.

       *       *       *       *       *

The girl was very pretty. Leaning her dimpled elbows on the table she
said—And what is your lecture to be about, professor?

I shall lecture on Keats, he replied.

Oh, professor, she gushed, what are keats?

       *       *       *       *       *

A pretty young lady went into a Fourth Avenue music shop the other day.
She tripped up to the counter, where a new clerk was busy, and in her
sweetest tones asked—

Have you “Kissed Me in the Moonlight”?

No! It must have been the man at the other counter. I’ve only been here a
week.

       *       *       *       *       *

A tall, strong man walked into a shop.

I want to get a set of lady’s furs, he said.

What kind? asked the male salesman.

That brown set in the window will do if it’s not too dear, replied the
tall, strong man.

Oh, you mean skunk? said the salesman.

The salesman is still in the hospital.

       *       *       *       *       *

Miss Fleyme—Oh, Mr. Nocoyne, how lovely of you to bring me these
beautiful roses! How sweet they are—and how fresh! I do believe there is
a little dew on them yet!

Mr. Nocoyne—W-well, yes—there is; but I’ll pay it to-morrow.

       *       *       *       *       *

Madam, I must request you to remove your hat, remarked the polite theater
usher.

The lady smiled grimly.

Does my hat annoy the little man behind me?

Yes, madam.

Then you’ll find it much easier to remove him.

       *       *       *       *       *

How’s this? sneered the jealous goose. How happens it you aren’t the
leading attraction at some Thanksgiving dinner?

The beautiful young turkey blushed and hung her head. Then she said
softly—

Nobody axed me.

       *       *       *       *       *

A drummer approached a girl in charge of a soda fountain and before
giving his order asked—How is the milkmaid to-night?

Milk isn’t made; it comes from cows, you fool, was the retort. He was
glad to close his mouth with some of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

No man is as well known as he thinks he is, says Caruso. I was motoring
on Long Island recently. My car broke down and I entered a farmhouse to
get warm. The farmer and I chatted, and when he asked my name I told him
modestly that it was Caruso. At that he threw up his hands.

Caruso! he exclaimed. Robinson Caruso, the great traveler! Little did I
expect ever to see a man like yer in this here humble kitchen, sir!

       *       *       *       *       *

What do you mean by an “eight-day clock?”

One that will run eight days without winding.

Huh, then how long would it run if you wound it?

       *       *       *       *       *

I sometimes wonder, said an Englishman visiting New York, to a pretty
girl sitting next to him at dinner, what becomes of all your peaches here
in America.

Oh, was the reply, we eat what we can, and we can what we can’t.

       *       *       *       *       *

Look here! angrily exclaimed the householder, pointing to a cigar-stump
that lay on the floor of the back porch. That was in the lump of ice you
left here yesterday morning! Well, belligerently replied the iceman, what
did you expect to get for fifteen cents—a box of perfectos?

       *       *       *       *       *

I, said the temperance man, strongly object to the custom of christening
ships with champagne.

I don’t, replied the other man. I think there’s a temperance lesson in it.

How can that be?

Well, immediately after the first bottle of wine the ship takes to water
and sticks to it ever after.

       *       *       *       *       *

A man “butted in” at a waiting line before the railroad ticket window at
New York, and the men who were in a hurry glowered.

I want a ticket for Boston, said the man and put 50 cents under the
wicket.

You can’t go to Boston for 50 cents, returned the ticket seller.

Well, then, asked the man, where can I go for 50 cents?

And each of the fourteen men in that waiting room told him where he could
go.

       *       *       *       *       *

But, observed the fool man who had permitted his wife to take him along
on her search for a spring bonnet, the hat doesn’t seem to fit. Now, I
think a woman’s hat should conform to her head the same as a man’s.

Oh, tittered the merry milliner, there are no fits connected with spring
hats. They generally develop in the men when the bill comes home.

       *       *       *       *       *

A few days ago, says the “_Newark Star_,” Alderman Elmer A. Day was
glancing over the register at one of the local hotels to see if a friend
of his was registered there. Near him stood a man who was holding onto
the desk for dear life in a semi-successful attempt to maintain his
balance.

I s’pose you think I’m drunk? said the stranger, looking belligerently at
Day.

No; not in the least, replied the Alderman, anxious to avoid the
possibility of a row.

Well, you’d know I was if I let go this desk, answered the man.

       *       *       *       *       *

I visited Miss Marie Corelli when I was in Stratford, said a young woman.
She lives in a quaint house of dull red brick. She is very pretty and
very rich, and she likes Americans.

Miss Corelli was full of fun. She talked about woman’s over-regard for
appearances. She said that she herself was too prone to think that, if
appearances were all right, everything was right.

Once, in her childhood, Miss Corelli said she was yachting on the English
coast.

As the yacht sped along there was a sudden swerve, and the helmsman said—

By Jove, I believe she’s broken her rudder.

Oh, well, said the young girl, what does it matter? It’s under water, and
I’m sure nobody will notice it.

       *       *       *       *       *

A sentimental novelist once wrote: Edwin then kissed Angelina under the
silent stars.

The compositor set it up thus:

Edwin then kicked Angelina under the cellar stairs.

       *       *       *       *       *

Old Smith was busy in his back yard with saw and hatchet while his wife
nursed a bad cold in the house, when a neighbor came to the fence.

Good mornin’, Mr. Smith, he said. How is Mrs. Smith this mornin’?

Just about the same, old Smith replied. She didn’t sleep very well last
night.

That’s too bad, the neighbor sympathized, and then, as a raucous sound
came from the house, he added solicitously:

I s’pose that’s her coughin’, ain’t it?

No, old Smith answered absent-mindedly, his eyes still on his work, it
ain’t her coffin, it’s a new hen house.

       *       *       *       *       *

The world has so long been at war with the hapless printer that it will
be interesting to know that at least one compositor has been capable of
following instructions. Once upon a time a printer brought to Booth for
inspection proof of a new poster, which after the manner of its kind,
announced the actor as the eminent tragedian, Edwin Booth.

Mr. Booth did not fully approve of it.

I wish you’d leave out that eminent tragedian business. I’d much rather
have it simple Edwin Booth, he said.

Very good, sir.

The next week the actor saw the first of his new bills in position. His
request had been carried out to the letter. The poster announced the
coming engagement of Simple Edwin Booth.

       *       *       *       *       *

I left my husband’s death notice here this morning, said the widow.

Yes, said the bright clerk in the publication room of the “Daily Squib.”

Now, continued the widow, I want you to add to the notice, “Gone to
Rest,” in an appropriate place.

Yes, madam, replied the bright clerk, and the next morning she read: Gone
to rest in an appropriate place.

       *       *       *       *       *

Miss Frances Kellar, of the Woman’s Municipal League of New York,
illustrated admirably at a dinner party a point which she wished to make.

Women, a man has said, are vainer than men.

Of course, Miss Kellar 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.

       *       *       *       *       *

We recently heard of a man who attended a grand ball with his wife and
had a grand time. While dancing a quadrille he noticed that his pants
were ripping, and hurriedly retired to a room with his wife, who procured
a needle and thread and began sewing up the rip. While the man was
sitting there without any pants on he heard the rustling of skirts and it
occurred to him that he had taken refuge in the ladies’ dressing-room. He
appealed to his wife, and she shoved him to a door which opened, as she
thought, into a closet. Opening the door quickly, she shoved him through
and locked the door. Mary! he screamed, I’m in the ballroom! The door,
instead of opening into the closet, opened into the ballroom.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Morning Star announced the death of William B. Jones when he was not
dead, writes Simeon Strunsky in the New York Evening Post.

The next day it printed the following notice:

Yesterday we were the first newspaper to publish the news of the death of
William B. Jones. Today we are the first to deny the report. The Morning
Star is always in the lead.

       *       *       *       *       *

A matron of the most determined character was encountered by a young
woman reporter on a country paper, who was sent out to interview
leading citizens as to their politics. May I see Mr. ⸺? she asked of a
stern-looking woman who opened the door at one house. No, you can’t,
answered the matron decisively. But I want to know what party he belongs
to, pleaded the girl. The woman drew up her tall figure. Well, take a
good look at me, she said, I’m the party he belongs to!

       *       *       *       *       *

Here is a singular incident showing how easy it is to mistranslate an
overheard remark.

Said Mrs. A, one of the overhearers: They must have been to the zoo,
because I heard her mention a trained deer.

Said Mrs. B: No, no. They were talking about going away and she said to
him, find out about the train, dear.

Said Mrs. C: I think you are both wrong. It seemed to me they were
discussing music, for she said, A trained ear, very distinctly.

A few minutes later the lady herself appeared and they told her of their
disagreement.

Well, she laughed, that’s certainly funny. You are poor guessers, all of
you. The fact is, I’d been out to the country overnight and I was asking
my husband if it rained here last evening.

       *       *       *       *       *

She was a pretty little widow, whose husband, after nine years of married
life, had left her with four strapping boys and a generous provision of
the world’s goods. Her financial affairs were in the hands of a trust
company, the cashier of which, having an ambition to be thought something
of a wit, often joked her when she called at the office. One day, in
opening her hand bag for a check, she thoughtlessly dropped a pin of the
variety known as safety.

The cashier, noticing this, jocosely asked:

Is that your fraternity pin?

To which the little widow replied:

No, it’s my maternity pin.

       *       *       *       *       *

Can you tell me, said the cool-looking young lady in white,
confidentially approaching the young man at the soda fountain, the most
agreeable way to take castor oil?

Oh, yes, indeed, replied the man, his eyes brightening. And while you are
waiting, he added, won’t you have a glass of soda?

Oh, thank you, said the young lady, as he set it down before her. The day
being hot, in a few moments she had drained the glass.

Is the prescription ready? she asked, sweetly, wiping her mouth.

The young man’s eyes gleamed with benevolence. The prescription, he said,
tapping the glass, was in here.

Do you mean to say I’ve drunk it? she screamed. But it wasn’t for me; it
was for my little brother! And she swept from the drug store.

It’s too bad, sighed the young man, and she was one of our best customers!

But she isn’t any more. Daily the soda fountain young man watches her
enter the drug store across the way, where they look before they leap.

       *       *       *       *       *

An employer, noted for his energy and lack of tolerance for loafing in
any form, visited his stock room and found a boy leaning idly against
a packing case, whistling cheerily, and with nothing at all on his
mind. The chief stopped and stared. Such a thing was unheard of in his
establishment.

How much are you getting a week? he demanded, with characteristic
abruptness.

Twelve dollars.

Here’s your twelve. Now get out. You’re through.

As the boy philosophically pocketed the money and departed, the boss
turned to the chief clerk and demanded:

Since when has that fellow been with us?

Never that I know of, was the response. He just brought over a proof for
us from the printer.

       *       *       *       *       *

Henry was at college. He had been spending somewhat too freely, and he
was short. It was near the holidays and he hated to write home for money.
As a last resort he pawned his dress suit to tide him over.

When the time came to leave for home the suit was still unredeemed. He
knew he would need it at home. He hurriedly redeemed it at the last
moment, packed it in the grip and was off.

His mother was helping him unpack. She came to the coat.

Henry, she asked, what is this ticket on your coat for?

Why, mother, he replied, I went to a dance the other evening and had my
coat checked.

She continued putting away his garments. Finally she lifted out the
trousers. They, too, were ticketed.

Henry! she exclaimed, what kind of a dance was that?

       *       *       *       *       *

Philip—My man, I think you are one of the most self-controlled men I have
ever seen.

Morris—Howcum?

Philip—You seem to have an awful lot of trouble with your flivver. You
get angry with it, and yet you never swear at it.

Morris—Well, you see it’s this way. I don’t think the flivver is worth a
damn.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was in one of the “ten, twent, thirt” vaudeville houses where moving
pictures are shown. An Oriental act has been concluded and incense filled
the house.

Usher, complained a pompous man in an aisle seat, I smell punk.

That’s all right, whispered the usher, confidently, just sit where you
are, and I won’t put anyone near you.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some time ago there lived a gentleman of indolent habits who spent his
time visiting among his friends. After wearing out his welcome in his own
neighborhood he thought he would visit an old Quaker friend some twenty
miles distant.

On his arrival he was cordially received by the Quaker, who, thinking the
visitor had taken much pains to come so far to see him, treated him with
a great deal of attention and politeness for several days.

As the visitor showed no signs of leaving, the Quaker became uneasy, but
bore it with patience until the eighth day, when he said to him—

My friend, I am afraid thee will never come again.

Oh yes, I shall, said the visitor. I have enjoyed my visit very much, and
shall certainly come again.

But, said the Quaker, if thee will never leave, how can thee come again?

       *       *       *       *       *

Prof. Starr, the famous ethnologist, was in his humorous and whimsical
way accusing women of barbarism.

And she is not only barbarous—she is illogical and inconsistent, he
exclaimed.

I was walking in the country one day with a young woman. In a grove we
came upon a boy about to shin up a tree. There was a nest in the tree,
and from a certain angle it was possible to see in it three eggs.

You wicked little boy, said my companion, are you going up there to rob
that nest?

I am, replied the boy, coolly.

How can you, she exclaimed. Think how the mother will grieve over the
loss of her eggs.

Oh, she won’t care, said the boy. She’s up there on your hat.

       *       *       *       *       *

That Confederate money was never taken seriously is well illustrated in
the following story told by the late General John B. Gordon, and which,
as far as can be ascertained, has never appeared in print.

One day during a temporary cessation of hostilities between the opposing
forces a tall, strapping Yankee rode into the Confederate camp on a sorry
looking old horse to effect a trade for some tobacco.

Hullo, Yank! hailed one of a number of Confederate soldiers lolling about
on the grass in front of a tent, that’s a right smart horse you all got
there.

Think so? returned the Yank.

Yes; what’ll you take for him?

Oh, I don’t know.

Well, I’ll give you $7,000 for him, bantered the Confederate.

You go to blazes! indignantly returned the Yank; I’ve just paid $10,000
of your money to have him curried.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two brothers were discussing which smelled the strongest, a goat or a
tramp. They agreed to leave it to the judge.

All right, said the judge, trot in your animals.

They brought in the goat and the judge fainted. They then brought in the
tramp and the goat fainted.

       *       *       *       *       *

A party of traveling men in a Chicago hotel were one day boasting of the
business done by their respective firms, when one of the drummers said:

No house in the country, I am proud to say, has more men and women
pushing its line of goods than mine.

What do you sell? he was asked.

Baby carriages! shouted the drummer, as he fled from the room.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mayor’s secretary, William P. Ryan, was commenting on the way in which
many illiterate persons seem to get along in the world, says the Chicago
Journal.

The late William J. Carrol used to tell a good story along this line,
said Mr. Ryan. He had business connected with the collection of rents
which used to take him to a certain place on the eastern shore at
intervals. On one occasion he went into a store there, the proprietor of
which could neither read nor write. While he was there a man came in who
was evidently a regular customer.

I owe you money, don’t I? he said to the storekeeper.

The latter went to the door and turned it around so that the back was
visible.

That’s so, he replied—you owe me for a cheese.

A cheese? replied the customer. No, I don’t.

The storekeeper looked at the door again.

That’s so, he said, it’s a grindstone; I didn’t see the dot in the
middle.

       *       *       *       *       *

Can I get off tomorrow?

You’ve been off a good deal lately.

I want to get my eyes examined.

Well, get a good job done. You’ll be looking for work after the first.

       *       *       *       *       *

Henry, where on earth have you been? asked Mrs. Jollykid when Henry got
home at two bells.

I cannot tell a lie; I’ve been at the office, said Henry.

That’s where we differ. I can tell a lie—when I hear it.

       *       *       *       *       *

He had been out late. When he reached his residence the church clock was
chiming 5. Heavy, weary, disgusted, he opened the front door with some
difficulty, and softly toiled up the stairs, entering his bedchamber with
elaborate caution.

