THE SANCTUM

He opened the door cautiously, and poking his head in, in a suggestive sort of way, as if there might be more to follow later on provided the way was clear, inquired, “Is this the editorial rinktum?” “The—what, my friend?” “Is this the rinktum, sinktum, or some such place, where the editors live?” “Yes, sir. This is the editorial room. Come right in.” “No, I guess I won’t come in. Just wanted to see what a rinktum was like, that’s all. Looks like our garret, only wuss. Good day!”

It is related that two Presbyterians, two Baptists, two Universalists and an active Jew recently met and discussed theology together without quarreling in Boston. The reason they did not quarrel in Boston was because they were in New York.

Going home from a party late one night a man ran against the same tree seventeen times. He then concluded that he was lost in an interminable forest, and began to call out, “A lost man! A lost man!” But nobody responding to his pitiful call, he made one more effort to escape, and had the luck to run into the next tree, which chanced to be surrounded by iron rods for its protection. He caught hold of the rods and felt them. He walked round and round the tree trying in vain to find some opening to pass through, and at last gave it up in despair, saying, “Just my luck. In the lock-up again.”

A negro prayed that his brethren might be preserved from their “upsettin’ sins.” “Brudder,” said one of his friends, “you hain’t got de hang o’ dat ar word. It’s be-settin’, not upsettin’.” “Brudder,” replied the other, “if dat’s so, den it’s so. But—I was prayin’ de Lawd to save us from de sin o’ ’toxication, for dar dey jest set-em-up fust and den dey gits upset, an’ if dat ain’t an upsettin’ sin, I dunno what am.”

There are very few men who can handle a red-hot lamp-chimney and at the same time say, “There is no place like Home,” without getting—confused.

That was a truly human tombstone that bore the inscription, “I expected this, but not just yet.”

A youth was heard to remark to a jolly, fat Teutonian, “Haven’t I seen you before? Your face certainly looks familiar?” “Iss dot so?” answered Hans. “An’ ven you get so oldt as me, your face vill look fermiliar, too.”

A young lady complained to her male companion that she didn’t like arithmetic. She couldn’t understand it, and didn’t see the use of it. The young man said he would teach her. “Now,” said he, “I kiss you three times on one cheek and four times on the other. How many does that make?”

“Seven,” whispered the girl, disengaging herself to breathe more freely.

“Well,” said he, “that is Arithmetic.”

“Dear me,” said she, “I did not think it ever could be made such a very pleasant study.”