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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Funny Bone, by Various Authors.
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44643 ***</div>
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<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="426" height="550" alt="bookcover" title="bookcover" /></a>
</p>
<p class="figcenter">
<img src="images/header.png" width="450" height="59" alt="The Funny Bone" title="" />
</p>
<p><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a></p>
<p><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a></p>
<p><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a></p>
<p class="figcenter">
<img src="images/titlepagea.png" width="450" height="159" alt="The Funny Bone" title="THE FUNNY BONE" />
</p>
<p class="cb">SHORT STORIES AND AMUSING<br />
ANECDOTES FOR A DULL HOUR<br />
<br />
EDITED AND ARRANGED BY<br />
HENRY MARTYN KIEFFER<br />
<br />
<small>Author of “The Recollections of a<br />
Drummer Boy,” “It is to Laugh,” etc.</small><br />
<br />
<img src="images/titlepageb.png" width="40" height="57" alt="colophon" title="" />
<br /><br />
NEW YORK : : : DODGE<br />
PUBLISHING COMPANY<br />
214-220 East 23d Street<br />
<a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a><br />
Copyright, 1910, by<br />
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY<br />
</p>
<p><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a></p>
<p class="figcenter">
<img src="images/header.png" width="450" height="59" alt="The Funny Bone" title="" />
</p>
<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align="right" colspan="2"><small>Page</small></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#GOOD_AFTER-DINNER_SPEECH">A good after-dinner speech</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_016">16</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#AFTERNOON_TEAS">Afternoon teas</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_174">174</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ALEXANDER">Alexander</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_046">46</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ALMOST_WON_THE_BET">Almost won the bet</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_023">23</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ANY_PORT_IN_A_STORM">Any port in a storm</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_034">34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ARTEMUS_WARD_AT_THE_THEATRE">Artemus Ward at the theatre</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_159">159</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#AWFUL_LOT_OF_PRACTICE">Awful lot of practice, an</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_135">135</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#AXIOMS">Axioms</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_014">14</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#BASHFUL_BRIDEGROOM">Bashful bridegroom, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_084">84</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#BOO">Boo!</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_096">96</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#BOOMERANG_STORIES">Boomerang stories</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#BRANDIED_PEACHES">Brandied peaches</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_063">63</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#PROMISING_BUSINESS_BOY">Business boy, a promising</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_117">117</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#CHIEF_END_OF_MAN">Chief end of man, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_173">173</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#CLERICAL_CORKSCREW">Clerical corkscrew, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_172">172</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#COLLEGE_TRICK">College trick, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_031">31</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#COLORED_APOSTLES">Colored apostles</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_094">94</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#COSTLY_DODGE">Costly dodge, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_164">164</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HE_COULDNT_CATCH_UP">Couldn’t catch up</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_047">47</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#COULDNT_HELP_CRYING">Couldn’t help crying</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_164">164</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#CRANKY_COUPLE">Cranky couple, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_069">69</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SURE_CURE_FOR_SNORING">Cure for snoring, sure</a><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_078">78</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#DEACON_BALKED">Deacon balked, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_180">180</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#DELIRIOUS">Delirious</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_136">136</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#DIFFERENCE_WITHOUT_A_DISTINCTION">Difference without distinction, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#DISTURBING_THE_SOLEMNITY">Disturbing the solemnity</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_049">49</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#DOING_THE_DONS">Doing the dons</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_187">187</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#DOLLARS">“Dollars to doughnuts”</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_066">66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#DUTCH_CONUNDRUM">Dutch conundrum, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_091">91</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ECCENTRIC_GREAT_MAN">Eccentric great man, an</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_138">138</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ECHO">Echo, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_054">54</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#INTERESTING_EPITAPHS">Epitaphs, interesting</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_170">170</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#EXEUNT_OMNES">Exeunt omnes</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_187">187</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#EXTREMES_MEET">Extremes meet</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_060">60</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FARM_ACCIDENTS">Farm accidents</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_098">98</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FAST_TRAIN">Fast train, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FINALLY_THE_WORM_TURNED">Finally the worm turned</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_126">126</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FIRE_SCREEN">Fire screen, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_062">62</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FIRST_CLASS">First class</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_144">144</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FLANK_MOVEMENT">Flank movement, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_102">102</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FOOL_ACCORDING_TO_HIS_FOLLY">Fool according to his folly, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_047">47</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#FORBIDDEN_FRUIT">Forbidden fruit, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_107">107</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#GETTING_A_WIFE">Getting a wife</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_155">155</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#GOD_BLESS_OUR_HOME">“God bless our home”</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_026">26</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#GO_TO_FATHER">Go to father</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_169">169</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#GOOD_EAR">Good ear, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_178">178</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#GREAT_COUNTRY">Great country, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_097">97</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HARD_WITNESS">Hard witness, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_118">118</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HE_CUT_IT_SHORT">He cut it short</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_100">100</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HE_DIDNT_GET_IT_IN_THE_NECK">He didn’t get it in the neck</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_117">117</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HE_WARNED_HER">He warned her</a><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_090">90</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HOW_THE_YOUNG_IDEA_SHOOTS">How the young idea shoots</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_058">58</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HOW_TO_CATCH_A_MULE">How to catch a mule</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_058">58</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ILL-ASSORTED_COUPLE">Ill-assorted couple</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_041">41</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#IMPOSSIBLE_BUT_FUNNY">Impossible, but funny</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_120">120</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#INCORRIGIBLE">Incorrigible</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_091">91</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#INQUISITIVE_BOY">Inquisitive boy, an</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_026">26</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#IN_SEARCH_OF_A_RESTAURANT">In search of a restaurant</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_076">76</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#IN_THE_CLASS-ROOM">In the class-room</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_074">74</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#IN_THE_WAY_THEY_SHOULD_GO">In the way they should go</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_147">147</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#IT_WOULDNT_WORK">It wouldn’t work</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_151">151</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#KEEN_CUTTERS">Keen cutters</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_108">108</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#KEEPING_A_SECRET">Keeping a secret</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_149">149</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#KICKIN">Kickin’, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_085">85</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#KNIGHT_ERRANT">Knight errant, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_165">165</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#KNIGHTLY_CONUNDRUM">Knightly conundrum, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LAUGHED_IT_OUT_OF_COURT">Laughed it out of court</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_057">57</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LEFT-HANDED_COMPLIMENTS">Left-handed compliments</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_139">139</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LINCOLN_STORY">Lincoln story, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_018">18</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ANOTHER_LINCOLN_STORY">Lincoln story, another</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_019">19</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LIONIZED">Lionized</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_056">56</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LITERATURE_MADE_EASY">Literature made easy</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_077">77</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LOGIC_IS_LOGIC">Logic is logic</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_055">55</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LOGIC_OF_GRAMMAR">Logic of grammar, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_135">135</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LONELY_PLACE">Lonely place, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_103">103</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#LOUDER">Louder</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_029">29</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#MEAN_COMPANY">Mean company, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_131">131</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#MICHAEL_MALONEYS">Michael Maloney’s serenade</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_015">15</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#MILLINERYMANIA">Millinerymania</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_136">136</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#MOUNTED">“Mounted?”</a><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_064">64</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#NAMES_FOR_THE_TWINS">Names for the twins</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_059">59</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#NAMING_THE_APOSTLES">Naming the apostles</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_109">109</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#NEAR_THE_END_OF_HIS_JOURNEY">Near the end of his journey</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_095">95</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#NOT_GOOD_LOOKING">Not good looking</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_101">101</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#NO_THOROUGHFARE">No thoroughfare</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_148">148</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#NO_WATER_IN_HIS">No water in his</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_128">128</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#OLD_HOSS">“Old Hoss!”</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_048">48</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#OLD_MAN_SNUCKLES">Old Man Snuckles</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_075">75</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ON_THE_POINT_OF_A_NEEDLE">On the point of a needle</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_154">154</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ONE_PLACE_OR_THE_OTHER">One place or the other</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_028">28</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#OTHER_EYE">Other eye, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_149">149</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#HIS_PART_IN_THE_PLAY">Part in the play, his</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_172">172</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#PEPPER-SAUCE">Pepper-sauce</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_027">27</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#POOR_BUSINESS_LOCATION">Poor business location, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_081">81</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#POOR">Poor, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_036">36</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#PRAYER_THAT_WAS_ANSWERED">Prayer that was answered, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_025">25</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#PRICE_OF_A_DOG">Price of a dog, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_104">104</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#PROTECTING_THE_MINISTER">Protecting the minister</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_182">182</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#PUNISHMENT_MADE_SURE">Punishment made sure</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_083">83</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#PURE_SCOTCH">Pure Scotch</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_124">124</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#RABBITS_ENOUGH">Rabbits enough</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_094">94</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#RAISING_CAIN">Raising Cain</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_129">129</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#REAR_GUARD">Rear guard, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_112">112</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#REST_AND_A_CHANGE">Rest and a change, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_140">140</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#RIGHT-OF-WAY">Right-of-way, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_179">179</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#ROUGH_ON_THE_DEACON">Rough on the deacon</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_093">93</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#RURAL_JUSTICE">Rural justice</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_121">121</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SAME_OLD_KIND">Same old kind, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_141">141</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SANCTUM">Sanctum, the</a><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_156">156</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SHARP_REPROOF">Sharp reproof, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_150">150</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SHARPENING_THEIR_WITS">Sharpening their wits</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_041">41</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SHE_CAME_TO_HIS_AID">She came to his aid</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_161">161</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SHE_DRIED_UP">She dried up</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_020">20</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SHREWD_SELECTION">Shrewd selection, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_177">177</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SHY_BOARDER">Shy boarder, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SLOW_COACH">Slow coach, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_168">168</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SNOLLIGOSTER">Snolligoster, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_039">39</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SO_MANY_BALD_HEADS">So many bald heads</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_070">70</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SHE_SPOILED_THE_POETRY">She spoiled the poetry</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_171">171</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#STRONGEST_MAN">Strongest man, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_042">42</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#STUTTERERS">Stutterers, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_044">44</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SUDDEN_RISE">Sudden rise, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_048">48</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#SURE_THING">Sure thing, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TACT_AND_NO_TACT">Tact and no tact</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_052">52</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TALE_OF_A_SAUSAGE">Tale of a sausage, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_082">82</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TECHNIQUE">Technique</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_051">51</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TEMPERANCE_A_HUNDRED_YEARS">Temperance a hundred years ago</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_037">37</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#THACKERAY_AND_THE_OYSTER">Thackeray and the oyster</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_166">166</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#THAT_TERRIBLE_INFANT">That terrible infant</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_022">22</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#THREE_ASSES">Three asses, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_073">73</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TIMELY_ANSWER">Timely answer, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_021">21</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TOO_YOUNG">Too young</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_080">80</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TOUGH_GOOSE-YARN">Tough goose-yarn, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_142">142</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TURKEY_WAS_TAME">Turkey was tame, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_112">112</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#TWO_POLITE_AND_SPUNKY_BOYS">Two polite and spunky boys</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_067">67</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#UNANIMOUS_ACTION">Unanimous action</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_174">174</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#USE_OF_RICHES">Use of riches</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_024">24</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#VERY_GOOD_INVESTMENT">Very good investment, a</a><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_034">34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WALLA_WALLA">Walla Walla!</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_183">183</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WHAT_THE_STATUTE_DID_NOT_SAY">What the statute did not say</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_017">17</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WHOD_A_BIN_ER">“Who’d ’a’ bin ’er?”</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_147">147</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WHY_HE_WAS_A_DEMOCRAT">Why he was a democrat</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_125">125</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WHY_THE_HAWKEYE_MAN_COULDNT_PAY">Why the Hawkeye man couldn’t pay</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_105">105</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WHY_THEY_MARRIED">Why they married</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_042">42</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WICKED_PARROT">Wicked parrot, the</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_185">185</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WIND_AND_WATER">Wind and water</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_072">72</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#WONDERFUL_CLIMATE">Wonderful climate, a</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_099">99</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#YANKEES">Yankees, the—</a></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_038">38</a></td></tr>
</table>
<p><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a></p>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Laugh and grow fat is a saying of old,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Whether or no ’tis a cause of obesity,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">This much I know that the physical man<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Laughter demands as a kind of necessity.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Laughter demands as a kind of necessity.”<br /></span>
<span class="i8">—<i>Old Song.</i><br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a></p>
<p><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a></p>
<h2><a name="AXIOMS" id="AXIOMS"></a>AXIOMS</h2>
<p>Tew brake a mule—commence at his head.</p>
<p>In shooting at a deer that looks like a calf,
always aim so as to miss it if it iz a calf, and to
hit it if it iz a deer.</p>
<p>Tew git rid of cock-roaches—sell yure house,
and lot, and flee tew the mountains.</p>
<p>Tew pick out a good husband—shut up both
eyes, grab hard, and trust in the Lord.</p>
<p>There ain’t nothing that iz a sure kure for
laziness, but i hav known a second wife tew
hurry it sum.</p>
<p class="r">
<i>Josh Billings Allminax.</i><br />
</p>
<p><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a></p>
<p><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a></p>
<h2 class="b"><a name="MICHAEL_MALONEYS" id="MICHAEL_MALONEYS"></a>Michael Maloney’s<br />
Serenade</h2>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh, Nora McCune!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Is it draimin’ ye are?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is it wakin’ or shleepin’ ye be?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">’Tis the dark of the moon<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An’ there’s niver a star<br /></span>
<span class="i2">To watch if ye’re peepin’ at me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Throw opin yer blind, shweet love, if ye’re there;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An’ if ye are not, plaze be shpakin’;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">An’ if ye’re inclined, ye might bring yer guitah,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An’ help me, me darlint to wakin’.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I am lonely! Ahone!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An’ I’m Michael Maloney,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Awakin’ shweet Nora McCune.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For, love, I’m alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An’ here’s Larrie Mahoney,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">An’ Dinnis O’Rouk an’ Muldoon.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ve brought them to jine in the song I’ll be singin’;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">For, Nora, shweet Nora McCune,<a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ye’ve shtarted me heart-strings so loudly to ringin’,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">One person can’t carry the chune!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1">But don’t be unaisy,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Me darlint, for fear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Our saicrit of love should be tould.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mahoney is crazy,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An’ Dinnis can’t hear;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Muldoon is struck dum wid a could.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their backs are all facin’ the window, me dear;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">An’ they’ve shworn by the horn of the moon<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That niver a note of me song will they hear<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That refers to shweet Nora McCune.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<h2><a name="GOOD_AFTER-DINNER_SPEECH" id="GOOD_AFTER-DINNER_SPEECH"></a>A GOOD AFTER-DINNER SPEECH</h2>
<p>It was his first banquet, and they were making
speeches. Everybody was being called on
for a speech, and he was in mortal terror, for
he had never made a speech in his life. An old-timer
at his side cruelly suggested that he “get
under the table—or say a prayer.” His name
was called and he got up with fear and trembling,
and said:</p>
<p>“My friends, I never made a speech in all my<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>
life, and I’m just scared nearly to death. A
friend here beside me has suggested two
things for me to do—to get under the table, or
to pray. Well, I couldn’t get under the table
without observation, and now that I am on my
feet, I can’t think of any other prayer to say
except one that I used to hear my sister Mary
say in the morning when mother called us—‘O
Lord, how I do hate to get up!’”</p>
<h2><a name="WHAT_THE_STATUTE_DID_NOT_SAY" id="WHAT_THE_STATUTE_DID_NOT_SAY"></a>WHAT THE STATUTE DID NOT SAY</h2>
<p>When Benjamin F. Butler lived in Lowell,
Massachusetts, he had a little black-and-tan
dog. One morning, as he was coming down
the street, followed by the dog, a policeman
stopped him and told him that, in accordance
with an ordinance just passed, he must muzzle
the dog.</p>
<p>“Very well,” said Butler.</p>
<p>Next morning he came along with the dog,
and the policeman again told him of the muzzling
ordinance and requested him to muzzle
the dog.</p>
<p>“All right,” snorted Butler. “It is a fool<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>
ordinance, but I’ll muzzle him. Let me
pass.”</p>
<p>Next morning the policeman was on the
lookout. “I beg your pardon, General,” he
said, “but I must arrest you. Your dog is not
muzzled.”</p>
<p>“Not muzzled?” shouted Butler. “Not muzzled?
Well, look at him.”</p>
<p>The policeman looked more carefully at the
dog and found a tiny, toy muzzle tied to its
tail.</p>
<p>“General,” he expostulated, “this dog is not
properly muzzled.”</p>
<p>“Yes, he is, sir,” asserted Butler. “Yes, he
is. I have examined that idiotic statute and I
find it says that every dog must wear a muzzle.
It doesn’t say where the dog shall wear the
muzzle, and I choose to decorate the tail of
my dog instead of the head with this infernal
contraption.”</p>
<h2><a name="LINCOLN_STORY" id="LINCOLN_STORY"></a>A LINCOLN STORY</h2>
<p>“One day,” said General Howard, “Mr. Lincoln
saw Senator Fessenden coming toward
his office room. Mr. Fessenden had received<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>
the promise of some appointment in Maine for
one of his constituents. The case had been
overlooked. As soon as Mr. Lincoln caught
sight of the Senator he saw he was angry, and
called out: ‘Say, Fessenden, aren’t you an
Episcopalian?’ Mr. Fessenden, somewhat
taken aback, answered, ‘Yes, I belong to that
persuasion, Mr. President.’ Mr. Lincoln then
said, ‘I thought so. You swear so much like
Seward. Seward is an Episcopalian. But, you
ought to hear Stanton swear. He can beat you
both. He is a Presbyterian.’”</p>
<h2><a name="ANOTHER_LINCOLN_STORY" id="ANOTHER_LINCOLN_STORY"></a>ANOTHER LINCOLN STORY</h2>
<p>Some one once called on President Lincoln
during the war to suggest some change of
command for General B——, who did not seem
to do well as a commander anywhere. “Well,”
said Mr. Lincoln, “that’s so. General B——
doesn’t fit in well anywhere. He reminds me
of an experience I once had with a piece of
iron I found while at work in the woods. I
thought it would make a good axe-head, and
took it to a blacksmith. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘it’ll<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>
make a good axe.’ So he put it into the fire,
made it red-hot and pounded away on it on his
anvil. After hammering it a good while, he
stopped and said, ‘No, it won’t make an axe,
but I tell you, it’ll make a mighty good clevis.’
So I told him to make a clevis out of it. Then
he heated it again, and again pounded away
at it a great while, and then stopped and looked
at it and said, ‘No, it won’t make a clevis
neither. But,’ said he, holding it red-hot in his
pincers over his tub of water, ‘I’ll tell you what
it will make. It will make a blame’ good fizzle.’
And here he dropped it into the tub—and it
fizzled.”</p>
<h2><a name="SHE_DRIED_UP" id="SHE_DRIED_UP"></a>SHE DRIED UP</h2>
<p>The occupants of a Pullman sleeper were
diligently trying to get some rest, but could
not. There was a very thirsty woman in one
of the berths who kept the whole car awake by
her perpetual song of—“Oh, I am so dry. I
am so dry. My, but I am dry. Dear me, what
shall I do? I am so dry.”</p>
<p>“Hello, Porter!” at last sang out a gentleman
across the way, “For Heaven’s sake give<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>
that woman some ice water, and plenty of it.
I want to get some sleep.”</p>
<p>The Porter brought a glass of water. He
brought a second glass. She drank them both—and
took up her song afresh—</p>
<p>“My, but I was dry. I was so dry. I never
was so dry in all my life. Dear me, but I was
dry.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Great Scott, woman,” sang out the man
across the way, “dry up, and let me sleep!”</p>
<h2><a name="TIMELY_ANSWER" id="TIMELY_ANSWER"></a>A TIMELY ANSWER</h2>
<p>In the good old days of the rod of birch a
Philadelphia school teacher was very partial to
one of his boys, and very severe to another.
One day they were both tardy. Rod in hand
he called them both up on the floor. “James,
my boy,” said he to the favorite regretfully, but
kindly, “why were you late to-day?” “You
see, sir,” replied James, “I was asleep, sir, and
I dreamed I was going to California, and I was
down on the wharf, and I thought the school-bell
was the bell of the steamboat.” “That
will do, my boy,” said the teacher, glad of an
excuse to shield his favorite, “always tell the<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>
truth, my boy. And now, sir,” said he to the
other sternly, “and where were you?” “You,
see, sir,” said the other candidly, “I was down
on the wharf waitin’ to see Jim off!”</p>
<h2><a name="THAT_TERRIBLE_INFANT" id="THAT_TERRIBLE_INFANT"></a>THAT TERRIBLE INFANT</h2>
<p>Annie had a beau. She also had a small
brother of the proverbially troublesome age of
five. One day at the dinner table they were
teasing Annie about Mr. Lovejoy—that was
the beau’s name—and Annie declared that she
didn’t like him one bit, and said moreover that
Mr. Lovejoy “had a soft spot in his head.”
That called off the dogs, for a time at least, but
her brother Bobbie took note.</p>
<p>The next evening Mr. Lovejoy called to see
Annie. They were both in the parlor. He was
sitting on the sofa, and she occupied a chair on
the other side of the room. Bobbie strolled
into the room, climbed up on the sofa and began
a very diligent examination of Mr. Lovejoy’s
head. He felt all over it, and looked puzzled.
Mr. Lovejoy was puzzled likewise, and
at length said, “Why, Bobbie, what are you ex<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>amining
my head for? Are you studying
phrenology?” “No,” said the boy, “Sister Annie
says you have a soft spot on your head
somewhere, and I was just trying to find it!”</p>
<p>They made it up somehow, and Mr. Lovejoy
began to call again, evidently with better results.
