TOASTER'S HANDBOOK

ABILITY

"Pa," said little Joe, "I bet I can do something you can't."

"Well, what is it?" demanded his pa.

"Grow," replied the youngster triumphantly.—H.E. Zimmerman.

ABOLITION

He was a New Yorker visiting in a South Carolina village and he sauntered up to a native sitting in front of the general store, and began a conversation.

"Have you heard about the new manner in which the planters are going to pick their cotton this season?" he inquired.

"Don't believe I have," answered the other.

"Well, they have decided to import a lot of monkeys to do the picking," rejoined the New Yorker. "Monkeys learn readily. They are thorough workers, and obviously they will save their employers a small fortune otherwise expended in wages."

"Yes," ejaculated the native, "and about the time this monkey brigade is beginning to work smoothly, a lot of you fool northerners will come tearing down here and set 'em free."

ABSENT-MINDEDNESS

SHE—"I consider, John, that sheep are the stupidest creatures living."

HE—(absent-mindedly)—"Yes, my lamb."

ACCIDENTS

The late Dr. Henry Thayer, founder of Thayer's Laboratory in Cambridge, was walking along a street one winter morning. The sidewalk was sheeted with ice and the doctor was making his way carefully, as was also a woman going in the opposite direction. In seeking to avoid each other, both slipped and they came down in a heap. The polite doctor was overwhelmed and his embarrassment paralyzed his speech, but the woman was equal to the occasion.

"Doctor, if you will be kind enough to rise and pick out your legs, I will take what remains," she said cheerfully.

"Help! Help!" cried an Italian laborer near the mud flats of the Harlem river.

"What's the matter there?" came a voice from the construction shanty.

"Queek! Bringa da shov'! Bringa da peek! Giovanni's stuck in da mud."

"How far in?"

"Up to hees knees."

"Oh, let him walk out."

"No, no! He no canna walk! He wronga end up!"

BRICKLAYER (to mate, who had just had a hodful of bricks fall on his feet)—"Dropt 'em on yer toe! That's nothin'. Why, I seen a bloke get killed stone dead, an' 'e never made such a bloomin' fuss as you're doin'."

A preacher had ordered a load of hay from one of his parishioners. About noon, the parishioner's little son came to the house crying lustily. On being asked what the matter was, he said that the load of hay had tipped over in the street. The preacher, a kindly man, assured the little fellow that it was nothing serious, and asked him in to dinner.

"Pa wouldn't like it," said the boy.

But the preacher assured him that he would fix it all right with his father, and urged him to take dinner before going for the hay. After dinner the boy was asked if he were not glad that he had stayed.

"Pa won't like it," he persisted.

The preacher, unable to understand, asked the boy what made him think his father would object.

"Why, you see, pa's under the hay," explained the boy.

ACTING

Hopkinson Smith tells a characteristic story of a southern friend of his, an actor, who, by the way, was in the dramatization of Colonel Carter. On one occasion the actor was appearing in his native town, and remembered an old negro and his wife, who had been body servants in his father's household, with a couple of seats in the theatre. As it happened, he was playing the part of the villain, and was largely concerned with treasons, stratagems and spoils. From time to time he caught a glimpse of the ancient couple in the gallery, and judged from their fearsome countenance and popping eyes that they were being duly impressed.

After the play he asked them to come and see him behind the scenes. They sat together for a while in solemn silence, and then the mammy resolutely nudged her husband. The old man gathered himself together with an effort, and said: "Marse Cha'les, mebbe it ain' for us po' niggers to teach ouh young masser 'portment. But we jes' got to tell yo' dat, in all de time we b'long to de fambly, none o' ouh folks ain' neveh befo' mix up in sechlike dealin's, an' we hope, Marse Cha'les, dat yo' see de erroh of yo' ways befo' yo' done sho' nuff disgrace us."

In a North of England town recently a company of local amateurs produced Hamlet, and the following account of the proceedings appeared in the local paper next morning:

"Last night all the fashionables and elite of our town gathered to witness a performance of Hamlet at the Town Hall. There has been considerable discussion in the press as to whether the play was written by Shakespeare or Bacon. All doubt can be now set at rest. Let their graves be opened; the one who turned over last night is the author."

Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature.—Shakespeare.

ACTORS AND ACTRESSES

An "Uncle Tom's Cabin" company was starting to parade in a small New England town when a big gander, from a farmyard near at hand waddled to the middle of the street and began to hiss.

One of the double-in-brass actors turned toward the fowl and angrily exclaimed:

"Don't be so dern quick to jump at conclusions. Wait till you see the show."—K.A. Bisbee.

When William H. Crane was younger and less discreet he had a vaunting ambition to play Hamlet. So with his first profits he organized his own company and he went to an inland western town to give vent to his ambition and "try it on."

When he came back to New York a group of friends noticed that the actor appeared to be much downcast.

"What's the matter, Crane? Didn't they appreciate it?" asked one of his friends.

"They didn't seem to," laconically answered the actor.

"Well, didn't they give any encouragement? Didn't they ask you to come before the curtain?" persisted the friend.

"Ask me?" answered Crane. "Man, they dared me!"

LEADING MAN IN TRAVELING COMPANY—"We play Hamlet to-night, laddie, do we not?"

SUB-MANAGER—"Yes, Mr. Montgomery."

LEADING MAN—"Then I must borrow the sum of two-pence!"

SUB-MANAGER—"Why?"

LEADING MAN—"I have four days' growth upon my chin. One cannot play Hamlet in a beard!"

SUB-MANAGER—"Um—well—we'll put on Macbeth!"

HE—"But what reason have you for refusing to marry me?"

SHE—"Papa objects. He says you are an actor."

HE-"Give my regards to the old boy and tell him I'm sorry he isn't a newspaper critic."

The hero of the play, after putting up a stiff fight with the villain, had died to slow music.

The audience insisted on his coming before the curtain.

He refused to appear.

But the audience still insisted.

Then the manager, a gentleman with a strong accent, came to the front.

"Ladies an' gintlemen," he said, "the carpse thanks ye kindly, but he says he's dead, an' he's goin to stay dead."

Mrs. Minnie Maddern Fiske, the actress, was having her hair dressed by a young woman at her home. The actress was very tired and quiet, but a chance remark from the dresser made her open her eyes and sit up.

"I should have went on the stage," said the young woman complacently.

"But," returned Mrs. Fiske, "look at me—think how I have had to work and study to gain what success I have, and win such fame as is now mine!"

"Oh, yes," replied the young woman calmly; "but then I have talent."

Orlando Day, a fourth-rate actor in London, was once called, in a sudden emergency, to supply the place of Allen Ainsworth at the Criterion Theatre for a single night.

The call filled him with joy. Here was a chance to show the public how great a histrionic genius had remained unknown for lack of an opportunity. But his joy was suddenly dampened by the dreadful thought that, as the play was already in the midst of its run, none of the dramatic critics might be there to watch his triumph.

A bright thought struck him. He would announce the event. Rushing to a telegraph office, he sent to one of the leading critics the following telegram: "Orlando Day presents Allen Ainsworth's part to-night at the Criterion."

Then it occurred to him, "Why not tell them all?" So he repeated the message to a dozen or more important persons.

At a late hour of the same day, in the Garrick Club, a lounging gentleman produced one of the telegrams, and read it to a group of friends. A chorus of exclamations followed the reading: "Why, I got precisely the same message!" "And so did I." "And I, too." "Who is Orlando Day?" "What beastly cheek!" "Did the ass fancy that one would pay any attention to his wire?"

J. M. Barrie, the famous author and playwright, who was present, was the only one who said nothing.

"Didn't he wire you too?" asked one of the group.

"Oh, yes."

"But of course you didn't answer."

"Oh, but it was only polite to send an answer after he had taken the trouble to wire me. So, of course, I answered him."

"You did! What did you say?"

"Oh, I just telegraphed him: 'Thanks for timely warning.'"

Recipe for an actor:

Recipe for an ingenue:

ADAPTATION

"I know a nature-faker," said Mr. Bache, the author, "who claims that a hen of his last month hatched, from a setting of seventeen eggs, seventeen chicks that had, in lieu of feathers, fur.

