GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC.
Reading edition
THE VILLAGE SMITHY.
By Horace Seymour Keller.
No more the roan and chestnut, the pie-bald and the gray Pound their iron hoofs upon the smithy's floor; No more the gig and buggy, the buckboard and coupé Stand broken down and helpless at the door. He'll pump you full of ether with an auto sorter laugh, He's fixtures ready-made to mend the fake. If your tire has collapsed he'll swell it for a half, With perhaps another dollar for a break. No more he talks of "hoss" as he stands upon the green And waits the auto trav'ler on his way. He's an artist now in wind, and he's happy and serene, For he's pumping, pumping dollars all the day.
NOT A LENDER.
"Your honor," said a lawyer to the judge, "every man who knows me, knows that I am incapable of lending my aid to a mean cause."
"That's so," said his opponent, "the gentleman never lends himself to a mean cause; he always gets cash down."
FISHIN'?
Settin' on a log An' fishin' An' watchin' the cork, An' wishin'. Jus' settin' round home An' sighin', Jus' settin' round home— An' lyin'. New Orleans Times-Democrat.
ABOUT BELLS AND MONEY.
A thousand men can go to work at seven o'clock in the morning without the ringing of a bell, and why is it that three hundred people cannot assemble in a church without a previous ding-donging lasting half an hour?—Detroit Free Press.
Why, man, it's because they go out at seven o'clock to get money. Put a twenty-dollar gold piece in each pew every Sunday and you may sell your bell for old metal.—Louisville Courier-Journal.
WHEN PAW WAS A BOY.
I wisht 'at I'd of been here when My paw he was a boy; They must of been excitement then— When my paw was a boy; In school he always took the prize, He used to lick boys twice his size— I bet folks all had bulgin' eyes When my paw was a boy. They was a lot of wonders done When my paw was a boy; How granpa must have loved his son, When my paw was a boy; He'd git the coal and chop the wood, And think up every way he could To always jist be sweet and good— When my paw was a boy. Then everything was in its place, When my paw was a boy; How he could rassle, jump, and race, When my paw was a boy! He never, never disobeyed; He beat in every game he played— Gee! What a record they was made When my paw was a boy! I wisht 'at I'd been here when My paw he was a boy; They'll never be his like agen— Paw was the model boy, But still last night I heard my maw Raise up her voice and call my paw The worst fool that she ever saw— He ought of stayed a boy! Chicago Times-Herald.
TOO MANY LEGS.
Senator Elsberg of New York was talking in Albany about a notoriously untruthful man.
"Like all great liars," said Senator Elsberg, "he is careless. He fails to keep accurate note of all the lies he tells. Hence innumerable contradictions, innumerable stories that won't hold together."
Senator Elsberg smiled.
"The average chronic liar," he said, "has the luck of a boy I know who enlisted and went to the Philippines. This boy, whenever he wanted money, would write home from Manila something like this:
"'Dear Father—I have lost another leg in a stiff engagement, and am in hospital without means. Kindly send two hundred dollars at once.'
"To the last letter of this sort that the boy wrote home, he received the following answer:
"'Dear Son—As, according to your letters, this is the fourth leg you have lost, you ought to be accustomed to it by this time. Try and hobble along on any others you may have left.'"—Boston Herald.
THE GLORY OF FAILURE.
All honor to him who wins the prize, The world has cried for a hundred years; But to him who tries and fails and dies, I give great glory and honor and tears. Joaquin Miller.
HER GUESS.
Mrs. Ascum—I hear the men talking about a "temporary business slump." I wonder what that means.
Mrs. Wise—I think it simply means that they're cooking up an excuse to give their wives less money.—Philadelphia Press.
SCOTT ON WOMAN.
O woman! In our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made— When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
OVERDID IT A BIT.
A famous statesman prided himself on his success in campaigning, when called upon to reach a man's vote through his family pride.
On one of his tours he passed through a country town when he came suddenly upon a charming group—a comely woman with a bevy of little ones about her—in a garden. He stopped short, then advanced and leaned over the front gate.
"Madam," he said in his most ingratiating way, "may I kiss these beautiful children?"
"Certainly, sir," the lady answered demurely.
"They are lovely darlings," said the campaigner after he had finished the eleventh. "I have seldom seen more beautiful babies. Are they all yours, marm?"
The lady blushed deeply.
"Of course they are—the sweetest little treasures," he went on. "From whom else, marm, could they have inherited these limpid eyes, these rosy cheeks, these profuse curls, these comely figures and these musical voices?"
The lady continued blushing.
"By the way, marm," said the statesman, "may I bother you to tell your estimable husband that ——, Republican candidate for Governor, called upon him this evening?"
"I beg your pardon," said the lady, "I have no husband."
"But these children, madam—you surely are not a widow?"
"I fear you were mistaken, sir, when you first came up. These are not my children. This is an orphan asylum!"
Exchange.
WORDSWORTH ON WOMAN.
A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love; A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye; Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky. Poems of the Affections.
DIVIDED.
"Johnny," said his mother severely, "some one has taken a big piece of ginger-cake out of the pantry."
Johnny blushed guiltily.
"Oh, Johnny!" she exclaimed. "I didn't think it was in you."
"It ain't, all," replied Johnny. "Part of it's in Elsie."—Philadelphia Press.
WHAT HE GOT OUT OF IT.
He never took a day of rest, He couldn't afford it; He never had his trousers pressed, He couldn't afford it; He never went away, care-free, To visit distant lands, to see How fair a place this world might be— He couldn't afford it. He never went to see a play, He couldn't afford it; His love for art he put away, He couldn't afford it; He died and left his heirs a lot, But no tall shaft proclaims the spot In which he lies—his children thought They couldn't afford it. Chicago Record-Herald.