For, one rainy day the father of the
household was looking everywhere in the hall
for his umbrella. “Where’s my umbrella, Annie?”
asked he. “I believe somebody has carried
it off.” And Bobbie said, “Annie’s beau
stole it.” And Annie said, “Bobbie! how dare
you say such a thing of Mr. Lovejoy?” And
Bobbie said, “I know he did, because when he
was giving you good-night at the hat-rack last
night, I heard him say as plain as could be,
‘I’m going to steal just one!’”</p>
<h2><a name="ALMOST_WON_THE_BET" id="ALMOST_WON_THE_BET"></a>ALMOST WON THE BET</h2>
<p>Two Irish hod-carriers were arguing about
their ability to carry their hods safely to the
top of a high building. One said he could carry
a tumbler of water on top of his load without
spilling a drop. And Pat said, “Ach! a tumbler<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>
of water! Why, Mike, I could carry you in my
hod to the top of this ten-story buildin’ without
spillin’ you.” And Mike said, “I bet you
tin dollars you can’t.” “Done!” said Pat. “Get
into my hod.”</p>
<p>Mike got in, and up Pat went quickly and
safely until he came to the sixth floor, when
all of a sudden his foot slipped off the rung of
the ladder and his hod pitched, threatening to
deposit its cargo on the sidewalk seventy-five
feet below. But with a mighty effort he
steadied himself, grasped his hod tight and
proceeded to the top safely, where he deposited
Mike on the floor of the scaffolding with,
“There, Mike, I’ve won the bet. Out wid yer
tin dollars.” “Sure, ye did, Pat,” said Mike,
“the tin is yours, but whin ye got to the sixth
flure, an’ stoombled—be gob, I thought I had
ye!”</p>
<h2><a name="USE_OF_RICHES" id="USE_OF_RICHES"></a>THE USE OF RICHES</h2>
<p>In a sleeping car one morning not long ago a
Vermont man was accosted by his neighbor
opposite, who was putting on his shoes, with
the inquiry: “My friend, allow me to inquire,<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>
are you a rich man?” The Vermonter
looked astonished, but answered the pleasant-faced,
tired-looking gentleman with a “Yes, I
am tolerably rich.” A pause occurred, and
then came another question, “How rich are
you?” He answered, “Oh—about seven or
eight hundred thousand. Why?” “Well,” said
the weary-looking old man, “if I were as rich
as you say you are, and went traveling, and
snored as loud as I know you do, I’d hire a
whole sleeper all for myself every time I went
traveling.”</p>
<h2><a name="PRAYER_THAT_WAS_ANSWERED" id="PRAYER_THAT_WAS_ANSWERED"></a>A PRAYER THAT WAS ANSWERED</h2>
<p>An old darkey who was asked if in his experience
prayer was ever answered, replied:
“Well, sah, some pra’rs is ansud an’ some isn’t—’pends
on what yo’ asks fo’? Jest arter de
wah, w’en it was mighty hard scratchin’ fo’ de
cullud brudren, I ’bsarved dat w’enebber I
pway de Lo’d to sen’ one o’ Massa Peyton’s
fat turkeys fo’ de ole man, dere was no notice
took o’ de partition; but—w’en I pway dat he
would sen’ de ole man fo’ de turkey, de ting<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>
was ’tended to befo’ sunup nex’ mornin’ dead
sartain.”</p>
<h2><a name="GOD_BLESS_OUR_HOME" id="GOD_BLESS_OUR_HOME"></a>GOD BLESS OUR HOME</h2>
<p>A lonely traveler on horseback, riding
through a dreary section of the far West,
eagerly scanned the horizon for some signs of
a human habitation. At last away in the distance
he spied a cabin, put his horse to a trot,
only to find the house deserted. Nailed on the
front door was a sheet of paper on which he
read the following pathetic story:</p>
<p>Five miles from water.</p>
<p>Ten miles from timber.</p>
<p>A hundred miles from a neighbor.</p>
<p>A hundred and fifty miles from a post office.</p>
<p>Two hundred and fifty from a railroad.</p>
<p>God bless our home!</p>
<p>We have gone East to spend the winter with
my wife’s folks.</p>
<h2><a name="INQUISITIVE_BOY" id="INQUISITIVE_BOY"></a>AN INQUISITIVE BOY</h2>
<p>Bobbie was taken to church for the first
time, and his dear Aunt Lou, who took him
there, “just wondered how he would behave.<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>”
She soon discovered, for Bobbie was no sooner
seated in the pew than he observed a very
bald-headed man two seats to the front, and
exclaimed in a loud whisper which set everybody
smiling, “Oh, Aunt Lou! there’s a man
with a skinned head!” Aunt Lou’s face was
crimson, and she shook him, but it did little
good, for when the minister took his place in
the chancel, the boy remarked, “Another man
with a skinned head!” Things were getting
uncomfortable, and reached their climax when
the boy, seeing the choir up in the gallery,
called out, “Oh, Aunt Lou! what are all those
people doing up there on the mantel-piece?”</p>
<h2><a name="PEPPER-SAUCE" id="PEPPER-SAUCE"></a>PEPPER-SAUCE</h2>
<p>Once upon a time there was a minister, a
very orthodox man, and he was very fond of
pepper-sauce, and he liked it piping hot, the
very strongest kind on the market. Distrusting
that furnished by the hotels, he always
carried with him on his travels a bottle of his
favorite brand. One day as he was seated at
the dinner table of a hotel, a man on the other<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>
side of the table asked him to “please pass the
pepper-sauce.” “Certainly,” said he, “with
pleasure. This bottle is my own private property,
I always carry it with me. I think you
will find it very good.” The man helped himself
freely, and when he had got done coughing
and had recovered enough breath to enable
him to speak, he said: “Pardon me, sir. I believe
you are a preacher?” “Yes, that is my calling
in life.” “An orthodox preacher, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.” “And you really believe in hell-fire?”
“Yes—I feel it my duty to warn the inpenitent
of their danger.” “And you do preach
and believe in a literal hell-fire?” “I cannot
do otherwise with the Scriptures before me.”
“Well”—said the man, “I have met a good
many preachers in my time who believe and
preach just as you do, sir, but I must say I
never before met a man who carries his samples
with him.”</p>
<h2><a name="ONE_PLACE_OR_THE_OTHER" id="ONE_PLACE_OR_THE_OTHER"></a>ONE PLACE OR THE OTHER</h2>
<p>“When I get to heaven,” said Brown, as he
laid down the book he had been reading<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>—“when
I get to heaven, the very first person
I want to see will be Shakespeare.”</p>
<p>“And what do you want to see Shakespeare
for?” inquired his wife.</p>
<p>“Why, I just want to ask him whether he
wrote his own plays, or whether he got some
one else to write them for him, and have this
question settled.”</p>
<p>“Well, but”—objected his wife, “how do you
know he’ll be there? Not all people will get to
heaven.”</p>
<p>“That’s so, that’s so,” said Brown meditatively.
“Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do—if
he isn’t there, then suppose you ask him?”</p>
<h2><a name="LOUDER" id="LOUDER"></a>“LOUDER!”</h2>
<p>At a criminal trial both judge and counsel
had a deal of trouble to make the timid witnesses
speak loud enough to be heard by the
jury, and it is possible that the temper of the
counsel may thereby have been turned from
the even tenor of its way. After this gentleman
had gone through the various stages of
bar pleading, and had coaxed, threatened and<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>
even bullied the witnesses, there was called
into the box a young hostler who appeared to
be simplicity itself.</p>
<p>“Now, sir,” said the counsel, in a tone that
would at any other time have been denounced
as vulgarly loud, “I hope we shall have no difficulty
in making you speak out.”</p>
<p>“I hope not, sir,” was shouted, or rather bellowed
out, by the witness in tones which almost
shook the building, and would certainly
have alarmed any timid or nervous person.</p>
<p>“How dare you speak in that way, sir?” demanded
the counsel.</p>
<p>“Please, sir, I can’t speak no louder,” roared
the perplexed witness, evidently thinking that
fault was found with him for speaking too
softly.</p>
<p>“Pray, have you been drinking this
morning?” shouted the counsel, who had
now thoroughly lost the last remnant of his
temper.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” was the stentorian reply.</p>
<p>“And what have you been drinking?”</p>
<p>“Corfee, sir.”</p>
<p>“And what did you have in your coffee?<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>”</p>
<p>“A spune, sir,” bawled the witness in his
highest key amidst the roars of the court.</p>
<h2><a name="COLLEGE_TRICK" id="COLLEGE_TRICK"></a>A COLLEGE TRICK</h2>
<p>It occurred in an Ohio college, in the early
days when the small college was struggling
for an existence, and the students were struggling
for an education. Many of the boys were
very poor, and had to board themselves, doing
all their cooking, sleeping and studying in the
same room. To economize space they were
used to keep their little store of groceries and
provisions under the bed, and the bed was of
the old bed-cord kind. The two particular
boys of whom we write, for some reason or
other, at this particular time, had a pan full of
molasses under the bed.</p>
<p>Boys will be boys, poor as well as rich, and
college boys the world over are full of all manner
of tricks. These two chaps had concocted
a very neat little scheme for getting on to the
nerves of Professor John, who had charge of
the building in which they were domiciled.
For days and days they had been secretly carrying
a lot of stones up into their room and<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>
depositing them in an empty barrel. When
the barrel was full, the trick was ready to be
pulled off just at bedtime, the trick consisting
of simply rolling the barrel to the top of the
corkscrew staircase, and letting her go Gallagher,
when the perpetrators would skip to
their room hard by, dive into bed and be sound
asleep before Professor John could say Jack
Robinson.</p>
<p>But—Professor John knew about all the possible
combinations of the college boy, and
could smell a hatching trick a mile away.
Knowing that something was in the air, he had
quietly stationed himself in a dark niche in the
wall at the head of the staircase, and was
watching the two night-begowned boys as they
tugged with all their strength at the heavy
barrel of stones, gently rolling it to the top of
the stairs. “Don’t make a noise,” hoarsely
whispered the one who was bossing the job, “and don’t let her go till all is ready and I give
the word.”</p>
<p>When all was about ready to heave away,
out stepped Professor John with a terrible
“What’s—all—this!<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>”</p>
<p>Away went the boys pell-mell to their room.
They tried to slam the door shut, but the Professor’s
foot got there first, and they dived into
bed.</p>
<p>But alas! there had been a trick within a
trick. Some one had cut the bed-cords! And
as the two went down to the floor, one pitifully
called out “Oh—we’re in the molasses!”</p>
<p>Professor John knew what that meant. He
leaned up against the wall and laughed till he
cried. “Let them go, poor fellows,” he said,
as he went to his room, “they have been punished
enough.”</p>
<h2><a name="ANY_PORT_IN_A_STORM" id="ANY_PORT_IN_A_STORM"></a>ANY PORT IN A STORM</h2>
<p>In a lecture on Carlyle, Moncure D. Conway
related how the great writer was interviewed
one morning by a very rough man in his
neighborhood. A great revival being in progress
in the vicinity, this man, well known as a
very rough and profane fellow, had been attending
the meetings and was “under conviction,”
as the phrase went. Thinking that perhaps
Mr. Carlyle might be able to give him<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>
some good and godly advice, he made a morning
call on the celebrated writer, who unfortunately
was just then enduring a most grievous
attack of dyspepsia.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Mr. Carlyle,” said the man.</p>
<p>“Morning,” growled Carlyle.</p>
<p>“Mr. Carlyle,” said he, “I have come to see
you this morning about my soul——“</p>
<p>“And what has gone wrong with your soul,
then?” interrupted the man of letters.</p>
<p>“Why, Mr. Carlyle, I’ve been such an awful
bad man that I’m afraid, if I were to die, I’d go
straight to hell.”</p>
<p>“Very likely,” was the prompt answer.
“Very likely indeed. And, what is more—you
may be very thankful you have a hell to go to,
too.”</p>
<h2><a name="VERY_GOOD_INVESTMENT" id="VERY_GOOD_INVESTMENT"></a>A VERY GOOD INVESTMENT</h2>
<p>“Now, James,” said a business man to his
ten-year-old boy, “you are going to be a business
man, and it is time that we should begin
to give you some practical lessons in the art
and science of investing money. Here’s a half<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>
dollar. You take it and go down town and
invest it on your own hook and to the best
advantage. I don’t care where you put it in,
only so you put it where it will be safe and
where you will get a good interest for your
money.”</p>
<p>The boy took the silver and started off. In
an hour he returned, reporting that he had
made a good investment, and was going to
get a hundred per cent. interest.</p>
<p>“Splendid!” said the admiring father.
“Where did you put it in?”</p>
<p>“Well,” said the boy, “I went down town
and walked around a while, wondering where
I should find a good place, and by and by I
came by a church, and there was a meeting, and
they were singing, and I went in. It was a
missionary meeting, and the man was begging
money for Missions, and he said if you gave
him your money why the Lord would send it
back to you doubled—He would pay you a
hundred per cent.”</p>
<p>“I hope,” expostulated his father, “you didn’t
put that half dollar on the collection plate?”
“Yes, I did, father,” said the boy, “and the<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>
man he said that the Lord is a good paymaster
and that He’d send it back doubled.”</p>
<p>“And you believed him! O pshaw, I’m utterly
disappointed in you, James. You’ll never
make a business man. The idea of your believing
such stuff like that. Why, that half
dollar—you’ll never see it again, and that man—why,
he’s nothing but a fakir. O well—pshaw!
I’ll give you another chance, and see
that you do better this time. Here’s a dollar.
Now you steer clear of all churches and missionary
meetings this time——“</p>
<p>“Why, father!” exclaimed the boy as he took
the dollar, “why, that man was right after all.
The Lord did send my half dollar back, and
sooner than I looked for it—and doubled, too!”</p>
<h2><a name="POOR" id="POOR"></a>THE POOR</h2>
<p>Josh Billings concluded his celebrated lecture
on “Milk” with these memorable words—“Remember
the poor. It costs nothing.”</p>
<p>A town meeting had been called to devise
ways and means to provide for the poor of the
community. After many speeches had been<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>
made, and many recommendations offered, and
much time wasted and nothing done, a benevolent
German arose in the back part of the hall
and said:</p>
<p>“Mister Chairman, I move, before we adjourn,
we all shtand oop undt gif three cheers
for de poor!”</p>
<h2><a name="TEMPERANCE_A_HUNDRED_YEARS" id="TEMPERANCE_A_HUNDRED_YEARS"></a>TEMPERANCE A HUNDRED YEARS
AGO</h2>
<p>The first Temperance Society organized in
this country, in the year 1808, provided that
“No member shall be intoxicated under a penalty
of fifty cents, and no member shall ask
another person to take a drink under a penalty
of twenty-five cents.”</p>
<p>There was a Temperance Society in the
State of Maine, prior to the year 1825, which
had the following remarkable plank in its platform:
“If any member of this Society shall
get drunk, he shall be obliged to stand treat
for the whole Society all round!”</p>
<p>A hundred years ago the virtues of rum were
set forth in an English publication after the
following fashion:<a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a></p>
<p>“It sloweth age, it strengthened youth, it
helpeth digestion, it cutteth phlegme, it abandoneth
melancholy, it relisheth the heart, it
lighteneth the mind, it quickeneth the spirits,
it cureth the hydupsia, it healeth the strangurie,
it pounceth the stone, it expelleth the
gravel, it puffeth away ventosity; it keepeth
and preserveth the head from whirling, the
tongue from lisping, the mouth from snaffling,
the teeth from chattering and the throat from
rattling. It keepeth the weasen from stiffling,
the stomach from wambling and the heart
from swelling. It keepeth the hands from
shivering, the sinews from shrinking, the veins
from crumbling, the bones from aching, and
the marrow from soaking.”</p>
<h2><a name="YANKEES" id="YANKEES"></a>“THE —— YANKEES”</h2>
<p>When Sherman’s army was making its great
march through Georgia the colored people
were, of course, very much excited over the
news of the approach of the Northern army.
They had very little idea of what Northern soldiers
looked like, but had commonly heard
them spoken of as “the dam Yankees.” In a<a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>
certain part of Georgia, when they heard of the
approach of the great army, the darkies held
a prayer-meeting, and one old fellow prayed—“O
Lawd, bress Massa Linkum, an’ bress
Gin’l Sherman. O Lawd, he’s one o’ us. He
got a white skin, but he got a black heart, he
one o’ us. An’, O Lawd, bress all dem dam
Yankees!”</p>
<h2><a name="SNOLLIGOSTER" id="SNOLLIGOSTER"></a>THE SNOLLIGOSTER</h2>
<p>A circus came to town down in Kentucky.
The tents were set up and the cages put in, and
the people gathered about to look. “There,
ladies and gentlemen,” shouted the barker, “is
the Royal Lion, the king of beasts. He can
whip any other animal in the world.”</p>
<p>“He kin, kin he?” queried a gawky Kentuckian.
“I’ll bet you five dollars I have an
animal at home that’ll lick him the very first
round.”</p>
<p>“Can’t take your bet,” said the barker. “Too
little money. Couldn’t think of letting him
fight for five dollars, but I’ll take a bet of
twenty-five dollars.<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>”</p>
<p>“I ain’t got that much,” said Kentuck, “but
I’ll borrow it of my friends, an’ we’ll have a
fight.”</p>
<p>The bystanders made up the money, and
the stakes were duly put up. Kentuck went to
his home, and by and by returned with a bag
over his shoulder.</p>
<p>“What you got in that bag?” asked the
showman.</p>
<p>“A snolligoster,” answered Kentuck.</p>
<p>“A snolligoster? What’s that? Let’s see it.”</p>
<p>“No, you don’t,” answered Kentuck. “You
open the top of your cage and I’ll put my animile
in, the money’s put up, you know.”</p>
<p>So the cage was opened and Kentuck
climbed up to the hole in the top and, opening
his bag, shook out of it a big snapping turtle.
The turtle stood on the defensive. The lion
came up to smell him. He took only one smell,
gave a yell of pain and retired to his corner to
howl the snapper loose if he could.</p>
<p>“Take him off,” yelled the showman.</p>
<p>“Take him off yerself, if ye want to,” said
Kentuck. “The fightin’s just commenced.
First blood for my snolligoster.<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>”</p>
<h2><a name="SHARPENING_THEIR_WITS" id="SHARPENING_THEIR_WITS"></a>SHARPENING THEIR WITS</h2>
<p>Two human Whetstones met on the street.</p>
<p>“Queer, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“What’s queer?”</p>
<p>“The night falls——“</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“——but it doesn’t break.”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“And the day breaks——“</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“But it doesn’t fall?”</p>
<p>“No—but it’s getting very warm.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it is.”</p>
<p>“There would be a big thaw but for one
thing——“</p>
<p>“And what’s that?”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing froze.”</p>
<p>And they parted.</p>
<h2><a name="ILL-ASSORTED_COUPLE" id="ILL-ASSORTED_COUPLE"></a>AN ILL-ASSORTED COUPLE</h2>
<p>A missionary in the Far West, residing near
an Indian reservation, relates how one day
there came to his house an Indian and a squaw
wishing to “get married white man’s way.<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>”
Everything being in order they were duly
made man and wife according to the service of
the Church. “I was a little apprehensive,” said
the minister, laughing, “that it might not turn
out well with them. They had such queer
names. His name was ‘Little Red Horse,’ and
hers was ‘Jane-kick-a-hole-in-the-sky.”</p>
<h2><a name="STRONGEST_MAN" id="STRONGEST_MAN"></a>THE STRONGEST MAN</h2>
<p>“Who was the strongest man?” asked the
Sunday-school teacher. One boy said “Samson,
cause he choked a lion to death.” “Naw,”
said another boy, “g’wan, it wasn’t Samson.
It was Jonah, ’cause a whale couldn’t keep him
down.”</p>
<h2><a name="WHY_THEY_MARRIED" id="WHY_THEY_MARRIED"></a>WHY THEY MARRIED</h2>
<p>Postal cards having been sent out to all the
married men in a certain town in Western
New York carrying the question, “Why did
you marry?” the following are some of the answers
returned:</p>
<p>“That’s what I’ve been trying for eleven
years to find out.<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>”</p>
<p>“Married to get even with her mother—but
never have.”</p>
<p>“Was freckle-faced and thought it was my
last chance. I’ve found out, however, that
freckles ain’t near as bad as henspeck.”</p>
<p>“Because I was too lazy to work.”</p>
<p>“Because Sarah told me that five other
young fellows had proposed to her. Lucky
dogs!”</p>
<p>“The old man thought eight years courtin’
was long enough.”</p>
<p>“I was lonesome and melancholy, and
wanted some one to make me lively. N. B.
She makes me lively, you bet!”</p>
<p>“I was tired of buying ice cream and candies
and going to theatres and church, and wanted
a rest. Have saved money.”</p>
<p>“Please don’t stir me up!”</p>
<p>“Because I thought she was one among a
thousand; now I sometimes think she is a
thousand among one.”</p>
<p>“Because I did not then have the experience
I now have.”</p>
<p>“The Governor was going to give me his
foot, so I took his daughter’s hand.<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>”</p>
<p>“I thought it would be cheaper than a
breach-of-promise suit.”</p>
<p>“That’s the same fool question all my friends
and neighbors ask.”</p>
<p>“Because I had more money than I knew
what to do with. And now I have more to do
with than I have money.”</p>
<p>“I wanted a companion of the opposite sex.
P. S. She is still opposite.”</p>
<p>“Don’t mention it!”</p>
<p>“Had difficulty in unlocking the door at
night, and wanted somebody in the house to
let me in.”</p>
<p>“Because it is just my luck.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t intend to go and do it.”</p>
<p>“I yearned for company. We now have
company all the time—her folks.”</p>
<p>“I married to get the best wife in the world.”</p>
<p>“Because I asked her if she’d have me. She
said she would. I think she’s got me!”</p>
<h2><a name="STUTTERERS" id="STUTTERERS"></a>THE STUTTERERS</h2>
<p>It is related of the late William Travers of
New York City, who was used at times to<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>
make merry of his own incurable and distressing
infirmity, that he was on one occasion
asked by a woman in a street car, “Would he
be so good as to tell her whether it was nine
o’clock yet?” Pulling his timepiece out of his
pocket and looking at it a moment, he began,
“N—n—no, M—m—madam, it isn’t n—n—nine
oc—oc—o’clock yet, b—b—but it will be
by—by—by the time I can g—g—get it out.”</p>
<p>On another occasion he was asked some
question by an entire stranger on the street,
who stammered quite as painfully as he himself
did, and when he stuttered out a laborious
answer, the man thinking Travers was mocking
him, grew angry and exclaimed:</p>
<p>“How d—dare y—y—you m—make sport of
m—m—m—my inf—infirmity?”</p>
<p>And Travers replied, “I wasn’t m—m—making
f—f—fun of your in—inf—infirmity. I
stut—tut—tut—tutter myself. W—w—why
don’t you go to Doctor B—B—Brown? He—cu—cuc—cured
me!”</p>
<hr />
<p>Two men once went squirrel shooting. One
of them was a notorious stammerer. He had<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>
no load in his gun when he saw a squirrel running
up a tree, and wishing to call the attention
of his companion to it he began:</p>
<p>“J—J—James! I see a—a—a—a sq—sq—sq—Oh,
by George he’s gone into his hole!”</p>
<h2><a name="ALEXANDER" id="ALEXANDER"></a>ALEXANDER</h2>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There was a chap who kept a store,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And though there might be grander,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He sold his goods nor asked for more,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And his name was Alexander.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He mixed his goods with cunning hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">He was a skillful brander;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And since his sugar half was sand,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">They called him Alex-Sander.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He had his dear one, to her came,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Then lovingly he scanned her;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He asked her would she change her name?<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Then a ring did Alex-hand-her.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Oh, yes,” she said, with smiling lip,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">“If I can be commander!”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And so they framed a partnership<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And called it Alex-and-her.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a></p>
<h2><a name="FOOL_ACCORDING_TO_HIS_FOLLY" id="FOOL_ACCORDING_TO_HIS_FOLLY"></a>A FOOL ACCORDING TO HIS FOLLY</h2>
<p>Once in traveling the Rev. Dr. Bledsoe was
exceedingly annoyed by a pedantic bore who
forced himself upon him, and made a great
parade of his shallow learning. The doctor endured
it as long as he could, but at length,
looking at the man, said: “My friend, you and
I know all that is to be known.” “Why, how is
that?” asked the man, much pleased with what
he thought a very complimentary association.
“Why,” blandly replied the doctor, “you know
everything in this world, except that you are
a fool—and I know that.”</p>
<h2><a name="HE_COULDNT_CATCH_UP" id="HE_COULDNT_CATCH_UP"></a>HE COULDN’T CATCH UP</h2>
<p>When the pious deacon, riding a very poor
horse, pulled up at the cross-roads and asked
a farmer’s boy to tell him which road to take,
the boy asked him who he was and where it
was he was going?</p>
<p>“My boy,” replied the deacon with a pious
gaze heavenward, “I am a follower of the
Lord.”</p>
<p>“A follower of the Lord!” exclaimed the lad.<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>
“I reckon, mister, you’d better buy another nag,
for you’ll never catch up to him on that old
horse of yourn!”</p>
<h2><a name="SUDDEN_RISE" id="SUDDEN_RISE"></a>A SUDDEN RISE</h2>
<p>Stooping down to wash his hands in a creek,
the darkey couldn’t, of course, observe the peculiar
motions of a goat right behind him.
When he scrambled out of the water and was
asked how it happened, he answered: “I dunno
zacktly. ’Peared as if de shore kinder histed
an’ frowed me.”</p>
<h2><a name="OLD_HOSS" id="OLD_HOSS"></a>“OLD HOSS”</h2>
<p>During the trying days of drafting in Civil
War times, a farmer from away out West
called on President Lincoln. As soon as he got
near enough to the President he slapped him
familiarly on the back and said, “Hello, old
hoss, how are ye?”</p>
<p>“You call me an old hoss,” said Mr. Lincoln;
“may I inquire what kind of a hoss I am?”