"He claimed that these fur-coated chicks were a proof of nature's adaptation of all animals to their environment, the seventeen eggs having been of the cold-storage variety."

ADDRESSES

In a large store a child, pointing to a shopper exclaimed, "Oh, mother, that lady lives the same place we do. I just heard her say, 'Send it up C.O.D.' Isn't that where we live?"

An Englishman went into his local library and asked for Frederic Harrison's George Washington and other American Addresses. In a little while he brought back the book to the librarian and said:

"This book does not give me what I require; I want to find out the addresses of several American magnates; I know where George Washington has gone to, for he never told a lie."

ADVERTISING

Not long ago a patron of a café in Chicago summoned his waiter and delivered himself as follows:

"I want to know the meaning of this. Look at this piece of beef. See its size. Last evening I was served with a portion more than twice the size of this."

"Where did you sit?" asked the waiter.

"What has that to do with it? I believe I sat by the window."

"In that case," smiled the waiter, "the explanation is simple. We always serve customers by the window large portions. It's a good advertisement for the place."

"Advertising costs me a lot of money."

"Why I never saw your goods advertised."

"They aren't. But my wife reads other people's ads."

When Mark Twain, in his early days, was editor of a Missouri paper, a superstitious subscriber wrote to him saying that he had found a spider in his paper, and asking him whether that was a sign of good luck or bad. The humorist wrote him this answer and printed it:

"Old subscriber: Finding a spider in your paper was neither good luck nor bad luck for you. The spider was merely looking over our paper to see which merchant is not advertising, so that he can go to that store, spin his web across the door and lead a life of undisturbed peace ever afterward."

"Good Heavens, man! I saw your obituary in this morning's paper!"

"Yes, I know. I put it in myself. My opera is to be produced to-night, and I want good notices from the critics."—C. Hilton Turvey.

Paderewski arrived in a small western town about noon one day and decided to take a walk in the afternoon. While strolling ling along he heard a piano, and, following the sound, came to a house on which was a sign reading:

"Miss Jones. Piano lessons 25 cents an hour."

Pausing to listen he heard the young woman trying to play one of Chopin's nocturnes, and not succeeding very well.

Paderewski walked up to the house and knocked. Miss Jones came to the door and recognized him at once. Delighted, she invited him in and he sat down and played the nocturne as only Paderewski can, afterward spending an hour in correcting her mistakes. Miss Jones thanked him and he departed.

Some months afterward he returned to the town, and again took the same walk.

He soon came to the home of Miss Jones, and, looking at the sign, he read:

"Miss Jones. Piano lessons $1.00 an hour. (Pupil of Paderewski.)"

Shortly after Raymond Hitchcock made his first big hit in New York, Eddie Foy, who was also playing in town, happened to be passing Daly's Theatre, and paused to look at the pictures of Hitchcock and his company that adorned the entrance. Near the pictures was a billboard covered with laudatory extracts from newspaper criticisms of the show.

When Foy had moodily read to the bottom of the list, he turned to an unobtrusive young man who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"Say, have you seen this show?" he asked.

"Sure," replied the young man.

"Any good? How's this guy Hitchcock, anyhow?"

"Any good?" repeated the young man pityingly. "Why, say, he's the best in the business. He's got all these other would-be side-ticklers lashed to the mast. He's a scream. Never laughed so much at any one in all my life."

"Is he as good as Foy?" ventured Foy hopefully.

"As good as Foy!" The young man's scorn was superb. "Why, this Hitchcock has got that Foy person looking like a gloom. They're not in the same class. Hitchcock's funny. A man with feelings can't compare them. I'm sorry you asked me, I feel so strongly about it."

Eddie looked at him very sternly and then, in the hollow tones of a tragedian, he said:

"I am Foy."

"I know you are," said the young man cheerfully. "I'm Hitchcock!"

Advertisements are of great use to the vulgar. First of all, as they are instruments of ambition. A man that is by no means big enough for the Gazette, may easily creep into the advertisements; by which means we often see an apothecary in the same paper of news with a plenipotentiary, or a running footman with an ambassador.—Addison.

See also Salesmen and Salesmanship.

ADVICE

Her exalted rank did not give Queen Victoria immunity from the trials of a grandmother. One of her grandsons, whose recklessness in spending money provoked her strong disapproval, wrote to the Queen reminding her of his approaching birthday and delicately suggesting that money would be the most acceptable gift. In her own hand she answered, sternly reproving the youth for the sin of extravagance and urging upon him the practise of economy. His reply staggered her:

"Dear Grandma," it ran, "thank you for your kind letter of advice. I have sold the same for five pounds."

Many receive advice, only the wise profit by it.—Publius Syrus.

AERONAUTICS

The impression that men will never fly like birds seems to be aeroneous.—La Touche Hancock.

AEROPLANES

Harry N. Atwood, the noted aviator, was the guest of honor at a dinner in New York, and on the occasion his eloquent reply to a toast on aviation terminated neatly with these words:

"The aeroplane has come at last, but it was a long time coming. We can imagine Necessity, the mother of invention, looking up at a sky all criss-crossed with flying machines, and then saying, with a shake of her old head and with a contented smile:

"'Of all my family, the aeroplane has been the hardest to raise.'"

AFTER DINNER SPEECHES

A Frenchman once remarked:

"The table is the only place where one is not bored for the first hour."

Joseph Chamberlain was the guest of honor at a dinner in an important city. The Mayor presided, and when coffee was being served the Mayor leaned over and touched Mr. Chamberlain, saying, "Shall we let the people enjoy themselves a little longer, or had we better have your speech now?"

"Friend," said one immigrant to another, "this is a grand country to settle in. They don't hang you here for murder."

"What do they do to you?" the other immigrant asked.

"They kill you," was the reply, "with elocution."

When Daniel got into the lions' den and looked around he thought to himself, "Whoever's got to do the after-dinner speaking, it won't be me."

Joseph H. Choate and Chauncey Depew were invited to a dinner. Mr. Choate was to speak, and it fell to the lot of Mr. Depew to introduce him, which he did thus: "Gentlemen, permit me to introduce Ambassador Choate, America's most inveterate after-dinner speaker. All you need to do to get a speech out of Mr. Choate is to open his mouth, drop in a dinner and up comes your speech."

Mr. Choate thanked the Senator for his compliment, and then said: "Mr. Depew says if you open my mouth and drop in a dinner up will come a speech, but I warn you that if you open your mouths and drop in one of Senator Depew's speeches up will come your dinners."

Mr. John C. Hackett recently told the following story:

"I was up in Rockland County last summer, and there was a banquet given at a country hotel. All the farmers were there and all the village characters. I was asked to make a speech.

"'Now,' said I, with the usual apologetic manner, 'it is not fair to you that the toastmaster should ask me to speak. I am notorious as the worst public speaker in the State of New York. My reputation extends from one end of the state to the other. I have no rival whatever, when it comes—' I was interrupted by a lanky, ill-clad individual, who had stuck too close to the beer pitcher.

"'Gentlemen,' said he, 'I take 'ception to what this here man says. He ain't the worst public speaker in the state. I am. You all know it, an' I want it made a matter of record that I took 'ception.'

"'Well, my friend,' said I, 'suppose we leave it to the guests. You sit down while I say my piece, and then I'll sit down and let you give a demonstration.' The fellow agreed and I went on. I hadn't gone far when he got up again.

"''S all right,' said he, 'you win; needn't go no farther!'"

Mark Twain and Chauncey M. Depew once went abroad on the same ship. When the ship was a few days out they were both invited to a dinner. Speech-making time came. Mark Twain had the first chance. He spoke twenty minutes and made a great hit. Then it was Mr. Depew's turn.

"Mr. Toastmaster and Ladies and Gentlemen," said the famous raconteur as he arose, "Before this dinner Mark Twain and myself made an agreement to trade speeches. He has just delivered my speech, and I thank you for the pleasant manner in which you received it. I regret to say that I have lost the notes of his speech and cannot remember anything he was to say."

