Read Humorous Hits and How to Hold an Audience Page 4

  KEEP A-GOIN'!

  BY FRANK L. STANTON

  If you strike a thorn or rose, Keep a-goin'! If it hails or if it snows, Keep a-goin'! 'Taint no use to sit an' whine When the fish ain't on your line; Bait your hook an' keep on tryin'-- Keep a-goin'!

  When the weather kills your crop, Keep a-goin'! When you tumble from the top, Keep a-goin'! S'pose you're out of every dime? Gittin' broke ain't any crime; Tell the world you're feelin' prime,-- Keep a-goin'!

  When it looks like all is up, Keep a-goin'! Drain the sweetness from the cup, Keep a-goin'! See the wild birds on the wing! Hear the bells that sweetly ring-- When you feel like sighin'--sing! Keep a-goin'!

  A LOVER'S QUARREL

  BY CYNTHIA COLES

  "O Kitty, you _are_ so sweet, and I _do_ love you so. Tell me you loveme, dearie."

  "I do love you, Dick; why, I never supposed I _could_ love anybody somuch."

  "O little girl, I only wished you loved me half as much as I love you."

  "Half as much! Why, dear, I love you more than you love me--a great dealmore----"

  "Now, don't be silly, pet. It would be impossible for you to love me asmuch as I love you. Of course, I love you best."

  "Of course you don't! You love me, I know, but not as much as I loveyou."

  "Now, Kitty, be reasonable."

  "I will if you'll admit that I do love you best."

  "How can I admit what isn't true?"

  "Well, you might say it was so just to please me."

  "Oh, no, dear, I can't do that."

  "Because you don't love me enough!"

  "Oh, the idea!"

  "If you _did_ love me the best, you'd say anything I asked you to,whether it was true or not."

  "Would _you_ do that?"

  "Of course I would."

  "All right, then you admit that I love you best, because I ask you to doso!"

  "O Dick, how horrid you are! How can you be so cruel to me?"

  "There, there, don't cry. I'll admit that you love me best, but I onlyadmit it _because_ you ask me to."

  "Then that's all right."

  "But, don't you see, Kitty, when I say that because you ask me to, andyou _won't_ say it when I ask you to, that _proves_ I love you bestafter all."

  "There you go on again! I do think you're too mean for anything!"

  "Well, never mind, sweetheart, let's kiss and be friends. You do love mebest I'm sure."

  "Oh, no, I don't, Dick. Oh, you are so sweet. You love me best,darling."

  "Oh, no, I don't, love. You love me best!"

  "No, my Dick, _you_ love _me_ best----"

  CASEY AT THE BAT

  BY PHINEAS THAYER

  It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood two to four, with but an inning left to play. So, when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same, A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.

  A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest, With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast, For they thought: "If only Casey could get a whack at that," They'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.

  But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake, And the former was a puddin', and the latter was a fake, So on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

  But Flynn let drive a "single," to the wonderment of all, And the much-despised Blakey "tore the cover off the ball." And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred, There was Blakey safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.

  Then, from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell, It rumbled in the mountain-tops, it rattled in the dell; It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat; For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

  There was ease in Casey's manner as he stept into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

  Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt, Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt; Then while the New York pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

  And now the leather-covered sphere came hurling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-- "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

  From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and distant shore. "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand. And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised a hand.

  With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on: He signaled to Sir Timothy, once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

  "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

  The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate. And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

  Ah, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light. And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout: But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has struck out.

  FAMILIAR LINES

  ANONYMOUS

  (_Arranged so that the little ones can always remember them_)

  The boy stood on the burning deck, His fleece was white as snow; He stuck a feather in his hat, John Anderson, my Jo!

  "Come back, come back!" he cried in grief, From India's coral strands, The frost is on the pumpkin and The village smithy stands.

  Am I a soldier of the cross From many a boundless plain? Should auld acquaintance be forgot Where saints immortal reign?

  Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon Across the sands o' Dee, Can you forget that night in June-- My country, 'tis of thee!

  Of all sad words of tongue or pen, We're saddest when we sing, To beard the lion in his den-- To set before the king.

  Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound, And Phoebus gins arise; All mimsy were the borogroves To mansions in the skies.

  A FRIENDLY GAME OF CHECKERS

  ANONYMOUS

  "Now, my dear," said Mr. Italics, as he drew on his slippers and settledhimself for the evening, "if you will get the checker-board, I'll playyou a game--you're learning so rapidly that it's really a pleasure totry quits with you."

  Mrs. Italics giggled with delight, kissed her husband on the top of thehead and fluttered away to find the board and checkers. After she hadfound them, she plumped herself down in a rocking-chair about a foot anda half lower than his easy-chair and arranged the apparatus at an angleof fifty degrees, whereupon Mr. Italics said:

  "I think you misapprehend my suggestion. I didn't propose to go slidingdown hill at this season of the year, neither do I intend to shoot thechutes. My idea was a game of checkers and if you think those men aregoing to stand around on a board tipped up on one end and wait to bemoved, you are not familiar with their habits."

  "Perhaps I had better put a book under it; or if you could lower yourknees a little it would come even."

  "Oh, that's your idea, is it? My knees weren't constructed with specialregard to playing checkers. They were put where they are and fastenedand they won't r
un up and down like a flag. Do you think I'm theindia-rubber man from the circus, or the cork-legged man from Oskoloosa?If you can't hold up your side of the board, we won't play."

  "Now, dear, it's all right. Let me see, is it your move, or mine?"

  "What are you trying to play? Do you think this is a game of baseball?Don't you know you've got to move cattecornered? 'Taint your moveanyway. Put that back. There. Now I'll move there."

  "Oh, I know you're going to jump me and take my man," said Mrs. Italics,picking up the checker she had moved before and putting it in her mouth."If I put it here, you'll----"

  "SWALLOW IT, why don't you? If you don't want it taken, why don't youmasticate it? Can't you leave the thing alone until you get ready tomove? Put it down before it chokes you."

  "There, dear (_swallowing it_), I've put it down, but it hurt mythroat."

  "What in thunder do you mean by eating up my set of checkers. When Isaid 'put it down' I meant put it back on the board. Will you pleaseplay this game instead of masticating it."

  "If I put this man there, you'll jump it."

  "Just watch and see."

  "Now, I'll put this man there,--no,--perhaps I had better move here,--orI think I'll----"

  "Going to move in six places at once? Think this is the first of May andthat you're looking for a new flat? 'Taint your move anyway. Now willyou please hold the board straight? D'ye think this is a washboard? Wellit isn't and it isn't a teeter-board either. Now, I'll move into yourking row. Ha! ha!"

  "Then do I jump these two men and get a king? Of course, I do. Crown me!I've got the first king!"

  "No, you haven't. I didn't mean that move. If you can't play checkerswithout cackling like a hen you'd better stop. I'll take back that move.Now, so. Now you can move."

  "Over here."

  "Certainly. That's splendid. Now I'll take these two men."

  "I didn't see that, I'd rather put it here."

  "Too late now. You can't take back a move in this game. You should studyyour moves first."

  "Well, if I jump here I get another king."

  "What do you want to tumble them all over for? Haven't you got anysense scarcely? You make more fuss over a measly king than most womenover a mouse. Don't you know it's my move? Give me back those men. Can'tyou hold the board straight? What's that? Oh, of course, you know. Youknow it all. All you want is a pair of hinges and painted sides to be achecker-box. If ever I want to play with some good player I'll put thecoal-scuttle on your head and move you around for a king. There goes thewhole business! Now, are you satisfied? Do you wonder a man won't playcheckers with a woman? I'll throw the measly things out of the window sothat I won't waste any time playing with you again." And Mr. Italicssuited the action to the word. But then Mr. Italics was such an _oddtype_.

  MODERN ROMANCE

  BY HENRY M. BLOSSOM, JR.

  Information, speculation; fluctuation; ruination. Dissipation, degradation; reformation or starvation. Application, situation; occupation, restoration. Concentration, enervation, nerve prostration. A vacation. Destination, country station. Nice location, recreation. Exploration, observation; fascination--a flirtation. Trepidation, hesitation, conversation, simulation; Invitation, acclamation, sequestration, cold libation. Stimulation, animation; inspiration, new potation. Demonstration, agitation, circulation, exclamation! Declaration, acceptation, osculation, sweet sensation. Exultation, preparation, combination, new relation.

  From _The Smart Set_, New York.

  LULLABY

  BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

  Kiver up yo' haid, my little lady, Hyeah de win' a-blowin' out o' do's. Don' you kick, ner projick wid de comfo't, Less'n fros'll bite yo' little toes. Shut yo' eyes an' snuggle up to mammy, Gi' me bofe yo' han's, I hol' 'em tight; Don' you be afeard an' 'mence to trimble Des ez soon ez I blows out de light.

  Angels is a-mindin' you, my baby, Keepin' off de Bad Man in de night. What de use o' bein skeered o' nuffin'? You don' fink de dakness gwine to bite? What de crackin' soun' you heah erroun' you? Lawsey, chile, you tickles me to def:-- Dats de man what brings de fros', a paintin' Picters on de winder wid his bref.

  Mammy ain' afeard, you hyeah huh laffin'? Go' away, Mistah Fros', you can't come in; Baby ain' receivin' folks this evenin', Reckon dat you'll have to call agin. Curl yo' little toes up so, my possum-- Umph, but you's a cunnin' one fu' true! Go to sleep, de angels is a-watchin', An' yo' mammy's mindin' of you, too.

  Reprinted by permission.

  THE REASON WHY

  BY MARY E. BRADLEY

  "When I was at the party," said Betty (aged just four), "A little girl fell off her chair, right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls began to laugh but me-- I didn't laugh a single bit," said Betty, seriously. "Why not?" her mother asked her, full of delight to find That Betty--bless her little heart--had been so sweetly kind. "Why didn't you laugh, darling, or don't you like to tell?" "I didn't laugh," said Betty, "'cause it was me that fell!"

  HOW A BACHELOR SEWS ON A BUTTON

  ANONYMOUS

  This is a very laughable piece of pantomime. It is well to have a smalltable and a chair, but everything else is left to the imagination of theaudience. The success of the selection depends upon the varied facialexpression and other business. It is advisable to first practise with aneedle and thread so as to get a correct imitation.

  First say to the audience: "Ladies and gentlemen, I shall endeavor togive you an imitation of how a bachelor sews on a button." Then seatyourself and take from the table an imaginary spool of thread. Hold itin your left hand and pull out several lengths with your right hand.Then bite the thread off and put the spool back on the table. Hold theend of the thread in your left hand, then wet the first finger and thumbof your right hand and make the thread into a point. Now start to threadyour needle. The thread refuses to find the eye of the needle and thereis a lot of laughable business here. Change your position frequently,and at every turn vary the facial expression. Then blow through the eyeof the needle. Just as you think you have at last put the threadthrough, the needle is lost and you look all over for it. After somedifficulty you find it on the floor. Then as you seat yourself again youfind the thread in a snarl, so you take the spool again and pull offseveral fresh lengths. Try again to thread the needle and as you get itthrough the needle's eye, turn it very carefully around and take hold ofthe thread with your teeth, drawing it through slowly with appropriatefacial expression. Now tie a knot in your thread and to make it securebite it with your teeth. Reach to the table for your imaginary buttonand place it on the _inside_ of your coat. Begin to sew, with difficultyat first, pulling the thread through at arm's length. At the thirdstitch prick your finger and jump as if in great pain. The threadgradually gets shorter. As you seem to gain facility you begin to smile.Then wind the thread around the button, make several short stitches, andbite it off with your teeth. Now stand and try to button your coat. Youfirst feel for the button but can not find it. Then you look down atyour coat, but there is no button there. You turn the coat over anddiscover that you have sewed the button on the inside. With a look ofanger you pull the button off the coat, throw it violently on the floor,and exit hastily.

  CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS

  ANONYMOUS

  Deesa man liva in Italia a gooda longa time ago. He hada a greata headaever since he was a kidda. Not a bigga heada likea de politiciansnowaday--not a swella heada. His fadda keepa de standa in Italia. Sellade peanutta and de banan. Maka plente de mon. Christopher Colum he say,"Fadda, gimma de stamp, I go finda de new world." His fadda he laugh,"Ha! ha!" just so. Den Christopher he say, "Whata you maka fun? I bettayou I finda new world." After a long time his fadda say, "You go findanew world, and bringa it over here." Den de olda man he buy him agrip-sack, an' giva him boodle, an' maka him a present of three ships tocome over to deesa contra. Well, Christopher Colum he saila an' sailafor gooda many day. He don't
see any landa. An' he say, "I givafiva-dollar-bill if I was back in Italia!" Well, he saila, an' he saila,an' vera soon he strika Coney Island. Den dat maka him glad! Very soonhe coma to Castle Garden, an' den he walka up Broadway an' he feel verybada. He finda outa dat de Irish gang has gotta possession of New Yorka!He don't lika de Irish, an' de Shamrocka donta lika him. He donta govera far before a pleasanter mana speaks to him. He say, "How-a-you do,Mista Jones? How a-de folks in Pittaburg?" Christopher Colum he say, "Inotta Mista Jones; I reada the papers; I tinka you sella de green goods,ha? You go away, or I broka your jaw!" Den he shaka hees fista deesaway, an' de man he skedaddle. Den he tries to crossa de Broad-a-way, butit fulla de mud an' he canta swim. Very soon he sees a policeman clubade mana, one, two, three times, an' he feel secka de stom'! Next hemeeta de politicians uppa Tammany Hall an' dees wanta him to runna forAlderman. He getta plenty friend. He learna to "settom up" at de barmany times. Next day he hava heada lika deesa!

  His fadda writa: "Why you notta bringa back de new world? I like to havade earth!" Christopher Colum he writa back dat New Yorka is already inde hands of de Shamrocka. Den he goes to Ohio and buys a place an' callait after himself--Colum. Soon he goa broka an' taka de nexta train homein disgusta, because he reada in de paper dat de Fair in '93 will beholda in Chicago!

  THE FLY

  ANONYMOUS

  The following is told in child dialect. She finds a fly and speaks to itaffectionately:

  "Poor little fly! Ain't you got anyone to love you? Ain't you got anybrothers or any sisters, little fly? Ain't you got any aunts, littlefly? Ain't you got anyone to love you? Your mother loves you, littlefly. (_She slaps her hand and kills the fly._) Go home to your mother!"

  THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"

  BY W. S. GILBERT

  'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man.

  His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And weedy and long was he, And I heard this wight on the shore recite In a singular minor key:

  "Oh, I am a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!"

  And he shook his fists, and he tore his hair, Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:

  "O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand How you can possibly be

  "At once a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig."

  Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick all seamen larn, And having got rid of a thumpin' quid, He spun this painful yarn:

  "'Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_ That we sailed to the Indian sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me.

  "And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned, (There was seventy-seven o' soul), And only ten of the _Nancy's_ men Said 'Here!' to the muster roll.

  "There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig.

  "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel, So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot The captain for our meal.

  "The next lot fell to the _Nancy's_ mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appetite with the midshipmite We seven survivors stayed.

  "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, On the crew of the captain's gig.

  "Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich.

  "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshiped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see.

  "'I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be.' 'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

  "Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook _me_, While I can--and will--cook _you_?'

  "So he boils the water, and takes the salt, And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot And some sage and parsley, too.

  "'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell, ''Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.'

  "And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth-- When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth.

  "And I eat that cook in a week or less, And--as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a wessel in sight I see.

  * * * * *

  "And I never grieve, and I never smile, And I never larf nor play, But I sit and croak, and a single joke I have--which is to say:

  "Oh, I am a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!"

  I TOL' YER SO

  BY JOHN L. HEATON

  John Jones he was the beatenus cuss. Allus a-pickin' 'n' sayin' to us: "I tol' yer so, I tol' yer so!" No matter what happened, he'd up an' say: "Yer sorry ye done it, haint ye, hey? Well, well, I tol' yer so!"

  When Kerin-Happuck wuz tuk down sick From the pizen ivy she'd gin a lick, He'd tol' us so, he'd tol' us so. 'N' Shadrack's fuss with his mother-in-law, Before the weddin' John Jones foresaw; Well, well, he tol' us so.

  If a fellow wuz hit by a fallin' tree, Or kicked by a horse, says Jones, says he: "I tol' yer so, I tol' yer so!" If a barn tuck fire, or a well-sweep broke, We might a-knowed it before Jones spoke, The time he tol' us so.

  It got so tejus, says Bill one day: "Ye're a dern ol' idjit, 'ith nothin' ter say But 'tol' yer so,' 'n 'tol' yer so,'-- A mean, contemptible, sneakin' cuss!" 'N' jes from habit, Jones sez to us: "Well, well, I tol' yer so!"

  "YOU GIT UP!"

  BY JOE KERR

  There's lots of folks that has good times, There's lots that never does; But the ones that don't like morning naps Is the meanest ever wuz. It's very nice to eat a meal With pie for its wind-up; 'Taint half so sweet's th' nap pa spoils When he yells, "You git up!"

  I'd rather lay in bed and snooze, Jest one small minit more In the morning, when the sunshine Comes a-creeping o'er the floor, Then to go to Barnum's circus or To own a bulldog pup. The meanest thing pa ever said Wuz, "Come now--you git up!"

  I like to go in swimming, And I like to play baseball; I like to fight and fly a kite, 'N' I sometimes like to bawl; But them thare forty winks of sleep Pa tries to interrup', Is better 'n' all. It breaks my heart When pa yells, "You git up!"

  I'd stand the hurt and ache and pain And all the smart and itch Of having him turn the bedclothes down To wake me with a switch, Ef he 'ud on'y jest go 'way And let me finish up The nap I started jest before He yelled out, "You git up!"

  You bet, when I git growed up big, Es rich 'n' old as pa, 'N' never haf to go to school, Nor work nor stand no jaw-- I'll sleep all day and all night, too, And only jest git up When I git 'nough sleep to suit me Ef all the world yells, "You git up!"

  By permission of G. W. Dillingham Company.

  PRESENTATION OF THE TRUMPET

  ANONYMOUS

  In the days of the old volunteer fire department there existed in thiscity a certain hose company noted for the brav
ery of its foreman, whosereckless daring in time of danger, coupled with his pugilisticattainments, had made him a local celebrity.

  The members of his company decided to present him with a handsome silvertrumpet, as an expression of their regard and appreciation of his pluck,courage and fighting qualities. One of the members was chosen to preparea fitting speech for the occasion, and after some weeks of laborannounced himself as being thoroughly prepared for the task.

  In the meantime, the foreman, who was supposed to be in blissfulignorance of all the preparations being made to surprize him, was letinto the "secret" through the kindness of one of the boys. He recognizedthis as his supreme opportunity to display his literary qualificationsin the shape of a speech of acceptance. He secured the services of aliterary friend to write a glowing oration, replete with metaphors,similes, and sweet-sounding poetry, expressing his "unworthiness of thehonor," the "deep gratitude which words failed him to adequatelyexpress," etc.

  The night in question at last arrived. The building was filled tooverflowing. The band played "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and theboys gave three hearty cheers and a "tiger" for the proud foreman.

  The chairman advanced to the front, holding the massive trumpet in onehand, while his other hand grasped convulsively at the collar of hisshirt.

  After staring around the room and giving a few preparatory coughs, hesaid:

  "Mr. Foreman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:I--a--a--I--a--I----(_Looks hard at the floor. Begins again with greatdetermination._) Mr. Foreman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:I--a--a--I--a--feel--I feel a----(_Puts one hand in his pocket and looksvery foolish. Begins again, shouting, and looking very angry._) Mr.Foreman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10: I--I--I--I feel a--mucha pleas----(_Word sticks in his throat. Very angrily, and stridingtoward the foreman._) Ah! take your trumpet!"

  A look of consternation spread over the faces of the boys at the failureof their spokesman, and there were many whisperings of "I told you so!"

  It was now the foreman's turn. He drew his hand across his mouth andbegan as follows:

  "Mr. Chairman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10: It is--it is--itis--it is with a--with a----(_Looks at ceiling, and shifts his positionuneasily. Begins over again, with a very confident air._) Mr. Chairman,and Members of Hose Company Number 10: It is with--with a--with a--witha--a--a--a--a heart----(_Stops, stares wildly at the ceiling, floor andcompany. Begins over again, very angrily, and with his body in fightingattitude._) Mr. Chairman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:I--I--I--it is--it is with a heart--with a heart full---full----(_Stops.Very loud and violently._) Ah! give us yer trumpet!"