“Why—an old Draft hoss, to be sure. Ha,
ha!<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>”</p>
<h2><a name="DISTURBING_THE_SOLEMNITY" id="DISTURBING_THE_SOLEMNITY"></a>DISTURBING THE SOLEMNITY</h2>
<p>Somehow or other there were many more
queer things happening in church in the olden
time than occur in these sober and decorous
days. In old St. Paul’s, Newburyport, for example,
some very amusing things are recorded
to have happened during the hours of service.
Uncle Nat Bailey was the sexton, and it was
his duty to attend to the new stove which had
just been put in. But one Sunday morning
Uncle Nat was engaged in ringing the bell, and
the last comers were hurrying in, and the clerk,
Harvey, perceived that the stove needed attention.
Taking the sexton’s duty, he poked the
fire, chucked in more wood, shut the door and
returned to his place at his desk. Unfortunately
he had got his hand all black with soot,
and unwittingly he had smeared the soot all
over his face. The congregation broadly
smiled a few minutes later when he solemnly
rose at his desk and gave out the first hymn,
“Behold the beauties of my face.”</p>
<p>Lighting as well as heating gave trouble in
those days. Candles guttered, or went out,
and kept the attentive sextons busy tiptoeing<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>
about, snuffing or relighting them. Sexton
Currier—pronounced in country speech
“Kiah”—of Parson Milton’s church in the same
old town, once neglected this duty during an
evening service.</p>
<p>Parson Milton, from his tremendous, booming
voice nicknamed “Thundering Milton,” was
an excellent pastor, but very singular and abrupt
in his ways. Observing the condition of
the lights, he quite upset the congregation by
proclaiming at the top of his voice, without the
slightest break between the sentences:</p>
<p>“The Lord said unto Moses, Kiah, snuff the
candles.”</p>
<p>He it was, too, who, when a worthy parishioner
whose Christian name was Mark once
dropped off into a doze in his pew, recalled him
to his duty in a marvelous fashion. Leaning
forward in the middle of the sermon, and apparently
addressing himself directly to the offender,
he exclaimed in quick, sharp tones,
“Mark!”</p>
<p>At the sound of his name, the man opened
his eyes and sat hastily erect, while the
preacher, resuming his normal voice, con<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>cluded
the sentence—“the perfect man, and behold
the upright.”</p>
<hr />
<p>On a very cold day, when the church was
inadequately warmed, another minister
preached from a very hot text. At the conclusion
of the service he leaned over the pulpit
and said, in a tone audible to all the congregation:</p>
<p>“Deacon Craig, do, I pray you, see to it that
this church is properly warmed this afternoon.
What’s the use of my preaching to a parcel of
sinners about the danger of hell-fire when the
church is as cold as a barn?”</p>
<h2><a name="TECHNIQUE" id="TECHNIQUE"></a>TECHNIQUE</h2>
<p>They were both musical, and of course became
engaged. One evening the young man
was late in paying his visit. The young lady
was anxious and getting nervous. The whole
family sympathized with the poor girl as she
waited for the bell to ring. Suddenly the bell
rang, and the calm blue sky of peace reappeared
in the young girl’s eyes as she ex<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>claimed
rapturously even if ungrammatically,
“That’s him! How exquisite his technique is
on the bell-pull, and oh! the breadth and compass
of his ring!”</p>
<hr />
<p>Three street boys were brought by the city
missionary into a downtown Sunday-school,
and placed in Mr. B——’s class. “What is
your first name?” he asked of one. “Lem,” was
the reply. “Ah, Lemuel,” corrected the teacher.
“And yours, my boy?” he asked of the next.
“Sam,” yelled the urchin. “Ah, Samuel,” rejoined
Mr. B——. “And what may I call you?”
he kindly asked of the third. “My name is—Jimuel,”
said he.</p>
<h2><a name="TACT_AND_NO_TACT" id="TACT_AND_NO_TACT"></a>TACT—AND NO TACT</h2>
<p>That English clergyman had no tact who vehemently
declared his parishioners to be “a
set of unmitigated asses.” One of the Long-Eared
standing by ventured to inquire whether
that was the reason his reverence addressed
them every Sunday morning as “Dearly beloved
Brethren?<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>”</p>
<p>But here was another English clergyman
who had tact. On one occasion he was traveling
in a stage-coach in company with a noisy
talker who persisted in thrusting upon his fellow-passengers
the fact that he did not believe
in the Bible. In particular he was severe upon
the writer who had alleged that Joshua had
commanded the sun to stand still and look on
while he wiped out the heathen. The clergyman
had been measuring up his companion,
and at this point he spoke out——</p>
<p>“Did you ever read the further explanation of
that great miracle as given in the First Book
of Zorobbabel?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I have,” snapped the learned infidel,
“and that doesn’t throw any light on it either.
In fact, it makes it worse——“</p>
<p>The general roar of laughter which followed
this confession of ignorance ended the controversy,
and bottled up the agnostic.</p>
<p>On another occasion this same clergyman
was annoyed by a bustling preacher who
walked up to him in public, and, in a voice that
arrested the attention of all within hearing,
challenged him to a controversy on Apostolic<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>
Succession. The challenged man turned
sharply and said: “Can you repeat the Lord’s
Prayer, sir?” “But—“ stammered the man, “I
want to discuss—“ “Sir,” said the other, “I repeat,
say the Lord’s Prayer, if you can.” The
man was so taken aback by this unexpected
flank movement that, if he ever knew the Lord’s
Prayer, every petition of it had vanished from
his memory, and he became red-faced and
silent. Then his dignified antagonist turned in
a stately way to the group of amused auditors,
and said, “Sir, I will leave it to this intelligent
assemblage to decide whether a man who is
unable to repeat the Lord’s Prayer is competent
to discuss Apostolic Succession.”</p>
<h2><a name="ECHO" id="ECHO"></a>THE ECHO</h2>
<p>A tourist was told by a guide that the echo
on a Killarney lake was very fine. So, off
went the tourist to hear it, and hired two men
to row him out, accomplishing the transaction
so swiftly that there was no time for them to
arrange for the usual echo to be in attendance.
The echo wasn’t working. What was to be<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>
done? In despair of a better expedient, the
men that were rowing broke an oar, and one
swam ashore to fetch another—and while he
was gone, the echo began to work!</p>
<p>“Good morning,” cried the tourist.</p>
<p>“Good marning,” said the echo, with a
charming brogue.</p>
<p>“Fine day, sir.”</p>
<p>“Foine day, sir,” improved the echo.</p>
<p>“Will you take a drink?” cried the tourist.</p>
<p>“Begorra, an’ that I will!” roared the echo.</p>
<h2><a name="LOGIC_IS_LOGIC" id="LOGIC_IS_LOGIC"></a>“LOGIC IS LOGIC”</h2>
<p>Jack and his friend Mickey were walking uptown
one morning and Jack said, “Mickey, I
bet you a dollar I can prove to you that you
are on the other side of the street.”</p>
<p>“Done,” said Mickey, “I’m the man for your
money.”</p>
<p>“Well,” continued Jack, pointing to the opposite
side of the street, “that is one side of the
street, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Mickey.</p>
<p>“And this side is the other side, isn’t it?<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>
And you are on the other side. And I’ll take
your dollar, please.”</p>
<p>Mickey passed out the dollar, but scratched
his head. He resolved to win that dollar back,
and later in the day waylaid a man with, “I
say—I bet you a dollar I can prove to you that
you are on the other side of the street.”
“Done,” said the man. “I’d as soon make a dollar
easy as not.”</p>
<p>“Well,” said Mickey, “this is one side of the
street, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Yes, that can’t be disputed.”</p>
<p>“And over there is the other side, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Yes—but I ain’t on that side—and I’ll take
your dollar, please.”</p>
<p>And Mickey walked home scratching his
head and wondering how it came that “the
dang thing didn’t work?”</p>
<h2><a name="LIONIZED" id="LIONIZED"></a>LIONIZED</h2>
<p>This is how the colonel and the lieutenant-colonel
of a French regiment in Algeria were
lionized. The major of the regiment one day
came across a lion suffering grievous pain from<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>
a thorn in his paw. Pitying the poor animal,
the major extracted the thorn. Considering
what he could do in return for the kindness,
the grateful lion secured a copy of the army
register, ran his eye over the list of officers in
the gentle major’s regiment, and waylaid and
devoured both the colonel and the lieutenant-colonel,
so that his friend, the major, could be
promoted.</p>
<h2><a name="LAUGHED_IT_OUT_OF_COURT" id="LAUGHED_IT_OUT_OF_COURT"></a>LAUGHED IT OUT OF COURT</h2>
<p>In the course of a sermon on “The Soul,” a
certain minister once said: “They are saying
these days that the soul is nothing but electricity.
Now, brethren, just to show you how
utterly ridiculous this modern conceit is, suppose
we substitute the word ‘electricity’ for
the words ‘the soul’ wherever they occur in
the Bible, and see how it will read. For instance:
‘What shall it profit a man if he gain
the whole world, and lose his—electricity. Or
what shall a man give in exchange for his—electricity.’
Ridiculous, perfectly ridiculous!<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>”</p>
<h2><a name="HOW_TO_CATCH_A_MULE" id="HOW_TO_CATCH_A_MULE"></a>HOW TO CATCH A MULE</h2>
<p>There was a farmer who had a balky mule
and he couldn’t make the mule go. A stranger
came along and offered to help, and the farmer
told him to go right ahead. The stranger had
a bottle of turpentine, and he opened the mule’s
mouth and pushed back his head and poured
about half of the bottle into the mule’s stomach.
The mule gave one startled gasp and
struck out across the prairie, and was lost to
sight. The surprised farmer stood for a while
immersed in deep thought, and then he said,
“Stranger, please give me the rest of that turpentine;
I’ve got to catch my mule.”</p>
<h2><a name="HOW_THE_YOUNG_IDEA_SHOOTS" id="HOW_THE_YOUNG_IDEA_SHOOTS"></a>HOW THE YOUNG IDEA SHOOTS</h2>
<p>Many children are so crammed with everything
that they really know nothing.</p>
<p>In proof of this, read these veritable specimens
of definitions, written by public school
children:</p>
<p>“Stability is taking care of a stable.”</p>
<p>“A mosquito is the child of black and white
parents.<a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>”</p>
<p>“Tocsin is something to do with getting
drunk.”</p>
<p>“Expostulation is to have the smallpox.”</p>
<p>“Monastery is the place for monsters.”</p>
<p>“Cannibal is two brothers who killed each
other in the Bible.”</p>
<p>“Anatomy is the human body, which consists
of three parts, the head, the chist and the
stummick. The head contains the eyes and
brains, if any. The chist contains the lungs and
a piece of the liver. The stummick is devoted
to the bowels, of which there are five, a, e, i, o,
u, and sometimes w and y.”</p>
<h2><a name="NAMES_FOR_THE_TWINS" id="NAMES_FOR_THE_TWINS"></a>NAMES FOR THE TWINS</h2>
<p>Some amusing “baptismal experiences” of a
“well-known clergyman” are printed in the
columns of an exchange. A boy born on January
3, 1863, was dubbed Emancipation Proclamation
Baxter. Another he christened
Perseverance Jones. When the minister endeavored
to dissuade the father he replied that
the child’s mother was named Patience, and he
saw no reason why the boy should not be<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>
called Perseverance, because the two always
went together. But the richest of his reminiscences
had to do with twins:</p>
<p>“What names will you call them?” I inquired.</p>
<p>“Cherubim and Seraphim,” replied their
mother.</p>
<p>“Why?” I asked, in astonishment.</p>
<p>“Because,” she replied, “de pra’er book says,
‘De cherubim and seraphim continually do cry,’
an’ dese yere chil’en do nuffin’ else.”</p>
<h2><a name="EXTREMES_MEET" id="EXTREMES_MEET"></a>EXTREMES MEET</h2>
<p>As the newspaper man put it: “A late invoice
from Boston to Africa included three
missionaries and eighty-three casks of rum—salvation
in the cabin, damnation in the hold,
and Old Glory floating over both.”</p>
<p>This fine bit of ecclesiastical sarcasm is
further illustrated by a fact concerning a
church in the city of Edinburgh, which city is
noted for its Scottish brand of “religion and
whiskey,” and of which wits have spoken as
being “the most spiritually minded city in the<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>
Kingdom.” Well—there is said to be a church
there, so built as to include a spacious basement
adapted for storage purposes, which the
pious elders, with a business eye to revenue,
did not scruple to rent for the storage of casks
of wine and other spirits in considerable bulk.
Well—along comes some clever wit with a
facile pen and writes on the door of the basement
of that Edinburgh church the following
lines. The authorship is unknown, but Macready
is suspected:</p>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“There’s a spirit above<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And a spirit below,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The spirit of love<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And the spirit of woe.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“The spirit above<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is the spirit of love,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And the spirit below<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is the spirit of woe.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“The spirit above<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is a spirit divine,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And the spirit below<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is the spirit of wine.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a></p>
<h2><a name="FIRE_SCREEN" id="FIRE_SCREEN"></a>A FIRE SCREEN</h2>
<p>A Southern politician, in rehearsing some of
the stories with which he made many Democratic
votes during a campaign, related the
following as having probably been the most effective:</p>
<p>A darkey had a dream and thought he went
to the bad place. The next day he told his
friends what he had dreamed, and they asked
him a great many questions.</p>
<p>“Did you see ole Satan down dar?” one of
them asked.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes; I seed ole Satan dar, an’ Belzybub,
an’ Pollyun an’ de hull lot. Dey was jist
standin’ roun’ an’ tendin’ to de bisniss, pokin’
de fires an’ makin’ it hot fer de folks.”</p>
<p>“Was dey—was dey any niggahs down
dar?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, dey was lots an’ lots o’ niggahs,
heaps on ’em.”</p>
<p>“An’ white folks?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, lots o’ white folks, too; scores an’
scores on ’em.”</p>
<p>“Democrats?<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, plenty Democrats.”</p>
<p>“An’ ’Publicans?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes. De ’Publicans dey was in one pen
by deyselves, an’ de Democrats dey was all in
a pen, too.”</p>
<p>“Was de white an’ de black ’Publicans in de
same pen?”</p>
<p>“Yes, dey was all togedder in de same pen.”</p>
<p>“What was dey all a-doin’?”</p>
<p>“Well, I ’clar to goodness, w’en I looked in
dat ar pen an’ seed ’em, it peered like ebbery
blame white ’Publikin had a niggah in his
arms a-holdin’ him up ’twixt him an’ de fire to
cotch de heft o’ de heat.”</p>
<p>“I estimate that this story,” said the politician,
“was good for at least twelve hundred
colored votes on our side in this campaign.”</p>
<h2><a name="BRANDIED_PEACHES" id="BRANDIED_PEACHES"></a>BRANDIED PEACHES</h2>
<p>The guests were all gathered in the parlor
laughing and talking, when the host was suddenly
summoned by his wife for a brief consultation
in the dining-room before dinner was
served.<a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a></p>
<p>“Tom,” said she, in evident alarm, “what
shall I do? I have nothing for dessert but
brandied peaches, and there’s Dr. Brown, the
Methodist minister, in the company. I never
thought about him—you know he’s such a
strict temperance person.”</p>
<p>Tom said he was sorry, but it was evidently
too late to change the schedule, and that they
would just have to trust to luck.</p>
<p>They did—and luck did not fail them. For
when it came to the dessert, the Rev. Mr.
Brown evidently enjoyed the peaches very
much, very much. Dear innocent soul! he
thought he had never tasted anything half so
good. And when the hostess sweetly asked
him, “Could she not have the pleasure of serving
him with another peach?” he hesitatingly
replied, “No—thank you—thank you—but I
believe I will take a little more of the juice!”</p>
<h2><a name="MOUNTED" id="MOUNTED"></a>“MOUNTED?”</h2>
<p>Another darkey relates a dream he had during
an exciting political campaign down in
Kentucky, only in this case his dream took an<a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>
opposite direction. “I dreamed,” said he, “dat
I died an’ went up to de big gate o’ hebbin an’
wanted to git in, an’ Sent Petah he says to me,
says he, ‘Is you mounted?’ an’ I says, ‘No.’
An’ he says, ‘Den you can’t come in.’ So I
kum away, an’ on de way down I met Kunnel
White, de man wat’s runnin’ fo’ Congress, an’
I told him ’twant no use: he couldn’t git in if
he wasn’t mounted. ‘Better go back,’ says I,
‘an’ mount de bay mare.’ But he says, ‘No,
I tell you, Sam, what we’ll do. You’ll be my
hoss. I’ll git on your back, an’ we’ll ride
up to de gate an’ when Petah says, “Is you
mounted?” I’ll say, “Yaas,” an’ I’ll ride you
right in.’</p>
<p>“So I got down on my han’s an’ feet an’ he
got up on my back, an’ we trotted up to de big
gate, and de kunnel he knocked on de doo’, an’
Sent Petah he open de gate a crack an’ says,
‘Who’s dar?’ an’ de kunnel says, ‘Kunnel
White o’ Kentucky, sah.’ An’ Petah says, ‘Is
you mounted?’ an’ de kunnel says, ‘Yaas, I is,
sah.’ An’ Sent Petah he says, ‘Mighty glad to
see you, kunnel. Jist tie your hoss on de outside
de gate an’ come right in!<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>’”</p>
<h2><a name="DOLLARS" id="DOLLARS"></a>“DOLLARS TO DOUGHNUTS”</h2>
<p>They say that the difference between an optimist
and a pessimist is this: The optimist
looks on the doughnut, the pessimist looks on
the hole. Well, there once was a man up in a
certain town in Eastern Pennsylvania who did
a very good business at the baker-trade.
Everybody knew and patronized the good German
baker, Hans Kitzeldorfer. Hans was industrious,
frugal and thrifty, and was making
money, until one unfortunate day he turned
pessimist and began to look on the hole in the
doughnut. The longer he looked at that hole
the more he became persuaded that he could
make money much more rapidly by making the
holes in his celebrated brand of doughnuts
larger than they had been. This happy suggestion
he at once proceeded to act on, and for
two years he was immensely tickled over his
discovery. But by and by it seemed to him
that his receipts were not as large as formerly,
especially in the Doughnut Department, and
he ordered an investigation, the result of which
Was that he discovered that by making the<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>
holes larger he had unwittingly used more
dough to go around the holes than when the
holes were less in diameter, whereupon he at
once restored his earlier and more profitable
system—and Prosperity returned.</p>
<h2><a name="TWO_POLITE_AND_SPUNKY_BOYS" id="TWO_POLITE_AND_SPUNKY_BOYS"></a>TWO POLITE AND SPUNKY BOYS</h2>
<p>A German, meeting a friend on the street,
asked him to come up to his house some day,
he wanted to show him his two boys. “I haf,”
said he, “two of de finest poys vot ever vas;
two very fine, polite undt spunky poys.”</p>
<p>His friend went up to the house one day, and
the two friends were sitting on the porch talking
and smoking their pipes, while the two
boys were playing in front of the house in the
street.</p>
<p>“Now I vill show you,” said the proud
father, “vat two very fine poys I haf.” And
with that he called, “Poys!”</p>
<p>One of the little fellows looked up and
promptly answered, “Sir?”</p>
<p>“See,” said the father, “how polite. Two
very polite undt spunky poys.<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>”</p>
<p>By and by he called out again, “Poys!” and
the other little chap looked up from his play
and responded, “Sir?”</p>
<p>Again the father proudly commended them
to his companion, saying, “How polite, how
polite.”</p>
<p>A third time he ventured to put them to the
test, as he said, “Just to show you vat two
polite undt spunky poys I haf,” and called out,
“poys!”</p>
<p>One of the little fellows straightened himself
up at this, and shaking his fist at the old
man, called out:</p>
<p>“Look here, old man, if you don’t stop your
blame hollerin’ at us, I’ll come in there an’ bust
your head with a brick.”</p>
<p>“See!” exclaimed the delighted father,
“spunky, spunky! Two very polite undt
spunky poys.”</p>
<hr />
<p>Passing by a mill-pond in winter time, and
observing a parcel of boys skating right under
and around a DANGER sign which had been
erected there, a gentleman looked up the miller
and expostulated with him for allowing it.<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a></p>
<p>The miller smiled and said, “You just rest
easy, my friend. It’s all right. I put that danger
sign there on purpose to attract the boys
to that part of the pond. You see the water is
only a foot deep there, but away on the other
side it’s twenty feet deep. If I’d a put the
danger sign over there, then they’d all gone
over there. So I put it over here. Catch on?”</p>
<h2><a name="CRANKY_COUPLE" id="CRANKY_COUPLE"></a>A CRANKY COUPLE</h2>
<p>On the way to the minister’s house to be
married a couple had a fall-out, and when the
woman was asked: “Would she take this man
for her wedded husband?” she said, “No!”
And the man said, “Why—what’s the matter
with you?” and she said, “Well, I’ve taken a
sudden dislike to you.”</p>
<p>They went away without being married, but
they made it all up in a few days’ time and
went to the minister’s house again. But, when
the man was asked, “Would he have this
woman for his wedded wife?” he, to get even,
answered, “No!” and then she said, “What’s
the matter with you, now?” and he said, “Oh,<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>
nothin’, only I’ve tuk a sudden dislike to
you.”</p>
<p>They went away again, again made it up,
and again came to the minister’s house, rang
the bell, and when the minister appeared, the
man said, “Well, parson, here we are again.
We’ll make it good this time, sure; third time
proves, you know.” And the minister said
“No—he guessed he didn’t care to marry
them.” And then they both said, “Why, what’s
the matter with you, now?” and he said,
“Well, I’ve taken a sudden dislike to both of
you!”</p>
<h2><a name="SO_MANY_BALD_HEADS" id="SO_MANY_BALD_HEADS"></a>SO MANY BALD HEADS</h2>
<p>Thirty-six years after the date of the battle of
Gettysburg, the veteran survivors of a Pennsylvania
regiment were holding their first reunion
in that celebrated town. In the forenoon they
dedicated their monument on the field of “The
First Day’s Fight,” and in the afternoon they
were to hold a business meeting in the Post
Room of the local G. A. R. On that day accommodations
were quite inadequate in
Gettysburg, and the Post Room was in conse<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>quence
occupied nearly every hour of the day
by some of the various organizations there assembled,
so that when it came the turn of this
particular regiment to occupy the room, the
Seventh Pennsylvania Cavalry was still in session.
They waited outside until the cavalrymen
were through, and then filed in. One who
was there says:</p>
<p>“As we went in, I noticed a man going in beside
me, tall, well-formed, with a very fine
head of coal-black hair, and rather the worse
for drink. I wondered who he was, for I knew
nearly every man in the regiment, but I
couldn’t place that man.</p>
<p>“Well, when we were all seated, and General
Wister took the gavel in hand to rap to order,
this black-haired man arose slowly and somewhat
uncertainly, saluted and said:</p>
<p>“‘Cap’n, before you read the minutes and
proceed to business, I’d like to ask a question.
