Page 3 of Humorous Hits and How to Hold an Audience

  PART II

  HUMOROUS HITS

  THE TRAIN-MISSER

  BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

  'Ll where in the world my eyes has bin-- Ef I haint missed that train agin! Chuff! and whistle! and toot! and ring! But blast and blister the dasted train!-- How it does it I can't explain! Git here thirty-five minutes before The dern thing's due!--and, drat the thing! It'll manage to git past--shore!

  The more I travel around, the more I got no sense!-- To stand right here And let it beat me! 'Ll ding my melts! I got no gumption, ner nothin' else! Ticket-agent's a dad-burned bore!-- Sell you a ticket's all they keer!-- Ticket-agents ort to all be Prosecuted--and that's jes' what!-- How'd I know which train's fer me? And how'd I know which train was not?-- Goern and comin' and gone astray, And backin' and switchin' ever'-which-way!

  Ef I could jes' sneak round behind Myse'f, where I could git full swing, I'd lift my coat, and kick, by jing! Till I jes' got jerked up and fined!-- Fer here I stood, as a dern fool's apt To, and let that train jes' chuff and choo Right apast me--and mouth jes' gapped Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two!

  "Afterwhiles," copyright 1898, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. Used byspecial permission of the publishers.

  THE ELOCUTIONIST'S CURFEW

  BY W. D. NESBIT

  England's sun was slowly setting--(Raise your right hand to your brow), Filling all the land with beauty--(Wear a gaze of rapture now); And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair (With a movement slow and graceful you may now push back your hair); He with sad, bowed head--(A drooping of your head will be all right, Till you hoarsely, sadly whisper)--"Curfew must not ring to-night."

  "Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered--(Try here to resemble Bess, Tho of course you know she'd never worn quite such a charming dress), "I've a lover in that prison"--(Don't forget to roll your r's And to shiver as tho gazing through the iron prison bars), "Cromwell will not come till sunset"--(Speak each word as tho you'd bite Every syllable to pieces)--"Curfew must not ring to-night."

  "Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton--(Here extend your velvet palm, Let it tremble like the sexton's as tho striving to be calm), "Long, long y'ars I've rung the curfew"--(Don't forget to make it y'ars With a pitiful inflection that a world of sorrow bears), "I have done my duty ever"--(Draw yourself up to your height, For you're speaking as the sexton)--"Gyurl, the curfew rings to-night!"

  Out she swung, far out--(Now here is where you've got to do your best; Let your head be twisted backward, let great sobs heave up your chest, Swing your right foot through an arc of ninety lineal degrees, Then come down and swing your left foot, and be sure don't bend your knees; Keep this up for fifteen minutes till your face is worn and white, Then gaze at your mangled fingers)--"Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

  O'er the distant hills came Cromwell--(Right hand to the brow once more; Let your eyes look down the distance, say above the entrance door)-- At his foot she told her story--(Lift your hands as tho they hurt)-- And her sweet young face so haggard--(Now your pathos you assert, Then you straighten up as Cromwell, and be sure you get it right; Don't say "Go, your liver loves!")--well: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

  Reprinted from _Harper's Magazine_, by permission of Harper andBrothers.

  MELPOMENUS JONES

  BY STEPHEN LEACOCK

  Some people find great difficulty in saying good-by when making a callor spending the evening. As the moment draws near when the visitor feelsthat he is fairly entitled to go away, he rises and says abruptly,"Well, I think----" Then the people say, "Oh, must you go now? Surelyit's early yet!" and a pitiful struggle ensues.

  I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I ever knew was thatof my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, a curate--such a dear young man andonly twenty-three! He simply couldn't get away from people. He was toomodest to tell a lie, and too religious to wish to appear rude. Now ithappened that he went to call on some friends of his on the very firstafternoon of his summer vacation. The next six weeks were entirely hisown--absolutely nothing to do. He chatted a while, drank two cups oftea, then braced himself for the effort and said suddenly:

  "Well, I think I----"

  But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no, Mr. Jones, can't you reallystay a little longer?"

  Jones was always truthful--"Oh, yes, of course, I--er--can."

  "Then please don't go."

  He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling. He roseagain.

  "Well, now, I think I really----"

  "You must go? I thought perhaps you could have stayed to dinner----"

  "Oh, well, so I could, you know, if----"

  "Then please stay; I'm sure my husband will be delighted."

  "All right, I'll stay"; and he sank back into his chair, just full oftea, and miserable.

  Father came home. They had dinner. All through the meal Jones satplanning to leave at eight-thirty. All the family wondered whether Mr.Jones was stupid and sulky, or only stupid.

  After dinner mother undertook to "draw him out" and showed himphotographs. She showed him all the family museum, several gross ofthem--photos of father's uncle and his wife, and mother's brother andhis little boy, and awfully interesting photos of father's uncle'sfriend in his Bengal uniform, an awfully well-taken photo of father'sgrandfather's partner's dog, and an awfully wicked one of father as thedevil for a fancy-dress ball.

  At eight-thirty Jones had examined seventy-one photographs. There wereabout sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones rose.

  "I must say good-night now," he pleaded.

  "Say good-night! why it's only half-past eight! Have you anything todo?"

  "Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about staying six weeks,and then laughed miserably.

  Just then it turned out that the favorite child of the family, such adear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones' hat; so father said that he_must_ stay, and invited him to a pipe and a chat. Father had the pipeand gave Jones the chat, and still he stayed. Every moment he meant totake the plunge, but couldn't. Then father began to get very tired ofJones, and fidgeted and finally said, with jocular irony, that Jones hadbetter stay all night--they could give him a shake-down. Jones mistookhis meaning and thanked him with tears in his eyes, and father put Jonesto bed in the spare-room and curst him heartily.

  After breakfast next day, father went off to his work in the city andleft Jones playing with the baby, broken-hearted. His nerve was utterlygone. He was meaning to leave all day, but the thing had got on his mindand he simply couldn't. When father came home in the evening he wassurprized and chagrined to find Jones still there. He thought to jockeyhim out with a jest, and said he thought he'd have to charge him for hisboard, he! he! The unhappy young man stared wildly for a moment, thenwrung father's hand, paid him a month's board in advance, and broke downand sobbed like a child.

  In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable. He lived, ofcourse, entirely in the drawing-room, and the lack of air and exercisebegan to tell sadly on his health. He passed his time in drinking teaand looking at photographs. He would stand for hours together gazing atthe photograph of father's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform--talkingto it, sometimes swearing bitterly at it. His mind was visibly failing.

  At length the crash came. They carried him up-stairs in a ragingdelirium of fever. The illness that followed was terrible. He recognizedno one, not even father's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform. At timeshe would start up from his bed and shriek: "Well, I think I----" andthen fall back upon the pillow with a horrible laugh. Then, again, hewould leap up and cry: "Another cup of tea and more photographs! Morephotographs! Hear! Hear!"

  At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of his vacation hepassed away. They say that when the last moment came, he sat up in bedwith a beautiful smile
of confidence playing upon his face, and said:"Well--the angels are calling me; I'm afraid I really must go now. Goodafternoon."

  HER FIFTEEN MINUTES

  BY TOM MASSON

  At exactly fifteen minutes to eight His step was heard at the garden gate.

  And then, with heart that was light and gay, He laughed to himself in a jubilant way,

  And rang the bell for the maiden trim Who'd promised to go to the play with him;

  And told the servant, with joyous air, To say there were fifteen minutes to spare.

  And then for fifteen minutes he sat In the parlor dim, and he held his hat,

  And waited and sighed for the maiden trim Who'd promised to go to the play with him,

  Until, as the clock overhead struck eight, He muttered: "Great Scott! it is getting late";

  And took a turn on the parlor floor, And waited for fifteen minutes more;

  And thought of those seats in the front parquet. And midnight came, and the break of day;

  That day and the next, and the next one, too, He sat and waited the long hours through.

  Then time flew on and the years sped by, And still he sat, with expectant eye

  And lengthening beard, for the maiden trim Who'd promised to go to the play with him;

  Until one night, as with palsied hand He sat in the chair, for he couldn't stand,

  And drummed in an aimless way, she came And opened the door with her withered frame.

  The moon's bright rays touched the silvered hair Of her who had fifteen minutes to spare.

  And then in tones that he strained to hear, She spoke, and she said: "Are you ready, dear?"

  Reprinted by permission of _Life_ Publishing Company.

  THE FOXES' TAILS

  ANONYMOUS

  _Minister_--Weel, Sandy, man; and how did ye like the sermon the day?

  _Precentor_--Eh?

  _Minister_--What did you think o' the discourse as a whole?

  _Precentor_--All I was gaun to say was jeest this, that every noo andthen in your discoorse the day--I dinna say oftener than noo andthen--jeest occasionally--it struck me that there was maybe--frae timeto time--jeest a wee bit o' _exaggeration_.

  _Minister_--Exagger--what, Sir?

  _Precentor_--Weel, maybe that's ower strong a word, I dinna want tooffend ye. I mean jeest--_amplification_, like.

  _Minister_--Exaggeration! amplification! What the deil mischief d'yemean, Sir?

  _Precentor_--There, there, there! I'll no say anither word. I dinna meanto rouse ye like that. All I meant to say was that you jeest _streetchedthe pint_ a wee bit.

  _Minister_--_Streetched the pint!_ D'ye mean to say, Sir, that I tell_lees_?

  _Precentor_--Oh! no, no, no--but I didna gang sae far as a' that.

  _Minister_--Ye went quite far enough, Sir. Sandy, I call upon you, ifever ye should hear me say another word out o' joint, to pull me upthere and then.

  _Precentor_--Losh! Sir; but how could I pull ye up i' the kirk?

  _Minister_--Ye can give me sort o' a signal.

  _Precentor_--How could I gie ye a signal i' the kirk?

  _Minister_--Ye could make some kind o' a noise.

  _Precentor_--A noise i' the kirk?

  _Minister_--Ay. Ye're sittin' just down aneath me, ye ken; so ye mightjust put up your held, and give a bit whustle (whistles), like that.

  _Precentor_--A whustle!

  _Minister_--Ay, a whustle!

  _Precentor_--But would it no be an awfu' sin?

  _Minister_--Hoots, man; doesna the wind whustle on the Sawbbath?

  _Precentor_--Ay; I never thought o' that afore. Yes, the wind whustles.

  _Minister_--Well, just a wee bit soughing whustle like the wind(whistles softly).

  _Precentor_--Well, if there's nae harm in 't, I'll do my best.

  So, ultimately, it was agreed between the minister and precentor, thatthe first word of exaggeration from the pulpit was to elicit the signalfrom the desk below.

  Next Sunday came. Had the minister only stuck to his sermon that day, hewould have done very well. But it was his habit, before the sermon, toread a chapter from the Bible, adding such remarks and explanations ofhis own as he thought necessary. On the present occasion he had chosenone that bristled with difficulties. It was that chapter which describesSamson as catching three hundred foxes, tying them tail to tail,setting firebrands in their midst, starting them among the standing cornof the Philistines, and burning it down. As he closed the description,he shut the book, and commenced the _eloocidation_ as follows:

  "My dear freends, I daresay you have been wondering in your minds how itwas possible that Samson could catch three hundred foxes.

  "Well, then, we are told in the Scriptures that Samson was the strongestman that ever lived. But, we are not told that he was a great runner.But if he catched these three hundred foxes he must have been a greatrunner, and therefore I contend that we have a perfect right to assume,by all the laws of Logic and Scientific History, that he was the fastestrunner that ever was born; and that was how he catched his three hundredfoxes!

  "But after we get rid of this difficulty, my freends, another cropsup--after he has catched his three hundred foxes, how does he manage tokeep them all together?

  "Now you will please bear in mind, in the _first place_, that it was_foxes_ that Samson catched. Now we don't catch foxes, as a generalrule, in the streets of a _toon_; therefore it is more than probablethat Samson catched them in the _country_, and if he catched them in thecountry it is natural to suppose that he 'bided in the country; and ifhe 'bided in the country it is not unlikely that he lived at afarm-house. Now at farm-houses we have stables and barns, and_therefore_ we may now consider it a settled pint, that as he catchedhis foxes, one by one, he stapped them into a good-sized barn, andsteeked the door and locked it,--_here we overcome the secondstumbling-block_. But no sooner have we done this, than a third rock ofoffense loups up to fickle us. After he has catched his foxes; after hehas got them all snug in the barn under lock and key--_how in the worlddid he tie their tails together?_ There is a fickler. But it is a greatthing for poor, ignorant folk like you, that there has been great andlearned men who have been to colleges, and universities, and seats o'learning--the same as mysel', ye ken--and instead o' going into thekirk, like me, they have gone traveling into foreign parts; and theyhave written books o' their travels; and we can read their books. Now,among other places, some of these learned men have traveled into_Canaan_, and some into _Palestine_, and some few into the _Holy Land_;and these last mentioned travelers tell us, that in these Eastern orOriental climes, the foxes there are _a total different breed o' cattlea'thegither frae our foxes_; that they are _great, big beasts_--and,what's the most astonishing thing about them, and what helps to explainthis wonderful feat of Samson's, is, that they've all got _mostextraordinary long tails_; in fact, these Eastern travelers tell us thatthese foxes' tails are actually _forty feet long_.

  _Precentor_ (whistles).

  _Minister_ (somewhat disturbed)--"Oh! I ought to say that there are_other travelers_, and _later travelers_ than the travelers I've beentalking to you about, and they say this statement is rather an_exaggeration_ on the whole, and that these foxes' tails are never morethan _twenty feet long_.

  _Precentor_ (whistles).

  _Minister_ (disturbed and confused)--"Be--be--before I leave thissubject a'thegither, my freends, I may just add that there has been aconsiderable diversity o' opinion about the length o' these animals'tails. Ye see one man says one thing, and anither, anither; and I'vespent a good lot o' learned research in the matter mysel'; and afterexamining one authority, and anither authority, and putting oneauthority again the ither, I've come to the conclusion that these foxes'tails, on an average, are seldom more than _fifteen and a half feetlong_.

  _Precentor_ (whistles).

  _Minister_ (angrily)--"Sandy McDonald, I'll no tak anither inch off o'the beasts' tails, even g
in ye should whustle every tooth oot o' yourhead. Do ye think the foxes o' the Scriptures had na tails at a'?"

  THE DEAD KITTEN

  ANONYMOUS

  You's as stiff an' cold as a stone, little cat; Dey's done frowed out an' left you all alone, little cat; I's a-strokin' you's fur But you don't never purr, Nor hump up anywhere-- Little cat, why is dat? Is you's purrin' an' humpin' up done?

  An' why is you's little foot tied, little cat? Did dey pisen you's tummick inside, little cat? Did dey pound you wif bricks Or wif big nasty sticks Or abuse you wif kicks? Little cat, tell me dat. Did dey laff whenever you cried?

  Did it hurt werry bad when you died, little cat? Oh, why didn't you wun off and hide, little cat? Dey is tears in my eyes, 'Cause I most always cries When a pussy-cat dies, Little cat, tink of dat, An' I am awfully solly, besides.

  Des lay still, down in de sof' groun', little cat, While I tucks the green grass awound, little cat, Dey can't hurt you no more, W'en you's tired and so sore; Des' sleep quiet, you pore Little cat, wif a pat, And forget all the kicks of the town.

  THE WEATHER FIEND

  ANONYMOUS

  One hot day last summer, a young man dressed in thin clothes, entered aBroadway car, and seating himself opposite a stout old gentleman, said,pleasantly:

  "Pretty warm, isn't it?"

  "What's pretty warm?"

  "Why, the weather."

  "What weather?"

  "Why, this weather."

  "Well, how's this different from any other weather?"

  "Well, it is warmer."

  "How do you know it is?"

  "I suppose it is."

  "Isn't the weather the same everywhere?"

  "Why, no,--no; it's warmer in some places and it's colder in others."

  "What makes it warmer in some places than it's colder in others?"

  "Why, the sun,--the effect of the sun's heat."

  "Makes it colder in some places than it's warmer in others? Never heardof such a thing."

  "No, no, no. I didn't mean that. The sun makes it warmer."

  "Then what makes it colder?"

  "I believe it's the ice."

  "What ice?"

  "Why, the ice,--the ice,--the ice that was frozen by--by--by the frost."

  "Have you ever seen any ice that wasn't frozen?"

  "No,--that is, I believe I haven't."

  "Then what are you talking about?"

  "I was just trying to talk about the weather."

  "And what do you know about it,--what do you know about the weather?"

  "Well, I thought I knew something, but I see I don't and that's a fact."

  "No, sir, I should say you didn't! Yet you come into this car and forceyourself upon the attention of a stranger and begin to talk about theweather as tho you owned it, and I find you don't know a solitary thingabout the matter you yourself selected for a topic of conversation. Youdon't know one thing about meteorological conditions, principles, orphenomena; you can't tell me why it is warm in August and cold inDecember; you don't know why icicles form faster in the sunlight thanthey do in the shade; you don't know why the earth grows colder as itcomes nearer the sun; you can't tell why a man can be sun-struck in theshade; you can't tell me how a cyclone is formed nor how the trade-windsblow; you couldn't find the calm-center of a storm if your life dependedon it; you don't know what a sirocco is nor where the southwest monsoonblows; you don't know the average rainfall in the United States for thepast and current year; you don't know why the wind dries up the groundmore quickly than a hot sun; you don't know why the dew falls at nightand dries up in the day; you can't explain the formation of fog; youdon't know one solitary thing about the weather and you are just like athousand and one other people who always begin talking about the weatherbecause they don't know anything else, when, by the Aurora Borealis,they know less about the weather than they do about anything else in theworld, sir!"

  THE RACE QUESTION

  BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

  SCENE: _Race-track. Enter old colored man, seating himself._

  "Oomph, oomph. De work of de devil sho' do p'ospah. How 'do, suh? Destol'able, thankee, suh. How you come on? Oh, I was des asayin' how dewo'k of de ol' boy do p'ospah. Doesn't I frequent the race-track? No,suh; no, suh. I's Baptis' myse'f an' I 'low hit's all devil's doin's.Wouldn't 'a' be'n hyeah to-day, but I got a boy named Jim dat's longgone in sin an' he gwine ride one dem hosses. Oomph, dat boy! I sut'nyhas talked to him and labohed wid him night an' day, but it was allersin vain, an' I's feahed dat de day of his reckonin' is at han'.

  "Ain't I nevah been intrusted in racin'? Humph, you don't s'pose I beendead all my life, does you? What you laffin at? Oh, scuse me, scuse me,you unnerstan' what I means. You don' give a ol' man time to splainhisse'f. What I means is dat dey has been days when I walked in decounsels of de ongawdly and set in de seats of sinnahs; and long erboutdem times I did tek most ovahly strong to racin'.

  "How long dat been? Oh, dat's way long back, 'fo I got religion, mo'nthuty years ago, dough I got to own I has fell from grace several timessense.

  "Yes, suh, I ust to ride. Ki-yi! I nevah furgit de day dat my ol' Mas'Jack put me on 'June Boy,' his black geldin', an' say to me, 'Si,' sayshe, 'if you don' ride de tail offen Cunnel Scott's mare, "No Quit," I'sgwine to larrup you twell you cain't set in de saddle no mo'.' Hyah,hyah. My ol' Mas' was a mighty han' fu' a joke. I knowed he wan't gwineto do nuffin' to me.

  "Did I win? Why, whut you spec' I's doin' hyeah ef I hadn' winned? W'y,ef I'd 'a' let dat Scott maih beat my 'June Boy' I'd 'a' drowned myse'fin Bull Skin Crick.

  "Yes, suh, I winned; w'y, at de finish I come down dat track lak hit wasde Jedgment Day an' I was de las' one up! 'f I didn't race dat maih'stail clean off. I 'low I made hit do a lot o' switchin'. An' aftah datmy wife Mandy she ma'ed me. Hyah, hyah, I ain't bin much on hol'in' dereins sence.

  "Sh! dey comin' in to wa'm up. Dat Jim, dat Jim, dat my boy; you nasty,putrid little raskil. Des a hundred an' eight, suh, des a hundred an'eight. Yas, suh, dat's my Jim; I don' know whaih he gits his dev'mentat.

  "What's de mattah wid dat boy? Whyn't he hunch hisse'f up on dat saddleright? Jim, Jim, whyn't you limber up, boy; hunch yo'sef up on dat hoselak you belonged to him and knowed you was dah. What I done showed you?De black raskil, goin' out dah tryin' to disgrace his own daddy. Hyeahhe come back. Dat's bettah, you scoun'ril.

  "Dat's a right smaht-lookin' hoss he's a-ridin', but I ain't a-trustin'dat bay wid de white feet--dat is, not altogethah. She's a favourwright,too; but dey's sumpin' else in dis worl' sides playin' favourwrights.Jim battah had win dis race. His hoss ain't a five to one shot, but Ispec's to go way fum hyeah wid money ernuff to mek a donation on depa'sonage.