Thank goodness, she was asleep!

He dropped into a chair, and without taking off his coat or hat, began to
remove his shoes. One he placed with great care upon the floor, but alas!
as he took off the other it slipped out of his hand and fell with a loud
noise.

Wifey awoke on the instant.

She looked at him and then at the summer sunlight that streamed through
the blinds.

Why, George, what are you getting up so early for?

Talk about reprieves!

Why, my dear, replied George, with the clearest enunciation of which he
was capable. I found I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get up and go out
and take a walk.

And out the poor wretch went, dragging himself round wearily for an hour
upon the verge of tears and torpor.

       *       *       *       *       *

Do you think it healthy to keep your hogs in the house? a social
investigator asked a native of Arkansas.

Waal, I donno, he drawled. But I been akeepin’ my hawgs there for
fourteen years and I ain’t never lost one on ’em yet.

       *       *       *       *       *

Three artists were trying to see who had painted the most realistic
picture.

Why, I painted a picture of Abraham Lincoln which was so lifelike that I
had to shave it every day, said the first artist.

Oh, that’s nothing, said the second. I once painted a picture of a piece
of marble which was so like one that when I threw it in some water it
splashed like real marble and sank.

Why, that’s nothing, said the third, I painted a picture of a hen, and,
thinking it no good, threw it in the waste-basket, and it laid there.

       *       *       *       *       *

Not a few people lose their wits in the midst of a fire. They will toss a
costly vase out of the window, but carry the tongs carefully downstairs
and out to a place of safety. They remind us of one of the anecdotes of
Mark Twain when he was a Mississippi River pilot, as told in St. Nicholas.

Boys, said the great humorist to a group of his friends—I had great
presence of mind once. It was at a fire. An old man leaned out of a
four-story building calling for help. Everybody in the crowd below looked
up, but nobody did anything. The ladders weren’t long enough. Nobody had
any presence of mind—nobody but me. I came to the rescue. I yelled for a
rope. When it came I threw the old man the end of it. He caught it, and I
told him to tie it around his waist. He did so, and I pulled him down!

       *       *       *       *       *

Arkansaw Native—How much for takin’ the pictures of my children?

Photographer—Three dollars a dozen.

Native—Wa’al, I reckon I’ll have to wait a spell; I hain’t got but ’leven
children at present!

       *       *       *       *       *

Hello, Olaf where you ban so long?

I ban got married.

That’s good.

Not so good, my wife’s got two children.

That’s bad.

Not so bad, she got $10,000.

That’s good.

Not so good, she wouldn’t give me the money.

That’s bad.

Not so bad, she built a house.

That’s good.

Not so good, the house burn down.

That’s bad.

Not so bad, my wife burn up in house.

       *       *       *       *       *

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 the 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.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pompous Mistress—Who is that man at the door, Hannah?

New Girl—He says he’s the rent collector, ma’am.

Pompous Mistress—But, Hannah, we don’t pay rent.

New Girl—That’s what he says, ma’am.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. M.’s patience was much tried by a servant who had a habit of
standing around with her mouth open. One day as the maid waited upon
table, her mouth was open as usual, and her mistress giving her a severe
look, said:

Mary, your mouth is open.

Yessum, replied Mary, I opened it.

       *       *       *       *       *

An English sailor was watching a Chinaman who was placing a dish of rice
by a grave.

When do you expect your friend to come out and eat that? the sailor asked.

Same time as your frien’ come out to smelle flowers you fellow put,
retorted Li.

       *       *       *       *       *

She was a four-flusher, particularly as to her abilities in various
sports.

Do you golf? he asked.

Oh, I love golf, she answered. I play at least thirty-six holes twice a
week.

And how about tennis?

I won the woman’s state championship in our State.

And do you swim?

The best I ever did was a half mile straight away, she replied.

Somewhat fatigued, he changed to literature.

And how do you like Kipling? he asked.

I kippled an hour only yesterday, was her unblushing reply.

       *       *       *       *       *

Smith—Well, but if you can’t bear her, whatever made you propose?

Jones—Well, we had danced three times, and I couldn’t think of anything
else to say.

       *       *       *       *       *

Francis Wilson tells an anecdote of Mark Twain’s aversion to barbers. It
appears that a barber having kept Mr. Clemens in the chair for more than
the usual period at length finished shaving him and said, Shall I go over
it again?

No, drawled Mark, I heard every damned word of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

You might as well admit your guilt, said the detective. The man whose
house you broke into positively identifies you as the burglar.

That’s funny, said the burglar.

What’s funny? asked the detective.

How could he identify me when he had his head under the bedclothes all
the time I was in his room?

       *       *       *       *       *

Mark Twain once addressed an audience in the interest of his fellow
townsman, General Joseph Hawley, who was a candidate for re-election
to the United States Senate, and said, in the course of a droll
address—General Hawley deserves your support, although he has about as
much influence in purifying the Senate as a bunch of flowers would have
in sweetening a glue factory. But he’s all right; he never would turn
any poor beggar away from his door empty handed. He always gives them
something—almost without exception a letter of introduction to me, urging
me to help them.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wallingford is entertaining a number of men at the hotel who have
invested several thousands of dollars in his wildcat scheme. A newspaper
man comes in and asks him:

Is this a surprise party, Mr. Wallingford?

No, but it will be later on.

       *       *       *       *       *

On a suburban trolley car the other day a man got on who was badly under
the influence of liquor. He got a seat and made himself quite offensive
to an old lady who sat near him. When the conductor came around for his
fare this old lady jumped up and said:

Conductor, do you allow drunken people on this car?

No, madam, replied the conductor, but sit down and nobody will notice you.

       *       *       *       *       *

A good story is told of the troubles of an engaged couple. Not long ago
there was a quarrel between the two which resulted in their not speaking
to each other; but it became necessary, by reason of certain business
questions, for the young man to call on her father at the house.

To the embarrassment of the lover the door was answered by the fair girl
herself. Although the young man afterward confessed, his heart beat
rapidly at the sight of his beloved, he managed to effect an air of
indifference and coldness, and to ask:

Does Mr. Cash live here?

He does, was the frigid reply.

Is he at home?

He is not.

Then turning to go, the young man added:

Thank you, I shall call again. But the girl was equal to the occasion.

Pardon me, said she, in the same cool tone, but whom shall I say called?

       *       *       *       *       *

You have a model husband, said the lady who was congratulating the bride.

The next day the bride bethought her to look up the word “model” in the
dictionary, and this is what she found: MODEL—A small imitation of the
real thing.

       *       *       *       *       *

A man whose business troubled him greatly was advised to advertise for
an Official Worrier. He did so, and among the applicants was a strong,
serious, impressive man.

Are you prepared, asked the business man, to take over the burdens of the
business?

I am, was the reply.

And what is your charge?

$10,000 a year.

Good; the job is yours. I am off for a week’s golfing. On his return he
was confronted with this statement:

I have been through your books. I find that your assets are far below
your liabilities; you have very little stock on hand; no orders; you owe
a tremendous amount of money and you are heavily overdrawn at the bank.
What I want to know is, where am I going to get my salary from?

You ask me? said the business man. I should worry about your salary. That
is your job. What do you think you are hired for?

       *       *       *       *       *

A curious inquirer wanted to know “What are the sister States?” and the
brilliant country editor answered—

We are not quite sure, but we should judge that they are Miss Ouri, Ida
Ho, Mary Land, Callie Fornia, Allie Bama, Louisa Anna, Delia Ware, Minnie
Sota and Mrs. Sippi.

       *       *       *       *       *

A German cobbler and his wife had two dogs—a St. Bernard, six months old,
and a fox terrier, three years old. A friend, calling one day, said to
the cobbler. Those are two fine dogs you have.

Yes, replied the cobbler, und de funny part of it iss dat de biggest dog
is the littlest one.

His wife then spoke up and explained: You must mine husband egscuse; he
spheaks not very goot English. He means de oldest dog is the youngest one.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a joke being told here at the expense of a modest young
bookkeeper which is so good it ought to be true.

The young man in question, it appears, was recently invited to a party at
a residence where the home had recently been blessed with an addition to
the family.

Accompanied by his best girl he met his kind hostess at the door and
after customary salutations asked after the welfare of the baby.

The lady was suffering from a severe cold, which made her slightly deaf,
and she mistakenly supposed that the young man was inquiring about her
cold.

She replied that she usually had one every winter but this was the worse
she had ever had; it kept her awake at night a good deal at first and
confined her to her bed.

Then noticing that the young bookkeeper was becoming pale and nervous,
she said that she could see by his looks that he was going to have one
just like hers and asked him if he wished to lie down.

The books were posted just the same next day but the young bookkeeper has
given up inquiring about babies.

       *       *       *       *       *

George, you may bring me two fried eggs, some ham, a pot of coffee and
some rolls, said the man to the waiter.

Yes, sir.

His companion said, you may bring me the same. No; just eliminate the
eggs.

Yes, sir.

In a moment the waiter returned.

Excuse me, sir, but what did you say about them eggs?

I merely told you to eliminate them.

Yes, sir. And he hurried away to the kitchen.

In two minutes he came back once more, leaned confidently and penitently
over the table and said—

We had a bad accident this morning, sir, an’ the limitator got busted
off, right at the handle. Will you take them fried, same as this
gentleman?

       *       *       *       *       *

J. M. Carter, the well known architect of New York, once went into the
country to look at an opera-house that was to be enlarged and altered.
The owner of the place stood on the stage, and Carter walked about the
auditorium. We talked in loud tones, but though I was only half way back
I could hardly hear the man.

The acoustics are bad here. Let’s go outside, I shouted finally.

What? said the owner.

The acoustics, I repeated, are bad.

The acoustics?

Yes.

Well, what about them?

I say the acoustics are bad.

Indeed? I don’t smell anything, said the owner, sniffing about.

       *       *       *       *       *

The husband arrived home much later than usual from the office. He took
off his boots and stole into the bedroom. His wife began to stir. Quickly
the panic-stricken man went to the cradle of his firstborn and began to
rock it vigorously.

What are you doing there, Robert? queried his wife.

I’ve been sitting here for nearly two hours trying to get this baby to
sleep, he growled.

Why, Robert, I’ve got him here in bed with me, replied his wife.

       *       *       *       *       *

Absalom Foote, an eccentric old man, who had grown tired of life in
the city, decided to move to some smaller town, free from the roar of
traffic, the bustle and confusion of the thronging multitude, where he
could end his days tranquilly, as became a man of his age. In casting
about for a location, his eyes chanced to light upon the advertisement in
a village paper of one Thomas R. Foote, who wanted to dispose of his boot
and shoe store at a bargain, having made up his mind to remove to the
city.

That’s the very thing, he said, selling shoes is a very nice, easy
occupation. It will give me just enough to do to keep me from stagnating,
and it won’t wear me out with overwork. I’ll investigate it. It’s queer,
though, that his name is Foote, my name is Foote, he wants to come to the
city, and I want to go to the country.

A visit to the little town decided him. He liked its appearance and
location. He was pleased, moreover, with Foote’s shoe store, and bought
it good will and all, at a bargain.

Well, said the other Mr. Foote, you won’t have to change the sign.

No, he answered slowly, I’ll just add a little to it.

The next day he added this, just below the sign—

This place has changed feet.

       *       *       *       *       *

Speaking of cold storage eggs, a correspondent sends in a story that may
be new to some readers; at any rate it sounds plausible. A middle-aged
bachelor was in a restaurant at breakfast, when he noticed this
inscription on the egg—

To Whom it May Concern—Should this meet the eye of some young man who
desires to marry a farmer’s daughter, 18 years of age, kindly communicate
with ⸺, Sparta, N. J.

After reading this, he made haste to write to the girl, offering
marriage, and in a few days received this note—

Too late. I am married now and have four children.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Ananias came home one night and was received very icily by his wife.
He immediately assumed the defensive. It was not until after dinner that
he dared ask his wife what the trouble was. Trouble, said she, why when I
sent your suit to the tailor this morning I found this memorandum in your
pocket, “Gwendolyn, Lenox 1020.”

Why, said Ananias, of course you know what that means. That is a racing
tip. Gwendolyn is a horse, Lenox a jockey, and 1020 the racing odds. I am
going to the races tomorrow and will play Gwendolyn at one to two.

The wife admitted her suspicions and begged forgiveness for doubting the
fidelity of her beloved for one moment.

The next night Ananias came home very late from the races. Are you
asleep, he whispered to his wife who was in bed with her face to the
wall. No, she answered in distinct and hissing tones. You had better call
up Lenox 1020, your horse wants to speak to you.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two men were waiting for a train and one said—I will ask you a question,
and if I can not answer my own question, I will buy the tickets. Then you
ask a question, and if you can not answer your own, you buy the tickets.
The other agreed to this. Well, the first man said, you see those
rabbit-holes? How do they dig those holes without leaving any dirt around
them? The other confessed—I don’t know. That’s your question, so answer
it yourself. The first man winked and replied—They begin at the bottom
and dig up! But, said the second man, how do they get at the bottom to
begin? That’s your question, was the first man’s rejoinder. Answer it
yourself. The other man bought the tickets.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here is an incident that a Chanute man tells as having occurred in
a certain Kansas town. He was in the ticket office and watched the
proceedings.

A man came up to the window and asked for a ticket to Kansas City,
inquiring the price.

Two twenty-five, said the agent.

The man dug down into a well-worn pocketbook and fished out a bill. It
was a banknote for $2. It was also all the money he had.

How soon does this train go? he inquired.

In fifteen minutes, replied the agent.

The man hurried away. Soon he was back with three silver dollars, with
which he bought a ticket.

Pardon my curiosity, said the ticket seller, but how did you get that
money? It isn’t a loan, for I see you have disposed of the $2 bill.

That’s all right, said the man. No, I didn’t borrow. I went to a pawnshop
and soaked the bill for $1.50. Then as I started back here I met an old
acquaintance, to whom I sold the pawn for $1.50. I then had $3, and he
has the pawn ticket for which the $2 bill stands as security.

       *       *       *       *       *

An aged Jersey farmer, visiting a circus for the first time, stood
before the dromedary’s cage, eyes popping and mouth agape at the strange
beast within. The circus proper began and the crowds left for the main
show, but still the old man stood before the cage in stunned silence,
appraising every detail of the misshapen legs, the cloven hoofs, the
pendulous upper lip, and the curiously moulded back of the sleepy-eyed
beast. Fifteen minutes passed. Then the farmer turned away and spat
disgustedly.

Hell! There ain’t no such animal!

       *       *       *       *       *

They were playing poker in a Western town. One of the players was a
stranger, and was getting a nice trimming. Finally the sucker saw one of
the players give himself three aces from the bottom of the pack.

The sucker turned to the man beside him and said: Did you see that?

See what? asked the man.

Why, that fellow dealt himself three aces from the bottom of the deck,
said the sucker.

Well, what about it? asked the man. It was his deal, wasn’t it?

       *       *       *       *       *

At a dinner given by a political club in New York recently, a man who
is unusually young for one who has attained to such prominence in his
profession was for the first time in his life set down for a response
to one of the toasts. When at last he was called on, his beardless face
flushed and his manner was very embarrassed. Nevertheless he stood up and
thus delivered himself: Gentlemen, before I entered this room, I had an
excellent speech prepared. Only God and myself knew what I was going to
say. Now God alone knows. And he sat down.

       *       *       *       *       *

That feller Morgan Buttles is terrible unpopular, said one mountaineer.

We’ll have to git rid o’ him somehow, replied the old moonshiner.

Yes. But we don’t want to do nothin’ in a way that ain’t legitimate an’
customary. You know he has political ambitions.

I’ve heard so. But he ain’t got no pull.