Then he sat down. There was much laughter. Next day an Englishman who had been in the party came across Mark Twain in the smoking-room. "Mr Clemens," he said, "I consider you were much imposed upon last night. I have always heard that Mr. Depew is a clever man, but, really, that speech of his you made last night struck me as being the most infernal rot."

See also Orators; Politicians; Public Speakers.

AGE

The good die young. Here's hoping that you may live to a ripe old age.

"How old are you, Tommy?" asked a caller.

"Well, when I'm home I'm five, when I'm in school I'm six, and when I'm on the cars I'm four."

"How effusively sweet that Mrs. Blondey is to you, Jonesy," said Witherell. "What's up? Any tender little romance there?"

"No, indeed—why, that woman hates me," said Jonesy.

"She doesn't show it," said Witherell.

"No; but she knows I know how old she is—we were both born on the same day," said Jonesy, "and she's afraid I'll tell somebody."

As every southerner knows, elderly colored people rarely know how old they are, and almost invariably assume an age much greater than belongs to them. In an Atlanta family there is employed an old chap named Joshua Bolton, who has been with that family and the previous generation for more years than they can remember. In view, therefore, of his advanced age, it was with surprise that his employer received one day an application for a few days off, in order that the old fellow might, as he put it, "go up to de ole State of Virginny" to see his aunt.

"Your aunt must be pretty old," was the employer's comment.

"Yassir," said Joshua. "She's pretty ole now. I reckon she's 'bout a hundred an' ten years ole."

"One hundred and ten! But what on earth is she doing up in Virginia?"

"I don't jest know," explained Joshua, "but I understand she's up dere livin' wif her grandmother."

When "Bob" Burdette was addressing the graduating class of a large eastern college for women, he began his remarks with the usual salutation, "Young ladies of '97." Then in a horrified aside he added, "That's an awful age for a girl!"

THE PARSON (about to improve the golden hour)—"When a man reaches your age, Mr. Dodd, he cannot, in the nature of things, expect to live very much longer, and I—"

THE NONAGENARIAN—"I dunno, parson. I be stronger on my legs than I were when I started!"

A well-meaning Washington florist was the cause of much embarrassment to a young man who was in love with a rich and beautiful girl.

It appears that one afternoon she informed the young man that the next day would be her birthday, whereupon the suitor remarked that he would the next morning send her some roses, one rose for each year.

That night he wrote a note to his florist, ordering the delivery of twenty roses for the young woman. The florist himself filled the order, and, thinking to improve on it, said to his clerk:

"Here's an order from young Jones for twenty roses. He's one of my best customers, so I'll throw in ten more for good measure."—Edwin Tarrisse.

A small boy who had recently passed his fifth birthday was riding in a suburban car with his mother, when they were asked the customary question, "How old is the boy?" After being told the correct age, which did not require a fare, the conductor passed on to the next person.

The boy sat quite still as if pondering over some question, and then, concluding that full information had not been given, called loudly to the conductor, then at the other end of the car: "And mother's thirty-one!"

The late John Bigelow, the patriarch of diplomats and authors, and the no less distinguished physician and author, Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, were together, several years ago, at West Point. Dr. Bigelow was then ninety-two, and Dr. Mitchell eighty.

The conversation turned to the subject of age. "I attribute my many years," said Dr. Bigelow, "to the fact that I have been most abstemious. I have eaten sparingly, and have not used tobacco, and have taken little exercise."

"It is just the reverse in my case," explained Dr. Mitchell. "I have eaten just as much as I wished, if I could get it; I have always used tobacco, immoderately at times; and I have always taken a great deal of exercise."

With that, Ninety-Two-Years shook his head at Eighty-Years and said, "Well, you will never live to be an old man!"—Sarah Bache Hodge.

A wise man never puts away childish things.—Sidney Dark.

Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle; Old Age a regret.—Disraeli.

We do not count a man's years, until he has nothing else to count.—Emerson.

To be seventy years young is sometimes far more cheerful and hopeful than to be forty years old.—O.W. Holmes.

AGENTS

"John, whatever induced you to buy a house in this forsaken region?"

"One of the best men in the business."—Life.

AGRICULTURE

A farmer, according to this definition, is a man who makes his money on the farm and spends it in town. An agriculturist is a man who makes his money in town and spends it on the farm.

In certain parts of the west, where without irrigation the cultivators of the land would be in a bad way indeed, the light rains that during the growing season fall from time to time, are appreciated to a degree that is unknown in the east.

Last summer a fruit grower who owns fifty acres of orchards was rejoicing in one of these precipitations of moisture, when his hired man came into the house.

"Why don't you stay in out of the rain?" asked the fruit-man.

"I don't mind a little dew like this," said the man. "I can work along just the same."

"Oh, I'm not talking about that," exclaimed the fruit-man. "The next time it rains, you can come into the house. I want that water on the land."

Blessed be agriculture! if one does not have too much of it.—Charles Dudley Warner.

When tillage begins, other arts follow. The farmers, therefore, are the founders of human civilization.—Daniel Webster.

ALARM CLOCKS

MIKE (in bed, to alarm-clock as it goes off)—"I fooled yez that time. I was not aslape at all."

ALERTNESS

"Alert?" repeated a congressman, when questioned concerning one of his political opponents. "Why, he's alert as a Providence bridegroom I heard of the other day. You know how bridegrooms starting off on their honeymoons sometimes forget all about their brides, and buy tickets only for themselves? That is what happened to the Providence young man. And when his wife said to him, 'Why, Tom, you bought only one ticket,' he answered without a moment's hesitation, 'By Jove, you're right, dear! I'd forgotten myself entirely!'"

ALIBI

A party of Manila army women were returning in an auto from a suburban excursion when the driver unfortunately collided with another vehicle. While a policeman was taking down the names of those concerned an "English-speaking" Filipino law-student politely asked one of the ladies how the accident had happened.

"I'm sure I don't know," she replied; "I was asleep when it occurred."

Proud of his knowledge of the Anglo-Saxon tongue, the youth replied:

"Ah, madam, then you will be able to prove a lullaby."

ALIMONY

"What is alimony, ma?"

"It is a man's cash surrender value."—Town Topics

The proof of the wedding is in the alimony.

ALLOWANCES

"Why don't you give your wife an allowance?"

"I did once, and she spent it before I could borrow it back."

ALTERNATIVES

See Choices.

ALTRUISM

WILLIE—"Pa!"

PA—"Yes."

WILLIE—"Teacher says we're here to help others."

PA—"Of course we are."

WILLIE—"Well, what are the others here for?"

There was once a remarkably kind boy who was a great angler. There was a trout stream in his neighborhood that ran through a rich man's estate. Permits to fish the stream could now and then be obtained, and the boy was lucky enough to have a permit.

One day he was fishing with another boy when a gamekeeper suddenly darted forth from a thicket. The lad with the permit uttered a cry of fright, dropped his rod, and ran off at top speed. The gamekeeper pursued.

For about half a mile the gamekeeper was led a swift and difficult chase. Then, worn out, the boy halted. The man seized him by the arm and said between pants:

"Have you a permit to fish on this estate?

"Yes to be sure," said the boy, quietly.

"You have? Then show it to me."

The boy drew the permit from his pocket. The man examined it and frowned in perplexity and anger.

"Why did you run when you had this permit?" he asked.

"To let the other boy get away," was the reply. "He didn't have none!"

AMBITION

Oliver Herford sat next to a soulful poetess at dinner one night, and that dreamy one turned her sad eyes upon him. "Have you no other ambition, Mr. Herford," she demanded, "than to force people to degrade themselves by laughter?"

Yes, Herford had an ambition. A whale of an ambition. Some day he hoped to gratify it.

The woman rested her elbows on the table and propped her face in her long, sad hands, and glowed into Mr. Herford's eyes. "Oh, Mr. Herford," she said, "Oliver! Tell me about it."

"I want to throw an egg into an electric fan," said Herford, simply.

"Hubby," said the observant wife, "the janitor of these flats is a bachelor."

"What of it?"

"I really think he is becoming interested in our oldest daughter."

"There you go again with your pipe dreams! Last week it was a duke."

The chief end of a man in New York is dissipation; in Boston, conversation.

When you are aspiring to the highest place, it is honorable to reach the second or even the third rank.—Cicero.