  "Does I bet? Well, I don' des call hit bettin'; but I resks a littlew'en I t'inks I kin he'p de cause. 'Tain't gamblin', o' co'se; Iwouldn't gamble fu nothin', dough my ol' Mastah did ust to say dat ahones' gamblah was ez good ez a hones' preachah an' mos' nigh ez skace.

  "Look out dah, man, dey's off, dat nasty bay maih wid de white feetleadin' right f'um de pos'. I knowed it! I knowed it! I had my eye onhuh all de time. O Jim, Jim, why didn't you git in bettah, way back dahfouf? Dah go de gong! I knowed dat wasn't no staht. Troop back dah, youraskils, hyah, hyah.

  "I wush day boy wouldn't do so much jummyin erroun' wid day hoss. Fustt'ing he know he ain't gwine to know whaih he's at.

  "Dah, dah dey go ag'in. Hit's a sho' t'ing dis time. Bettah, Jim,bettah. Dey didn't leave you dis time. Hug dat bay maih, hug her close,boy. Don't press dat hoss yit. He holdin' back a lot o' t'ings.

  "He's gainin'! doggone my cats, he's gainin'! an' dat hoss o' his'ngwine des ez stiddy ez a rockin'-chair. Jim allus was a good boy.

  "Counfound these spec's, I cain't see 'em skacely; huh, you say dey'sneck an' neck; now I see 'em! and Jimmy's a-ridin' like---- Huh, huh, Ilaik to said sumpin'.

  "De bay maih's done huh bes',
she's done huh bes'! Dey's turned into thestretch an' still see-sawin'. Let him out, Jimmy, let him out! Dat boydone th'owed de reins away. Come on, Jimmy, come on! He's leadin' by anose. Come on, I tell you, you black rapscallion, come on! Give 'emhell, Jimmy! give 'em hell! Under de wire an'a len'th ahead. Doggone mycats! wake me up wen dat othah hoss comes in.

  "No, suh, I ain't gwine stay no longah--I don't app'ove o' racin'; I'sgwine 'roun' an' see dis hyeah bookmakah an' den I's gwine drecklyhome, suh, dreckly home. I's Baptis' myse'f, an' I don't app'ove o' nosich doin's!"

  Reprinted by permission from "The Heart of Happy Hollow," Dodd, Mead &Company, New York.

  WHEN THE WOODBINE TURNS RED

  ANONYMOUS

  They sat in a garden of springing flowers, In a tangle of woodland ways; And theirs was the sweetest of summer bowers, Where they passed long summer days. But, alas, when the sunbeams faded away, And those brightest of days had fled 'Neath the old trysting trees they parted for aye, When the woodbine leaves turned red.

  When the woodbine leaves turned red, And their last farewell was said, They swore to be true, as all lovers do, When the woodbine leaves turn red. She gave him a flower sweet; They vowed they would surely meet In a year and a day; tho they parted for aye When the woodbine leaves turned red.

  They met in the garden again next year, And their ways had been far apart. He grasped both hands with a sigh and a tear, And murmured, "My old sweetheart, I have to confess it, I can't marry you, For already have I been wed." And she answered, blushing, "So have I, too." _And the woodbine turned red._

  CUPID'S CASUISTRY

  BY W. J. LAMPTON

  We were sitting in the moonlight Of a radiant, rosy June night, When I whispered: "Kitty, don't you Wish I'd kiss you? Let me, won't you?"

  Kitty was a rustic maiden, And I thought not heavy laden With the wisdom of the ages Writ on cultured cupid's pages.

  Kitty answered: "No, I mustn't Let you kiss me: my ma doesn't Think it proper that her Kitty Be like maidens in the city."

  "Oh!" I stammered. Then did Kitty Whisper in a tone of pity: "I might kiss _you_ and be true, sir, To my mother; would that do, sir?"

  WHEN MAH LADY YAWNS

  BY CHARLES T. GRILLEY

  When mah Cah'line yawns, ah'm 'spicious Dat she tinks de time po'pitious Fo' me to tu'n mah 'tention to de clock upon de wall. Dat's de cue to quit mah talkin', An' a gentle hint dat walkin' Would flicitate de briefness of mah call.

  Th' fus' gal that ah coh'ted Ouah ma'idge it was thwa'ted Because ah was so green ah didn' know. When she yawns it was behoovin' Dat dis dahkey should be movin', Twell at las' she says, "Fo Lawd's sake, niggah, go!"

  Den ah took mah hat an' stah'ted, An f'om dat hour we pah'ted, An ah nevah seen dat cullud gal no mo'. But it taught me dis yer lesson Dat a yawn am de expression Dat invites yo' to be movin' to'ards de do'.

  So take dis friendly wah'nin',-- Should yo' lady love stah't yawnin' Altho de sudden pah'ting cost yo' pain, If she's one you'd like t' marry, Aftah one good yawn don' tarry, Den yo sho'ly will be welcome da again.

  WATCHIN' THE SPARKIN'

  BY FRED EMERSON BROOKS

  Say, Jim, ye wanter see the fun? Jemimy's sparkin's jess begun! Git deown--this box won't hold but one Fer peekin' through the winder! Yeou stay down thar jess whar ye be; I'll tell ye all thar is to see; Then you'll enjoy it well as me; An' deon't yeou try to hinder!

  That teacher is the dumbdest goose That Cupid ever turned eout loose; His learnin' hain't no sort o' use In sparkin' our Jemimy! Tho peekin's 'ginst the golden reule, He told us t'other day in scheool To watch him close; so git a steool An' stand up here close by me.

  Neow he's got suthin' in his head That somehow ruther's gotter be said; Keeps hitchin' up, an' blushin' red, With one leg over t'other. He wants to do the thing up breown. Wall, he's the biggest gawk in teown: Showin' her pictur's upside deown; An' she don't know it nuther!

  He's got his arm areound her chair, And wonders if she'll leave it there. But she looks like she didn't care! I'll bet he's goin' to kiss 'er; He's gittin' closer to her face, An' pickin' out the softest place, An' sort o' measurin' off the space, Jess so as not to miss 'er.

  If she'd git mad, an' box his ear, 'Twould knock his plans clean out o' gear, An' set him back another year; But she ain't goin' to do it: She thinks the teacher's jess tip-top, An' she won't let no chances drop; If ever he sets in to pop, She's goin' to pull him through it!

  I gum! an' if he ain't the wust! Waitin' fer her to kiss him fust! He's goin' to do it neow er bu'st: He's makin' preparation! Neow watch him steppin' on her toes-- That's jess to keep her down, I s'pose. Wall, thar, he's kissed her on the nose! So much fer edecation!

  By permission of Messrs. Forbes & Co., Chicago.

  THE WAY OF A WOMAN

  BY BYRON W. KING

  It was the last night before leap-year; it was the last hour beforeleap-year; in fact, the minute-hand had moved round the dial face of theclock until it registered fifteen minutes of twelve,--fifteen minutes ofleap-year. John and Mary were seated in Mary's father's parlor. Therewas plenty of furniture there but they were using only a limited portionof it. John watched the minute-hand move round the dial face of theclock until, like the finger of destiny, it registered fifteen minutesof twelve,--fifteen minutes of leap-year, when he gasped hard, clutchedhis coat collar, and said,--

  "Mary, in just fifteen minutes, Mary,--fifteen minutes by that clock,Mary,--another year, Mary,--like the six thousand years that have gonebefore it, Mary,--will have gone into the great Past and be forgotten inoblivion, Mary,--and I want to ask you, Mary,--to-night, Mary,--on thissofa, Mary,--if for the next six thousand years,--Mary!!!----"

  "John," she said with a winning smile, "you seem very much excited,John,--can I do anything to help you, John?"

  "Just sit still, Mary,--just sit still. In just twelve minutes,Mary,--twelve minutes by this clock, Mary,--like the six thousand clocksthat have gone before it, Mary,--will be forgotten, Mary,--and I want toask this clock, Mary,--to-night, on this sofa, Mary,--if when we'vebeen forgotten six thousand times, Mary,--in oblivion, Mary,--and sixthousand sofas, Mary!!----"

  "John," she said, more smilingly than ever, "you seem quite nervous;would you like to see father?"

  "Not for the world, Mary, not for the world! In just eight minutes,Mary,--eight minutes by that awful clock, we'll be forgotten, Mary,--andI want to ask six thousand fathers, Mary,--if when this sofa, Mary,--hasbeen forgotten six thousand times, Mary,--in six thousand oblivions,--Iwant to ask six thousand Marys six thousand times, Mary!!!!----"

  "John," she said, "you don't seem very well. Would you like a glass ofwater?"

  "Mary,--in just three minutes, Mary,--three minutes by that dreadfulclock, Mary,--we'll be forgotten, Mary,--six thousand times,--and I wantto ask six thousand sofas, Mary,--if when six thousand oblivions haveforgotten six thousand fathers in six thousand years, I want to ask sixthousand Marys, six thousand times, Mary!!!!----"

  Bang! the clock struck. It was leap-year. The clock struck twelve andMary turning to John, sweetly said:

  "John, it's leap-year; will you marry me?"

  "Yes!!!"

  Gentlemen, there is no use talking, the way of a woman beats you all.

  THE YACHT CLUB SPEECH

  ANONYMOUS

  Mr. Chairman--a--a--a--Mr. Commodore--beg pardon--I assure you thatuntil this moment I had not the remotest expectation that I should becalled upon to reply to this toast. (_Pauses, turns round, pulls MS. outof pocket and looks at it._) Therefore I must beg of you, Mr.Captain--a--a--Mr. Commatain--a--a--Mr.--Mr. Cappadore--that you willpardon the confused nature of these remarks, being as they mustnecessarily be altogether impromptu and extempore. (_Pauses
, turns roundand looks at MS._) But Mr. Bos'an--a--a--Mr. Bosadore--I feel--I feeleven in these few confused expromptu and intempore--intomptu andexprempore--extemptu and imprempore--exprompore remarks--I feel that Ican say in the words of the poet, words of the poet--poet--I feel that Ican say in the words of the poet--of the poet--poet, and in these fewconfused remarks--in the words of the poet--(_turns round, looks atMS._)--I feel that I can say in the words of the poet that I feel myheart swell within me. Now Mr. Capasun, Mr. Commasun, why does my heartswell within me--in the few confused--why does my heart swell withinme--swell within me--swell within me--what makes my heart swell withinme--why does it swell--swell within me? (_Turns round and looks at MS._)Why, Mr. Cappadore--look at George Washington--what did he do?--in thefew confused----(_Strikes dramatic attitude with swelled chest andoutstretched arm, preparing for burst of eloquence which will notcome._) He--huh--he--huh--he--huh--(_turns round and looks at MS._)--hetook his stand upon the ship of state--he stood upon themaintopgallant-jib-boomsail and reefed the quivering sail--and when thestorms were waging rildly round to wreck his fragile bark, through allthe howling tempest he guided her in safety into the harbor ofperdition--a--a--a--into the haven of safety. And what did he do then?What did he do then? What did he do then? He--he--he--(_looks atMS._)--there he stood. And then his grateful country-men gathered roundhim--they gathered round George Washington--they placed him on thesummit of the cipadel--their capadol--they held him up before the eyesof the assembled world--around his brow they placed a never-dyingwreath--and then in thunder tones which all the world mighthear----(_Flourishes MS. before his face, notices it and sits down ingreat confusion._)

  MAMMY'S LI'L' BOY

  BY H. S. EDWARDS

  Who all time dodgin' en de cott'n en de corn? Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! Who all time stealin' ole massa's dinner-horn? Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! Oh, run ter es mammy En she tek 'im in 'er arms, Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Who all time runnin' ole gobble roun' de yard? Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! Who tek 'e stick 'n hit ole possum dog so hard? Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! Oh, run ter es mammy En climb up en 'er lap, Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Who all time stumpin' es toe ergin er rock? Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! Who all time er-rippin' big hole en es frock? Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! Oh, run ter es mammy En she wipe es li'l' eyes, Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Who all time er-losin' de shovel en de rake? Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! Who all time tryin' ter ride 'e lazy drake? Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! Oh, scoot fer yer mammy En she hide yer f'om yer ma, Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Who all time er-trottin' ter de kitchen fer er bite? Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! Who mess 'esef wi' taters twell his clothes dey look er sight? Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o, li'l boy! En 'e run ter es mammy Fer ter git 'im out er trouble, Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Who all time er-frettin' en de middle er de day? Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! Who all time er-gettin' so sleepy 'e can't play? Mammy's li'l' baby boy.

  Byo baby boy, oh bye, By-o li'l' boy! En 'e come ter es mammy Ter rock 'im en 'er arms, Mammy's li'l' baby boy. Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo, Shoo, shoo, shoo!

  Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo, Shoo, li'l' baby, shoo! Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo, Shoo, shoo, shoo, Shoo....

  Deir now, lay right down on mammy's bed en go 'long back ter sleep,--shoo-shoo!

  Reprinted by permission

  CORYDON

  BY THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

  _Shepherd_

  Good sir, have you seen pass this way A mischief straight from market-day? You'd know her at a glance, I think; Her eyes are blue, her lips are pink; She has a way of looking back Over her shoulder, and, alack! Who gets that look one time, good sir, Has naught to do but follow her.

  _Pilgrim_

  I have not seen this maid, methinks, Tho she that passed had lips like pinks.

  _Shepherd_

  Or like two strawberries made one By some sly trick of dew and sun.

  _Pilgrim_

  A poet!

  _Shepherd_

  Nay, a simple swain That tends his flock on yonder plain, Naught else, I swear by book and bell. But she that passed--you marked her well. Was she not smooth as any be That dwell herein in Arcady?

  _Pilgrim_

  Her skin was as the satin bark Of birches.

  _Shepherd_

  Light or dark?

  _Pilgrim_

  Quite dark.

  _Shepherd_

  Then 't was not she.

  _Pilgrim_

  The peach's side That gets the sun is not so dyed As was her cheek. Her hair hung down Like summer twilight falling brown; And when the breeze swept by, I wist Her face was in a somber mist.

  _Shepherd_

  No, that is not the maid I seek,-- _Her_ hair lies gold against the cheek; Her yellow tresses take the morn Like silken tassels of the corn. And yet--brown locks are far from bad.

  _Pilgrim_

  Now I bethink me, this one had A figure like the willow tree Which, slight and supple, wondrously Inclines to droop with pensive grace, And still retains its proper place; A foot so arched and very small The marvel was she walked at all; Her hand--in sooth I lack the words-- Her hand, five slender snow-white birds; Her voice--tho she but said "Godspeed"-- Was melody blown through a reed; The girl Pan changed into a pipe Had not a note so full and ripe. And her eye--my lad, her eye! Discreet, inviting, candid, shy, An outward ice, an inward fire, And lashes to the heart's desire-- Soft fringes blacker than the sloe.

  _Shepherd--thoughtfully_

  Good sir, which way did _this_ one go?

  * * * * *

  _Pilgrim--solus_

  So, he is off! the silly youth Knoweth not Love in sober sooth. He loves--thus lads at first are blind-- No woman, only womankind.

  From the Poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Household Edition, bypermission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

  GIB HIM ONE UB MINE

  BY DANIEL WEBSTER DAVIS

  A little urchin, ragged, black, An old cigar "stump" found, And visions of a jolly smoke, Began to hover 'round. But finding that he had no match, A big store he espied, And straightway for it made a dash To have his wants supplied.

  "I have no match!" the owner said, "And, even if I do, I have no match, you understand, For such a thing as you!" Down in the ragged pantaloons, The little black hand went, And forth it came, now holding fast A big old-fashioned cent.

  "Gib me a box," the urchin said, His bosom filled with joy; And calmly lighted his "cigar," A radiant happy boy. Then handing back the box, he said, As his face with pride did shine: "Nex' time a gent'mun wants a match, Jes' gib him one ub mine!"

  A LESSON WITH THE FAN

  ANONYMOUS

  If you want to learn a lesson with the fan, I'm quite prepared to teach you all I can. So ladies, everyone, pray observe how it is done, This simple little lesson with the fan!

&nbsp
; If you chance to be invited to a ball, To meet someone you don't expect at all, And you want him close beside you, while a dozen friends divide you, Well, of course--it's most unladylike to call.

  So you look at him a minute, nothing more, And you cast your eyes demurely on the floor, Then you wave your fan, just so, well--toward you, don't you know,-- It's a delicate suggestion,--nothing more!

  When you see him coming to you (simple you), Oh! be very, very careful what you do; With your fan just idly play, and look down, as if to say It's a matter of indifference to you!

  Then you flutter and you fidget with it, so! And you hide your little nose behind it low, Till, when he begins to speak, you just lay it on your cheek, In that fascinating manner that you know!

  And when he tells the old tale o'er and o'er, And vows that he will love you evermore,-- Gather up your little fan, and secure him while you can,-- It's a delicate suggestion,--nothing more!

  THE UNDERTOW

  BY CARRIE BLAKE MORGAN

  You hadn't ought to blame a man fer things he hasn't done Fer books he hasn't written or fer fights he hasn't won; The waters may look placid on the surface all aroun', Yet there may be an undertow a-keepin' of him down.

  Since the days of Eve and Adam, when the fight of life began, It aint been safe, my brethren, fer to lightly judge a man; He may be tryin' faithful fer to make his life a go, And yet his feet git tangled in the treacherous undertow.

  He may not lack in learnin' and he may not want fer brains; He may be always workin' with the patientest of pains, And yet go unrewarded, an', my friends, how can we know What heights he might have climbed to but fer the undertow?

  You've heard the Yankee story of the hen's nest with a hole, An' how the hen kept layin' eggs with all her might an' soul, Yet never got a settin', not a single egg, I trow; That hen was simply kickin' 'gainst a hidden undertow.

  There's holes in lots of hen's nests, an' you've got to peep below To see the eggs a-rollin' where they hadn't ought to go. Don't blame a man fer failin' to achieve a laurel crown Until you're sure the undertow aint draggin' of him down.

  MARKETING

  ANONYMOUS

  A little girl goes to market for her mother.

  _Butcher._--"Well, little girl, what can I do for you?"

  _Little Girl._--"How much is chops this morning, mister?"

  _B._--"Chops, 20 cents a pound, little girl."

  _L. G._--"Oh! 20 cents a pound for chops; that's awful expensive. Howmuch is steak?"

  _B._--"Steak is 22 cents a pound."

  _L. G._--"That's too much! How much is chicken?"

  _B._--"Chicken is 25 cents a pound" (_impatiently_).

  _L. G._--"Oh! 25 cents for chicken. Well my ma don't want any of them!"

  _B._--"Well, little girl, what _do_ you want?"

  _L. G._--"Oh, I want an automobile, but my ma wants 5 cents' worth ofliver!"

  A SPRING IDYL ON "GRASS"

  BY NIXON WATERMAN

  Oh, the gentle grass is growing In the vale and on the hill; We can not hear it growing, Still 'tis growing very still: And in the spring it springs to life, With gladness and delight; I see it growing day by day,-- It also grows by night. And, now, once more as mowers whisk The whiskers from the lawn, They'll rouse us from our slumbers,-- At the dawning of the dawn: It saddens my poor heart to think What we should do for hay, If grass instead of growing up Would grow the other way. Its present rate of growing, Makes it safe to say that soon, 'Twill cover all the hills at morn And in the afternoon. And I have often noticed As I watched it o'er and o'er, It grows, and grows, and grows, awhile, And then it grows some more,-- If it keeps growing right along It shortly will be tall; It humps itself thro' strikes, And legal holidays and all; It's growing up down all the streets; And clean around the square; One end is growing in the ground, The other in the air: If the earth possest no grass Methinks its beauty would be dead; We'd have to make the best of it, And use baled hay instead.

  From "A Book of Verses," by permission of Forbes & Co., Chicago.

  INTRODUCIN' THE SPEECHER

  BY EDWIN L. BARKER

  INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. This selection is a little caricature, introducingtwo characters. "The Speecher" is one of those young men who has passedthrough college in one year,--passed _through_,--and has increasingdifficulty in finding a hat large enough to fit his head. His oratoricalpowers have been praised by his friends, and he never misses anopportunity to exhibit his "great natural talent." "The Chairman" isfrequently met in the smaller towns. He has lived there a long time, isacquainted with everybody, makes it a point to form the acquaintance ofall newcomers, takes an interest in public affairs, and is often calledupon to introduce the speakers who visit the town. His principalweakness is that in the course of his introductory remarks he usuallysays more than the speaker himself.