  DON'T USE BIG WORDS

  ANONYMOUS

  In promulgating your esoteric cogitations, or articulating yoursuperficial sentimentalities and amicable, philosophical orpsychological observations, beware of platitudinous ponderosity. Letyour conversational communications possess a clarified conciseness, acompact comprehensibleness, coalescent consistency, and a concatenatedcogency. Eschew all conglomerations of flatulent garrulity, jejunebabblement and asinine affectations. Let your extemporaneous descantingsand unpremeditated expatiations have intelligibility and veraciousvivacity, without rhodomontade or thrasonical bombast. Sedulously avoidall polysyllabic profundity, pompous prolixity, psittaceous vacuity,ventriloquial verbosity, and vaniloquent vapidity. Shundouble-entendres, prurient jocosity, and pestiferous profanity,obscurant or apparent.

  In other words, talk plainly, briefly, naturally, sensibly, truthfully,purely. Keep from "slang"; don't put on airs; say what you mean; meanwhat you say. And don't use big words!

  DER MULE SHTOOD ON DER STEAMBOAD DECK

  ANONYMOUS

  Der mule shtood on der steamboad deck, For der land he wouldn't dread, Dhey tied a halder rount his neck, Und vacked him over der headt.

  But obstinate und braced he shtood, As born der scene to rule, A creature of der holt-back brood-- A shtubborn, shtedfast mule.

  Dhey curst und shwore, but he vould not go Undill he felt inclined, Und dhough dhey dundered blow on blow, He aldered nod his mind.

  Der boats-boy to der shore complained, "Der varmint's bound do shtay," Shtill ubon dot olt mule's hide Der sounding lash made blay.

  His masder from der shore reblied, "Der boats aboud do sail; As oder means in vain you've dried. Subbose you dwist his dail.

  "I dhink dot dat will magke him land," Der boats-boy brave, dhough bale, Den near drew mit oudstretched hand, Do magke der dwist avail.

  Dhen game a kick of thunder sound! Dot boy--oh, vhere vas he? Ask of der vaves dot far around Beheld him in der sea.

  For a moment nod a voice vas heard, Bud dot mule he vinked his eye, As dhough to ask, to him occurred, "How vas dot for high?"

  THE NEW SCHOOL READER

  ANONYMOUS

  I will now give you a selection from my New School Reader. It is builtupon the lines of the school-books in use in the years preceding ourearly childhood. It is one of the selections that unfortunate boys wouldrender in an heroic attitude, and in stilted, unnatural tones:

  "The October sun was shining down upon an avenue of trees, and gildingwith its golden splendor the chromatic nose of a solitary horseman, whoreigned up his steed at the sight of a small boy with a school-book onhis shoulder. 'Where do you live, my fine fellow?' said the stranger, inlow, pleasing tones. 'In yonder cottage, near the glen; my widowedmother and her thirteen children dwell with me,' replied the boy, in arich, mellow voice. 'And is your father dead?' asked the stranger with arising inflection. 'Extremely so,' murmured the lad, 'and that is why mymother is a widow.' 'And how does your mother gain a livelihood?' askedthe horseman, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. 'I support thefamily,' proudly replied George. 'You support the family? Why, what cansuch a little fellow as you do?' 'I dig wells during the day, and helpmy mother at night. I have a good education and am able to dig wellsalmost as well as a man.' 'But you must have to work very hard,' saidthe stranger, wiping a tear from his eyebrow. 'Indeed I do, sir, andsince my little sister Ann got married, and brought her husband home tolive with us, I have to work with more assiduity than ever. I am enabledto barely maintain our family in a precarious manner; but, oh, sir,should my other sisters marry, I fear that some of my brothers-in-lawwould have to suffer.' 'My boy,' asked the solitary horseman, looking atthe youth proudly, 'what would you say if I told you your father was notdead?' 'Sir,' replied the boy respectfully, 'I am too polite to tell youwhat I would say,--besides you are much larger than I am.' 'But, mybrave lad,' said the man in low, musical tones, 'do you not recognizeyour parent on your father's side?--do you not know me, Georgie? OGeorge!' 'I must say,' replied George, 'that you have the advantage ofme. While I may have met you before, I can not at this moment place you,sir!' At this the stranger opened his valise and took therefrom alarge-sized strawberry mark, which he placed on his right arm.Immediately the boy recognized him as his long-lost parent, and he,drawing the lad to his bosom, ejaculated, 'O my son, my son!' 'But howdid you escape, father?' said the boy through his tears, in a voicebroken by emotion. 'We were far away at sea,' said the heartbroken man.'The winds howled and the waves threatened to engulf our frail bark.When everybody was lost, the rest of the crew turned and sprang into thefoaming billows and swam several miles. At last I felt my feet touchsomething _hard_,--it was Jersey City!'"

  THE POOR WAS MAD

  A FAIRY SHTORY FOR LITTLE CHILDHER

  BY CHARLES BATTELL LOOMIS

  Wance upon a toime the poor was virry poor indade, an' so they wint to arich leddy that was that rich she had goold finger-nails, an' was thatbeautiful that it'u'd mek you dopey to luke at her. An' the poor ashther would she give thim the parin's of her goold finger-nails fer tosell. An' she said she would that, an' that ivery Chuesdeh she did beafther a-parin' her nails. So of a Chuesdeh the poor kem an' they tukethe gold parin's to a jewel-ery man, an' he gev thim g
ood money ferthim. Wasn't she the koind leddy, childher? Well, wan day she forgot topare her nails, an' so they had nothin' to sell. An' the poor was mad,an' they wint an' kilt the leddy intoirely. An' when she was kilt, sorrabit would the nails grow upon her, an' they saw they was silly to killher. So they wint out to sairch fer a leddy wid silver finger-nails. An'they found her, an' she was that beautiful that her face was all thecolors of the rainbow an' two more besides. An' the poor asht her wouldshe give thim the parin's of her finger-nails fer to sell. An' she saidthat she would that, an' that every Chuesdeh she did be afther a-parin'her nails. So of a Chuesdeh the poor kem an' they tuk the silver parin'sto the jewel-ery man, an' he giv thim pretty good money fer thim, butnot nair as good as fer the goold. But he was the cute jewel-ery man,wasn't he, childher? Well, wan day she forgot to pare her nails an' sothey had nothin' to sell. An' the poor was mad, an' they wint an' kiltthe leddy intoirely. An' when she was kilt, sorra bit would the nailsgrow upon her, an' they saw they was silly to kill her. So they wint outto sairch for a leddy with tin finger-nails. An' they found her, and shewas that beautiful that she would mek you ristless. An' the poor ashther would she give thim the parin's of her tin finger-nails fer to sell.An' she said she would that, an' that ivery Chuesdeh she did be afthera-parin' her nails. So of a Chuesdeh the poor kem. An' did they get thetin nails, childher? Sure, that's where y are out. They did not, fer theleddy had lost a finger in a mowin'-machine, an' she didn't have tinfinger-nails at arl, at arl--only noine.

  LIDES TO BARY JADE

  ANONYMOUS

  The bood is beabig brighdly love, The sdars are shidig, too; While I ab gazing dreabily Add thigkig, love, of you; You caddot, oh, you caddot kdow, By darlig, how I biss you,-- (Oh, whadt a fearful cold I've got-- Ck-_tish_-u! Ck-ck-_tish_-u!)

  I'b sittig id the arbor, love Where you sat by by side, Whed od that calb, Autubdal dight You said you'd be by bride. Oh, for wud bobedt to caress Add tederly to kiss you; Budt do! we're beddy biles apart-- (Ho-_rash_-o! Ck-ck-_tish_-u!)

  This charbig evedig brigs to bide The tibe whed first we bet; It seebs budt odly yesterday, I thigk I see you yet. Oh, tell be, ab I sdill your owd? By hopes, oh, do dot dash theb! (Codfoud by cold, 'tis gettig worse-- Ck-_tish_-u! ck-ck-_thrash_-eb!)

  Good-by, by darlig Bary Jade The bid-dight hour is dear, Add it is hardly wise by love For be to ligger here! The heavy dews are fallig fast; A fod good-dight I wish you; (Ho-_rash_-o!--there it is agaid-- Ck-_tish_-u! Ck-ck-_thrash_-eb!)

  "CHARLIE MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT"

  Parody on "Curfew Must not Ring To-night"

  ANONYMOUS

  Slowly England's sun was setting o'er a mansion old and grey; Filling all the land with glory, in the usual kind of way. And its bright rays tinged the foreheads of a man and maiden fair: He with powdered head and whiskers, she with locks of--someone's hair. She was clutching at it wildly, as, with lips all cold and white, She was saying, "Listen, Thomas,--Charlie must not ring to-night!"

  "Thomas," Bessie's white lips murmur'd, as she feverishly laid hold Of the buttons of his liv'ry--lobster-red with spots of gold-- "Freddie Smith will call this evening; he'll be ringing by and by; Charlie does not know about him; if they met here I should die! Tell him I am out, dear Thomas; gone to call on Mrs. Blight; Tell him any lie you like but--Charlie must not ring to-night."

  "Bessie," calmly said the flunkey-ev'ry word was like a dart Barbed with poison, entering in that damsel's heart-- "For the last three weeks that pusson--w'ich 'is name are Charlie Power-- Hev'ry hevenink's called to see you, jest about the dinner-hour. 'E' as never failed to tip me--w'ich is only just and right-- So I still must do my duty, should that pusson ring to-night!"

  She with quick steps bounded upward, till she reached the chamber- door, Seized her purse, and quick returning, threw it wildly on the floor. "Take it, Thomas," cried the maiden, with her eyes and cheeks aglow, "Take it all and welcome--what there is I do not know-- But 'tis yours, ay, ev'ry farthing; gold and precious silver bright, Only, take good care, dear Thomas, Charlie must not ring to-night!"

  She had fled to dress for Freddie; Thomas seeks the front door-bell. He will muffle up the clapper, in a way he knows full well. See! The bell is being shaken; 'tis the fateful moment now! Thomas hastes to "do his dooty," with a firm, determined brow. Shall he let it ring? No, never; he has touched the guerdon bright, So he grasps the clapper, whisp'ring, "Charlie _shall_ not ring to-night!"

  It was o'er; the youth ceased pulling, and the maiden breathed once more. But, alas! that fickle maiden wept as maid ne'er wept before When she learn'd that he who'd called there, promptly at the dinner-hour, Was the long-expected Freddie, _not_ the hated Charlie Power. While the tried and trusted Thomas, knowing not her evil plight, Open'd wide the door for Charlie when that "pusson" called that night!

  A SHORT ENCORE

  Man wants but little here below, He's not so hard to please; But woman (bless her little heart) Wants everything she sees!

  MY DOUBLE, AND HOW HE UNDID ME

  BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE

  I am, or rather, was a minister, and was settled in an active,wide-awake town with a bright parish and a charming young wife. At firstit was all delightful, but as my duties increased I found myself leadinga double life--one for my parish, whom I loved, and the other for avague public, for whom I did not care two straws. It was then that on mywife's suggestion I looked for a double--some one who would pass for meand fill the many engagements I wanted to shirk. I found him. When hewas discovered his name was Dennis Shea, and he was not shaved, had nospectacles, and his style of dress was not at all like mine; but thesedifficulties were soon surmounted, for, by application to the Judge ofProbate, his name was soon changed to Frederick Ingham--my name. As forappearance, he was so much like me that by the united efforts of Pollyand myself and a tailor he was made to look the exact image of me. Thenin four successive afternoons I taught him four speeches, which were tobe his stock in trade:

  No. 1--"Very well, thank you; and you?" (This for an answer to casualsalutations.)

  No. 2--"I am very glad you liked it." (This in response to a complimenton a sermon.)

  No. 3--"There has been so much said, and on the whole so well said, thatI will not occupy the time." (This for public meetings when called tospeak.)

  No. 4--"I agree in general with my friend on the other side of theroom." (This when asked for an opinion of his own.)

  Thus equipped, my double attended a number of conventions and meetingswhich I was too busy to notice and was very successful. He gained a goodreputation for me, and people began to say I was less exclusive than Iused to be, and that I was more punctual, less talkative, etc. Hissuccess was so great that one evening I risked him at a reception. Icould ill afford the time to go, and so I sent him with Polly, who kepther eye on him, and afterward told me about it. He had to take a verytalkative lady--Mrs. Jeffries--down to supper, and at sight of theeatables he became a little excited, and attempted one of his speechesto the lady. He tried the shortest one in his most gallant manner: "Verywell, thank you; and you?" Polly, who stood near his chair, was muchfrightened, as this speech had no connection with anything that had beensaid, but Mrs. Jeffries was so much engrossed with her own talking thatshe noticed nothing. She rattled on so busily that Dennis was notobliged to say anything more until the eating was over, when he said, tofill up a pause: "There has been so much said, and on the whole so wellsaid, that I will not occupy the time." This again frightened Polly, butshe managed to get him away before he had done anything serious.

  After this my double relieved me in so many ways that I grew quitelight-hearted. That happy year I began to know my wife by sight. We saweach other sometimes, and how delightful it was! But all this could notlast; and at length poor Dennis, my double, undid me!

&n
bsp; There was some ridiculous new movement on foot to organize some kind ofa society, and there was to be a public meeting. Of course I was askedto attend and to speak. After much urging I consented to go and sit onthe platform, upon condition that I would not be called upon to make aspeech. This was agreed upon, and I went--that is, Dennis went, havingbeen told to say nothing on any subject. He sat resplendent on theplatform, and kept his peace during the preliminary exercises, whichwere rather dry. Governor Blake called the meeting to order, but as hereally did not know what the object of the gathering was, he said thatthere were other gentlemen present who could entertain them better thanhe. Then there followed an awkward scene, for nobody wanted to speak,and every one that was called upon was either absent or unprepared; andfinally a wretched boy in the gallery called out, "Ingham! Ingham!" Thegovernor thought I would respond, and as nothing had been said so far,he ventured to ask me, saying: "Our friend, Mr. Ingham, is alwaysprepared, and tho we had not relied upon him, he will say a wordperhaps." Applause followed, which turned Dennis' head. He rose andtried speech No. 3: "There has been so much said, and on the whole sowell said, that I will not longer occupy the time!"

  Then he sat down, looking for his hat--for things seemed squally. Butthe people cried, "Go on! Go on!" and some applauded. Dennis stillconfused, but flattered by the applause, rose again, and this time triedNo. 2: "I am very glad you like it." Which, alas! should only be saidwhen complimented on a sermon. My best friends stared, and people whodidn't know me yelled with delight. A boy in the gallery cried out:"It's all a humbug!" just as Dennis, waving his hand, commanded silence,and tried No. 4: "I agree in general with my friend on the other side ofthe room." The poor governor, doubting his senses, crossed to stop him,but too late. The same gallery boy shouted: "How's your mother?" AndDennis, completely lost, tried as his last shot No. 1: "Very well, thankyou; and you?" The audience rose in a whirl of excitement. Some otherimpertinence from the gallery was aimed at Dennis; he broke allrestraint and to finish undoing me, he called out: "Any wan o' yeblatherin' rascals that wants to fight, can come down an' I'll take anyfive o' yez, single-handed; ye're all dogs and cowards! Sure an' I'vesaid all his riverance an' the mistress bade me say!"

  That was all; my double had undone me.

  Reprinted by permission of Little, Brown & Co., Boston, Mass.

  ROMANCE OF A HAMMOCK

  ANONYMOUS

  Shady tree--babbling brook, Girl in hammock--reading book.

  Golden curls--tiny feet, Girl in hammock--looks so sweet.

  Man rides past--big mustache, Girl in hammock--makes a "mash."

  "Mash" is mutual--day is set, Man and maiden--married get.

  Married now a year and a day, Keeping house in Avenue A.

  Red-hot stove--beefsteak frying, Girl got married--cooking trying.

  Cheeks all burning--eyes look red, Girl got married--almost dead.

  Biscuit burnt up--beefsteak charry, Girl got married--awful sorry.

  Man comes home--tears mustache, Mad as blazes--got no cash.

  Thinks of hammock--in the lane; Wishes maiden--back again.

  Maiden also--thinks of swing, And wants to go back, too, poor thing!

  Hour of midnight--baby squawking; Man in bare feet--bravely walking;

  The baby yells--now the other Twin, he strikes up--like his brother.

  Paregoric--by the bottle Poured into--the baby's throttle.

  Naughty tack--points in air, Waiting some one's--foot to tear.

  Man in bare feet--see him there! O my gracious!--hear him swear!

  Raving crazy--gets his gun Blows his head off--dead and gone.

  Pretty widow--with a book In the hammock--by the brook.

  Man rides past--big mustache; Keeps on riding--nary "mash."

  FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN

  BY S. W. GILLINAN

  Superintindent wuz Flannigan; Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin; Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack, An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back, Finnigin writ it to Flannigan, Afther the wrick wuz all on ag'in; That is, this Finnigin Repoorted to Flannigan.

  Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan, He writed tin pages--did Finnigin, An' he tould jist how the smash occurred; Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd Did Finnigin write to Flannigan Afther the cars had gone on ag'in. That wuz how Finnigin Repoorted to Flannigan.

  Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin-- He'd more idjucation, had Flannigan; An' it wore'm clane an' complately out To tell what Finnigin writ about In his writin' to Muster Flannigan. So he writed back to Finnigin: "Don't do sich a sin ag'in; Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"

  Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan, He blushed rosy rid, did Finnigin; An' he said: "I'll gamble, a whole month's pa-ay That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay Befoore Sup'rintindint--that's Flannigan-- Gits a whack at this very same sin ag'in. From Finnigin to Flannigan Repoorts won't be long ag'in."

  * * * * *

  Wan da-ay, on the siction av Finnigin, On the road sup'rintinded by Flannigan, A rail gave way on a bit av a curve, An' some kyars went off as they made the swerve. "There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin, "But repoorts must be made to Flannigan." An' he winked at McCorrigan, As married a Finnigin.

  He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin, As minny a railroader's been ag'in, An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright In Finnigin's shanty all that night-- Bilin' down his repoort, was Finnigin! An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan: Off ag'in, on ag'in, Gone ag'in--Finnigin."

  From _Life_, by courtesy of the publishers.

  AN INTRODUCTION

  BY MARK TWAIN

  "Ladies--and--gentlemen:--By--the request of the--Chairman ofthe--Com-mit-tee--I beg leave to--introduce--to you--the reader of theevening--a gentleman whose great learning--whose historicalac-curacy--whose devotion--to science--and--and--whose veneration forthe truth--are only equaled by his high moralcharacter--and--his--majestic presence. I allude--in these vague generalterms--to my-self. I--am a little opposed to the custom of ceremoniouslyintroducing a reader to the audience, because itseems--unnecessary--where the man has been properly advertised! Butas--it is--the custom--I prefer to make it myself--in my own case--andthen I can rely on getting in--all the facts! I never had but oneintroduction--that seemed to me just the thing--and the gentleman wasnot acquainted with me, and there was no nonsense. Ladies and gentlemen,I shall waste no time in this introduction. I know of only two factsabout this man: first, he--has never been in the state prison; andsecond, I can't--imagine why."

  THE HARP OF A THOUSAND STRINGS

  A Hard-shell Baptist Sermon

  BY JOSHUA S. MORRIS

  (This characteristic effusion first appeared in a New Orleans paper. Thesermon is supposed to have been preached at a village on the bank of theMississippi River, whither the volunteer parson had brought his flatboatfor the purpose of trade.)

  I may say to you, my brethring, that I am not an edicated man, an' I amnot one of them as beleeves that edication is necessary for a Gospelminister, for I beleeve the Lord edicates his preachers jest as He wants'em to be edicated; an' altho I say it that oughtn't to say it, yet inthe State of Indianny, whar I live, thar's no man as gits biggercongregations nor what I gits.

  Thar may be some here to-day, my brethring, as don't know whatpersuasion I am uv. Well, I must say to yu, my brethring, that I'm aHard-shell Baptist. Thar's some folks as don't like the Hard-shellBaptists, but I'd rather have a hard shell as no shell at all. You seeme here to-day, my brethring, drest up in fine clothes; you mout think Iwas proud, but I am not proud, my brethring; and altho I've been apreacher of the Gospel for twenty years, an' altho I'm capting of theflatboat that lies at your landing, I'm not proud, my brethring.