AMERICAN GIRL

AMERICANS

Eugene Field was at a dinner in London when the conversation turned to the subject of lynching in the United States.

It was the general opinion that a large percentage of Americans met death at the end of a rope. Finally the hostess turned to Field and asked:

"You, sir, must have often seen these affairs?"

"Yes," replied Field, "hundreds of them."

"Oh, do tell us about a lynching you have seen yourself," broke in half a dozen voices at once.

"Well, the night before I sailed for England," said Field, "I was giving a dinner at a hotel to a party of intimate friends when a colored waiter spilled a plate of soup over the gown of a lady at an adjoining table. The gown was utterly ruined, and the gentlemen of her party at once seized the waiter, tied a rope around his neck, and at a signal from the injured lady swung him into the air."

"Horrible!" said the hostess with a shudder. "And did you actually see this yourself?"

"Well, no," admitted Field apologetically. "Just at that moment I happened to be downstairs killing the chef for putting mustard in the blanc mange."

AMUSEMENTS

A newspaper thus defined amusements:

The Friends' picnic this year was not as well attended as it has been for some years. This can be laid to three causes, viz.: the change of place in holding it, deaths in families, and other amusements.

I am a great friend to public amusements; for they keep people from vice.—Samuel Johnson.

ANATOMY

TOMMY—"My gran'pa wuz in th' civil war, an' he lost a leg or a arm in every battle he fit in!"

JOHNNY—"Gee! How many battles was he in?"

TOMMY—"About forty."

They thought more of the Legion of Honor in the time of the first Napoleon than they do now. The emperor one day met an old one-armed veteran.

"How did you lose your arm?" he asked.

"Sire, at Austerlitz."

"And were you not decorated?"

"No, sire."

"Then here is my own cross for you; I make you chevalier."

"Your Majesty names me chevalier because I have lost one arm. What would your Majesty have done had I lost both arms?"

"Oh, in that case I should have made you Officer of the Legion."

Whereupon the old soldier immediately drew his sword and cut off his other arm.

There is no particular reason to doubt this story. The only question is, how did he do it?

ANCESTRY

A western buyer is inordinately proud of the fact that one of his ancestors affixed his name to the Declaration of Independence. At the time the salesman called, the buyer was signing a number of checks and affixed his signature with many a curve and flourish. The salesman's patience becoming exhausted in waiting for the buyer to recognize him, he finally observed:

"You have a fine signature, Mr. So-and-So."

"Yes," admitted the buyer, "I should have. One of my forefathers signed the Declaration of Independence."

"So?" said the caller, with rising inflection. And then he added:

"Vell, you aind't got nottings on me. One of my forefathers signed the Ten Commandments."

In a speech in the Senate on Hawaiian affairs, Senator Depew of New York told this story:

When Queen Liliuokalani was in England during the English queen's jubilee, she was received at Buckingham Palace. In the course of the remarks that passed between the two queens, the one from the Sandwich Islands said that she had English blood in her veins.

"How so?" inquired Victoria.

"My ancestors ate Captain Cook."

Signor Marconi, in an interview in Washington, praised American democracy.

"Over here," he said, "you respect a man for what he is himself—not for what his family is—and thus you remind me of the gardener in Bologna who helped me with my first wireless apparatus.

"As my mother's gardener and I were working on my apparatus together a young count joined us one day, and while he watched us work the count boasted of his lineage.

"'If you come from an ancient family, it's so much the worse for you sir; for, as we gardeners say, the older the seed the worse the crop.'"

"Gerald," said the young wife, noticing how heartily he was eating, "do I cook as well as your mother did?"

Gerald put up his monocle, and stared at her through it.

"Once and for all, Agatha," he said, "I beg you will remember that although I may seem to be in reduced circumstances now, I come of an old and distinguished family. My mother was not a cook."

"My ancestors came over in the 'Mayflower.'"

"That's nothing; my father descended from an aëroplane."—Life.

When in England, Governor Foss, of Massachusetts, had luncheon with a prominent Englishman noted for boasting of his ancestry. Taking a coin from his pocket, the Englishman said: "My great-great-grandfather was made a lord by the king whose picture you see on this shilling." "Indeed!" replied the governor, smiling, as he produced another coin. "What a coincidence! My great-great-grandfather was made an angel by the Indian whose picture you see on this cent."

People will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors.—Burke.

ANGER

Charlie and Nancy had quarreled. After their supper Mother tried to re-establish friendly relations. She told them of the Bible verse, "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath."

"Now, Charlie," she pleaded, "are you going to let the sun go down on your wrath?"

Charlie squirmed a little. Then:

"Well, how can I stop it?"

When a husband loses his temper he usually finds his wife's.

It is easy enough to restrain our wrath when the other fellow is the bigger.

ANNIVERSARIES

MRS. JONES—"Does your husband remember your wedding anniversary?"

MRS. SMITH—"No; so I remind him of it in January and June, and get two presents."

ANTIDOTES

"Suppose," asked the professor in chemistry, "that you were summoned to the side of a patient who had accidentally swallowed a heavy dose of oxalic acid, what would you administer?"

The student who, studying for the ministry, took chemistry because it was obligatory in the course, replied, "I would administer the sacrament."

APPEARANCES

"How fat and well your little boy looks."

"Ah, you should never judge from appearances. He's got a gumboil on one side of his face and he has been stung by a wasp on the other."

APPLAUSE

A certain theatrical troupe, after a dreary and unsuccessful tour, finally arrived in a small New Jersey town. That night, though there was no furore or general uprising of the audience, there was enough hand-clapping to arouse the troupe's dejected spirits. The leading man stepped to the foot-lights after the first act and bowed profoundly. Still the clapping continued.

When he went behind the scenes he saw an Irish stagehand laughing heartily. "Well, what do you think of that?" asked the actor, throwing out his chest.

"What d'ye mane?" replied the Irishman.

"Why, the hand-clapping out there," was the reply.

"Hand-clapping?"

"Yes," said the Thespian, "they are giving me enough applause to show they appreciate me."

"D'ye call thot applause?" inquired the old fellow. "Whoi, thot's not applause. Thot's the audience killin' mosquitoes."

Applause is the spur of noble minds, the end and aim of weak ones.—Colton.

O Popular Applause! what heart of man is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms?—Cowper.

ARBITRATION INTERNATIONAL

A war was going on, and one day, the papers being full of the grim details of a bloody battle, a woman said to her husband:

"This slaughter is shocking. It's fiendish. Can nothing he done to stop it?"

"I'm afraid not," her husband answered.

"Why don't both sides come together and arbitrate?" she cried.

"They did," said he. "They did, 'way back in June. That's how the gol-durned thing started."

ARITHMETIC

"He seems to be very clever."

"Yes, indeed, he can even do the problems that his children have to work out at school."

SONNY—"Aw, pop, I don't wanter study arithmetic."

POP—"What! a son of mine grow up and not he able to figure up baseball scores and batting averages? Never!"

TEACHER—"Now, Johnny, suppose I should borrow $100 from your father and should pay him $10 a month for ten months, how much would I then owe him?"

JOHNNY—"About $3 interest."

"See how I can count, mama," said Kitty. "There's my right foot. That's one. There's my left foot. That's two. Two and one make three. Three feet make a yard, and I want to go out and play in it!"

"Two old salts who had spent most of their lives on fishing smacks had an argument one day as to which was the better mathematician," said George C. Wiedenmayer the other day. "Finally the captain of their ship proposed the following problem which each would try to work out: 'If a fishing crew caught 500 pounds of cod and brought their catch to port and sold it at 6 cents a pound, how much would they receive for the fish?'

"Well, the two old fellows got to work, but neither seemed able to master the intricacies of the deal in fish, and they were unable to get any answer.

"At last old Bill turned to the captain and asked him to repeat the problem. The captain started off: 'If a fishing crew caught 500 pounds of cod and—.'

"'Wait a moment,' said Bill, 'is it codfish they caught?'

"'Yep,' said the captain.

"'Darn it all,' said Bill. 'No wonder I couldn't get an answer. Here I've been figuring on salmon all the time.'"