  THE CHAIRMAN. (_Comes forward to table at center, stands at right, looksnervously at audience, goes to left of table, does not know what to dowith hands, returns to right of table, begins in high, nervous voice._)"Gentlemen an' ladies--an' the rest on ye--(_goes left of table_) Is'pose ye all knowed afore, as per'aps ye do now, that I did not comeout to make a speech; but to--to 'nounce the speecher. Now, the speecherhas jes come, an' is right in there. (_Points with thumb over shoulderto L. and goes R. of table._) I don't know why 'twas they called on meto 'nounce the speecher, unless it is that I've lived here in your midstfer a long while, an' am 'quainted with very nigh every one fer four orfive miles about, an' I s'pose that's why they called on me to--to'nounce the speecher. Now, the speecher is--right in there. (Points L.and goes L.) I s'pose I'm as well calc'lated to 'nounce the speecher asany on ye, an' I s'pose that's why I'm here to--to 'nounce the speecher.Now, the speecher is--right in there. (_Points L. and goes R._) You knowI've lived here in your midst a long time, an' have allus tuk an activepart in all public affairs, an' I s'pose that's why they called on meto--to 'nounce the speecher. Now, the speecher is right in there.(_Points L. and goes L._) As I said once afore, I've lived here in yourmidst fer a long time, an' have allus tuk active part in all publicaffairs, an' public doin's ginerally. Ye know I was 'pinted taxcollector once, an' was road-overseer fer a little while, an' run ferconstable of this here township--but I--I didn't git it. (_Quickly._)Now, the speecher is--right there. (_Points L. and goes R. Wipesforehead with handkerchief._) I jes want to say a word to the young menthis evenin'--as I see quite a sprinklin' of 'em here--an' that is thatI'd like fer all the young men to grow up an' hold high and honorableoffices like I've done. But there, I can't stop any longer, 'cause thespeecher is--right in there. (_Starts to go, but returns._) Now, I don'twant you to think I don't want to talk to ye, fer I do. I do so like totalk to the young men, an' the old men, an' them that are not men.(_Smiles._) I love to talk to ye. But, of course, I can't talk to younow, 'cause the speecher is--right in there. (_Points L._) But someother time when the speecher's not here--I think there'll be a timeafore long--why, I'll talk to you. (_Grows confused._) Of course, youknow, I'd talk to you now; but--uh--that is--I think there'll be a timeafore long--at some other--you know--I--you--the--(_desperately_) thespeecher is right in there. (_Rushes to L., stops, and with back toaudience, concludes._) I will now interdoose to ye Charles WilliamAlbright, of Snigger's Crossroads, a very promisin' young attorney ofthat place, who will talk to ye. As I said afore, the speecher is rightin here. Now, the speecher is right out there." (_While standing withback to audience, run fingers through hair to give it a long, scholarlyappearance, put on glasses, and take from chair roll of paper and placeunder arm. To be effective, this paper should be about one foot wide andten feet long, folded in about five or six-inch folds. At conclusion ofchairman's speech, turn and walk to table as the speecher._)

  THE SPEECHER. (_Walks to table with a strut. Face should have a wise,solemn, self
-satisfied expression. Stops at table, surveys the audiencewith solemn dignity, clears the throat, lays roll of paper on table,takes out handkerchief, clears throat, wipes mouth, smacks lips, layshandkerchief on table, surveys audience again, slowly unrolls paper andlays on table, surveys audience again, clears throat, wipes mouth,smacks lips, poses with one hand on table._)"Ladies--and--gentlemen--and fellow citizens. (_Rises on toes and comesback on heels, as practised by some public speakers._) I have fullyrealized the magnitude of this auspicious occasion, and have broughtfrom out the archives of wisdom one of those bright, extemporaneoussubjects, to which, you know, I always do (_rising inflection_) amplejustice. (_Rises on toes, clears throat, applies handkerchief toforehead._) The subject for this evening's discussion (_very solemn_) iscoal oil. (_Clears throat and looks wise._) Now, the first question thatarises is: How do they get it? (_In measured tone, on toes, tappingwords off on fingers of left hand with forefinger of right hand._)How--do--they--get--it? (_Soaringly._) My dear friends, some get it bythe pint, and some by the quart. (_Clears throat, wipes perspirationfrom forehead._) But, you say, how do they get it in the first place?(_Tragically._) Ah, my dear friends, as Horace Greeley has so fittinglyexprest it--that is the question. (_Quickly._) But I will explain. Whenthey want to get it they take a great, mammoth auger (_imitates_) andthey bore, and they bore, and they bore, and--(_looks at paperquickly_)--and they bore! And when they strike the oil it just squirtsup. That's how they get it! (_Rises on toes, smacks lips and lookswise._) Now, you all know, coal oil is used for a great many things. Itis used for medicine, to burn in the lamp, to blow up servant girls whenthey make a fire with it, and--many other useful things. (_Wipes mouthand puts handkerchief in pocket._) The gentlemen in charge will now passthe hat, being careful to lock the door back there so that none of thoseboys from Squeedunk can get out before they chip in. (_Takes paper androlls it up._) I will say that I expect to deliver another lecture heretwo weeks from to-night--two weeks from to-night--upon which occasion Iwould like to see all the children present, as the subject will be ofspecial interest to (_rises on toes, closes eyes_) the little ones. Thesubject on that occasion will be 'Will We Bust the Trusts, or Will theTrusts Bust Us?'" (_Puts roll of paper under arm and stalks off as ifhaving captured the world._)

  As recited by Edwin L. Barker and used by permission.

  COUNTING ONE HUNDRED

  BY JAMES M. BAILEY

  A Danbury man named Reubens, recently saw a statement that counting onehundred when tempted to speak an angry word would save a man a greatdeal of trouble. This statement sounded a little singular at first, butthe more he read it over the more favorably he became imprest with it,and finally concluded to adopt it.

  Next door to Reubens lives a man who made five distinct attempts in afortnight to secure a dinner of green peas by the first of July, but hasbeen retarded by Reubens' hens. The next morning after Reubens made hisresolution, this man found his fifth attempt had been destroyed. Then hecalled on Reubens. He said:

  "What in thunder do you mean by letting your hens tear up my garden?"

  Reubens was prompted to call him various names, but he remembered hisresolution, put down his rage, and meekly said:

  "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight----"

  The mad neighbor, who had been eyeing this answer with suspicion, brokein again:

  "Why don't you answer my question, you rascal?"

  But still Reubens maintained his equanimity, and went on with the test.

  "Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen----"

  The mad neighbor stared harder than ever.

  "Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one----"

  "You're a mean thief!" said the mad neighbor, backing toward the fence.

  Reubens' face flushed at this charge, but he only said:

  "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six----"

  At this figure the neighbor got up on the fence in some haste, butsuddenly thinking of his peas, he said:

  "You mean, contemptible, old rascal! I could knock your head against mybarn and I'll----"

  "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one,thirty-two, thirty-three----"

  Here the neighbor ran for the house, and entering it, violently slammedthe door behind him. Reubens did not let up on the enumeration, butstood out there alone in his own yard, and kept on counting, while hisburning cheeks and flashing eyes eloquently affirmed his judgment. Whenhe got up into the eighties his wife came out to him in some alarm.

  "Why, Reubens, man, what is the matter with you? Do come into thehouse."

  But he didn't stop.

  "Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one,ninety-two----"

  Then she came to him, and clung tremblingly to him, but he only turned,looked into her eyes, and said:

  "Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven,ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! Go into the house, old woman, orI'll bust you!"

  THEY NEVER QUARRELED

  ANONYMOUS

  They had been married about three weeks, and had just gone tohousekeeping. He was starting down town one morning, and she followedhim to the door. They had their arms wrapt around each other, and shewas saying:

  "O Clarence, do you think it possible that the day can ever come when wewill part in anger?"

  "Why, no, little girl, of course not. What put that foolish idea into mylittle birdie's head, eh?"

  "Oh, nothing, dearest. I was only thinking how perfectly dreadful itwould be if one of us should speak harshly to the other."

  "Well, don't think of such wicked, utterly impossible things any more.We can never, never, never quarrel."

  "I know it, darling. Good-by, you dear old precious, good-by, and--oh,wait a second, Clarence; I've written a note to mamma; can't you runaround to the house and leave it for her some time to-day?"

  "Why, yes, dearie; if I have time."

  "If you have time? O Clarence!"

  "What is it, little girlie?"

  "Oh, to say 'if you have time' to do almost the very first errand yourlittle wife asks you to do."

  "Well, well, I expect to be very busy to-day."

  "Too busy to please me? O Clarence, you hurt my feelings so."

  "Why, child, I----"

  "I'm not a child, I'm a married woman, and I----"

  "There, there, my pet. I----"

  "No, no, Clarence, if I were your p--p--pet you'd----"

  "But, Mabel, do be reasonable."

  "O Clarence! don't speak to me so."

  "Mable, be sensible, and----"

  "Go on, Clarence, go on; break my heart."

  "Stuff and nonsense."

  "Oh! o--o--o--o--oh!"

  "What have I said or done?"

  "As if you need ask! But go--hate me if you will, Clarence, I----"

  "This is rank nonsense!"

  "I'll go back to mamma if you want me to. She loves me, if you don't."

  "You must have a brain-storm!"

  "Oh! yes, sneer at me, ridicule me, break my poor heart. Perhaps you hadbetter strike me!"

  He bangs the door, goes down the steps on the jump, and races off,muttering something about women being the "queerest creatures."

  Of course, they'll make it up when he comes home, and they'll have manya little tiff in the years to come, and when they grow old they'll say:

  "We've lived together forty-five years, and in all that time have neverspoken a cross word to each other!"

  SONG OF THE "L"

  BY GRENVILLE KLEISER

  NOTE--_The New York elevated cars were so overcrowded at the rush hoursof the day that passengers were obliged to ride on engines._

  Jam them in, ram them in, People still a-coming, Slam them in, cram them in, Keep the thing a-humming! Millionaires and carpenters, Office boys, stenographers, Workingmen and fakirs, Doctors, undertakers, Brokers and musicians, Writers, politicians, Clergymen and
plumbers, Entry clerks and drummers, Pack them in, whack them in, People still a-coming!

  Mash them in, crash them in, Still there's more to follow, Shoot them in, boot them in, Don't take time to swallow! Pretty maid and tailor-made, Stylish maid and home-made, Jersey maid and ready-made House maid and old maid! Billionaire and haughty air, Bald head and golden hair, Always there, never there, Ah there and get there! Squeeze them in, tease them in, Still there's more to follow. Bump them in, thump them in, Why do people worry? Throw them in, blow them in, Everyone must hurry. Take a place behind the gate, Get your clothes prest while you wait. Grab a seat, don't give a rap For the lady at the strap. If your life is spared till night You can tell your wife all right:

  How the gateman shoved them in, Slammed them in, jammed them in, Crammed them in, damned them in, Blew them in, cuffed them in, Fired them in, kicked them in, Bumped them in, thumped them in, Beat them in, knocked them in, Rapped them in, squashed them in, Rammed them in, whipped them in, Pushed them in, banged them in, Crusht them in, rushed them in, Dashed them in, slashed them in, Flung them in, jerked them in, Tossed them in, shied them in, Hauled them in, forced them in, Whacked them in, crowded them in, Prodded them in, pulled them in, Dumped them in, drove them in, Hammered them in, battered them in, Pitched them in, urged them in, Hustled them in, bustled them in, Hurried them in, worried them in, As if their heads were hollow!

  THE VILLAGE ORACLE

  BY J. L. HARBOUR

  "Why, Mis' Farley, is it really you? It's been so long sence I saw youthat I hardly knowed you. Come in an' set down. I was jest a-wishin'some one would come in. I've felt so kind of downsy all mornin'. Ireckon like enough it is my stummick. I thought some of goin' to see oldDoctor Ball about it, but, la, I know jest what he'd say. He'd look atmy tongue an' say, 'Coffee,' an' look cross. He lays half the mis'ry o'the world to coffee. Says it is a rank pizen to most folks, an' thatlots o' the folks now wearin' glasses wouldn't need 'em if they'd letcoffee alone. Says it works on the ocular nerves an' all that, but Ireckon folks here in Granby will go on drinkin' coffee jest the same.

  "You won't mind if I keep right on with my work, will you, seein' thatit ain't nothin' but sewin' carpet-rags? I've got to send my rags to theweaver this week, or she can't weave my carpet until after she comeshome from a visit she 'lows on makin' to her sister over in Zoar. It'sjust a hit-er-miss strip o' carpet I'm makin' for my small southchamber. I set out to make somethin' kind o' fancy with a twisted stripan' the chain in five colors, but I found I hadn't the right kind ofrags to carry it through as I wanted to; so I jest decided on a plainhit-er-miss. I don't use the south chamber no great nohow. It's the roommy first husband and his first wife and sev'ral of his kin all died in;so the 'sociations ain't none too cheerin', an' I--I--s'pose you knowabout Lyddy Baxter losin' her husband last week? No? Well, he's went theway o' the airth, an' Lyddy wore my mournin'-veil an' gloves to thefuneral. They're as good as they were the day I follered my two husbandsto the grave in 'em. When a body pays two dollars an' sixty-eight centsfor a mournin'-veil, it behooves 'em to take keer of it, an' not switchit out wearin' it common as Sally Dodd did hern. If a body happens tomarry a second time, as I did, a mournin'-veil may come in handy, jestas mine did.

  "Yes, Lyddy's husband did go off real sudden. It was this new-fashionedtrouble, the appendysheetus, that tuk him off. They was jest gittin'ready to op'rate on him when he went off jest as easy as a glove.There's three thousand life-insurance; so Lyddy ain't as bereft as somewould be. Now, if she'll only have good jedgement when she gits themoney, an' not fool it away as Mis' Mack did her husband'slife-insurance. He had only a thousand dollars, an' she put half of iton her back before three months, an' put three hundred into a pianny shecouldn't play. She said a pianny give a house sech an air. I up an' toldher that money would soon be all 'air' if she didn't stop foolin' itaway.

  "I wouldn't want it told as comin' from me, but I've heerd that it washer that put that advertisement in the paper about a widder with somemeans wishin' to correspond with a gentleman similarly situated with aview to matrimony. I reckon she had about fifty dollars left at thattime. I tried to worm something about it out of the postmaster; for ofcourse he'd know about her mail, but he was as close as a clam-shell. Ireckon one has to be kind of discreet if one is postmaster, but he mightof known that anything he told me wouldn't go no farther if he didn'twant it to. I know when to speak an' when to hold my tongue if anybodyin this town does.

  "Did you know that Myra Dart was goin' to marry that Rylan chap? It'sso. I got it from the best authority. An' she's nine years an' threemonths an' five days older than him. I looked it up in the town hist'ry.It's a good deal of a reesk for a man to marry a woman that's much olderthan he is.

  "But, my land, it's a good deal of a reesk to git married at allnowadays. You never know what you're gittin' ontil it's too late to undothe matter. Seems to me there must be a screw loose somewhere, ormatrimony wouldn't be the fizzle it is in so many instances. An' it'sabout six o' one an' half a dozen o' the other when it comes to dividin'the blame. You know my first husband was jestice o' the peace fiveyears, an' he had considdable marryin' to do, an' I saw a good deal o'what loose idees some people had about matrimony.

  "I recollect of one couple comin' in to git married one evenin'. Theywas both in middle life, an' them kind usually acts the silliest withthe exception of a real old pair. They are the beaterees for sillyactin'. Well, my husband never married any couple without makin' surethat there was no onlawful hindrances in the way o' past husbands andwives, an' so he says to the woman, 'Have you ever been married before?'An' she says jest as flippant, 'Yes, but he didn't live but three weeks;so it ain't wuth speakin' of.' Now wa'n't that scand'lous? It jestshowed how lightly some folks look on the solemn ord'nance o' matrimony.

  "I reckon you know that the Porters have a boy at their house? No? Well,they have. He was born at twenty minutes to one las' night, or thismornin' ruther, an' old Susan Puffer is to do the nussin'. I heard awagon drive by here lickety-split at most midnight las' night an' I sezto myself, sez I, 'I'll bet that's Hi Porter tearin' off for old SusanPuffer', an' I got up, an' wrapped a blanket around me, an' waited forthe wagon to come back; an' when it did, I called out, 'That you, Hi an'Susan?' It gives 'em a good deal of a start, but Susan called out thatit was her, an' I went back to bed. Some folks would of beencurious-minded enough to of went right over to the Porters', but I ain'tthat pryin' an' I didn't go over till after breakfast this mornin'.

  "It's a real nice baby, an' it's goin' to be the livin' spit o' Hiexceptin' for its nose, which is its mother's all over; an' its mouth isthe livin' counterpart o' its grandfather Porter's an' it's got theDavis ears. You know its mother was a Davis. I hope it won't have to bea bottle-riz baby. I don't care how good these infant foods may be; Idon't think that a bottle-riz baby is ever the equal of one that ain'tbottle-riz. The Lord must of intended mothers to nuss their babies, orHe wouldn't of made 'em so they could. So I--must you be goin'? What'syour hurry? I'd love to have you set all afternoon. It's so long senseyou have been here, an' I do so enjoy havin' the neighbors drop in an'tell me all that's goin' on. I never go no place to hear the news. Iwish you'd come in real often an' talk to me.

  "Looks some like rain. I hope it'll be fair to-morrow, for I 'low ongoin' over to Lucindy Baxter's to spend the day. Me an' her went over toWare Monday, an' had a real nice all-day visit with Lucindy's marrieddaughter. She's real nicely fixt, an' she had three kinds of cakebesides cookies for tea. Seems to me one kind an' the cookies would o'been plenty. Mebbe she wanted to let us see that her husband was a goodpervider.

  "I went over to Zion Tuesday, an' Wednesday me an' Nancy Dodd went overto Becky Means's, and helped her quilt her album quilt; an' she had achicken-pie for dinner that went a little ahead of anything I ever et inthe way of chicken-pie. Nancy's a good cook anyhow. She gives a kind ofa taste to things that
only a born cook can give. I'm goin' over to thefair in Greenfield Friday; so I--do come over again soon. I git reallonesome stayin' to home close as I do, an' it's nice to have some onecome in an' talk to me as you have. Good-by.

  "Yes, I'll come over soon. But don't you wait for me. Come when you kin.I'm allus to home. Good-by. See my little chicks? I put a hen onthirteen eggs, an' she hatched out every blessed one of 'em. Wa'n't shesmart? An she laid all the eggs herself, too. I got another hen comin'off on the tenth. Didn't the minister preach beautifully Sunday? I dunnoas I ever heard a more upliftin' sermon. I see that his wife has herblack silk made up that the Ladies' Society gave her on her birthday.Didn't seem to me it fit real well under the arms. Well, good-by,good-by."

  By permission of the author and the _Christian Endeavor World_.

  IF I CAN BE BY HER

  BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN KING

  I d-d-don't c-c-c-are how the r-r-r-obin sings, Er how the r-r-r-ooster f-f-flaps his wings, Er whether't sh-sh-shines, er whether't pours, Er how high up the eagle s-s-soars, If I can b-b-b-be by her.

  I don't care if the p-p-p-people s-say 'At I'm weak-minded every w-way, An' n-n-never had no cuh-common sense, I'd c-c-c-cuh-climb the highest p-picket fence. If I could b-b-b-be by her.

  If I can be by h-h-her, I'll s-s-swim The r-r-r-est of life thro' th-th-thick an' thin; I'll throw my overcoat away, An' s-s-s-stand out on the c-c-c-oldest day, If I can b-b-b-be by her.

  You s-s-see sh-sh-she weighs an awful pile, B-b-b-but I d-d-d-don't care--sh-she's just my style, An' any f-f-fool could p-p-p-lainly see She'd look well b-b-b-by the side of me, If I could b-b-b-be by her.

  I b-b-b-braced right up, and had the s-s-s-and To ask 'er f-f-f-father f-f-fer 'er hand; He said: "Wh-wh-what p-p-prospects have you got?" I said: "I gu-gu-guess I've got a lot, If I can b-b-b-be by her."

  It's all arranged f-f-fer Christmas Day, Fer then we're goin' to r-r-r-run away, An' then s-s-some th-th-thing that cu-cu-couldn't be At all b-b-efore will then, you s-s-see, B-b-b-because I'll b-b-b-be by her.

  From "Ben King's Verse," by permission of Forbes & Co., Chicago.

  McCARTHY AND McMANUS

  ANONYMOUS

  An Irishman named Patrick McCarthy, having received an invitation tovisit some friends who were stopping at one of the prominent hotels,suddenly realized that his best suit needed pressing. He sent the suitto his friend Michael McManus, the tailor, with instructions to put itin proper shape and to return it with all haste.

  After waiting an hour or more, he became very impatient, and asked hiswife to go for the clothes, telling her to be sure to bring them backwith her. When she returned he was surprized to find she had not broughtback his suit, and he said:

  "Well, where are my clothes?"

  "Don't ask me, don't ask me. I'm thot mad I'm almost afther killin' thotMcManus!"