What, hic, regiment is this that’s holding a reunion
here?’</p>
<p>“‘The One Hundred and Fiftieth Pennsylvania,
Bucktails,’ answered the general with a
smile.<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a></p>
<p>“‘Then, ’tain’t the Seventh Cavalry?’</p>
<p>“‘No. It’s the One Hundred and Fiftieth.’</p>
<p>“The Man seemed dazed, repeated the number
over and over to himself and said: ‘Then
I’m in the wrong box, cap’n—got left. Ever get
left yourself, cap’n? Great Scott, got in the
wrong box.”</p>
<p>“Then he sat down, chuckling to himself over
his adventure and muttering, ‘Wrong box,’ and
‘Got left.’</p>
<p>“By and by he arose again, courteously
saluted, and said:</p>
<p>“‘Cap’n, ’scuze me—but what regiment did
you say this was? How much was it?”</p>
<p>“‘The One Hundred and Fiftieth.’</p>
<p>“‘The One Hundred and Fiftieth—’m hic,
Great Scott,’ looking carefully around the
room, ’a fellow’d think it was the Three Hundred
and Forty-Ninth by the bald heads a-settin’
around here!’ And then he left, amidst
roars of laughter.”</p>
<h2><a name="WIND_AND_WATER" id="WIND_AND_WATER"></a>WIND AND WATER</h2>
<p>When a political stump speaker, from the
wild and windy West, after a very high-falutin<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>
flight of oratory paused to gulp down two
tumblers of ice-water, old Hayseed arose in
one of the front benches and called out: “Well,
I’ll be durned if this hain’t the fust time I ever
see a windmill run by water.”</p>
<p>Which goes well with what we read of a
newly elected senator. He was pounding his
desk and waving his arms in an impassioned
appeal to the Senate.</p>
<p>“What do you think of him?” whispered
Senator K——, of New Jersey, to the impassive
Senator K——, of Pennsylvania.</p>
<p>“Oh, he can’t help it,” answered K——.
“It’s a birth mark.”</p>
<p>“A—what?”</p>
<p>“A birth mark,” repeated K——. “His
mother was scared by a windmill.”</p>
<h2><a name="THREE_ASSES" id="THREE_ASSES"></a>THE THREE ASSES</h2>
<p>In his “Scotch Reminiscences” Dean Ramsay
relates that a certain ruling elder, by the
name of David, was well known in the district
as a very shrewd and ready-witted man. He
received visits from many people who liked a<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>
banter or were fond of a good joke. One day
three young theological students called on the
old man, intending to sharpen their wits upon
him and have some fun at his expense.</p>
<p>Said the first, “Well, Father Abraham, how
are you to-day?”</p>
<p>“You are wrong,” said the second. “This is
not Father Abraham. This is Father Isaac.”</p>
<p>“Tut,” said the third, “you are both wrong.
This is only Father Jacob, the originator of
the twelve tribes of Israel.”</p>
<p>The old man looked at the young chaps a
moment and then said: “I am neither old
Father Abraham, nor old Father Isaac, nor old
Father Jacob; but I am Saul, the son of Kish,
seeking his father’s asses, and lo! I have found
three of them!”</p>
<h2><a name="IN_THE_CLASS-ROOM" id="IN_THE_CLASS-ROOM"></a>IN THE CLASS-ROOM</h2>
<p>Said the professor to a student, “What is the
effect of heat, and what the effect of cold?”
“Heat expands, sir, and cold contracts.”</p>
<p>“Correct. Give some illustrations.” “Well,”
said the boy, “in the summer, when it is hot,<a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>
the days are long; and in the winter, when it is
cold, the days are short.”</p>
<p>“How many sides has a circle?” “Two—the
inside and the outside.”</p>
<p>“Does an effect ever go before a cause?”
“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Give an illustration.” “When a man pushes
a wheelbarrow——“</p>
<p>“That will do, sir. Next—Mr. Johnson.”</p>
<hr />
<p>A man who was very cross-eyed happened to
put his hand into another man’s pocket, and
took out his watch. He told the judge that he
“only wanted to know the time.” And the
judge said it was “Three years.”</p>
<h2><a name="OLD_MAN_SNUCKLES" id="OLD_MAN_SNUCKLES"></a>OLD MAN SNUCKLES</h2>
<p>One night after saying her prayers before
going to bed, a nine-year-old girl astonished
her mother by innocently asking:</p>
<p>“Mother, who is Old Man Snuckles?”</p>
<p>“Why, my child, I never heard of a man by
that name.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, mother,” said the child, “there<a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>
must be some such man, for I pray for him
every night.”</p>
<p>“Pray for Old Man Snuckles, my child?
Why, what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Why, yes, mother. You know I pray for
God to bless father and mother, brother and
sister and ‘Old Man Snuckles.’ Who is he?”</p>
<p>Her mother saw by and by that it meant
“All my aunts and uncles!”</p>
<h2><a name="IN_SEARCH_OF_A_RESTAURANT" id="IN_SEARCH_OF_A_RESTAURANT"></a>IN SEARCH OF A RESTAURANT</h2>
<p>Many interesting and amusing stories have
been told of the late Judge Jeremiah Black, an
eminent jurist and a very prominent member
of President Buchanan’s Cabinet. On one occasion
the judge and a legal friend were coming
out of the Capitol at Harrisburg, Pa. The judge
was busy discussing a certain case at law in
which he was interested, and his friend was
very hungry. “Say, judge,” said he, “let’s get
something to eat. I’m awful hungry.” “Well,”
said the judge, “come on. Right down this
street is a good place. I know it well.” And
they walked on arm in arm, the judge laying<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>
down the law as they proceeded. To the
amazement of the judge they pulled up in
front of an engine house!</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” said the judge, laughing, “I’ve
made a mistake. This isn’t the place. Oh—I
see. It’s right up this street around the corner.”
Around the corner they went, walked
three blocks and halted in front of a church!</p>
<p>Again the judge looked foolish and said:
“Oh, no. This isn’t the place either. Let me
see. Oh—now I have it. The place I was
thinking of is in—Baltimore!”</p>
<p>His companion groaned and made a break
for the nearest hotel.</p>
<h2><a name="LITERATURE_MADE_EASY" id="LITERATURE_MADE_EASY"></a>LITERATURE MADE EASY</h2>
<p>A man wrote to the editor of a small weekly
newspaper asking a very simple question:
“How can I get an article into your esteemed
paper?” and the cruel editor wrote in reply:
“It all depends on the kind of article you want
to get into our paper. If it is small in bulk,
like a hair-brush or a tea-caddy, for instance,
spread the paper out on the floor nice and<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>
smooth, place the article exactly in the center,
neatly fold the edges over it, and tie with
a string. This will keep the article from slipping
out. If, on the other hand, the article is
an English bath-tub or a clothes-horse, you
will find one of the New York Sunday papers
better suited to your purpose.”</p>
<h2><a name="SURE_CURE_FOR_SNORING" id="SURE_CURE_FOR_SNORING"></a>SURE CURE FOR SNORING</h2>
<p>I was visiting my friend Nicholas von
Spoopendyke over in New York. He has a
splendid mansion away uptown, very handsomely
furnished. One day he took me all
over the house. His bedroom was beautiful indeed,
all furnished with rich old mahogany
polished like a looking-glass. I was admiring
the bed. It was a very old “Napoleon,”
most finely veneered and carved, and the bed
was faultlessly made up, with a spotless white
counterpane, level as a board and not a wrinkle
in sight. Beautiful!</p>
<p>“That’s my white elephant,” said Spoopendyke.
“I always walk round it and keep my
distance. When I was first married and before<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>
I knew the rules of the house, I sat down on
the side of the bed to take off my shoes—once.
I’ve never done that since. Say—that’s a
mighty fine bed, ain’t it? For one thing, it always
tells me when I’m sick. If I lay down
on that bed in the day-time, and pull the white
cover over me, and my wife doesn’t say nothing—then
I know I’m a sick man, and the doctor’ll
be there in twenty minutes.”</p>
<p>“Say ——“ continued Spoopendyke, growing
quite confidential, “I had a queer experience
the other night. My wife she says I
snore. Well, mebby I do. Most men do. But
women snore, too, and you can’t never get ’em
to confess it. Well, I was lying wide awake
thinking of some bills I had to pay—and had
no money to pay ’em with—and beside me lay
my wife snoring like all creation. She got
higher and louder and louder and higher, till
she waked herself up with a tremendous
whoop. Then she kicked me—thinking it was
me that was making the racket. I said nothing,
and she sailed in again—up, up, up she
went, higher and higher till she woke up again
at the top and said, ‘Nick—stop your blame<a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>
snoring.’ I said nothing, and she went to
work at once again blowing her bugle-horn till
she waked up again. This time she was mad.
She got up and said something about ‘getting
the fire-extinguisher and turning it loose on
him,’ and went off to bed in the next room. I
lay still listening and laughing, as I heard her
blowing the fog-horn again. I laughed till I
forgot all about those bills and went to sleep.
And the next morning at the breakfast table
when she told me how I kept her awake all
night with my awful snoring—and how even
in the next room she couldn’t sleep for the
racket I kept up—I just laughed. Tell her?
Not a bit of it. What’s the use? She wouldn’t
believe me, and I couldn’t prove it.”</p>
<h2><a name="TOO_YOUNG" id="TOO_YOUNG"></a>TOO YOUNG</h2>
<p>“Say, Isaacstein, don’t you vant to git married?”</p>
<p>“For vy shall I hitch me fast mit a wife?”</p>
<p>“Well, here’s an unusually good chance, a
clean snap if you look sharp. You know Levy
the banker? Well, he has three daughters, the<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>
youngest is eighteen years old, the next
twenty-five and the next thirty. I have just
learned that he will give $10,000 to the man
that marries the youngest, $15,000 to the man
that marries the next one, and $20,000 with the
oldest. Why don’t you sail in, old man?”</p>
<p>“Dey are all too young fer me. I vill vait
till dey get older. I vant one about fifty.”</p>
<h2><a name="POOR_BUSINESS_LOCATION" id="POOR_BUSINESS_LOCATION"></a>A POOR BUSINESS LOCATION</h2>
<p>“How iss business?” “Very poor. Noding’s
doing.” “Vell—vy don’t you?” “Mein himmel,
how kin I—mit a fire-goompany on von side,
a fire-goompany on de odder side, undt a
schwmmin-school on top? I shall haf to
move.”</p>
<h2><a name="TALE_OF_A_SAUSAGE" id="TALE_OF_A_SAUSAGE"></a>A TALE OF A SAUSAGE</h2>
<p>On the way to attend a funeral a country
parson stopped to make a call on one of his
members who had the day before done some
butchering, after the old fashion. Before he
took his leave the good woman of the house
made him a present of some three yards of<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>
newly made sausage, which, when he came to
the church where the service was to be held,
he bestowed for safe-keeping in the pocket of
his long-tailed coat. While he was reading the
burial service at the grave, a good-for-nothing
dog, scenting the savory meat, made repeated
efforts to dislodge the treasure, and the
preacher was obliged in a very awkward and
undignified manner to punctuate his reading of
the service with sundry and numerous kicks to
the rear to save his bacon and chase the dog
away.</p>
<p>After the interment there was a full service
in the church, the minister preaching the sermon
in one of those old-fashioned pulpits,
stuck against the wall like a swallow’s nest,
the approach to the pulpit being by a corkscrew
staircase winding solemnly upward
from the chancel. Here the minister was safe
from the assaults of that miserable dog. At
least he thought he was. But—at the conclusion
of the service, while he was standing in
the pulpit and looking another way, one of his
deacons, wishing him to make an announcement,
quietly and softly tiptoed across the<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>
chancel and slipped up the winding stairway
and pulled the parson’s coat-tail to attract his
attention. He, supposing it was the dog after
his sausage again, let fly a most vigorous kick,
which caught the poor deacon in the middle of
the forehead and knocked him rattling down
into the chancel, the preacher, still looking the
other way, and saying, “My friends, I am
sorry for this disturbance, but—I have some
sausage in my pocket and that miserable dog
has been following me all this morning trying
to steal it!”</p>
<h2><a name="PUNISHMENT_MADE_SURE" id="PUNISHMENT_MADE_SURE"></a>PUNISHMENT MADE SURE</h2>
<p>It is an old story, but a good one—that of
the two Germans who went into Delmonico’s
to get something to eat. They ordered a very
simple supper. They had a good beefsteak,
fried potatoes, bread and butter, and coffee,
and were astounded when the waiter handed
them a bill for four dollars and a half. They
paid the bill, and when they reached the street
one of them began to swear at “Dot man Delmonico.
He is a robber and a thief.” His companion,<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>
however, gently laying a hand on his
shoulder, said, “Hermann, do not schwear. It
iss wicked to schwear. Pesides, Gott has
ponished dat man Delmonico alretty.” “Wie?”
was the response. “How has Gott ponished
him?” “Hermann,” said the other with quiet
assurance, “Gott has ponished him. I have my
pockets full mit his spoons!”</p>
<h2><a name="BASHFUL_BRIDEGROOM" id="BASHFUL_BRIDEGROOM"></a>A BASHFUL BRIDEGROOM</h2>
<p>He was a clerk in a hardware store, and she
was a chambermaid in a hotel. When they
came to the parsonage one afternoon to be
married, they were very kindly received. The
minister’s wife took the bride upstairs to take
off her things, and the minister took the groom
into the parlor.</p>
<p>The groom was very nervous—and suddenly
asked the minister whether he couldn’t “marry
him while the bride was upstairs, and then
marry her when she came down?” But the
minister assured him that it was necessary that
the bride should be present, and that they
should both be married at the same time. And
so they were married.<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a></p>
<p>Two hours later, while making a call at the
hotel, he found the bride at her work, and when
he asked her how that was, and whether her
husband had also gone back to his work at the
store, she replied:</p>
<p>“Oh, bless you, no, sir; he’s gone off on his
honeymoon!”</p>
<h2><a name="KICKIN" id="KICKIN"></a>A KICKIN’</h2>
<p>A newspaper correspondent, writing to his
paper from the mountain region of Eastern
Tennessee about twenty-five years ago, had
the following to say:</p>
<p>“These mountain people have some occasional
times of recreation. I was at one recently.
A few days ago I received an invitation
to ‘a Kickin’.’ In this neighborhood every
well-regulated family has a clumsy, old-fashioned
loom to weave the wool of the
mountain sheep into fabrics for home consumption.
Some of this material requires to
be fulled, and to do this ‘a Kickin’’ is instituted,
and it was to one of these gatherings that your
correspondent was invited. It was held at one<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>
of the houses, common in this section, with a
big fireplace and no windows, located on the
banks of the Spillcorn Branch. The envoy with
the invitation was diplomatic. ‘Hev ye ever
bin to a Kickin’ afore?’ queried he. I told him
I had, and I had, too, in Pennsylvania at that,
and the only one I ever saw before. ‘Would ye
like to go to one of our Kickin’s down yere?’
I responded that it would certainly afford me
great pleasure. ‘Then,’ said the mountaineer,
‘they’re a-goin’ to hev a Kickin’ over in Spillcorn
to-night, an’ you kin come over.’</p>
<p>“Not wanting to miss the overture, I went
early. The house was unusually large and had
one room, with a bed in each corner. Quite a
number of strapping boys and girls had collected,
and everything bore the aspect of a
funeral. The Kickers were ranged around on
chairs with that owlish silence that goes with
awkwardness and having nothing to say.
Presently one of the girls whispered something
to another girl near by her, and they slipped
out by the back door, and then every girl in the
house broke for the door like a lot of sheep
going through a gap in the fence. Then the<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>
masculine tongue broke loose and Babel
reigned, until a few minutes later, when the
girls came in, and the funeral was resumed. I
sat in one corner with my chair tilted back,
taking observations, when not engaged in
fighting off a human gad-fly who was pestering
me with questions of national politics.</p>
<p>“Presently the old woman said they might
as well begin. If there was silence before,
pandemonium broke loose now, and everybody
was electrified. The old man went out on the
porch and rolled in a web of coarse woolen
fabric, containing a hundred yards or more, and
unrolled it in a loose pile on the floor. Then
the boys and girls took off their shoes and
stockings. The boys rolled up their pantaloons
as far as they could get them, while they arranged
fourteen chairs in a circle in the middle
of the floor, with the pile of goods in the center.
The old woman, who looked for all the world
like one of the witches in Macbeth, poured
gourdfull after gourdfull of hot water on the
material, until it was soaking wet, and then
daubed soft soap with a liberal hand over the
whole.<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a></p>
<p>“Then the Kickers sat down, boys and girls
alternating. The girls gathered up their skirts
and sat down on them. They had a bed-cord,
with the ends tied so that when the Kickers
were seated they could grasp this rope, which
was passed around from hand to hand, and hold
on while they kicked.</p>
<p>“Everybody now was talking at once, and
the confusion was that of a madhouse. The
gad-fly yelled at me that if ‘Pennsylvany went
Dimmycratic it was all gone to the dogs’—and
the kicking began.</p>
<p>“It will be seen that it required constant and
vigorous attention to business, pounding that
sloppy mass of woolen with bare feet, until
everything rattled, to keep it from being kicked
over on those who were disposed to be slow.
Twenty-eight naked feet would be kicking into
the pile with all the rapidity and strength their
owners possessed, while the soapsuds flew up
to the rafters.</p>
<p>“Everybody laughed, and yelled, and
screamed, and kicked till their faces grew red
and their eyes fairly stood out in their heads.
The floor grew as slippery as soap and water<a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>
could make it, and every now and then some
chair would slip and its occupant sit down suddenly
on the floor, and, holding on to the rope,
would pull the whole crowd over in a floundering,
laughing, yelling pile.</p>
<p>“Then everybody would pant and take a rest
and sit down again. The girls would hitch up
their impedimenta to a safer distance, and the
performance would begin all over again, and
thus with relays for two hours. Only one accident
occurred. There was one big fat girl they
called Loweezy, who looked like a human
featherbed with a string tied around it. Louisa
was doing her level best to kick the pile over
on her opposite, and had gathered both feet
and let fly like a pile-driver, and was about to
repeat the operation, when, at the critical moment,
her chair shot out backward and Louisa
sat down in a puddle of soapsuds, with what
Augusta Evans in one of her novels calls a
sound like the wreck of matter and the crash of
worlds. What little breath was in her was
knocked out, and it was unknown for a brief
space whether it would ever get back. But she
got up, and was duly escorted by her female<a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>
companions to the back porch for needed repairs.
The old man threw a few more pine-knots
on the fire, and Louisa returned and
spread herself before the cheerful blaze in a
manner calculated to do the most good. Then
when everybody was tired out the work was
pronounced completed, the wreck was cleaned
off the floor, and supper prepared.”</p>
<h2><a name="HE_WARNED_HER" id="HE_WARNED_HER"></a>HE WARNED HER</h2>
<p>Last summer the congregation of a little kirk
in the highlands of Scotland was greatly disturbed
and mystified by the appearance in its
midst of an old English lady, who made use of
an ear trumpet during the sermon, such an instrument
being entirely unknown in those
simple parts. There was much discussion of
the matter, and it was finally decided that one
of the elders, who had great local reputation as
a man of parts, should be deputed to settle the
question. On the next Sabbath the unconscious
offender again made her appearance and
again produced the trumpet, whereupon the
chosen elder rose from his seat and marched<a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>
down the aisle to where the old lady sat, and,
entreating her with an upraised finger, said
sternly: “The first toot an’ ye’re oot!”</p>
<h2><a name="INCORRIGIBLE" id="INCORRIGIBLE"></a>INCORRIGIBLE</h2>
<p>The teacher in a public school had an incorrigible
girl to deal with, and for the twentieth
time had taken her aside for a little heart-to-heart
talk on the subject of conduct, and
was apparently making a good impression on
the child’s mind, for she was attentive and
observant as she never had been before, not
taking her eyes off the teacher’s face while she
was talking, so that the teacher was inwardly
congratulating herself, until the scholar broke
in with:</p>
<p>“Why, Miss Mary Jane, when you talk your
upper jaw doesn’t move a bit!”</p>
<h2><a name="DUTCH_CONUNDRUM" id="DUTCH_CONUNDRUM"></a>A DUTCH CONUNDRUM</h2>
<p>A number of gentlemen from different parts
of the country were lodging at one of the
hotels in Atlantic City. It was their custom to
amuse themselves at table by relating anec<a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>dotes
and conundrums. One of the men, a
Pennsylvania Dutchman, was always greatly
delighted at these jokes and laughed louder
than the rest, but never related anything himself.
He couldn’t think of anything to say, and
being so much rallied for his standing failure
to contribute to the general fund, he determined
that the next time he was called on he
would have something to relate. So he went
to one of the waiters and asked him if he knew
any good jokes or conundrums. The waiter
said he did, and gave him the following:</p>
<p>“It is my father’s child, and my mother’s
child, and yet it is not my sister or my
brother,” telling him at the same time that it
was himself.</p>
<p>Hans bore it well in mind, and the next day
at dinner he suddenly burst out with, “I’ve got
a conundrum for you!” “Let’s have it!” exclaimed
his companions.</p>
<p>“Vell—here it iss. It iss my fader’s child,
and it iss my mudder’s child, and yet it wass
not my sister nor my brudder. Now, vat wass
dot?”</p>
<p>“Then it must be yourself,” said one of the<a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>
company. And they all said the same. But
Hans laughed them all to scorn, saying, “Diss
time I cotched you. I got you now. You wass
all wrong. It wass der waiter.”</p>
<h2><a name="ROUGH_ON_THE_DEACON" id="ROUGH_ON_THE_DEACON"></a>ROUGH ON THE DEACON</h2>
<p>The Reverend Dr. John was a country minister
and was very fond of hunting rabbits.
One fall day he was out in a field along the
public road at his favorite pastime, and had
located a rabbit. Just then he spied one of
his deacons coming down the road. Thinking
to play a trick on the deacon, he pulled up the
collar of the old coat he was wearing, drew
down the rim of his slouch hat, humped together
and made himself as unrecognizable as
possible. He then turned his back to the road
and began to take a very deliberate aim. The
deacon was interested. He stopped in the road.
He walked over to the fence, and leaning on
the top rail, he called out, “Give him h——l!”
The Reverend gentleman shot the rabbit, and
then turned around—but the deacon was off
on a run, nor could the minister get anywhere
near him for six weeks.<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a></p>
<h2><a name="RABBITS_ENOUGH" id="RABBITS_ENOUGH"></a>RABBITS ENOUGH</h2>
<p>The same Reverend Dr. John was fond of
telling a good story about a neighboring minister
who served a people living up “along the
blue mountain.” Rabbits were very plentiful
up in that section, and in the fall of the year
when this minister went on a round of pastoral
visitation amongst his people, they fed him on
rabbits wherever he came. It was rabbits in
the morning, rabbits at noon, rabbits at night—fried
rabbit, stewed rabbit, roasted rabbit—till
the poor parson was so utterly sick of the
fare that he composed a special grace at table,
which ran somewhat after this fashion:</p>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Rabbits young and rabbits old,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Rabbits hot and rabbits cold,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Rabbits tender and rabbits tough—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I thank Thee, O Lord, I’ve had rabbits enough!”<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<h2><a name="COLORED_APOSTLES" id="COLORED_APOSTLES"></a>COLORED APOSTLES</h2>
<p>The darkey preacher and one of his deacons
fell to discussing the color-line amongst the<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>
apostles. The deacon maintained that “all de
’postles was cullud pussons, ’cause don’t you
see, Bruddah, dat de Holy Lan’ is ’bout de
same latitude as Africa, an’ dey all jist muss a
bin cullud.” But the parson was of a contrary
opinion, declaring that while “O’ co’se some
on ’em mout a bin cullud, dey wa’n’t all dat a
way. Dar, fer ’sample, was Saint Paul—he
mout a bin cullud, but den dar war Saint
Petah, he wa’n’t. I know he wa’n’t.” “An’
how you know dat, Bruddah?” queried the
deacon. “Wa’ll, deacon,” said the preacher,
“Saint Petah nevah was a cullud pusson, ’case
if he had a bin cullud dat dar rooster wouldn’t
a crowed more’n onct.”</p>
<h2><a name="NEAR_THE_END_OF_HIS_JOURNEY" id="NEAR_THE_END_OF_HIS_JOURNEY"></a>NEAR THE END OF HIS JOURNEY</h2>
<p>A distinguished lawyer and politician was
traveling with a pass on a train, when an Irish
woman came into the car lugging along a big
basket and a bundle, and sat down near him.