ARMIES

A new volunteer at a national guard encampment who had not quite learned his business, was on sentry duty, one night, when a friend brought a pie from the canteen.

As he sat on the grass eating pie, the major sauntered up in undress uniform. The sentry, not recognizing him, did not salute, and the major stopped and said:

"What's that you have there?"

"Pie," said the sentry, good-naturedly. "Apple pie. Have a bite?"

The major frowned.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"No," said the sentry, "unless you're the major's groom."

The major shook his head.

"Guess again," he growled.

"The barber from the village?"

"No."

"Maybe"—here the sentry laughed—"maybe you're the major himself?"

"That's right. I am the major," was the stern reply.

The sentry scrambled to his feet.

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed. "Hold the pie, will you, while I present arms!"

The battle was going against him. The commander-in-chief, himself ruler of the South American republic, sent an aide to the rear, ordering General Blanco to bring up his regiment at once. Ten minutes passed; but it didn't come. Twenty, thirty, and an hour—still no regiment. The aide came tearing back hatless, breathless.

"My regiment! My regiment! Where is it? Where is it?" shrieked the commander.

"General," answered the excited aide, "Blanco started it all right, but there are a couple of drunken Americans down the road and they won't let it go by."

An army officer decided to see for himself how his sentries were doing their duty. He was somewhat surprised at overhearing the following:

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"Friend—with a bottle."

"Pass, friend. Halt, bottle."

"A war is a fearful thing," said Mr. Dolan.

"It is," replied Mr. Rafferty. "When you see the fierceness of members of the army toward one another, the fate of a common enemy must be horrible."

See also Military Discipline.

ARMY RATIONS

The colonel of a volunteer regiment camping in Virginia came across a private on the outskirts of the camp, painfully munching on something. His face was wry and his lips seemed to move only with the greatest effort.

"What are you eating?" demanded the colonel.

"Persimmons, sir."

"Good Heavens! Haven't you got any more sense than to eat persimmons at this time of the year? They'll pucker the very stomach out of you."

"I know, sir. That's why I'm eatin' 'em. I'm tryin' to shrink me stomach to fit me rations."

On the occasion of the annual encampment of a western militia, one of the soldiers, a clerk who lived well at home, was experiencing much difficulty in disposing of his rations.

A fellow-sufferer nearby was watching with no little amusement the first soldier's attempts to Fletcherize a piece of meat. "Any trouble, Tom?" asked the second soldier sarcastically.

"None in particular," was the response. Then, after a sullen survey of the bit of beef he held in his hand, the amateur fighter observed:

"Bill, I now fully realize what people mean when they speak of the sinews of war."—Howard Morse.

ART

The friend had dropped in to see D'Auber, the great animal painter, put the finishing touches on his latest painting. He was mystified, however, when D'Auber took some raw meat and rubbed it vigorously over the painted rabbit in the foreground.

"Why on earth did you do that?" he asked.

"Why you see," explained D'Auber, "Mrs Millions is coming to see this picture today. When she sees her pet poodle smell that rabbit, and get excited over it, she'll buy it on the spot."

A young artist once persuaded Whistler to come and view his latest effort. The two stood before the canvas for some moments in silence. Finally the young man asked timidly, "Don't you think, sir, that this painting of mine is—well—er—tolerable?"

Whistler's eyes twinkled dangerously.

"What is your opinion of a tolerable egg?" he asked.

The amateur artist was painting sunset, red with blue streaks and green dots.

The old rustic, at a respectful distance, was watching.

"Ah," said the artist looking up suddenly, "perhaps to you, too, Nature has opened her sky picture page by page! Have you seen the lambent flame of dawn leaping across the livid east; the red-stained, sulphurous islets floating in the lake of fire in the west; the ragged clouds at midnight, black as a raven's wing, blotting out the shuddering moon?"

"No," replied the rustic, "not since I give up drink."

Art is indeed not the bread but the wine of life.—Jean Paul Richter.

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they being both the servants of His providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, and art another. In brief, all things are artificial; for nature is the art of God.—Sir Thomas Browne.

ARTISTS

ARTIST—"I'd like to devote my last picture to a charitable purpose."

CRITIC—"Why not give it to an institution for the blind?"

"Wealth has its penalties." said the ready-made philosopher.

"Yes," replied Mr. Cumrox. "I'd rather be back at the dear old factory than learning to pronounce the names of the old masters in my picture-gallery."

CRITIC—"By George, old chap, when I look at one of your paintings I stand and wonder—"

ARTIST—"How I do it?"

CRITIC "No; why you do it."

He that seeks popularity in art closes the door on his own genius: as he must needs paint for other minds, and not for his own.—Mrs. Jameson.

ATHLETES

The caller's eye had caught the photograph of Tommie Billups, standing on the desk of Mr. Billups.

"That your boy, Billups?" he asked.

"Yes," said Billups, "he's a sophomore up at Binkton College."

"Looks intellectual rather than athletic," said the caller.

"Oh, he's an athlete all right," said Billups. "When it comes to running up accounts, and jumping his board-bill, and lifting his voice, and throwing a thirty-two pound bluff, there isn't a gladiator in creation that can give my boy Tommie any kind of a handicap. He's just written for an extra check."

"And as a proud father you are sending it, I don't doubt," smiled the caller.

"Yes," grinned Billups; "I am sending him a rain-check I got at the hall-game yesterday. As an athlete, he'll appreciate its value."—J.K.B.

ATTENTION

The supervisor of a school was trying to prove that children are lacking in observation.

To the children he said, "Now, children, tell me a number to put on the board."

Some child said, "Thirty-six." The supervisor wrote sixty-three.

He asked for another number, and seventy-six was given. He wrote sixty-seven.

When a third number was asked, a child who apparently had paid no attention called out:

"Theventy-theven. Change that you thucker!"

AUTHORS

The following is a recipe for an author:

Oscar Wilde, upon hearing one of Whistler's bon mots exclaimed: "Oh, Jimmy; I wish I had said that!" "Never mind, dear Oscar," was the rejoinder, "you will!"

THE AUTHOR—"Would you advise me to get out a small edition?"

THE PUBLISHER—"Yes, the smaller the better. The more scarce a book is at the end of four or five centuries the more money you realize from it."

AMBITIOUS AUTHOR—"Hurray! Five dollars for my latest story, 'The Call of the Lure!'"

FAST FRIEND—"Who from?"

AMBITIOUS AUTHOR—"The express company. They lost it."

A lady who had arranged an authors' reading at her house succeeded in persuading her reluctant husband to stay home that evening to assist in receiving the guests. He stood the entertainment as long as he could—three authors, to be exact—and then made an excuse that he was going to open the front door to let in some fresh air. In the hall he found one of the servants asleep on a settee.

"Wake up!" he commanded, shaking the fellow roughly. "What does this mean, your being asleep out here? You must have been listening at the keyhole."

An ambitious young man called upon a publisher and stated that he had decided to write a book.

"May I venture to inquire as to the nature of the book you propose to write?" asked the publisher, very politely.

"Oh," came in an offhand way from the aspirant to literary fame, "I think of doing something on the line of 'Les Miserables,' only livelier, you know."

"So you have had a long siege of nervous prostration?" we say to the haggard author. "What caused it? Overwork?"

"In a way, yes," he answers weakly. "I tried to do a novel with a Robert W. Chambers hero and a Mary E. Wilkins heroine."—Life.

Mark Twain at a dinner at the Authors' Club said: "Speaking of fresh eggs, I am reminded of the town of Squash. In my early lecturing days I went to Squash to lecture in Temperance Hall, arriving in the afternoon. The town seemed very poorly billed. I thought I'd find out if the people knew anything at all about what was in store for them. So I turned in at the general store. 'Good afternoon, friend,' I said to the general storekeeper. 'Any entertainment here tonight to help a stranger while away his evening?' The general storekeeper, who was sorting mackerels, straightened up, wiped his briny hands on his apron, and said: 'I expect there's goin' to be a lecture. I've been sellin' eggs all day."

An American friend of Edmond Rostand says that the great dramatist once told him of a curious encounter he had had with a local magistrate in a town not far from his own.