  "Pfhot's thot? Pfhot's McManus done with thim?"

  "He's done nothin' with thim, and he barely took notice of me."

  "Shure woman, dear, pfhot's that you be tellin' me? Did Mac insultyou,--for the love of hivins tell me quick?"

  "Well, I will tell you. Whin I wint into the shop, there was McManus;instid of sittin' on the table as usual, he was sittin' forninst it,with a long shate of paper spread out, and he was a-writin' anda-writin' and a-writin'. Says I, 'Mr. McManus.' No answer. Again I says,'Mr. McManus.' Still no answer. Says I, 'Look here, Mr. McManus, pfhotdo you mean by kapin' my husband waitin' for his clothes?--have you gotthim done?' Without raisin' his head he says, 'No, I haven't,' and winton writin' and writin'. Says I, 'He's waitin' for thim.' Says he, 'Lethim wait.' Says I, 'He won't.' Says he, 'He'll have to.' Says I, 'Pfhotdo you mean by writin' thot long document, knowin' well thot my husbandis waitin' for his clothes?' Says he, 'Well, if you must know, it'simportant business. Do you see thot list?' pointin' to a long list ofnames. 'Well,' says he, 'thot's a list of all the min _thot I can lick_in this neighborhood.' Says I, 'Is thot so?' Says he, 'Yes, thot is so.'Says I, 'Mr. McManus, have you got my husband's name on thot list?' Sayshe, takin' up the list and holdin' it near my face, 'Look at thot,--the_very first_ name on the list!' and I was thot mad I couldn't talk."

  "Do you mean to tell me thot he had _my name_ on thot list?"

  "I do, and the _very first one_,--on the _very top_."

  "Well, wait till I go over and see McManus."

  A few minutes later Mr. McCarthy entered the shop of Mr. McManus, andsaid,

  "Is McManus here?"

  McManus replied, "He is and he's _very busy_."

  "Is thot so?"

  "Yes, thot is so."

  "Look here, McManus, pfhot makes you so busy?"

  "Oh, I'm just doin' a little writin'."

  "Well, what is it you're writin'?"

  "Well, I'll tell you. I'm makin' out a list of all the min thot I canlick in this neighborhood, and a moighty big list it is. Just look atthot."

  "Say Mac, is _my name_ on thot list?"

  "Is Pat McCarthy's name on this list? Well, you can just bet your lifeit is, and it's the _very first one_!"

  "Is thot so, McManus?"

  "Yes, thot's so."

  McCarthy, taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves, said:

  "Look here, McManus, _I can lick you_."

  "Did you say you _thought_ you could lick me?"

  "I said I _can_ lick you."

  "You say you _can_ lick me?"

  "Yes, thot's what I said."

  "All right. _Off goes your name from the list._"

  AND SHE CRIED

  BY MINNA IRVING

  Miss Muriel Million was sitting alone, With a very disconsolate air; Her fluffy blue tea-gown was fastened awry, And frowsy and rumpled her hair. "Oh, what is the matter?" I said in alarm, "I beg you in me to confide." But she buried her face in her 'kerchief of lace, And she cried, and she cried, and she cried.

  "Come out for a spin in the automobile, The motor-boat waits at the pier; Or let's take a drive in the sunshiny park, Or a canter on horseback, my dear." T'was thus that I coaxed her in lover-like tones, As I tenderly knelt at her side, But refusing all comfort she pushed me aside, While she cried, and she cried, and she cried.

  "Pray whisper, my darling, this terrible wo, You know I would love you the same, If the millions of papa vanish in smoke And you hadn't a cent to your name, If you came to the church in a garment of rags I would wed you with rapturous pride." She nestled her cheek to my shoulder at this, Tho she cried, and she cried, and she cried.

  "You know," she exclaimed in a piteous wail, "That love of a hat that I wore?-- The one with pink roses and chiffon behind, And a fluffy pink feather before?-- I paid Madame Modeste a hundred for that, And our parlor-maid, Flora McBride, Has got one just like it for three twenty-five!" And she cried, and she cried, and she cried.

  By permission of the author and of the _New York Herald_.

  DOT LEEDLE BOY

  BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

  Ot's a leedle Gristmas story Dot I told der leedle folks-- Und I vant you stop dot laughin' Und grackin' funny jokes!-- So help me Peter-Moses! Ot's no time for monkeyshine, Ober I vas told you somedings Of dot leedle boy of mine!

  Ot vas von cold vinter vedder, Ven the snow was all about-- Dot you have to chop der hatchet Eef you got der sauerkraut! Und der cheekens on der hind leg Vas standin' in der shine, Der sun shmile out dot morning On dot leedle boy of mine.

  He vas yoost a leedle baby, Not bigger as a doll Dot time I got acquaintet-- Ach! you ought to heard 'im squall!-- I grackys! dot's der moosie Ot make me feel so fine Ven first I vas been marriet-- Oh, dot leedle boy of mine!

  He look' yoost like his fader!-- So, ven der vimmen said, "Vot a purty leedle baby!" Katrina shake her head-- I dink she must 'a' notice
Dot der baby vas a-gryin', Und she cover up der blankets Of dot leedle boy of mine.

  Vell, ven he vas got bigger, Dot he grawl und bump his nose, Und make der table over, Und molasses on his glothes-- Dot make 'im all der sweeter,-- So I say to my Katrina: "Better you vas quit a-sphankin' Dot leedle boy of mine!"

  I vish you could 'a' seen id-- Ven he glimb up on der chair Und scmash der lookin'-glasses Ven he try to comb his hair Mit a hammer!--Und Katrina Say, "Dot's an ugly sign!" But I laugh und vink my fingers At dot leedle boy of mine.

  But vonce, dot vinter morning, He shlip out in der snow Mitout no stockin's on 'im-- He say he "vant to go Und fly some mit der birdies!" Und ve give 'im medi-cine Ven he catch der "parrygoric"-- Dot leedle boy of mine!

  Und so I set und nurse 'im, Vile der Gristmas vas come roun', Und I told 'im 'bout "Kriss Kringle," How he come der chimbly down; Und I ask 'im if he love 'im Eef he bring 'im someding fine? "_Nicht besser as mein fader_," Say dot leedle boy of mine.

  Und he put his arms aroun' me Und hug so close und tight, I hear der glock a-tickin' All der balance of der night!-- Someding make me feel so funny Ven I say to my Katrina, "Let us go und fill der stockin's, Of dot leedle boy of mine."

  Vell--ve buyed a leedle horses Dot you pull 'im mit a shtring, Und a little fancy jay-bird-- Eef you vant to hear 'im sing You took 'im by der topknot Und yoost blow in behine-- Und dot make much _spectahkle_ For dot leedle boy of mine.

  Und gandies, nuts und raisins-- Und I buy a leedle drum Dot I vant to hear 'im rattle Ven der Gristmas morning come! Und a leedle shmall tin rooster Dot vould crow so loud und fine Ven he squeeze 'im in der morning, Dot leedle boy of mine.

  Und--vile ve vas a-fixin'-- Dot leedle boy vake out! I t'ought he been a-dreamin' "Kriss Kringle" vas about,-- For he say--"_Dot's him!--I see 'im Mit der shtars dot make der shine!_" Und he yoost keep on a-cryin'-- Dot leedle boy of mine,--

  Und gettin' vorse und vorser-- Und tumble on der bed! So--ven der doctor seen id, He kindo shake his head, Und veel his pulse--und visper: "Der boy is a-dyin'." You dink I could _believe_ id? _Dot leedle boy of mine?_

  I told you, friends--dot's someding, Der last time dot he spheak Und say, "_Goot-by, Kriss Kringle!_" --Dot make me feel so veak I yoost kneel down und drimble, Und bur-sed out a-cryin', "_Mein Gott, Mein Gott in Himmel!-- Dot leedle boy of mine!_"

  Der sun don't shine _dot_ Gristmas! ... Eef dot leedle boy vould liff'd-- No deefer-en'! for _heaven_ vas His leedle Gristmas gift!... Und der _rooster_, und der _gandy_, Und me--und my Katrina-- Und der jay-bird--is a-vatin' For dot leedle boy of mine.

  From "Green Fields and Running Brooks," copyright 1892. Used by specialpermission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

  MR. DOOLEY ON THE GRIP

  BY FINLAY PETER DUNNE

  Mr. Dooley was discovered making a seasonable beverage, consisting ofone part syrup, two parts quinine, and fifteen parts strong waters.

  "What's the matter?" asked Mr. McKenna.

  "I have th' lah gr-rip," said Mr. Dooley, blowing his nose and wipinghis eyes. "Bad cess to it! Oh, me poor back! I feels as if a dhray hadrun over it. Did ye iver have it? Ye did not? Well, ye're lucky. Ye're alucky man.

  "I wint to MCGuire's wake las' week. They gave him a dacint sind-off. Noporther. An' himself looked natural, as fine a corpse as iver Gavinlayed out. Gavin tould me so himsilf. He was as proud iv McGuire as ifhe owned him. Fetched half th' town in to look at him, an' give ivry waniv thim cards. He near frightened ol' man Dugan into a faint. 'MistherDugan, how old a-are ye?' 'Sivinity-five, thanks be,' says Dugan.'Thin,' says Gavin, 'take wan iv me cards,' he says. 'I hope ye'll notforget me,' he says.

  "'Twas there I got th' lah grip. Lastewise, it is me own opinion iv it,tho th' docthor said I swallowed a bug. It don't seem right, Jawn, f'rth' MCGuires is a clane fam'ly; but th' docthor said a bug got into mesystem. 'What sort if bug?' says I. 'A lah grip bug,' he says. 'Ye haveMickrobes in ye're lungs,' he says. 'What's thim?' says I. 'Thim's th'lah grip bugs,' says he. 'Ye took wan in, an' warmed it,' he says, 'an'it has growed an' multiplied till ye're system does be full if thim,' hesays, 'millions iv thim,' he says, 'marchin' an' counter-marchin'through ye.' 'Glory be to the saints!' says I. 'Had I better swallowsome insect powdher?' I says. 'Some iv thim in me head has a fallin'out, an' is throwin' bricks.' 'Foolish man,' says he. 'Go to bed,' hesays, 'an' lave thim alone,' he says; 'whin they find who they're in,'he says, 'they'll quit ye.'

  "So I wint to bed, an' waited while th' Mickrobes had fun with me.Mondah all iv thim was quiet but thim in me stummick. They stayed uplate dhrinkin' an' carousin' an' dancin' jigs till wurruds come upbetween th' Kerry Mickrobes an' thim fr'm Wexford; an' th' whole partywint over to me left lung, where they cud get th' air, an' had it out.Th' nex' day th' little Mickrobes made a tobaggan slide iv me spine; an'manetime some Mickrobes that was wurkin' f' th' tilliphone comp'ny gotit in their heads that me legs was poles, an' put on their spikes an'climbed all night long.

  "They was tired out th' nex' day till about five o'clock, whin thim thatwas in me head begin flushin' out th' rooms; an' I knew there was goin'to be doin's in th' top flat. What did thim Mickrobes do but invite allth' other Mickrobes in f'r th' ev'nin'. They all come. Oh, by gar, theywas not wan iv thim stayed away. At six o'clock they begin to move fr'mme shins to me throat. They come in platoons an' squads an' dhroves.Some iv thim brought along brass bands, an' more thin wan hundredthousand iv thim dhruv through me pipes on dhrays. A trolley line wasstarted up me back, an iv'ry car run into a wagon-load if scrap iron atth' base if me skull.

  "Th' Mickrobes in me head must 've done thimselves proud. They tippedover th' chairs an' tables; an' in less time thin it takes to tell, th'whole party was at it. They'd been a hurlin' game in th' back iv meskull, an' th' young folks was dancin' breakdowns an' havin' leppinmatches in me forehead; but they all stopt, to mix in. Oh, 'twas a grandshindig--tin millions iv men, women, an childher rowlin' on th' flure,hands an' feet goin', ice-picks an' hurlin' sticks, clubs, brick-bats,flyin' in th' air! How many iv thim was kilt I niver knew; f'r I wint asdaft as a hen, an' dhreamt iv organizin' a Mickrobe Campaign Club that'dsweep th' prim'ries, an' maybe go acrost an' free Ireland. Whin I wokeup, me legs was as weak as a day-old baby's, an' me poor head impty as acobbler's purse. I want no more iv thim. Give me anny bug fr'm acockroach to an aygle, save an' excipt thim West if Ireland Fenians, th'Mickrobes."

  By permission of Small, Maynard & Company.

  A RAINY DAY EPISODE

  ANONYMOUS

  One morning recently as I was about to start from my home, I noticedthat it was raining very hard outside, and as I turned to the rack toget an umbrella I was surprized to find that out of five umbrellas therewas not one in the lot I could use. On the impulse of the moment Idecided to take the whole five down town to the umbrella hospital andhave them all repaired at once.

  Just as I started from the door my wife asked me to be sure and bringher umbrella back as she wanted to use it that evening. This imprest thesubject of umbrellas very vividly on my mind, so I did not fail to leavethe five umbrellas to be repaired, stating I would call for them on myway home in the evening.

  When I went to lunch at noon it was still raining very hard, but as Ihad no umbrella this simply imprest the subject on my mind. I went to anearby restaurant, sat down at a table, and had been there only a fewminutes when a young lady came in and sat down at the same table withme. I was first to finish, however, and getting up I absent-mindedlypicked up her umbrella and started for the door. She called out to meand reminded me that I had her umbrella, whereupon I returned it to herwith much embarrassment and many apologies.

  This incident served to impress the subject more deeply on my mind, soon my way home in the even
ing I called for my umbrellas, bought anewspaper, and boarded a street-car. I was deeply engrossed in mynewspaper, having placed the five umbrellas alongside of me in the car,but all at once I had a peculiar feeling of someone staring at me.Suddenly I looked up from my paper, and was surprized to see sittingdirectly opposite me the same young woman I had met in the restaurant!She had a broad smile on her face, and looking straight into my eyes shesaid knowingly: "You've had a successful day, to-day, haven't you?"

  I KNEW HE WOULD COME IF I WAITED

  BY HORACE G. WILLIAMSON

  I knew he would come if I waited, Tho waiting, it caused me despair; And I sat by the window and listened To hear his first step on the stair: For I knew he would come if I waited, But anxiously I paced 'round the floor; Oh, to see his own form on the threshold As I hastened to open the door. Would he come? But how dare I question His faithfulness to his own word; Would he dare not come at my calling? Or was that his dear step that I heard? Oh, I rush to the door for to meet him, For to welcome him here after all, For I knew he would come if I waited, He would come to answer my call. Yes, yes, it is he on the pavement, He's coming, he's ringing the bell, And my heart beats wild with rapture Of a joy which I never can tell, For I knew he would come if I waited, Yes, he'd come at my call; joy, O joy, What happiness it is to welcome Just to welcome: "the messenger boy."

  LOVE'S MOODS AND SENSES

  ANONYMOUS

  Sally Salter, she was a young lady who taught, And her friend Charley Church was a preacher who praught! Tho his enemies called him a screecher who scraught.

  His heart when he saw her kept sinking, and sunk, And his eye, meeting hers, began winking, and wunk; While she in her turn fell to thinking, and thunk.

  He hastened to woo her, and sweetly he wooed, For his love grew until to a mountain it grewed, And what he was longing to do then he doed.

  In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke, To seek with his lips what his heart long had soke; So he managed to let the truth leak, and it loke.

  He asked her to ride to the church, and they rode, They so sweetly did glide, that they both thought they glode, And they came to the place to be tied, and were tode.

  Then, "homeward," he said, "let us drive," and they drove, And soon as they wished to arrive, they arrove; For whatever he couldn't contrive she controve.

  The kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole: At the feet where he wanted to kneel, then he knole, And said, "I feel better than ever I fole."

  So they to each other kept clinging and clung; While time his swift circuit was winging, and wung; And this was the thing he was bringing, and brung:

  The man Sally wanted to catch, and had caught-- That she wanted from others to snatch, and had snaught-- Was the one that she now liked to scratch, and she scraught.

  And Charley's warm love began freezing, and froze, While he took to teasing, and cruelly toze The girl he had wished to be squeezing, and squoze.

  "Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to leave him, and left, "How could you deceive me, as you have deceft?" And she answered, "I promised to cleave, and I've cleft!"

  A NOCTURNAL SKETCH

  BY THOMAS HOOD

  Even is come; and from the dark park, hark, The signal of the setting sun--one gun! And six is sounding from the chime, prime time To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain,-- Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,-- Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, Denying to his frantic clutch much touch; Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride Four horses as no other man can span; Or in the small Olympic Pit, sit split Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz. Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung; The gas up-blazes with its bright, white light, And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl, About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal, Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.

  Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash, Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep, But frightened by Policeman B 3, flee, And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!" Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads. And sleepers waking, grumble: "Drat that cat!" Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill will.

  Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;-- But Nursemaid, in a nightmare rest, chest-prest, Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games, And that she hears--what faith is man's!--Ann's banns And his, from Rev. Mr. Rice, twice, thrice: White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes!

  KATIE'S ANSWER

  ANONYMOUS

  Och, Katie's a rogue, it is thrue, But her eyes, like the sky, are so blue, An' her dimples so swate, An' her ankles so nate, She dazed, an' she bothered me, too--

  Till one mornin' we wint for a ride, Whin, demure as a bride, by my side, The darlint, she sat, With the wickedest hat, 'Neath a purty girl's chin iver tied.

  An' my heart, arrah, thin how it bate For my Kate looked so temptin' an' swate, Wid cheeks like the roses, An' all the red posies, That grow in her garden so nate.

  But I sat just as mute as the dead, Till she said, wid a toss of the head, "If I'd known that to-day You'd have nothing to say, I'd have gone wid my cousin instead."

  Thin I felt myself grow very bowld, For I knew she'd not scold if I towld Uv the love in my heart, That would never depart, Tho I lived to be wrinkled an' owld.

  An' I said, "If I dared to do so, I'd lit go uv the baste, an' I'd throw Both arms 'round yer waist, An' be stalin' a taste Uv them lips that are coaxin' me so."

  Then she blushed a more illegent red, As she said, widout raisin' her head, An' her eyes lookin' down 'Neath her lashes so brown, "Would ye like me to drive, Misther Ted?"

  "'SPAeCIALLY JIM"

  ANONYMOUS

  I wus mighty good-lookin' when I was young, Peert an' black-eyed an' slim, With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights, 'Spaecially Jim!

  The likeliest one of 'em all was he, Chipper an' han'som' an' trim, But I tossed up my head an' made fun o' the crowd, 'Spaecially Jim!

  I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men, An' I wouldn't take stock in him! But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk, 'Spaecially Jim!

  I got so tired o' havin' 'em roun' 'Spaecially Jim! I made up my mind I'd settle down An' take up with him.

  So we was married one Sunday in church, 'Twas crowded full to the brim; 'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all, 'Spaecially Jim.

  AGNES, I LOVE THEE!

  ANONYMOUS

  I stood upon the ocean's briny shore; And, with a fragile reed, I wrote Upon the sand--"Agnes, I love thee!" The mad waves rolled by, and blotted out The fair impression. Frail reed! cruel wave! treacherous sand! I'll trust ye no more; But, with giant hand, I'll pluck From Norway's frozen shore Her tallest pine, and dip its top Into the crater of Vesuvius, And upon the high and burnished heavens I'll write,--"Agnes, I love thee!"-- And I would like to see any Dog-goned wave wash that out!

  THE GORILLA

  ANONYMOUS

  "O mighty ape! Half beast, half man, Thy uncouth shape Betrays a plan The gulf of Being at a bound to span. Thou art the link between ourselves and brutes, Lifting the lower to a higher plane; Thy human face all cavilers refutes, Who sneer at Darwin as a dreamer vain. How camest thou beneath this canvas tent? Within this cage? behind these iron bars? Thou, whose young days in tropic lands were spent, With strange companions, under foreign stars? Art thou not lonely? What is lif
e to thee Thus mewed in prison, innocent of crime, Become a spectacle for crowds to see, And reckless boys to jeer at all the time? Hast thou no feelings such as we possess? Art thou devoid of any sense of shame? Rise up, O brother, and thy wrongs redress; Rise in thy might, and be no longer tame!"

  I paused in my apostrophe. The animal arose; He seized the bars that penned him in: my blood in terror froze. He shook the cage from side to side; the frightened people fled; Then, in a tone of savage wrath, the horrid monster said: "I'm hired by the wake to wear the dhirty craythur's shkin; I came from Tipperary, and me name is Micky Flynn!"

  BANGING A SENSATIONAL NOVELIST

  ANONYMOUS

  The other day a stout woman, armed with an umbrella, and leading a smallurchin, called at the office of a New York boys' story paper.