  I am not gwine to tell edzactly whar
my tex may be found; suffice tosay, it's in the leds of the Bible, and you'll find it somewhar betweenthe fust chapter of the book of Generations and the last chapter of thebook of Revolutions; and ef you'll go and sarch the Scriptures, you'llnot only find my tex thar, but a great many other texes as will do yougood to read; and my tex, when you shall find it, you shall find it toread thus: "And he played on a harp uv a thousand strings, sperits uvjest men made perfeck."

  My tex, my brethring, leads me to speak of sperits. Now, thar's a greatmany kinds of sperits in the world. In the fust place, thar's thesperits as some folks call ghosts; and thar's the sperits of turpentine;and thar's the sperits as some folks call liquor, an' I've got as goodan artikel of them kind of sperits on my flatboat as ever was fotch downthe Mississippi River. But thar's a great many other kinds of sperits,for the tex says, "He played on a harp uv a t-h-o-u-s-and strings,sperits uv jest men made perfeck."

  But I tell you the kind uv sperits as is meant in the tex is FIRE.That's the kind uv sperits as is meant in the tex, my brethring. Now,thar's a great many kinds uv fire in the world. In the fust place,there's the common sort of fire you light your cigars or pipe with; andthen thar's foxfire and camphire, fire before you're ready, and fire andfall back, and many other kinds of fire--for the tex say, "He played ona harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck."

  But I'll tell you the kind of fire as is meant in the tex, my brethring:its HELL-FIRE! An' that's the kind uv fire as a great many uv you'llcome to, ef you don't do better nor what you have been doin'--for "Heplayed on a harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits uv jest men madeperfeck."

  Now, the different sorts of fire in the world may be likened onto thedifferent persuasions of Christians in the world. In the fust place, wehave the Piscapalions, an' they are a high-sailin' and highfalutin' set;and they may be likened unto a turkey buzzard that flies up in the air,and he goes up, and up, and up, till he looks no bigger than yourfinger-nail, and the fust thing you know, he cums down, and down, anddown, and is a-fillin' himself on the carkiss of a dead hoss by the sideof the road--and "He played on a harp uv a _thous_and strings, speritsuv jest men made perfeck."

  And then thar's the Methodis, and they may be likened unto the squirrilrunnin' up into a tree, for the Methodis beleeves in gwine on from onedegree of grace to another, and finally on to perfection; and thesquirril goes up and up, and up and up, and he jumps from limb to limb,and branch to branch, and the fust thing you know he falls, and down hecums kerflumix; and that's like the Methodis, for they is allers fallin'from grace, ah!--and "He played on a harp uv a _thous_and strings,sperits uv jest men made perfeck."

  And then, my brethring, thar's the Baptists, ah! and they have beenlikened unto a 'possum on a 'simmon tree, and thunders may roll and theearth may quake, but that 'possum clings thar still, sh! and you mayshake one foot loose, and the other's thar, and you make shake all feetloose, and he laps his tail around the limb, and clings, and he clingsfurever--for "He played on a harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits uvjest men made perfeck."

  Reprinted from the "Four-masted Catboat," by permission of the authorand The Century Company. Copyright, 1899.

  THE DIFFICULTY OF RIMING

  ANONYMOUS

  We parted by the gate in June, That soft and balmy month, Beneath the sweetly beaming moon, And (wonth-hunth-sunth-bunth--I can't find a rime to month).

  Years were to pass ere we should meet. A wide and yawning gulf Divides me from my love so sweet, While (ulf-sulf-dulf-mulf--stuck again; I can't get any rime to gulf. I'm in a gulf myself).

  Oh, how I dreaded in my soul To part from my sweet nymph, While years should their long seasons roll Before (hymph-dymph-symph--I guess I'll have to let it go at that).

  Beneath my fortune's stern decree My lonely spirits sunk, For I a weary soul should be, And a (hunk-dunk-runk-sk--that will never do in the world).

  She buried her dear lovely face Within her azure scarf, She knew I'd take the wretchedness, As well as (parf-darf-harf-and-harf-- that won't answer either).

  Oh, I had loved her many years. I loved her for herself; I loved her for her tender tears, And also for her (welf-nelf-self-pelf--no, no; not for her pelf).

  I took between my hands her head, How sweet her lips did pouch! I kissed her lovingly and said-- (Bouch-mouch-louch-ouch--not a bit of it did I say _ouch!_).

  I sorrowfully wrung her hand, My tears they did escape, My sorrow I could not command, And I was but a (sape-dape-fape-ape; well, perhaps I did feel like an ape).

  I gave to her a fond adieu, Sweet pupil of love's school, I told her I would e'er be true, And always be a (dool-sool-mool-fool; since I come to think of it, I was a fool, for she fell in love with another fellow before I was gone a month).

  SO WAS I

  BY JOSEPH BERT SMILEY

  My name is Tommy an' I hates That feller of my sister Kate's. He's bigger'n I am an' you see He's sorter lookin' down on me, An' I resents it with a vim; I think I'm just as good as him. He's older, an' he's mighty fly But he's a kid,--an' so am I.

  One time he came,--down by the gate, I guess it must been awful late,-- An' Katie, she was there, an' they Was feelin' very nice and gay, An' he was talkin' all the while, About her sweet an' lovin' smile, An' everythin' was nice as pie, An' they was there,--an' so was I.

  They didn't see me, 'cause I slid Down underneath a bush, an' hid, An' he was sayin' that his love Was greater'n all the stars above Up in the glorious heavens placed; An' then his arm got round her waist, An' clouds were floatin' in the sky, An' they was there,--an' so was I.

  I didn't hear just all they said, But by an' by my sister's head Was droopin' on his shoulder, an' I seen him holdin' Katie's hand, An' then he hugged her closer, some, An' then I heered a kiss--_yum, yum!_ An' Katie blushed an' drew a sigh, An' sorter coughed,--an' so did I.

  An' then that feller looked around An' seed me there, down on the ground, An'--_was_ he mad?--well, betcher boots I gets right outer there an' _scoots_. An' he just left my sister Kate A-standin' right there by the gate; An' I seen blood was in his eye, An' he runned fast,--an' so did I.

  I runned the very best I could But he cotched up,--I's 'fraid he would, An' then he said he'd teach me how To know my manners, he'd allow; An' than he shaked me _awful_. Gee! He jest--he frashed the ground with me. An' then he stopt it by and by, 'Cause he was tired,--an' so was I.

  An' then he went back to the gate An' couldn't find my sister Kate, 'Cause she went to bed, while he Was runnin' round an' thumpin' me. I got round in a shadder dim, An' made a face, an' guffed at him; An' then the moon larfed, in the sky, 'Cause he was there,--an' so was I.

  THE ENCHANTED SHIRT

  BY JOHN HAY

  The king was sick. His cheek was red, And his eye was clear and bright; He ate and drank with a kingly zest, And peacefully snored at night.

  But he said he was sick--and a king should know; And doctors came by the score; They did not cure him. He cut off their heads, And sent to the schools for more.

  At last two famous doctors came, And one was as poor as a rat; He had passed his life in studious toil And never found time to grow fat.

  The other had never looked in a book; His patients gave him no trouble; If they recovered, they paid him well, If they died, their heirs paid double.

  Together they looked at the royal tongue, As the king on his couch reclined; In succession they thumped his august chest, But no trace of disease could find.

  The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut." "Hang him up!" roared the king, in a gale,-- In a ten-knot gale of royal rage; The other leach grew a shade pale;
<
br />   But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, And thus his prescription ran: "The king will be well if he sleeps one night In the shirt of a happy man."

  Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, And fast their horses ran, And many they saw, and to many they spake, But they found no happy man.

  They saw two men by the roadside sit, And both bemoaned their lot; For one had buried his wife, he said. And the other one had not.

  At last they came to a village gate; A beggar lay whistling there; He whistled and sang and laughed, and rolled On the grass in the soft June air.

  The weary couriers paused and looked At the scamp so blithe and gay, And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend, You seem to be happy to-day?"

  "Oh, yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed, And his voice rang free and glad; "An idle man has so much to do That he never has time to be sad."

  "This is our man." the courier said, "Our luck has led us aright. I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, For the loan of your shirt to-night."

  The merry rascal lay back on the grass And laughed till his face was black; "I would do it," said he, and roared with the fun, "But I haven't a shirt to my back!"

  Each day to the king the reports came in Of the unsuccessful spies; And the sad panorama of human woes, Passed daily under his eyes.

  And he grew ashamed of his useless life, And his maladies hatched in gloom; He opened his windows and let the free air Of the heavens into his room.

  And out he went into the world and toiled In his own appointed way, And the people blest him, the land was glad, And the king was well and gay.

  DER OAK UND DER VINE

  BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS

  I don'd vas preaching voman's righdts, Or anyding like dot, Und I likes to see all beoples Shust gontended mit dheir lot; But I vants to gontradict dot shap Dot made dis leedle shoke: "A voman vas der glinging vine, Und man, der shturdy oak."

  Berhaps, somedimes, dot may be drue; Budt, den dimes oudt off nine, I find me oudt dot man himself Vas peen der glinging vine; Und ven hees friendts dhey all vas gone Und he vas shust "tead proke," Dot's vhen der voman shteps righdt in, Und peen der shturdy oak.

  Shust go oup to der paseball groundts Und see dhose "shturdy oaks" All planted roundt ubon der seats-- Shust hear dheir laughs und shokes! Dhen see dhose vomens at der tubs, Mit glothes oudt on der lines: Vhich vas der shturdy oaks, mine frendts, Und vhich der glinging vines?

  Ven sickness in der householdt comes, Und veeks und veeks he shtays, Who vas id fighdts him mitout resdt, Dhose veary nighdts und days? Who beace und gomfort alvays prings, Und cools dot fefered prow? More like id vas der tender vine Dot oak he glings to, now.

  "Man vants budt leedle here pelow," Der boet von time said; Dhere's leedle dot man he _don'd_ vant, I dink id means, inshted; Und vhen der years keep rolling on, Dheir cares und droubles pringing, He vants to pe der shturdy oak, Und, also, do der glinging.

  Maype, vhen oaks dhey gling some more, Und don'd so shturdy peen, Der glinging vines dhey haf some shance To helb run life's masheen. In belt und sickness, shoy und pain, In calm or shtormy veddher, 'Tvas beddher dot dhose oaks und vines Should alvays gling togedder.

  From "Dialect Ballads," copyright, 1897, by Harper & Brothers.

  THE SHIP OF FAITH

  ANONYMOUS

  A certain colored brother had been holding forth to his little flockupon the ever-fruitful topic of _Faith_, and he closed his exhortationabout as follows:

  "My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to git on board deShip ob Faith. I tell you, my bruddren, dere ain't no odder way. Dereain't no gitten up de back stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots; you can't dodat away, my bruddren, you got to git on board de Ship ob Faith. Once'pon a time dere was a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all gwine tode promised land. Well, dey knowed dere w'an't no odder way for 'em todo but to git on board de Ship ob Faith. So dey all went down an' got onboard, de ole granfaders, an' de ole granmudders, an' de pickaninnies,an' all de res' of 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one mons'us bigfeller, he said he's gwine to swim, he was. 'W'y!' dey said, 'you can'tswim so fur like dat. It am a powerful long way to de promised land!' Hesaid: 'I kin swim anywhur, I kin. I git board no boat, no, 'deed!' Well,my bruddren, all dey could say to dat poor disluded man dey couldn't githim on board de Ship of Faith, so dey started off. De day was fair, dewin' right; de sun shinin' and ev'ryt'ing b'utiful, an' dis big fellerhe pull off his close and plunge in de water. Well, he war a powerfulswimmer, dat man, 'deed he war; he war dat powerful he kep' right 'longside de boat all de time; he kep' a hollerin' out to de people on deboat, sayin': 'What you doin' dere, you folks, brilin' away in de sun;you better come down heah in de water, nice an' cool down here.' Butdey said: 'Man alive, you better come up here in dis boat while you gota chance.' But he said: 'No, indeedy! I git aboard no boat; I'm havin'plenty fun in de water.' Well, bimeby, my bruddren, what you tink datpore man seen? A _horrible, awful shark_, my bruddren; mouf wide opne,teef more'n a foot long, ready to chaw dat pore man all up de minute hecatch him. Well, when he seen dat shark he begun to git awful scared,an' he holler out to de folks on board de ship: 'Take me on board, takeme on board, quick!' But dey said: 'No, indeed; you wouldn't come uphere before, you swim now!'

  "He look over his shoulder an' he seen dat shark a-comin' an' he lethisself out. Fust it was de man an' den it was de shark, an' den it wasde man again, dat away, my bruddren, _plum to de promised land_. Dat amde blessed troof I'm a-tellin' you dis minute. But what do you t'ink wasa-waitin' for him on de odder shore when he got dere? A _horrible, awfullion_, my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on de shore, a-lashin' his sideswid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour dat poor nigger de minithe git on de shore.

  "Well, he _war_ powerful scared den, he don't know what he gwine to do.If he stay in de water de shark eat him up; if he go on shore de lioneat him up; he dunno what to do. But he put his trust in de Lord, an'went for de shore. Dat lion he give a fearful roar an' bound for him;but, my bruddren, as sure as you live an' breeve, dat horrible, awfullion he jump clean ober dat pore feller's head into de water; an' _deshark eat de lion_. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in nosuch circumstance; dat pore man he done git saved, but I tell you _deLord ain't a-gwine to furnish a lion fo' every nigger_!"

  HE WANTED TO KNOW

  ANONYMOUS

  Early one moonlight morning, in the city of London, a man was vainlytrying to find his home, but being unable to locate it he called uponthe services of a passer-by.

  "Hey! M-m-mister (hic), will you take me to twenty-two?"

  "Number twenty--Why you are standing right in front of it!"

  "Oh, no you d-d-don't,--that's two-two, two-two!"

  "Why, no, it's twenty-two."

  "Say, you can't fool me. 'Nuther fellow tried to d-d-do that. He-he-hetold me the other side of the street was (hic) on this side,--an''tisn't,--s-sit's over there. Please t-t-take me (hic) to twenty-two,will you?"

  The man walked him around the block and back again.

  "Now, then, get out your key. I must be going."

  "Say, it was m-m-mighty (hic) jolly of you to bring me all this l-l-longway ho-ho-home, old chap!"

  "That's all right. Now get your key,--hurry up."

  "I'm ever so much obliged to you for bringing me all this long wayho-ho-home."

  "That's all right. I must go now. Good-night."

  The man had walked but a little distance when he heard his friend tryingto whistle to him.

  "Hey! (_Tries to whistle_). C-co-come here, I want ter speak to you. Nowd-d-don't get mad (hic), old chap, it's important."

  "Well, what do you want?"

  "I just want to (hic) tell you how much obliged I'm to you for bringingme all this long way
home."

  "You had better go to bed now, so good-night."

  "Hold up, old chap, you're a-a-a--would you mind telling me what yourname is?"

  Here the clock in St. Paul's struck two.

  "My name--is St. Paul."

  "Good enough, Miss Saint 'All. Much obliged to you for bring--me----"

  "Never mind, good-night."

  "Hey! Hi! (_Tries to whistle_). Mister Saint 'All--Miss Saint P-all,co-co-come here, I want to ask (hic) you something."

  "What!"

  "Old f-f-friend, I d-d-d-d-didn't mean that, Misser Saint Faull,--I justwant to ask you a persh-pershonal question, Mis-Mis----"

  "Well, what is it?"

  "Misser Saint Paul, would you mind telling me whether you ever gotanswers to those letters you wrote to the Ephesians?"

  AN OPPORTUNITY

  ANONYMOUS

  I dropt into the post-office this morning for my mail, and just insidethe door I found a little boy crying very bitterly. Naturally I askedhim the cause of his trouble, and lifting his tear-stained face to minehe said:

  "I had two quarters, and a feller come along just now and took one awayfrom me."

  "What!" said I, "right here in the post-office?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, why didn't you tell some one?"

  "I did; I hollered, 'Help! help!'" (_Said very weakly._)

  "Well," I said, "is that as loud as you can holler?"

  "Yes, sir."

  So _I_ took the other quarter.

  GAPE-SEED

  ANONYMOUS

  A farmer, walking the streets of one of our big cities, looked through awindow at a lot of men writing very rapidly on typewriters; and as hestood at the door with his mouth open, one of the men called out to him,"Do you wish to buy some gape-seed?" Passing on a short distance, heasked a man what the business was of the men he had just seen in theoffice he had passed. He was told that they wrote letters dictated byothers, and transcribed all sorts of documents. The farmer returned tothe office, and inquired if one of the men would write a letter for him,and was answered in the affirmative. He asked the price, and was toldone dollar. After considerable talk, the bargain was made; one of theconditions being that the scribe should write just what the farmer toldhim to, or he should receive no pay. The man said he was ready, and thefarmer dictated as follows:

  "Dear wife," and then asked, "Have you got that down?"

  "Yes; _go on_."

  "I went for a ride the other day--have you got that down?"

  "Yes; _go on, go on_."

  "And I harnessed up the old mare into the wagon--have you got thatdown?"

  "Yes, yes, long ago; _go on_."

  "Why, how fast you write!--And I got into the wagon, and sat down, anddrew up the reins, and took the whip in my right hand--have you got thatdown?"

  "Yes, long ago; _go on_."

  "Dear me, how fast you write! I never saw your equal.--And I said to theold mare, '_Go 'long_,' and I jerked the reins pretty hard--have you gotthat down?"

  "Yes; and I am impatiently waiting for more. I wish you wouldn't botherme with so many foolish questions. Go on with your letter."

  "Well, the old mare wouldn't stir out of her tracks, and I hollered,'_Go 'long, you old jade! go 'long_'--have you got that down?"

  "Yes, indeed, _you pestiferous fellow; go on_."

  "And I licked her, and licked her, and licked her----" (_continuing torepeat these words as rapidly as possible_).

  "Hold on there! I have written two pages of 'licked her,' and I want therest of the letter."

  "Well, and she kicked, and she kicked, and she kicked----" (_continuingto repeat these words with great rapidity_).

  "Do go on with your letter; I have several pages of 'she kicked.'"

  (_The farmer clucks as in urging horses to move, and continues theclucking noise with rapid repetition for some time._)

  The scribe jumps up from the typewriter.

  "_Write it down! write it down!_"

  "I can't!"

  "Well, then, I won't pay you."

  (_The scribe, gathering up his papers._) "What shall I do with all thesesheets upon which I have written your nonsense?"

  "You might use them in doing up your _gape-seed_! Good-day!"

  LARIAT BILL

  ANONYMOUS

  "Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine I wore runnin' the 'Frisco fast express; An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine, Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess. The road were a down-grade all the way, An' we pulled out of Murder a little late, So I opened the throttle wide that day, And a mile a minute was 'bout our gait.

  "My fireman's name was Lariat Bill, A quiet man with an easy way, Who could rope a steer with a cowboy's skill, Which he had learned in Texas, I've heard him say: The coil were strong as tempered steel, An' it went like a bolt from a crossbow flung. An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel, Just over his head in the cab it hung.

  "Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring, An' I give her full steam an' put her through, An' the engine rocked like a living thing; When all of a sudden I got a scare-- For thar on the track were a little child! An' right in the path of the engine there She held out her little hands and smiled!

  "I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes, The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold; But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes, An' I set my teeth an' my flesh grew cold. Then Lariat Bill yanked his long lasso, An' out on the front of the engine crept-- He balanced a moment before he threw, Then out in the air his lariat swept!"

  He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes; The stranger listened with bated breath. "I know the rest of the tale," he cries; "He snatched the child from the jaws of death! 'Twas the deed of a hero, from heroes bred, Whose praises the very angels sing!" The engineer shook his grizzled head, And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing.

  "He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree, An' the lariat caught with a double hitch, An' in less than a second the train an' we Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch! 'Twere an awful smash, an' it laid me out, I ain't forgot it, and never shall; Were the passengers hurt? Lemme see--about-- Yes, it killed about forty--but saved the gal!"

  THE CANDIDATE

  BY BILL NYE

  The heat and the venom of each political campaign bring back to my mindwith wonderful clearness the bitter and acrimonious war, and the savagefactional fight, which characterized my own legislative candidacy inwhat was called the Prairie Dog District of Wyoming, about ten yearsago.