Yes, he has. An’ you an’ your relations want to stand back o’ me when I
put the case up to our Congressman. We’ll git Buttles app’inted a revenue
inspector, an’ then let nature take its course.

       *       *       *       *       *

A writer says in regard to the Prussia of fifty years ago that it had
a state lottery, and in every town, large or small, was a collector
appointed to sell tickets. One day a servant-girl came to the collector
in Hagen and asked if she could buy No. 23.

He did not have it in his possession, but as the girl seemed very much
in earnest, and refused to be put off with any other number, he tried
to obtain it from some of the other collectors in town, and finally
succeeded.

The drawing took place, and Hagen rose to a state of feverish excitement
when it was known that this girl had become a winner of a large sum of
money. She found herself for a time the chief object of interest in the
town.

She was, of course, asked how she came to fix upon No. 23. Thereupon she
gave this simple and lucid explanation:

I dreamed one night No. 7, and the second night I dreamed No. 7, and a
third night again. So I thought, Three times seven makes twenty-three,
and I bought that number.

       *       *       *       *       *

A short time since two young women entered a tramcar in Manchester,
England, and found only standing room. One of them whispered to her
companion, I am going to get a seat from one of these men. You just take
notice.

She selected a sedate-looking man, sailed up to him, and boldly opened
fire.

My dear Mr. Green, how delighted I am to meet you! You are almost a
stranger! Will I accept your seat? Well I do feel tired, I heartily
admit! Thank you, so much!

The sedate man, a perfect stranger, of course, quietly gave her his seat,
saying:

Sit down, Jane, my girl; don’t often see you out on washing day. How’s
your mistress?

The young lady got her seat, but lost her vivacity.

       *       *       *       *       *

A number of years ago, when the present second Assistant Secretary of
State, Alvey A. Adee, was third assistant, an employe 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 hell! and the receiver was indignantly hung up.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following reply to a dun was actually received by one local customer.

    Dear Sir—

    I received your letter about what I owes you. Now be pachent. I
    aint forgot you and as soon as foks pays me I’ll pay you.

    If this was judgment day and you no more prepared to met your
    God than I am your account, your shor going to Hell.

       *       *       *       *       *

The editor of the “Hardeman Free Press” says:

We fell asleep in a chair at Grand Junction last Wednesday night on our
way home from Memphis in our usual soaked condition and let our train
leave us. The hotel clerk told us to go upstairs and take the room on the
right side of the hall with the lamp burning low. He sed he was crowded
and we would have to double up with a man. We went up and pulled off our
things and went to bed without waking our bedfellow, who was sleeping
sound with the sheet over his head to keep off the muskeeters. Before
we fell into the arms of morphine we seen a young lady and a young gent
come in and set down by the winder. At first they talked so low we could
not hear what they sed. Finally we heard the little miss say: Wallie,
ain’t you ashamed to try to kiss me right here where we air setting up
with a dead person? We felt cureous. We slowly reached over and touched
the nose of the man we wus in bed with, and seen at a glance that he was
dead alright. We riz up instantly, and it was a race to a finish twixt us
three fer the bottom of the steps. It is useless to say we was furst past
the post by two lengths. We didn’t skeer that couple any wuse than the
corpse skeered us. We walked through the country to Bolivar and wired for
our clothes by express.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hello, is this you, Abe?

Sure, it’s me.

This is Abe Potash I’m talking to?

Yes, yes. What do you want?

Well, Abe, I want to borrow fifty dollars for—

All right. I’ll tell him as soon as he comes in.

       *       *       *       *       *

While a customer in one of our prominent stores on Fourth street, I saw
an unusually amazing incident. A lady of stupendous dimensions, stylishly
attired, entered the store and seated herself to be waited upon. Soon a
bald-headed clerk came up to serve her. After rejecting this pair and
that, she decided on some brown oxfords. The clerk knelt down to lace
them, and she gazed about the room. Suddenly she looked down and saw the
bald head. Thinking that it was her roller-topped knee, she modestly drew
her skirt over it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Colonel Phil Thompson tells of the trials experienced by a friend of his
who recently acquired a new stenographer. The dear little thing is a
trifle weak in orthography but Thompson’s friend has been loath to call
her down, in view of the fact that she tries so hard to please. He is
too big-hearted to discharge the girl, for she needs the money; so he
corrects the spelling.

Recently, however, he was forced to call her attention to the fact that
in a letter of some seventy-five words, she had committed eight errors,
among which was “fourty”.

My, my! exclaimed the friend. This won’t do, you know; I can’t stand for
forty spelt this way!

The willing worker looked over his shoulder at the offending word;
Gracious! she exclaimed, how careless of me! I left out the “gh,” didn’t
I?

       *       *       *       *       *

Ikey—I got into a fight last week, and a man kicked me in de synagogue.

Jakey—Ver is de synagogue?

Ikey—In de temple.

       *       *       *       *       *

This is the true story of a resourceful motorist. Of the ethics of it,
there is no condoning. A traffic law in a New England city forbids
the parking of cars on the principal business street. A citizen who
understood this, was sure he could stop his car, deliver a message and be
back in his seat all in a moment. But he was detained. Also he forgot.
When he came out a policeman stood by his automobile. Did the man go to
his car? He did not. He hurried to his office: He telephoned to police
headquarters: My car (giving a detailed description) has been stolen.
In a half hour this reply: An officer has found your car. It is here at
headquarters. Come and get it. He did. Profuse thanks. Was it clever?

       *       *       *       *       *

A certain young man wrote the following letter to a prominent business
firm, ordering a razor.

    Dear Sirs—Please find enclosed 50c for one of your razors as
    advertised and oblige,

                                                         JOHN JONES.

    P. S.—I forgot to enclose the 50c but no doubt a firm of your
    high standing will send the razor anyway.

The firm addressed received the letter and replied as follows—

    Dear Sir—Your most valued order received the other day and will
    say in reply that we are sending the razor as per request, and
    hope that it will prove satisfactory.

    P. S.—We forgot to enclose the razor, but no doubt a man with
    your cheek will have no need of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Can any lady or gentleman in the audience lend me a ten dollar gold
piece? asked the professor of magic.

On vot, eagerly shouted the pawnbroker in the front row.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Philadelphia business man tells this story on himself.

You know in this city there are two telephone companies, he said, and in
my office I have a telephone of each company. Last week I hired a new
office boy, and one of his duties was to answer the telephone. The other
day, when one of the bells rang, he answered the call and then came in
and told me I was wanted on the ’phone by my wife.

Which one? I inquired quickly, thinking of the two telephones, of course.

Please, sir, stammered the boy, I don’t know how many you have.

       *       *       *       *       *

William Blue was an engineer in the employ of one of the trunk railway
lines in this State. One of his duties was to haul the through freight
over the Western division, and his pet engine was No. 2. One night he had
an accident. One of the flues in the boiler of his pet engine flew out
and he was stalled, blocking the main line. He reported the matter to the
division superintendent unwittingly as follows—

Engine two blew out a flue; what’ll I do?—Bill Blue.

Then he sat down to wait instructions. This is what came over the wires
from the superintendent’s office twenty minutes later.

Bill Blue—You plug that flue in engine two and pull her through in time
to get out of the way of twenty-two.

This order is stuck up in the cab of engine 2.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friend—My, vot a rotten cigar you giff me.

Storekeeper—You should worry. You got vun, I got five hundred!

       *       *       *       *       *

Mother—Rachel, your beau was here to see you last night.

Kate—Oh, was he?

Mother—No, not Wuzzy, Izzy.

       *       *       *       *       *

I hear you give your little boy a quarter every week for behavior, Ignatz.

Sure, but I fool him. I told him the gas meter was a little bank I bought
him.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the luncheon to Nahum Sokolow, the Jewish journalist, attended by
New York editors, Adolph Ochs, of the Times, told of a Jew who came to
Bishop Potter, stating that he desired to embrace Christianity. The
Bishop arranged for him to have a talk with one of the curates, but the
applicant was insistent and said he wanted to join right away.

Why are you in such a hurry? inquired the Bishop.

Well, my family done me dirt and I want to disgrace them.

       *       *       *       *       *

A dying man once sent for an Arkansas editor, who hastened to the
death-bed with more alacrity, as he had no heirs. I’m glad you’ve
come, said the old man in a deathly whisper. Come closer. The editor
approached. You know I have worked hard, and that I have earned every
cent I have got. Some time ago, you remember, I subscribed for your paper
for six months. There is just one more number due me, and as I am dying
and can’t wait until your next issue comes out, just give me a nickel and
we’ll call it square.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following missive was received by the forest ranger of the Pasadena
district and read recently at the annual dinner of the Sierra Club in Los
Angeles. Kind and Respected Cir—

I see in the paper that a man named J⸺ S⸺ was atacted and et up by a bare
whose cubs he was trying to git when the she bare came up and stopt him
by eatin him up in the mountains near your town. What i want to know is
did it kill him or was he only partly et up am he from this place and all
about the bare. I don’t know but what he is a distant husband of mine. My
first husband was of that name and I supposed he was killed in the war
but the name of the man the bare et being the same i thought it might be
him after all and i thought to know if he wasn’t killed either in the war
or by the bare for i have been married twice since and their ought to be
divorce papers got out by him or me if the bare did not eat him all up.
If it is him you will know it by him having six toes on the left foot. He
also sings base and has a spread eagle tattoed on his front chest and a
ankor on his right arm which you will know him if the bare did not eat up
these parts of him. If alive don’t tell him I am married to J⸺ W⸺ for he
never liked J⸺. Mebbe you had better let on as if i am ded but find out
all you can about him without him knowing anything what it is for. That
is if the bare did not eat him all up. If it did i don’t see you can do
anything and you needn’t take any trouble. My respeks to your family and
please ancer back.

P. S.—Was the bare killed. Also was he married again and did he leave any
property worth me laying claim to?

       *       *       *       *       *

An advertisement in a newspaper calling for a “first-class bookkeeper at
$3 a week” drew forth the following answer, the only one attracted by the
munificent salary.

I am a young man, thirty-seven years of age, having had a business
experience of twenty-three years, being connected with the United
States Embassy at Madagascar, and feel confident if you will give me a
trial I can prove my worth to you. I am not only an expert bookkeeper,
proficient stenographer and typewriter, excellent operator and erudite
college graduate, but have several other accomplishments which might make
me desirable. I am an experienced snow shoveler, a first-class peanut
roaster, have some knowledge of removing superfluous hair and clipping
puppy dogs’ ears, have a medal for reciting “Curfew Shall Not Ring
Tonight.” Am a skilled chiropodist and practical farmer, can also cook,
take care of horses, crease trousers, open oysters and repair umbrellas.
Being possessed of great physical beauty, I would not only be useful,
but would be ornamental as well, lending to the sacred precincts of your
office that delightful artistic charm that a Satsuma vase or stuffed
billy-goat would. As to salary, I would feel I was robbing the widow
and swiping the sponge cake from the orphan if I was to take advantage
of your munificence by accepting the too fabulous sum of $3 per week,
and I would be entirely willing to give you my services for less, and
by accepting $1.37 per week would give you an opportunity of not only
increasing your donation to the church, pay your butcher and keep up your
life insurance, but also to found a home for indigent fly-paper salesmen
and endow a free bed in the cat home.

       *       *       *       *       *

Private John Allen takes a deep interest in the advertising business.
Advertisements that he deems exceptionally good he clips out and pastes
in a scrap-book. As he was showing this scrap-book to a guest one day, he
said:

But the best ad I know of is not in here. For it wasn’t written, but
spoken. It earned its originator some thousands of dollars, yet I can
never show it. I can only describe it, and description fails to do it
justice.

It was the work of a clothier in Nashville. He had, with his partner, the
first establishment in town, and the business of the firm was considered
very prosperous. The two men had married sisters, and their relationship
was more than friendly. Hence the greatest surprise overtook Nashville
when the junior partner suddenly took out a summons and hauled his senior
into court.

The senior partner is ruining the business, gossip said. He is getting
softening of the brain, or paresis, or something of that sort. Now is the
height of the spring season, when they ought to be making money hand over
fist, but the senior’s cracked methods are spoiling everything.

So all Nashville took a tremendous interest in the case, and on the
morning it was called, the courtroom was crowded as in a murder trial.

The junior partner’s complaint was presented strongly and directly. He
showed that goods were being sacrificed at a fraction of their value, and
he asked that this ruinous trading be stopped, lest ruin ensue.

The defendant’s lawyer, an able fellow, secured an adjournment for three
weeks.

On the announcement of this adjournment, the junior partner gave a loud
groan. He leaped to his feet, and rushed out like one demented, shouting
as he went:

Merciful heavens, then the sacrifice must still go on!

I don’t need to tell you how much business that firm did in the next
three weeks.

       *       *       *       *       *

Man, born of woman, is of a few days and no teeth. And, indeed, it
would be money in his pocket sometimes if he had less of either. As for
his days, he wasteth one-third of them, and as for his teeth, he has
convulsions when he cuts them, and as the last one comes through, lo, the
dentist is twisting the first one out, and the last end of that man’s jaw
is worse than the first, being full of porcelain and a roof-plate built
to hold blackberry seeds.

Stone bruises line his pathway to manhood; his father boxes his ears at
home, the big boys cuff him in the play ground, and the teacher whips
him in the school-room. He buyeth Northwestern at 110, when he hath sold
short at 96, and his neighbor unloadeth upon him Iron Mountain at 65⅝,
and it straightway breaketh down to 52¼. He riseth early and sitteth up
late that he may fill his barns and store-houses, and lo! his children’s
lawyers divide the spoil among themselves and say, Ha, ha! He growleth
and is sore distressed because it raineth, and he beateth upon his breast
and sayeth, My crop is lost! because it raineth not. The late rains
blight his wheat and the frost biteth his peaches. If it be so that the
sun shineth, even among the nineties, he sayeth, Woe is me, for I perish,
and if the northwest wind sigheth down in forty-two below he crieth,
would that I were dead! If he wear sackcloth and blue jeans men say he is
a tramp, and if he goeth forth shaven and clad in purple and fine linen
all the people cry, shoot the dude!

He carrieth insurance for twenty-five years, until he hath paid thrice
over for all his goods, and then he letteth his policy lapse one day,
and that same night fire destroyeth his store. He buildeth him a house
in Jersey, and his first born is devoured by mosquitoes; he pitcheth
his tent in New York, and tramps devour his substance. He moveth to
Kansas, and a cyclone carrieth his house away over into Missouri, while a
prairie fire and ten million acres of grasshoppers fight for his crop. He
settleth himself in Kentucky, and is shot the next day by a gentleman, a
colonel and a statesman, because, sah, he resembles, sah, a man, sah, he
did not like, sah. Verily, there is no rest for the sole of his feet, and
if he had it all to do over again he would not be born at all, for “the
day of death is better than the day of one’s birth.”




_Juvenile Jests_


Teacher—Who can make a sentence with gruesome in it?

Ikey—The man stopped shaving and grew some whiskers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Visitor—How’s your brother, Tommy?

Tommy—He’s in bed; he hurt himself.

Visitor—How did he do it?

Tommy—We were playing who could lean furthest out of a window, and he won.

       *       *       *       *       *

A lad sat on the floor playing. Suddenly he set up a howl.

Henry, what is the matter? asked the mother.

The cat scratched me.

Why, the cat is not here. When did she scratch you?

Yesterday.

Well, why are you crying now?

’Cause I forgot it then.

       *       *       *       *       *

This bit of brightness is said to have cropped out in a conversation
between two misses not old enough to go to school.

What makes a horse act naughty when he sees an auto?

It is this way—Horses is used to seein’ other horses pull wagons, and
they don’t know what to think of ’em goin’ along without a horse. Guess
if you saw a pair of pants walkin’ down the street without a man in ’em
you’d be scared, too.

       *       *       *       *       *

Little Elsie—Brother Johnny can’t come to school; he has diphtheria.