  "Is this the place where they fight Indians?" she inquired of the youngman in charge. "Is this the locality where the brave boy charges up thecanyon and speeds a bullet to the heart of the dusky redskin?" and shejerked the urchin around by the ear and brought her umbrella down on thedesk.

  "We publish stories for boys, and----"

  "I want to know if these are the premises on which the daring ladsprings upon his fiery mustang, and, darting through the circle ofthunderstruck savages, cuts the captive's cords and bears him awaybefore the wondering Indians have recovered from their astonishment?That's the information I'm after. I want to know if that sort of thingis perpetrated here!" and she swung the umbrella around her head.

  "I don't remember those specific facts, but----"

  "I want to know if this is the precinct where the adventurous boy jumpson the back of a buffalo and with unerring aim picks off one by one thebloodthirsty pursuers who bite the dust at every crack of the faithfulrifle! I'm looking for the place where that sort of thing happens!" andthis time she brought the unlucky man a tremendous whack across theback.

  "I think----"

  "I'm in search of the shop in which the boy road-agent holds thequivering stage-driver powerless with his glittering eye, while he robsthe male passengers with an adroitness born of long and triedexperience, and kisses the hands of the lady passengers with a gallantryof bearing that bespeaks noble birth and a chivalrous nature! I'mlooking for the apartment in which that business is transacted!"

  "Upon my word, madam, I----"

  "I want to be introduced to the jars in which you keep the boy scoutsof the Sierras! Show me the bins full of the boy detectives of theprairie! Point out to me the barrels full of boy pirates of the Spanishmain!" and with each demand she brought her umbrella down on the youngman's head until he jumped over the desk and sought safety in aneighboring canyon.

  "I'll teach 'em!" she panted, grasping the urchin by the ear and leadinghim off. "I'll teach 'em to make it good or dance. Want to go fightIndians any more (_twisting the boy's ear_)? Want to stand proudly uponthe pinnacle of the mountain and scatter the plain beneath with thebleeding bodies of uncounted slain? Propose to spring upon the taffrailand with a ringing word of command send a broadside into therichly-laden galley, and then mercifully spare the beautiful maiden inthe cabin, that she may become your bride? Eh? Going to do it any more?"

  The boy exprest his permanent abandonment of all the glories enumerated.

  "Then come along," said she, taking him by the collar. "Let me catch youaround with any more ramrods and carving knives, and you'll think theleaping, curling, resistless prairie fire has swept with a ferociousroar of triumph across the trembling plains and lodged under your jacketto stay!"

  HOPKINS' LAST MOMENTS

  ANONYMOUS

  Nurses in hospitals are inclined to lay too much stress on theadvantages received by the patients and their duty of thankfulness, butit is the poor soldier who suffers most from always having his cause tobe grateful flung in his teeth. The following true story took placebetween the chaplain and the hospital orderly:

  _Chaplain_--"So poor Hopkins is dead. I should like to have spoken tohim once more and soothed his last moments. Why didn't you call me?"

  _Hospital Orderly_--"I didn't think you ought to be disturbed for'Opkins, sir; so I just soothed him as best I could myself."

  _Chaplain_--"Why, what did you say to him?"

  _Orderly_--"I sez, ''Opkins, you're mortal bad.'"

  "'I am,' sez 'e."

  "''Opkins,' sez I, 'I don't think you'll get better.'"

  "'No,' sez 'e."

  "''Opkins,' sez I, 'you're going fast.'"

  "'Yes,' sez 'e."

  "''Opkins,' sez I, 'I don't think you can 'ope to go to 'eaven.'"

  "'I don't think I can,' sez 'e."

  "'Well, then, 'Opkins,' sez I, 'you'll go to 'ell.'"

  "'I suppose so,' sez 'e,"

  "''Opkins,' sez I, 'you ought to be wery grateful as there's a placeperwided for you, and that you've got somewhere to go.' And I think 'e'eard, sir, for 'e just gave a little groan, turned over, and then 'edied."

  THE FAIRIES' TEA

  ANONYMOUS

  Five little fairies went out to take tea, Under the shade of a juniper tree. Each had a cup from an acorn cut, And a plate from the rind of a hickory nut.

  The table was spread with a cloth all of lace, Woven by spiders the banquet to grace. Oh, what good things they all had to eat!-- Slices of strawberry,--my what a treat!

  Honey the sweetest the wild bee could hive, And a humming-bird's egg for each of the five. Then they drank their host's health in their favorite drink, Which was,--now what was it? Can anyone think?

  Why the dew-drop that comes from the heart of the rose Is the drink of the fairies, as everyone knows.

  COUNTING EGGS

  ANONYMOUS

  Old Moses, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for aliving, is as honest an old negro as ever lived; but he has the habit ofchatting familiarly with his customers, hence he frequently makesmistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries his wares aroundin a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopt in front of theresidence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady herself came out to thegate to make the purchase.

  "Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle Moses?" she asked.

  "Yes, indeed I has. Jess got in ten dozen from de kentry."

  "Are they fresh?"

  "Fresh? Yes, indeed! I guantees 'em, an'--an'--de hen guantees 'em."

  "I'll take nine dozen. You can just count them into this basket."

  "All right, mum; (_he counts_) one, two, free, foah, five, six, seben,eight, nine, ten. You can rely on dem bein' fresh. How's your son comin'on de school? He must be mos' grown."

  "Yes, Uncle Moses; he is a clerk in a bank in Galveston."

  "Why, how ole am de boy?"

  "He is eighteen."

  "You don't tole me so! Eighteen, and getting a salary already! Eighteen(_counting_), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-free,twenty-foah, twenty-five. And how's your gal comin' on? She was mostgrowed up de last time I seed her."

  "She is married and living in Dallas."

  "Wall, I declar'; how time scoots away! And you say she has childruns?Why, how ole am de gal? She must be just about----"

  "Thirty-three."

  "Am dat so? (_Counting._) Firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six,firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two,forty-free. Hit am singular dat you has sich ole childruns. You don'tlook more den forty years old yerseff."

  "Nonsense, old man; I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets tobe fifty-three years old----"

  "Fifty-free! I jess dun gwinter bleeve hit; fifty-free, fifty-foah,fifty-five, fifty-six--I want you to pay 'tenshun when I count de eggs,so dar'll be no mistake--fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two,sixty-free, sixty-foah. Whew! Dis am a warm day. Dis am de time ob yearwhen I feels I'se gettin' ole myself; I ain't long fur dis world. Youcomes from an ole family. When your fadder died he was sebenty yearsole."

  "Seventy-two." r />
  "Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five,sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine. And yourmudder? She was one ob de noblest-lookin' ladies I eber see. You remindme ob her so much! She libed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she was donepast a centurion when she died."

  "No, Uncle Moses; she was only ninety-six when she died."

  "Den she wan't no chicken when she died, I know dat. Ninety-six,ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free,foah, five, six, seben, eight--dar, one hundred and eight nice fresheggs--jess nine dozen; and here am one moah egg in case I havediscounted myself."

  Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burtonsaid to her husband:

  "I am afraid that we will have to discharge Matilda. I am satisfied thatshe steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, for I boughtthem day before yesterday, and now about half of them are gone. I stoodright there, and heard Moses count them myself, and there were ninedozen."

  THE OATMOBILE

  ANONYMOUS

  Ay yust bane oop by Minnesote To sa my Onkle Yohn. Ay stop me by St. Paul awhile Yust for a little fun; An' dere Ay saw one oatmobile-- Dat bane de name you call; Und yo could tak a ride on heem Mit out some horse at all.

  Dat bane a purty nice machine Wit rubber tires an tings; Yust sit heem lik a vagon on An' he run yust lik mit vings. Ay ask dot man vot make heem go? He say, "My hade got vheels." He say, "He feed heem plenty oat An' call heem Oat-mo-bile."

  Ay say, "Ay know Ay bane grane Sweede Yust come from Nord Dakote, But Ay dou belave he make heem go By feedin' vagin oat." Ay say to heem, "Look here! Ay bane Some time in Missoure, Ay know Ay'm grane, but yust de same You bet me life, 'show me!'"

  Dat feller lafe an' shake his head An' say, "Ay bane good show myself," Ay say, "Ay tink Ay punch your head An' lay you on de shelf." Ay pick me oop a little stick Bane layin' on de seat An bet me life, dot Oat-mo-bile Yust started oop de street.

  Ay holler, "Wo-o-o!" but he don' stop An' den you bet my life Ay wish Ay bane by Nord Dakote, At home mit Ann, my vife, Dat Oat-mo-bile yust boomped me Oop de side valk on an' stopt; An' bucked me thro' de window Of one dem butcher-shop.

  He split me nose bay my face oop He smash me almost dead; He punch de inside of me mouth All outside of me hade. He hurt me eye so bad in one Ay'm blin' yust like a beetle. In oder one, Ay can see some But only just a little.

  De las Ay see of dat machine He bane a buckin' still. Ay tink he feed too many oat Tod at old Oat-mo-bile. Ay tell my wife, if I get vell You bet I vill not monkey Some anoder time with Any Oat-mo-bile.

  ALMOST BEYOND ENDURANCE

  BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

  I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more! I'm got earache, an' ma can't make it quit a-tall; An' Carlo bite my rubber-ball An' puncture it; an' Sis she take An' poke my knife down through the stable-floor An' loozed it,--blame it all! But I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more!

  An' Aunt Mame _wrote_ she's comin' an' she _can't_, Folks is come _there_!--An' I don't care if she _is_ my aunt! An' my eyes stings; an' I'm Ist coughin' all the time, An' hurts me so, an' where my side's so sore, Grampa felt where, an' he Says, "Maybe it's _pleurasy_!" But I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more!

  An' I clumbed up an' felled off the fence, An' Herbert he ist laugh at me! An' my fi' cents, It sticked in my tin bank, an' I ist tore Purt night my fum-nail off a-tryin' to git It out--nen _smash_ it! An' it's in there yet! But I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more!

  Oo! I'm so wicked! an' my breath's so _hot_, Ist like I run an' don't rest none But ist run on when I ought to not; Yes, an' my chin An' lips all warpy, an' teeth's so fast, An's a place in my throat I can't swaller past,-- An' they all hurt so! An' oh, my oh! I'm a-startin' ag'in,-- I'm a-startin' ag'in, but I _won't_ fer shore! I ist ain't a-goin to cry no more, no more!

  By permission from "His Pa's Romance," copyright, 1903, theBobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis, Ind.

  PROOF POSITIVE

  ANONYMOUS

  I stept into my room one day And saw some children there at play. I sought my little girl and found her With half a dozen youngsters round her; And from the way she slapped her rule, I knew that they were "playing school." I gave my little girl a kiss-- A pleasure that I never miss. A murmur through the schoolroom ran, A smile pervaded every feature, "He must be a committeeman!" They loud exclaimed. "He kissed the teacher!"

  THE IRISH PHILOSOPHER

  ANONYMOUS

  LADIES AND GINTLEMEN:--I see so many foine-lookin' people sittin' beforeme, that if you'll excuse me I'll be after takin' a seat myself.

  You don't know me, I'm thinkin,' or some of yees 'ud be noddin' to meafore this.

  I'm a walkin' pedestrian, a traveling philosopher; Terry O'Mulligan's mename. I'm from Dublin, where many philosophers before me was raised andbred. Oh, philosophy is a foine study. I don't know anything about it,but it's a foine study. Before I kim over I attinded an importantmeetin' of philosophers in Dublin, and the discussin' and talkin' you'dhear there about the world 'ud warm the very heart of Socrates orAristotle himself. Well, there was a great many _imminent_ and learnedmin there at the meetin,' and I was there, too; and while we was in thevery thickest of a heated argument a man comes up to me, and says he,"Do you know what we're talkin' about?" "I do," says I, "but I don'tunderstand yees." "Could you explain the sun's motion round the earth?"says he. "I could," says I; "but I'd not know could you understand me ornot." "Well," says he, "we'll see," says he.

  Sure'n I didn't know anything how to get out of it then; so I piled in,for, says I to meself, never let on to anyone that you don't knowanything, but make them believe that you do know all about it. So, saysI to him, takin' up me shillalah this way (_holding up a very crookedstick horizontally_): "We will take that for the straight line of theearth's equator." How's that for gehoggraphy? (_To the audience._) Oh,that was straight till the other day I bent it in an argument.

  "Very good" says he. "Well," says I, "now the sun rises in the east."(_Placing the disengaged hand at the eastern end of the stick._) Well,he couldn't deny that; "and," says I, "he-he-he-rises in the mornin'."No more could he deny that. "Very early," says I; "and when he gets uphe

  "'Darts his rosy beams Through the mornin' gleams.'"

  Do you moine the poetry there? (_To the audience, with a smile._) "Andhe keeps on risin' an' risin' till he reaches his meridan." "What'sthat?" says he. "His dinner-toime," says I. "Sure'n that's my Latin fordinner-time. And when he gets his dinner

  "'He sinks to rest Behind the glorious hills of the west.'"

  Oh, begorra, there's more poetry. I feel it croppin' out all over me.

  "There," says I, well satisfied with mesilf, "will that do for ye?"

  "You haven't got done with him," says he.

  "Done with him?" says I, kinder mad-like. "What more do you want me todo with him? Didn't I bring him from the east to the west? What more doyou want?" "Oh," says he, "you have to have him back agin in the eastthe next mornin'!"

  By Saint Patrick, and wasn't I near betrayin' me ignorance. Sure'n Ithought there was a large family of suns, and they riz one after theother; but I gathered meself quick, and says I to him, "Well," says I,"I'm surprized you ax me that simple question. I thought any man 'udknow" says I, "when the sun sinks to rest in the west that er--when thesun----" says I. "You said that before" says he. "Well, I want toimpress it strongly upon you," says I. "When the sun sinks to restbehind the glorious hills of the east--no, west--why, he--why, he waitstill it grows very dark and then he _goes back in the noight-toime_!"

  BELAGCHOLLY DAYS

  ANONYMOUS

  Chilly Dovebber with his boadigg blast Dow cubs add strips the beddow add the lawd, E
ved October's suddy days are past-- Add Subber's gawd!

  I kdow dot what it is to which I cligg That stirs to sogg add sorrow, yet I trust That still I sigg, but as the liddets sigg-- Because I bust.

  Add dow, farewell to roses add to birds, To larded fields and tigkligg streablets eke; Farewell to all articulated words I faid would speak.

  Farewell, by cherished strolliggs od the sward, Greed glades add forest shades, farewell to you; With sorrowing heart I, wretched add forlord, Bid you--achew!!!

  A PANTOMIME SPEECH

  ANONYMOUS

  Have you ever realized what a funny thing it is to see a lot of peopletalking and gesticulating and not hear a single sound from them? Thenext time you are in a crowded dining-room, close your ears with yourhands, and you will be quickly converted to the Darwinian theory.

  This was forcibly imprest upon my mind at a political gathering. Thehall was very large, but was crowded to the doors, so that when Ireached there I was obliged to stand outside and on my toes to see thespeakers. Please remember that altho I could in this way distinctly seethe speakers, I was too far away to hear the slightest sound. It wassimply a pantomime performance to me, and I shall try to give you afaithful representation of just what I saw.

  Simply say: "The Chairman." The rest is pantomime. Seat yourself as anold man, put your right hand behind your ear as if listening to a sideremark. Repeat to the left. Evidently someone has told you it is time tobegin. Take out your watch and compare it with the clock on the wallbehind you. Bring out an imaginary pair of spectacles, clean them withyour handkerchief, and as you put them on your nose draw down your faceas old men do. Get up with seeming difficulty. The business here is _adlib_. Point to the speaker of the evening, who is supposed to be sittingat your right. By silent movements of the lips seem to introduce him tothe audience. Then suddenly remember that you have something else to sayjust as you are about to sit down. Repeat this two or three times. Thensit down at last with much difficulty.

  Then say aloud: "The Speaker." Impersonate him as assuming agrandiloquent air. While he speaks in pantomime he rises on his toes andmakes numerous gestures. He pounds fist on table. Someone evidentlyinterrupts him from the audience. He looks in that direction and thenreplies. He seems to say to the man to come up on the platform or elseget out of the hall. He talks for some time as if in argument, thendodges as if something has been thrown at him. Two or three times he hasto dodge in this way and then something seems to have struck him in theface. He takes out his handkerchief and wipes off face and coat. Thenthings are thrown at him from right and left, while he continues tododge. At last they come so thick that he rushes off the platform ingreat alarm.

  THE ORIGINAL LAMB

  ANONYMOUS

  Oh, Mary had a little lamb, regarding whose cuticular The fluff exterior was white and kinked in each particular. On each occasion when the lass was seen perambulating, The little quadruped likewise was there a gallivating.

  One day it did accompany her to the knowledge dispensary, Which to every rule and precedent was recklessly contrary. Immediately whereupon the pedagog superior, Exasperated, did eject the lamb from the interior.

  Then Mary, on beholding such performance arbitrary, Suffused her eyes with saline drops from glands called lachrymary, And all the pupils grew thereat tumultuously hilarious, And speculated on the case with wild conjectures various.

  "What makes the lamb love Mary so?" the scholars asked the teacher. He paused a moment, then he tried to diagnose the creature. "Oh, _pecus amorem Mary habit omnia temporum_." "Thanks, teacher dear," the scholars cried, and awe crept darkly o'er 'em.

  WHEN PA WAS A BOY

  BY S. E. KISER

  I wish 'at I'd of been here when My paw he was a boy; They must of been excitement then-- When my paw was a boy. In school he always took the prize, He used to lick boys twice his size-- I bet folks all had bulgin' eyes When my paw was a boy!

  There was a lot of wonders done When my paw was a boy; How grandpa must have loved his son, When my paw was a boy! He'd git the coal and chop the wood, And think up every way he could To always just be sweet and good-- When my paw was a boy!

  Then everything was in its place, When my paw was a boy; How he could rassle, jump and race, When my paw was a boy! He never, never disobeyed; He beat in every game he played-- Gee! What a record there was made! When my paw was a boy!

  I wish 'at of been here when My paw was a boy; They'll never be his like agen-- Paw was the moddle boy. But still last night I heard my maw Raise up her voice and call my paw The biggest goose she ever saw-- He ought have stayed a boy.

  By permission of Messrs. Forbes & Company, Chicago.

  THE FRECKLED-FACED GIRL

  (She entertains a visitor while her mother is dressing)

  ANONYMOUS

  "Ma's up-stairs changing her dress," said the freckled-faced littlegirl, tying her doll's bonnet-strings and casting her eye about for atidy large enough to serve as a shawl for that double-jointed youngperson.

  "Oh! your mother needn't dress up for me," replied the female agent ofthe missionary society, taking a self-satisfied view of herself in themirror. "Run up and tell her to come down just as she is in herevery-day clothes, and not stand on ceremony."

  "Oh! but she hasn't got on her every-day clothes. Ma was all drest up inher new brown silk, 'cause she expected Miss Diamond to-day. MissDiamond always comes over here to show off her nice things, and ma don'tmean to get left. When ma saw you coming, she said, 'The dickens!' and Iguess she was mad about something. Ma said if you saw her new dressshe'd have to hear all about the poor heathen, who don't have silk, andyou'd ask her for more money to buy hymn-books to send to 'em. Say, dothe nigger ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up and make itfrizzy? Ma says she guesses that's all the good the books do 'em, ifthey ever get any books. I wish my doll was a heathen!"

  "Why, you wicked little girl, why do you want a heathen doll?" inquiredthe missionary lady, taking a mental inventory of the new things in theparlor to get material for a homily on worldly extravagance.

  "So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, and feel sorry tohave her going about naked. I ain't a wicked girl, either, 'cause UncleDick--you know Uncle Dick, he's been out West, and he says I'm a holyterror, and he hopes I'll be an angel pretty soon. Ma'll be down in aminute, so you needn't take your cloak off. She said she'd box my earsif I asked you to. Ma's putting on that old dress she had last year,'cause she said she didn't want you to think she was able to give muchthis time, and she needed a new muff worse than the queen of thecannon-ball islands needed religion. Uncle Dick says you ought to go tothe islands, 'cause you'd be safe there, and the natifs'd be sorry theywas such sinners if anybody would send you to 'em. He says he never seena heathen hungry enough to eat you 'less 'twas a blind one, and you'dset a blind pagan's teeth on edge so he'd never hanker after any moremissionary. Uncle Dick's awful funny, and makes pa and ma die laughingsometimes."

  "Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved man, and ought to have remainedout West, where his style is appreciated. He sets a bad example forlittle girls like you."

  "Oh! I think he's nice. He showed me how to slide down the banisters,and he's teaching me to whistle when ma ain't 'round. That's a prettycloak you've got, ain't it? Do you buy all your good clothes withmissionary money? Ma says you do."