When the conductor came in to collect the
fares, the woman paid her money, and the conductor
passed by the lawyer without collecting<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>
anything. The good woman looked at him
and said, “An’ faith, an’ why is it that the conductor
takes the money of a poor Irishwoman,
an’ don’t ask ye for anything, an’ ye seem to
be a rich mon?” The lawyer replied, “My good
woman, I am traveling on my beauty.” The
woman looked at him more carefully for a
moment, and said, “An’ is that so? An’ then,
sure, you must be near your journey’s end.”</p>
<h2><a name="BOO" id="BOO"></a>BOO!</h2>
<p>A Virginia farmer was trying to train a small
horse for a saddle-horse for his daughter, and
was riding the animal up and down the road
past a haystack. In order to accustom the
horse to sudden fright, he directed his son to
hide behind the haystack and jump out as he
rode by and say, “Boo!” The boy did so, and
the horse reared and plunged till he had
thrown the rider on the roadside and ran away.
The old man picked himself up, cut a switch
from a handy hedge, and was about to chastise
the boy. When the boy expostulated, declaring
that he had only done what he had been di<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>rected
to do, the old man said, “Yes, I know
you did, but you let out altogether too big a
Boo for such a small horse!”</p>
<h2><a name="GREAT_COUNTRY" id="GREAT_COUNTRY"></a>A GREAT COUNTRY</h2>
<p>They tried hard, but they couldn’t get the
Yankee tourist to admit that he saw anything
in Europe that could beat things at home.
When he passed from Italy to Switzerland,
they asked him whether he had noticed the
magnificence of the Alps, and he acknowledged,
“Waal, now, come to think of it, I guess
I did pass some risin’ ground.” And before
this they had showed him Vesuvius, and asked
him what he thought of that, and whether there
was anything in his country could equal it.
And he said, “Pooh! Why, we’ve got a waterfall
in my country so big that if you had it
here and turned it into your burning mountain,
it would put out all that fire in just six
seconds.”</p>
<p>An American-born Irishman paid a visit to
the home of his ancestors, and they proudly
showed him the lakes of Killarney. “Killarney,<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>
is it?” said he. “We’ve got lakes in
America so big that you could take all the lakes
in Ireland an’ throw ’em in, and it wouldn’t
raise the water an inch. An’ as fer yer city o’
Dublin—let me tell ye, me friend, we’ve got
States over there so big that ye could put
Dublin away in one corner of ’em, an’ ye’d
never know it was there, except for the smell
o’ the whiskey.”</p>
<p>These honored citizens could well appreciate
the toast—“The United States: bounded on the
east by primeval chaos; on the north by the
Aurora borealis; on the west by the precession
of the equinoxes, and on the south by the Day
of Judgment!”</p>
<h2><a name="FARM_ACCIDENTS" id="FARM_ACCIDENTS"></a>FARM ACCIDENTS</h2>
<p>A Larimer County farmer lost a valuable
cow in a very unusual and distressing manner.
The animal, in rummaging through a summer
kitchen, found and swallowed an old umbrella
and a cake of yeast. The yeast, fermenting in
the poor beast’s stomach, raised the umbrella
and she died in great agony.</p>
<p>The same day another accident happened.<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>
A pan of cream had been left standing in the
spring house, and a frog had fallen in and
couldn’t get out. He swam and swam around
and around, but could get no foothold to climb
out. So he stopped swimming and took to
kicking instead. He kicked and he kicked till
he had kicked the cream into butter, and then
climbed out readily.</p>
<h2><a name="WONDERFUL_CLIMATE" id="WONDERFUL_CLIMATE"></a>A WONDERFUL CLIMATE</h2>
<p>Dan Marble was once strolling along the
wharves in Boston, when he met a tall, gaunt
man, a digger from California, and got into
conversation with him about that wonderful
State.</p>
<p>“Healthy climate, I suppose?” inquired Dan.</p>
<p>“Healthy? Well, I reckon I should say so,
stranger. Why, d’ye know, out there you can
choose any kind o’ climate you like, hot or
cold or mejum, an’ that, too, without traveling
more’n fifteen minutes. They’ve got weather
on tap out there, so to speak, sizz or frizz, accordin’
to taste an’ preference. There’s a
mountain there—the Sary Nevady, they call<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>
it—one side hot an’ one side cold. Well—get
up on top o’ that mountain with a double-barrel
gun, an’ you can, without movin’, kill either
winter or summer game, jest as you wish.”</p>
<p>“What! And have you tried it?”</p>
<p>“Tried it often, an’ would have done some
remarkable shootin’, but jest for one thing.”</p>
<p>“And what was that?”</p>
<p>“Well, I wanted a dog, you see, that could
stand both climates. The last dog I had froze
his tail off pintin’ on the summer side. He
was on the Great Divide, you see, nose on the
summer side, tail on the winter side, an’ his
tail froze right off before I could shoot.”</p>
<h2><a name="HE_CUT_IT_SHORT" id="HE_CUT_IT_SHORT"></a>HE CUT IT SHORT</h2>
<p>Garrigan was the name of the new station
agent. He was an Irishman, of course, and
magnified his office by sending in to headquarters
very lengthy telegraphic despatches
giving very minute details of the many accidents
that happened to the trains at his station.
Headquarters, at length wearying of the man’s
unnecessary prolixity, instructed him to cut out<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>
all superfluous particulars and to confine himself
to essentials only. “Cut it out?” said he,
“an’ sure that I will the very next time an accident
happens, or me name isn’t Garrigan.” The
next day some cars went off the track—they
were always going off the track at his station—and
as soon as they were made all right, he
wired headquarters a laconic despatch, in the
very rhythm of which one can hear the rumble
of the car-wheels: “Off again; on again; gone
again. Garrigan!”</p>
<h2><a name="NOT_GOOD_LOOKING" id="NOT_GOOD_LOOKING"></a>NOT GOOD LOOKING</h2>
<p>A man was buying a horse of a French
Canadian. He looked the animal over carefully.
The Frenchman said, “He not look ver’
goot, but he is a goot horse.” The purchaser,
not setting much store by the man’s judgment
of good looks in a horse, and saying that he
didn’t care for appearance provided other
things were all right, bought the animal. Next
day he brought the horse back, saying that he
was blind of an eye, and demanded his money
back, but the Frenchman said, “Non! Vot I
tell you? Did I not say zat he not look goot?<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>”</p>
<p>One day when Mrs. Van Auken installed a
Chinaman in her kitchen, the following conversation
took place: “What is your name,
sir?” asked Mrs. Van Auken. “Oh, my namee
Ah Sin Foo!” “But I can’t remember all that
lingo, my man. I’ll call you Jimmy.” “Velly
welle. Now whachee namee I callee you?”
“Well, my name is Mrs. Van Auken. Call me
that.” “Oh, me can no membel Missee Yanne
Auken. Too big piecee namee. I callee you
Tommy—Missee Tommy.”</p>
<h2><a name="FLANK_MOVEMENT" id="FLANK_MOVEMENT"></a>A FLANK MOVEMENT</h2>
<p>At a Camp Fire of the Grand Army of the
Republic a comrade, being called on for a
speech, got up and said, “Now, boys, you all
know I can’t make a speech; I never could.
And the Commander shouldn’t have called on
me to get up. I feel now like my brother Sam
felt, one summer night, when he hadn’t anything
particular to do. He wandered into a
Methodist prayer-meeting and sat down near
the door in one of those high-backed old-fashioned<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>
pews. He had no idea that he’d be
called on to say anything, or he wouldn’t have
gone near, but what did the blame preacher do
when he spied Sam but call on him to pray!
Sam was nearly scared to death. He didn’t
know what to do; but when he saw all the congregation
getting down on their hunkers between
the pews where they couldn’t see him,
and the door was open, he heard the bugle call
to “Retreat,” got down on all fours and turned
turtle, and crawled out of that church on a
double quick, and skipped for Home, sweet
Home.”</p>
<h2><a name="LONELY_PLACE" id="LONELY_PLACE"></a>A LONELY PLACE</h2>
<p>“Mamma,” said a little girl, “George Washington
never told a lie, did he?” Being so
assured, she continued: “And I guess pretty
nearly everybody else did?” This being likewise
admitted as probable, she went on, “I
guess even father sometimes tells a fib, doesn’t
he?” It was hard to admit that, but it had to
be. “And, mamma, you tell some once in a
while? I know I do.” When this was also
reluctantly confessed, the child drew a sigh<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>
and said, “Oh, mamma! What a lonely place
Heaven will be, with nobody in it but God and
George Washington!”</p>
<h2><a name="PRICE_OF_A_DOG" id="PRICE_OF_A_DOG"></a>THE PRICE OF A DOG</h2>
<p>A man had a dog, and the dog was such a
poor, miserable cur that everybody wondered
at the attachment of the man to such a beast.
One day in the barroom of a tavern a number
of young men were rallying him on his dog,
and wanted to know how much he’d take for
his pet. The man said that he loved that dog
so much that he couldn’t think of parting with
him—he “wouldn’t take twenty dollars for that
dog.” His tormentors, knowing him to be
thoroughly conscientious, although poor, and
that when he had given his word he would
never go back on it, got together forty silver
half-dollars, piled them up on the bar, and
called on him to decide whether he would
rather have that miserable dog or all that pile
of silver? “No, gentlemen,” said he, walking
up to the bar and counting the money carefully,
“I stick to what I said. I won’t take<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>
twenty dollars for Pete. It’s too much. Nineteen
dollars and a half is every cent he’s worth.
The dog is yours.” Leaving one half-dollar on
the bar, he scooped the other thirty-nine into
his hat.</p>
<h2><a name="WHY_THE_HAWKEYE_MAN_COULDNT_PAY" id="WHY_THE_HAWKEYE_MAN_COULDNT_PAY"></a>WHY THE HAWKEYE MAN COULDN’T PAY</h2>
<p class="r">
Iowa, 12, 3, ’06.<br />
</p>
<p>Dear Sir:—Your sumptuous letter received,
and in reply will say that they come frequently,
and it would have afforded the boys much
amusement had not the melancholy thought
come with it that you had no better sense than
to abuse, slander and dun a gentleman.</p>
<p>You speak of honor, if you are honorable you
know not whereof you speak. You also speak
of causing me much trouble, my land, I have
already trouble enough to send a whole
brigade of you wise boys over the road fifty
times. I will give you a history of this case,
and if you are surprised at my actions in regard
to your claim for 10.00 you are undoubtedly
the worst set of misers on earth.</p>
<p>To begin with in 1891 I bought a restaurant<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>
on credit. In 1892 I bought an OX team, a timber
cart, a pair of Texas ponies, a gold watch,
a breech-loading shotgun, A repeating rifle, A
milk cow, A pair of fine hogs, and a set of books
all on the instalment plan, and hired hands to
dig a fish pond. In 1905 my restaurant burned
flat to the ground and never left me a thing,
one of my ponies died and I hired the other
one to an infernal, insignificant drummer. He
killed him driving him too hard. Then I
joined the farmers alliance and Methodist
church, and took advantage of the homestead
exemption and honest debtors’ relief law, and
then had my applycation wrote out to join the
masons. In the latter part of 1905 my father
died and my mother married a Mexican. And
my brother Bud was lynched for horse stealing.
My sister choked to death on a button
and I had to pay her funeral expenses.</p>
<p>In 1905 I got burned out again, and I took
to drink and soon went through with the interest
on what I owed, which was all I had
left. My wife run away and left me all the children
to take care of. I don’t care for anybody
and nothing surprises me any more. Now if<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>
you feel like tackeling me pitch in, I’ll have to
stand it, I suppose. But let me give you a gentle
tip, getting money out of me is like stuffing
butter in a keyhole with a hot awl.</p>
<p>You speak of making no effort to adjust this
bill; what is the use? If steam boats were
worth two cents apiece I couldn’t buy a gang
plank. You ask if I thought it would of been
more manly to of acknowledged the truth. I
answer no, by the way, I don’t expect anything
but to be pestered by lawyers, collection
sharks and other humbugs and grafters, until
this pestilence relieves me from their clutches.
Be for I die I am going to Petition heigh
heaven for a shower of fire and destruction on
the whole bunch. And I will particular pray
that the storm spend most of its fury on that
southern hamlet where you claim to get your
mail.</p>
<p>Maliciously and disrespectfully yours,</p>
<p class="r">
----.<br />
</p>
<h2><a name="FORBIDDEN_FRUIT" id="FORBIDDEN_FRUIT"></a>THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT</h2>
<p>Father had bought and planted a number of
dwarf pear trees in the yard around the house.<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>
He watched their growth and development
with great interest for several years, and when
at last one of the trees produced just one pear,
all the children in the house were straitly and
strictly forbidden to pull that pear off the tree.
“Whoever pulls that pear off the tree will get
a whipping, and a good one.”</p>
<p>The pear grew larger daily, and riper and
more lusciously tempting. How the sight of it
made our mouths water—especially as it was
forbidden to pull it off! However, some one
of the children, carefully reasoning that it was
not forbidden to touch the pear, nor even to
eat it, only that it must not be “pulled off”—bent
down the limb that bore it, ate the juicy
fruit, and left the core hanging on the tree!</p>
<h2><a name="KEEN_CUTTERS" id="KEEN_CUTTERS"></a>KEEN CUTTERS</h2>
<p>They were sitting opposite me in the smoking
car, two traveling salesmen, having a quiet
game of cards and sharpening their wits between
deals with quips, quirks and conundrums.</p>
<p>“You come from Kalamazoo, I believe?”
queried the one.<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a></p>
<p>“Yep,” said the other, “best old town on the
earth.”</p>
<p>“D’ye know,” drawled the Boston man,
“what we Boston people call the people that
live in your town?”</p>
<p>“Nope, an’ we don’t care much, neither. But,
just by way of conversation, may I inquire
what you call ’em?”</p>
<p>“We call ’em a zoo. See?”</p>
<p>“Yep, I see,” said the Kalamazoo man. “And
do you know and can you tell me what kind o’
people live in your town of Boston?”</p>
<p>“Best and smartest people on earth,” was
the emphatic answer.</p>
<p>“Well,” was the response, “out my way we
say that people that live in Boston are nothing
but human beans. See? Cut for a new deal.”</p>
<h2><a name="NAMING_THE_APOSTLES" id="NAMING_THE_APOSTLES"></a>NAMING THE APOSTLES</h2>
<p>After a dinner in one of the most hospitable
residences in Washington, a party of very distinguished
men—Cabinet ministers, senators,
diplomats, scientists and soldiers—sat in the
smoking-room, and the conversation drifted<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>
from politics to religious questions. Somebody
remarked that he once sat in the Union
League Club in New York, with Roscoe Conkling,
Chester A. Arthur and several other distinguished
gentlemen who had been carefully
educated in religious families, and that none of
them was able to name the Twelve Apostles.</p>
<p>“That’s easy,” said a senator brashly, beginning:
“Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
bless the bed that I lie on, Paul, the two
Jameses, Jude, Barnabas—“ and there he
stopped with some embarrassment.</p>
<p>“Timothy,” suggested a major-general, who
was a vestryman in an Episcopal Church.</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” answered a senator. “Timothy
was a disciple of Paul’s. He wasn’t one of the
Twelve Apostles.”</p>
<p>“Nicodemus,” added one of the company.</p>
<p>“Jeremiah,” suggested another.</p>
<p>“Judas was one of the apostles,” meekly
came from a voice in a corner.</p>
<p>“I’ll be blamed if he was. He was a disciple,
so far I’ll go, but no farther,” was the curt reply.</p>
<p>“Weren’t the disciples and the apostles the<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>
same thing?” inquired the meek voice, getting
a little bolder.</p>
<p>Bartholomew was next suggested, and accepted
by several.</p>
<p>“What’s the matter with Peter?” exclaimed
a modest young member of the Diplomatic
Corps who had hitherto been silent.</p>
<p>“How many does that make?” somebody
asked, and they counted up eleven for sure,
with as many more doubtful.</p>
<p>“Lets look in the Bible,” some one suggested,
and the Good Book was overhauled in
vain. Nobody could find the place, some insisting
it was in Chronicles somewhere, while
other authorities were equally certain of
Corinthians. Then an encyclopedia was appealed
to, but it was not entirely satisfactory,
for it included Thomas and Andrew
in the list, and that would make one too
many—thirteen, an unlucky number. Besides,
the justice of the Supreme Court and two
senators were positive that Andrew was
not an apostle—all of which teaches the great
usefulness and the pressing need of Sunday-schools.<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a></p>
<h2><a name="REAR_GUARD" id="REAR_GUARD"></a>THE REAR GUARD</h2>
<p>Artemus Ward was traveling on a slow-going
southern road soon after the war. While
the conductor was punching his ticket, Artemus
remarked: “Does this railroad company
allow passengers to give it advice, if they do
so in a respectful manner?” The conductor replied
in gruff tones that he guessed so. “Well,”
Artemus went on, “it has occurred to me that
it would be well, perhaps, to detach the cow-catcher
from the front of the engine and hitch
it to the rear of the train. For, you see, we
are not likely to overtake a cow; but what’s to
prevent a cow strolling into this car and biting
the passengers?”</p>
<h2><a name="TURKEY_WAS_TAME" id="TURKEY_WAS_TAME"></a>THE TURKEY WAS TAME</h2>
<p>A gentleman who was buying a turkey from
old Uncle Ephraim asked him, in making the
purchase, if it was a tame turkey.</p>
<p>“Oh, yais, sir; it’s a tame tu’key all right.”</p>
<p>“Now, Ephraim, are you sure it’s a tame turkey?<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>”</p>
<p>“Oh, yais, sir; dere’s no so’t o’ doubt ’bout
dat. It’s a tame tu’key all right.”</p>
<p>He consequently bought the turkey, and a
day or two later, when eating it, came across
several shot. Later on, when he met old
Ephraim on the street, he said:</p>
<p>“Well, Ephraim, you told me that was a
tame turkey, but I found some shot in it when
I was eating it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, dat war a tame tu’key all right,” was
Uncle Ephraim’s reiterated rejoinder, “but de
fac’ is, boss, I’s gwine to tell yer in confidence,
dat dem ’ere shot was intended for me.”</p>
<h2><a name="BOOMERANG_STORIES" id="BOOMERANG_STORIES"></a>BOOMERANG STORIES</h2>
<p>During the Civil War a German cavalryman,
Hans von Gelder by name, on coming
into camp saw at a distance a squad of men
who were apparently greatly interested or excited
about something.</p>
<p>“Vat’s der matter oud dere?” asked Hans.</p>
<p>“Shelling,” was the laconic answer.</p>
<p>“Shellin’? Who was giffin’ us fits now?
Whose gommand is makin’ dot shellin’?<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>”</p>
<p>“It’s General R——’s command shelling
corn for the horses.” When Hans finally
grasped the idea, he laughed long and loud and
determined to make some one else the victim
of the jest. Upon returning to his tent he wakened
his sleeping comrade and exclaimed:</p>
<p>“Say, I haf got von goot shoke.”</p>
<p>“You couldn’t get off a joke, Hans, to save
your soul.”</p>
<p>“Vell, now, you ask me vat dem fellers are
doin’ ofer dere, undt I vill tell you dot shoke.”</p>
<p>“Well, what air they doin’ over there?”</p>
<p>“Dey vas shellin’ corn for dere hosses. Haw!
haw! haw!”</p>
<p>“But that hain’t no joke.”</p>
<p>“Dond id?” asked Hans in surprise. “Vell,
if id dond now, it used to pe.”</p>
<hr />
<p>Sam Ward was once seated opposite a well-known
senator at a dinner in Washington.
The senator was very bald, and the light shining
brilliantly on the breadth of his scalp attracted
Ward’s attention.</p>
<p>“Can you tell me,” said he to his neighbor,
“why that senator’s head is like Alaska?<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>”</p>
<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” was the answer.</p>
<p>“Because it is a great white bear place.”</p>
<p>The man was immensely tickled and he at
once hailed the senator across the table:</p>
<p>“Say, senator, Ward’s just got off a good
thing about you.”</p>
<p>“What is it? Let’s have it.”</p>
<p>“Do you know why your bald head is like
Alaska?”</p>
<p>“No. Give it up.”</p>
<p>“Because it is a great place for white bears.”</p>
<hr />
<p>The following, gentle reader, is given place
here purely for the benefit of the next generation:</p>
<p>In a certain court in the good State of Maine,
once upon a time, the proceedings were delayed
by the failure of a witness by the name
of Sarah Mony to arrive. After waiting a long
time for Sarah, the court concluded to wait no
longer, and his Honor, wishing to crack his
little joke, remarked:</p>
<p>“The Court will adjourn without Sarah—Mony.”</p>
<p>Everybody laughed except one man who sat<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>
in solemn meditation for five full minutes, and
then burst out into a hearty guffaw, “I see it!
I see it!”</p>
<p>He laughed all the way home, and when he
arrived there he tried to tell the joke to his
wife, saying that he had been down in the
court-house, and they were trying a case, and
there was a witness wanted who didn’t turn
up, and her name was Mary Mony, and so the
judge said, “We’ll adjourn without Mary
Mony—“ Ha, ha, ha!</p>
<p>And then his wife said she didn’t see anything
funny in that, and he said, “I know it, I
know it. I didn’t at first either. But you will
in about five minutes.”</p>
<hr />
<p>“Say, Jenks, old boy,” said one man to another
on the street, “here’s a good one: What’s
the difference between me and a donkey?”</p>
<p>“Well—what is the difference?”</p>
<p>“Measuring by my eye, I should say it was
about three feet.”</p>
<p>Jenks, thinking that too good to be lost, carried
it home to his wife. “Say, Maria,” said
he, “what’s the difference between me and a<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>
donkey?” And the cruel woman with a merry
laugh answered, “Not a particle of difference!”</p>
<h2><a name="PROMISING_BUSINESS_BOY" id="PROMISING_BUSINESS_BOY"></a>A PROMISING BUSINESS BOY</h2>
<p>That was certainly a very enterprising Chicago
lad who was found selling tickets to the
children in his neighborhood, at a nickel apiece,
the tickets entitling the holder to view the
eclipse from his mother’s back yard.</p>
<h2><a name="HE_DIDNT_GET_IT_IN_THE_NECK" id="HE_DIDNT_GET_IT_IN_THE_NECK"></a>HE DIDN’T GET IT IN THE NECK</h2>
<p>Among the visitors at a Dog Show at Atlantic
City, N. J., was a very tall man who complained
to an exhibitor that his dog, a very
diminutive specimen, had bitten him on the
ankle. The exhibitor looked the man over, and
then said with a charming down-East drawl:</p>
<p>“Well, stranger, I reckon you are about six
feet tall. This here dog o’ mine ain’t more’n
six inches high. He bit you on the ankle, did
he? Well, I’m sorry, but you couldn’t naturally
expect so small a dog to bite you on the
neck.<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>”</p>
<h2><a name="HARD_WITNESS" id="HARD_WITNESS"></a>A HARD WITNESS</h2>
<p>“Do you know the prisoner well?” asked the
attorney.</p>
<p>“Never knew him sick,” replied the witness.</p>
<p>“Come—no levity,” said the lawyer sternly.
“Now, sir, did you ever see the prisoner at the
bar?”</p>
<p>“Took many a drink with him at the bar.”</p>
<p>“Answer my question,” yelled the lawyer.
“How long have you known the prisoner?”</p>
<p>“From two feet up to five feet ten inches.”</p>
<p>“Will the Court please make the——“</p>
<p>“I have, Jedge,” said the witness, anticipating
the lawyer. “I have answered his question.