Teacher—Indeed! Where did he get it?

Little Elsie—In the neck.

       *       *       *       *       *

The passionate rhythms of “The Merry Widow” waltz floated through the
office, and the boss looked up from his desk impatiently.

Frederic, he said, I wish you wouldn’t whistle at your work.

I ain’t workin’, sir, the office boy replied calmly. I’m only just
whistlin’.

       *       *       *       *       *

After a teacher had recited “The Landing of the Pilgrims,” she requested
each pupil to try to draw from his or her imagination, a picture of
Plymouth Rock.

Most of them went to work at once, but one little fellow hesitated, and
at length raised his hand.

Well, Willie, what is it? asked the teacher.

Please, ma’am, do you want us to draw a hen or a rooster?

       *       *       *       *       *

Here is Jimmie’s essay on pants: Pants are made for men and not for
women. Women are made for men and not for pants. When a man pants for a
woman and a woman pants for a man they are a pair of pants. Such pants
don’t last. Pants are like molasses—they are thinner in hot weather and
thicker in cold. Men are often mistaken in pants; such mistakes are
breaches of promise. There has been much discussion whether pants is
singular or plural. Seems to me when men wear pants it is plural, and
when they don’t wear pants it is singular. Men go on a tear in their
pants and it is all right, but when the pants go on a tear it is all
wrong. If you want to make pants last, make the coat first.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pop, I got in trouble at school today and it’s all your fault.

How’s that my son?

Well, you remember when I asked you how much a million dollars was?

Yes, I remember.

Well, teacher asked me today, and “helluva lot” isn’t the right answer.

       *       *       *       *       *

The pupils of a certain school were asked to write original compositions
on “kings.” The prize was carried off by the youth who handed in the
following:

The most powerful king on earth, is Wor-king; the laziest, Shir-king;
one of the worst kings, Smo-king; the wittiest, Jo-king; the quietest,
Thin-king; the thirstiest, Drin-king; the slyest, Win-king; the noisiest,
Tal-king.

       *       *       *       *       *

At a public school the children were training for the annual flag day
celebration. One boy, in order to show good reason why he should take a
prominent part in the ceremonies, said that he had a real gun; another
had a pistol; a small girl had a flag, and so on.

Finally, one tow-haired lad of six came up to the teacher, and stood
waiting for her to see him.

Well, what is it? she asked.

I has a union suit, he said.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now in order to subtract, explained a teacher to the class in
mathematics, things always have to be of the same denomination. For
instance, we couldn’t take three apples from four years, nor six horses
from nine dogs.

A hand went up in the back of the room.

Well, Johnny? smiled the unsuspecting teacher.

Please, ma’am! shouted the boy, can’t you take four quarts of milk from
three cows?

       *       *       *       *       *

Little Elizabeth and her mother were having luncheon together, and the
mother, who always tried to impress facts upon her young daughter, said—

These little sardines, Elizabeth, are sometimes eaten by the larger fish.

Elizabeth gazed at the sardines in wonder, and then asked—

But, mother, how do the large fish get the cans open?

       *       *       *       *       *

A teacher had been telling her class of boys recently that worms had
become so numerous that they destroyed the crops, and it was necessary to
import the sparrow to exterminate them. The sparrows multiplied very fast
and were gradually driving away our native birds.

Johnny was apparently very inattentive, and the teacher, thinking to
catch him napping, said—

Johnny, which is worse, to have worms or sparrows?

Johnny hesitated a moment and then replied: Please, I never had the
sparrows.

       *       *       *       *       *

George, George, mind; your hat will be blown off if you lean so far
out of the window! exclaimed a fond father to his little son, who was
traveling with him in a railway carriage. Quickly snatching the hat from
the head of the refractory youngster, papa hid it behind his back.

There, now, the hat has gone! he cried, pretending to be angry. And
George immediately set up a howl. After a time the father remarked—

Come, be quiet; if I whistle your hat will come back again.

Then he whistled and replaced the hat on the boy’s head. There, it’s back
again, you see. Afterward, while papa was talking to mamma, a small,
shrill voice was heard saying—

Papa, papa, I’ve thrown my hat out of the window! Whistle again, will
you?




_Frenzied Finance_


The bank teller in a snippy way said: But I don’t know you, madam!

The woman was red-headed, and she got red-headed in a minute. She said:
Oh, yes, you do. I don’t need anyone to identify me. I’m the red-headed
hen next door to you whose “imps of boys” are always running across your
garden. When you started to town this morning your wife said: Now, Henry,
if you want a dinner fit to eat this evening, you’ll have to leave me a
little money. I can’t keep this house on Christian Science.

Here is your money, interrupted the paying teller very faintly.

       *       *       *       *       *

In order that his wife might become better acquainted with business
methods, Mr. Ferguson handed $100 to her, and instructed her to deposit
it in bank in her own name and pay her bills thereafter with checks.

Several weeks afterward she came to him in a high state of indignation.

George, she said, the other day those people down at the bank wrote me
a note and told me I had overdrawn my account—whatever that is—and that
I would have to send them $4.75 to balance it. I sent it to them right
away, but it didn’t satisfy them. They’re bothering me about it again.

You sent the $4.75?

Yes. Same day.

Well, that’s—by the way, Laura, how did you send it?

I sent them a check for it, of course.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some few days ago a Louisville banker was approached by an impecunious
farmer for a loan. Now at times this banker is deaf for commercial
purposes. The farmer was chronically wanting to borrow, and his security
was getting shaky. I’d like to borrow five thousand, pleaded the farmer.
The banker cupped his hand to his ear and said: Speak a little louder and
cut down the amount.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thousands of girls are sent out into the world with what is called
finished educations, who cannot even give a proper receipt for money,
to say nothing of drawing a promissory note, a draft or a bill, or
understanding the significance and importance of business contracts.

Such a woman presented a check for payment to the paying teller of her
bank. He passed it back to her with the request that she be kind enough
to indorse it. The lady wrote on the back of the check, I have done
business with this bank for many years, and I believe it to be all right.
Mrs. James B. Brown.

Another society woman in New York presented a check for payment at the
bank, and the teller told her that it was not signed. Oh, do they have to
be signed? she replied. What an awful lot of red tape there is about a
banking business.

I know of a lady whose husband made a deposit for her in a bank and
gave her a check book so that she could pay her bills without annoying
him. One day she received a notice from the bank that her account was
overdrawn. She went to the bank and told the teller that there must be
some mistake about it, because she still had a lot of checks left in her
book. She knew so little about business that she thought she could keep
drawing any amount until the checks were all gone.

Among the more recent stories of feminine banking is one of a young lady
who in a fit of abstraction signed a check, Your loving Susie. A still
later anecdote is this, from one of our exchanges:

A fund was being raised in New York for the benefit of sufferers by a
great disaster, and a certain rich but illiterate woman was approached
upon the subject.

Oh, I shouldn’t mind sending the money, she said, but I do hate to have
my name in all the papers.

But that could be easily arranged, said the gentleman who had opened the
subject.

Why, yes, of course, remarked the woman, I could send an anonymous check.
Why didn’t I think of that before?

       *       *       *       *       *

Four or five ladies bustled into a private office the other day.

What can I do for you, ladies? asked the banker pleasantly.

Why, began one of the visitors, we are taking up a subscription and
we knew you wouldn’t like it if we didn’t give you an opportunity to
subscribe.

The banker bowed graciously and asked: And the object? Of course it is a
worthy one, or you would not be interested in it.

Yes, sir, replied the spokeswoman, we think it a very worthy object. It
is to build a home for aged and indigent widows.

Excellent! Excellent! I shall take pleasure in making you out a check.

Oh, how lovely of you! exclaimed the spokeswoman when she received the
bit of paper and read the amount—one hundred pounds. Oh, we didn’t
expect to get that much from you. We are ever so much obliged.

So good of him! and similar exclamations were heard as the check was
passed around for the admiration of the party.

But, said the lady who handled the check last, you haven’t signed it.

That is because I do not wish my benefactions known to the world, said
the banker modestly. I wish to give the check anonymously. And he bowed
the ladies out with great dignity.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a banking office in New Orleans is an aged bookkeeper who began his
connection with the business the day it was established. As the years
went by, the proprietor, who had started with little, but was extremely
close, amassed an enormous fortune. The bookkeeper piled up but a small
amount of savings.

At last the twenty-fifth anniversary of the firm and of the bookkeeper’s
services came along. He remembered it, but thought no one else would. To
his surprise, the proprietor spoke of it at once.

Williams, he said, do you know what day this is?

Our twenty-fifth anniversary, sir.

It is indeed, Williams. And now I have thought to commemorate the event,
and I have put in this envelope for you a small gift to express my
appreciation of your faithful service.

The bookkeeper, his hopes raised high, took the envelope from his
employer and opened it. The token was a photograph of the employer.

Well? demanded the donor, as the other hesitated. What do you want to say
about it?

It’s just like you! murmured the bookkeeper. It’s just like you.




_Disciples of Hippocrates_


Aren’t you pretty young to be a practicing physician? asked the
severe-looking female person sternly.

Well, you see, I only doctor children, said the young medico, nervously.

       *       *       *       *       *

Doctor, are you sure my husband has pneumonia? I have heard of doctors
treating patients for pneumonia who finally died of typhoid fever.

Well, madam, I don’t make such blunders. If I treat a patient for
pneumonia, he dies of pneumonia.

       *       *       *       *       *

Patient—Doctor, it hurts me to breathe. In fact, the only trouble now
seems to be with my breath.

Physician—All right. I’ll give you something that will soon stop that.

       *       *       *       *       *

A young doctor in a country district was called one night by an old
farmer to his first case. The patient was the farmer’s son, who was lying
on the bed in much pain. The young medico threw out his chest and said:
This should cause you no alarm. It is nothing but a corrustified exegesis
antispasmodically emanating from the physical refrigerator, producing a
prolific source of irritability in the pericranial epidermis.

The farmer looked at him and replied, just what I said, but his mother
thought it was the stomachache.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wife—Now dear, here’s the doctor to see you.

Merchant Prince—Send him away and fetch the undertaker! You know I never
deal with middlemen.

       *       *       *       *       *

A doctor came up to a patient in an insane asylum, slapped him on the
back and said: Well, old man, you’re all right. You can run along and
write your folks that you’ll be back home in two weeks as good as new.

The patient went off gayly to write his letter. He had it finished and
sealed, but when he was licking the stamp it slipped through his fingers
to the floor lighted on the back of a cockroach that was passing and
stuck. The patient hadn’t seen the cockroach. What he did see was his
escaped postage stamp zigzagging aimlessly across the floor to the
baseboard, wavering up over the baseboard and following a crooked track
up the wall and across the ceiling. In depressed silence he tore up the
letter that he had just written and dropped the pieces on the floor.

Two weeks! Hell! he said. I won’t be out of here in three years.

       *       *       *       *       *

He had just hung out his shingle. That morning a stranger entered. The
doctor asked to be excused as he hurried to the phone.

Taking down the receiver, he said: Yes, this is Dr. Whoosit. Yes, will be
ready for you at two-ten this afternoon. But please be prompt, for I am
very busy. Two hundred dollars? Yes, that was the estimate I gave you.

Hanging up the receiver, he turned to the stranger and rubbing his hands
asked: Now, sir, what can I do for you?

Nothing, replied the stranger quietly. I only came in to connect up the
telephone.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following item is taken from a county officer’s health report:
The patient died of blood poison from a broken ankle contracted in an
automobile accident, which was a very strange occurrence, since he was
struck between the lamp post and the radiator.

       *       *       *       *       *

Herr Doctor, my wife and I are possessed! Can’t you cure us? What sort
of a demon is it possesses you? Peasant: The fighting demon; it forces
us to come to blows, and we are both sorry for it afterward. Doctor
(making three times the sign of the cross): Begone, foul demon of
discord, begone! So that was only the preliminary cure, now I will write
a prescription for you. When the fit comes on again, the one who is not
yet begun to scold and fight is to take the medicine bottle and a spoon
and go out of the room, while the other remains inside. After ten minutes
the first one is to come in again, count twenty-seven drops into the
spoon, and give them to the other; then the latter is to take the spoon
and count twenty-seven drops and give them to the first one, after which
you shake hands together. Not a word to be spoken the whole time. Three
months later the peasant came again with his wife: Herr Doctor, we have
come to make you a present of this ham for having cured us so thoroughly!
This is a true story, and occurred in Holstein.




_Legal Luminaries_


Yours is certainly an unusual case, said the lawyer, and it will be
necessary to consult a number of books.

So? queried the client.

Yes, answered the legal light, and we will begin with your pocketbook.

       *       *       *       *       *

He had finished his speech at a dinner party, and on seating himself a
lawyer rose, shoved his hands deep into his trousers pockets, as was his
habit, and laughingly inquired of those present:

Doesn’t it strike this company as a little unusual that a professional
humorist should be funny!

When the laughter that greeted this sally had subsided, Mark Twain
drawled out—Doesn’t it strike this company as a little unusual that a
lawyer should have his hands in his own pockets?

       *       *       *       *       *

As a prisoner was brought before the judge for sentence the clerk
happened to be absent. The judge asked the officer in charge of the
prisoner what the offence was with which he was charged.

Bigotry, your honor. He’s been married to three women.

Why, officer, that’s not bigotry, said the judge, that’s trigonometry.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was an old man who was charged with illicit distilling and was
brought up before the court. The Judge, who was a witty fellow, asked
the prisoner what was his Christian name. The prisoner replied, Joshua,
and the Judge answered, Are you the man that made the sun shine? and
the prisoner replied, No, sir, your honor; I’m the one that made the
moonshine.

       *       *       *       *       *

A jury recently met to inquire into a case of suicide. After sitting
through the evidence the twelve men retired, and, after deliberating,
returned with the following verdict—

The jury are all of one mind—temporarily insane!

       *       *       *       *       *

In a lawsuit in Pennsylvania not long ago the question was put to a miner
on the witness stand.

Were you ever hurt in the mines?

Indade I was, responded the man, I was half kilt once.

Now tell the court whether you were injured at any other time, continued
the cross-examiner.

Yes. I was half kilt in another accident shortly after that.

Your Honor, smilingly interjected counsel for the other side, I object to
this man’s testimony.

Upon what ground? asked the judge.

On the ground that, having been half killed twice, he is a dead man and
therefore incompetent as a witness.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a suit recently tried in a Virginia town a young lawyer of limited
experience was addressing the jury on a point of law, when good-naturedly
he turned to opposing counsel, a man of much more experience than
himself, and asked—

That’s right, I believe, Colonel Hopkins?

Whereupon Hopkins, with a smile of conscious superiority, replied—

Sir, I have an office in Richmond wherein I shall be delighted to
enlighten you on any point of law for a consideration.

The youthful attorney, not in the least abashed, took from his pocket a
half-dollar piece, which he offered Col. Hopkins with this remark—

No time like the present. Take this, sir, tell us what you know and give
me the change.

       *       *       *       *       *

Secretary Elihu Root was talking about the humanity of judges.

They are humane men, he said. I could tell you many moving stories of the
pain that they have suffered in the infliction of severe sentences. It is
not altogether pleasant to be a judge.

That is why I can not credit a story that was told me the other day about
a judge in the West. A criminal on trial before this man had been found
guilty. He was told to rise, and the judge said to him—

Have you ever been sentenced to imprisonment before?

No, your honor, said the criminal, and he burst into tears.

Well, said the judge, don’t cry, you’re going to be now.