  Just then the freckled-faced little girl's ma came into the parlor andkissed the missionary lady on the cheek, and said she was delighted tosee her, and they proceeded to have a real sociable chat. The littlegirl's ma can't understand why a person who professes to be socharitable as the missionary agent does should go right over to MissDiamond's and say such ill-natured things as she did, and she thinks themissionary is a double-faced gossip.

  WILLIE

  BY MAX EHRMANN

 
A little boy went forth to school One day without his chum. The teacher said, "Why, you're alone! Why doesn't Willie come?" "O Willie!" sobbed the little boy,-- "There ain't no Willie now." "What do you mean?" the teacher asked, With puzzled, knitted brow. "Please, sir," the little boy replied, "We made a bet fur fun,-- Which one could lean the farthest out Our attic,--Willie won."

  AMATEUR NIGHT

  ANONYMOUS

  It was one of those little evening entertainments where everyone talksat once, where everyone asks questions and does not wait for an answer.Mrs. Fitzgibbon, the hostess, finally broke into the babble:

  "Sh! I want you all to be very quiet. Mr. Chooker--Mr. Chooker,--pleasedon't talk,--don't talk, please,--Mr. Chooker is very excitable.Chooker,--yes, he is one of the Chookers. Young people come off thestairs. Sh! I have very great pleasure in introducing to you Mr.Chooker."

  Mr. Chooker came forward with a malicious look, which seemed to say,"You all seem to be very happy,--very jolly,--and enjoying yourselves.Just wait a bit. I am about to recite a little poem of my own entitled,'The Triple Suicide!'"

  Then came the boy of the family, a kind of child prodigy, who, aftergiving a low and jerky bow, recited as follows: (_Here impersonate a boyin awkward style._)

  "A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;--there was dearth of woman's tears." (_Stops._)

  "The women were crying, you know. Some were crying and others wereweeping. Those that weren't weeping were crying!" (_Pauses, then bowslow, and begins again._)

  "A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away-- while his life-blood ebbed away,--while his life-blood ebbed away ----"

  "His blood was flowing along, you know. There was blood here and there.There was blood spattered over everything, and----" (_Pauses long, bowslow, and begins again with great determination and in loud voice._)

  "A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,-- ebbed away,--ebbed away (_gradually begins to cry_),--ebbed away (_as if speaking to someone at the side_)--eh?" (_Exits slowly with hands at eyes silently weeping._)

  The young miss of the family, recently graduated, next gave an originalpoem entitled "The Hen," as follows:

  "Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!-- For the hen is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

  "Life is real, life is earnest, And the shell is not its pen, Egg thou wert and egg remainest, Was not spoken of the hen.

  "In the world's broad field of battle, In the great barnyard of life, Be not like those lazy cattle, Be a rooster in the strife.

  "Lives of roosters all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And when roasted leave behind us Hen-tracks on the sands of time.

  "Hen-tracks that perhaps another chicken Drooping idly in the rain, Some forlorn and henpecked brother, When he sees shall crow again."

  The gem of the evening, however, was a recitation given in fine style byMr. Chillingworth Chubb. He had rather a husky voice and a wooden arm.His memory, moreover, was defective. The effect of his wooden arm, whichwas made to perform the various actions of a real one, was highlyamusing. (_Here the reciter may use "Excelsior," "The Speech of MarkAntony," or some similar selection. The left arm represents the woodenone. The hand should wear a right-hand, white kid glove, put on wrongway round with the finger-tips screwed into points. The arm should beassisted in all its movements by the right one. It should be made tomove in a jerky and unnatural manner at all its joints. A violent pushat the elbow raises it suddenly aloft, and it is brought again to theside by a tremendous slap from the right hand. Finally, the arm appearsto get out of order, and moves violently in all directions, until atlast the right hand, after vainly trying to reach it, pins it down to atable or to some other object. This imitation requires considerablepractise, but when properly done never fails to send an audience intofits of laughter._)

  BOUNDING THE UNITED STATES

  BY JOHN FISKE

  Among the legends of our late Civil War there is a story of adinner-party, given by the Americans residing in Paris, at which werepropounded sundry toasts concerning not so much the past and present asthe expected glories of the American nation. In the general character ofthese toasts, geographical considerations were very prominent, and theprincipal fact which seemed to occupy the minds of the speakers was theunprecedented bigness of our country.

  "Here's to the United States!" said the first speaker,--"bounded on thenorth by British America, on the south by the Gulf of Mexico, on theeast by the Atlantic Ocean, and on the west by the Pacific Ocean!""But," said the second speaker, "this is far too limited a view of thesubject, and, in assigning our boundaries, we must look to the great andglorious future, which is prescribed for us by the manifest destiny ofthe Anglo-Saxon race. Here's to the United States!--bounded on the northby the North Pole, on the east by the rising, and on the west by thesetting, sun!"

  Emphatic applause greeted the aspiring prophecy. But here arose thethird speaker, a very serious gentleman, from the far West. "If we aregoing," said this truly patriotic gentleman, "to lessen the historicpast and present, and take our manifest destiny into account, whyrestrict ourselves within the narrow limits assigned by our fellowcountryman who has just sat down? I give you the United States!--boundedon the north by the Aurora Borealis, on the south by the precession ofthe equinoxes, on the east by the primeval chaos, and on the west by theDay of Judgment!"

  DER DOG UND DER LOBSTER

  ANONYMOUS

  Dot dog, he vas dot kind of dog Vot ketch dot ret so sly, Und squeeze him mit his leedle teeth, Und den dot ret vas die.

  Dot dog, he vas onquisitive Vereffer he vas go, Und like dot voman, all der time, Someding he vants to know.

  Von day, all by dot market stand, Vere fish und clams dey sell, Dot dog vas poke his nose aboud Und find out vot he smell.

  Dot lobster, he vas dook to snooze Mit vone eye open vide, Und ven dot dog vas come along, Dot lobster he vas spied.

  Dot dog, he smell him mit his noze Und scratch him mit his paws, Und push dot lobster all aboud, Und vonder vat he vas.

  Und den dot lobster, he voke up, Und crawl yoost like dot snail, Und make vide open ov his claws, Und grab dot doggie's tail.

  Und den so quick as neffer vas, Dot cry vent to der sky, Und like dot swallows vot dey sing, Dot dog vas homevard fly.

  Yoost like dot thunderbolt he vent-- Der sight vas awful grand, Und every street dot dog vas turn, Down vent dot apple-stand.

  Der children cry, der vimmin scream, Der mens fell on der ground, Und dot boliceman mit his club Vas novare to pe found.

  I make dot run, und call dot dog, Und vistle awful kind; Dot makes no different vot I say, Dot dog don't look pehind.

  Und pooty soon dot race vas end, Dot dog vas lost his tail-- Dot lobster, I vas took him home, Und cook him in dot pail.

  Dot moral vas, I tole you 'boud, Pefore vas neffer known-- Don't vant to find out too much tings Dot vasn't ov your own.

  HE LAUGHED LAST

  ANONYMOUS

  A young man was sitting in the Grand Central Depot the other day,holding a baby in his arms, when the child began to cry so lustily as toattract the attention of everyone around him. By and by a waitingpassenger walked over to him with a smile of pity on his face and said:

  "A woman gave you that baby to hold while she went to see about herbaggage, didn't she?"

  "Yes."

  "Ha! ha! ha! I tumbled to the fact as soon as I saw you. You expect her
back, I suppose?"

  "Of course."

  "Ha! ha! ha! This is rich! Looking for her every minute, aren't you?"

  "Yes, and I think she'll come back."

  "Well this makes me laugh,--ha! ha! ha! I had a woman play that sametrick on me in a Chicago depot once, but no one ever will again. Youngman, you've been played on for a hayseed. I would advise you to turnthat baby over to a policeman and get out of here before some newspaperreporter gets hold of you."

  "Oh, she'll come back, she'll come back."

  "She will, eh? Ha! ha! ha! The joke grows richer and richer. Now whatmakes you think she'll come back?"

  "Because she's my wife and this is our baby."

  "Oh--um--I see," muttered the fat man, who got over feeling tickled allat once, and seeing a dog that a farmer had tied to one of the seatswith a piece of clothes-line, he went over and gave it three swiftkicks.

  NORAH MURPHY AND THE SPIRITS

  BY HENRY HATTON

  Miss Honora Murphy, a young female engaged in the honorable andpraiseworthy occupation of general housework, merely to dispel _ennui_,not hearing in some time from the "boy at home," to whom she was engagedto be married, was advised by the girl next door to consult the spirits.The result I shall give as detailed by her to her friend:

  "How kem I by the black eye? Well, dear, I'll tell ye. Afther what yerwur tellin' me, I niver closed me eyes. The nixt marnin' I ast Maggie,the up-stairs gerrl, where was herself. 'In her boodoore,' sez Maggie,an' up I goes to her.

  "'What's wantin', Nora?' sez she.

  "'I've heerd as how me cousin's very sick,' sez I, 'an' I'm thatfrettin'. I must go an' see her.'

  "'Fitter fur ye to go ter yer worruk,' sez she, lookin' mighty cross,an' she the lazy hulks as niver does a turn from mornin' till night.

  "Well, dear, I niver takes sass from anny av 'em; so I ups an' touldher, 'Sorra taste av worruk I'll do the day, an' av yer don't like it,yer can find some one else,' an' I flounced mesel' out av the boodoore.

  "Well, I wint to me room ter dress mesel', an' whin I got on mesale-shkin sack, I thought av me poor ould mother--may the hivins be herbed!--could only see me, how kilt she'd be intoirely. Whin I was drest Iwint down-stairs an' out the front-doore, an' I tell yer _I slammed itwell after me_.

  "Well, me dear, whin I got ter the majum's, a big chap wid long hair anda baird like a billy-goat kem inter the room. Sez he:

  "'Do yer want ter see the majum?'

  "'I do,' sez I.

  "'Two dollars,' sez he.

  "'For what?' sez I.

  "'For the sayants,' sez he.

  "'Faix, it's no aunts I want ter see,' sez I, 'but Luke Corrigan's ownself.' Well, me dear, wid that he giv a laugh ye'd think would riz theroof.

  "'Is he yer husband?' sez he.

  "'It's mighty 'quisitive ye are,' sez I, 'but he's not me husband, avyer want ter know, but I want ter larn av it's alive or dead he is,which the Lord forbid!'

  "'Yer jist in the nick o' time,' sez he.

  "'Faix, Ould Nick's here all the time, I'm thinkin', from what I hear,'sez I.

  "Well, ter make a long story short, I paid me two dollars, an' wint intoanother room, an' if ye'd guess from now till Aisther, ye'd never thinkwhat the majum was. As I'm standin' here, 'twas _nothin' but a woman_! Iwas that bet, I was almost spacheless.

  "'Be sated, madam,' sez she, p'intin' to a chair, 'yer must jine thecircle.'

  "'Faix, I'll ate a triangle, av yer wish,' sez I.

  "'Yer must be very quiet,' sez she. An' so I set down along a lot avother folks at a table.

  "'First I'll sing a hymn,' sez the majum, 'an' thin do all yees jine inthe chorus.'

  "Yer must excuse me, mum,' sez I. 'I niver could sing, but rather thanspile the divarshun of the company, av any wan'll whistle, I'll dance aspurty a jig as ye'll see from here to Bal'nasloe, tho it's meself as sezit.'

  "Two young whipper-snappers begun ter laugh, but the look I gev themshut them up.

  "Jist then, the big chap as had me two dollars kem into the room an'turned down the lights. In a minit the majum, shtickin' her face closeto me own, whispers:

  "'The sperrits is about--I kin feel them!'

  "'Thrue for you, mum,' sez I, 'fur I kin shmell them!'

  "'Hush, the influence is an me,' sez the majum. 'I kin see the lion an'the lamb lying down together.'

  "'Bedad! it's like a wild beastess show,' sez I.

  "'Will yer be quiet?' sez an ould chap next ter me. 'I hev a question toax.'

  "'Ax yer question,' sez I, 'an' I'll ax mine. I paid me two dollars, an'I'll not be put down.'

  "'Plaze be quiet,' sez the majum, 'or the sperrits 'll lave.'

  "Jist then came a rap on the table.

  "'Is that the sperrit of Luke Corrigan?' sez the majum.

  "'It is not,' sez I, 'for he could bate any boy in Killballyowen, an' ifhis fisht hit that table 'twould knock it to smithereens.'

  "'Whist!' sez the majum, 'it's John Bunion.'

  "'Ax him 'bout his progress,' sez a woman wid a face like a bowl ofstirabout.

  "'Ah, batherashin!' sez I. 'Let John's bunion alone, an' bring LukeCorrigan to the fore.'

  "'Hish!' whispers the majum, 'I feel a sperrit near me.'

  "'Feel av it has a lump on his nose,' sez I, 'for be that token ye'llknow it's Luke.'

  "'The moment is suspicious,' sez the majum.

  "'I hope yer don't want to asperge me character,' sez I.

  "'Whist!' sez she, 'the sperrits is droopin'.'

  "'It's droppin' yer mane,' sez I, pickin' up a shmall bottle she letfall from her pocket.

  "'Put that woman out,' sez an ould chap.

  "'Who do you call a woman?' sez I. 'Lay a fing-er on me, an' I'llscratch a map of the County Clare on yer ugly phiz.'

  "'Put her out!' 'Put her out!' sez two or three others, an' they made alep for me. But, holy rocket! I was up in a minute.

  "'Bring on yer fightin' sperrits,' I cried, 'from Julis Sazar to TimMacould, an' I'll bate them all, for the glory of Ireland!'

  "The big chap as had me money kem behind me, and put his elbow in meeye; but, me jewel, I tossed him over as ef he'd bin a feather, an' themoney rolled out his pocket. Wid a cry of 'Faugh-a-ballah!' I grabbedsix dollars, runned out av the doore, an' I'll niver put fut in thehouse again. An' that's how I kem be the black eye."

  OPIE READ

  BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY

  Dis language Anglaise dat dey spe'k, On State of Illinois, Is hard for Frenchmen heem to learn, It give me moch annoy. Las' w'ek ma frien', McGover_ane_ He com' to me an' say: "You mak' a toas' on Opie Read W'en dey geeve gran' banqay."

  "I mak' a toas'? Not on your life! Dat man's wan frien' of me. W'at for I warm heem op lak' toas'? De reason I can't see." An' den John laugh out on hees eye W'en he is to me say: "To mak' a toas' is not a roas', It's jus' de odder way."

  Dat's how I learn dat toas' an' roas' Is call by different name, Dough bot' are warm in dere own way, Dere far from mean de same. An' so, ma frien', in lof' I clasp Your gr'ad, beeg, brawny han', An' share vit you in fellowship, An' pay you on deman'.

  You're built upon a ver' large plan, Overe seex feet you rise: You need it all to shelter in Your heart dat's double size. You are too broad for narrow t'ings, You gr'ad for any creed; I'll eat de roas', but drink de toas', To ma frien', Opie Read.

  THE VILLAGE CHOIR

  After the Charge of the Light Brigade

  ANONYMOUS

  Half a bar, half a bar, Half a bar onward! Into an awful ditch Choir and precentor hitch, Into a mess of pitch, They led the Old Hundred. Trebles to right of them, Tenors to left of them, Basses in front of them, Bellowed and thundered. Oh, that precentor's look, When the sopranos took Their own time and hook From the Old Hundred!

  Screeched all the trebles here, Boggled the tenors there, Raising the parson's hair, While
his mind wandered; Theirs not to reason why This psalm was pitched too high: Theirs but to gasp and cry Out the Old Hundred. Trebles to right of them, Tenors to left of them, Basses in front of them, Bellowed and thundered. Stormed they with shout and yell, Not wise they sang nor well, Drowning the sexton's bell, While all the church wondered.

  Dire the precentor's glare, Flashed his pitchfork in air, Sounding fresh keys to bear Out the Old Hundred. Swiftly he turned his back, Reached he his hat from rack, Then from the screaming pack, Himself he sundered. Tenors to right of him, Tenors to left of him, Discords behind him, Bellowed and thundered. Oh, the wild howls they wrought: Right to the end they fought! Some tune they sang, but not, Not the Old Hundred.

  BILLY OF NEBRASKA

  BY J. W. BENGOUGH

  'Twas out in Nebraska--a town they call Lincoln, (I but mention the place, and everyone's thinkin' Of W. J. B., the favorite son, Who twice for the Washington sweepstakes has run),

  But this is not a political story, And has nothing to do with the Silver question, Or Rate-bills, or Trusts, or even Old Glory,-- Tho Bryan's name may start the suggestion; And he, as a matter of fact, is the source Of the tale, which makes it much better, of course; For it goes to show What some may be slow To believe,--that this Democrat, earnest and stern, On whose lips the eloquent sentences burn, And who never is known to drink or to smoke, Has a fondness for fun and enjoys a good joke.

  It appears that Billy--if I may make free, (Like the G. O. P. press) with the Commoner's name-- Kept a goat, with a cognomen just the same, (At least I suppose such was likely to be, For Billy's the name of each goat that is _he_); And I likewise suppose, (Tho nobody knows) That William's idea in keeping a goat Was to make himself sound with the shantytown vote; But be that as it may, It happened one day That he went to the court-house, did W. J.,-- To lodge in due form a complaint--to protest 'Gainst the manner in which his estate was assessed; And especially to kick (For even a peace-arbitrationist hollers When you cut to the quick)-- To kick 'gainst the taxing at twenty-five dollars Of Billy the goat. "I say it's too much," Cries Bryan, "and savors of kingcraft and such! Tax-dodging's a thing I abhor, but I swear This tax is unrighteous, unjust, and unfair; 'Tis a tax more odious than taxes on tea, And illegal, moreover, for I fail to see Where the law gives you power to impose such a rate, For the statutes don't say that a goat's _real estate_. I stand on my rights!"--Here he threw back his coat, And like Hampton of old Stood up brave and bold, "I refuse," he declared, "to be taxed for my goat!"

  The assessor, a gentle and mild-faced old chap, Most anxious to do only that which was right, Grew pale with affright When he saw the great orators angry eyes snap; But he ventured to speak In a mild little squeak, "If you will excuse me, I think you're astray; The rules 'nd riglations is printed that way; And I haint did nothin' but what I am bid; I done it this year as I always have did; Here's the book; Take a look, And read for yerself how the law sets it out, And I guess you will see I know what I'm about.

  "Your goat he runs on the highway, I guess?" "Well, yes, I suppose," Says Bryan, "he does." "And he butts, I presume, don't he, now, more or less?" "Yes," says Bryan, "no doubt He butts when he's out, But what has that got to do with----" "See here!" Says the old man, as one who had made his point clear: "I calk'late, mister, you hain't read the laws, If you'll just take a look at this here little clause; Where the duties of 'sessors it specially notes; It says, as you see, _Tax all property Runnin' and a-buttin' on the highway!_ And that has jest exactly bin _my_ way; And the 'pinion's sound as oats That it taxes on billy-goats So you can't git out o' payin' in such a sly way!"

  DOT LAMBS VOT MARY HAF GOT

  ANONYMOUS

  Mary haf got a leetle lambs already; Dose vool vas vite like shnow; Und efery times dot Mary dit vent oued, Dot lambs vent also oued mit Mary.

  Dot lambs did follow Mary von day of der schoolhouse, Vich vas obbosition to der rules of der schoolmaster, Also, vich it dit caused dose schillen to schmile out loud, Ven dey dit saw dose lambs on der inside of der schoolhouse.

  Und zo dot schoolmaster dit kick dot lambs quick oued, Likevize, dot lambs dit loaf around on der outsides, Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently bound, Until Mary dit come also from dot schoolhouse oued.

  Und den dot lambs dit run right away quick to Mary, Und dit make his het on Mary's arms, Like he would say, "I doand vas schkared, Mary would keep from drouble ena how."

  "Vot vas der reason aboud it, of dot lambs und Mary?" Dose schillen dit ask it dot schoolmaster; Veil, doand you know it, dot Mary lov dose lambs already, Dot schoolmaster dit zaid.

  _Moral_

  Und zo, alzo, dot moral vaz, Boued Mary's lamb's relations; Of you lofe dese like she lofe dose, Dot lambs vas obligations.

  GEORGA WASHINGDONE

  ANONYMOUS

  Georga Washingdone vos a vera gooda man. Hees fadda he keepa bigga placein Washingdone Street. He hada a greata bigga lot planta wees cherra,peacha, pluma, chesnutta, peanutta, an' banan trees. He sella to menakeepa de standa. Gooda mana to Italia mana was Georga Washingdone. Hehata de Irish. Kicka dem vay lika dees.

  One tay wen litta Georga, hees son, vos dessa high, like de hoppa-grass,he take hees litta hatchet an' he beginna to fool round de place. He vosvera fresh, vos litta Georga. Poota soon he cutta downa de cherra treelika dees. Dat spoila de cherra cropa for de season. Den he goa roundtrea killa de banan an' de peanutta.