I knowed the prisoner when he was a
boy two feet long and a man five feet ten.”</p>
<p>“Your Honor——“</p>
<p>“It’s a fact, Jedge, and I’m under oath,” persisted
the witness. The lawyer arose, placed
both hands on the table in front of him, spread
his legs apart, leaned his body over the table
and said:</p>
<p>“Will you tell the Court what you know
about this case?<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>”</p>
<p>“That ain’t his name,” answered the witness.</p>
<p>“What ain’t his name?”</p>
<p>“Why, Case.”</p>
<p>“Who said it was?”</p>
<p>“You did, just now. You wanted to know
what I knew about this Case. His name is
Smith.”</p>
<p>“Your Honor,” howled the lawyer, pulling
his beard, “will you make the witness answer
my questions?”</p>
<p>“Witness,” said the judge, “you must answer
the questions put to you.”</p>
<p>“Land o’ Goshen! Hain’t I been doin’ it,
Jedge? Let the blame cuss fire away, I’m
ready.”</p>
<p>“Then,” said the lawyer, “don’t beat about
the bush any more. You and the prisoner have
been friends?”</p>
<p>“Never.”</p>
<p>“What! wasn’t you summoned here as a
friend?”</p>
<p>“No, sir. I was summoned here as a Presbyterian.
Nary one of us ever was friends. He’s
a old-line Baptist without a drop o’ Quaker
blood in him.<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>”</p>
<p>“Stand down,” yelled the lawyer in disgust.</p>
<p>“Hey?”</p>
<p>“Stand down!”</p>
<p>“Can’t do it. I kin set down, ef ye want me
to, or I kin stand up, but I can’t stand down.”</p>
<p>“Sheriff—remove this man from the box.”</p>
<p>Witness retires muttering: “Well, if he ain’t
the thick-headedest cuss I ever laid eyes on.”</p>
<h2><a name="IMPOSSIBLE_BUT_FUNNY" id="IMPOSSIBLE_BUT_FUNNY"></a>IMPOSSIBLE—BUT FUNNY</h2>
<p>The Board of Councilmen in a Mississippi
town voted the following resolutions at one of
their meetings:</p>
<p>“First—Resolved by this council, that we
build a new jail.</p>
<p>“Second—Resolved that the new jail be built
out of the materials of the old jail.</p>
<p>“Third—Resolved that the old jail be used
till the new jail is finished.”</p>
<p>This is something like the account an Irish
sailor once gave of the execution of a negro on
the west coast of Africa. He told how the
negro’s hands were tied behind his back, and
how the executioner cut the man’s head off at<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>
one clip, and how the headless man stooped
down, seized his bloody head and set it up on
his neck where it was before! When some bystander
remarked that such a thing was impossible,
for “How could the man pick up his
head from the ground when his hands were
tied behind his back?” “Begorry,” was the answer,
“he done it wid his teeth!”</p>
<h2><a name="RURAL_JUSTICE" id="RURAL_JUSTICE"></a>RURAL JUSTICE</h2>
<p>It occurred years ago in the mountain regions
in Eastern Tennessee. Some of the natives
had been gambling in a tobacco barn, and
one of the neighbors, in the interest of good
morals, had them up “afore the justice” for it.
The squire had a lank specimen of humanity
before him and was examining him.</p>
<p>“Now, Zeke, you tell us what you know
about this here gamblin’.”</p>
<p>“Wot gamblin’?”</p>
<p>“Why, this here gamblin’ at Jamison’s barn.”</p>
<p>“At Jamison’s barn?”</p>
<p>“Yes, at Jamison’s barn. You was there.
Now, what do you know about this gamblin’?<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>”</p>
<p>“Gamblin’ at Jamison’s barn? Who said
there was any gamblin’?”</p>
<p>“Was you at Jamison’s?”</p>
<p>“Was I?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Was you there?”</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>“At Jamison’s barn.”</p>
<p>“Ye—s. I wuz thar off an’ on ever sence it
wuz built.”</p>
<p>“Was you there last week?”</p>
<p>“Wot—in the barn?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Was they a-gamblin’
there?”</p>
<p>“Wuz who a-gamblin’?”</p>
<p>“That’s what I want to know. Was anybody
a-gamblin’?”</p>
<p>“A-gamblin’—where?”</p>
<p>“At Jamison’s barn. Did you see them gamblin’?”</p>
<p>“Did I see them gamblin’, d’ye say?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Was you in close proximity to them
a-gamblin’?”</p>
<p>“Zimmity—Zimmity. See here, square,
what’s this here ye’re a-givin’ me. Don’t you
go to projeckin around me that a way. I’m a<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>
mountain man, I am, an’ I ain’t to be fooled
with nohow.”</p>
<p>“I asked, Zeke, did you see anybody a-gamblin’
or not a-gamblin’?”</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>“At Jamison’s barn last week.”</p>
<p>“Did I see anybody a-gamblin’ last
week——“</p>
<p>“Yes, now; that’s it.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I see some a-gamblin’ last week.”</p>
<p>“Ah! now we’re comin’ to it. Who was it
you saw a-gamblin’ last week?”</p>
<p>“Why, don’t you know, you an’ me an’ Bill
was playin’ keerds at the mill——“</p>
<p>“Oh—pshaw! I don’t mean that. Was anybody
gamblin’ at Jamison’s?”</p>
<p>“Wot—at Jamison’s?”</p>
<p>This went on for a full hour, and it all came
to one thing. Nobody knew anything about
it, and after some talk a weazen-faced, dried-up
old man, who had been whittling a piece of
bark, said:</p>
<p>“Square, there ain’t been nothin’ a-proved,
and this here case must be stopped. I’ll pay
the costs.<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>”</p>
<p>“Well,” said the magistrate, “there ain’t
been nothin’ proved up, an’ if you’ll pay the
costs of one sixty, I’ll call this here case a
Nolly Prossy.”</p>
<p>And then the old man said, “All right,
square. Here’s yer money fer the costs. I
don’t mind about payin’ ’em seein’ as how I
won the whole pot anyways.”</p>
<hr />
<p>Let a vote be taken for the wisest man, and
every fool will vote for himself.</p>
<h2><a name="PURE_SCOTCH" id="PURE_SCOTCH"></a>PURE SCOTCH</h2>
<p>Andrew Carnegie, in the smoke-room of the
Baltic, talked about Scotch whisky.</p>
<p>“It is a pure but a powerful spirit,” he said,
smiling. “In Peebles the other day they told
me a good story about it.</p>
<p>“It seems that a Peebles lawyer and his
clerk had been to a wedding of the real, old-fashioned
sort. On the way home the lawyer
said, as they were crossing the famous Peebles
iron bridge:</p>
<p>“‘Noo, Saunders, mon, I’ll juist gang on<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>
ahead a meenit, an’ ye’ll tell me if I’m walkin’
straucht.’</p>
<p>“So the lawyer walked ahead, and then called
back:</p>
<p>“‘Straucht, Saunders?’</p>
<p>“‘Straucht’s a die,’ Saunders answered; ‘but—hic—wha’s
that wi’ ye?’”</p>
<h2><a name="WHY_HE_WAS_A_DEMOCRAT" id="WHY_HE_WAS_A_DEMOCRAT"></a>WHY HE WAS A DEMOCRAT</h2>
<p>“The old teacher in one of the smaller
schools near my native town of Peekskill,” said
Senator Depew, “had drilled a number of his
brightest scholars in the history of contemporary
politics, and to test their faith and their
knowledge he called upon three of them one
day and demanded a declaration of personal
political principles.</p>
<p>“You are a Republican, Tom, are you not?”
inquired he of the first. “Yes, sir,” was the
answer. “And, Bill, you are a Prohibitionist,
I believe?” “Yes, sir,” said Bill. “And, Jim,
you are a Democrat?” “Yes, sir,” said Jim.</p>
<p>“Well, now,” continued the teacher, “the one
of you that gives the best reason why he be<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>longs
to his party can have this live woodchuck
which I caught on my way to school this
morning.”</p>
<p>“I am a Republican,” said the first boy, “because
the Republican party saved the country
in the war and abolished slavery.”</p>
<p>“And I am a Prohibitionist,” rattled off the
second youth, “because rum is our country’s
greatest enemy, and the cause of our over-crowded
prisons and poorhouses.”</p>
<p>“Very excellent reasons, boys, very excellent
reasons,” observed the teacher encouragingly.
“And, now, Jim, why are you a Democrat?”</p>
<p>“Well, sir,” was the slow reply, “I am a
Democrat because I want that woodchuck!”</p>
<h2><a name="FINALLY_THE_WORM_TURNED" id="FINALLY_THE_WORM_TURNED"></a>FINALLY THE WORM TURNED</h2>
<p>A muscular Irishman strolled into the Civil
Service examination-room where candidates
for the police force are put to a physical test.</p>
<p>“Strip,” ordered the police surgeon.</p>
<p>“What’s that?” demanded the uninitiated.</p>
<p>“Get your clothes off, and be quick about it,”
said the doctor.<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a></p>
<p>The Irishman disrobed, and permitted the
doctor to measure his chest and legs and to
pound his back.</p>
<p>“Hop over this bar,” ordered the doctor.</p>
<p>The man did his best, landing on his back.</p>
<p>“Now double up your knees and touch the
floor with your hands.”</p>
<p>He sprawled, face downward, on the floor.
He was indignant but silent.</p>
<p>“Jump under this cold shower,” ordered the
doctor.</p>
<p>“Sure, that’s funny!” muttered the applicant.</p>
<p>“Now run around the room ten times to test
your heart and wind,” directed the doctor.</p>
<p>The candidate rebelled. “I’ll not. I’ll sthay
single.”</p>
<p>“Single?” asked the doctor, surprised.</p>
<p>“Sure,” said the Irishman, “what’s all this
fussing got to do with a marriage license!”</p>
<p>He had strayed into the wrong bureau.</p>
<hr />
<p>A number of mischievous boys on their way
to drive the cows home from pasture one evening,
passing by the low and lonely cabin occupied
by a poor old woman, hearing some one<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>
talking within, peeped through the window
and saw the poor old body on her knees before
the wide old-fashioned chimney. She was pitifully
beseeching God to send her bread. The
boys thinking it would be a good joke, ran
back home and got some loaves of bread. The
old lady was praying still for bread when they
returned, all out of breath. They climbed up
on the roof quietly and threw the loaves down
the chimney, scrambled down to the door and
listened to the poor old soul pouring her heart
out in thanksgiving to God for sending her
bread from heaven. Then they opened the
door, and burst in on her with:</p>
<p>“Why, granny! Did you think God sent you
that bread? We tumbled it down the chimbley!”</p>
<p>And she said, “Well, boys, God did send it
even if the devil did bring it.”</p>
<h2><a name="NO_WATER_IN_HIS" id="NO_WATER_IN_HIS"></a>NO WATER IN HIS</h2>
<p>During a great temperance agitation out in
Kansas a man was lecturing in a public school
building on chemistry. An interested auditor,<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>
a farmer, couldn’t at all get the hang of the
lecturer’s remarks, and asked his neighbor in
the next seat: “Say, what does the lecturer
mean by oxy-gin and hydro-gin, and what is
the difference?” “Well,” was the answer,
“they come to ’bout the same thing. There
ain’t enough difference betwixt them to
amount to much. You see, by oxy-gin the lecturer
means pure gin, and by hydro-gin he
means gin and water.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir,” replied Hayseed, “I reckon
I’ll take oxy-gin. It goes further.”</p>
<h2><a name="RAISING_CAIN" id="RAISING_CAIN"></a>RAISING CAIN</h2>
<p>Robert Burdette, in one of his lectures, thus
describes scientific education in primeval
times: “When a placid but exceedingly unanimous-looking
animal went rolling by, producing
the general effect of an eclipse, Cain
would shout:</p>
<p>“Oh, lookee, lookee, pa! What’s that?”</p>
<p>“Then the patient Adam, trying to saw
enough kitchen wood to last over Sunday, with
a piece of flint for a saw, would have to pause
and gather up enough words to say:<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a></p>
<p>“That, my son? That is only a mastodon giganteus;
he has a bad look but a Christian
temper.”</p>
<p>And then presently:</p>
<p>“Oh, pa! pa! What’s that over yon?”</p>
<p>“Oh, bother,” Adam would reply; “it’s only
a paleotherium, mammalia pachydermata.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes; theliocomeafterus. Oh, lookee,
lookee at this ’un!”</p>
<p>“Where, Cainny? Oh, that in the mud?
That’s only an acephala lamelli branchiata. It
won’t bite you, but you mustn’t eat it. It’s
poison as politics.”</p>
<p>“Whee! See there! See, see, see! What’s
him?”</p>
<p>“Oh, that? Looks like a pleiosaurus; keep
out of his way; he has a jaw like your mother.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes; a plenosserus. And what’s that
fellow, poppy?”</p>
<p>“That’s a silurus malapterous. Don’t you
go near him, for he has the disposition of a
Georgia mule.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes; a slapterus. And what’s this little
one?”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s nothing but an aristolochioid.<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>
Where did you get it? There, now, quit
throwing stones at the acanthopterygian; do
you want to be kicked? And you keep away
from the nothodenatrichomanoides. My stars,
Eve! where did he get that anonaceo-hydro-charideo-nymphaeoid?
Do you never look after
him at all? Here, you Cain, get right away
from down there, and chase that megalosaurius
out of the melon-patch, or I’ll set the mono-pleuro
brachian on you!”</p>
<h2><a name="MEAN_COMPANY" id="MEAN_COMPANY"></a>A MEAN COMPANY</h2>
<p>Mark Twain is credited with telling a good
story about the meanest corporation on earth.
A man was working for this company, drilling
holes for blasting rock. He got to work on a
place where there was a charge that had not
gone off. So, as he sat there quietly drilling
away, there was an explosion. He went up and
up till he didn’t look any bigger than a hat;
and then up and up till he didn’t look any bigger
than a walnut; and then up and up till he
went out of sight. Then he began to come
down and down till he looked as big as a walnut;<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>
and then down and down till he looked as
big as a hat; and then down and down till he
sat right in the place he had left, and went on
drilling away as if nothing had happened. He
was absent just sixteen minutes and forty-two
seconds—and the company was so mean that
they docked him for loss of time!</p>
<hr />
<p>“Say, boy, say!” exclaimed a hot looking
man with a big valise, “what’s the quickest
way to the cars?” “Run!” yelled the boy as he
dodged into an alley. The man was very sorry
the boy had so suddenly disappeared, for he
was so pleased with the kind information that
if he could only have come near enough to the
boy, he would certainly have given him something
to remember him by.</p>
<hr />
<p>When the preacher went into politics and
suffered in his professional character in consequence,
he thought well to make an humble
confession to his conference to the effect that
“the muddy pool of politics was the rock on
which I split.”</p>
<p>He mixed his figures about as badly as a<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>
famous Irishman, Sir Boyle Roche, who, suspecting
the opposition of some sort of underhand
intentions, revealed his acuteness and his
purpose to head off the enemy in the following
terms: “I smell a rat; I feel it in the air; and
I will nip it in the bud!”</p>
<h2><a name="SURE_THING" id="SURE_THING"></a>A SURE THING</h2>
<p>The colonel and a friend were sitting on the
back porch of the house smoking and talking.
They fell to discussing the intoxicating properties
of beer. The colonel maintained that a
man couldn’t possibly drink enough beer to
make him drunk, but his friend was of a contrary
mind. The colonel went into his kitchen
and brought out a two-gallon tin bucket, and
said, “See this bucket? Well, I have a German
sawing wood down in my barn at the end of
the lot. I’ll bet you ten dollars that he can
drink all the beer that bucket will hold at one
sitting, and not be the worse for it.” The bet
was taken, and the colonel called the man from
his work, and said, “Diedrich, you see that
bucket? If I were to fill that bucket with beer,<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>
do you think you could drink it all at one sitting?”</p>
<p>The German smiled broadly, and said he
guessed he could—he could try. “But I want
you to be certain,” said the colonel. “Vell,”
said Diedrich, “I guess I could, but maybe I
couldn’t.” With this he was dismissed and
the subject was dropped.</p>
<p>At the end of a half hour, Diedrich appeared
on the scene and said that if that bucket was
filled with beer he could drink it all without
stopping. He was certain he could. Accordingly
he was sent with the bucket to a neighboring
brewery and promptly returned with
the vessel full to the brim. He placed it on a
table, drew up a chair, tilted the bucket and
set to work. In a very short time he had finished,
arose, thanked the colonel and was making
for the wood-pile.</p>
<p>“Hold on,” called the colonel, “I want to ask
you a question. When I called you up the first
time you were uncertain whether you could
drink that bucket of beer or not, and then after
a while you came back and said you were certain
you could. How do you explain that?<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>”</p>
<p>Diedrich drew the back of his hand across his
mouth, and said, “Vy, colonel, dot is easy to
explain. Der first time ven you ask me, I did
not know for sure. So ven I vent away, I vent
over to der brewery undt got me a bucket
about so big as yours undt tried if I could—undt
I found I could, I could; undt so I coom
back here sure, sure dat I could drink your
bucket full mit beer. See?”</p>
<h2><a name="LOGIC_OF_GRAMMAR" id="LOGIC_OF_GRAMMAR"></a>THE LOGIC OF GRAMMAR</h2>
<p>While instructing his pupils in grammar, a
country school-teacher gave out this sentence
to be parsed: “Mary milks the cow.” Each
word had been parsed except the last, which
fell to Bob, a sixteen-year-old boy, near the
foot of the class, who began thus:</p>
<p>“Cow is a noun, feminine gender, singular
number, third person, and stands for Mary.”</p>
<p>“Stands for Mary!” said the astonished
teacher. “And, pray, Robert, how do you make
that out?”</p>
<p>“Because,” answered the hopeful pupil, “if
the cow didn’t stand for Mary, how could
Mary milk the cow?<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>”</p>
<h2><a name="DELIRIOUS" id="DELIRIOUS"></a>DELIRIOUS</h2>
<p>“Say—how much do you think I had to pay
the milliner for my wife’s last spring bonnet?
Thirty-six dollars and seventeen cents.”</p>
<p>“Rather steep, isn’t it? What are you going
to do about it?”</p>
<p>“Do about it? Nothing. Because, don’t you
see, old man, I daren’t say beans to it. My
wife has the delirium trimmins.”</p>
<p>Mr. W. J. Lampton in the New York Times
thus discourses on the tender topic:</p>
<h2><a name="MILLINERYMANIA" id="MILLINERYMANIA"></a>Millinerymania</h2>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Did you ever see such sights?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such frizzly, frazzly frights<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As now the lovely fair<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Insist that they must wear?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, say,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Did you ever, in your feeble way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Attempt to calculate<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What it must be to keep one on straight?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Heavens to Betsy, no slob<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Could get away with such a job!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s why no man<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Could wear the hat a woman can<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And does, and thinks<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She’s not at all gezinx.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ain’t they the dowdydow?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hats, not the women.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Autumn Lid,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deliriously displayed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Has got the Merry Wid<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Screaming screams for aid.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Police! Police!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Call out the cops<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To save the ladies<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From their tops.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh, woman, in your hours of ease,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Uncertain, coy and hard to please,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who ever gave you lids like these?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who is it has designed<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such cover for your mind?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This framework in a rag?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This millinery jag?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who done it? Who<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Should get the fearful due?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">However, it’s no matter<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who is the women’s hatter,<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">They wear the goods!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And say,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the level,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Don’t they<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Look like the dickens?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gee whiz,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why look pazziz,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When a woman’s as pretty as a woman is?<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<h2><a name="ECCENTRIC_GREAT_MAN" id="ECCENTRIC_GREAT_MAN"></a>AN ECCENTRIC GREAT MAN</h2>
<p>The handwriting of Horace Greely, the great
editor, was remarkable for its illegibility.
Very few people could read what he wrote,
and sometimes it puzzled Mr. Greely himself.
He wrote a hurried note one day, addressed it
to the editor of one of the other great New
York papers, and sent it by a messenger boy.
The boy duly delivered it, but the man
couldn’t make it out, and sent it back. When
the boy handed his own note to Mr. Greely,
he, supposing it to be a reply to his own communication,
and being unable to read it, looked
it over carefully and said: “Why, what does
the old fool mean?” “Yes,” said the boy,
“that’s just what the other man said!<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>”</p>
<p>In addition to writing a poor hand Mr.
Greely was very absent-minded. Leaving his
office in a great hurry one day to go an errand
downtown, he wrote on a card, “Back in 20
minutes,” pinned it on the outside of his office
door and rushed out. Having changed his mind,
he came back in five minutes and, seeing the
notice on the door, took a seat nearby, and
actually waited twenty minutes for himself to
come back!</p>
<h2><a name="LEFT-HANDED_COMPLIMENTS" id="LEFT-HANDED_COMPLIMENTS"></a>LEFT-HANDED COMPLIMENTS</h2>
<p>A good-looking young minister was driving
to the county town of B—— in a buggy. On
the way he overtook a very comely young
woman going the same direction afoot. He
courteously stopped and suggested that he give
her a lift, an offer which she gladly accepted,
riding beside him several miles to her destination
at a country farm-house. On descending
from the vehicle she thanked him for his kindness,
and he very politely said, “Don’t mention
it—don’t mention it.” And she said, “No, I
won’t. I won’t tell. I’m as much ashamed of
it as you are!<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>”</p>
<p>When he was within two miles of the town
he overtook a young lawyer who was returning
afoot from a visit to a country client, and took
him aboard, and the two had some sharp passages
as they rode along. Now, it chanced
that a man was to be hanged for murder the
next day in the town, and the carpenters were
busy erecting the gallows in the yard of the
jail. When the two came to the hill which
overlooks the town of B——, they could
plainly see the top of the gallows above the
wall of the jail. Pointing then to the jail the
minister said:</p>
<p>“If the gallows had its due, where would you
be?”</p>
<p>“I’d be riding into town alone, I reckon,”
was the answer.</p>
<h2><a name="REST_AND_A_CHANGE" id="REST_AND_A_CHANGE"></a>A REST AND A CHANGE</h2>
<p>“My friend Dickinson,” said the colonel, “is
a very witty fellow. He made a very witty reply
lately. He had been sent down to a certain
celebrated seaside resort by his physician
for a rest and a change, and it was understood<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>
that he was to spend at least a month there,
but at the end of a week he turned up again in
his home town, and when people asked him
why he had come back so soon, his reply was:</p>
<p>“Well, you see, the doctor sent me down
there for a rest and a change, and I went down
and tried it; but by the end of a week I found
that the waiters at the hotel were getting all
the change, and the man that kept the hotel
got all the rest, and so I just had to come home
to recopperate, you know.”</p>
<h2><a name="SAME_OLD_KIND" id="SAME_OLD_KIND"></a>THE SAME OLD KIND</h2>
<p>“When I was down there in Atlantic City,”
said Dickinson with that delightful drawl of
his, “I went one day into a shoe store on ‘The
Avenue,’ as they call the business street of the
town, and looked around. The clerk came up
smiling and asked could he wait on me, and I
said he could if he had any ‘crochetted overshoes.’
That made him scratch his head.