       *       *       *       *       *

This story of the election expenses of a Georgia lawyer who was defeated
for county commissioner in the recent primary, reaches us by way of the
_Newark Ledger_ in a dispatch from Atlanta. His sworn statement runs—

Lost 1,349 hours’ sleep thinking about the election. Lost two front
teeth and a whole lot of hair in a personal encounter with an opponent.
Donated one beef, four shoats, and five sheep to a county barbecue. Gave
away two pairs of suspenders, four calico dresses, $5 cash, and thirteen
baby rattles. Kissed 126 babies. Kindled fourteen kitchen fires. Put up
four stoves. Walked 4,076 miles. Shook hands with 9,508 persons. Told
10,101 lies, and talked enough to make, in print, 1,000 volumes. Attended
sixteen revival meetings, and was baptized four different times by
immersion, and twice some other way. Contributed $50 to foreign missions,
and made love to nine grass widows. Hugged forty-nine old maids. Got
dog-bit thirty-nine times, and was defeated.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sam Kalleton, a member of the Arkansas Legislature, was very fond of
offering amendments to bills introduced. That was the limit of his
legislative capacity. One morning, after a night’s hilarity, he entered
the legislative hall just as the chaplain was asking divine aid. The old
man took a chew of tobacco, and listened attentively until the chaplain
closed his petition with an effective recitation of the Lord’s Prayer.
Mr. Speaker, said the old man, arising, I move to strike out the words
daily bread, and insert as much bread as may be found necessary for
twenty days. We have already done enough for the flood sufferers.

       *       *       *       *       *

A prominent lawyer of New York says that many years ago he went West, but
as he got no clients, and stood a good chance of starving, he decided
to come East again. Without any money he boarded a train for Nashville,
Tenn., intending to seek employment as reporter on one of the daily
newspapers, says the _New York Telegraph_. When the conductor called for
his ticket, he said—

I am on the staff of the ⸺ of Nashville. I suppose you will pass me.

The conductor looked at him sharply.

The editor of that paper is in the smoker; come with me; if he identifies
you, all right.

He followed the conductor into the smoker; the situation was explained.
Mr. Editor said—

Oh, yes, I recognize him as one of the staff; it is all right.

Before leaving the train the lawyer again sought the editor.

Why did you say you recognized me? I’m not on your paper.

I’m not the editor either. I’m traveling on his pass, and was scared to
death lest you should give me away.

       *       *       *       *       *

Judge Ben. B. Lindsey, the noted reformer of Denver, was lunching one
day—it was very warm—when a politician paused beside his table.

Judge, said the politician, I see you’re drinkin’ hot cawfee. That’s a
heatin’ drink.

Yes? said Judge Lindsey.

Oh, yes. In this weather you want iced drinks, judge—sharp, iced drinks.
Did you ever try gin and ginger ale?

No, said the judge, smiling, but I’ve tried several fellows who have.

       *       *       *       *       *

Harry Bulger has recently added to his repertoire of stories a new
character vignette which has been received with laughter in the South.
As Mr. Bulger will be the guest of the Forty Club in Chicago during the
“Woodland” engagement in that city, he is reserving this story for the
post-prandial gossip.

It relates largely to a lawyer and a Jewish client during a civil action.
The attorney, watching the evidence and the countenance of the Judge,
whose reputation for severity was well known in the district, whispered
to his Hebrew client.

It looks very bad. We are going to lose the case. Whereupon the client
responded.

Vell, I will send the Judge a box of cigars.

Great heavens, no! That would end it.

The following day much to the surprise of the plaintiff’s attorney, the
decision was rendered for his client. Meeting his Jewish friend later the
lawyer exclaimed—

By Jove, I cannot understand this decision. Beats anything I ever heard.
Tell me, did you send the Judge a box of cigars?

Certainly. Of course I did.

What?

Yes, but I sent it with the card of the other fellow in it.




_Clerical Comicalities_


The blessed man that preached for us last Sunday, said Mr. Partington,
served the Lord for thirty years—first as a circus rider, and then as a
locust-preacher, and last as an exhauster.

       *       *       *       *       *

Patience—Is your preacher sensational?

Patrice—I should say so! Why, he preached a sermon last Sunday and he
took for his subject, It’s hard to keep a good man down. Well? Oh, it was
all about Jonah and the whale.

       *       *       *       *       *

A series of revival services were being held recently in a Missouri city,
and placards giving notice of the services were posted in conspicuous
places. One day the following notice was posted:

Hell, Its Location and Absolute Certainty. Thomas Jones, barytone
soloist, will sing, Tell Mother I’ll Be There.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was once a clergyman’s son, who was educated for the ministry.
He finished his theological course at Oxford and returned home with
the Oxford accent. On the following Sunday he was invited to fill his
father’s pulpit for the morning service. The young preacher announced
his text as follows: And they wequiahed of him Bawabbas. Now Bawabbas
was a wobbah. At the evening service the old man resumed his pulpit and
preached an eloquent sermon from the text, O Lord, have mercy upon us,
for this my son is lunatic and we are sore distressed.

       *       *       *       *       *

When was the automobile first mentioned in the Bible?

When Elijah crossed the river Jordan by a Ford and went up on high.

       *       *       *       *       *

Clergyman—examining a Sunday School, Now, can any of you tell me what are
the sins of omission?

Small Scholar—Yes, sir, they’re the sins you ought to have committed, and
haven’t.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rev. Goodman—Mr. Slick, our Sunday-school superintendent is a tried and
trusted employe of yours, is he not?

Banker—He was trusted, and he’ll be tried if we’re only fortunate enough
to catch him.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is reported that Pope Gregory XVI offered his snuff-box to a Cardinal,
who declined it, saying: No, your holiness, I have not that vice. To
which the Pope replied in thoroughly human way, if it had been a vice you
would have had it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mama, said little Elsie, do men ever go to heaven?

Why of course, my dear. What makes you ask?

Because I never see any pictures of angels with whiskers.

Well, said the mother, thoughtfully, some men do go to heaven, but they
get there by a close shave.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Bishop, addressing the little folks at the children’s service,
became impressive. Only think, children, he said, in Africa, there are
10,000,000 square miles of territory without a single Sunday school where
little girls and boys can spend their Sunday afternoons. Now, what should
we all try to save up our money for?

The children (unanimously)—To go to Africa.

       *       *       *       *       *

At a sewing circle all the women were talking, and some of the subjects
got hopelessly confused. For instance, the subject of crickets and church
choirs. I never heard such a horrid noise as they made last Sunday, said
one woman, referring to the choir. Nor I, said another, thinking she
referred to the fall crickets. They say they make that noise with their
hind legs.

       *       *       *       *       *

An evangelist who was conducting nightly services announced that on the
following evening he would speak on the subject of Liars. He advised his
hearers to read in advance the seventeenth chapter of Mark.

The next night he arose and said: I am going to preach on Liars tonight,
and I would like to know how many read the chapter I suggested. A hundred
hands were upraised.

Now, he said, you are the very persons I want to talk to—there isn’t any
seventeenth chapter of Mark.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Baltimore man tells us of attending a church on one occasion when the
minister delivered a sermon of but ten minutes’ duration—a most unusual
thing for him.

Upon the conclusion of his remarks the minister had added: I regret to
inform you, brethren that my dog, who appears to be particularly fond
of paper, this morning ate that portion of my sermon that I have not
delivered.

After the service, the clergyman was met at the door by a man who, as a
rule, attended divine service in another parish. Shaking the good man by
the hand, he said:

Doctor, I should like to know whether that dog of yours has pups. If so,
I want to get one to give to my minister.

       *       *       *       *       *

A clergyman preached a rather long sermon from the text, Thou art
weighed in the balance and found wanting. After the congregation had
listened about an hour, some began to get weary and went out; others
soon followed, greatly to the annoyance of the minister. Another person
started, whereupon the preacher stopped his sermon and said: That is
right gentlemen; as fast as you are weighed, pass out! He continued his
sermon some time after that, but no one disturbed him by leaving.

       *       *       *       *       *

Not a few preachers would be glad to be the victims of such a practical
joke as was recently played upon the Rev. Mr. Hageman, of Oxford, Mich.
At the annual meeting of the church of which he is pastor the question of
hiring a preacher comes up for discussion.

At the last meeting of this society, when the subject was brought up,
a good deacon arose and said: All those in favor of retaining Brother
Hageman for another year—at the same salary—will please rise.

Not a person rose, and the minister, who was present, felt as
uncomfortable as possible, and heartily wished himself anywhere else.
Then the good deacon who had put the question arose again and said, with
a twinkle of the eye:

I see not one favors that motion, so I will put it again in this way:
All those in favor of keeping the Rev. Mr. Hageman—at an increased
salary—will please rise.

Everyone got upon his feet. Then it dawned upon Mr. Hageman that he
had been the victim of a joke, and a smile lighted his eye, and the
color returned to his cheeks. Some of his best friends had planned the
surprise, and the little scheme had worked to perfection.

       *       *       *       *       *

The deacons and other officers of a church had met to discuss the best
method of getting rid of a pastor who had worn out his usefulness. After
various methods had been suggested without any of them seeming feasible,
one brother, who was a good deal of a wag, said:

I tell you what to do. Let’s pay him all his salary in arrears and raise
him to a thousand a year and he will drop dead.

       *       *       *       *       *

A certain Duluth clergyman was a rather prosy speaker, but occasionally
he proved that he had ready wit. One evening he was addressing his
congregation on the beauty of leading an upright life, when he suddenly
paused and beckoned to the sexton. Brown, said he, in a clear, distinct
tone of voice, open a couple of windows on each side of the church,
please. Beg your pardon, sir! exclaimed the sexton, with a look of great
surprise. Did I understand you to say, open the windows? It is a very
bitter cold night, sir. Yes, I am well aware of that, Brown, was the
cold, hard reply of the clergyman, as he gazed around the church, but it
is not healthy to sleep with the windows shut! We refrain from going any
deeper into personalities.

       *       *       *       *       *

The late Bishop Beckwith, of Georgia, was fond of his gun, and spent
much of his time hunting, says Representative Adamson. One day the
Bishop was out with his dog and gun, and met a member of his parish,
whom he reproved for his inattention to his religious duties. You should
attend church and read your Bible, said Bishop. I do read my Bible,
Bishop, was the answer, and I don’t find any mention of the Apostles
going a-shooting. No, replied the Bishop, the shooting was very bad in
Palestine, so they went fishing instead.

       *       *       *       *       *

A preacher who went to a Kentucky parish where the parishioners bred
horses was asked to invite the prayers of the congregation for Lucy Grey.
He did so. They prayed three Sundays for Lucy Grey. On the fourth he was
told he need not do it any more.

Why, said the preacher, is she dead?

No, answered the man, she won the Derby.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Rev. Mr. Spicer had for three days enjoyed the telephone, which had
been his last gift from an admiring parishioner. He had been using it
immediately before going to church.

When the time came for him to announce the hymn he rose and with his
usual impressive manner read the words. Then in a crisp, firm tone he
said, Let us all unite in hymn six double o; sing three.

       *       *       *       *       *

That Henry Ward Beecher was spared much embarrassment by his quickness at
repartee is illustrated by the following story:

One evening as he was in the midst of an impassioned speech some one
attempted to interrupt him by suddenly crowing like a rooster. It was
done to perfection; a number of people laughed in spite of themselves,
and the speaker’s friends felt that in a moment the whole effect of
the meeting, and of Mr. Beecher’s thrilling appeals might be lost. The
orator, however, was equal to the occasion. He stopped, listened till the
crowing ceased, and then, with a look of surprise, pulled out his watch.

Morning already, he said; my watch is only at 10. But there can be no
mistake about it. The instincts of the lower animals are infallible.

There was a roar of laughter. The lower animal in the gallery collapsed,
and Mr. Beecher was able to resume as if nothing had occurred.

       *       *       *       *       *

The maid had been using surreptitiously the bathtub of her employer, an
elderly bishop. He was a bachelor, very fastidious about his toilet, and
desired the exclusive use of his tub.

He reprimanded the maid with much indignation:

What distresses me most, Mary, is that you have done this behind my back.

       *       *       *       *       *

A certain minister in a certain flock took permanent leave of his
congregation in the following manner:

Brothers and Sisters: I come to say good-bye. I don’t think God loves
this church, because none of you ever die. I don’t think you love each
other, because I never marry any of you. I don’t think you love me,
because you have not paid my salary. Your donations are moldy fruit
and wormy apples, and by their fruits ye shall know them. Brothers,
I am going to a better place. I have been called to be chaplain of a
penitentiary. Where I go ye cannot come, but I go to prepare a place for
you, and may the Lord have mercy on your souls. Good-bye.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sister Henderson, said Deacon Hypers, you should avoid even appearance of
evil.

Why Deacon, what do you mean? asked Sister Henderson.

I observe that on your sideboard you have several cut-glass decanters,
and that each of them is half filled with what appears to be ardent
spirits.

Well, now, Deacon, it isn’t anything of the kind. The bottles look so
pretty on the sideboard that I just filled them half way with some floor
stain and furniture polish, just for appearances.

That’s why I am cautioning you, sister, replied the Deacon. Feeling a
trifle weak and faint, I helped myself to a dose from the big bottle in
the middle.

       *       *       *       *       *

An archdeacon engaged as new footman a well-recommended youth who served
as stable boy. The first duty which the youth was called upon to perform
was to accompany the archdeacon on a series of formal calls.

Bring the cards, Thomas, and leave one at each house, ordered his master.
After two hours of visiting from house to house the archdeacon’s list was
exhausted. This is the last house, Thomas, he said; leave two cards here.

Beggin’ yor pardon, sir, was the deferential reply, I can’t; I’ve only
the ace of spades left.

       *       *       *       *       *

Senator Gore, of Oklahoma, is given credit for this story, told on his
recent visit to a Methodist convention at St. Joseph. It is related by
the Rev. Mr. Williams, pastor of the Baptist Church of Pleasant Hill, who
happened to hear it.

According to Senator Gore, there was an accomplished hen with a brood
of chickens—five roosters and five pullets. The chicks matured and went
their various ways, while the mother hen busied herself with a new
brood. In course of time Methodist ministers came into the vicinity of
Chickenville to hold a conference, and, as might be suspected, the five
young roosters, fat, yellow-legged and extremely tender, were feasted
upon by various and sundry preachers. The young pullets, left behind,
were met by the mother hen a few days later. My children, she asked,
where are your brothers?

They have entered the ministry.

Bracing herself from the shock of disclosure, a look of resignation
spread over Biddy’s countenance as she replied:

Well, my dears, perhaps it is all for the best. They would not have made
very good lay members, anyway.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Philadelphia clergyman, visiting an old schoolmate in Montana, was
called upon to speak during revival services in a large camp of Swedish
miners.

Looking straight at a powerful looking man who sat in front of him, the
minister asked:

My friend, don’t you want to work for the Lord?

The Swede thought a few seconds and replied slowly:

No, I tank no, de Norden Pacific fallers is good enough for me.

       *       *       *       *       *

A short time ago a somewhat laughable incident took place in a northern
church. The minister, after proclaiming the banns of matrimony between
a young couple, concluded by saying, If there be any objections, they
can now be stated. A fashionable youth, an old admirer of the intended
bride, noticing the eyes of a portion of the congregation fixed upon
him, rose up and exclaimed, I have no objection for my own part, to the
astonishment of all about him, and resumed his seat, as if he had done a
mere formal piece of business.

       *       *       *       *       *

Each Sunday the parson rode three miles to church. On this particular
Sunday it was raining very hard. He rode the distance on horseback and,
when he reached the church, was soaking wet.

Several of the good old sisters who were there early placed a chair
before the fire for him and hung his wet coat up to dry.

I am so afraid I won’t be dry enough to preach, he said.

Oh, said one of the sisters, when you get in the pulpit and start
preaching, you will be dry enough.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whenever a Sunday school teacher comes to Louisville invariably a good
story is in order. Last night one of them was at a local hotel, and he
brought along his story. Morrison R. Kendrick is his name, and Chicago is
his town. The story is told by Mr. Kendrick as follows:

Sunday School Superintendent—Who led the children of Israel into Canaan?
Will one of the smaller boys answer?