  Poota soon Georga's fadda coma rounda quicka lika dees. Den he liftauppa hees fista looka lika big bunch a banan, an' he vos just goin' togiva litta Georga de smaka de snoota if he tola lie. Hees eyes blazelika dees.

  Litta Georga he say in hees minda, "I gitta puncha anyhow, so I tellade square ting." So he holda up hees litta hands lika dees, an' he calla"Tima!"

  Den he says, "Fadda, I cutta de cherra tree weesa mia own littahatchet!"

  Hees fadda he say, "Coma to de barn weesa me! Litta Georga, I wantaspeeka weesa you!"

  Den hees fadda cutta big club, an' he spitta hees handa, lika dees!

  Litta Georga say, "Fadda, I could notta tella de lie, because I knowayou caughta me deada to rights!"

  Den de olda man he smila lika dees, an' he tooka litta Georga rightadown to Wall Street, an' made him a present of de United States!

  DA 'MERICANA GIRL

  BY T. A. DALY

  I gatta mash weeth Mag McCue, An' she ees 'Mericana, too! Ha! w'at you theenk? Now mebbe so, You weell no calla me so slow Eef som' time you can looka see How she ees com' an' flirt weeth me. Most evra two, t'ree day, my frand, She stop by dees peanutta-stand An' smile an' mak' do googla-eye An' justa look at me an' sigh. An' alla time she so excite' She peeck som' fruit an' taka bite. O! my, she eesa look so sweet I no care how much fruit she eat. Me? I am cool an' mak' pretand I want no more dan be her frand; But een my heart, you bat my life, I theenk of her for be my wife. To-day I theenk: "Now I weell see How moocha she ees mash weeth me," An' so I speak of dees an' dat, How moocha playnta mon' I gat, How mooch I makin' evra day An' w'at I spend an' put away. An' den I ask, so queeck, so sly: "You theenk som' pretta girl weell try For lovin' me a leetla beet?"-- O! my! she eesa blush so sweet!-- "An' eef I ask her lika dees For geevin' me a leetla keess, You s'pose she geeve me wan or two?" She tal me: "Twanty-t'ree for you!" An' den she laugh so sweet, an' say: "Skeeddoo! Skeeddoo!" an' run away.

  She like so mooch for keessa me She gona geev me twanty-t'ree! I s'pose dat w'at she say--"skeeddoo"-- Ees alla same "I lova you." Ha! w'at you theenk! Now, mebbe so You weell no calla me so slow!

  BEC
KY MILLER

  ANONYMOUS

  I don'd lofe you now von schmall little bit, My dream vas blayed oudt, so blease git up and git, Your false-heardted vays I can't got along mit-- Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!

  Vas all der young vomans so false-heardted like you, Mit a face so bright, but a heart black and plue, Und all der vhile schworing you lofed me so drue-- Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!

  Vy, vonce I t'ought you vas a shtar vay up high; I like you so better as gogonut bie; But oh, Becky Miller, you hafe profed von big lie-- Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!

  You dook all de bresents vat I did bresent, Yes, gobbled up efery virst thing vot I sent; All der vhile mit anoder rooster you vent-- Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!

  Vhen first I found oudt you vas such a big lie, I didn't know vedder to schmudder or die; Bud now, by der chingo, I don't efen cry-- Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!

  Don'd dry make belief you vas sorry aboudt, I don'd belief a dings vot comes oudt by your moudt; Und besides I don'd care, for you vas blayed oudt-- Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!

  P. S. (pooty short)--Vell, he dold Becky to go avay enough dimes, ennerhow. I dinks he vas an uckly vellow. Vell, berhaps dot serfs Beckychoost right for daking bresents from von vellow, vhile she vas vinkingher nose by anoder vellow.

  PAT AND THE MAYOR

  ANONYMOUS

  An Irishman named Patrick Maloney, recently landed, called upon themayor to see if he could give him a position on the police force. Themayor, thinking he would have some fun with him, said:

  "Before I can do anything for you, you will have to pass a Civil Serviceexamination."

  "Ah, dthin," said Pat, "and pfhat is the Civil Sarvice?"

  "It means that you must answer three questions I put to you, and if youanswer them correctly I may be able to place you."

  "Well," said Pat, "I think I can answer dthim if they're not too hard."

  "The first question is, 'What is the weight of the moon?'"

  "Ah, now, how can I tell you that? Shure and I don't know."

  "Well, try the second one, 'How many stars are in the sky?'"

  "Now you're pokin' fun at me. How do I know how many Stars there are inthe shky?"

  "Then try the third question, and if you answer it correctly I'llforgive you the others, 'What am I thinking of?'"

  "Pfhat are you thinkin' of? Shure, how can any man tell what youpoliticians are thinkin' about. Bedad I don't belave you know pfhatyou're thinkin' about yourself. I guess I'll be lookin' for workilsewhere, so good-day to you!"

  The mayor called Pat back and told him not to be discouraged, but to gohome and think about it, and if on the morrow he thought he could answerthe questions to come down again and he would give him another chance.

  So Pat went home and told his brother Mike about it, whereupon Mikesaid:

  "Now you give me dthim clothes of yours and I'll go down and answer hisquestions for him."

  So next morning Mike went down bright and early, and the mayorrecognizing Patrick as he thought, said:

  "Ah, good morning, Patrick. Have you really come back to answer thosethree questions I put to you yesterday?"

  "Yis, I have."

  "Well the first question is, 'What is the weight of the moon?'"

  "The weight of the moon is one hundred pounds, twenty-five pounds toeach quarther, four quarthers make one hundred."

  "Capital, Patrick, capital! Now the second question is, 'How many starsare in the sky?'"

  "How many shtars are in the shky? There are four billion, sivin million,noine hundred and thirty-two tousand and one."

  "Splendid, Patrick, splendid. Now look out for the last question whichis, 'What am I thinking of?'"

  "Pfhat are you thinkin' of? Well I know pfhat you're thinkin' of. You'rethinkin' I'm Pat, but you're tirribly mistakin'; _I'm his brotherMike!_"

  THE WIND AND THE MOON

  BY GEORGE MACDONALD

  Said the wind to the moon, "I will blow you out. You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair, Always looking what I am about; I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."

  The wind blew hard and out went the moon. So, deep On a heap Of clouds, to sleep, Down lay the wind, and slumbered soon-- Muttering low, "I've done for that moon."

  He turned in his bed; she was there again! On high In the sky, With her one ghost eye, The moon shone white and alive and plain. Said the wind--"I will blow you out again."

  The wind blew hard, and the moon grew dim. "With my sledge And my wedge I have knocked off her edge! If only I blow right fierce and grim, The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

  He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. "One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff! One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"

  He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone; In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Far off and harmless the shy stars shone; Sure and certain the moon was gone!

  The wind, he took to his revels once more; On down, In town, Like a merry mad clown, He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar, "What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

  He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain; For still the broader the moon-scrap grew, The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

  Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.

  Said the wind--"What a marvel of power am I! With my breath Good faith! I blew her to death-- First blew her away right out of the sky-- Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"

  But the moon she knew nothing about the affair, For, high In the sky, With her one white eye, Motionless, miles above the air, She had never heard the great wind blare.

  TOTAL ANNIHILATION

  ANONYMOUS

  Oh, he was a Bowery boot-black bold, And his years they numbered nine. Rough and unpolished was he, Albeit he constantly aimed to "shine."

  Proud as a king on his box he sat Munching an apple red, While the boys of his set looked wistfully on. And "give us a bite," they said.

  That boot-black smiled a lordly smile-- "No free bites here," he cried. Then his comrades sadly walked away, Save one, who stood at his side.

  "Bill, give us the core," he whispered low. That boot-black smiled once more, And a mischievous dimple grew in his cheek-- "There ain't going to be no core."

  UPS AND DOWNS OF MARRIED LIFE

  ANONYMOUS

  A well-drest woman walked into a prominent New York office building theother day and took one of the elevators. Her husband saw her from acrossthe street, and hurrying over took the next elevator. He went to theoffice where he knew she had business, and found she had stept in onlyfor a moment and had gone down again.

  The elevator despatcher said to her: "Your husband just went up, and Ithink he's looking for you."

  She took the next elevator up. Just then her husband came down. Helooked all around and then inquired:

  "Have you seen my wife here?"

  "Yes, she went up this minute."

  He took the next elevator and was just out of sight when she came down.

  "Your husband has just gone up."

  "Then I'll go right up, as he'll wait for me this time."

  Down came her husband a second afterward.

  "Did my wife come down again?"

  "Yes, and just went up. She thought you'd wait for her." br />
  After waiting a few moments he became impatient and went up again. Shehad been waiting for him, and came down.

  "Husband just gone up."

  "Then I'll wait here, as he will surely come down."

  She waited a few moments and then hurried up again just as he came down.

  "Wife here?"

  "Just gone up!"

  "Well I'm going home and you tell her----" He paused, turned around andwent up again. Down she came.

  "Did he come down?"

  "Yes, and he's gone up again as mad as a hornet."

  "Then I had better go right up."

  Up she went and down he came.

  "Just gone up."

  "Well, I'll be hanged if I'm going up again. No, sir! I've seen many upsand downs in my time, but this is the limit. I'm going to sit right hereand wait if she never comes down!"

  When they closed the building for the night, he was still sittingdown-stairs, and she, equally determined, was waiting up-stairs, whilethe elevator man remarked:

  "Well, I hope dey'll meet in heav'n!"

  THE CROOKED MOUTH FAMILY

  ANONYMOUS

  In a locality not far removed from the city's busy hum, there lived afamily noted for certain remarkable peculiarities of facial distortion.In the father the lower jaw protruded; in the mother it receded so thatthe upper jaw overhung it like a canopy; the daughter had her face drawnto the left side, while the son had his drawn to the right, and inaddition to this deformity stammered most dreadfully. While he attemptedto talk his face assumed an expression equally grotesque as thecaricatures in a yellow journal.

  The father kept a store and one day a man entered whose face, strangelyenough, was drawn strongly to the right side. Addressing the daughter,who was standing back of the counter, he said, "I want a pound of tea,"his words coming from the corner of his mouth.

  "What are you making fun of me for?" replied the girl, her face drawn inthe opposite direction.

  "I ain't making fun of you. Can't help it. I was born this way."

  The young lady, however, was not satisfied that the stranger was tellingthe truth, so, stepping to the door she called to her father, "Pa,there's a man down here making fun of me."

  The father put in an appearance and demanded of the customer why he hadmade fun of his daughter.

  "I didn't make fun of her."

  "Yes you did," said the girl.

  "I s-s-saw y-y-you," stammered the brother, from out the corner of histwisted face.

  "I tell you I didn't. I was born this way. Can't talk any other."

  "Well," said the old man, "you would make a good match and you ought tomarry each other."

  This proposition meeting with a favorable consideration, the two weremade one.

  The entire family went on the wedding tour, and one night they spent ata country inn where candles were used for purposes of illumination.Picking up a candle the groom attempted to blow it out, but he nearlyexhausted himself in the effort without accomplishing his purpose. Thebride came to his rescue and blew, and blew, and blew, but with nobetter result. Papa appearing upon the scene, said, "Let me have it.I'll show you how to do it," and he went to work with a noise thatsounded like the exhaust of a high-pressure engine, but the candlestubbornly refused to go out. The mother, hearing the racket, then cameupon the scene, and learning of their quandary, put the candle on herhead and blew upward but the flame merely flickered as tho fanned by agentle zephyr. Just then they saw the watchman passing by, so, in theirextremity, they called him to their aid and he promptly blew out thecandle because he had a straight mouth.

  "IMPH-M"

  ANONYMOUS

  When I was a laddie lang syne at the schule, The maister aye ca'd me a dunce an' a fule; For somehoo his words I could ne'er un'erstan', Unless when he bawled, "Jamie, hand oot yer han'!" Then I gloom'd, and said, "Imph-m," I glunch'd, and said, "Imph-m"-- I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say--a-y-e!

  Ae day a queer word, as lang-nebbits' himsel', He vow'd he would thrash me if I wadna spell, Quo I, "Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither, "I'll spell ye the word if ye'll spell me anither: Let's hear ye spell 'Imph-m,' That common word 'Imph-m,' That auld Scotch word 'Imph-m,' ye ken it means a-y-e!"

  Had ye seen hoo he glour'd, hoo he scratched his big pate, An' shouted, "Ye villain, get oot o' my gate! Get aff to your seat! yer the plague o' the schule! The de'il, o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule!" But I only said, "Imph-m," That pawkie word "Imph-m," He couldna spell "Imph-m," that stands for an a-y-e!

  An' when a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean-- O' Avon's braw lasses the pride an' the queen-- When 'neath my gray pladie, wi' heart beatin' fain, I speired in a whisper if she'd be my ain, She blushed, an' said, "Imph-m," That charming word "Imph-m," A thousan' times better an' sweeter than a-y-e!

  Just ae thing I wanted my bliss to complete-- Ae kiss frae her rosy mou', couthie an' sweet-- But a shake o' her head was her only reply-- Of course, that said no, but I kent she meant a-y-e, For her twa een said "Imph-m," Her red lips said, "Imph-m," Her hale face said "Imph-m," an' "Imph-m" means a-y-e!

  THE USUAL WAY

  ANONYMOUS

  There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took, For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook." And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day, And they met--in the usual way.

  Then he sat down beside her, and an hour or two went by, But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie; "I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day." And he was--in the usual way.

  So he gravely took his rod in hand and threw the line about, But the fish perceived distinctly, he was not looking out; And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you," but she said she could not stay, But she did--in the usual way.

  Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh, As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by; "We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray, And they did--in the usual way.

  And day by day beside the stream, they wandered to and fro, And day by day the fishes swam securely down below, Till this little story ended, as such little stories may Very much--in the usual way.

  And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo? Do they never fret or quarrel, like other couples do? Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey? Well, they do--in the usual way.

  NOTHING SUITED HIM

  ANONYMOUS

  He sat at the dinner-table there, With discontented frown. The potatoes and steak were underdone And the bread was baked too brown. The pie too sour, the pudding too sweet, And the mince-meat much too fat, The soup was greasy, too, and salt-- 'Twas hardly fit for a cat.

  "I wish you could taste the bread and pies I have seen my mother make; They were something like, and 'twould do you good Just to look at a slice of her cake." Said the smiling wife: "I'll improve with age. Just now, I'm a beginner. But your mother called to see me to-day And I got _her_ to cook the dinner."

  A LITTLE FELLER

  ANONYMOUS

  Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller, With pop and mom a-readin' all the while, An' never sayin' anything to cheer ye, An' lookin' 's if they didn't know how to smile; With hook an' line a-hangin' in the wood-shed, An' lots o' 'orms down by the outside cellar, An' Brown's creek just over by the mill-dam-- Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.

  Why, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller Right on from sun-up when the day commences Fur little fellers don't have much to think of, 'Cept chasin' gophers 'long the corn-field fences, Or diggin' after moles down in the wood-lot, Or climbin' after apples what's got meller, Or fishin' down in Br
own's creek an' mill-pond-- Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.

  But Sunday's never lonesome fur a little feller When he's a-stayin down to Uncle Ora's; He took his book onct right out in the orchard, An' told us little chaps just lots of stories, All truly true, that happened onct fur honest, An' one 'bout lions in a sort o' cellar, An' how some angels came an' shut their mouths up, An' how they never teched that Dan'l feller.

  An' Sunday's pleasant down to Aunt Marilda's; She lets us take some books that some one gin her, An' takes us down to Sunday-school 't the schoolhouse; An' sometimes she has a nice shortcake fur dinner. An' onct she had a puddin' full o' raisins, An' onct a frosted cake all white an' yeller. I think, when I stay down to Aunt Marilda's, That Sunday's pleasant fur a little feller.

  ROBIN TAMSON'S SMIDDY

  BY ALEXANDER RODGER

  My mither men't my auld breeks, An' wow! but they were duddy, And sent me to get Mally shod At Robin Tamson's smiddy. The smiddy stands beside the burn That wimples through the clachan, I never yet gae by the door, But aye I fa' a-laughin'.

  For Robin was a walthy carle, An' had ae bonnie dochter, Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man, Tho mony lads had sought her. And what think ye o' my exploit?-- The time our mare was shoeing, I slippit up beside the lass, An' briskly fell a-wooing.

  An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks, The time that we sat crackin', Quo' I, "My lass, ne'er mind the _clouts_, I've new anes for the makin'; But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me, An' lea' the carle, your father, Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim, Mysel', an' a' thegither."

  "'Deed, lad," quo' she, "your offer's fair, I really think I'll tak' it, Sae, gang awa', get out the mare, We'll baith slip on the back o't; For gin I wait my father's time, I'll wait till I be fifty; But na;--I'll marry in my prime, An' mak' a wife most thrifty."

  Wow! Robin was an angry man, At tyning o' his dochter; Through a' the kintra-side he ran, An' far an' near he sought her; But when he cam' to our fire-end, An' fand us baith thegither, Quo' I, "Gudeman, I've ta'en your bairn, An' ye may tak' my mither."

  Auld Robin girn'd an' sheuk his pow, "Guid sooth!" quo' he, "you're merry, But I'll just tak' ye at your word, An' end this hurry-burry." So Robin an' our auld wife Agreed to creep thegither; Now, I ha'e Robin Tamson's pet, An' Robin has my mither.

  A BIG MISTAKE

  ANONYMOUS

  Recently our church has had a new minister. He is a nice, good, sociableman; but having come from a distant State, of course he was totallyunacquainted with our people.

  Therefore, it happened that during his pastoral calls he made severalludicrous blunders.

  The other evening he called upon Mrs. Hadden. She had just lost herhusband, and naturally supposed that his visit was relative to the sadoccurrence. So, after a few commonplaces had been exchanged, she was notat all surprized to hear him remark:

  "It was a sad bereavement, was it not?"

  "Yes," faltered the widow.

  "Totally unexpected?"

  "Oh, yes; I never dreamed of it."

  "He died in the barn, I suppose?"

  "Oh, no; in the house."

  "Ah--well, I suppose you must have thought a great deal of him."

  "Of course, sir,"--this with a vim.

  The minister looked rather surprized, but continued:

  "Blind staggers was the disease, I believe?"

  "No, sir," snapped the widow, "apoplexy."

  "Indeed; you must have fed him too much."

  "He was always capable of feeding himself, sir."

  "Very intelligent he must have been. Died hard, didn't he?"

  "He did."

  "You had to hit him on the head with an ax to put him out of misery, Iwas told."

  "Whoever told you so did not speak the truth. James died naturally."

  "Yes," repeated the minister, in a slightly perplexed tone, "he kickedthe side of the barn down in his last agonies, did he not?"

  "No, sir, he didn't."

  "Well, I have been misinformed, I suppose. How old was he?"

  "Thirty-five."

  "Then he did not do much active work. Perhaps you are better withouthim, for you can easily supply his place with another."

  "Never, sir--never will I see one as good as he."

  "Oh, yes, you will. He had the heaves bad, you know."

  "Nothing of the kind!"

  "Why, I recollect I saw him, one day, passing along the road, and Idistinctly recollect that he had the heaves, and walked as if he had thestring-halt."

  "He could never have had the string-halt, for he had a cork leg!"

  "A cork leg!--remarkable. But really, now, didn't he have a dangeroustrick of suddenly stopping and kicking a wagon all to pieces?"

  "Never; he was not a madman, sir!"

  "Probably not. But there were some good points about him."

  "I should think so!"

  "The way in which he carried his ears, for example."

  "Nobody else ever noticed that particular merit; he was warm-hearted,generous and frank!"

  "Good qualities. How long did it take him to go a mile?"

  "About fifteen minutes."

  "Not much of a goer. Wasn't his hair apt to fly?"

  "He didn't have any hair. He was bald-headed."

  "Quite a curiosity?"

  "No, sir; no more of a curiosity than you are."

  "Did you use the whip much on him?"

  "Never, sir."

  "Went right along without it, eh?"

  "Yes!"

  "He must have been a very good sort of a brute!"

  "The idea of you coming here and insulting me!" she sobbed. "If myhusband had lived you wouldn't have done it. Your remarks in referenceto that poor, dead man have been a series of insults. I won't stand it."

  He colored and looked dumbfounded.

  "Are you not Mrs. Blinkers, and has not your old gray horse died?"

  "I never owned a h-horse, but my husband died a week ago!"

  Ten minutes later the minister came out of that house with the reddestface ever seen on mortal man.

  "And to think," he groaned, as he strode home, "that I was talking horseto that woman all the time, and she was talking husband."