‘Must be a new kind,’ said he. ‘Oh, no,’ said
I. ‘They’ve been in use some years.’ ‘But,’
said he, ‘I can’t see what use crochet work<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>
would be on overshoes. Why, the rain and
mud would spoil it all in a short time.’ ‘Oh,
no,’ said I. ‘You don’t catch on. I am not
looking for overshoes with crochet work on
them, but for crochetted overshoes—overshoes
that are crow-shade; black ones, you understand?’”</p>
<h2><a name="TOUGH_GOOSE-YARN" id="TOUGH_GOOSE-YARN"></a>A TOUGH GOOSE-YARN</h2>
<p>It is hard to tell whether the biggest liars
live by the sea or on the mountain, but certainly
the sailor folk will have a time of it to
match one Bob Sempers, one of the most elastic
of all the prevaricators on the Pocono
Mountain. Here is a story Bob told a party of
gentlemen hunters not long ago:</p>
<p>“You know where I live. About three mile
from the Big Lake. Well—one evenin’ last
spring when I was goin’ home, I see a flock o’
geese a-settlin’ on the lake. I got up bright
an’ early next mornin’, took down my shootin’
iron an’ started for the lake to try my luck.
When I got there I found they were out o’ gun
shot, an’ I knowed ’twan’t no use to shoot at
that distance. I’d jist skeer ’em away if I did.<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>
So, I stood there thinkin’ what best to do. I
see a fox come down to the water edge and
stand there a minnit or so a-snuffin’ the air. I’d
a mind to shoot him, but I thought I’d wait an’
see what he’d do. Well, sir, he just plumped
into the water an’ made for them geese. They
were all huddled together about a half a mile
from the shore. After swimmin’ up to within a
few yards of ’em, he suddenly disappeared,
and in a few minnits a goose was drawn under
water. Then the fox swum ashore an’ laid the
dead goose on the bank, and went back fer another
snap, an’ so he kep on till he got the
whole flock, an’ I waited till he brought in the
last one, an’ then I shot him.</p>
<p>“Well, sir, I found when I come to count
’em, that I had just fifty nice fat geese, which
I lugged home together with my gun an’ the
dead fox. An’ when I got home I found my
old woman hadn’t the breakfast quite ready
yet.”</p>
<p>“‘But, Bob,’ said some one, ‘the fox had to
swim a mile for each goose—half a mile each
way—consequently he had to swim just fifty
miles. And the geese averaged, say, six<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>
pounds; so that you had three hundred pounds
of goose-flesh to carry three miles, to say nothing
of the dead fox and your gun—impossible!’</p>
<p>“‘Impossible or not,’ maintained Bob,
‘every word is truth, and I can prove it, too,
by more than a dozen of my neighbors, to each
of whom I sold enough feathers to fill a
feather-bed.’”</p>
<h2><a name="FIRST_CLASS" id="FIRST_CLASS"></a>FIRST CLASS</h2>
<p>A company of tourists were traveling in
Switzerland, and they went to buy tickets for
the coach-ride up the mountain. The American
man of course bought a first-class ticket,
but he noticed that all the rest got second and
third class, and they all got into the wagon
with him. He said to the driver, “What advantage
is there in paying for a first class
ticket when holders of second and third class
tickets have precisely the same accommodations?”
The driver said, “You just wait a
while and you will see.” So by and by they
came to a steep hill, and the driver called out,
“First class passengers will keep their seats;<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>
second class passengers will get out and walk;
third class passengers will get out and push.”</p>
<hr />
<p>They have a new brand of whiskey down in
Kentucky known as “The Horn of Plenty,” because
it will corn-you-copiously.</p>
<hr />
<p>“In the Blue Grass section of Kentucky was
I born, where all the corn is full of kernels—and
all the colonels full of corn.”</p>
<h2><a name="AWFUL_LOT_OF_PRACTICE" id="AWFUL_LOT_OF_PRACTICE"></a>AN AWFUL LOT OF PRACTICE</h2>
<p>Chauncey Depew spoke one evening during
a political campaign at a town in the interior
of New York State, which it is not necessary
to name. The next morning the chairman of
the local committee took him in his carriage
for a ride about the place. They had reached
the suburbs and were admiring a bit of scenery
when a man wearing a blue shirt and carrying
a long whip on his shoulder approached from
where he had been piloting an ox-team along
the middle of the street and said:<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a></p>
<p>“You’re the man that made the rattlin’
speech up at the hall last night, I guess?”</p>
<p>Mr. Depew modestly admitted that he had
indulged in some talk at the time and place
specified.</p>
<p>“Didn’t you have what you said writ out?”
went on the man.</p>
<p>“No,” replied the orator.</p>
<p>“You don’t mean to say you made that all up
as you went along?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Jess hopped right up there, took a drink o’
water out of the pitcher, hit the table a whack
and waded in without no thinkin’ nor nothing?”</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose you might put it that
way.”</p>
<p>“Well, that beats me. You’ll excuse me for
stoppin’ you, but what I wanted to say was that
your speech convinced me, though I knowed
all the time it was the peskiest lie that was
ever told. I made up my mind to vote your
ticket, but I’d ’a’ been willin’ to bet a peck o’
red apples that no man could stand up and tell
such blamed convincin’ lies without havin<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>’ ’em
writ out. You must ’a’ had an awful lot o’
practice.”</p>
<h2><a name="WHOD_A_BIN_ER" id="WHOD_A_BIN_ER"></a>“WHO’D ’A’ BIN ’ER?”</h2>
<p>A lady living in Ohio is the mother of six
boys. One day a friend called on her, and during
the conversation said: “What a pity that
one of your boys had not been a girl.” One of
the boys, about eight years old, overheard the
remark, and promptly interposed, “I’d like to
know who’d ’a’ bin ’er. Ed wouldn’t ’a’ bin ’er,
Joe wouldn’t ’a’ bin ’er, Pete wouldn’t ‘a’ bin
’er, I wouldn’t ’a’ bin ’er, blame ef I would, an’
I’d like to know who’d ’a’ bin ’er?”</p>
<h2><a name="IN_THE_WAY_THEY_SHOULD_GO" id="IN_THE_WAY_THEY_SHOULD_GO"></a>“IN THE WAY THEY SHOULD GO”</h2>
<p>Mrs. Hobbs was the parent of an infant terror
and several half-grown terrors besides. One
day at table she said, “Well, Mr. Hobbs, since
you are so dissatisfied with the way I am
bringing up our darling Willie, maybe you will
condescend to inform me how you would
bring up boys?”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” said Hobbs. “Every boy ought<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>
to be kept in a hogshead, and fed through the
bung-hole until he is twelve years of age.”</p>
<p>“And when he reaches the age of twelve?”</p>
<p>“Stop up the bung-hole.”</p>
<h2><a name="NO_THOROUGHFARE" id="NO_THOROUGHFARE"></a>“NO THOROUGHFARE”</h2>
<p>A toll-gate was recently established on a
road leading to Little Rock, Ark.; and an old
negro who came along with an ox-team was
much astonished. “Wall, ef dis doan cap de
climax,” said he. “Ain satisfied wid chargin’
folks fur ridin’ on de train and steamboat, but
wanster to charge him fur ridin’ in his own
waggin!” “That’s the law of the corporation,
old man.” “Wat’s de corporation got to do wid
my waggin?” “Got nothing to do with your
wagon, but they have a right to make you pay
for riding over their road.” “Ain dis er a free
country?” “Yes. But this is not a free road.”
“But de road’s in the country. What does yer
law say yer may charge?” “One horse, five
cents; a horse and buggy, ten cents; two
horses and a wagon, twenty cents.” “Well,
dese here ain’t horses, ’case da’s steers. De<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>
law doan say nuthin’ about dem. Whoa, dar!
Come ’ere!” And to the astonishment of the
gate-keeper, the old fellow drove away.</p>
<h2><a name="OTHER_EYE" id="OTHER_EYE"></a>THE OTHER EYE</h2>
<p>Standing outside his club one afternoon Mr.
Gilbert was approached by a stranger who
asked, “I beg pardon, sir, but do you happen
to know a gentleman, a member of this club,
a man with one eye called ‘Matthews’?” “No,
I don’t think I do,” replied Mr. Gilbert. Then
after a pause he quickly added, “What’s the
name of his other eye?”</p>
<h2><a name="KEEPING_A_SECRET" id="KEEPING_A_SECRET"></a>KEEPING A SECRET</h2>
<p>The Confederate general, Stonewall Jackson,
had been on one occasion most hospitably
entertained in the house and by the family of
an old Virginia friend. It was known at the
time that some very important movement of
the Confederate army was afoot, and just as
the great general was about to take his departure
from the house in which he had been so
royally received, the host, eager with curiosity<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>
and presuming on old friendship, took the general
aside, and begged him for some information
as to the coming demonstrations. Passing
his arm affectionately around his old friend
General Jackson said in a whisper, “My dear
friend, can you keep a secret?” “Yes—Yes!”
was the eager reply. “And so can I,” was the
response, as the general mounted his horse.</p>
<h2><a name="SHARP_REPROOF" id="SHARP_REPROOF"></a>A SHARP REPROOF</h2>
<p>A preacher was much annoyed by the whispering
and laughing of some young folks in
the rear of the church. Stopping in the midst
of his discourse and looking intently at them
until all had become still, he said:</p>
<p>“I hesitate to reprove those who are inattentive
and noisy. I will tell you why. Some
years since, as I was preaching, a young man
sat before me who was constantly laughing
and making queer faces. It annoyed me very
much, and I gave him a very severe rebuke.
After the close of the services a gentleman
said to one, ‘Sir, you made a great mistake;
that young man is an idiot.’ Since that time<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>
I always hesitate to reprove those who misbehave
in church, lest I should again find myself
in the error of rebuking an idiot.” There
was order during the rest of the service.</p>
<h2><a name="IT_WOULDNT_WORK" id="IT_WOULDNT_WORK"></a>IT WOULDN’T WORK</h2>
<p>Lazily sauntering along on the gay boardwalk,
enjoying the stiff salt breeze and paying
due attention to the merry throng always
passing up and down, my attention was called
to a certain rolling chair whose occupant I
thought I knew. Wasn’t that Barney Schmitt?
Barney, you must know, keeps one of the very
best cafés in existence, up in one of the most
flourishing towns in Eastern Pennsylvania. I
knew he had been suffering greatly from rheumatism
for a year past, but had lost track of
him recently and supposed him to be in the
doctor’s hands at some Water Cure up in New
York State—and here he was, fat and puffy,
all covered up with a big steamer rug in a rolling
chair. I stopped the chair and said, “Hello,
Barney, that you?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said he, “diss iss me. I vish to Himmel
it wass somepody else.<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>”</p>
<p>“Well, how are you? Better I hope?”</p>
<p>Barney shook his head with a rueful
countenance. “No, I’m no petter. I’ve tried
everything in all greation from a lemon to
Gristian Ziance, undt it all does no good.”</p>
<p>“Christian Science? So you tried that, did
you? How did it work?”</p>
<p>“Let me tell you,” said the suffering Barney
with a smile that might have been mistaken
for a wince. “You know I went up to der
Wasser-Cure, up dere in New York. I had
plasters undt pads all ofer my pody, undt
walked mit a pair of grutches. De first evening
I got dere, I wass settin’ in der parlor
tryin’ hard to keep from hollerin’ mit der pain,
undt a woman come up to me—one of dese
here Gristian Ziance women, you know, a
mighty purty, sweet-faced woman she wass,
too—undt she says to me, says she:</p>
<p>“‘Vat iss der matter mit you, Mr. Schmitt?’
Undt I toldt her apoudt my rheumatism, undt
den she says:</p>
<p>“‘Mr. Schmitt, dere iss nodings der matter
mit you. You only think dere iss. It iss all
in your mindt. It issn’t in your pody. Your<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>
pody can’t feel noding. It iss your mindt vat
feels. Your rheumatism iss all in your mindt.
All you have got to do iss to get your
mindt changed, you see, undt you vill be all
right.</p>
<p>“‘Now, Mr. Schmitt, I tell you vat to do
undt you vill soon be vell. Ven you go to bed
to-night, you make your mindt nice undt quiet
like, fill your heart full mit good thoughts of
peace undt joy; say a nice little prayer, undt
go to sleep. Den, in de morning, ven you get
avake, you compose your mindt mit peaceful
thoughts, you say a nice little prayer to yourself,
and you yusht say: “Mr. Schmitt! Dere
iss nodings der matter mit you—you are vell
undt shtrong!” Undt you jump out of de bed,
undt dere you are!’”</p>
<p>“All right. I did all vat she said. I vent to
bed. I said a nice leetle prayer, vat my mudder
taught me, in der German language, undt
I vent to sleep.</p>
<p>“In der morning I get awake. I haf very
peaceful undt peautiful thoughts, undt I say to
myself:</p>
<p>“‘Barney Schmitt, you are a tam fool. Dere<a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>
iss nodings der matter mit you. You are all
right.’</p>
<p>“Undt mit dot, I just jump out in der mittle
of der floor, undt lit on my pack mit a mighty
doonder-knock vat shook der vinders. I fell
all in a heap, undt mine Himmel! didn’t I holler!
Der bell poy, der hotel clerk, der doctor
undt two nurses coom on der double quick, pick
me up undt put me in der bed. Undt dere I
vas for two weeks, all right. Dat’s vat I know
about Gristian Ziance. Undt now here I am
in Atlantic City in a rollin’ chair. Pray for me,
colonel, for my prayers doesn’t seem to do me
much goot!”</p>
<h2><a name="ON_THE_POINT_OF_A_NEEDLE" id="ON_THE_POINT_OF_A_NEEDLE"></a>ON THE POINT OF A NEEDLE</h2>
<p>The late Dr. Talmage was once in the company
of some theological students. They were
fresh from the study of church history, and
were laughing over the old question so much
discussed by the schoolmen in the Middle
Ages, “How many angels can stand on, or be
supported by, the point of a needle?”</p>
<p>They put the question to Dr. Talmage,<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>
“How many angels can be supported by the
point of a needle?” and Dr. Talmage promptly
answered, “Five.” When they wanted to know
how he knew, he told them the following
story:</p>
<p>“One very stormy night I was coming home
late, and noticed a light in the window of a
room where I knew a poor woman lived whose
husband was lost at sea. I wondered what kept
her up so late and I thought I would go and see.
I found her hard at work sewing at her lamp,
while her five rosy children were sound asleep
beside her. And that is how I happen to know
that five angels can be supported by the point
of a needle.”</p>
<h2><a name="GETTING_A_WIFE" id="GETTING_A_WIFE"></a>GETTING A WIFE</h2>
<p>The family had returned from church one
Sunday, and as they had company to dinner,
and dinner was a little later than usual, the
six-year-old Robert was very hungry and could
hardly wait any longer. He had been very
much interested in the sermon, which was a
very graphic account of the creation of woman.<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>
He had listened wide-eyed while the minister
told how God had put Adam to sleep and had
taken a rib out of his side and made it into a
wife for the lonely man. But just now he was
more interested in the dinner, especially in its
conclusion, mince pie and cakes.</p>
<p>An hour later he was missed from the company,
and being searched for was found sitting
in a corner of another room, groaning softly,
with his hands pressed against his side and
an air of solemn anxiety on his face.</p>
<p>“Why, Robert, what in the world is the matter?”
asked his mother in alarm.</p>
<p>“Mamma, dear,” said he, “I’m afraid I’m getting
a wife.”</p>
<h2><a name="SANCTUM" id="SANCTUM"></a>THE SANCTUM</h2>
<p>He opened the door cautiously, and poking
his head in, in a suggestive sort of way, as if
there might be more to follow later on provided
the way was clear, inquired, “Is this the
editorial rinktum?” “The—what, my friend?”
“Is this the rinktum, sinktum, or some such
place, where the editors live?” “Yes, sir.<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>
This is the editorial room. Come right in.”
“No, I guess I won’t come in. Just wanted to
see what a rinktum was like, that’s all. Looks
like our garret, only wuss. Good day!”</p>
<hr />
<p>It is related that two Presbyterians, two
Baptists, two Universalists and an active Jew
recently met and discussed theology together
without quarreling in Boston. The reason
they did not quarrel in Boston was because
they were in New York.</p>
<hr />
<p>Going home from a party late one night a
man ran against the same tree seventeen times.
He then concluded that he was lost in an interminable
forest, and began to call out, “A
lost man! A lost man!” But nobody responding
to his pitiful call, he made one more effort
to escape, and had the luck to run into the next
tree, which chanced to be surrounded by iron
rods for its protection. He caught hold of the
rods and felt them. He walked round and
round the tree trying in vain to find some
opening to pass through, and at last gave it<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>
up in despair, saying, “Just my luck. In the
lock-up again.”</p>
<hr />
<p>A negro prayed that his brethren might be
preserved from their “upsettin’ sins.” “Brudder,”
said one of his friends, “you hain’t got de
hang o’ dat ar word. It’s be-settin’, not upsettin’.”
“Brudder,” replied the other, “if dat’s
so, den it’s so. But—I was prayin’ de Lawd
to save us from de sin o’ ’toxication, for dar
dey jest set-em-up fust and den dey gits upset,
an’ if dat ain’t an upsettin’ sin, I dunno what
am.”</p>
<hr />
<p>There are very few men who can handle a
red-hot lamp-chimney and at the same time
say, “There is no place like Home,” without
getting—confused.</p>
<hr />
<p>That was a truly human tombstone that
bore the inscription, “I expected this, but not
just yet.”</p>
<hr />
<p>A youth was heard to remark to a jolly, fat<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>
Teutonian, “Haven’t I seen you before? Your
face certainly looks familiar?” “Iss dot so?”
answered Hans. “An’ ven you get so oldt as
me, your face vill look fermiliar, too.”</p>
<hr />
<p>A young lady complained to her male companion
that she didn’t like arithmetic. She
couldn’t understand it, and didn’t see the use
of it. The young man said he would teach her.
“Now,” said he, “I kiss you three times on one
cheek and four times on the other. How many
does that make?”</p>
<p>“Seven,” whispered the girl, disengaging
herself to breathe more freely.</p>
<p>“Well,” said he, “that is Arithmetic.”</p>
<p>“Dear me,” said she, “I did not think it ever
could be made such a very pleasant study.”</p>
<h2><a name="ARTEMUS_WARD_AT_THE_THEATRE" id="ARTEMUS_WARD_AT_THE_THEATRE"></a>ARTEMUS WARD AT THE THEATRE</h2>
<p>Artemus Ward records that he once went to
the theatre, “Niblo’s Garding,” New York, to
hear Edwin Forrest in Othello. “I sot down
in the Pit,” says he, “took out my spectacles
& commenced peroosin’ the evenin’s bill.<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>
The awjince was all-fired large & the Boxes
was full of the Elitty of New York. Several
opery glasses was leveld at me by Gothum’s
fairest darters, but I didn’t let on as tho I noticed
it, tho mebby I did take out my sixteen-dollar
silver watch & brandish it round more
than was necessary. But, the best of us has
our weaknesses, and if a man has gewelry, let
him show it.</p>
<p>“As I was peroosin’ the bill, a grave young
man who sot near me axed me if I’d ever seen
Forrest dance ‘The Essence of Old Virginny?
He’s immense in that,’ said the young man. ‘He
also does a fair champion jig,’ the young man
continued, ‘but his Big Thing is the Essence of
Old Virginny.’</p>
<p>“Sez I—‘Fair youth, do you know what I’d
do with you, if you was my sun?’</p>
<p>“‘No,’ sez he.</p>
<p>“‘Wall,’ sez I, ‘if you was my sun, I’d appint
your funeral for tomorrow arternoon, at
two o’clock—and the Korps would be reddy.
You’re too smart to live on this here yearth.’
That youth didn’t try any more of his doggone
capers on me.<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>”</p>
<p>“Teacher,” said a boy in a New York City
school, “my sister’s got the measles.” “Well,
then, my boy, you go home and you stay
home till your sister has entirely got over
them.” After the boy was gone, another boy
raised his hand and said, “Teacher, that boy’s
sister what’s got the measles lives in Omaha!”</p>
<h2><a name="SHE_CAME_TO_HIS_AID" id="SHE_CAME_TO_HIS_AID"></a>SHE CAME TO HIS AID</h2>
<p>The late Horace Leland, who for many years
kept the Leland Hotel at Springfield, Ill., was
an exceedingly generous man and an especial
lover of children. One day he and Judge A. C.
Matthews, then Speaker of the Illinois House
of Representatives, and afterward the First
Controller of the Treasury, were walking out
together when they met a man with a cluster
of toy balloons. School was just out and hundreds
of boys and girls came pouring from a
building near at hand and formed in groups
around the balloon man.</p>
<p>“Hold on, Ace,” said Mr. Leland, “there’s a
joyous sight,” and the two stopped and
watched the children gaze longingly at the balloons.<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a></p>
<p>“I can make some of them happy, anyway,”
said Mr. Leland, and he asked the man the
price of the balloons.</p>
<p>“Fi’ cent apiece.”</p>
<p>“How much for the lot?” asked the philanthropist.</p>
<p>The man counted them over. There were
twenty-one.</p>
<p>“One dol’ for de lot.”</p>
<p>Mr. Leland took them all and distributed
them among the children with as much fairness
as possible, and away the little codgers
ran with them.</p>
<p>Then Mr. Leland put his hand in his pocket
and said:</p>
<p>“By George, Ace, I ain’t got a cent. Lend
me a dollar.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” said Judge Matthews, seriously;
“you can’t play philanthropist at my expense.
Not much.”</p>
<p>“Well, my man,” said Mr. Leland, “I guess
you’ll have to call at my hotel for your
money.”</p>
<p>“No, sir,” said the man, “you give me my
money or you give me back my balloons.<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>”</p>
<p>“But don’t you see I can do neither? Come
to the Leland House and ask for Mr. Leland,
and I will pay you.”</p>
<p>“No, sir,” persisted the man, “you pay me
my money or give me back my balloons. I haf
seen dat hotel trick before.”</p>
<p>“Come, Ace,” said Mr. Leland, from the
depth of his troubled soul, “give me a dollar.”</p>
<p>“Not a cent,” said the Judge. “I wouldn’t
trust you with a dime.”</p>
<p>“See,” said the man, “your own friend no
will trust you. You give me my money or I
will call de policeman.”</p>
<p>Just then there happened along an old beggar
woman who had lived upon the bounty of
the good people of Springfield for many a year.
She stopped and heard enough of the conversation
to know what it was about.</p>
<p>“Hould on, Misther Layland,” said she, “if
yer foine frind there won’t lave ye the loan av
a dollar, begorra O’im the frind that will,” and
as she lectured Judge Matthews for the “stingiest
ould thing out o’ jail,” she unrolled the
money from a dirty rag and gave it to the
philanthropist.<a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a></p>
<p>Judge Matthews says he never tried to play
just that kind of a joke on Horace Leland
again.</p>
<h2><a name="COSTLY_DODGE" id="COSTLY_DODGE"></a>A COSTLY DODGE</h2>
<p>The town of M—— in Pennsylvania had just
elected a new Justice of the Peace. He was, of
course, a Pennsylvania German, and the first
cause that came before him for adjudication
was a peculiar one. A man had attempted to
shoot another man in the street of the business
part of the town, but the man that was shot at
dodged, and the bullet smashed a plate-glass
window in a store. The owner of the store
sued the man with the gun for damages, but
the Justice, after hearing the evidence, decided
that the man that was shot at and dodged the
bullet must pay, “because,” said he, “don’t you
see, if that man hadn’t dodged, the window
wouldn’t have been broken.”</p>
<h2><a name="COULDNT_HELP_CRYING" id="COULDNT_HELP_CRYING"></a>COULDN’T HELP CRYING</h2>
<p>Two Irishmen who had just landed were
eating their dinner in a hotel, when Pat spied<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>
a bottle of horseradish. Not knowing what
it was he took a mouthful, which brought tears
to his eyes.</p>
<p>Mike, seeing Pat crying, exclaimed, “Phat
be ye cryin’ fer?”</p>
<p>Pat, wishing to have Mike sample the hot
stuff also, replied, “Oim cryin’ fer me poor
ould mither who’s dead away over in ould Ireland.”</p>
<p>By and by Mike took some of the radish, and
immediately tears filled his eyes. “An’ phat be
you cryin’ fer, now?” queried Pat. “Ach,” says
Mike, “I’m cryin’ because you didn’t die at the
same time your ould mither did in ould Ireland.”</p>
<h2><a name="KNIGHT_ERRANT" id="KNIGHT_ERRANT"></a>A KNIGHT ERRANT</h2>
<p>He was a very decided English type, and as
he stopped an Irishman and asked for a light
he volunteered to say:</p>
<p>“Excuse me, my man, for stopping you as an
entire stranger. But at home I’m a person of
some importance. I’m Sir James B——,
Knight of the Garter, Knight of the Double
Eagle, Knight of the Golden Fleece, Knight of<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>
the Iron Cross. And your name is—what, my
man?”</p>
<p>“My name,” was the ready reply, “is Michael
Murphy. Night before last, last night, to-night
an’ every night, Michael Murphy.”</p>
<h2><a name="THACKERAY_AND_THE_OYSTER" id="THACKERAY_AND_THE_OYSTER"></a>THACKERAY AND THE OYSTER</h2>
<p>When Thackeray, the great English novelist,
visited this country, his literary friends in
Boston gave a banquet in his honor. The committee
of arrangements, learning that Mr.