No reply.

Superintendent (sternly)—Can no one tell? You little fellow on that seat
next to the aisle, who led the children of Israel into Canaan?

Little Boy (badly frightened)—It wasn’t me. I—I just moved here last week
from Missouri.

       *       *       *       *       *

An amusing incident occurred at the close of Sam Jones’ sermon at
Pulaski. Stepping down from the pulpit, folding his hands across his
breast, and looking solemnly over the audience, the great revivalist said—

I want all the women in this crowd who have not spoken a harsh word or
harbored an unkind thought toward their husbands for a month past to
stand up.

One old woman, apparently on the shady side of sixty, stood up.

Come forward and give me your hand, said the preacher.

The woman did so, whereupon Jones said—

Now turn around and let this audience see the best-looking woman in the
country.

After taking her seat, the revivalist addressed the men—

Now I want all the men in this crowd who have not spoken a harsh word or
harbored an unkind thought toward their wives for a month past to stand
up.

Twenty-seven great big strapping fellows hopped out of the audience with
all the alacrity of champagne corks.

Come forward and give me your hands, my dear boys.

Jones gave each one a vigorous shake, after which he ranged all of
them side by side in front of the pulpit and facing the audience. He
looked them over carefully and solemnly, and then, turning around to the
audience, he said—

I want you all to take a good look at the twenty-seven biggest liars in
the State of Tennessee.




_Khaki Klad_


Captain (examining uniforms which are expected to be marked with the
owner’s name)—What does this mean, my man? Your name seems to be
obliterated.

Private (in the rear rank)—No, sir, it’s O’Brien.

       *       *       *       *       *

A young officer at the front wrote home to his father—

Dear Father—Kindly send me fifty pounds at once. Lost another leg in a
stiff engagement, and am in hospital without means.

The answer was as follows—

My Dear Son—As this is the fourth leg you have lost (according to your
letters), you ought to be accustomed to it by this time. Try and hobble
along on any others you may have left.

       *       *       *       *       *

She had been hoping against hope that Bill would get leave of absence
so they could spend their wedding anniversary together. But, alas! he
was unsuccessful in his application. Knowing how disappointed his wife
would be he sent an order to a local store for a treadle sewing machine,
knowing that would be her choice of a present.

The crate arrived before Bill’s letter of explanation, and on examining
it the good lady gave a loud scream, and seizing a hatchet, proceeded to
open it.

Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Smith? cried a neighbor, who happened to be
present.

Pale and faint, Mrs. Smith pointed to an inscription on the crate. It
read—

Bill inside!

       *       *       *       *       *

Rear Admiral Osterhaus, at a luncheon in New York, said of a naval
disappointment.

It was as disappointing as absent-minded Ibsen’s Christmas dinner.

Ibsen, you know, ran absent-mindedly one Christmas night into the
restaurant of a railway station and asked—

Look here, waiter, did you say I had twenty minutes to wait or that it
was twenty minutes to eight?

The Tipperary waiter stopped carving a turkey long enough to reply—

I said nayther. I said ye had twenty minutes to ate, but that was
nineteen minutes ago. There’s yer train whistlin’ fur ye now.

       *       *       *       *       *

Isaac had been drafted and sent to France. Jacob, his partner,
distracted, had begged Isaac to cable when he got over. Three weeks
elapse. No cable.

Jacob cables Isaac—Isaac! Woe is us! Our factory burned down ten days
ago. Why don’t you cable or write?

Three weeks more. No reply.

Jacob cables again—Isaac! Woe is us! Our storage warehouse burned down
last week. Total loss. Settled for $75,000. I am nearly crazy from grief.
Why don’t you cable? Are you dead?

Three weeks more. No reply.

Jacob cables again—Isaac! Woe is us! Our main office burned last week.
Settled insurance for $90,000. I will die if you don’t cable. Haven’t
heard from you at all. Where are you? Are you alive?

Answer comes next day—Jacob, stop that nonsense, spending all our money
for cables! I’m all right. You just keep the home fires burning!

       *       *       *       *       *

The French soldier found as much cause to complain about English as she
is spoken as our lads did with the lingo over there. One of the tri-color
veterans chirped up one day by letting out—Ze English spoken, pas bon.
Here ze sentence—What color is ze blackberry when it is green? and I find
out he is red!

       *       *       *       *       *

General W. W. Blackmar was talking to a group of soldiers in Boston when
a fakir came up and held out for inspection a rusty old sword.

Look at it, gents, he said, examine it close. It is the sword what Lee
surrendered to Grant. You can have it for $5.

Go along with you, said one of the soldiers sternly. Go along with you.
You can’t fool us.

The fakir hurried away, and General Blackmar said—

That was, indeed, an impudent fraud, wasn’t it? It reminds me of the
frauds that were practiced in the old relic shows that used to be a
feature of country fairs.

At a country fair in my youth there was a show devoted almost to biblical
relics. I wish you could have seen the faded cloth, the rusty nails, and
the brass jewels that did duty severally for a piece of Solomon’s robe,
an earring of the Queen of Sheba, Absalom’s hairpin, David’s sling, and
so on. In the place of honor hung a sword, and the showman said—

This is the sword that Balaam was going to kill his ass with.

But, I interposed, I thought that Balaam had no sword. I thought he only
wished for one.

You’re right, said the showman, this is the sword he wished for.

       *       *       *       *       *

What is a man-of-war? said a teacher to his class.

A cruiser, was the prompt reply.

What makes it go?

Its screw, sir.

Who goes with it?

Its crew, sir.

       *       *       *       *       *

Is de major got his pension yit?

Oh, yes!

Used him up purty bad, didn’t dey?

Wuss you ever see! Los’ one arm whilst he waz a-tryin’ ter surrender en
broke two legs a runnin’!

       *       *       *       *       *

When I was a little child, the sergeant sweetly addressed his men at
the end of an hour’s exhaustive drill, I had a set of wooden soldiers.
There was a poor little boy in the neighborhood and after I had been to
Sunday school one day and listened to a stirring talk on the beauties of
charity I was softened enough to give them to him. Then I wanted them
back and cried, but mother said, Don’t cry, Bertie, some day you will get
your wooden soldiers back, and believe me, you lob-sided, mutton-headed,
goofus-brained set of certified rolling pins, that day has come.

       *       *       *       *       *

A firm in Liverpool, delighted that one of its employes was called upon
to join the reserves, volunteered to pay half his wages to his wife in
his absence. At the end of the month the woman appeared, and the moiety
was given her. What? she said; four pound? Yes, replied the senior
partner, that is exactly half, sorry you are not satisfied. It isn’t that
I’m not satisfied. Why, for years he has told me he only got 16 shillings
altogether, and—and—if the Boers don’t kill him, I will.

       *       *       *       *       *

A recruiting sergeant stationed in the south of Ireland met Pat and asked
him to join the army. The latter refused, whereupon the sergeant asked
his reason for refusing.

Aren’t the King and the Kaiser cousins? asked Pat.

Yes, said the recruiting sergeant.

Well, said Pat, begorra I once interfered in a family squabble, and I’m
not going to do so again.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two British soldiers went into a restaurant at Saloniki and asked for
Turkey with Greece. The waiter said—

I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I can’t Servia, whereupon the Tommies
cried—Fetch the Bosphorus!

When that gentleman arrived and heard the complaint, the manager said—

Well, gentlemen, I don’t want to Russia, but you can not Rumania.

And so the poor Tommies had to go away Hungary.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Baron Speck von Sternberg, the newly appointed charge d’affaires from
Berlin, was at a dinner where, in a purely humorous spirit the courage of
the various nations of the world was being impugned. The German’s courage
was pretty severely attacked by an Englishman. Baron von Sternberg took
revenge on him with this brief story—

An Englishman and a German were to fight a duel. They were locked in a
pitch dark room together with cocked pistols. All was still, and neither
could tell where the other was. Finally the German, not wishing to have
murder on his soul, tiptoed to the chimney and fired up it. There was a
shriek, and the Englishman, badly wounded, came tumbling down.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two officers once appeared before Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden to ask his
permission to fight a duel, as one had grievously insulted the other.
Certainly, my friends, said the king. I will be present myself at the
encounter. On the day appointed Gustavus Adolphus appeared on the scene,
accompanied by a sinister looking person, who proved to be the public
executioner. Pointing to the two combatants, the king said—

You see those two men? Immediately after their duel you will behead the
survivor.

The two officers shook hands on the spot.

       *       *       *       *       *

Corporal James Tanner lost both his legs at the second battle of Bull
Run. Later, when in a hospital, he and other wounded soldiers were
visited by charitably inclined women.

One day an elderly female carrying a neat basket sat down beside Tanner
and talked religion to him while he thought of the delicacies in the
basket. At length she lifted the lid and took therefrom a tract on the
evils of dancing, which she handed to the patient. Tanner looked it over
and then said earnestly—

I give you my word of honor, madam, that I’ll never dance again as long
as I live. The elderly lady departed with great satisfaction, fully
believing she had made a convert.




_Emeralds_


Hospital Physician—Which ward do you wish to be taken to? A pay ward or a—

Maloney—Iny of thim, Doc, thot’s safely Dimocratic.

       *       *       *       *       *

He had reached heaven in good time. Hello, St. Peter, said he. ’Tis a
foine job you have.

Right, sir. ’Tis a great place here. We count a million years as a minute
and a million dollars as a cent.

Is that so, said he, wonderingly. Well, it’s money I need. Will you lend
me a cent, St. Peter?

Sure, replied St. Peter, in a minute.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Brannigan, Flannigan, Milligan, Gilligan,
    Duffy, McGuffy, Mullarky, Mahone,
    Rafferty, Lafferty, Connelly, Donnelly,
    Dooley, O’Hooley, Muldowny, Malone;
    Maddigan, Caddigan, Hallahan, Callahan,
    Fagan, O’Hagan, O’Houlihan, Flynn,
    Shanagan, Lanagan, Fogarty, Hogarty,
    Kelly, O’Skelly, McGinnis, McGinn.

       *       *       *       *       *

Pat came to the wake. He walked up to the bier and looking at the remains
of his buddie, Mike, he burst out laughing. He was prompt-hustled out of
the room by many strong hands and when he got his breath he explained:
Well, you see, the last time I talked with Mike he argied with me that
there wasn’t no heaven and there wasn’t no hell, and I couldn’t kape from
laffin’ when I see him lyin’ there all dressed up and no where to go.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two Irishmen were on a ship coming over to America. One night Mike awoke
Pat and said, Pat, get up quick, the ship is sinking. Pat said, what do
we care? It’s not ours.

       *       *       *       *       *

The little Irishman was being examined for admission to the army. He
seemed all right in every way except one. The doctor said, you’re a
little stiff. Quickly the Irish blood mounted as the applicant replied,
You’re a big stiff!

       *       *       *       *       *

R. Hinton Perry, the sculptor, is responsible for the following story of
the scrublady who cares for his studio.

How many children have you Mrs. O’Flarity? he asked of her one morning.

It’s siven I have, sir, she replied. Four be the third wife of my second
husband, three be the second wife of me furst.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two young men met an Irishman. Said one: Well, Pat, what’s the news?

Divil a bit, yer honors; ’tis very dull in these parts. Have yez any news?

Yes, Pat; some very important news.

Is that so, yer honors? Phat is it?

We heard awhile ago for a fact that the devil was dead.

Is that so? Och, worra, worra! What a pity, said he, taking out some
money and giving to each a quarter.

Oh, Pat, take back your money; we don’t charge you anything.

Och, I know yez don’t; but ’twas a custom in the old country to give the
orphans something when their father died.

       *       *       *       *       *

An Irishman who was signing articles on board a ship began to write
his name with his right hand, then, changing the pen to his left hand,
finished it.

So you can write with either hand, Pat? asked the officer.

Yis, sor, replied Pat. Whin I was a boy me father (rist his soul) always
said to me Pat, learn to cut yer finger nails wid your left hand, for
some day ye might lose your right.

       *       *       *       *       *

A good old Irish pastor was thanking his congregation for the many Easter
offerings, and his tremulous voice told how great was his pleasure.

I want to thank the congregation, he said, for the many beautiful gifts
from my people this glorious Easter Sunday. The plate donations were
far in excess of my expectations, the candles were many and freely
contributed, and the flowers were simply beautiful; but I want to say
right here and now that the thing that touched my heart the most was whin
little Mar-r-y Killy walked oop the aisle an’ laid an egg on the altar.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two Irishmen, long enemies, met one day. Said one: What’s the sinse of
two intilligint min goin’ along year after year like a couple of wildcats
spittin’ at each other? Here we live in the same tinimint, and ’tis a
burnin’ shame that we do be actin’ like a couple of boobies. Come along
wid yer and shake hands, and we’ll make up and be friends. Which they
did, and went to an adjacent public house to cement their friendship with
a glass of grog. Both stood at the bar in silence. One looked at the
other and said:

What are you thinkin’ about?

Oi’m thinkin’ the same thing that you are.

Oh, so ye’re startin’ agin, are ye?

       *       *       *       *       *

The frequent and unsuccessful candidacy of certain men in this town for
public office reminded George (Scotty) Dore of a story of his friend
Hogan.

Hogan was raffling a clock, said Mr. Dore. He was fairly successful in
disposing of tickets in the shop where he worked, but he ran up against
trouble when he canvassed his neighbors.

Dropping in at a neighbor’s house, he tried to sell a ticket on the clock.

It’s a fine timepiece, and it’ll luk foine on yer what-not er mantel,
says Hogan, cajolingly.

Gwan, the old clock doesn’t run! replied the neighbor.

Well, drawled Hogan, changing front completely, well perhaps yez won’t
win it, and then ye’ll have the laugh on the fellow who does.

       *       *       *       *       *

Street cleaning commissioner Paul Inglehart, of Baltimore, returned
recently from a gunning trip in Anne Arundel county and brought with him
a supply of new stories told in the historic old South River Club.

The one that particularly took Mr. Inglehart’s fancy was that of the
Irish servant girl who one day asked her mistress what was the meaning of
the word “kismet”. After thinking a little while the mistress said:

Why, Bridget, it is another name for fate.

A day or so afterward the mistress discovered Bridget hobbling down the
stairs evidently in great pain and walking very lame.

Why, what on earth is the matter with you? she asked.

Oh, sure, ma’am, was the reply, I’ve got bunions on my kismet.

       *       *       *       *       *

How is this? the detective inquired, with a jerk of his thumb toward the
interior of the car.

How’s what? inquired the Irishman.

Nine passengers got on and you only rung up eight fares.

Is that so, responded the conductor, with a look of innocent surprise. He
cautiously counted the fares on the large dial. The spotter was waiting.
Begorra, yer right. Wan of thim has got to git off.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thomas Patrick Gallagher, typical Irish traffic copper, was stationed on
Madison street in Chicago at the point intersected by the river.

One bustling Saturday afternoon, Gallagher held up his hand to halt
traffic for the draw bridge. In front of him was a new handsome limousine
motor car.

While waiting for the bridge to close, a runabout flivver crashed into
the rear end of the handsome car.

Gallagher was on the job promptly and hustled over to the driver of the
flivver.

Phwat in hal does yez mane by smashing into this handsome car? Haven’t
you got any eyes? he bellowed at the meek and humble driver. Are you
crazy? I’ve a good mind to take you down to the headquarters, you
blithering idiot. What’s your name? continued Gallagher, as he extracted
a pencil and notebook from his pocket, what is the number of your car?

The answer back in typical Gaelic, me name is Clancy.

Clancy, replied Gallagher. Clancy, what part of Ireland are you from,
what county—

I am from County Mayo.