  I hesitated about accepting the nomination because I knew thatvituperation would get up on its hind feet and annoy me greatly, and,indeed, this turned out to be the case.

  In due time I was nominated, and one evening my heart swelled when Iheard a campaign band coming up the street, trying to see how little itcould play and still draw its salary. The band was followed by men withtorches, and speakers in carriages. A messenger was sent into the houseto tell me that I was about to be waited upon by my old friends andneighbors, who desired to deliver to me their hearty endorsement, and alarge willow-covered two-gallon Godspeed as a mark of esteem.

  The spokesman, as soon as I had stept out on my veranda, mounted theimprovised platform previously erected, and after a short anddebilitated solo and chorus by the band, said as follows, as near as Ican now recall his words:

  "_Mr. Nye_--

  "Sir:--We have read with pain the open and venomous attacks of the fouland putrid press of our town, and come here to-night to vindicate by ourpresence your utter innocence _as_ a man, _as_ a fellow citizen, _as_ aneighbor, _as_ a father, mother, brother or sister.

  "No one could look down into your open face, and deep, earnest lungs,and then doubt you _as_ a man, _as_ a fellow citizen, _as_ a neighbor,_as_ a father, mother, brother, or sister. You came to us a poor man,and staked your all on the gro
wth of this town. We like you because youare still poor. You can not be too poor to suit us. It shows that youare not corrupt.

  "Mr. Nye, on behalf of this vast assemblage (_tremulo_), I am glad thatyou are POOR!!!"

  Mr. Limberquid then said:

  "Sir:--What do we care for the vilifications of the press--a presshired, venial, corrupt, reeking in filth and oozy with the slime of itsown impaired circulation, snapping at the heels of its superiors, andsteeped in the reeking poison and pollution of its own shop-worn andunmarketable opinions?

  "What do we care that homely men grudge our candidate his symmetry ofform and graceful, upholstered carriage? What do we care that calumnycrawls out of its hole, calumniates him a couple of times and then goesback?

  "We like him for the poverty he has made. Our idea in running him forthe Legislature is to give him a chance to accumulate poverty, and havesome saved up for a rainy day."

  Several people wept here, and wiped their eyes on their alabaster hands.The band then played, "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and yielding tothe pressing demands of the populi, I made a few irrelevant, but low,passionate remarks, as follows:

  "Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:--We are not here, as Iunderstand it, solely to tickle our palates with the twisted doughnutsof our pampered and sin-curst civilization, but to unite and give ourpledges once more to the support of the best men. In this teacup offoaming and impervious cider from the Valley of the Jordan I drink tothe success of the best men. Fellow citizens and members of the band, weowe our fealty to the old party. Let us cling to the old party as longas there is any juice in it and vote for its candidates. Let us give oursuffrages to men of advanced thought who are loyal to their party butpoor. Gentlemen, I am what would be called a poor but brainy man. When Iam not otherwise engaged you will always find me engaged in thought. Ilove the excitement of following an idea and chasing it up a tree. It isa great pleasure for me to pursue the red-hot trail of a thought or theintellectual spoor of an idea. But I do not allow this habit tointerfere with politics. Politics and thought are radically different.Why should man think himself weak on these political matters when thereare men who have made it their business and life study to do thethinking for the masses?

  "This is my platform. I believe that a candidate should be poor; that heshould be a thinker on other matters, but leave political matters andnominations to professional political ganglia and molders of primarieswho have given their lives and the inner coating of their stomachs tothe advancement of political methods by which the old, cumbersome anddangerous custom of defending our institutions with drawn swords may besuperseded by the modern and more attractive method of doing so withoverdrawn salaries.

  "Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:--In closing let me say thatyou have seen me placed in the trying position of postmaster for thepast year. For that length of time I have stood between you and thegovernment at Washington. I have assisted in upholding the strong arm ofthe government, and yet I have not allowed it to crush you. No man hereto-night can say that I have ever, by word or deed, revealed outside theoffice the contents of a postal card addrest to a member of my own partyor held back or obstructed the progress of new and startling seeds sentby our representative from the Agricultural Department. I am in favorof a full and free interchange of interstate red-eyed and pale beans,and I favor the early advancement and earnest recognition of the meritsof the highly offensive partizan. I thank you, neighbors and band(_husky and pianissimo_), for this gratifying little demonstration.Words seem empty and unavailing at this time. Will you not accept thehospitality of my home? Neighbors, you are welcome to these halls. Comein and look at the family album."

  ONE AFTERNOON

  ANONYMOUS

  The events narrated in the following story take place about the middleof the twentieth century. At that date the institution known as thedepartment store had reached its full development. There was not asingle article of any kind that could not be purchased at one of thesemammoth emporiums. It is well to bear this fact in mind, for the wholeaction of this story takes place under the roof of Sniggle Scooper'sDepartment Store.

  SCENE THE FIRST. When Charlie Hussel entered Sniggle Scooper'srefreshment department on that beautiful summer afternoon, he had nomore idea of getting married than most millionaires have of paying fulltaxes on all their property. Charlie sat down at the counter and ordereda plain soda. He had been at the club the night before and his nerveswere somewhat unstrung. While waiting for his soda he noticed a younglady by his side toying with an ice cream soda marked down from sevencents to four and a half. She was as fair as a poet's dream and theyoung man's heart beat tumultuously within him as he gazed at her. Helonged for an opportunity of speaking to her and at last it came. Shedropt her purse,--whether by accident I leave you to conjecture. Pickingup the pocketbook our hero handed it to the young lady with a bow. Shetook the pocketbook, but returned the bow.

  "Thank you," she murmured; "you are very kind."

  "No," said he, "I am not kind. I'm a selfish brute!"

  "Then why did you trouble yourself to pick up my purse?"

  "Because, to tell the truth, I wanted to hear your voice."

  "And now that you have heard it?"

  "I wish I could hear it always. Consent to be my wife. You love me, doyou not?"

  "Yes! What is your name?"

  "Charlie Hussel,--and yours, dear?"

  "Mildred Uptodate. Now, Charlie, you must ask father's consent."

  "All right, Mabel. There is a telephone on the next floor. Come alongand I'll ask him."

  They ascended by the escalator.

  SCENE THE SECOND. Mr. Uptodate readily gave his consent, for he knew ofCharlie Hussel in a business way.

  "Now, Mildred, let us set the time for the wedding. It is now fiveminutes after one. Suppose we say four o'clock?"

  "Oh, dear, no, I can't possibly get ready before to-morrow afternoon."

  "Of course you can. Why, you can get everything you need right here inthis store."

  "Well, Charlie, if you insist, I suppose I must yield. But it seems aterribly short engagement."

  "Yes, sweetheart, but then our married life will be so much longer. Runalong, now, darling, and get your wedding-gown, while I get a suit ofclothes and attend to the license. Meet me in the chapel on the topfloor at half past four sharp."

  At the appointed hour the happy couple were made one by the departmentstore clergyman. A few minutes later they were seated in the cafeenjoying their wedding dinner. How happy they were as they planned forthe future!

  SCENE THE THIRD. Dinner was over and the happy pair went hand-in-handtoward the transportation department to arrange for their wedding tour.As they passed a bargain counter, the bride exclaimed rapturously:

  "O Charlie, I see some lovely bargains over there. Do let me have twodollars."

  A moment later the proud husband was watching his wife as with the easeborn of long practise she fought her way through the crowd and reachedthe counter. After a little while she returned waving triumphantly afolded paper, exclaiming:

  "Wasn't I lucky? I got the last one they had."

  "What is it?"

  "Why, don't you know? It's a divorce!"

  The young man grew pale.

  "I thought," he said, "you loved me."

  "Why, of course I love you, but I simply couldn't resist such a bargainas that."

  She pointed to a sign. Charlie looked at it and read:

  THIS DAY ONLY! OUR REGULAR DIVORCES MARKED DOWN FROM $2.75 TO $1.69

  NOT IN IT

  ANONYMOUS

  They built a church at his very door-- "He wasn't in it." They brought him a scheme for relieving the poor-- "He wasn't in it." Let them work for themselves, as he had done, They wouldn't ask help from any one If they hadn't wasted each golden minute-- "He wasn't in it." So he passed the poor with haughty tread--

  When men in the halls of virtue met He saw their goodn
ess without regret; Too high the mark for him to win it-- "He wasn't in it." A carriage crept down the street one day-- "He was in it." The funeral trappings made a display-- "He was in it." St. Peter received him with book and bell; "My friend, you have purchased a ticket to--well, Your elevator goes down in a minute." "He was in it!"

  A TWILIGHT IDYL

  BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE

  One summer evening, Mr. Ellis Henderson, a popular young man, went outwalking with two of the sweetest girls in town. Mr. Henderson wore alittle straw hat with a navy blue band, a cutaway coat, a pair of whitetrousers, a white vest, a buttonhole bouquet, and fifteen cents. Theevening was very hot, and as they walked, they talked about the baseballmatch, the weather, and sunstrokes. By and by one of the young ladiesgave a delicate little shriek.

  "OO-oo! What a funny sign!"

  "Ha--yes," said Mr. Henderson, in troubled tones, looking gently butresolutely at the wrong side of the street.

  "How funny it is spelled; see, Ethel."

  "Why," said Ethel, "it is spelled correctly. Isn't it, Mr. Henderson?"

  "Hy--why--aw--why, yes, to be sure," said Mr. Henderson, staring at awindow full of house-plants.

  "Why, Mr. Henderson," said Elfrida, "how can you say so? Just see,'i--c--e, ice, c--r double e--m, creem'; that's not the way to spellcream."

  And Mr. Henderson, who was praying harder than he ever prayed beforethat an earthquake might come along and swallow up either himself orall the ice-cream parlors in the United States, looked up at the chimneyof the house and said:

  "That? Oh, yes, yes; of course, why certainly. How very much cooler ithas grown within the past few minutes. That cool wave from Manitoba isnearing us once more."

  He took out his handkerchief and swabbed a face that would scorch aniceberg brown in ten minutes.

  "Is it true, Mr. Henderson," asked Ethel, "that soda fountains sometimesexplode?"

  "Oh, frequently," said he, "and they scatter death and destructioneverywhere. In some of our Eastern cities they have been abolished bylaw,--and they ought to do the same thing here! Why, in New York, allthe soda fountains have been removed far outside the city limits and arenow located side by side with powder houses."

  "I am not afraid of them," said Ethel, "and I don't believe they are abit dangerous."

  "Nor I," echoed Elfrida, "I would not be afraid to walk up to one andstand by it all day. Why are you so afraid of them, Mr. Henderson?"

  "Because once I had a fair, sweet young sister blown to pieces by one ofthose terrible engines of destruction while she was drinking at it, andI can not look at one without growing faint."

  "How do they make soda water, Mr. Henderson?"

  He was about to reply that it was composed chiefly of dirt and poison,when Ethel read aloud four ice-cream signs, and said, "How comfortableand happy all those people look in there."

  Then young Mr. Henderson, who had been clawing at his hair, and tearingoff his necktie and collar, and pawing the air, shouted in tones of wildfrenzy:

  "Oh, yes, yes, yes! Come in; come in and gorge yourselves. Everybodycome in and eat up a whole week's salary in fifteen minutes. Set 'em up!Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, pineapple, raspberry, lemon, peach,apricot, tutti frutti, nesselrode pudding, water-ice, cake and sherbet.Set 'em up! The treat's on me. Oh, yes, I can stand it. Ha, ha! I'mAstorbilt in disguise. Oh, yes; it doesn't cost anything to take anevening walk! Put out your frozen pudding! Ha, ha, ha!"

  They carried him home to his boarding house, and put him to bed, andsent for his physician. He is not yet out of danger, but will recover.The exact trouble is a mystery to the doctor, but he thinks it must behydrosodia, as the sight of a piece of ice throws the patient into thewildest and most furious paroxysms.

  LAVERY'S HENS

  ANONYMOUS

  Michael Lavery, a thrifty Irishman, lived in a small cottage, onDevarsey Street, South Side, Chicago. It had no yard in front, and therear was ditto. It had a cellar, however, and it occurred to Lavery thathe might make something out of it by using it as a hen-house; but onecold night, during the following winter, the water-pipes burst, floodedthe cellar, and drowned the chickens. Friends of Lavery told him thecity would make good his loss if he made proper application. So Mr.Lavery went down to the city hall, and entering the room of the clerk,said:

  "Good marnin'. Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street,on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water camein and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

  "What's that?"

  "Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the SouthSide, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in anddrowned thim; what'll I do?"

  "What's that?"

  "Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the SouthSide, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in anddrowned thim; what'll I do?"

  "The water came in and drowned your chickens; what will you do?"

  "Yis, sir."

  "Well, you step into the next room and see the mayor. You will find himat his desk; tell him what you want."

  "All right, sir, I will." (_Exit Lavery to next room._)

  "Good marnin'. Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street,on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water camein and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

  (_Gruffly._) "What, sir?"

  "Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the SouthSide, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in anddrowned thim; what'll I do?"

  "What's that?"

  (_Very loud._) "Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in DevarseyStreet, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and thewater came and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

  "I don't understand one word you say, sir!"

  (_Very softly and sarcastically, and working up into loud voice._) "Mename is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the SouthSide, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in anddrowned thim; what'll I do?"

  "The water came in and drowned your chickens; what will you do?"

  "Yis, sir."

  "Well I can do nothing for you, so good-morning, sir!"

  (_Clerk whispers to Lavery as he is passing out._) "Well, Mr. Lavery,what did he say to you?"

  "_Kape ducks!_"

  LISP

  ANONYMOUS

  Thome folks thay I listhp, But then I don't perthieve it. Juth listhen while I call the cat: "Here Pusthy! Pusthy! Pusthy!" Now thee I don't listhp.

  THEY MET BY CHANCE

  ANONYMOUS

  They met by chance, They had never met before. They met by chance, And she was stricken sore.

  They never met again, Don't want to, I'll allow! They met but once: _'Twas a freight-train and a cow!_

  THE BRIDEGROOM'S TOAST

  ANONYMOUS

  (_Speaks while seated._) "I know a story,--what? (_Laughs._) I knowanother story,--eh? Oh, don't ask me. I never made a speech in my life.I am willing to do anything to make you fully enjoy--(_This is broken byapplause, which the reader may imitate by rapping on a chair, or on atable._) I will only make a fool of myself--(_Attempting to get up. Moreapplause. Sits down again._) I would rather not. (_After much difficultyand persuasion he rises to his feet and begins._) Ladies and gentlemen,I have been suddenly called upon to propose a toast, which I think youwill admit,--I am suddenly called upon,--very suddenly,--to proposeand--(_Sits down. More applause. Rises again._) Ladies and gentlemen,you are very kind (_clears throat_) and I will do my best, and I onlyhope that unaccustomed as I am to public houses,--speaking,--I sometimesfind I have some difficulty in the,--of course I don't mean to say,--Idon't mean to say what I mean when I mean what I say! At all events,ladies and gentlemen, I am very, very much obliged for the kind remarksin which you have drunk my health. (_Sits down. Rises again._) I amcalled upon to propose a toast (_makes a motion as if someone hasthrown something
at him from behind striking him on the head_) upon--topropose a toast, but have forgotten it. Considering it is the mostimportant toast of the evening you will understand--(_Aside: 'What isthe toast?'_)--the toast of the ladies. Of course we all know (_runs hishand up and down the back of the chair_) whatever may be said againstthem,--whatever people may say about the ladies, there is no doubt theladies are really a very excellent--institution! I don't agree withthose people who--I think, I say, that far from being a uniform successthey are the reverse. I am bold enough to say, I don't agree that theyare very nearly as good as we are. I know (_again he is hit in theback_) there are few drink the health of the army and navy,--I meanladies. Shakespeare says that 'when a woman' (_hit again_)--I had itjust now. Shakespeare says, 'When a woman,'--oh, yes, the immortal bardsays, 'We won't go home till morning!'" (_Sits down in greatconfusion._)

  REHEARSING FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS

  BY STANLEY HUNTLEY

  "Now, my dear," said Mr. Spoopendyke, opening the book and assuming thecorrect dramatic scowl--"now my dear, we'll rehearse our parts forSpecklewottle's theatricals. I'm to be Hamlet and you're to be thequeen, and we want this thing to go off about right. The hardest part wehave to play together is where I accuse you of poisoning my father, andwe'd better try that until we get it perfect. I'll commence:

  "Now, mother, what's the matter?"

  "Well, I was thinking whether I had better wear my black silk or mymaroon suit. Do queens wear----"

  "Will you be kind enough to tell me what pack of cards you got that ideaof a queen from? Do you suppose the queen sent for Hamlet to get hisopinion about bargains in dry-goods? When I say that you must say,'Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended!'"

  "Oh, I understand, I thought you asked me what I was thinking about. Ididn't know you had commenced to play. Try it again."

  "Well you be careful this time, this is a play, this is. Think you knowthe difference between a play and a bankrupt sale? Know the distinctionbetween a play and a millinery-shop opening? Now, I'll begin again andyou try to do it decently."

  "Now, mother, what's the matter!"

  "There's nothing the matter now; go on, dear. I understand it now."

  "Say it, can't ye! Haven't ye studied this business? Don't ye know yourpart?"

  "What shall I say, dear?"

  "Say! Sing a hymn! If you don't know your part, get off a psalm! Didn'tI tell you what to say? Look here. Have you ever read this play? Haveyou conceived any kind of a notion of what it's all about?"

  "Why, yes, you come in and stab Mr. Specklewottle behind the ears and Iscream. Isn't that right, dear?"

  "Hear her! Stab Specklewottle behind the ears! That is all right; nowyou scream! Scream, why don't you? You know so much about your measlypart, why don't you play it?"

  "We-e-e-e-e! I knew I could do it right as soon as you showed me how.Will that do?"

  "Oh, that was queenly! Just do that again! Four of those dramaticefforts will make this play the greatest of modern entertainments! Do itonce more!"

  "It hurts my throat. Can't we make it do with one scream, dear?"

  "Mrs. Spoopendyke, there's been some mistake made in this thing. Youshould have been cast for Ophelia. That was the part intended for you."

  "I would just as soon play it. What does he do?"

  "He was an idiot from his birth and afterward went crazy. That was thepart for you."

  "Then I'd rather be queen. Now, dear, let's commence all over and I'lldo it right this time."

  "You can't do it worse. I'll try it once more, just to see what kind offoolishness you can work off."

  "Now, mother, what's the matter?"

  "We-e-e-e, Hamlet, oh, Hamlet! We-e-e-e-e!"

  "Turn it off! Be quick and break off the end! What's the matter?"

  "We-e-e-e-e!"

  "What's the matter with you, anyway?"

  "We-e-e-e-e-e! My dear, you are just splendid as Hamlet. You should havebeen an actor."

  "Will ye ever shut up? Who ever told ye to yell like that? Don't ye knowanything at all scarcely? Think Hamlet's a lunatic asylum? Got some kindof a notion that the queen's a fog-horn? Where'd ye get your idea ofthis thing, anyway?"

  "I did just as you told me, dear. You said I was to scream when youasked me what the matter was. Didn't I do it right?"

  "Oh, that was right! You struck the keynote of high art both times! Withthat yell and your knowledge of the text all you want now is a fire anda free list to be a theater with a restaurant attachment! Such talent asthat can't be wasted on any cheap Shakespeare plays while I've got themoney and influence to get you a job in the legitimate circus!" And Mr.Spoopendyke bolted from the house, thoroughly disgusted with privatetheatricals.

  By permission of _The Brooklyn Eagle_.

  THE V-A-S-E

  BY JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE

  Far from the crowd they stood apart, The maidens four and the Work of Art;

  And none might tell from sight alone In which had culture ripest grown,--

  The Gotham Millions fair to see, The Philadelphia Pedigree,

  The Boston Mind of azure hue, Or the Soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,--

  For all loved Art in a seemly way, With an earnest soul and a capital A.

  * * * * *

  Long they worshiped, but no one broke The sacred stillness, until up spoke

  The Western one from the nameless place, Who blushing said, "What a lovely vace!"

  Over three faces a sad smile flew, And they edged away from Kalamazoo.

  But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred To crush the stranger with one small word.

  Deftly hiding reproof in praise, She cries, "'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!"

  But brief her unworthy triumph when The lofty one from the home of Penn,

  With the consciousness of two grandpapas, Exclaims, "It is quite a lovely vahs!"

  And glances round with an anxious thrill, Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.

  But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee, And gently murmurs, "Oh, pardon me!

