GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC.
Reading edition
THE PIPE THAT FAILED.
This story is told about ex-Senator J. S. Clark, of Calais, Maine: One day, while awaiting his turn in a barber-shop in Calais, he was talking with a friend, and was so deeply interested in the conversation that he allowed his pipe to go out several times. Each time he would ask Melvin Noble, a local practical joker, for a match.
About the time he wanted the fifth match, Noble said: "I don't begrudge you the matches, Jed, but I think it would be cheaper for you to put a grate in your pipe and burn coal."—Boston Herald.
ANCIENT, BUT IT GOES.
Feebles (about to be operated upon for appendicitis)—Doctor, before you begin, I wish you would send and have our pastor, the Rev. Mr. Blank, come over.
Dr. Sawem—Certainly, if you wish it, but—ah——
Feebles—I'd like to be opened with prayer.—Exchange.
RILEY'S RYE PATCH.
Whitcomb Riley was looking over a fence on his farm at a field of rye, when a neighbor who was driving by stopped his horse and asked:
"Hullo, Mr. Riley, how's your rye doing?"
"Fine, fine," replied the poet.
"How much do you expect to clear to the acre?"
"Oh, about four gallons," answered Mr. Riley, soberly.—Success.
IN A SHOE STORE.
"Have you felt slippers, sir?" she said.
The boy clerk blushed and scratched his head.
Then, smiling back, he found his tongue:
"I felt 'em often when I was young."
Boston Herald.
AT NAPOLEON'S TOMB.
Henry Vignaud, secretary of the American embassy at Paris, enjoys telling of an American who was being shown the tomb of Napoleon. As the loquacious guide referred to the various points of interest in connection with the tomb, the American paid the greatest attention to all that was said.
"This immense sarcophagus," declaimed the guide, "weighs forty tons. Inside of that, sir, is a steel receptacle weighing twelve tons, and inside of that is a leaden casket, hermetically sealed, weighing over two tons. Inside of that rests a mahogany coffin containing the remains of the great man."
For a moment the American was silent, as if in deep meditation. Then he said:
"It seems to me that you've got him all right. If he ever gets out, cable me at my expense."—Success.
THE OTHER SIDE.
"Did you ever get into Brown's confidence?"
"Oh, yes; it was costly, too."
"What was costly?"
"To get out."—Yonkers Herald.
TIPS FOR AUTHORS.
An author wrote a little book, Which started quite a quarrel; The folk who read it frowned on it And said it was immoral. They bade him write a proper screed, He said that he would try it; He did. They found no fault with it, And neither did they buy it.
Washington Evening Star.
HIS IMPOLITE QUERY.
"Women claim that the way to get on with a man is to give him plenty of nicely cooked food."
"Well," answered Mr. Sirius Barker, irritably, "why don't some of them try it?"—Washington Star.
ARTEMUS WARD'S ADVICE.
A certain Southern railroad was in a wretched condition, and the trains were consequently run at a phenomenally low rate of speed. When the conductor was punching his ticket, the late Artemus Ward, who was one of the passengers, remarked:
"Does this railroad company allow passengers to give it advice, if they do so in a respectful manner?"
The conductor replied in gruff tones that he guessed so.
"Well," Artemus went on, "it occurred to me that it would be well to detach the cowcatcher from the front of the engine and hitch it to the rear of the train; for, you see, we are not liable to overtake a cow, but what's to prevent a cow from strolling into this car and biting a passenger?"—Boston Herald.
LOST.
Legends of the absent-minded savant are legion, but the following, told of a well-known Ph.D. of this city, perhaps touches the climax:
One of the charwomen in the temple of learning with which he is associated choked on a pin she had put in her mouth as she went about her work. Rushing up to Professor Blank's sanctum she burst in through the door without the formality of a knock.
"Professor, oh, professor!" she panted, "I've swallowed a pin."
"Never mind," returned the professor, feeling absently about the edges of his lapel without raising his eyes from the book before him, "here's another one you can have."—New York Times.
IT WOULD NOT "DOWN."
Nat Goodwin was much occupied in looking at the waves. As he leaned over the deck railing a young woman passenger emerged from the first-cabin saloon.
"Oh. Mr. Goodwin," she cried, "is the moon up to-night?"
"If I swallowed it, it's up," responded the actor sorrowfully.—New York Mail.
LABORERS WERE PLENTIFUL.
An officer who served with Lord Kitchener in Egypt tells the following anecdote of him:
"During the progress of some construction work in Upper Egypt the young subaltern in charge had the misfortune to lose some native workmen through the accidental explosion of some cases of dynamite. He telegraphed to Lord Kitchener, then Sirdar:
"'Regret to report killing ten laborers by dynamite accident.'
"In a few hours came this laconic dispatch: "Do you need any more dynamite?"—Pittsburgh Dispatch.
FEMININE ARITHMETIC.
When I was ten and you were eight, Two years between us stood, We used to meet by daddy's gate— A stolen kiss was good. When I was twenty—quite a boy, You still were my heart's queen, But grown of kissing somewhat coy; You see, you were sixteen! When I was thirty, bronzed and tall, With sweethearts, too, in plenty, I met you at the Wilsons' ball— You told me you were twenty. I'm forty now, a little more— Oh, Time, you ruthless bandit! But you—you're only twenty-four; I cannot understand it! Pearson's Weekly.
FAR IN THE FUTURE.
"Don't you ever expect to get married?" she asked.
"Well," replied the old bachelor, "I may some day. But I have been reading up on the subject and the scientists agree that if a man takes proper care of himself there is no reason why his mind should begin to fail before he is eighty at least."—Chicago Record-Herald.
CRUSHED.
MR. W.S. Gilbert was once at the house of a wealthy but ignorant and pretentious woman. She asked Mr. Gilbert several questions about musical composers, to show that she knew all about them.
"And what about Bach?" she asked. "Is he composing nowadays?"
"No, ma'am," answered Gilbert; "he is decomposing!"—Tit-Bits.
IN A STREET CAR.
Blodgett—You see that homely woman hanging to that strap?
Foster—How do you know she is homely? You can't see her face.
Blodgett—I can see she is hanging to a strap.—Boston Transcript.