County Mayo, continued the traffic officer, County Mayo, say Clancy, stay
here just a minute till I go head to that big car and see why in the
devil he backed into you.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following anecdote is illustrative of eviction days in Ireland.
Pat had served part of his time as a bricklayer in the old country. On
arrival in America, he was watching some bricklayers at work when the
foreman observed him:

Can they do it as quick as that in Ireland, Pat?

They can indeed, and twice as quick, answered Pat.

Do you know, said the foreman, that we start a house here in the morning
and it’s finished and a tenant in it before evening.

That’s all you can do, is it? Well, said Pat, in Ireland we start a house
in the morning and the landlord is evicting the tenant for back rent
before evening.

       *       *       *       *       *

Strange as it may seem, there is a public man in this city who is blessed
or cursed with a tender conscience that worries him in small matters as
well as in great. Among the things that he cannot justify to himself
is the bidding a servant to say he is not at home when, in reality, he
is inside his house. At the same time he is not able to receive the
many visitors who call upon him, and his only recourse was to give
instructions that polite excuses should be given to a maid, an Irish
girl, gifted with the readiness and good-will of her nation.

Then I’m to be saying, sir, that you’re not at home? the maid inquired.

No, Mary, no! was the reply; that would not be true. If anyone should ask
for me, you must just put him off—give him some evasive answer, you know.

I’ll do it, sir, never fear, was the maid’s reply. Mary was as good as
her word.

That afternoon a person of importance made his appearance, and was duly
sent away. The faithful maid reported the circumstance to her employer.

What did you do, Mary? inquired the latter with some trepidation.

Oh, I just put him off, sir, as you told me. I gave him an evasive answer.

Yes, but what did you say to him?

Oh, sure, he axed me if the boss was at home, and I said to him, was his
grandmother a monkey?

       *       *       *       *       *

There were some deficiencies in the early education of Mrs. Donahoe, but
she never mentioned them or admitted their existence.

Will you sign your name here? said the young lawyer whom Mrs. Donahoe had
asked to draw up a deed transferring a parcel of land to her daughter.

You sign it yoursilf an I’ll make me mark, said the old woman, quickly.
Since me eyes gave out I’m not able to write a wurrd, young man.

How do you spell it? he asked, pen poised above the proper space.

Spell it what iver way you plaze, said Mrs. Donahoe, recklessly. Since I
lost me teeth there’s not a wurrd in the wurrld I can spell.

       *       *       *       *       *

A story is going the rounds in the court house of an Irishman who
recently went before Judge Stephens to be naturalized.

Have you read the Declaration of Independence? the Court asked.

I hov not, said Pat.

Have you read the Constitution of the United States?

I hov not, your honer.

Judge Stephens looked sternly at the applicant and asked:

Well, what have you read?

Patrick hesitated but the fraction of a second before replying:

I hov red hairs on me neck, yer honor.




_Shadowgraphs_


I notice she bowed to you. Is she an old acquaintance?

Y-yes; we’re slightly acquainted. In fact, she’s a sort of distant
relation. She was the first wife of my second wife’s first husband.

       *       *       *       *       *

Do you want the court to understand, he said, that you refuse to renew
your dog license?

Yessah, but—

We want no buts. You must renew the license or be fined. You know that it
expired January 1, don’t you?

Yessah; so did de dog, sah.

       *       *       *       *       *

That’s a nice-looking dog, remarked the kindly old gentleman, who takes
an interest in everything.

Yes, suh. He looks all right, replied the colored man who was leading him
with a piece of rope.

He looks like a pointer.

Yes, suh. Dat’s what he look like. But dat ain’ what he is. He’s a
disappointer.

       *       *       *       *       *

A colored parson, calling upon one of his flock, found the object of his
visit out in the back yard working among his hen-coops. He noticed with
surprise that there were no chickens.

Why, Brudder Brown, he asked, whar’re all yo’ chickens?

Huh, grunted Brother Brown, without looking up, some fool nigger lef de
do’ open and dey all went home.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rev. Mr. Heavyweight (who has just read Peter’s denial of Christ)—What
are you so thoughtful about, Uncle ’Rastus?

Uncle ’Rastus—I was thinking’, massa parsin, dat if de Apostle Peter had
only been a cullud gemman, dat rooster wouldn’t have crowed more’n once.

       *       *       *       *       *

I want to be procrastinated at de nex’ corner, said Mr. Erastus Pinkly.

You want to be what? demanded the conductor.

Don’t lose your temper. I had to look in de dictionary myself befo’ I
found out dat procrastinate means put off.

       *       *       *       *       *

A southern planter was asking one of his colored servants about her
wedding. Yes, suh, she said, it was jes the finest weddin’ you ever
see—six bridesmaids, flowers everywhere, hundreds ev guests, music, an’
er heap er praying.

Indeed, commented her master. And I suppose Sambo looked as handsome as
any of them?

An embarrassed pause. Well no—not exactly, suh. Would you believe it, dat
fool nigger neber showed up.

       *       *       *       *       *

Aunt Mary Wells is one of the few befo-de-wah darkies left in a little
Kentucky town. Recently she was discussing with her employer the
merry-go-round that was running up on the corner.

Nawsuh, Mr. Malcolm, she said, nawsuh, I don’ ride on none o’ dem things.
Why, Mr. Malcolm, I’ve seen some o’ these here fool niggers git on that
thing and ride as much as a dollar’s worth, and git off at the very same
place they gits on at; an’ I sez to em, Now you spent yo’ money, nigger,
whah yo’ been?

       *       *       *       *       *

Mandy was a good-looking young colored girl and had many admirers. Her
mistress often lectured her on behaving with propriety. One evening the
mistress, going into the kitchen, was surprised to find a strange darky
with his arm around Mandy’s waist.

Why, Mandy, said the mistress indignantly, tell that man to take his arm
from around your waist.

Tell him yo’self, said Mandy haughtily. He’s a puffect stranger to me.

       *       *       *       *       *

A negro was discovered carrying a large armful of books, which brought
forth the inquiry—

Going to school?

Yes, sah, boss.

Do you study all those books?

No, sah; dey’s mu brudder’s. I’se ignorant kinder nigger side him, boss.
Yer jest oughter see dat nigger figgerin’. He done gone ciphered clean
through addition, partition, subtraction, distraction, abomination,
creation, justification, amputation and adoption.

       *       *       *       *       *

Uncle Ephraim had put on a clean collar and his best coat, says the
Chicago Tribune, and was walking majestically up and down the street.

Aren’t you working to-day, uncle? asked one of his acquaintances.

No, suh. I’s celebratin’ my golden weddin’, suh.

You were married fifty years ago to-day?

Yes, suh.

Well, why isn’t your wife helping you celebrate?

My present wife, suh, replied Uncle Ephraim, with dignity, ain’t got
nothin’ to do with it. She’s de fourth, suh.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sambo—You know, Rastus, dat every time ah kiss mah wife she closes her
eyes an’ holler.

Rastus—Ah say she do!

Sambo—What’s dat, nigger?

Rastus—Ah say, do she?

       *       *       *       *       *

Lord Babbington was instructing the new colored servant in his duties,
adding—Now, Zeke, when I ring for you, you must answer me by saying—My
lord, what will you have?

A few hours afterward, having occasion to summon the servant, his
lordship was astonished with the following—

My Gawd, whut does you want now?

       *       *       *       *       *

A negro had made several ineffectual efforts to propose to the object of
his affections, but on each occasion his courage failed him at the last
moment. After thinking the matter over he finally decided to telephone,
which he did. Is that you, Samantha? he inquired upon being given the
proper number. Yes, it’s me, returned the lady. Will you marry me,
Samantha, and marry me quick? Yes, I will, was the reply, who’s speaking?

       *       *       *       *       *

They installed a new furnace, or some sort of a heating apparatus, at the
Brazilian Embassy in Washington this winter.

The Charge went down to look it over. He picked up the shaker. It was
large and heavy.

Here, James, he said to the negro butler, you call up that furnace man
and tell him this shaker is too heavy. Why, none but a modern Ajax could
use it.

Yassir, said the butler, and went to the telephone. Heah, yo’ furnace
man, he said, this yere shaker yo’ done put in the Brazilian Embassy is
too heavy. Why, nobody short of a modern jackass could use it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two darkies engaged in a horse trade. After the sale was made one darky
had the other darky’s horse, for which he parted with $30.00. A few days
later the buyer of the horse came across the other darky and complained
bitterly of being robbed. Why, Rastus, that horse ain’t no good at all.
He can’t see. He’s blind.

What makes you think he’s blind, Sam?

Why, the other day I turned him out in the field and he run into the
fence, then he stumbled over a great big rock and then he run plumb into
a tree.

Aw, go long, nigger, that horse ain’t blind. He just don’t give a damn.

       *       *       *       *       *

One morning, while visiting in Richmond, a New York lady overheard the
following conversation between the hostess and the cook—

Please, Mis’ Gawdon, may I git off nex’ Sunday to go to the fun’ral of a
friend of mine?

Next Sunday? Why, Eliza, this is only Monday! They wouldn’t put a funeral
off for a week.

Yas’m, respectfully; but dey has to, ’cause he ain’t dead yit.

Not dead! I am positively ashamed of you. How can you be so heartless as
to arrange to attend the funeral of a man who is still living? Why, he
may not die at all.

Yas’m, but he will; dey ain’t no hope.

It is impossible to say that, Eliza; the best doctors are often mistaken.
But even if they do know a case to be hopeless, they cannot predict the
exact time of a man’s death with such a certainty that the funeral can be
arranged so long beforehand.

Yas’m, with calm assurance; but he will be buried nex’ Sunday, for all
dat, ’cause he’s gwin’ to be hung on Friday.

       *       *       *       *       *

When General John Corson Smith was lieutenant governor of Illinois, one
of the colored janitors of the state house at Springfield came into his
office one morning and related the following incident, which he said
occurred the previous evening in the negro lodge of which he was a member—

The ballot box had been passed and the worshipful master asked—How is
the ballot in the south, Brother Junior Warden? Clar in the south,
worshipful. How is the ballot in the west, Brother Senior Warden? Clar
in the west, worshipful. The W. M. then inspected the box and said—And
clar in the east. I therefore declar Mr. Josephus Johnson duly elected to
take the degrees in this lodge. Up jumped a big coon, as black as the ace
of spades, and cried, That’s a ’fernal lie,’ worshipful master. I put in
four black balls myself.

       *       *       *       *       *

A negro boy walked into a drug store and asked permission to use the
telephone. Then the following conversation took place—

Is that you, Mistah Jones?

Yes, apparently was the reply.

Well, Mistah Jones, I saw your ad in de paper the other day and yo’
wanted a cullud boy. Did yo’ get one?

Yes, seemed to be the answer again.

Well, Mistah Jones, is he givin’ perfect satisfaction?

The reply appeared still to be affirmative.

Well, Mistah Jones, providen dis cullud boy don’t give perfect
satisfaction, you call me at 54.

The boy turned and started out, and the druggist, who had overheard,
remarked—You didn’t do any good, did you?

Yes, sah, came the reply. I’s dat cullud boy what’s workin’ down there.
I’se jest checkin’ up to see how I stand.

       *       *       *       *       *

Edward M. Flesh, of the United States Food Commission, was talking in St.
Louis about snobbishness.

Snobbishness penetrates everywhere, he said. It even penetrates our
churches.

I know of an old darky who got religion last month and decided to join
the church. He selected, of course, the richest and handsomest church in
town, the church with the finest music and the best preaching. Then he
called on the pastor and stated his design.

But the pastor hemmed and hawed. He felt that his fashionable flock
wouldn’t welcome such an addition as the old darky. He didn’t want to
hurt the old fellow’s feelings, however, and finally he said—

Go home, Uncle Rooster. Go home and pray over it. This is an important
matter, and it should be made a subject of prayer.

Old Uncle Rooster went home, and in a few days he was back again.

Well? said the divine. Well, what’s the verdict now?

Ah prayed an’ Ah prayed, said Uncle Rooster, an’ de good Lawd He say
to me, Rooster, mah son, Ah wouldn’t bothah mah haid about dat mattah
no mo.’ Ah’ve been a-tryin’ to git into dat chu’ch mahself fo’ de last
twenty-nine yeahs an’ Ah ain’t had no luck, nuther.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the end of the first six months of his pastorate in Kentucky the Rev.
Silas Johns had learned the ways of his flock so thoroughly that he knew
exactly how to deal with them. One Sunday the collection was deplorably
small. The next week he made a short and telling speech at the close of
his sermon. I don’t want any man to gib more dan his share, bredren,
he said, gently, bending toward the congregation, but we must all gib
according as we are favored and according to what we rightly hab. I say
rightly hab, bredren, he went on, after a short pause, because we don’t
want any tainted money in de box. Squire Blinks told me dat he’d missed
some chickens dis week. Now, if any one ob my pore benighted bredren has
fallen by de way in connection wid does chickens, let him stay his hand
from de box when it comes to him. Brudder Mose, will you pass de box
while I watch de signs and see if dere’s one in de congregation dat needs
me to wrestle in prayer for him?

       *       *       *       *       *

An excellent story is told by Kate Douglas Wiggin, the popular writer.
A negro servant, wishing to get married, asked his master to buy him a
license in the neighboring town. The master, being in haste, did not ask
the name of the happy woman, but as he drove along he reflected on the
many tender attentions that he had seen John lavish upon Euphemia Wilson,
the cook, and, concluding that there could be no mistake, had the license
made out in her name.

There’s your license to marry Euphemia, he said to the servant that
night. You’re as good as married already, and you owe me only two dollars.

The darky’s face fell.

But, Mas’ Tom, Euphemia Wilson ain’t de lady I’se gwine to marry.
Dat wan’t nothin’ mo’n a little flirtation. Georgiana Thompson, the
la’ndress, is the one I’se gwine to marry.

Oh, well, John, said the master, amused and irritated at the same time,
there’s no great harm done. I’ll get you another license to-morrow, but
it will cost you two dollars more, of course.

The next morning the darky came out to the carriage as it was starting
for town, and leaning confidentially over the wheel, said—Mas’ Tom,
you needn’t git me no udder license; I’ll use the one I’se got. I’se
been t’inkin’ it over in de night, an’ to tell you de troof, Mas’ Tom,
de conclusion o’ my jedgment is dat dar ain’t two dollars’ worth o’
diff’rence between dem two ladies.

       *       *       *       *       *

Until recently there was a partnership existing between two darky
blacksmiths in an Alabama town. The dissolution of this association was
made known by a notice nailed upon the door of the smithy, which notice
ran as follows—

The kopardnershipp heretofor resisting between me and Mose Jenkins is
heerby resolved. All perrsons owing the firm will settel with me, and all
perrsons that the firm owes to will settel with Mose.




_Alliterations_


I wonder if you know that Betty Botter baked a bit of batter, but her
batter was so bitter that to make her bitter batter better Betty Botter
bought a bit of better butter, and with this bit of better butter Betty
Botter made her bitter batter better.

       *       *       *       *       *

In reply to the question, How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a
woodchuck would chuck wood? I would say, if a woodchuck would chuck all
the wood that a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood,
a woodchuck would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a
woodchuck could chuck wood.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the tramp begged for somthun to do for a bite o’ bread, the lady of
the house said—Did you happen to notice that pile of wood in the yard?

Yes’m, I seen it.

You should mind your grammar. You mean you saw it.

No’m. You saw me see it, but you ain’t seen me saw it.

       *       *       *       *       *

An old farmer of Arkansas, whose sons had all grown up and left him,
hired a young man by the name of Esau Buck to help him on his farm. On
the evening of the first day they hauled up a small load of poles for
wood, and unloaded them. The next morning the old man said to the hired
man—

Esau, I’m going to town today, and while I am gone you may saw wood and
keep the old ram out of the garden.