  "I did not catch your remark, because I was so entranced with that charming vaws!"

  And then each nose was a sight to see Turned up in contempt at the other three.

  PAPA AND THE BOY

  BY J. L. HARBOUR

  Charming as is the merry prattle of innocent childhood, it is notparticularly agreeable at about one o'clock in the morning. There areyoung and talkative children who have no more regard for your feelingsor for the proprieties of life than to open their eyes with a snap atone or two in the morning, and to seek to engage you in enliveningdialog of this sort.

  "Papa."

  You think you will pay no heed to the imperative little voice, hopingthat silence on your part will keep the youngster quiet; but again thatboy of three pipes out sharply:

  "Papa!"

  "Well?" you say.

  "You 'wake, papa?"

  "Yes."

  "So's me."

  "Yes, I hear that you are," you say with cold sarcasm. "What do youwant?"

  "Oh! nuffin."

  "Well, lie still and go to sleep then."

  "I isn't s'eepy, papa."

  "Well, I am, young man."

  "Is you? I isn't--not a bit. Say, papa, papa! If you was wich what wouldyou buy me?"

  "I don't know--go to sleep."

  "Wouldn't you buy me nuffin?"

  "I guess so; now you----"

  "What, papa?"

  "Well, a steam engine, may be; now you go right to sleep."

  "With a bell that would ring, papa?"

  "Yes, yes; now you----"

  "And would the wheels go wound, papa?"

  "Oh! yes (_yawning_). Shut your eyes now, and----"

  "And would it go choo, choo, choo, papa?"

  "Yes, yes; now go to sleep."

  "Say, papa."

  No answer.

  "Papa!"

  "Well, what now?"

>   "Is you 'fraid of the dark?"

  "No" (_drowsily_).

  "I isn't either. Papa!"

  "Well?"

  "If I was wich I'd buy you somefin."

  "Would you?"

  "Yes; I'd buy you some ice-cweam and some chocolum drops and a toofbrush and panties wiv bwaid on like mine, and a candy wooster, and----"

  "That will do. You must go to sleep now."

  Silence for half a second, then--

  "Papa! papa!"

  "Well, what now?"

  "I want a jink."

  "No, you don't."

  "I do, papa."

  Experience has taught you that there will be no peace until you havebrought the "jink," and you scurry out to the bathroom in the dark forit, knocking your shins against everything in the room as you go.

  "Now I don't want to hear another word from you to-night," you say, ashe gulps down a mouthful of the water he didn't want. Two minutes laterhe says:

  "Papa!"

  "See here, laddie, papa will have to punish you if----"

  "I can spell 'dog,' papa."

  "Well, nobody wants to hear you spell at two o'clock in the morning."

  "B-o-g--dog; is that right?"

  "No, it isn't. But nobody cares if----"

  "Then it's d-o-g, isn't it?"

  "Yes, yes; now you lie right down and go to sleep instantly."

  "Then I'll be a good boy, won't I, papa?"

  "Yes; you'll be the best boy on earth. Good-night, dearie."

  "Papa!"

  "Well, well! What now?"

  "Is I your little boy?"

  "Yes, yes; of course."

  "Some mans haven't got any little boys; but you have, haven't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't you wish you had two, free, nine, 'leben, twenty-six, ninety-ten,free hundred little boys?"

  The mere possibility of such a remote and contingent calamity soparalyzes you that you lie speechless for ten minutes during which youhear a yawn or two in the little bed by your side, a little figure rollsover three or four times, a pair of heels fly into the air once ortwice, a warm, moist little hand reaches out and touches your face tomake sure that you are there, and the boy is asleep with his heels wherehis head ought to be.

  THE OBSTRUCTIVE HAT IN THE PIT

  BY F. ANSTEY

  SCENE: _The Pit of a London theatre during Pantomime Time._

  _An Overheated Matron_ (_to her husband_)--"Well, they don't give youmuch room in 'ere, I must say. Still, we done better than I expected,after all that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone once--but it wason'y the umbrella's. You pretty comfortable where you are, eh, father?"

  _Father_--"Oh, I'm right enough, I am."

  _Jimmy_ (_their small boy with a piping voice_)--"If father is it's morenor what I am. I can't see, mother, I can't!"

  _Mother_--"Lor' bles' the boy! there ain't nothen to see yet; you'll seewell enough when the curting goes up. (_Curtain rises on openingscene._) Look, Jimmy, ain't that nice, now? All them himps, dancin'round and real fire comin' out of the pot--which I 'ope it's quitesafe--and there's a beautiful fairy just come on drest so grand, too!"

  _Jimmy_ (_whimpering_)--"I can't see no fairy--nor yet no himps--nonothen!"

  _Mother_ (_annoyed_)--"Was there ever such an aggravating boy? Setquiet, do, and don't fidget, and look at the hactin'!"

  _Jimmy_--"I tell yer I can't see no hactin', mother. It ain't myfault--it's this lady in front of me, with the 'at."

  _Mother_--"Father, the pore boy says he can't see where he is, 'cause ofa lady's 'at in front."

  _Father_--"Well, I can't 'elp the 'at, can I? He must put up with it,that's all!"

  _Mother_--"No--but I thought, if you wouldn't mind changing places withhim; you're taller than him."

  _Father_--It's always the way with you--never satisfied, you ain't!Well, pass the boy across! I'm for a quiet life, I am (_changingseats_). Will this do for you?" (_He settles down immediately behind avery large, furry hat which he dodges for some time._)

  _Father_ (_suddenly_)--"Blow the 'at."

  _Mother_--"You can't wonder at the boy not seeing! P'r'aps the ladywouldn't mind taking it off, if you asked her?"

  _Father_--"Ah! (_touching the owner of the hat on the shoulder_). Excuseme, mum, but might I take the liberty of asking you to kindly removeyour 'at?" (_The owner of the hat deigns no reply._)

  _Father_ (_more insistently_)--"Would you 'ave any objection to obligeme by taking off your 'at, mum? (_Same result._) I don't know if you'eard me, mum, but I've asked you twice, civil enough, to take that 'atof yours off. I'm playin' 'ide-and-seek be'ind it 'ere!" (_No answer._)

  _Mother_--"People didn't ought to be allowed in the Pit with sech 'ats!Callin' 'erself a lady, and settin' there in a great 'at and featherslike a 'ighlander's, and never answering no more nor a stuffed himage!"

  _Father_ (_to the husband of the owner of the hat_)--"Will you tell yourgood lady to take her 'at off, sir, please?"

  _The Owner of the Hat_ (_to her husband_)--"Don't you do nothing of thesort, Sam, or you'll 'ear of it!"

  _Mother_--"Some people are perlite, I must say. Parties might be'ave asladies when they come in the Pit! It's a pity her 'usband can't teachher better manners!"

  _Father_--"'Im teach her! 'E knows better. 'E's got a Tartar there, 'e'as!"

  _The Owner of the Hat_--"Sam, are you going to set by and hear meinsulted like this?"

  _Her Husband_ (_turning round tremulously_)--"I--I'll trouble you todrop making these personal allusions to my wife's 'at, sir. It'spuffickly impossible to listen to what's going on on the stage, with allthese remarks be'ind!"

  _Father_--"Not more nor it is to see what's going on on the stage withthat 'at in front! I paid 'arf-a-crown to see the Pantermime, I did; notto 'ave a view of your wife's 'at!.... 'ere, Maria, blowed if I canstand this 'ere game any longer. Jimmy must change places again, and ifhe can't see, he must stand up on the seat, that's all!" (_Jimmy goesback and mounts upon the seat._)

  _A Pit-ite Behind Jimmy_ (_touching Jimmy's father with anumbrella_)--"Will you tell your little boy to set down, please, and notto block the view like this?"

  _Father_--"If you can indooce that lady to take off her 'at, I will, butnot before. Stay where you are, Jimmy."

  _The Pit-ite Behind_--"Well, I must stand myself then, that's all. Imean to see somehow!" (_He rises._)

  _People Behind_ (_sternly_)--"Set down there, will yer?" (_He resumeshis seat expostulating._)

  _Jimmy_--"Father, the man behind is a-pinching of my legs!"

  _Father_--"Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs. He ain't doingyou no 'arm, is he?"

  _The Pinching Pit-ite_--"Let him sit down, then!"

  _Father_--"Let the lady take her 'at off!"

  _Murmurs Behind_--"Order there! Set down! Put that boy down! Take offthat 'at! Silence in front there! Turn 'em out! Shame!..."

  _The Husband of the Owner of the Hat_ (_in a whisper to hiswife_)--"Take off the blessed 'at, and 'ave done with it, do!"

  _The Owner of the Hat_--"What, now? I'd sooner die in the 'at!" (_Anattendant is called._)

  _Attendant_--"Order, there, gentlemen, please, unless you want to getturned out! No standing allowed on the seats; you're disturbing theperformance 'ere, you know!" (_Jimmy is made to sit down, and weepssilently; the hubbub subsides, and the Owner of the Hat triumphs._)

  _Mother_--"Never mind, my boy, you shall have mother's seat in a minute.I dessay, if all was known, the lady 'as reasons for keeping her 'at on,pore thing!"

  _Father_--"Ah, I never thought o' that. So she may. Very likely her 'atwon't come off--not without her 'air!"

  _Mother_--"Ah, well, then we mus'n't be 'ard on her."

  _The Owner of the Hat_ (_removing the obstruction_)--"I 'ope you'resatisfied now, I'm sure?"

  _Father_ (_handsomely_)--"Better late nor never, mum, and we take itkind of you. Tho why you shouldn't ha' done it at fust, I dunno; for youlook a deal 'ansomer without the 'at than what you did
in it--don't sheMaria?"

  _The Owner of the Hat_ (_mollified_)--"Sam, ask the gentleman behind ifhis boy would like a ginger-nut." (_This olive-branch is accepted;compliments pass; cordiality is restored, and the pantomime thenproceeds without any further disturbance in the audience._)

  HULLO

  BY S. W. FOSS

  W'en you see a man in wo, Walk right up an' say "Hullo!" Say "Hullo" an' "How d'ye do? How's the world a-usin' you?" Slap the fellow on the back; Bring your hand down with a whack; Walk right up, an' don't go slow; Grin an' shake, an' say "Hullo!"

  Is he clothed In rags? Oh! sho; Walk right up an' say "Hullo!" Rags is but a cotton roll Jest for wrappin' up a soul; An' a soul is worth a true Hale and hearty "How d'ye do?" Don't wait for the crowd to go Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"

  When big vessels meet, they say They saloot an' sail away. Jest the same are you an' me Lonesome ships upon a sea; Each one sailin' his own log, For a port behind the fog. Let your speakin' trumpet blow; Lift your horn an' cry "Hullo!"

  Say "Hullo!" an' "How d'ye do?" Other folks are good as you. W'en you leave your house of clay Wanderin' in the far away, W'en you travel through the strange Country t'other side the range, Then the souls you've cheered will know Who ye be, an' say "Hullo."

  THE DUTCHMAN'S TELEPHONE

  ANONYMOUS

  "I guess I haf to gif up my delephone already," said an old citizen, ashe entered the office of the company with a very long face.

  "Why, what's the matter now?"

  "Oh! eferytings. I got dot delephone in mine house so I could shpeak mitder poys in der saloon down town, und mit my relations in Springwells,but I haf to gif it up. I never haf so much droubles."

  "How?"

  "Vhell, my poy Shon, in der saloon, he rings der pell and calls me oopund says an old frent of mine vhants to see how she vorks. Dot ish allright. I say, 'Hello!' und he says, 'Come closer.' I goes closer undhelloes again. Den he says, 'Shtand a little off.' I shtands a littleoff und yells vunce more, und he says, 'Shpeak louder.' I yells louder.I goes dot vhay for ten minutes, und den he says, 'Go to Texas, you oldDutchman!' You see?"

  "Yes."

  "Und den mein brudder in Springwells he rings der pell und calls me oopund says, 'How you vhas dis eafnings?' I says I vhas feeling like somecolts, und he says, 'Who vhants to puy some goats?' I says,'Colts--colts--colts!' und he answers, 'Oh! coats. I thought you saidgoats!' Vhen I goes to ask him ef he feels petter I hear a voice cryingout, 'Vhat Dutchman is dot on dis line?' Den somepody answers, 'I doan'know, but I likes to punch his headt!' You see?"

  "Yes."

  "Vhell, somedimes my vhife vhants to shpeak mit me vhen I am down in dersaloon. She rings mein pell und I says, 'Hello!' Nopody shpeaks to me.She rings again, und I says, 'Hello,' like dunder! Den der CentralOffice tells me to go aheadt, und den tells me holdt on, und den tellsmein vhife dot I am gone avhay. I yells oudt, 'Dot ish not so,' undsomepody says, 'How can I talk if dot old Dutchmans doan' keep shtill?'You see?"

  "Yes."

  "Und vhen I gets in bedt at night, somepody rings der pell like dearhouse vas on fire, and vhen I shumps oud und says, 'Hello,' I hearsomepody saying, 'Kaiser, doan' you vhant to puy a dog?' I vhants nodog, und vhen I tells 'em so, I hear some peoples laughing, 'Haw! haw!haw!' You see?"

  "Yes."

  "Und so you dake it oudt, und vhen somepody likes to shpeak mit me deyshall come right avay to mein saloon. Oof my brudder ish sick he shallget better, und if somepody vhants to puy me a dog, he shall come vhereI can punch him mit a glub."

  DOCTOR MARIGOLD

  BY CHARLES DICKENS

  I am a Cheap Jack, and my own father's name was Willum Marigold. It wasin his lifetime supposed by some that his name was William, but my ownfather always consistently said, No it was Willum. On which point Icontent myself with looking at the argument this way: If a man is notallowed to know his own name in a free country, how much is he allowedto know in a land of slavery?

  I was born on the Queen's highway, but it was the King's at that time. Adoctor was fetched to my own mother by my own father, when it took placeon a common; and in consequence of his being a very kind gentleman, andaccepting no fee but a tea-tray, I was named Doctor, out of gratitudeand compliment to him. There you have me. Doctor Marigold.

  The doctor having accepted a tea-tray, you'll guess that my father was aCheap Jack before me. You are right. He was. And my father was a lovelyone in his time at the Cheap Jack work. Now I'll tell you what. I meanto go down into my grave declaring that, of all the callings ill-used inGreat Britain, the Cheap Jack calling is the worst used. Why ain't we aprofession? Why ain't we endowed with privileges? Why are we forced totake out a hawker's license, when no such thing is expected of thepolitical hawkers? Where's the difference betwixt us? Except that we areCheap Jacks and they are Dear Jacks, I don't see any difference butwhat's in our favor.

  For look here! Say it's election-time. I am on the footboard of my cartin the market-place on a Saturday night. I put up a generalmiscellaneous lot. I say: "Now here, my free and independent voters, I'mgoing to give you such a chance as you never had in all your born days,nor yet the days preceding. Now I'll show you what I am a-going to dowith you. Here's a pair of razors that'll shave you closer than theBoard of Guardians; here's a flat-iron worth its weight in gold; here'sa frying-pan artificially flavored with essence of beefsteaks to thatdegree that you've only got for the rest of your lives to fry bread anddripping in it, and there you are complete with animal food; here's agenuine chronometer watch in such a solid silver case that you may knockat the door with it when you come home late from a social meeting, androuse your wife and family and save up your knocker for the post-man;and here's half a dozen dinner-plates that you may play the cymbals withto charm the baby when it's fractious. Stop. I'll throw you in anotherarticle, and I'll give you that, and its a rolling-pin, and if the babycan only get it well into its mouth when its teeth are coming, and rubthe gums once with it, they'll come through double, in a fit of laughterequal to be tickled. Stop again! I'll throw you in another article,because I don't like the looks of you, for you haven't the appearance ofbuyers unless I lose by you, and because I'd rather lose than not takemoney to-night, and that article's a looking-glass in which you may seehow ugly you look when you don't bid. What do you say now? Come! Do yousay a pound? Not you, for you haven't got it. Do you say ten shillings?Not you, for you owe more to the tallyman. Well, then, I'll tell youwhat I'll do with you. I'll heap 'em all on the footboard of thecart--there they are! razors, flat-iron, frying-pan, chronometer watch,dinner-plates, rolling-pin, and looking-glass--take 'em all away forfour shillings, and I'll give you sixpence for your trouble!" This isme, the Cheap Jack.

  But on Monday morning, in the same market-place, comes the Dear Jack onthe hustings--_his_ cart--and what does _he_ say? "Now, you free andindependent voters, I am going to give you such a chance" (he beginsjust like me) "as you never had in all your born days, and that's thechance of sending myself to Parliament. Now I'll tell you what I ama-going to do for you. Here's the interests of this magnificent townpromoted above all the rest of the civilized and uncivilized earth.Here's your railways carried, and your neighbors' railways jockeyed.Here's all your sons in the Post Office. Here's Britannia smiling onyou. Here's the eyes of Europe on you. Here's uniwersal prosperity foryou, repletion of animal food, golden corn-fields, gladsome homesteads,and rounds of applause from your own hearts, all in one lot, and that'smyself. Will you take me as I stand? You won't! Well, then, I'll tellyou what I'll do with you. Come now! I'll throw you in anything you askfor. There! Church-rates, abolition of church-rates, more malt tax, nomalt tax, uniwersal education to the highest mark, or uniwersalignorance to the lowest, total abolition of flogging in the army, or adozen for every private once a month all round, Wrongs of Men or Rightof Women--only say which it shall be, take 'em or leave 'em, and I'm ofyour opinion altogether, and the lot's your own on your own
terms.There! You won't take it? Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do withyou. Come! You _are_ such free and independent woters, and I _am_ soproud of you--you _are_ such a noble and enlightened constituency, and I_am_ so ambitious of the honor and dignity of being your member, whichis by far the highest level to which the wings of the human mind cansoar--that I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll throw you in allpublic-houses in your magnificent town for nothing. Will that contentyou? It won't? You won't take the lot yet? Well, then, before I put thehorse in and drive away, and make the offer to the next most magnificenttown that can be discovered, I'll tell you what I'll do. Take the lot,and I'll drop two thousand pound in the streets of your magnificent townfor them to pick up that can. Not enough? Now look here. This is thevery farthest that I'm a-going to. I'll make it two thousand fivehundred. And still you won't? Here, missis! Put the horse--No, stop halfa moment, I shouldn't like to turn my back upon you, neither, for atrifle, I'll make it two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound. There!Take the lot on your own terms, and I'll count out two thousand sevenhundred and fifty pound on the footboard of the cart, to be dropt in thestreets of your magnificent town for them to pick up that can. What doyou say? Come now! You won't do better, and you may do worse. You takeit? Hooray! Sold again, and got the seat!"

  THE RULING PASSION

  BY WILLIAM H. SIVITER

  She had never mailed a letter before, and so she approached the stampclerk's window with the same air that she would enter a dry-goods store.

  "I would like to look at some stamps, please."

  "What denomination do you want?"

  "Denomination?"

  "Yes. Is it for a letter or a newspaper?"

  "Oh, I want to send a letter to my Uncle John; he's just moved to----"

  "Then you need a two-cent stamp," said the clerk offering her one ofthat value.

  "I hardly like that color!"

  "That is a two-cent stamp, madam. Please stand aside, and let thegentleman behind you come up."

  "But haven't you got them in any other color? I never did like thatshade of red."

  "There is only one color."

  "That is strange. I'd think you'd keep them in different shades, so thatthere'd be some choice. You are sure you have none in a brighter red,or even in a different color--Nile green, or seal brown, or jubileeblue, for instance?"

  "You can put two one-cent stamps on your letter if you like."

  "Let me see them, please. Ah, that will do. I like that shade so muchbetter. I'll take only one, if you please."

  "If it's for a letter you'll need two. These are one-cent stamps andletter postage is two cents per ounce."

  "Oh, I don't want to put two stamps on my letter; I don't think theywill look well."

  "It requires two cents to carry a letter, madam, and you must either puta two-cent stamp on or two ones. It won't go without. I must ask you toplease hurry, for you are keeping a great many people away from thewindow."

  "That's singular. I don't like the looks of two together. You are surethe other doesn't come in seal-brown, or----"

  "No, madam; no!"

  "Then I'll have to see if I can suit myself elsewhere."

  And she departed.

  THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE

  ANONYMOUS

  Vake up, my schveet! Vake up, my lofe! Der moon dot can't be seen abofe. Vake oud your eyes, and dough it's late, I'll make you oud a serenate.

  Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet, Und dhere vas no goot blace to set; My fiddle's getting oud of dune, So blease get vakey wery soon.

  O my lofe! my lofely lofe! Am you avake up dere abofe, Feeling sad and nice to hear Schneider's fiddle shcrabin' near?

  Vell, anyvay, obe loose your ear, Und try to saw of you kin hear From dem bedclose vat you'm among, Der little song I'm going to sung.

  Oh, lady, vake! Get vake! Und hear der tale I'll tell; Oh, you vot's schleebin' sound ub dhere, I like you pooty vell!

  Your plack eyes dhem don't shine Ven you'm ashleep--so vake! (Yes, hurry ub und voke up quick, For goodness cracious sake!)

  My schveet inbatience, lofe! I hobe you vill oxcuse; I'm singing schveetly (dere, py Jinks! Dhere goes a shtring proke loose!)

  Oh, putiful, schveet maid! Oh, vill she ever voke? Der moon is mooning--(Jimminy! dhere Anoder shtring vent proke!)

  Oh, say, old schleeby head! (Now I vas gitting mad-- I'll holler now und I don't care Uf I vake up her dad!)

  I say, you schleeby, vake! Vake out! Vake loose! Vake ub! Fire! Murder! Police! Vatch! Oh, cracious! do vake ub!

  Dot girl she schleebed--dot rain it rained Und I looked shtoopid like a geese, Vhen mit my fiddle I sneaked off Dodging der rain und dot bolice!

  WIDOW MALONE

  BY CHARLES LEVER

  Did you hear of the Widow Malone, Ohone! Who lived in the town of Athlone, Alone! Oh, she melted the hearts Of the swains in those parts: So lovely the Widow Malone, Ohone! So lovely the Widow Malone.

  Of lovers she had a full score, Or more, And fortunes they all had galore; In store; From the minister down To the clerk of the Crown All were courting the Widow Malone, Ohone! All were courting the Widow Malone.

  But so modest was Mistress Malone, 'Twas known That no one could see her alone, Ohone! Let them ogle and sigh, They could ne'er catch her eye, So bashful the Widow Malone, Ohone! So bashful the Widow Malone.

  Till one Misther O'Brien, from Clare, (How quare! It's little for blushing they care Down there.) Put his arm round her waist, Gave ten kisses at laste, "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone, My own!" "Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone!"

  And the widow they all thought so shy, My eye! Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,-- For why? But, "Lucius," says she, "Since you've now made so free, You may marry your Mary Malone, Ohone! You may marry your Mary Malone."

  There's a moral contained in my song, Not wrong; And one comfort, it's not very long, But strong,-- If for widows you die, Learn to kiss, not to sigh; For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone, Ohone! Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!

  HIS LEG SHOT OFF

  ANONYMOUS

  You have all met him. He is the man with the funny story. As a listenerhe would be popular. If he would only keep quiet and listen to otherpeople tell stories without attempting to emulate their ability he wouldbe liked where he is now cordially disliked. But that doesn't suit histemperament. He will buttonhole you with his forefinger, and with anidiotic smile on his face say.

  "Ha! ha! ha! ha! If I didn't just hear the funniest thing! Oh, but itwas funny! Ha! ha! ha! You don't begin to know how funny it was! You seeit was this way: A long time ago there was a war,--fighting,--fighting,you know,--between the North and South. Ha! ha! ha! There was a war, asI was saying, and they got fighting, and this man,--ha! ha! ha!--thefunniest thing!--this man, Jim Jones,--you see it was this way,--it wasin the war, you know,--between the North and South,--ha! ha!--and thisman Jim Jones,--ha! ha! ha!--it is too funny for any thing,--it was toofunny! Well, Jim Jones was fighting. He went into the battle one day,and that is the funny part of it. Along came a cannon-ball and took offhis head! Ha! ha! ha! (_Laugh here for two minutes; then the facegradually assumes an air of gravity._) No, it wasn't his head, it washis leg. It was funny just the same. Down he went to the ground. Itstands to reason a man with one leg can't walk and go on fighting. So hejust laid down in his tracks. Couldn't do anything else. Just then alongcame
a battery,--you know that is cannons,--they have horses to dragthem,--men can't pull those big, heavy cannons into battle. Well, youknow, this man Jim Jones that had his leg shot off, he knew this manwith the cannons,--ha! ha!--Oh, but it was funny! And he says to him,'If you don't carry me to where a doctor is, my wife's a widow, that'sall about it!' He knew his wife was a widow if he didn't get to wherethe doctor was. You know the doctors don't stay up where the soldiersare fighting in a battle,--they're back, away back, the doctors are. Sothis man with his leg shot off, he says, 'You've got to take me where adoctor is, or my wife's a widow, that's all about it!' Well, thisneighbor of his didn't like to go back on an old friend,--ha! ha!--withhis leg shot off,--this man that had his leg shot off early in thebattle and couldn't go on fighting,--but he says to him: 'How am I toget you back there?' and he 'lowed he'd have to carry him. Well, withthat he shouldered Jim Jones,--ha! ha!--threw him over his shoulder justlike that, and away they went! (_Laugh heartily here._) And that iswhere the joke came in,--along came a cannon-ball and took of his head!Not the man's head, but Jimmy Jones' head! But pshaw, the man didn'tknow anything about it. Along he went with Jimmy over his shoulder. Justthen an officer came up. He says: 'Where are you going with that thing?'Well, the man didn't like to give a short answer. Soldiers are notallowed to give short answers to officers. He simply saluted and says:'Well, it's this way: This man's an old neighbor of mine. He was cominginto battle,--ha! ha!--and he 'lowed that a cannon-ball came along andtook off his leg. He says if we don't take him to where a doctor is hiswife's a widow and that's all about it,--and so,--ha! ha!--and so I'mjust taking him back to where the doctor is, captain.' The captainlooked at him a moment, and he says: 'Why you idiot, it isn't his leg,it's his head!' Then the man says,--not Jimmy Jones,--he had his headoff and couldn't say anything,--'Oh, the confounded rascal, he told meit was his leg!'"

  THE STUTTERING UMPIRE

  BY THE KHAN

  Oh, we had our share of trouble, I'll tell you now the source, The umpire that we sent for, Well, he didn't come, of course. Have you noticed, at the line-up When everything's for fair, The referee, the umpire, That should be there, isn't there?

  The crowd it grew impatient; We heard their angry mutters. We picked on Johnny Jimson, Tho Johnny Jimson stutters; But, still, he knows the game all right-- Indeed, he knows it all-- So in his place he hollered: "Pup-pup-pup-play bub-ball!"

  Jake Mingus was first batter, Our county's favorite son; He hit an' missed. Johnny yelled: "Stuh-stuh-stuh-strike wu-one!" Another ball went o'er the plate, And Jakey's bat went whoo! Then all the crowd heard Johnny shout: "Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-two!"

  The next one was a daisy, It made the audience howl; Jakey tapped it, Johnny yelled: "Fow-ow-ow-ow-oul!" And so the game went gaily, A game a body likes, Till Jack had called three balls on Jake And also called two strikes.

  The breathless crowd was anxious, For this will tell the tale; The pitcher tied himself in knots, The catcher did not quail. Whizz! went the ball--the rabble waits The umpire's verdict, but All that Johnny Jimson said Was "Tut-tut-tut----"

  Did he mean to say, "Tut-tut-take your base," Or else, "Tut-tut-three strikes?" Just fix it up to suit yourself As anybody likes, It busted up our little game, It was too utterly utter. Don't try to be an umpire if You stut-tut-tut-tutter.

  THE MAN WHO WILL MAKE A SPEECH

  ANONYMOUS

  A man wearing passably good clothes and a look of mental anxiety entereda fashionable drug-store, and said to the clerk:

  "Are you pretty well posted on big words?"

  "Yes," said the clerk, "I know quite a large number of big words."

  "Well, then," said the stranger, "here's the situation: Out where I liveI am a pretty big gun, and when anything is going on they call on me fora speech. I made one on election day, another the same evening, andanother the next morning, and now I'm laying the sleepers for a speechto eclipse them all."

  "What sort of a speech?" asked the clerk.

  "Political, of course. My other speeches were political, but were veryplain. This time I want to get in some regular old twisters. For onething I would declare this country in a state of--what do you call it?"

  "Peace!"

  "No, sir; I mean confusion, excitement, and so on. There's a word tosignify it, but I can't speak it."

  "Abject terrorism?"

  "No--no. Its archany, or something of the kind."

  "I guess you mean anarchy, don't you?"

  "I do--I do! Bless me if I haven't been trying for a whole hour to getthat word! That's the very thing. When called out I want to lead offwith: 'Fellow citizens, the peace has flown, and arnica reigns supreme!'I guess that will knock them."

  "You don't mean arnica--you mean anarchy."

  "That's what I mean, of course, but every time I think anarchy I get itarnica, and I don't know but I will have to give up the speech."

  "Why don't you write it down?"

  The man took up a pen and wrote: "A-r-k-a-n-y." Then he said: "Peace hasfled and arkany reigns in the land."

  "I told you it was anarchy."

  "That's so--that's so. This suspense is telling on my memory like a fitof illness. Now, then, a-n-a-r-k-y, anarky, and don't you forget it. Youneedn't say anything about my calling in here."

  "Oh, that's all right. Over seven-eighths of the best speakers in towncome to me for big words."

  "Many thanks; and now, 'Fellow citizens, peace has fled far, far away,and arkany reigns----' Hold on, is that the right word?"

  He halted at the door to examine the slip of paper, and after repeatingthe right word over several times he went on:

  "A state of anchovy is upon us, and where will it end?"

  As he walked up the street he was overheard to say:

  "Arnica! Arnica! where will it end?"

  CARLOTTA MIA

  BY T. A. DALY

  Giuseppe, da Barber, ees great for "mash," He gotta da bigga, da blacka mustache, Good clo'es an' good styla an' playnta good cash.

  W'enever Giuseppe ees walk on da street, Da people dey talka "How nobby! How neat! How softa da handa, haw smalla da feet."

  He raisa hees hat, an' he shaka hees curls, An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls; Oh, many da heart of da silly young girls He gotta, Yes playnta he gotta-- But notta-- Carlotta!

  Giuseppe, da Barber, he maka da eye, An' lika da steam-engine puffa an' sigh For catcha Carlotta w'en she ees go by.

  Carlotta she walka weeth her nose in da air, An' look through Giuseppe weeth far-away stare, As eef she no see dere ees som'body dere.

  Giuseppe, da Barber, he gotta da cash, He gotta da clo'es an' da bigga mustache, He gotta da silly young girls for da "mash." But notta-- You bat my life, notta-- Carlotta; I gotta!

  THE VASSAR GIRL

  BY WALLACE IRWIN

  "Oh, Martha's back from Vassar," Said farmer James McCassar: "O Martha, come into the house and mix a batch of bread." But Martha's accents fluttered As she murmured, as she stuttered, "I have studied the satanic Ways of bacilli organic, And it throws me in a panic, pa, to mix a batch of bread."

  _Chorus_ At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh, That's what we learn at Vassar! We love our Alma Mater so We do not like to sass 'er. We have a superstition There's nothing like the damsel with the dear old Vassar V.

  "Oh, Martha's back from Vassar," Said farmer James McCassar: "O Martha, go out to the barn and milk the brindle cow." But Martha cried: "Oh, bother!" As she faced her poor old father, "With golf I love to tussle And with basket-ball to hustle-- But I haven't got the muscle to subdue the brindle cow."

  _Chorus_ At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh, That's what we learn
at Vassar! We love our Alma Mater so We do not like to sass 'er. We have a superstition There's nothing like the damsel with the dear old Vassar V.

  "Oh, Martha's home from Vassar!" Cried the angry James McCassar: "O Martha, take yer study-books and don't come home no more!" So the maiden in contrition Got a typist-girl's position, Wed a millionaire named Harris Who, lest poverty embarrass, Made his wife a millionairess. And she's ne'er been heard of more.

  _Chorus_ At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh, That's what we learn at Vassar! We love our Alma Mater so We do not like to sass 'er. Learning's road is rough and stony; But for golden matrimony There's nothing like the maiden with the dear old Vassar V.

  From "Shame of the Colleges," Outing Publishing Co., by permission.

  A SHORT SERMON

  ANONYMOUS

  (_Delivered in usual singsong style of the conventional curate._) I amgoing to preach to you this morning, my friends, upon the young man whowas sick of the palsy. Now, this young man was sick of the palsy. Thepalsy, as you are all aware, is a very terrible disease, a wastingscourge. And this young man was sick of the palsy. And the palsy, as youknow, is strongly hereditary. It had been in his family. His father hadbeen sick of the palsy, and his mother had been sick of the palsy, andthey had _all_ of them, in fact, been sick of the palsy. And this youngman had been sick of the palsy. Yes, my dear friends, he had had it foryears and years, and--_he was sick of it_.

  A LANCASHIRE DIALECTIC SKETCH

  (Tummy and Meary)

  ANONYMOUS

  Tummy and Meary wor barn to be wed, tha knaws. And th' neet afoor theywere to be wed, Tummy he goes to Meary, and he says, "Meary, lass," hesays, "I'se noonan barn to wed tha." "Oo isn't?" hoo says. "Nooa," saysTummy, "I isn't. I'se chaanged my mind." "Why, tha greeat thiek-heead,"hoo says, "tha's allus a-chaangin' thy mind." "Ah, weel," say Tummy, "I_ha'_ chaanged my mind, and that's enough for _thee_." Weel, tha knawsMeary didn't want for to loose Tummy, for she didn't knaw where she'dpick up another as good. Soa she tried all sooarts of waays for keepin'him on. First hood tried carneyin' an' cooaxin' of him, and when shefound as cooaxin' weren't o' noa use hoo tried bully-raggin' him, andwhen she found as bully-raggin' weren't o' noa use, she tried_stratagem_--and that's a woman's last resource!

  "Tummy," hoo says, "tho tha's a' love for me, I still ha' a gradelyliking for thee, lad. And, tha sees, if tha gies me up, folks'll lay a'blame upo' thee. Noo, I'll tell tha what tha mun do. Tha mun gooa to th'church wi' me i' th' mornin', and when the parson says to thee, 'Wilttha ha' Meary for to be thy wedded wife?' tha mun say, 'Yes, I will.'And when th' parson says to me, 'Meary, lass, will tha ha' Tummy for tobe thy wedded husband?' I'll say, 'Noa, I weean't.' And then tha'll getoff scot-free, tha seeas, and th' folk'll lay a' th' blame upo' me."Weel, Tummy, he were a coward at heart, and he didn't want Meary for togooa aboot sayin' nasty things aboot him, and so he went--_poor lad!_And when they'd getten to' th' church i' th' mornin', parson he says toTummy, "Tummy," he says, "wilt thou have Meary for to be thy weddedwife?" And Tummy, he speaks oot bold-like, "Aw! Ah will!" And soona thenth' parson he turns to Meary, and he says, "Meary, lass, wilt thou haveTummy for to be thy wedded husband?" And Meary shoo up and shoo says,"Aw! Ah will!" Tummy says, "Nay, nay; that winnot dew. Tha was to sayas tha wouldn't." "Aye, but," says Meary, "there's others can chaangetheir minds, Tummy, as weel as thee!" Sooa hoo gat him!

  HIS BLACKSTONIAN CIRCUMLOCUTION

  ANONYMOUS

  "I received, this afternoon," said the bright-eyed, common-sense girl,the while a slight blush of maidenly coyness tinted her peach-huedcheeks, "a written proposal of marriage from Horace J. Pokelong, therising young attorney, and----"

  "Huh! that petrified dub!" jealously ejaculated the young dry-goodsdealer, who had been hanging back because of his timidity and excessiveadoration.

  "He says," proceeded the maiden, gently ignoring the interruption, andreading aloud from the interesting document, "'I have carefully andcomprehensively analyzed my feelings toward you, and the result issubstantially as follows, to wit: I respect, admire, adore and love you,and hereby give, grant and convey to you my heart and all my interest,right and title in and to the same, together with all my possessions andemoluments, either won, inherited or in any other manner acquired,gained, anticipated or expected, with full and complete power to use,expend, utilize, give away, bestow or otherwise make use of the same,anything heretofore stated, exprest, implied or understood, in or by myprevious condition, standing, walk, attitude or actions, to the contrarynotwithstanding; and I furthermore----'"

  "I--I----!" fairly shouted the listener, springing to his feet, andextending his arms. "Miss Brisk--Maud--I love you! Will you marry me?"

  "Yes, I will!" promptly answered the lass, as she contentedly snuggledup in his encircling embrace. "And I'll reply to the ponderous appeal ofthat pedantic procrastinator with the one expressive slangism,'Twenty-three!' I am yours, Clarence!"

  KATRINA LIKES ME POODY VELL

  ANONYMOUS

  Somedimes ven I'm a-feeling bad, Cause dings dey don'd go righd, I gid so kinder awful sick, Und lose my abbedide. Und ven I go me to der house, Und by dot daple sit, Dot widdles makes me feel gwide bale, Und I don'd kin ead a bit.

  My head dot shbind arount unt rount, Und my eyes dem look so vild, Dot of my mudder she was dere, She voodn't know her shild. Dot is der dime Katrina comes, Und nice vords she does dell, Mit her heart a-busding oud mit loaf, For she likes me poody vell.

  She gifes me efery kind of dings Dot she dinks will done me goot; She cooks me shblendid sassage mead, Und oder kinds of foot; She ties vet rags arount my head When dot begins to shvell, Und soaks my feet mit Brandred's bills, For she likes me poody vell.

  She sings me nice und poody songs, Mit a woice dot's shweed und glear, Und says, "Dot of I vas to die She voodn't leef a year." Of dot aind so, or if id is, I don'd vas going to dell; But dis much I am villing to shwore-- She likes me poody vell.

  AT THE RESTAURANT

  ANONYMOUS

  _Waiter_--"Well, ladies, what will it be?"

  _Mrs. Etamine_--"I don't know what you girls are going to take, but Ican't eat a thing--unless it's ice-cream."

  _Miss De Beige_--"I'm sure I don't want anything except cream. I never_can_ eat in this hot weather."

  _Miss Satine_--"I'd like some ice-cream, if they've got any _real_pistache."

  _Miss Foulard_--"Oh, I wouldn't trust them to give me pistache _here_! Idon't believe they know what pistache is. I'm going to take chocolate."

  _Mrs. E._--"I'd take chocolate, too, only it's so heavy all by itself."

  _Miss De B._--"Why don't you take it with strawberry?"

  _Mrs. E._--"Oh, I don't think strawberry and chocolate go well together!The contrast is too striking, don't you think?"

  _Miss De B._--"Well, perhaps it _is_ a little--loud."

  _Miss F._--"Lemon and chocolate are awfully nice."

  _Miss S._--"But there's something about pistache, don't you know, sodelicate."

  _Miss F._--"I'm sure lemon is delicate. You can't taste any flavor atall, the way they make it at most places."

  _Miss S._--"But pistache is so _refined_, don't you know."

  _Mrs. E._--"Dear me, here's this man standing by waiting--it's perfectlyhorrid to have him looming over us like a ghost or something. Do let'sgive our orders and get him away!"

  _Miss De B._--"Well, what are you going to order?"

  _Mrs. E._--"Why, I told you--chocolate and lemon."

  _Miss F._--"No; that was what I ordered, wasn't it?"

  _Mrs. E._--"Why, so it was! Chocolate and strawberry I meant. Somepeople think that's too heavy--too cloying, you know--but I think it'sabout as good as anything."

  _Miss De B._--"Well, I think I'll take that, too. I don't know, tho.Lemon is awfully good. I know a lady up in the Catskills--she had thelov
eliest little boy, just six years old, with curly hair that hungever so far down his back, and he used to come to me every morning andask for candy in the prettiest way--just like a little dog, and helearned it all himself--his mother told me nobody taught him--tho I'vealways believed that that child never _could_ have originated the ideaall by himself----"

  _Mrs. E._--"Excuse me, Clara, but the man is waiting."

  _Miss De B._--"As I was _saying_, she was poisoned by eating lemonice-cream; but I believe they found out afterward that some one put therat-poison in the freezer by mistake--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Etamine; Ididn't know you were speaking--oh, yes--strawberry ice-cream, waiter,and a fork, if you please--don't bring me a spoon--I don't want it."