  LORD DUNDREARY'S LETTER

  ANONYMOUS

  (_He enters holding a letter in his hand and a monocle in his eye._) Iwonder who w-w-wote me this letter? I thuppose the b-b-best way tof-f-find out ith to open it and thee. (_Opens letter._) Thomelun-lunatic hath w-w-witten me this letter. He hath w-w-witten itupthide down. I w-w-wonder if he th-thought I wath going to w-w-wead itthanding on my head. Oh, yeth, I thee; I had it t-t-turned upthide down.

  "Amewica." Who do I know in Amewica? I am glad he hath g-g-given me hithaddwess anyhow. Oh, yeth, I thee, it ith from Tham. I alwaths knowTham's handwiting when I thee hith name at the b-b-bottom of it.

  "My dear bwother." Tham alwaths called me bwother, becauthe we never hadany thisters. When we were boyths, we were ladths together--both of us.They used to g-g-get off a pwoverb when they thaw uth com-com-comingdown the stweet. It iths awfully good, if I could only think of it.Iths--it iths the early bir-bir-bird--iths the early bir-bir-bird thatknowths iths own f-f-father. What nonthense that iths! How co-co-could ab-b-bird know iths own father? Iths a withe child--iths a withechild--iths a wise child that geths the worm. T-t-that's not wite. Watnonthense that iths! No pa-pa-pawent would allow hiths child toga-ga-gather worms. Iths a wyme. Fish of-of-of a feather,--fish of af-f-feather,--now what nonthense that iths! Fish don't have feathers.Iths a b-b-bird--iths b-b-birds of a feather,--b-b-birds of afeather--flock together. B-b-birds of a f-f-feather! Just as if awho-who-whole flock of b-b-birds had only one f-f-feather. They'd allcatch cold. Only one b-b-bird could have that f-f-feather, and he'd flysidewithse. What con-confounded nonthense that iths! Flockto-to-together! Of cou
rthse th-th-they'd flock together. Who ever heardof a b-b-bird being such a f-f-fool as to g-g-go into a corner and flockby himself? That's one of those things no fellow can find out.

  "I wote you a letter thome time ago----" Thath's a lie; he d-d-didn'tw-w-wite me a letter. If he had witten me a letter he would have postedit, and I would have g-g-got it; so, of courthse, he didn't post it, andthen he didn't wite it. Thath's easy. Oh, yeths, I thee: "but I dwoppedit into the poth-potht-office without putting any name on it." I wonderwho the d-d-dickens got that letter. I w-w-wonder if the poth-pothmaniths gwoin' awound asking for a fellow without any name. I wonder ifthere iths such a fellow, a fellow without any name? If there iths anyfellow without any name, how doeths he know who he iths himself? I-I-Iwonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How could he ask a girl totake hiths name if he h-h-had no name? That's one of those things nofellow can find out.

  "I have just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's alwaths d-d-doingthomthing. "I have dithcovered that my mother iths--that m-m-my motheriths not my m-m-mother; that a--the old nurthe iths my m-m-mother, andthat you are not my b-b-bwother, and a--that-that-that I was changthedat my birth." How ca-ca-can a fellow be changthed at hith b-b-birth? Ifhe hiths not himthelf, who iths he? If Tham's m-m-mother iths not hithsm-m-mother, and the old nurthe iths hith m-m-mother, and Tham iths notmy b-b-bwother, then who the dickens am I? Stope a minute. (_Points toforefinger of left hand._) That's Tham's m-m-mother, and that's Tham'snurthe (_pointing to thumb of left hand_). Tham's nurthe ith only halfthe size of hith m-m-mother. Well, that's my m-m-mother (_pointing tosecond finger of left hand_). I can't get my m-m-mother to stand up!(_All the fingers spring up_.) Hello, there's a lot of other fellows'm-m-mothers. Well, as far as I can make out, Tham hath left me nom-m-mother at all! That's one of those things no fellow can find out.

  "I have just purchathed an ethstate som-som-somewhere----" Dothn't theidiot know wh-wh-where he hath bought it? Oh, yeth: "on the banks of theM-M-M-Mith-ith-ippi." Who iths Mit-this Thippi? I g-g-gueth iths Tham'sm-m-mother-in-law. Tham's got mawaid. He thayths he felt awfullyner-ner-nervouths. S-s-speaking of m-m-mother-in-lawths, I had a fwiendwho had a m-m-mother-in-law, and he didn't like her very well; and shefelt the thame way toward him; and they went away on a steamer acwothsthe ocean, and they got shipwecked, catht away on a waft, and theyfloated awound in the water, living on thuch things ath they could pickup--such ath thardines, ice-cweam, owanges, and other canned goods thatwere floating awound. When that was all gone, everybody ate everybodyelse. F-f-finally only himthelf and hiths m-m-mother-in-law waths left,and they played a game of c-c-checkers to thee who thould be eatenup--himthelf or hith m-m-mother-in-law. He w-w-won! He thays that waththe only time that he weally cared for his mother-in-law!

  Oh, herthe a pothscript. "By the way, what do you think of thef-f-following widdle?" One of Tham's widdles. "If fourteen dogs withthree legs each catch forty-eight rabbits with seventy-six legs intwenty-five minutes, how many legs must twenty-four rabbits have to getaway from ninety-three dogs with two legs each in half an hour!" That'sone of those things no fellow can find out.

  SLANG PHRASES

  ANONYMOUS

  It is not strange that children misunderstand our slang phrases. Notlong ago a gentleman about to go abroad, made the round of thesteamship. When he came back he walked up to the captain and said:"Captain, what has become of the old steward? I do not see anything ofhim this trip."

  "The old steward,--hm,--the old steward, well, he got too big for hisbreeches, and we fired him."

  Now it happened that a little girl stood by and overheard theconversation, and not long after a second gentleman made the round ofthe ship, and coming up to a fellow traveler said:

  "John, we do not see anything of the old steward this trip; what do yousuppose has become of him?"

  "I do not know, I am sure."

  "I do," said a small voice.

  They looked around and saw a little girl peeping out from a cabin door.

  "Well, well, my little friend, could you tell us what has become of theold steward?"

  "I don't like to say."

  "Oh, that's a nice little girl, I am sure; was he discharged?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What was the matter? What was the matter?"

  "His pants were too short."

  THE MERCHANT AND THE BOOK AGENT

  ANONYMOUS

  A book agent importuned James Watson, a rich merchant, living a fewmiles out of the city, until he bought a book entitled "The EarlyChristian Martyrs." Mr. Watson didn't want the book, but he bought it toget rid of the agent; then taking it under his arm he started for thetrain which takes him to his office in the city.

  Mr. Watson had not been gone long before Mrs. Watson came home from aneighbor's. The book agent saw her, and went in and persuaded the wifeto buy a copy of the book. She was ignorant of the fact that her husbandhad bought the same book in the morning.

  When Mr. Watson came back in the evening, he met his wife with a cheerysmile as he said: "Well, my dear, how have you enjoyed yourself to-day?Well, I hope."

  "Oh, yes! had an early caller this morning."

  "Ah, and who was she?"

  "It wasn't a 'she' at all; it was a gentleman--a book agent."

  "A what?"

  "A book agent, and, to get rid of his importuning, I bought his book,the 'Early Christian Martyrs.' See, here it is."

  "I don't want to see it."

  "Why, husband?"

  "Because that rascally book agent sold me the same book this morning.Now we've got two copies of the same book--two copies of the 'EarlyChristian Martyrs,' and----"

  "But, husband, we can----"

  "No, we can't, either! The man is off on the train before this. Confoundit! I could kill the fellow----"

  "Why, there he goes to the depot now!" said Mrs. Watson, pointing out ofthe window at the retreating form of the book agent making for thetrain.

  "But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not drest. I've taken off myboots, and----"

  Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, drove by, when Mr.Watson pounded on the window-pane in a frantic manner, almostfrightening the horse.

  "Here, Stevens! You're hitched up! Won't you run your horse down to thetrain and hold that book agent till I come? Run! Catch 'im now!"

  "All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse and tearing downthe road.

  Mr. Stevens reached the train as the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"

  "Book agent!" he yelled, as the book agent stept on the train. "Bookagent! hold on! Mr. Watson wants to see you."

  "Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the seemingly puzzled bookagent. "Oh, I know what he wants; he wants to buy one of my books; but Ican't miss the train to sell it to him."

  "If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take it to him. How muchis it?"

  "Two dollars for the 'Early Christian Martyrs,'" said the book agent ashe reached for the money and passed the book out the car-window.

  Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, in his shirt sleeves.As he saw the train pull out he was too full for utterance.

  "Well, I got it for you," said Stevens; "just got it and that's all."

  "Got what?"

  "Got the book--'Early Christian Martyrs,' and paid----"

  "By-the-great-guns!" moaned Watson, as he placed his hand to his browand swooned right in the middle of the street.

  THE COON'S LULLABY

  ANONYMOUS

  Heah, yo' Rastus, shet yo' sleepy head, Mammy's gwine tuh rock huh lamb tuh res'-- Ebry little possom coon am sleepin' in its bed, Yo's my precious honey--yes yo' am. Swing oh; swing oh;--Lucy whar yo' bin so late? Lemme catch a niggah courtin' you, yes you! Hurry up yo' rascals fo' dah's corn bread on de plate, Fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do!

  (_Sings_) Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do. Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.
/>
  Laws now, Rastus, I done gwine to swat yo' one ha'd, Slap yo' tuh a peak an' break it off-- Monst'us drefful Bogie man am waitin' in de ya'd-- Mammy's only jokin', yes she am. Swing oh; swing oh;--Petah, yes I see yo' git! Washin'ton, I'll cu'l yo' wool fo' you, Neber in dis whole, roun' wo'ld I seen sich chilluns yit, But mammy loves huh honey, yes she do!

  (_Sings_) Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do. Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.

  (After the last chorus the speaker should softly hum the tune again,with an occasional "Sh!" to the audience, and with pantomime of puttingthe baby in the cradle, putting it to sleep, and softly tiptoeing out.)

  [Music:

  Swing oh; Swing oh; fo' mam-my loves huh hon-ey, yes she do.... Swing oh; Swing oh; fo' mam-my loves huh hon-ey, yes she do.]

  PARODY ON BARBARA FRIETCHIE

  ANONYMOUS

  Drough der streeds of Friedrichtown, Mit der red-hot sun a-shinin' down, Past dose saloons all filled mit beer, Dose repel fellers valked on der ear.

  All day drough Friedrichtown so fasd, Hosses foot und sojers past, Und der repel flag skimmerin' oud so pright, You vould dink, py jiminy, id had a ridght.

  Off all der flags dot flopped in der morning vind, Nary a vone could enypody find. Ub shumbed old Miss Frietchie den, Who vas pent down py nine score years und den.

  She took der flag the men hauled down, Und stuck it fasd on her nighd-gown, Und pud id in der vinder vere all could see Dot dear old flag so free.

  Yust den ub came Stonewall Jack, Ridin' on his hosses' pack, Under his prows he squinted his eyes, By gracious, dot old flag make him much surprize.

  "Halt!" Vell, efery man stood sdill, "Fire!" vas echoed from hill to hill; Id broke der strings of dot nighd-gown, Put olt Miss Frietchie, she vas round.

  She freezed on dot olt flag right quick, Und oud of der vindow her head did stick: "Scoot, if you must, dis olt cray head, Put spare dot country's flag!" she said.

  A look of shameness soon came o'er Der face of Jack, und der tears did pour; "Who pulls oud a hair of dot pauld head Dies like a donkey!--skip along," he said.

  All dot day and all dot night, Undil der repels vas knocked oud of sight, Und vay pehind from Friedrichtown, Dot flag stuck fasd to dot olt nighd-gown.

  Barbara Frietchie's vork vas done, She don'd eny more kin hafe some fun; Pully for her! und drop a tear For dot olt gal midoud some fear.

  BEFORE AND AFTER

  BY CHARLES T. GRILLEY

  _Before_

  We had been engaged for just a week And now that we must part The thought of it was maddening, And it nearly broke my heart. As I waved her adieux from the steamer She answered back from the pier, And I murmured softly to myself, "My, but isn't she dear!"

  _After_

  A year has passed of married life, I received a note to-day Written in wifey's well-known hand: "Send me fifty right away!" I thought of all she had cost me During that one brief year, And then I murmured softly, "My, but isn't she dear!"

  WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK

  ANONYMOUS

  _Stranger here?_ Yes, come from Varmount Rutland county. You've hern tell Mebbe of the town of Granville? You born there? No! sho! Well, well! You was born at Granville was you? Then you know Elisha Brown, Him as runs the old meat market At the lower end of town! Well! well! well! Born down in Granville! And out here, so far away! Stranger, I'm homesick already, Tho it's but a week to-day Since I left my good wife standin' Out there at the kitchen door, Sayin' she'd ask God to keep me; And her eyes were runnin' o'er! You must know ole Albert Withers, Henry Bell and Ambrose Cole? _Know them all?_ And born in Granville! Well! well! well! Why, bless my soul! Sho! You're not old Isaac's nephew! Isaac Green, down on the flat! Isaac's eldest nephew,--Henry? Well, I'd never thought of that! _Have I got a hundred dollars I could loan you for a minute, Till you buy a horse at Marcy's?_ There's my wallet! Just that in it! Hold on tho! You have ten, mebbe, You could let me keep; you see I might chance to need a little Betwixt now and half past three! Ten. That's it; you'll owe me ninety; Bring it round to the hotel. So you're old friend Isaac's nephew? Born in Granville! Sho! Well, well! What! policeman, did you call me? _That a rascal going there?_ Well, sir, do you know I thought so, And I played him pretty fair; Hundred-dollar bill I gave him-- Counterfeit--and got this ten! Ten ahead. No! you don't tell me! _This bad, too?_ Sho! Sold again!

  MR. POTTS' STORY

  BY MAX ADELER

  While I was over at Jersey City, the other day, I called on the Potts.Mr. Potts is liable to indulge in extravagance in his conversation, andas Mrs. Potts is an extremely conscientious woman where matters of factare concerned, she's obliged to keep her eye on him. Potts was tellingme about an incident that occurred in the town a few days before, andthis is the way he related it:

  _Potts._--"You see old Bradley over here is perfectly crazy on thesubject of gases, and the atmosphere, and such things--absolutely wild;and one day he was disputing with Green about how high up in the airlife could be sustained, and Bradley said an animal could live aboutforty million miles above the earth, if----"

  _Mrs. Potts._--"Not forty millions, my dear; only forty miles, he said."

  _P._--"Forty, was it? Thank you. Well sir, old Green, you know, saidthat was ridiculous; and he said he'd bet Bradley a couple of hundredthousand dollars that life couldn't be sustained half that way up, andso----"

  _Mrs. P._--"William, you are wrong; he offered to bet only fiftydollars."

  _P._--"Well, anyhow, Bradley took him up quicker'n a wink, and theyagreed to send up a cat in a balloon to decide the bet. So what doesBradley do but buy a balloon about twice as big as our barn, and beginto----"

  _Mrs P._--"It was only about ten feet in diameter, Mr. Adeler; Williamforgets."

  _P._--"Begin to inflate her. When she was filled, it took eighty men tohold her, and----"

  _Mrs. P._--"Eighty men, Mr. Potts? Why, you know Mr. Bradley held theballoon himself."

  _P._--"He did, did he? Oh, very well; what's the odds? And wheneverything was ready, they brought out Bradley's tom-cat, and put it inthe basket, and tied it in so that it couldn't jump, you know. Therewere about one hundred thousand people looking on, and, when they letgo, you never heard such a----"

  _Mrs. P._--"There were not more than two hundred people there. I countedthem myself."

  _P._--"Oh, don't bother me! I say you never heard such a yell, as theballoon went scooting up into the sky, pretty near out of sight. Bradleysaid she went up about one thousand miles, and--now don't interrupt me,Henrietta; I know what the man said--and that cat, mind you, a-howlinglike a hundred fog-horns, so's you could a' heard her from here to Peru.Well, sir, when she was up so's she looked as small as a pin-head,something or other burst. I dunno how it was, but pretty soon down camethat balloon a-flickering toward the earth at the rate of fifty miles aminute, and old----"

  _Mrs. P._--"Mr. Potts, you know that the balloon came down as gentlyas----"

  _P._--"Oh, do hush up! Women don't know anything about such things. Andold Bradley, he had a kind of a registering thermometer fixt in theballoon along with that cat. Some sort of a patent machine; costthousands of dollars, and he was expecting to examine it; and Green hadan idea he'd lift out a dead cat and scoop in the stakes. When all of asudden, as she came pelting down, a tornado struck her--now, Henrietta,what in the thunder are you staring at me in that way for? It was atornado--a regular cyclone--and it struck her and jammed her against thelightning-rod on the Baptist Church steeple, and there she stuck--stuckon that spire, about eight hundred feet up in the air."

  _Mrs. P._--"You may get just as mad as you like, but I am positivelycertain that steeple's not an i
nch over ninety-five feet."

  _P._--"Henrietta, I wish to gracious you'd go up-stairs and look afterthe children. Well, about half a minute after she struck out stept thattom-cat on to the weathercock. It made Green sick. And just then thehurricane reached the weathercock, and it began to revolve six hundredor seven hundred times a minute, the cat howling until you couldn't hearyourself speak--now, Henrietta, you've had your put; you keep quiet.That cat stood on that weathercock about two months----"

  _Mrs. P._--"Mr. Potts, that's an awful story; it only happened lastTuesday."

  _P._ (_confidentially_)--"Never mind her. And on Sunday the way that catcarried on and yowled, with its tail pointing due east, was so awfulthat they couldn't have church. And Sunday afternoon the preacher toldBradley if he didn't get that cat down he'd sue him for a milliondollars damages. So Bradley got a gun, and shot at the cat fourteenhundred times--now, you didn't count 'em, Henrietta, and I did--and hebanged the top of the steeple all to splinters, and at last fetched downthe cat, shot to rags, and in her stomach he found the thermometer.She'd ate it on her way up, and it stood at eleven hundred degrees, soold----"

  _Mrs. P._--"No thermometer ever stood at such a figure as that."

  _P._ (_indignantly_)--"Oh, well, if you think you can tell the storybetter than I can, why don't you tell it? You're enough to worry thelife out of a man."

  Then Potts slammed the door and went out, and I left. I don't knowwhether Bradley got the stakes or not.

  AT FIVE O'CLOCK TEA

  BY MORRIS WADE

  "So good of you to come!"

  "Ah, thanks."

  "So good of you to come!"

  "As if I could get along without you! The obligation is all on my side."

  "How sweet of you to say so!"

  "Now I want you to meet Mrs. Slambang. Mrs. Slambang, let me present toyou my deah friend, Mrs. Twiddle-twaddle."

  "So glad to know you, Mrs. Slambang! I have so often heard deah Mrs.Sweet speak of you that I feel quite as if I knew you. Beautiful day,isn't it?"

  "Chawming!"

  "What a lovely wintah we are having."

  "Chawming! So very, very gay, isn't it?"

  "Oh, very, very gay! Haven't I met you at Mrs. Titters' teas?"

  "I daresay you have. Isn't she a deah?"

  "Oh, I am extravagantly fond of her!"

  "I am, too. So clevah!"

  "Of course you go to the opera?"

  "Oh, I couldn't exist without it. Oh, Melba! Melba!"

  "And Nordica! I rave over them all!"

  "I fairly CRY over them. And, do you know, I have a friend who does notcare in the least for them. She isn't a bit musical."

  "Oh, how sad! I would die if I did not----Who is the tall lady in blackover by the piano?"

  "I'm sure I do not know. What exquisite lace on her gown! Do you knowthat I just simply rave over beautiful lace!"

  "Really?"

  "Yes, indeed! I care more for it than for jewels, because it----Do youknow the tall, fine-looking man who has just come in?"

  "I'm sure I have seen him somewhere, and yet I can not----Yes, thankyou, I think I _will_ have a cup of tea. How lovely the dining-roomlooks!"

  "Lovely!"

  "Mrs. Sweet has such exquisite taste!"

  "EXQUISITE! I often say----How _do_ you do, my deah? So glad to seeyou!"

  "Thanks! So glad to meet YOU!"

  "So good of you to say so! Quite well, deah?"

  "Oh, vulgarly so. I really must say good-by to dear Mrs. Sweet and go. Imust look in at Mrs. Shoddy's for a few minutes."

  "So must I. We'll go together."

  "HOW LOVELY! Good-by, deah Mrs. Sweet. Have had _such_ a chawming time!"

  "Must you go so soon?"

  "Yes, really! Such a lovely time!"

  "So glad! But it is quite naughty of you to go so soon. So glad youcame!"

  "By-by, deah."

  "By-by. You will come to see me soon?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  "You MUST. By-by!"

  "By-by!"

  And as she gathers up her trailing skirts to walk down the steps, shesays: "Thank goodness, that's over!"

  Reprinted from _Lippincott's Magazine_.