When the old man had gone, Esau went out to saw the wood, but when he saw
the saw he wouldn’t saw. When Esau saw the saw he couldn’t saw with that
saw. Esau looked around for another saw, but that was the only saw he
saw, so he didn’t saw. When the old man came home he said to Esau—

Esau, did you saw the wood?

Esau said—I saw the wood, but I wouldn’t saw it.

The old man went out to see the saw, and when he saw the saw he saw that
Esau couldn’t saw with that saw. When Esau saw that the old man saw that
he couldn’t saw with the saw, Esau picked up the ax and chopped up the
wood and made a seesaw.

The next day the old man went to town and bought a new buck-saw for Esau
Buck, and when he came home he hung the buck-saw for Esau Buck on the
saw-buck by the seesaw.

Just at that time Esau Buck saw the old buck in the garden eating
cabbage, and when driving him from the garden to the barn-yard Esau Buck
saw the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw.

When the old buck saw Esau Buck looking at the new buck-saw on the
saw-buck by the seesaw, he made a dive for Esau, hit the seesaw, knocked
the seesaw against Esau Buck, who fell on the buck-saw on the saw-buck by
the seesaw.

When the old man saw the old buck dive at Esau Buck, and miss Esau and
hit the seesaw and knock the seesaw against Esau, and Esau Buck fall
on the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw, he picked up an ax to
kill the old buck. But the buck saw him coming and dodged the blow and
countered on the old man’s stomach, knocked the old man over the seesaw
onto Esau Buck, who was getting the seesaw, crippled Esau Buck, broke the
buck-saw and the saw-buck and the seesaw.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Yale student is reported to be responsible for the following
alliteration—

Bill had a billboard. Bill also had a board bill. The board bill bored
Bill so that Bill sold the bill board to pay the board bill. So after
Bill sold the bill board to pay his board bill the board bill no longer
bored Bill.

It is said that with little practice on either exercise a salesman will
so loosen his tongue and grease his vocal organs that he can sell Russian
bonds to a Japanese.




_Poet’s Corner_


IN KENTUCKY.

    The moonlight falls the softest,
              In Kentucky;
    The summer days come oftest,
              In Kentucky;
    Friendship is the strongest,
    Love’s light glows the longest,
    Yet, wrong is always wrongest,
              In Kentucky.

    Life’s burdens bear the lightest,
              In Kentucky;
    The home fires burn the brightest,
              In Kentucky;
    While players are the keenest,
    Cards come out the meanest,
    The pocket empties cleanest,
              In Kentucky.

    The sun shines ever brightest,
              In Kentucky;
    The breezes whisper lightest,
              In Kentucky;
    Plain girls are the fewest,
    Their little hearts are truest,
    Maiden’s eyes the bluest,
              In Kentucky.

    Orators are the grandest,
              In Kentucky;
    Officials are the blandest,
              In Kentucky;
    Boys are all the fliest,
    Danger ever nighest,
    Taxes are the highest,
              In Kentucky.

    The bluegrass waves the bluest,
              In Kentucky;
    Yet, bluebloods are the fewest (?),
              In Kentucky;
    Moonshine is the clearest,
    By no means the dearest,
    And, yet, it acts the queerest,
              In Kentucky.

    The dove-notes are the saddest,
              In Kentucky;
    The streams dance on the gladdest,
              In Kentucky;
    Hip pockets are the thickest,
    Pistol hands the slickest,
    The cylinder turns quickest,
              In Kentucky.

    The song birds are the sweetest,
              In Kentucky;
    The thoroughbreds are fleetest,
              In Kentucky;
    Mountains tower proudest,
    Thunder peals the loudest,
    The landscape is the grandest,
    And politics—the damnedest,
              In Kentucky.

                                                  —_By James H. Mulligan._

       *       *       *       *       *

A TIME IN THE KITCHEN.

    The fork said the corkscrew was crooked;
      The remark made the flatiron sad;
    The steel knife at once lost its temper,
      And called the tea-holder a cad.
    The teaspoon stood on its metal;
      The kettle exhibited bile;
    The stove grew hot at the discussion,
      But the ice remained cool all the while.

    The way that the cabbage and lettuce
      Kept their heads was something sublime;
    The greens dared the soup to mix with them,
      And the latter, while it hadn’t much thyme,
    Got so mad it boiled over—the fire
      Felt put out and started to cry;
    The oven then roasted the turkey
      And the cook gave the grease spot the lye.

    The plate said the clock in the corner
      Transacted its business on tick.
    And the plate, which for years had been battered,
      The clock said was full of old nick.
    The salt said the cream should be whipped,
      The cinnamon laughed—in a rage
    The cream said the salt was too fresh,
      And its friend wasn’t thought to be sage.

    You’d not think a thing that’s so holey
      As the sieve would have mixed in the fuss,
    But it did, for it said that the butter
      Was a slippery sort of a cuss;
    No one knows how the row would have ended,
      Had not the cook, Maggie O’Dowd,
    (Her work being done) closed the kitchen,
      And thusly shut up the whole crowd.

       *       *       *       *       *

JUST NONSENSE.

    It was midnight on the ocean
    Not a street car was in sight
    The sun was shining brightly
    And it rained all day that night.

    It was a summer day in winter
    The rain was snowing fast
    A barefoot girl with shoes on
    Stood sitting on the grass.

    It was evening and the rising sun
    Was setting in the west
    The little fishes in the trees
    Were cuddled in their nests.

    The rain was pouring down
    The moon was shining bright
    And everything that you could see
    Was hidden from your sight.

    While the organ peeled potatoes
    Lard was rendered by the choir
    While the sexton rang the dish rag
    Some one set the church on fire.

    “Holy Smokes” the preacher shouted
    In the rain he lost his hair
    Now his head resembles heaven
    For there is no parting there.

       *       *       *       *       *

    This is the story of Johnny McGuire,
    Who ran through the town with his trousers on fire;
    He went to the doctor’s and fainted with fright
    When the doctor told him his end was in sight.

       *       *       *       *       *

8 2 MUCH.

    I often sit and medit8
    Upon the scurvy trick of f8
    That keeps me still a celib8.
    I want a 10der maid sed8
    To love and be my m8.
    My 40-2de is not so gr8
    I cannot w8.

       *       *       *       *       *

ANTHEM FOR A HAS-BEEN.

    My Auto ’tis of Thee
    Short cut to poverty
    Of Thee I chant.
    I blew a pile of dough
    On you three years ago
    Now you refuse to go
    Or won’t or can’t.

    Through town and country side
    I drove thee full of pride
    No charm you lacked.
    I loved your gaudy hue
    Your tires so round and new
    Now I feel mighty blue
    The way you act.

    To thee old rattle box
    Came many bumps and knocks
    For thee I grieve.
    Badly thy top is torn
    Frayed are thy seats and worn
    The croup affects thy horn
    I do believe.

    Thy perfume swells the breeze
    While good folks choke and sneeze
    As we pass by.
    I paid for thee a price
    Would buy a mansion twice
    Now every one yells “Ice”
    I wonder why.

    Thy motor has the grip
    Thy spark plug has the pip
    And woe is thine.
    I too have suffered chills
    Fatigue and kindred ills
    Trying to pay the bills
    Since thou wert mine.

    Gone is my bank roll now
    No more ’twould choke a cow
    As once before.
    Yet if I had the yen
    So help me John “Amen”
    I’d buy a car again
    And speed some more.

       *       *       *       *       *

    The lightning bug is brilliant,
      But he hasn’t any mind;
    It wanders through creation
      With its headlight on behind.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Tobacco is a dirty weed—
                              I like it.
    It satisfies no moral need—
                              I like it.
    It makes you fat, it makes you lean,
    It takes the hair right off your bean,
    It’s the worst darn stuff I’ve ever seen—
                              I like it.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Little Willie in the best of pink sashes,
    Fell in the fire and got burned to ashes.
    Bye and bye the room grew chilly,
    But nobody wanted to poke up Willie.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Here lies the body of Mary Ann Lowder.
    She burst while drinking a seidlitz powder,
    Called from this world, to her heavenly rest,
    She should have waited till it effervesced.

       *       *       *       *       *

IF I SHOULD DIE TONIGHT.

            If I should die to-night
    And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel
    Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel,
            I say, if I should die to-night
    And you should come to me and there and then
    Just even hint about paying me that ten
            I might arise the while
    But I’d drop dead again.

        Twice, thought I, the coin to send,
        My one indebtedness to end.
        But since I’ve learned a shock so great
        A prompt remittance would create,
        I do not like to pay you quite
        For fear that you might die of fright—
                        So wait.




_Limericks_


    Now what is a Limerick pray?
    I beg of you poet to say.
        Conversation like this
        Is a Limerick, miss,
    But it doesn’t occur every day.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Said a husband, You think I’m a St.
    I will fool you a bit, for I at.
        Now please take a look,
        Watch me wink at the cook!
              *  *  *  *  *
    No, the black ’round his eye isn’t pt.

       *       *       *       *       *

    A young thing named Katherine Parr
    Was crazy to be a screen star,
        But she snubbed her director
        When he tried to correct her,
    So Kate didn’t get very far.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There once was an old man of Lyme
    Who married three wives at a time;
        When asked, Why a third?
        He replied, One’s absurd!
    And bigamy sir, is a crime!

       *       *       *       *       *

    There once was a person of Benin
    Who wore clothes not fit to be seen in;
        When told that he shouldn’t
        He replied, Gumscrumrudent!
    A word of inscrutable meanin’!

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a gay damsel of Lynn,
    Whose waist was so charmingly thin,
        The dressmaker needed
        A microscope—she did—
    To fit this slim person of Lynn.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a young lady named Anna,
    Who sang in the choir soprano.
        The tenor said, There!
        As she mounted the stair,
    I’ve both seen and heard your Hose, Anna!

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was an old man in a tree
    Who was horribly bored by a bee,
        When they said, Does it buzz?
        He replied, Yes it does,
    It’s a regular brute of a bee!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Unless I’ve a new gown, said she,
    I really can’t go to the tea.
        I’ve nothing to wear,
        My back is quite bare.
    You’re right in the style, then, said he.

       *       *       *       *       *

    A proud young rooster named Gawk,
    Was taking his flock for a walk;
        An auto whizzed by
        But Gawk wouldn’t fly,
    And so naught was left but the squawk.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Belinda was building the fire,
    She knew the results might be dire,
        But to shorten her toil
        She poured on some oil—
    And speedily winged her way higher.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a young dude from the city
    Who tho’t he espied a nice kitty,
        Her back he did pat,
        Saying, good Kitty Cat—
    They buried his clothes—what a pity!

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a young man at St. Kitts
    Who was very much troubled with fits.
        The eclipse of the moon
        Threw him into a swoon,
    When he tumbled and broke into bits.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a young lady, quite rich,
    Who heard funny noises, at which
        She took off her hat
        And found that her rat
    Had fallen asleep at the switch.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There once was a girl of New York
    Whose body was lighter than cork
        She had to be fed
        For six weeks upon lead,
    Before she went out for a walk.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There once was a man with a beard
    Who said, It is just as I feared!
        Two owls and a hen,
        Four larks and a wren
    Have all built their nests in my beard!

       *       *       *       *       *

    There once was an amorous Mr.
    Who on meeting a girl always Kr.
        But one night at the gate
        He learned when too late
    He’d been kissing the coachman’s black Sr.

       *       *       *       *       *

    They had cut off a Chinaman’s queue,
    And were painting his head a bright blueue;
        So the Chinaman said
        As they daubed at his head;
    When I sueue yueue, yueue’ll rueue what yueue dueue.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a Princess of Bengal
    Whose mouth was exceedingly small;
        She said, It would be
        More easy for me
    To do without eating at all!

       *       *       *       *       *

    A right-handed writer named Wright,
    In writing “write” always wrote “rite.”
        He meant to write “write,”
        But he couldn’t write right—
    Who started this darn thing, anyway?

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a young lady of Boston
    Whose manner had such a deep frost on.
        She invariably froze
        Every one of her beaux
    When her high plane of thought they got lost on.

       *       *       *       *       *

    When you turn down your glass it’s a sign
    That you’re not going to take any wign,
        So turn down your plate
        When they serve things you hate
    And you’ll be asked out often to dign.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was an old person of Ware
    Who rode on the back of a bear.
        When they said, Does it trot?
        He said, Certainly not,
    It’s a Moppsikon Floppsikon bear.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Nan’s father, who lived in Nantucket,
    Kept all of his cash in a bucket.
        But one day Miss Nan
        Eloped with a man,
    And as for the cash, why Nan tuck it!

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was an old man who said, Hush,
    I perceive a young bird in this bush!
        When they said, Is it small?
        He replied, Not at all,
    It is four times as big as the bush!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Every fighter in khaki or blue
    Has a job he simply must do—
        He must stand by the flag,
        He must fight the red rag,
    The Legion will see the job through!

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a cowpuncher in Butte
    Who immediately started to shutte,
        When a girl who was brave
        Said, Your pants need a shave,
    Otherwise you look awfully cutte!

       *       *       *       *       *

    A cowboy with nothing to dioux
    Just for practice tried roping poor Lioux,
        It was excellent sport
        But Siouxn after in court
    He was siouxed for lassiouxing a Sioux!

       *       *       *       *       *

    A broken down tenor named Squires
    Wrote thus to a half hundred choirs;
        Have you place I could fill?
        They replied “No,” but still
    He inquires in choirs in quires.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a young lady named Jane
    Who said to herself, I’m too plain.
        I’m tired of duty,
        Now I’ll seek beauty,
    And beat Father Time at his game.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a dear lady of Eden
    Who on apples was quite fond of feedin’.
        She gave one to Adam
        Who said, Thank you madam,
    And then both skedaddled from Eden.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Said the stuttering baritone Gantz
    When asked by the chorister Rantz,
        If it was his desire
        To sing in the choir,
    I’d j-j-j-jump at the chants!

       *       *       *       *       *

    A lady as proud as old Lucifer
    Is tired of her husband’s abucifer.
        She says she will see
        If she ever gets free
    Love doesn’t again make a gucifer.

       *       *       *       *       *

        When Adam in bliss
        Asked Eve for a kiss,
    She puckered her lips with a coo,
        Gave look so ecstatic,
        And answered emphatic,
    I don’t care A-dam if I do.

       *       *       *       *       *

    She frowned on him and called him Mr.
    Because in fun he’d merely Kr.
        And then for spite
        The foll’wing nite
    This naughty Mr. Kr. Sr.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There was a young lady named Stella,
    Whose beau was a bow-legged fella.
        When he asked her to sit
        In his lap, why she lit
    On his soft corn, then how he did bella.

       *       *       *       *       *

        Professor M’Dome of Saint Clair
    In five hours tracked a bear to his lair.
        Mr. Bear was at home
        And Professor M’Dome
    Spent five minutes returning from there.

       *       *       *       *       *

        I am so poor
        I can’t insure,
    He said, then died—(damnation!)
        His widow sighed,
        Became a bride
    And thus escaped starvation.

       *       *       *       *       *

    For beauty I am not a star,
    There are others more handsome by far.
        By my face I don’t mind it,
        For I am behind it,
    It’s the people in front that I jar.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Dickery Dickery Doc,
    With patients lined up a block
        With fits and conniptions
        They wait for prescriptions
    Liquor me, liquor me, Doc.

       *       *       *       *       *

        Any girl can be gay
        In a classy coupe,
    In a taxi they all can be jolly
        But the girl worth while
        Is the girl who can smile
    When you’re bringing her home on the trolley.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

    A sporty old chink named Wun Won
    Sat up playing fan tan for mon,
        At two he’d lost ten
        But he stuck to it—then
    Wun Won won one-one at 1:01.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There once was a maiden of Siam
    Who said to her lover, young Kiam,
        If you kiss me, of course
        You will have to use force,
    But I’ll wager you’re stronger than I am.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69216 ***