Thackeray had made some comments on the
general tendency of Americans to magnify
things, thought they would give their distinguished
guest a demonstration of the greatness
of the American oyster, at least, the more
so as the oyster does not attain a great size in
the British Isles. They accordingly ransacked
the market for the very largest bivalves that
could be found, and a half dozen of these were
placed at Thackeray’s plate. The gentleman
next to him apologized for the small size of the
oysters, but Thackeray looked at them in
amazement, and asked, “What am I to do with<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>
them?” “Swallow them, of course,” was the
answer. “Well,” said he, taking a huge one
on his fork, “here goes.” He gave a gulp and
down it went. “How do you feel on it?” asked
his friend. “Feel?” said he—“I feel as if I had
swallowed a baby!”</p>
<h2><a name="FAST_TRAIN" id="FAST_TRAIN"></a>A FAST TRAIN</h2>
<p>Three men were talking in rather a large
way of the excellent train-service each had in
his special locality. One was from the West,
one from New England and one from New
York. The former two men had told their
tales, and it was New York’s turn.</p>
<p>“Now in New York,” said he, “we not only
run trains fast, but we start them fast, too,
very fast. I recall the case of a friend of mine
whose wife went to the station at Jersey City
to see him off for the West. As the train was
about to start, my friend said his final good-bye
to his wife and leaned down from the car
platform to kiss her. The train started, and
started with such a rush that, would you believe
it, my friend found himself kissing a
strange woman on the platform at Trenton!<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>”</p>
<p>At a dinner one day some gentlemen were
discussing the merits of different species of
game. One preferred canvasback duck, another
woodcock, another quail. The dinner
and the discussion ended, one of the men said
to the waiter, who was a good listener, “Well,
Frank, what kind of game do you like best?”</p>
<p>“Well, gemmen, to tell you de trufe,” said
he, “‘mos any kind o’ game ’ll suit me, but
what I likes best is an American Eagle served
on a silvah dollah!”</p>
<h2><a name="SLOW_COACH" id="SLOW_COACH"></a>A SLOW COACH</h2>
<p>In the early days of railroading in this
country, an elderly gentleman was asked by
the conductor for his ticket. The train had
stopped at every little station, town and hamlet
on the way, and was two hours late. “Your
ticket, please,” said the conductor. The man
fumbled a great while in his vest pocket and
finally presented a half-fare cardboard.</p>
<p>“Come,” said the conductor, “this won’t do,
not for a man with hair as gray as yours, any
way—this is a child’s ticket.”</p>
<p>“Well,” responded the weary traveller, “I<a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>
was a child when this train started, and I guess
I’ll be as old as Methusaleh by the time it gets
me to where I want to go.”</p>
<h2><a name="GO_TO_FATHER" id="GO_TO_FATHER"></a>GO TO FATHER</h2>
<p>A schoolboy one day picked up a piece of
poetry at school and carried it home and gave
it to his grandmother to read. When she had
read it she said:</p>
<p>“Kit, you ought never repeat that, because
that is just the same as telling people to go to
the bad place.” The poetry was as follows:</p>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“When I asked my girl to marry me, she said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">‘Go to father.’<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She knew that I knew her father was dead;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She knew that I knew what a life he had led;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She knew that I knew what she meant when she said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">‘Go to father.’”<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr />
<p>The chaplain of a large private asylum asked
a brother clergyman to preach to the inmates
on a Sunday during his absence. Before going
away, he said: “Preach your best, for, though<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>
insane on some points, they are very intelligent.”
So he talked to them of India, and of
heathen mothers who threw their dear little
babies into the sacred river Ganges as offerings
to their false gods. Tears streamed down the
face of one listener, evidently deeply affected.
When asked by the preacher afterward what
part of the sermon had touched his heart with
grief, the lunatic replied: “I was thinking it
was a pity your mother didn’t throw you into
the Ganges.”</p>
<h2><a name="INTERESTING_EPITAPHS" id="INTERESTING_EPITAPHS"></a>INTERESTING EPITAPHS</h2>
<p>The poet of the Pine Tree State is said to
have shown decided poetic proclivities from
his earliest days. When a boy of eight or nine,
he had two kittens which he had named Myrtle
and Ann Eliza. Myrtle died. He buried her
in the orchard and planted a shingle headstone
on the grave, on which his smiling parents
read:</p>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Here Myrtle lies—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Gone to fertilize.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>In a short time Ann Eliza passed from this<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>
earthly scene of caterwauling, and was buried
beside Myrtle, with a shingle headstone duly
erected and inscribed. His parents, wondering
what would be the epitaph, were delighted to
read:</p>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Here lies Ann Eliza—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">More fertilizer.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<h2><a name="SHE_SPOILED_THE_POETRY" id="SHE_SPOILED_THE_POETRY"></a>SHE SPOILED THE POETRY</h2>
<p>Two lovers were taking a walk along a
country road. The day was fine, the sun was
shining and a good breeze was blowing across
the hills and fields. The young man was of
an idealistic temperament and of good poetic
taste, but the young lady was quite matter-of-fact
and altogether practical, their differing
dispositions being illustrated by their conversation
by the way. They had paused in their
walk and sat down to rest a while under the
outspreading branches of an apple-tree laden
with green fruit.</p>
<p>“Ah, my dear,” said he as he looked around,
“how grand and glorious all this is—the bright
day, the glorious sunlight, the wind blowing<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>
fresh and full, and the limbs of this grand old
tree moaning a sweet and tuneful melody in
response to it all——“</p>
<p>“Yes,” interrupted she, “I guess you’d be
groaning, too, if you were as full of green
apples as that old apple-tree is!”</p>
<h2><a name="HIS_PART_IN_THE_PLAY" id="HIS_PART_IN_THE_PLAY"></a>HIS PART IN THE PLAY</h2>
<p>A man who had been playing the part of
the Lamb in the Great Wall Street Theatre,
was complaining that he had invested a large
sum of money in that institution and had lost
every cent of it. A sympathizing friend asked
him whether he had been a Bull or a Bear, and
the Lamb replied, “Neither. I was a Jackass!”</p>
<h2><a name="CLERICAL_CORKSCREW" id="CLERICAL_CORKSCREW"></a>A CLERICAL CORKSCREW</h2>
<p>The minister was a very genial man and a
very witty man. He had great difficulty in
getting his salary promptly. Of late it was
much in arrears, and he did not know what to
do. One day he entered the hardware store
kept by his leading deacon, and asked to look<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>
at corkscrews. He looked over the assortment
very carefully, saying that he wanted quite a
large one, one that was very strong, too. And
when the deacon asked him what he wanted
with a corkscrew, the minister replied, “I want
it to draw my salary with.” He got it.</p>
<hr />
<p>A negro exhorter shouted to his audience,
“Come up an’ jine de army ob de Lord!”</p>
<p>“I’se done jined,” replied one woman.</p>
<p>“Whar’d yo’ jine?” asked the exhorter.</p>
<p>“In de Baptis’ Church.”</p>
<p>“Why, chile,” said the exhorter, “yo’ ain’t in
de army ob de Lord; yo’s in de navy.”</p>
<h2><a name="CHIEF_END_OF_MAN" id="CHIEF_END_OF_MAN"></a>THE CHIEF END OF MAN</h2>
<p>When Dr. Theodore L. Cuyler once put the
question, “What is the chief end of man?” to
a gathering of Sunday-school scholars, he received
for an answer, “To glorify God and
annoy Him forever.” Another minister relates
that he once asked this famous question of a
very much neglected boy, “What is the chief
end of man?” and the boy promptly replied,
“Why, I guess the end that has the hat on!<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>”</p>
<h2><a name="AFTERNOON_TEAS" id="AFTERNOON_TEAS"></a>AFTERNOON TEAS</h2>
<p>Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was once invited
by a lady friend to a social afternoon tea. The
hostess had invited and had present the cream
of her acquaintance and expected some expression
of admiration from the great man. As he
was taking his leave, the lady said to him,
“Well, Doctor, what is your opinion of an
afternoon tea?” And the witty but cruel man
replied, “My dear friend, it is all giggle—gabble—gobble—and
git!”</p>
<h2><a name="UNANIMOUS_ACTION" id="UNANIMOUS_ACTION"></a>UNANIMOUS ACTION</h2>
<p>Davies Herkimer, the noted political economist,
said of modern politics in an address on
reform that he recently delivered:</p>
<p>“Modern politics are entirely too tricky. The
average candidate when he enters the political
struggle lets plain dealing go by the board.
What, then, is the result? The result is something
altogether worthless, something that reminds
me of a Western clergyman.</p>
<p>“This clergyman was very fond of cider. His<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>
congregation, meeting secretly last autumn, decided
that it would surprise him with a hogshead
of the beverage he loved and arranged to
hold a surprise party at the manse, each guest
to bring a demijohn of cider and to empty it
into a huge hogshead in the garden. The party
duly came off. The guests brought their demijohns,
emptied them into the hogshead and
feasted afterward in the manse on apples, nuts
and gingerbread.</p>
<p>“At the height of the feasting the clergyman
host was told of the full hogshead that
stood without the door, and, overjoyed, the
good man said to his servant:</p>
<p>“‘Jane, take a pitcher, fill it at the hogshead,
and bring it in that we may sample it.’</p>
<p>“The maid withdrew into the darkness and
soon returned with a pitcher brimming with—clear
water!</p>
<p>“Each tricky guest had filled his demijohn
at the pump, thinking that amid so much cider
his aqueous contribution would escape unnoticed.
But this trickery, like the trickery of
modern politics, had been a little too unanimous.<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>”</p>
<h2><a name="DIFFERENCE_WITHOUT_A_DISTINCTION" id="DIFFERENCE_WITHOUT_A_DISTINCTION"></a>A DIFFERENCE WITHOUT A DISTINCTION</h2>
<p>It was a Pennsylvania German farmer’s wife
who having baked a large number of very fine
pies, some mince and some apple, marked the
crust of each with two letters—T. M. Being
asked by a neighbor what these letters stood
for, she said:</p>
<p>“Vy, T. M. on this pie means ‘’Tis mince,’
and on that pie it means ‘’Tain’t mince.”</p>
<h2><a name="SHY_BOARDER" id="SHY_BOARDER"></a>THE SHY BOARDER</h2>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If landladies served flying-fish,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I believe, by jing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That every time they passed the dish<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I’d get a wing.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<h2><a name="KNIGHTLY_CONUNDRUM" id="KNIGHTLY_CONUNDRUM"></a>A KNIGHTLY CONUNDRUM</h2>
<div class="poetry">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Query—A Knight to Jerusalem did repair,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And had the colic, when? and where?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Answer—In the middle of the Knight.<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a></p>
<h2><a name="SHREWD_SELECTION" id="SHREWD_SELECTION"></a>A SHREWD SELECTION</h2>
<p>A lawyer advertised for a clerk. The next
morning the office was crowded with applicants—all
bright and many suitable. He bade
them wait until all should arrive and then arranged
them all in a row and said he would tell
them a story, note their comments and judge
from that whom he would choose.</p>
<p>“A certain farmer,” began the lawyer, “was
troubled with a red squirrel that got in through
a hole in his barn and stole his seed corn. He
resolved to kill the squirrel at the first opportunity.
Seeing him go in at the hole one noon
he took his shotgun and fired away. The first
shot set the barn on fire.”</p>
<p>“Did the barn burn?” said one of the boys.</p>
<p>The lawyer, without answer, continued:</p>
<p>“And seeing the barn on fire the farmer
seized a pail of water and ran to put it out.”</p>
<p>“Did he put it out?” said another.</p>
<p>“As he passed inside the door shut to and
the barn was soon in flames. When the hired
girl rushed out with more water——“</p>
<p>“Did they all burn up?” said another boy.<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a></p>
<p>The lawyer went on without answer: “Then
the old lady came out, and all was noise and
confusion and everybody was trying to put out
the fire.”</p>
<p>“Did any one burn up?” said another.</p>
<p>The lawyer said: “There, that will do; you
have all shown great interest in the story.”</p>
<p>But observing one little bright-eyed fellow
in deep silence, he said: “Now, my little man,
what have you to say?”</p>
<p>The little fellow blushed, grew uneasy and
stammered out: “I want to know what became
of that squirrel; that’s what I want to
know.”</p>
<p>“You’ll do,” said the lawyer; “you are my
man; you have not been switched off by a confusion
and barn burning, and the hired girls
and water pails. You have kept your eye on
the squirrel.”</p>
<h2><a name="GOOD_EAR" id="GOOD_EAR"></a>A GOOD EAR</h2>
<p>“Charley,” remarked Jones, “you were born
to be a writer.” “Ha!” replied Charley, flushing
at the compliment, “you have seen some
of the things I have turned off?” “No,” said<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>
Jones, “I wasn’t referring to what you have
written. I was simply thinking what a splendid
ear you have for carrying a pen. Immense,
Charley, simply immense!”</p>
<hr />
<p>When some one was complaining of insomnia,
an Irishman recommended a sure cure for
it. “Go to bed,” said he, “an’ schlape it off!”</p>
<hr />
<p>Said an Englishman to an American tourist,
as he drew out of his pocket an old English
silver coin, “Do you see the image on that
coin? That’s the picture of the old English
king that made my great grandfather a Duke.”</p>
<p>“Pooh!” said the Yankee. “That’s nothin’.
Here, do you see this United States coin? We
call it a cent. And you will observe the picture
of an Indian on the cent. Well, sir, that’s
the picture of the Indian that made my grandfather
an Angel!”</p>
<h2><a name="RIGHT-OF-WAY" id="RIGHT-OF-WAY"></a>THE RIGHT-OF-WAY</h2>
<p>In driving out into the country on a by-road
a few days ago, a lawyer encountered a horse
and buggy driven by a woman. As she was<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>
driving on the wrong side of the road, he made
up his mind not to give up his rights. As a
consequence, the two horses finally came to a
standstill, with their noses rubbing each other.
The lawyer stared at the woman and the
woman stared back. Then he pulled a newspaper
from his pocket, and began reading. In
a minute, she had her knitting out and was industriously
at work. Ten long minutes in a
broiling sun passed away, and the lawyer
looked up and asked: “How long are you going
to stay here?” “How long are you?” “All
day.” “And I’ll stay here a whole week.” He
read and she knit for about ten minutes, and
then the lawyer cried out: “Do you know that
I’m a lawyer?” “I don’t care for that,” she replied;
“I’m the wife of a Justice of the Peace.”
“Oh—ah—excuse me, madam. Really, but if
I’d known you belonged to the purfesh, this
would not have happened. Take this side,
madam, take the whole road!”</p>
<h2><a name="DEACON_BALKED" id="DEACON_BALKED"></a>THE DEACON BALKED</h2>
<p>Deacon Broadbent, an honest and pious man,
was conducting a Christmas revival with great<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>
success. In a word, his powerful exhortations
had brought Calhoun White, the town’s worst
sinner, weeping to the mourner’s bench.</p>
<p>The deacon, gratified by this proof of his
evangelical prowess, hastened to Calhoun’s
side.</p>
<p>“Deacon,” sobbed Calhoun, “‘tain’t no use
in mah comin’ up. I’se sinned away de day o’
grace.”</p>
<p>“No, you hain’t, brudder Cal,” said the deacon.
“All yo’ got to do is to gib up sin an’ all
will be forgibben.”</p>
<p>“I’se done gib it up, deacon, but dar hain’t
no salvation fo’ me.”</p>
<p>“Yes, dey is, honey. Dey hain’t no sin so
black but it kin be washed whiter’n de snow.”</p>
<p>“But I don stole fo’ young turkeys last
week,” said the penitent.</p>
<p>“Dat’s all forgibben, Cal.”</p>
<p>“An’ free de week befo’.”</p>
<p>“Dat’s forgibben, too.”</p>
<p>“An’ six fat Christmas geese——“</p>
<p>“—— six fat Christmas geese outer yore own
yard, deacon—dem fat geese wot yo’ ’lowed to
set so much store by.<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>”</p>
<p>“Wot’s dat yo’ say?” the deacon hissed furiously.</p>
<p>“It wuz me wot stole yo’ Christmas geese,
sah.”</p>
<p>“I reckon, Calhoun,” he said slowly, “I
reckon I’se spoke too hasty. Dis case o’ yourn
needs advisement. I ain’t sho’ dat we’s justified
in clutterin’ up de Kingdom o’ Heben wid
chicken thieves.”</p>
<h2><a name="PROTECTING_THE_MINISTER" id="PROTECTING_THE_MINISTER"></a>PROTECTING THE MINISTER</h2>
<p>One day a village parson was summoned in
haste by Mrs. Johnson, who had been taken
seriously ill. He went in some wonder at the
summons, because the woman was not of his
parish, and was known to be devoted to her
own minister, the Rev. Mr. Hopkins.</p>
<p>While he was waiting in the parlor before
seeing the sick woman, he passed the time
talking with her daughter.</p>
<p>“I am very pleased your mother thought of
me in her illness,” he said. “Is Mr. Hopkins
away?”</p>
<p>“Oh, dear no,” she replied, “but we are<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>
afraid mother has something contagious, like
small-pox, and we couldn’t think of letting dear
Mr. Hopkins run any risk!”</p>
<hr />
<p>“If yu trade horses with a jockey, you kan’t
git cheated but once. But—if yu trade with
a deakon yu may git cheated twice—once in
the horse, and once in the deakon” ... “Go
in when it rains.”</p>
<p class="r">
<i>Josh Billings</i><br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>“Now, my man,” said the minister to the
happy bridegroom after the marriage ceremony,
“you have come to the end of all your
troubles.” The man came back to the minister
a week later and said: “You told me I had
come to the end of all my troubles when I got
married, and I find they are just beginning.”
“Ah, my dear brother,” was the response, “all
troubles have two ends, and I didn’t say which
end, did I?”</p>
<h2><a name="WALLA_WALLA" id="WALLA_WALLA"></a>WALLA WALLA!</h2>
<p>It is related that once upon a time the President
paid an important visit to an Indian res<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>ervation
in the Far and Distant West. In
honor of the great occasion the great chiefs of
the tribe were all gathered together, arrayed
in their best bib and tucker, all war-paint
and feathers, and sat cross-legged in a great
circle listening to the words of wisdom from
the Great Father.</p>
<p>“Noble Red Men of the Forest,” began the
President, “Primeval and Original Proprietors
of the Soil of the Land of the Free and the
Home of the Brave! I am delighted to see
you!”</p>
<p>And all the Indians round the circle exclaimed:
“Walla Walla!” This evidently being
Indian for “Hear! Hear!”</p>
<p>“You have indeed been greatly wronged,”
continued the speaker, “and I take your wrongs
to my own heart, and I shall take immediate
measures for their redress, and shall demand
that hereafter justice shall be done to the noble
Red Men, the Original Proprietors of the Free
Soil of America.”</p>
<p>And the Indians again shouted approval,
“Walla Walla!”</p>
<p>“Aye,” he continued, “on my return to<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>
Washington I shall personally see to it that
your wrongs are righted, and shall direct that
the Indian Appropriation be greatly increased,
so that you may spend your lives in comfort
and plenty.”</p>
<p>Again in deep and guttural tones the Indians
applauded, “Walla Walla!”</p>
<p>After it was all over, the President expressed
his delight at the hearty interest and
evident appreciation of his warlike auditors,
being particularly impressed with the fact that
they had so well understood his remarks, as
was sufficiently manifest by the fact that they
applauded every time just at the right place.
And then the Interpreter asked him whether
he knew what Walla Walla meant? And he
not knowing the meaning thereof, the cruel Interpreter
disillusioned him by telling him that
Walla Walla was Indian for “Hot Air!”</p>
<h2><a name="WICKED_PARROT" id="WICKED_PARROT"></a>THE WICKED PARROT</h2>
<p>A gentleman who spent part of a summer
recently in England relates an incident which
very sadly disturbed the religious peace of a
parish in Penzance.<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a></p>
<p>A gentleman, his wife and his mother-in-law
lived together. They had a parrot. And
the parrot had somehow and somewhere—they
could not imagine how or where—picked up
the very disagreeable habit of remarking at
frequent intervals:</p>
<p>“Wisht the old woman were dead. Wisht
the old woman were dead.” This annoyed the
good people of the house very much, and they
at last ventured to speak to the curate about it.</p>
<p>“I think we can rectify the matter,” replied
the good man. “I also have a parrot, and he is
a very righteous bird, having been brought up
in the way he should go. I will lend you my
parrot, and I trust his good influence will soon
reform that depraved bird of yours.”</p>
<p>The curate’s parrot was placed in the same
room with the wicked one, and as soon as the
two had become accustomed to each other, the
bad bird remarked:</p>
<p>“Wisht the old woman were dead.”</p>
<p>Whereupon the clergyman’s bird rolled up
his eyes, and in solemn accents responded:</p>
<p>“We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.”</p>
<p>The story got out in the parish, and for sev<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>eral
Sundays it was thought expedient to omit
the Litany at the church services.</p>
<h2><a name="DOING_THE_DONS" id="DOING_THE_DONS"></a>DOING THE DONS</h2>
<p>Dr. Jowett was a warm friend of University
extension. When the question came up at Oxford
of entertaining the students during the
summer, he found the Dons very much opposed
to giving up even temporarily their
quarters, claiming their vested rights even in
vacation. The Master, however, controlled the
buttery, and also the chapel exercises. He accordingly
cut down the commissariat and
lengthened out the prayers, until the Dons
yielded and quietly moved out. As a party of
them, portmanteaus in hand, were walking to
the railway station one day, he chuckled to a
friend, “This kind goeth not out but by prayer
and fasting.”</p>
<h2><a name="EXEUNT_OMNES" id="EXEUNT_OMNES"></a>EXEUNT OMNES</h2>
<p>Barnum, the great showman, once upon a
time lit upon a very happy expedient to get a
great company of people to move on. They<a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>
were packed together in the great tent, and
every one of them was anxious to see all that
was to be seen, and determined not to miss
anything. It was necessary to clear the room,
but the crowd couldn’t be shoved and wouldn’t
go out. At the direction of the great showman
a man appeared with a brush and a kettle of
red paint. He painted just one word, in big
letters, on a door leading out into a side street.
The word was EGRESS. “Come on,” said
the crowd, “let’s go in and see The Egress.”
They went in, and they went out, and they
saw</p>
<p class="cb">THE EGRESS</p>
<p class="figcenter">
<img src="images/endpage.png" width="175" height="" alt="·EGRESS·" title="" />
</p>
<hr class="full" />
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44643 ***</div>
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