  _Miss S._--"Well, if I can't have pistache----"

  _Miss F._--"You can't--I'm sure they haven't got it here. I'll take--letme see--some chocolate, I guess. Is your chocolate good, waiter?"

  _Miss S._--"Oh, it's sure to be good--they never give you bad chocolate.Well, I _did_ want pistache; but I think I'll take lemon. Some lemonice-cream, waiter--lemon flavor--and don't bring it in half melted."

  _Mrs. E._ (_impressively_)--"Some chocolate and strawberry ice-cream,waiter, mixed. And a spoon. Do you understand me, waiter? A spoon. _Not_a fork."

  _Miss F._--"Chocolate ice-cream--don't forget!"

  _Miss S._--"Lemon ice-cream!"

  _Miss De B._--"Strawberry--and a fork!"

  _Mrs. E._--"Chocolate and strawberry--spoon, of course, waiter. Isuppose you know _that_."

  _Waiter_--"Ice-cream? Yes, ma'am. We ain't got nothin' only verniller,ma'am. Yaas'm--all out of everythin' only verniller. What'll it be,ladies?"

  By permission of _Puck_. New York

  A-FEARED OF A GAL

  ANONYMOUS

  Oh, darn it all! a-feared of her, And such a mite of a gal; Why, two of her size rolled into one Won't ditto Sister Sal! Her voice is sweet as the whippoorwill's, And the sunshine's in her hair; But I'd rather face a redskin's knife, Or the grip of a grizzly bear. Yet Sal says: "Why, she's such a dear, She's just the one for you." Oh, darn it all! a-feared of a gal, And me just six feet two!

  Tho she ain't any size, while I'm Considerable tall, I'm nowhere when she speaks to me, She makes me feel so small. My face grows red, my tongue gets hitched, The plagued thing won't go; It riles me, 'cause it makes her think I'm most tarnation slow. And tho folks say she's sweet on me, I guess it can't be true. Oh, darn it all! a-feared of a gal, And me just six feet two!

  My sakes! just s'pose if what the folks Is saying should be so! Go, Cousin Jane, and speak to her, Find out and let me know; Tell her the gals should court the men, For isn't this leap-year?

  That's why I'm kind of bashful like, A-waiting for her here. And should she hear I'm scared of her, You'll swear it can't be true. Oh, darn it all, a-feared of a gal, And me just six feet two!

  LEAVING OUT THE JOKE

  ANONYMOUS

  Some people are bright enough to enjoy a good joke, but do not haveretentive memories, so as to be able to repeat it to others. Failures ofthis kind are sometimes very ludicrous. We give some good specimens.

  The most famous of this class was the college professor, who, on partingwith a student that had called on him, noticed that he had a new coat,and remarked that it was too short.

  The student, with an air of resignation, replied: "It will be longenough before I get another."

  The professor enjoyed the joke heartily, and going to a meeting of thecollege faculty just afterward, he entered the room in great glee andsaid:

  "Young Sharp got off such a joke just now. He called on me a littlewhile ago, and as he was leaving, I noticed his new coat, and told himit was too short, and he said: "It will be a long time before I getanother."

  No one laughed, and the professor sobering down, remarked: "It doesn'tseem so funny as when he said it."

  A red-haired woman who was ambitious of literary distinction found butpoor sale for her book. A gentleman, in speaking of her disappointment,said: "Her hair is red (read) if her book is not." An auditor, inattempting to relate the joke elsewhere, said: "She has red hair if herbook hasn't."

  The most unfortunate attempt at reproducing another's wit was made by anEnglishman who didn't understand the pun, but judged from the applausewith which it was greeted that it must be excellent. During a dinner atwhich he was a guest a waiter let a boiled tongue slip off the plate onwhich he was bearing it, and it fell on the table.

  The host at once apologized for the mishap as a _lapsus linguae_ (slip ofthe tongue). The joke was the best thing at the dinner, and our friendconcluded to bring it up at his own table.

  He accordingly invited his company and instructed his servant to letfall a roast of beef as he was bringing it to the table.

  When the "accident" occurred, he exclaimed: "That's a _lapsus linguae_."

  Nobody laughed, and he said again, "I say that's a _lapsus linguae_," andstill no one laughed.

  A screw was loose somewhere; so he told about the tongue falling, andthey did laugh.

  "Why is this," said a waiter, holding up a common kitchen utensil, "moreremarkable than Napoleon Bonaparte? Because Napoleon was a great man,but this is a grater." When the funny man reproduced it in his circle,he asked the question right, but answered it, "Because Napoleon was agreat man, but this is a nutmeg-grater."

  THE CYCLOPEEDY

  BY EUGENE FIELD

  Havin' lived next door to the Hobart place f'r goin' on thirty years, Icalc'late that I know jest about ez much about the case ez anybody elsenow on airth, exceptin' perhaps it's ol' Jedge Baker, and he's soplaguey old 'nd so powerful feeble that _he_ don't know nothin'.

  It seems that in the spring uv '47--the year that Cy Watson's oldest boywuz drownded in West River--there come along a book agent sellin'volyumes 'nd tracks f'r the diffusion uv knowledge, 'nd havin' got therecommend of the minister 'nd uv the select-men, he done an all-firedbig business in our part uv the county. His name wuz Lemuel Higgins, 'ndhe wuz ez likely a talker ez I ever heerd, barrin' Lawyer Conkey, 'ndeverybody allowed that when Conkey wuz round he talked so fast that thetown pump ud have to be greased every twenty minutes.

  One of the first uv our folks that this Lemuel Higgins struck wuzLeander Hobart. Leander had jest marr'd one uv the Peasley girls, 'ndhad moved into the old homestead on the Plainville road,--old DeaconHobart havin' give up the place to him, the other boys havin' moved outWest (like a lot o' darned fools that they wuz!). Leander wuz feelin'his oats jest about this time, 'nd nuthin' wuz too good f'r him.

  "Hattie," sez he, "I guess I'll have to lay in a few books f'r readin'in the winter time, 'nd I've half a notion to subscribe f'r acyclopeedy. Mr. Higgins here says they're invalerable in a family, andthat we orter have 'em, bein' as how we're likely to have the fam'lybime by."

  "Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk!" sez Hattie, blushin' all over, ezbrides allers does to heern tell uv sich things.

  Waal, to make a long story short, Leander bargained with Mr. Higgins fora set uv them cyclopeedies, 'nd he signed his name to a long printedpaper that showed how he agreed to take a cyclopeedy oncet in so often,which wuz to be ez often ez a new one uv the volyumes wuz printed. Acyclopeedy isn't printed all at oncet, because that would make it costtoo much; consekently the man that gets it up has it strung along furapart, so as to hit folks once every year or two, and gin'rally aboutharvest time. So Leander kind uv liked the idee, and he signed theprinted paper 'nd made his affidavit to it afore Jedge Warner.

  The fust volyume of the cyclopeedy stood on a shelf in the oldseckertary in the settin'-room about four months before they had any usef'r it. One night 'Squire Tuner's son come over to visit Leander 'ndHattie, and they got to talkin' about apples, 'nd the sort uv applesthat wuz the best. Leander allowed that the Rhode Island greenin' wuzthe best, but Hattie and the Turner boy stuck up f'r the Roxbury russet,until at last a happy idee
struck Leander, and sez he: "We'll leave itto the cyclopeedy, b'gosh! Whichever one the cyclopeedy sez is the bestwill settle it."

  "But you can't find out nothin' 'bout Roxbury russets nor Rhode Islandgreenin's in _our_ cyclopeedy," sez Hattie.

  "Why not, I'd like to know?" sez Leander, kind uv indignant like.

  "'Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet," sez Hattie. "All ours tellsabout is things beginnin' with A."

  "Well, ain't we talkin' about Apples!" sez Leander. "You aggervate meterrible, Hattie, by insistin' on knowin' what you don't know nothin''bout."

  Leander went to the seckertary 'nd took down the cyclopeedy 'nd huntedall through it f'r Apples, but all he could find wuz "Apple--SeePomology."

  "How in the thunder kin I see Pomology," sez Leander, "when there ain'tno Pomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow!"

  And he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'nd never sot eyes into itagin.

  That's the way the thing run f'r years 'nd years. Leander would've ginup the plaguey bargain, but he couldn't; he had signed a printed paper'nd had swore to it before a justice of the peace. Higgins would havehad the law on him if he had throwed up the trade.

  The most aggervatin' feature uv it all wuz that a new one uv them cussidcyclopeedies wuz allus sure to show up at the wrong time,--when Leanderwuz hard up or had jest been afflicted some way or other. His barn burntdown two nights afore the volyume containin' the letter B arrived, andLeander needed all his chink to pay f'r lumber, but Higgins sot back onthat affidavit and defied the life out uv him.

  "Never mind, Leander," sez his wife, soothin' like, "it's a good book tohave in the house, anyhow, now that we've got a baby."

  "That's so," sez Leander, "babies does begin with B, don't it?"

  You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley,--PeasleyHobart,--after Hattie's folks. So, seein' as how he wuz payin' f'r abook that told about babies, Leander didn't begredge that five dollarsso very much after all.

  "Leander," sez Hattie, "that B cyclopeedy ain't no account. There ain'tnothin' in it about babies except 'See Maternity'!"

  "Waal, I'll be gosh durned!" sez Leander. That wuz all he said, and hecouldn't do nothin' at all, f'r that book agent, Lemuel Higgins, had thedead-wood on him,--the mean, sneakin' critter!

  So the years passed on, one of the cyclopeedies showin' up now 'ndthen,--sometimes every two years 'nd sometimes every four, but allus ata time when Leander found it pesky hard to give up a fiver. It warn't nouse cussin' Higgins; Higgins jest laffed when Leander allowed that thecyclopeedy wuz no good 'nd that he wuz bein' robbed. Meantime Leander'sfamily wuz increasin' and growin'. Little Sarey had the hoopin'-coughdreadful one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn't help out at all, 'causeall it said wuz: "Hoopin' Cough--See Whoopin' Cough"--and uv course,there warn't no Whoopin' Cough to see, bein' as how the W hadn't comeyet.

  Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went to thecyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered wuz: "Drain--SeeTile." This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had only got down to G.

  The cow wuz sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid her dyin'to that cussid cyclopeedy, 'cause when he went to readin' 'bout cows ittold him to "See Zoology."

  But what's the use uv harrowin' up one's feelin's talkin' 'nd thinkin'about these things? Leander got so after a while that the cyclopeedydidn't worry him at all: he grew to look at it ez one uv the crossesthat human critters has to bear without complainin' through this vale uvtears. The only thing that bothered him wuz the fear that mebbe hewouldn't live to see the last volyume,--to tell the truth, this kind uvgot to be his hobby, and I've heern him talk 'bout it many a timesettin' round the stove at the tavern 'nd squirtin' tobacco juice at thesawdust box. His wife, Hattie, passed away with the yaller janders thewinter W come, and all that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin' herwuz the prospect uv seein' the last volyume uv that cyclopeedy. LemuelHiggins, the book agent, had gone to his everlastin' punishment; but hisson, Hiram, had succeeded to his father's business 'nd continued tovisit the folks his old man had roped in. By this time Leander'schildren had growed up; all on 'em wuz marr'd, and there wuz numerisgrandchildren to amuse the ol' gentleman. But Leander wuzn't to besatisfied with the common things uv airth; he didn't seem to take nopleasure in his grandchildren like most men do; his mind wuz allers soton somethin' else,--for hours 'nd hours, yes, all day long, he'd setout on the front stoop lookin' wistfully up the road for that book agentto come along with a cyclopeedy. He didn't want to die till he'd got allthe cyclopeedies his contract called for; he wanted to have everythingstraightened out before he passed away.

  When--oh, how well I recollect it--when Y come along he wuz so overcomethat he fell over in a fit uv paralysis, 'nd the old gentleman never gotover it. For the next three years he drooped 'nd pined and seemed likehe couldn't hold out much longer. Finally he had to take to his bed,--hewas so old 'nd feeble,--but he made 'em move the bed up ag'inst thewindow so he could watch for that last volyume of the cyclopeedy.

  The end come one balmy day in the spring uv '87. His life wuz a-ebbin'powerful fast; the minister wuz there, 'nd me, 'nd Dock Wilson, 'ndJedge Baker, 'nd most uv the fam'ly. Lovin' hands smoothed the wrinkledforehead 'nd breshed back the long, scant, white hair, but the eyes ofthe dyin' man wuz sot upon that piece uv road over which the cyclopeedyman allus come.

  All to oncet a bright 'nd joyful look come into them eyes, 'nd ol'Leander riz up in bed 'nd sez: "It's come!"

  "What is it, father?" asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' like.

  "Hush," sez the minister, solemnly; "he sees the shinin' gates uv theNoo Jerusalem."

  "No, no," cried the aged man; "it is the cyclopeedy--the letter Z--it'scomin'!"

  And, sure enough! the door opened, and in walked Higgins. He totteredrather than walked, f'r he had growed old 'nd feeble in his wickedperfession.

  "Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr. Hobart," says Higgins.

  Leander clutched it; he hugged it to his pantin' bosom; then stealin'one pale hand under the pillar he drew out a faded banknote 'nd gave itto Higgins.

  "I thank Thee for this boon," sez Leander, rollin' his eyes up devoutly;then he gave a deep sigh.

  "Hold on," cried Higgins, excitedly, "you've made a mistake--it isn'tthe last----"

  But Leander didn't hear him--his soul hed fled from its mortal tenement'nd hed soared rejoicin' to realms uv everlastin' bliss.

  "He is no more," sez Dock Wilson, metaphorically.

  "Then who are his heirs?" asked that mean critter Higgins.

  "We be," sez the fam'ly.

  "Do you conjointly and severally acknowledge and assume the obligationof deceased to me?" he asked 'em.

  "What obligation?" asked Peasley Hobart, stern like.

  "Deceased died owin' me f'r a cyclopeedy!" sez Higgins.

  "That's a lie!" sez Peasley. "We seen him pay you for the Z!"

  "But there's another one to come," sez Higgins.

  "Another?" they all asked.

  "Yes, the index," sez he. So there wuz.

  Reprinted by permission of the author.

  ECHO

  BY JOHN G. SAXE

  I asked of Echo, t'other day (Whose words are often few and funny), What to a novice she could say Of courtship, love, and matrimony. Quoth Echo plainly,--"Matter-o'-money!"

  Whom should I marry? Should it be A dashing damsel, gay and pert, A pattern of inconstancy; Or selfish, mercenary flirt? Quoth Echo, sharply,--"Nary flirt!"

  What if, aweary of the strife That long has lured the dear deceiver, She promise to amend her life, And sin no more; can I believe her? Quoth Echo, very promptly,--"Leave her!"

  But if some maiden with a heart On me should venture to bestow it, Pray, should I act the wiser part To take the treasure or forego it? Quoth Echo, with decision,--"Go it!"

  But what if, seemingly afraid To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter, She vow she means to die a m
aid, In answer to my loving letter? Quoth Echo, rather coolly,--"Let her!"

  What if, in spite of her disdain I find my heart entwined about With Cupid's dear delicious chain So closely that I can't get out? Quoth Echo, laughingly,--"Get out!"

  But if some maid with beauty blest, As pure and fair as Heaven can make her, Will share my labor and my rest Till envious Death shall overtake her? Quoth Echo (sotto voce),--"Take her!"

  Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company.

  OUR RAILROADS

  ANONYMOUS

  He stood in the station, she at his side-- She is a fair, young, blushing bride. On their honeymoon they're starting now; It always follows the marriage vow. He looks at the flaring railroad maps, At the train of cars and his baggage traps, And whispered: "Pettie, how shall we go,-- By the Kankakee or the Kokomo?

  "These railroad maps confuse the eye, There's the C. B. Q. and the R. N. Y. And this one says your life's at stake On any road but the Sky Blue Lake. The N. E. R. L. P. Q. J. Have sleepers on the entire way; But I've heard these trains are much more slow Than the Kankakee or the Kokomo."

  She murmured: "Sweetie, I've heard pa say What a fine old road is the P. G. K.; But mamma seemed to disagree, And prefers the X. S. H. O. P. This chart says, dearie, the views are fine On the Texas-Cowboy-Mustang line; But still, perhaps, we'd better go On the Kankakee or the Kokomo."

  A conductor chanced to pass them by And the bridegroom caught his gentle eye; He said: "O man, with the cap of blue, Inform me quick, inform me true, Which road is best for a blushing, pure, Young, timid bride on her wedding tour? And tell us quickly what you know Of the Kankakee or the Kokomo?"

  The conductor's eyes gave a savage gleam; These words rolled out in a limpid stream: "There's the A. B. J. D. V. R. Z. Connects with the Flip-Flap-Biff-Bang-B, You can change on the Leg-off-Sueville-Grand, And go through on the Pan-cake-ace-Full-Hand. That road you named is blocked by snow, The Kankakee and the Kokomo.

  "The Pennsylvania, Pittsburg Through, Connects with the Oshkosh Kalamazoo, With a smoking car all the afternoon; Just the thing for a honeymoon; And the Central-Scalp-Tooth-Bungville-switch Goes through a vine-land country rich. Of the road you named I nothing know, The Kankakee and the Kokomo."

  The bride said: "Honey, 'tis best, by far, Like the dollar, we return to pa (That's a pun I heard while on a train On the U. R. N. G. Jersey main)." The conductor smiled; his eye-teeth showed; He had spoiled the trade of a rival road. He knew in his heart there was no snow On the Kankakee or the Kokomo.

  And the bride and groom returned to pa, Who heard it all and then said: "Pshaw! If you found you couldn't go that way, Why didn't you go on the Cross-eyed Bay?" The bridegroom gave a howl of pain; The railroad names had turned his brain. He raves, insane, forevermore; In a madhouse, chained unto the floor, He gibbers: "Tootsie, shall we go By the Kankakee or the Kokomo?"

  WAKIN' THE YOUNG 'UNS

  (The old man from the foot of the stairs--5 a. m.)

  BY JOHN C. BOSS

  Bee-ull! Bee-ull! O Bee-ull! my gracious, Air you still sleepin'? Th' hour-hand's creepin' Nearder five. (Wal, durned ef this 'ere ain't vexatious!) Don't ye hyar them cattle callin'? An' th' ole red steer a-bawlin'? Come, look alive! Git up! Git up!

  Mar'ann! Mar'ann! (Jist hyar her snorin'!), Mar'ann! it's behoovin' Thet you be a-moovin'! Brisk, I say! Hyar the kitchen stove a-roarin'? The kittle's a-spilin' Ter git hisse'f bilin'. It's comin' day. Git up! Git up!

  Jule! O Jule! Now whut is ailin'? You want ter rest? Wal' I'll be blest! S'pose them cows 'Ll give down milk 'ithout you pailin'? You mus' be goin crazy; Er' more like, gittin' lazy. Come, now, rouse. Git up! Git up!

  Jake, you lazy varmint! Jake! Hey Jake! Whut you layin' theer fur? You know the stock's ter keer fur; So, hop out! (Thet boy is wusser'n a rock ter wake!) Don't stop to shiver, But jist unkiver, An' pop out! Git up! Git up!

  Young 'uns! Bee-ull! Jake! Mar'ann! Jule! (Wal' durn my orn'ry skin! They've gone ter sleep agin, Fur all my tellin'!) See hyar, I hain't no time ter fool! It's the las' warnin' I'll give this mornin'. I'm done yellin'! Git up! Git up!

  _Solus_

  Wal, whut's th' odds--an hour, more or less? B'lieve it makes 'em stronger Ter sleep a leetle longer Thar in bed. The time is comin' fas' enough, I guess, When I'll wish, an' wish 'ith weepin' They was back up yender sleepin', Overhead, Ter git up.

  PAT'S REASON

  ANONYMOUS

  One day I observed in a crowded horse-car, A lady was standing. She had ridden quite far, And seemed much disposed to indulge in a frown, As nobody offered to let her sit down. And many there sat who, to judge by their dress, Might a gentleman's natural instincts possess, But who, judged by their acts, make us firmly believe That appearances often will sadly deceive. There were some most intently devouring the news, And some thro' the windows enjoying the views; And others indulged in a make-believe nap, While the lady still stood holding on by the strap. At last a young Irishman, fresh from the "sod," Arose with a smile and most comical nod, Which said quite as plain as in words could be stated That the lady should sit in the place he'd vacated. "Excuse me," said Pat, "that I caused you to wait So long before offerin' to give you a sate, But in troth I was only just waitin' to see If there wasn't more gintlemin here beside me."

