Volume 1 — GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC.
Reading edition
PAYING THE PIPER.
By Virginia Woodward Cloud.
The Piper sat by the river, his tireless pipe in his hand, But ere the sun set and the white stars met He scratched with a stick on the sand. "My bills are due," quoth the Piper, "and now they pay," quoth he, "Who danced and played from the sun into shade Now render account to me. "Here is one for a year," quoth the Piper; "a year of love's delight; A heart that is dead and a soul unwed Shall cancel a debt so trite! I need not dun," quoth the Piper—and laughed, but nobody heard, A chill in the air, and a shudder somewhere— "They will render without one word. "And this for my maddest playing"—oh, he wrote as he chuckled and laughed— "I will make my dole an immortal soul; They shall drain where they only quaffed!" So, he did his sum in addition, till the rose and the star had met, But although he tried to thrust it aside One name lay unchallenged yet. Complacently, knave and sinner, apportioned he each his due, But when it was o'er there remained one more, And its pattern the Piper knew. "Rascal or thief," mused the Piper, "I play for their dancing and smile, They have their way for a little day, I have mine after a while. "I can score each knave," quoth the Piper, "in Life's ill-sorted school, For they take and they take their greed to slake, But I am no match for the Fool! For he pays as he goes," frowned the Piper, "pain, laughter, passion of tears! He claims no pelf from Life for himself, But gives his all without tears. "The rest of my dancers laugh not, and I hold each one as a tool, But he pays as he goes, be it rapture or woes, And I have no bill for the Fool! He loves and he lives," frowned the Piper, "and such poor returns suffice, For he cries 'Voilà le diable!' and gives himself as the price!" Then, with chagrin and reluctance, as the star sank into the pool, The Piper made claim on each separate name, But receipted in full—for the Fool.
The Bookman.
MARK TWAIN'S RESPONSE.
A friend wrote to Mark Twain, asking his opinion on a certain matter, and received no reply. He waited a few days, and wrote again.
His second letter was also ignored. Then he sent a third note, enclosing a sheet of paper and a two-cent stamp.
By return mail he received a postal card, on which was the following: "Paper and stamp received. Please send envelope."—Boston Herald.
WHAT THE AILMENT WAS.
A New England statesman was referring to the dry humor of the late Senator Hoar, when he was reminded of the following:
One day Hoar learned that a friend in Worcester who had been thought to have appendicitis was in reality suffering from acute indigestion.
Whereupon the senator smiled genially. "Really," said he, "that's good news. I rejoice for my friend that the trouble lies in the table of contents rather than in the appendix."—New York Tribune.
THE FARMER'S SYMPATHY.
A large touring automobile containing a man and his wife in a narrow road met a hay wagon fully loaded. The woman declared that the farmer must back out, but her husband contended that she was unreasonable.
"But you can't back the automobile so far," she said, "and I don't intend to move for anybody. He should have seen us."
The husband pointed out that this was impossible, owing to an abrupt turn in the road.
"I don't care," she insisted, "I won't move if we have to stay here all night!"
The man in the automobile was starting to argue the matter when the farmer, who had been sitting quietly on the hay, interrupted.
"Never mind, sir," he exclaimed, "I'll try to back out. I've got one just like her at home!"—Philadelphia Ledger.
PROVED.
"Your son is a philosophical student, I hear?"
"Yes, I believe he is. I can't understand what he's talking about."—Detroit Free Press.
EQUALITY.
By Matthias Barr.
Come, give me your hand, sir, my friend and my brother. If honest, why, sure, that's enough! One hand, if it's true, is as good as another, No matter how brawny or rough. Though it toil for a living at hedges or ditches, Or make for its owner a name, Or fold in its grasp all the dainties of riches— If honest, I love it the same. Not less in the sight of his Heavenly Maker Is he who must toil for his bread; Not more in the sight of the mute undertaker Is majesty shrouded and dead. Let none of us jeeringly scoff at his neighbor Or mock at his lowly birth. We are all of us God's. Let us earnestly labor To better this suffering earth.
A FISH STORY.
Brown had returned from a fishing expedition, and, after partaking of a most welcome dinner, was relating some of his fishing experiences.
"Last year," said he, "while fishing for pike, I dropped half a sovereign. I went to the same place this year, and after my line had been cast a few minutes I felt a terrific pull. Eventually I landed a line pike, which had swallowed the hook, and, on cutting it open to release the hook, to my amazement——"
"Ah," said his friends, "you found your half-sovereign?"
"Oh, no," replied Brown, "I found nine shillings and sixpence in silver and threepence in copper."
"Well, what became of the other threepence?" queried his friends.
"I suppose the pike paid to go through the lock with it," answered Brown.—Pearson's Weekly.
BYRON ON WOMAN.
Oh! too convincing—dangerously dear— In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue—at once her spear and shield. Corsair, Canto 2.
WOMAN'S RETORT.
The mild business man was calmly reading his paper in the crowded trolley-car. In front of him stood a little woman hanging by a strap. Her arm was being slowly torn out of her body, her eyes were flashing at him, but she constrained herself to silence.
Finally, after he had endured it for twenty minutes, he touched her arm, and said:
"Madam, you are standing on my foot."
"Oh, am I?" she savagely retorted. "I thought it was a valise."—Kansas City Independent.
SHAKESPEARE ON WOMAN.
She is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
A MAIDEN SPEECH.
Very few persons acquit themselves nobly in their maiden speech. At a wedding feast recently the bridegroom was called upon, as usual, to respond to the given toast.
Blushing to the roots of his hair, he rose to his feet. He intended to imply that he was unprepared for speechmaking, but, unfortunately, placed his hand upon the bride's shoulder, and looked down at her as he stammered out his opening (and concluding) words: "This—er—thing has been thrust upon me."—Tit-Bits.