It appears that Rostand had been asked to register the birth of a friend's newly arrived son. The clerk at the registry office was an officious little chap, bent on carrying out the letter of the law. The following dialogue ensued:

"Your name, sir?"

"Edmond Rostand."

"Vocation?"

"Man of letters, and member of the French Academy."

"Very well, sir. You must sign your name. Can you write? If not, you may make a cross."—Howard Morse.

George W. Cable, the southern writer, was visiting a western city where he was invited to inspect the new free library. The librarian conducted the famous writer through the building until they finally reached the department of books devoted to fiction.

"We have all your books, Mr. Cable," proudly said the librarian. "You see there they are—all of them on the shelves there: not one missing."

And Mr. Cable's hearty laugh was not for the reason that the librarian thought!

Brief History of a Successful Author: From ink-pots to flesh-pots—R.R. Kirk.

"It took me nearly ten years to learn that I couldn't write stories."

"I suppose you gave it up then?"

"No, no. By that time I had a reputation."

"I dream my stories," said Hicks, the author.

"How you must dread going to bed!" exclaimed Cynicus.

The five-year-old son of James Oppenheim, author of "The Olympian," was recently asked what work he was going to do when he became a man. "Oh," Ralph replied, "I'm not going to work at all." "Well, what are you going to do, then?" he was asked. "Why," he said seriously, "I'm just going to write stories, like daddy."

William Dean Howells is the kindliest of critics, but now and then some popular novelist's conceit will cause him to bristle up a little.

"You know," said one, fishing for compliments, "I get richer and richer, but all the same I think my work is falling off. My new work is not so good as my old."

"Oh, nonsense!" said Mr. Howells. "You write just as well as you ever did. Your taste is improving, that's all."

James Oliver Curwood, a novelist, tells of a recent encounter with the law. The value of a short story he was writing depended upon a certain legal situation which he found difficult to manage. Going to a lawyer of his acquaintance he told him the plot and was shown a way to the desired end. "You've saved me just $100," he exclaimed, "for that's what I am going to get for this story."

A week later he received a bill from the lawyer as follows: "For literary advice, $100." He says he paid.

"Tried to skin me, that scribbler did!"

"What did he want?"

"Wanted to get out a book jointly, he to write the book and I to write the advertisements. I turned him down. I wasn't going to do all the literary work."

At a London dinner recently the conversation turned to the various methods of working employed by literary geniuses. Among the examples cited was that of a well-known poet, who, it is said, was wont to arouse his wife about four o'clock in the morning and exclaim, "Maria, get up; I've thought of a good word!" Whereupon the poet's obedient helpmate would crawl out of bed and make a note of the thought-of word.

About an hour later, like as not, a new inspiration would seize the bard, whereupon he would again arouse his wife, saying, "Maria, Maria, get up! I've thought of a better word!"

The company in general listened to the story with admiration, but a merry-eyed American girl remarked: "Well, if he'd been my husband I should have replied, 'Alpheus, get up yourself; I've thought of a bad word!'"

"There is probably no hell for authors in the next world—they suffer so much from critics and publishers in this."—Bovee.

That writer does the most, who gives his reader the most knowledge, and takes from him the least time.—C.C. Colton.

The author who speaks about his own books is almost as bad as a mother who talks about her own children.—Disraeli.

AUTOMOBILES

TEACHER—"If a man saves $2 a week, how long will it take him to save a thousand?"

BOY—"He never would, ma'am. After he got $900 he'd buy a car."

"How fast is your car, Jimpson?" asked Harkaway.

"Well," said Jimpson, "it keeps about six months ahead of my income generally."

"What is the name of your automobile?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? What do your folks call it?"

"Oh, as to that, father always says 'The Mortgage'; brother Tom calls it 'The Fake'; mother, 'My Limousine'; sister, 'Our Car'; grandma, 'That Peril'; the chauffeur, 'Some Freak,' and our neighbors, 'The Limit.'"—Life.

"What little boy can tell me the difference between the 'quick' and the 'dead?'" asked the Sunday-school teacher.

Willie waved his hand frantically.

"Well, Willie?"

"Please, ma'am, the 'quick' are the ones that get out of the way of automobiles; the ones that don't are the 'dead.'"

"Do you have much trouble with your automobile?"

"Trouble! Say, I couldn't have more if I was married to the blamed machine."

A little "Brush" chugged painfully up to the gate of a race track.

The gate-keeper, demanding the usual fee for automobiles, called:

"A dollar for the car!"

The owner looked up with a pathetic smile of relief and said:

"Sold!"

Autos rush in where mortgages have dared to tread.

See also Fords; Profanity.

AUTOMOBILING

"Sorry, gentlemen," said the new constable, "but I'll hev to run ye in. We been keepin' tabs on ye sence ye left Huckleberry Corners."

"Why, that's nonsense!" said Dubbleigh. "It's taken us four hours to come twenty miles, thanks to a flabby tire. That's only five miles an hour."

"Sure!" said the new constable, "but the speed law round these here parts is ten mile an hour, and by Jehosophat I'm goin' to make you ottermobile fellers live up to it."

Two street pedlers in Bradford, England, bought a horse for $11.25. It was killed by a motor-car one day and the owner of the car paid them $115 for the loss. Thereupon a new industry sprang up on the roads of England.

"It was very romantic," says the friend. "He proposed to her in the automobile."

"Yes?" we murmur, encouragingly.

"And she accepted him in the hospital."

"What you want to do is to have that mudhole in the road fixed," said the visitor.

"That goes to show," replied Farmer Corntassel, "how little you reformers understand local conditions. I've purty nigh paid off a mortgage with the money I made haulm' automobiles out o' that mud-hole."

The old lady from the country and her small son were driving to town when a huge automobile bore down upon them. The horse was badly frightened and began to prance, whereupon the old lady leaped down and waved wildly to the chauffeur, screaming at the top of her voice.

The chauffeur stopped the car and offered to help get the horse past.

"That's all right," said the boy, who remained composedly in the carriage, "I can manage the horse. You just lead Mother past."

"What makes you carry that horrible shriek machine for an automobile signal?"

"For humane reasons." replied Mr. Chugging. "If I can paralyze a person with fear he will keep still and I can run to one side of him."

In certain sections of West Virginia there is no liking for automobilists, as was evidenced in the case of a Washingtonian who was motoring in a sparsely settled region of the State.

This gentleman was haled before a local magistrate upon the complaint of a constable. The magistrate, a good-natured man, was not, however, absolutely certain that the Washingtonian's car had been driven too fast; and the owner stoutly insisted that he had been progressing at the rate of only six miles an hour.

"Why, your Honor," he said, "my engine was out of order, and I was going very slowly because I was afraid it would break down completely. I give you my word, sir, you could have walked as fast as I was running."

"Well," said the magistrate, after due reflection, "you don't appear to have been exceeding the speed limit, but at the same time you must have been guilty of something, or you wouldn't be here. I fine you ten dollars for loitering."—Fenimore Martin.

AVIATION

The aviator's wife was taking her first trip with her husband in his airship. "Wait a minute, George," she said. "I'm afraid we will have to go down again."

"What's wrong?" asked her husband.

"I believe I have dropped one of the pearl buttons off my jacket. I think I can see it glistening on the ground."

"Keep your seat, my dear," said the aviator, "that's Lake Erie."

AVIATOR (to young assistant, who has begun to be frightened)—"Well, what do you want now?"

ASSISTANT (whimpering)—"I want the earth."—Abbie C. Dixon.

When Claude Grahame-White the famous aviator, author of "The Aeroplane in War," was in this country not long ago, he was spending a week-end at a country home. He tells the following story of an incident that was very amusing to him.

"The first night that I arrived, a dinner party was given. Feeling very enthusiastic over the recent flights, I began to tell the young woman who was my partner at the table of some of the details of the aviation sport.

"It was not until the dessert was brought on that I realized that I had been doing all the talking; indeed, the young woman seated next me had not uttered a single word since I first began talking about aviation. Perhaps she was not interested in the subject, I thought, although to an enthusiast like me it seemed quite incredible.

"'I am afraid I have been boring you with this shop talk," I said, feeling as if I should apologize.