  QUIT YOUR FOOLIN'

  ANONYMOUS

  Girls is queer! I used to think Emmy didn't care for me, For, whenever I would try Any lovin' arts, to see How she'd take 'em--sweet or sour-- Always saucy-like says she: "Quit your foolin'!"

  Once a-goin' home from church, Jest to find if it would work, Round her waist I slipt my arm-- My! you'd ought 'o seen her jerk, Spunky? well, she acted so-- And she snapt me up as perk-- "Quit your foolin'!"

  Every time 'twas just the same, Till one night I says, says I-- Chokin' some I must admit, Tremblin' some I don't deny-- "Emmy, seein' as I don't suit, Guess I'd better say good-by An' quit foolin'."

  Girls is queer! She only laughed-- Cheeks all dimplin'; "John," says she, "Foolin' men that never gits Real in earnest, ain't for me." "Wan't that cute? I took the hint, An' a chair, an' staid, an' we Quit our foolin'.

  SHE WOULD BE A MASON

  BY JAMES L. LAUGHTON

  The funniest thing I ever heard, The funniest thing that ever occurred, Is the story of Mrs. Mehitable Byrde, Who wanted to be a Mason.

  Her husband, Tom Byrde, a Mason true-- As good a Mason as any of you; He is tyler of Lodge Cerulean Blue, And tyles and delivers the summons due-- And she wanted to be a Mason, too, This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde.

  She followed round, this inquisitive wife, And nagged him and teased him half out of his life; So to terminate this unhallowed strife, He consented at last to admit her. And first, to disguise her from bonnet and shoon, This ridiculous lady agreed to put on His breech--ah! forgive me--I meant pantaloons; And miraculously did they fit her.

  The lodge was at work on the Master's degree, The light was ablaze on the letter C; High soared the pillars J and B. The officers sat like Solomon, wise; The brimstone burned amid horrible cries; The goat roamed wildly through the room; The candidate begged to let him go home; And the devil himself stood up at the east, As broad as an alderman at a feast, When in came Mrs. Byrde.

  O horrible sounds! O horrible sight! Can it be that Masons take delight In spending thus the hours of night? Ah! could their wives and daughters know The unutterable things they say and do
, Their feminine hearts would burst with wo! But this is not all my story. Those Masons joined in a hideous ring, The candidate howling like everything, And thus in tones of death they sing (The candidate's name was Morey): "Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble; Blood to drink and bones to crack, Skulls to smash and lives to take, Hearts to crush and souls to burn; Give old Morey another turn!"

  The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame, Just like a place we will not name; Good angels, that inquiring came From blissful courts, looked on with shame And tearful melancholy. Again they dance, but twice as bad, They jump and sing like demons mad; The tune is far from jolly: "Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble; Blood to drink and bones to crack, Skulls to smash and lives to take, Hearts to crush and souls to burn; Give old Morey another turn!"

  Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde, Unable to speak a single word. She staggered and fell in the nearest chair, On the left of the junior warden there, And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans, That the chair was made of human bones. Of human bones! On grinning skulls That ghastly throne of horror rolls; Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore; Those bones, the bones that Morgan wore. His scalp across the top was flung, His teeth around the arms were strung. Never in all romance was known Such uses made of human bone.

  There came a pause--a pair of paws Reached through the floor, up sliding-doors, And grabbed the unhappy candidate! How can I, without tears, relate The lost and ruined Morey's fate? She saw him sink in a fiery hole, She heard him scream, "My soul! My soul!" While roars of fiendish laughter roll, And drown the yells for mercy: "Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble; Blood to drink and bones to crack, Skulls to smash and lives to take, Hearts to crush and souls to burn; Give old Morey another turn!"

  The ridiculous woman could stand no more, She fainted and fell on the checkered floor, 'Midst all the diabolical roar. What then, you ask me, did befall Mehitable Byrde? Why, nothing at all-- She dreamed she had been in a Mason's hall.

  HENRY THE FIFTH'S WOOING

  BY SHAKESPEARE

  _K. Henry._ Fair Katharine, and most fair, Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms Such as will enter at a lady's ear And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

  _Katharine._ Your majesty shall mock at me; I can not speak yourEngland.

  _K. Hen._ O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your Frenchheart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your Englishtongue. Do you like me, Kate?

  _Kath._ Pardonnez-moi, I can not tell vat is "like me."

  _K. Hen._ An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.

  _Kath._ Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges?

  _Alice._ Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.

  _K. Hen._ I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.

  _Kath._ O les langues des hommes sont pleines des tromperies.

  _K. Hen._ What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full ofdeceits?

  _Alice._ Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is deprincess.

  _K. Hen._ The princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith, Kate, mywooing is fit for thy understanding; I am glad thou canst speak nobetter English; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plainking that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I knowno ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you": then ifyou urge me further than to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit.Give me your answer; i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: howsay you, lady?

  _Kath._ Sauf votre honneur, me understand vell.

  _K. Hen._ Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for yoursake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one I have neither words normeasures, and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet areasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, orby vaulting into my saddle with my armor on my back, under thecorrection of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife.Or if I buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favors, I couldlay on like a butcher and sit like a jackanapes, never off. But, Kate, Ican not look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning inprotestation: only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nornever break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper,Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glassfor love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speakto thee plain soldier: if thou canst love me for this, take me: if not,to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, no; yet Ilove thee, too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plainand uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because hehath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinitetongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favors, they do alwaysreason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme isbut a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a blackbeard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face willwither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sunand the moon; or rather the sun and not the moon, for it shines brightand never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such aone, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king.And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I praythee.

  _Kath._ Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?

  _K. Hen._ No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France,Kate: but, in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for Ilove France so well that I will not part with a village of it; I willhave it all mine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, thenyours is France and you are mine.

  _Kath._ I can not tell vat is dat.

  _K. Hen._ No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure willhang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her husband's neck,hardly to be shook off. Quand j'ay la possession de France, et quandvous avez la possession de moi,--let me see, what then? Saint Denis bemy speed!--donc votre est France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy forme, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French; Ishall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.

  _Kath._ Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que vous parlez, est meilleurque l'Anglois lequel je parle.

  _K. Hen._ No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, andI thine, most truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one.But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English, canst thou love me?

  _Kath._ I can not tell.

  _K. Hen._ Can any of your neighbors tell Kate. I'll ask them. Come, Iknow thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet,you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will toher dispraise those parts in me that you love With your heart; but, goodKate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I lovethee cruelly. How answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon treschere et divine deesse?

  _Kath._ Your majestee ave faussee French enough to deceive de most sagedemoiselle dat is en France.

  _K. Hen._ Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honor, in true English,I love thee, Kate; by which honor I dare not swear thou lovest me; yetmy blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poorand untempering effect of my visage. I was created with a stubbornoutside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, Ifright them. But, in faith Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shallappear; my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can dono more spoil upon my face: thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst;and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better: andtherefore, tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off yourmaiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of anempress; take me by the hand, and say, "Harry of England, I am thine";which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell
thee aloud, "England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, andHenry Plantagenet is thine"; who, tho I speak it before his face, if hebe not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of goodfellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is music andthy English broken; therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mindto me in broken English; wilt thou have me?

  _Kath._ Dat is as it sall please de Roi mon pere.

  _K. Hen._ Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate.

  _Kath._ Den it sall also content me.

  _K. Hen._ Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.

  _Kath._ Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez.

  _K. Hen._ Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

  _Kath._ Il n'est pas la coutume de France.

  _K. Hen._ Madam my interpreter, what says she?

  _Alice._ Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France--I cannot tell vat is _baiser_ en Anglish.

  _K. Hen._ To kiss.

  _Alice._ Your majesty entendre bettre que moi.

  _K. Hen._ It is not the fashion for the maids in France to kiss beforethey are married, would you say?

  _Alice._ Oui, vraiment.

  _K. Hen._ O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you andI can not be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion: weare the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our placesstops the mouth of all find-faults; as I will do yours, for upholdingthe nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss; therefore,patiently and yielding. (_Kisses her._) You have witchcraft in yourlips, Kate; there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in thetongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry ofEngland than a general petition of monarchs.

  SCENE FROM "THE RIVALS"

  BY RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

  _Mrs. M._ There, Sir Anthony, there stands the deliberate simpleton whowants to disgrace her family and lavish herself on a fellow not worth ashilling.

  _Lyd._ Madam, I thought you once----

  _Mrs. M._ You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to thinkat all. Thought does not become a young woman. But the point we wouldrequest of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow--toilliterate him, I say, from your memory.

  _Lyd._ Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is notso easy to forget.

  _Mrs. M._ But I say it is, miss! There is nothing on earth so easy as toforget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as muchforgot your poor, dear uncle as if he had never existed, and I thoughtit my duty to do so; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memoriesdon't become a young woman.

  _Sir A._ Surely, the young woman does not pretend to remember what sheis ordered to forget! Ah, this comes of her reading.

  _Lyd._ What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus?

  _Mrs. M._ Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; youknow I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise meto do as you are bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing?

  _Lyd._ Madam, I must tell you plainly that, had I no preference for anyone else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

  _Mrs. M._ What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion?They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know that, as bothalways wear off, 'tis safest, in matrimony, to begin with a littleaversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as ifhe'd been a blackamoor, and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife Imade; and, when it pleased heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknownwhat tears I shed!

  _Sir A._ He-e-m!

  _Mrs. M._ But, suppose we were going to give you another choice, willyou promise us to give up this Beverley?

  _Lyd._ Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, myactions would certainly as far belie my words.

  _Mrs. M._ Take yourself to your room! You are fit company for nothingbut your own ill humors.

  _Lyd._ Willingly, ma'am; I can not change for the worse. [_Exit._

  _Mrs. M._ There's a little intricate hussy for you!

  _Sir. A._ It is not to be wondered at, ma'am; all that is the naturalconsequence of teaching girls to read. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop,I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library;she had a book in each hand--they were half-bound volumes, with marblecovers. From that moment, I guessed how full of duty I should see hermistress!

  _Mrs. M._ Those are vile places, indeed!

  _Sir A._ Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an evergreen treeof diabolical knowledge! It blossoms through the year! And, depend uponit, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves,will long for the fruit at last.

  _Mrs. M._ Fie, fie, Sir Anthony; you surely speak laconically. (_SirAnthony places a chair for her and another for himself, bows to herrespectfully and waits till she is seated._)

  _Sir A._ Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, what would you have awoman know?

  _Mrs. M._ Observe me, Sir Anthony--I would by no means wish a daughterof mine to be a progeny of learning. I don't think so much learningbecomes a young woman. For instance--I would never let her meddle withGreek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or Fluxions, or paradoxes, orsuch inflammatory branches of learning; nor will it be necessary for herto handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolicalinstruments; but, Sir Anthony, I would send her, at nine years old, to aboarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice.Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and, asshe grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that she mightknow something of the contagious countries; above all, she should be aperfect mistress of orthodoxy--that is, she should not mispronounce andmisspell words as our young women of the present day constantly do.This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't thinkthere is a superstitious article in it.

  _Sir A._ Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no furtherwith you, tho I must confess that you are a truly moderate and politearguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of thequestion. But to the more important point in debate--you say you have noobjection to my proposal?

  _Mrs. M._ None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr.Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son mayhave better success.

  _Sir A._ Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not asyllable of this yet, tho I have for some time had the proposal in myhead. He is at present with his regiment.

  _Mrs. M._ We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope noobjection on his side.

  _Sir A._ Objection! Let him object, if he dare! No, no, Mrs. Malaprop;Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy directly. My processwas always very simple. In his younger days 'twas--"Jack, do this." Ifhe demurred, I knocked him down; and if he grumbled at that, I alwayssent him out of the room.

  _Mrs. M._ Ay, and the properest way, o' my conscience! Nothing is soconciliating to young people as severity. (_Both rise._) Well, SirAnthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia toreceive your son's invocations; and I hope you will represent her to thecaptain as an object not altogether illegible.

  _Sir A._ Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. I must leave you.Good morning, Mrs. Malaprop. (_Both bow profoundly; Sir Anthony stepsback as if to go out, then returns to say_:) And let me beg you, Mrs.Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl--take my advice,keep a tight hand. Good-morning, Mrs. Malaprop. If she rejects thisproposal, clap her under lock and key. Good-morning, Mrs. Malaprop. Andif you were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner forthree or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come about.Good-morning, Mrs. Malaprop.

  SCENES FROM "RIP VAN WINKLE"

  AS RECITED BY THE LATE A. P. BURBANK

  CHARACTERS: _Rip Van Winkle; Derrick Von Beekman, the villain of theplay, who endeavors to get Rip drunk in order to have him sign away hisproperty to Von Beekman; Nick Vedder
, the village innkeeper._

  SCENE I: _The village inn. Von Beekman, alone. Enter Rip, laughing likea child himself, and shaking off the children._

  _Rip_ (_to the children outside_). Hey! You let my dog Schneider alonedere; you hear dat, Sock der Jacob, der bist eine fordonnerspitspoo--yah----Why, hullo, Derrick! how you was? Did you hear demliddle fellers just now? Dey most plague me crazy. Ha, ha, ha! I like tolaugh my outsides in every time I tink about it. Just now, as we wascomin' through the willage--Schneider und me--Schneider's my dog; Idon't know whether you know him? Well, dem liddle fellers, dey tookSchneider und--ha, ha, ha!--dey--ha, ha!--_dey tied a tin-kettle mitSchneider's tail!_ Ha, ha, ha! My, how he did run den, mit the kettlebanging about! My, how scared he was! Well, I didn't hi him comin'. Herun betwixt me und my legs und spilt me und all dem children in themud,--yah, dat's a fact. Ha, ha, ha!

  _Derrick._ Ah, yes, that's all right, Rip, very funny, very funny; butwhat do you say to a glass of liquor, Rip?

  _Rip._ What do I generally say to a glass? I generally say it's a finething--when dere's plenty in it--und I say more to what is _in_ it thanto the glass.

  _Derrick._ Certainly, certainly. Say, hello there! Nick Vedder, bringout a bottle of your best.

  _Rip._ Dat's right--fill 'em up. You wouldn't believe it, Derrick, dat'sthe first one I've had to-day. I guess, maybe, the reason is, I couldn'tgot it before. Ah, Derrick, my score is too big! Well, here is your goodhealth und your family's, und may dey all live long und prosper! Ah, youmay well go "Ah" und smack your chops over dat. You don't give me suchschnapps when I come. Where you got dat?

  _Nick._ That's high Dutch, Rip,--high Dutch, and ten years in bottle.

  _Rip._ Well, come on, fill 'em up again. Git out mit dat vater, NickVedder; I don't want no vater in my liquor. Good liquor und vater,Derrick, is just like man und wife--_dey don't agree well togedder!_Dat's me und _my_ wife, anyway. Well, come on again. Here is your goodhealth und your family's, und may dey all live long und prosper!

  _Nick._ That's right, Rip; drink away, and "drown your sorrows in theflowing bowl."

  _Rip._ Drown my sorrows? Yah, but _she_ won't drown. My wife is mysorrow und you cannick drown her. She tried it once, but she couldn't doit. Didn't you know dat Gretchen like to get drown? No? Dat's thefunniest thing of the whole of it. It's the same day I got married; shewas comin' across dat Hudson River dere in the ferry-boat to get marriedmit me.

  _Derrick._ Yes.

  _Rip._ Well, the boat she was comin' in got upsetted.

  _Derrick._ Ah!

  _Rip._ Well, but she wasn't in it.

  _Nick._ Oh!

  _Rip._ No, dat's what I say; if she had been in the boat what gotupsetted, maybe she might have got drowned. She got left behind somehowor odder. Women is always behind dat way--always.

  _Derrick._ But surely, Rip, you would have risked your life to save her.

  _Rip_ (_incredulously_). You mean I would yump in und pull Gretchen out?Oh, would I? Oh, you mean den--yes, I believe I would den. But it wouldbe a good deal more my duty now as it was den. When a feller getsmarried a good many years mit his wife, he gets very much attached toher. But if Mrs. Van Winkle was a-drownin' in the water now, und shouldsay to me, "Rip, come und save your wife!" I would say, "Mrs. VanWinkle, I will yust go home und tink about it!" Oh, no, Derrick, if everGretchen tumbles in the water now, she's got to swim; I told youdat--ha, ha, ha, ha! Hullo! dat's her a-comin' now; I guess it's betterI go oud!

  [_Exit Rip._

  SCENE II: _Rip's home. Shortly after his conversation with Von Beekman,Rip's wife found him carousing and dancing upon the village green withthe pretty girls. She drove him away in no very gentle fashion.Returning home after nightfall in a decidedly muddled condition, he putshis head through the open window at the rear, not observing his iratewife, who stands in ambush behind the clothes-press, with her ever-readybroomstick, to give him a warm reception; but seeing only his littledaughter Meenie, of whom he is very fond, Rip says_:

  _Rip._ Meenie! Meenie, my darlin'!

  _Meenie._ Hush-sh-h. (_Shakes finger to indicate the presence of hermother._)

  _Rip._ Eh! what's the matter? I don't see nothing, my darlin'. Meenie,is the old wildcat home? Oh, say, is dot you, Gretchen? My darlin', myangel, don't do dat,--let go my head, won't you? Well, den, hold on toit so long what you like. For what you do dat, eh? You must want abald-headed husband, I reckon.

  _Gretchen._ Who was that you called a wildcat?

  _Rip._ Who was dat I call a wildcat? Well, now, let me see, who was datI called a wildcat? Dat must have been the time I came in the windowdere, wasn't it? Yes, I know, it was the same time. Well, now, let mesee. (_Suddenly._) It was de dog Schneider dat I call it.

  _Gretchen._ The dog Schneider? That's a likely story.

  _Rip._ Of course it is likely,--he's my dog. I'll call him a wildcatmuch as I please. (_Gretchen begins to weep._) Oh, well; dere, now,don't you cry, don't you cry, Gretchen; you hear what I said? Listennow. If you don't cry, I nefer drink anoder drop of liquor in my life.

  _Gretchen._ O Rip, you have said so so many, many times, and you neverkept your word yet.

  _Rip._ Well, I say it dis time, und I mean it.

  _Gretchen._ O Rip! if I could only trust you.

  _Rip._ You mustn't _suspect_ me. Can't you see repentance in my eye?

  _Gretchen._ Rip, if you will only keep your word, I shall be thehappiest woman in the world.

  _Rip._ You can believe it. I nefer drink anoder drop so long what Ilive, if you don't cry.

  _Gretchen._ O Rip, how happy we shall be! And you'll get back all thevillage, Rip, just as you used to have it; and you'll fix up our littlehouse so nicely; and you and I, and our darling little Meenie here--howhappy we shall be!

  _Rip._ Dere, dere, now! you can be just so happy what you like. Go in deodder room, go along mit you; I come in dere pooty quick. (_ExitGretchen and Meenie._) My! I swore off from drinking so many, manytimes, und I never kept my word yet. (_Taking out bottle._) I don'tbelieve dere is more as one good drink in dat bottle, anyway. It's apity to waste it! You goin' to drink dat? Well, now, if you do, it is delast one, remember dat, old feller. Well, here is your good health,und----

  (_Enter Gretchen, suddenly, who snatches the bottle from him._)

  _Gretchen._ Oh, you paltry thief!

  _Rip._ What you doin'? You'll spill the liquor.

  _Gretchen._ Yes, I _will_ spill it. _That's the last drop you drinkunder my roof!_

  _Rip._ Eh! What?

  _Gretchen._ Out, I say! you drink no more here.

  _Rip._ Why, Gretchen, are you goin' to turn me oud like a dog? Well,maybe you are right. I have got no home. I will go. But mind, Gretchen,after what you say to me to-night, I can nefer darken your dooragain--nefer; I will go.

  _Meenie._ Not into the storm, father. Hark, how it thunders!

  _Rip._ Yah, my child; but not as bad to me as the storm in my home. Iwill go. God bless you, my child! Don't you nefer forget your father.

  _Gretchen_ (_relenting_). No, Rip,--I----

  _Rip._ No; you have driven me from your house. You have opened the doorfor me to go. You may nefer open it for me to come back. I wipe thedisgrace from your door. Good-by, Gretchen, good-by!

  [_Rip exits into the storm._