"'Oh, not at all,' she murmured, in very polite tones; 'but would you mind telling me, what is aviation?'"—M.A. Hitchcock.

AVIATORS

"Are you an experienced aviator?"

"Well, sir, I have been at it six weeks and I am all here."—Life.

BABIES

See Children.

BACCALAUREATE SERMONS

PROUD FATHER—"Rick, my boy, if you live up to your oration you'll be an honor to the family."

VALEDICTORIAN-"I expect to do better than that, father. I am going to try to live up to the baccalaureate sermon."

BACTERIA

Two doctors met in the hall of the hospital.

"Well," said the first, "what's new this morning?"

"I've got a most curious case. Woman, cross-eyed; in fact, so cross-eyed that when she cries the tears run down her back."

"What are you doing for her?"

"Just now," was the answer, "we're treating her for bacteria."

BADGES

Mrs. Philpots came panting downstairs on her way to the temperance society meeting. She was a short, plump woman. "Addie, run up to my room and get my blue ribbon rosette, the temperance badge," she directed her maid. "I have forgotten it. You will know it, Addie—blue ribbon and gold lettering."

"Yas'm, I knows it right well." Addie could not read, but she knew a blue ribbon with gold lettering when she saw it, and therefore had not trouble in finding it and fastening it properly on the dress of her mistress.

At the meeting Mrs. Philpots was too busy greeting her friends to note that they smiled when they shook hands with her. When she reached home supper was served, so she went directly to the dining-room, where the other members of the family were seated.

"Gracious me, Mother!" exclaimed her son: "that blue ribbon—you haven't been wearing that at the temperance meeting?"

A loud laugh went up on all sides.

"Why, what is it, Harry?" asked the good woman, clutching at the ribbon in surprise.

"Why, Mother dear, didn't you know that was the ribbon I won at the show?"

The gold lettering on the ribbon read:

INTERSTATE POULTRY SHOW

First Prize Bantam

BAGGAGE

An Aberdonian went to spend a few days in London with his son, who had done exceptionally well in the great metropolis. After their first greetings at King's Cross Station, the young fellow remarked: "Feyther, you are not lookin' weel. Is there anything the matter?" The old man replied, "Aye, lad, I have had quite an accident." "What was that, feyther?" "Mon," he said, "on this journey frae bonnie Scotland I lost my luggage." "Dear, dear, that's too bad; 'oo did it happen?" "Aweel" replied the Aberdonian, "the cork cam' oot."

Johnnie Poe, one of the famous Princeton football family, and incidentally a great-nephew of Edgar Allan Poe, was a general in the army of Honduras in one of their recent wars. Finally, when things began to look black with peace and the American general discovered that his princely pay when translated into United States money was about sixty cents a day, he struck for the coast. There he found a United States warship and asked transportation home.

"Sure," the commander told him. "We'll be glad to have you. Come aboard whenever you like and bring your luggage."

"Thanks," said Poe warmly. "I'll sure do that. I only have fifty-four pieces."

"What!" exclaimed the commander. "What do you think I'm running? A freighter?"

"Oh, well, you needn't get excited about it," purred Poe. "My fifty-four pieces consist of one pair of socks and a pack of playing cards."

BALDNESS

One mother who still considers Marcel waves as the most fashionable way of dressing the hair was at work on the job.

Her little eight-year-old girl was crouched on her father's lap, watching her mother. Every once in a while the baby fingers would slide over the smooth and glossy pate which is Father's.

"No waves for you, Father," remarked the little one. "You're all beach."

"Were any of your boyish ambitions ever realized?" asked the sentimentalist.

"Yes," replied the practical person. "When my mother used to cut my hair I often wished I might be bald-headed."

Congressman Longworth is not gifted with much hair, his head being about as shiny as a billiard ball.

One day ex-president Taft, then Secretary of War, and Congressman Longworth sallied into a barbershop.

"Hair cut?" asked the barber of Longworth.

"Yes," answered the Congressman.

"Oh, no, Nick," commented the Secretary of War from the next chair, "you don't want a hair cut; you want a shine."

"O, Mother, why are the men in the front baldheaded?"

"They bought their tickets from scalpers, my child."

The costumer came forward to attend to the nervous old beau who was mopping his bald and shining poll with a big silk handkerchief.

"And what can I do for you?" he asked.

"I want a little help in the way of a suggestion," said the old fellow. "I intend going to the French Students' masquerade ball to-night, and I want a distinctly original costume—something I may be sure no one else will wear. What would you suggest?"

The costumer looked him over attentively, bestowing special notice on the gleaming knob.

"Well, I'll tell you," he said then, thoughtfully: "why don't you sugar your head and go as a pill?"—Frank X. Finnegan.

United States Senator Ollie James, of Kentucky, is bald.

"Does being bald bother you much?" a candid friend asked him once.

"Yes, a little," answered the truthful James.

"I suppose you feel the cold severely in winter," went on the friend.

"No; it's not that so much," said the Senator. "The main bother is when I'm washing myself—unless I keep my hat on I don't know where my face stops."

A near-sighted old lady at a dinner-party, one evening, had for her companion on the left a very bald-headed old gentleman. While talking to the gentleman at her right she dropped her napkin unconsciously. The bald-headed gentleman, in stooping to pick it up, touched her arm. The old lady turned around, shook her head, and very politely said: "No melon, thank you."

BANKS AND BANKING

During a financial panic, a German farmer went to a bank for some money. He was told that the bank was not paying out money, but was using cashier's checks. He could not understand this, and insisted on money.

The officers took him in hand, one after another, with little effect. At last the president tried his hand, and after long and minute explanation, some inkling of the situation seemed to be dawning on the farmer's mind. Much encouraged, the president said: "You understand now how it is, don't you, Mr.. Schmidt?"

"I t'ink I do," admitted Mr. Schmidt. "It's like dis, aindt it? Ven my baby vakes up at night and vants some milk, I gif him a milk ticket."

She advanced to the paying teller's window and, handing in a check for fifty dollars, stated that it was a birthday present from her husband and asked for payment. The teller informed her that she must first endorse it.

"I don't know what you mean," she said hesitatingly.

"Why, you see," he explained, "you must write your name on the back, so that when we return the check to your husband, he will know we have paid you the money."

"Oh, is that all?" she said, relieved.... One minute elapses.

Thus the "endorsement": "Many thanks, dear, I've got the money. Your loving wife, Evelyn."

FRIEND—"So you're going to make it hot for that fellow who held up the bank, shot the cashier, and got away with the ten thousand?"

BANKER—"Yes, indeed. He was entirely too fresh. There's a decent way to do that, you know. If he wanted to get the money, why didn't he come into the bank and work his way up the way the rest of us did?"—Puck.

BAPTISM

A revival was being held at a small colored Baptist church in southern Georgia. At one of the meetings the evangelist, after an earnest but fruitless exhortation, requested all of the congregation who wanted their souls washed white as snow to stand up. One old darky remained sitting.

"Don' yo' want y' soul washed w'ite as snow, Brudder Jones?"

"Mah soul done been washed w'ite as snow, pahson."

"Whah wuz yo' soul washed w'ite as snow, Brudder Jones?"

"Over yander to the Methodis' chu'ch acrost de railroad."

"Brudder Jones, yo' soul wa'n't washed—hit were dry-cleaned."—Life.

BAPTISTS

An old colored man first joined the Episcopal Church, then the Methodist and next the Baptist, where he remained. Questioned as to the reason for his church travels he responded:

"Well, suh, hit's this way: de 'Piscopals is gemmen, suh, but I couldn't keep up wid de answerin' back in dey church. De Methodis', dey always holdin' inquiry meetin', and I don't like too much inquirin' into. But de Baptis', suh, dey jes' dip and are done wid hit."

A Methodist negro exhorter shouted: "Come up en jine de army ob de Lohd." "I'se done jined," replied one of the congregation. "Whar'd yoh jine?" asked the exhorter. "In de Baptis' Chu'ch." "Why, chile," said the exhorter, "yoh ain't in the army; yoh's in de navy."

BARGAINS

MANAGER (five-and-ten-cent store)—"What did the lady who just went out want?"

SHOPGIRL—"She inquired if we had a shoe department."

"Hades," said the lady who loves to shop, "would be a magnificent and endless bargain counter and I looking on without a cent."

Newell Dwight Hillis, the now famous New York preacher and author, some years ago took charge of the First Presbyterian Church of Evanston, Illinois. Shortly after going there he required the services of a physician, and on the advice of one of his parishioners called in a doctor noted for his ability properly to emphasize a good story, but who attended church very rarely. He proved very satisfactory to the young preacher, but for some reason could not be induced to render a bill. Finally Dr. Hillis, becoming alarmed at the inroads the bill might make in his modest stipend, went to the physician and said, "See here, Doctor, I must know how much I owe you."

After some urging, the physician replied: "Well, I'll tell you what I'll do with you, Hillis. They say you're a pretty good preacher, and you seem to think I am a fair doctor, so I'll make this bargain with you. I'll do all I can to keep you out of heaven if you do all you can to keep me out of hell, and it won't cost either of us a cent. Is it a go?"

"My wife and myself are trying to get up a list of club magazines. By taking three you get a discount."

"How are you making out?"

"Well, we can get one that I don't want, and one that she doesn't want, and one that neither wants for $2.25."

BASEBALL

A run in time saves the nine.

Knowin' all 'bout baseball is jist 'bout as profitable as bein' a good whittler.—Abe Martin.

"Plague take that girl!"

"My friend, that is the most beautiful girl in this town."

"That may be. But she obstructs my view of second base."

When Miss Cheney, one of the popular teachers in the Swarthmore schools, had to deal with a boy who played "hookey," she failed to impress him with the evil of his ways.

"Don't you know what becomes of little boys who stay away from school to play baseball?" asked Miss Cheney.

"Yessum," replied the lad promptly. "Some of 'em gets to be good players and pitch in the big leagues."

BATHS AND BATHING

The only unoccupied room in the hotel—one with a private bath in connection with it—was given to the stranger from Kansas. The next morning the clerk was approached by the guest when the latter was ready to check out.

"Well, did you have a good night's rest?" the clerk asked.

"No, I didn't," replied the Kansan. "The room was all right, and the bed was pretty good, but I couldn't sleep very much for I was afraid some one would want to take a bath, and the only door to it was through my room."

RURAL CONSTABLE-"Now then, come out o' that. Bathing's not allowed 'ere after 8 a.m."

THE FACE IN THE WATER-"Excuse me, Sergeant, I'm not bathing; I'm only drowning."—Punch.

A woman and her brother lived alone in the Scotch Highlands. She knitted gloves and garments to sell in the Lowland towns. Once when she was starting out to market her wares, her brother said he would go with her and take a dip in the ocean. While the woman was in the town selling her work, Sandy was sporting in the waves. When his sister came down to join him, however, he met her with a wry face. "Oh, Kirstie," he said, "I've lost me weskit." They hunted high and low, but finally as night settled down decided that the waves must have carried it out to sea.

The next year, at about the same season, the two again visited the town. And while Kirstie sold her wool in the town, Sandy splashed about in the brine. When Kirstie joined her brother she found him with a radiant face, and he cried out to her, "Oh, Kirstie, I've found me weskit. 'Twas under me shirt."

In one of the lesser Indian hill wars an English detachment took an Afghan prisoner. The Afghan was very dirty. Accordingly two privates were deputed to strip and wash him.

The privates dragged the man to a stream of running water, undressed him, plunged him in, and set upon him lustily with stiff brushes and large cakes of white soap.

After a long time one of the privates came back to make a report. He saluted his officer and said disconsolately:

"It's no use, sir. It's no use."

"No use?" said the officer. "What do you mean? Haven't you washed that Afghan yet?"

"It's no use, sir," the private repeated. "We've washed him for two hours, but it's no use."

"How do you mean it's no use?" said the officer angrily.

"Why, sir," said the private, "after rubbin' him and scrubbin' him till our arms ached I'll be hanged if we didn't come to another suit of clothes."

BAZARS

Once upon a time a deacon who did not favor church bazars was going along a dark street when a footpad suddenly appeared, and, pointing his pistol, began to relieve his victim of his money.

The thief, however, apparently suffered some pangs of remorse. "It's pretty rough to be gone through like this, ain't it, sir?" he inquired.

"Oh, that's all right, my man," the "held-up" one answered cheerfully. "I was on my way to a bazar. You're first, and there's an end of it."

BEARDS

BEAUTY

BEAUTY, PERSONAL

"Shine yer boots, sir?"

"No," snapped the man.

"Shine 'em so's yer can see yer face in 'em?" urged the bootblack.

"No, I tell you!"

"Coward," hissed the bootblack.

A farmer returning home late at night, found a man standing beside the house with a lighted lantern in his hand. "What are you doing here?" he asked, savagely, suspecting he had caught a criminal. For answer came a chuckle, and—"It's only mee, zur."

The farmer recognized John, his shepherd.

"It's you, John, is it? What on earth are you doing here this time o' night?"

Another chuckle. "I'm a-coortin' Ann, zur."

"And so you've come courting with a lantern, you fool. Why I never took a lantern when I courted your mistress."

"No, zur, you didn't, zur," John chuckled. "We can all zee you didn't, zur."

The senator and the major were walking up the avenue. The senator was more than middle-aged and considerably more than fat, and, dearly as the major loved him, he also loved his joke.

The senator turned with a pleased expression on his benign countenance and said, "Major, did you see that pretty girl smile at me?"

"Oh, that's nothing," replied his friend. "The first time I saw you I laughed out loud!"—Harper's Magazine.

Pat, thinking to enliven the party, stated, with watch in hand: "I'll presint a box of candy to the loidy that makes the homeliest face within the next three minutes."

The time expired, Pat announced: "Ah, Mrs. McGuire, you get the prize."

"But," protested Mrs. McGuire, "go way wid ye! I wasn't playin' at all."

ARTHUR—"They say dear, that people who live together get to look alike."

KATE—"Then you must consider my refusal as final."

In the negro car of a railway train in one of the gulf states a bridal couple were riding—a very light, rather good looking colored girl and a typical full blooded negro of possibly a reverted type, with receding forehead, protruding eyes, broad, flat nose very thick lips and almost no chin. He was positively and aggressively ugly.

They had been married just before boarding the train and, like a good many of their white brothers and sisters, were very much interested in each other, regardless of the amusement of their neighbors. After various "billings and cooings" the man sank down in the seat and, resting his head on the lady's shoulder, looked soulfully up into her eyes.

She looked fondly down upon him and after a few minutes murmured gently, "Laws, honey, ain't yo' shamed to be so han'some?"

MOTHER (to inquisitive child)—"Stand aside. Don't you see the gentleman wants to take the lady's picture?"

"Why does he want to?"—Life.

One day, while walking with a friend in San Francisco, a professor and his companion became involved in an argument as to which was the handsomer man of the two. Not being able to arrive at a settlement of the question, they agreed, in a spirit of fun, to leave it to the decision of a Chinaman who was seen approaching them. The matter being laid before him, the Oriental considered long and carefully; then he announced in a tone of finality, "Both are worse."

"What a homely woman!"

"Sir, that is my wife. I'll have you understand it is a woman's privilege to be homely."

"Gee, then she abused the privilege."

Beauty is worse than wine; it intoxicates both the holder and the beholder.—Zimmermann.

BEDS

A western politician tells the following story as illustrating the inconveniences attached to campaigning in certain sections of the country.

Upon his arrival at one of the small towns in South Dakota, where he was to make a speech the following day, he found that the so-called hotel was crowded to the doors. Not having telegraphed for accommodations, the politician discovered that he would have to make shift as best he could. Accordingly, he was obliged for that night to sleep on a wire cot which had only some blankets and a sheet on it. As the politician is an extremely fat man, he found his improvised bed anything but comfortable.

"How did you sleep?" asked a friend in the morning.

"Fairly well," answered the fat man, "but I looked like a waffle when I got up."

BEER

BEES

TEACHER—"Tommy, do you know 'How Doth the Little Busy Bee'?"

TOMMY—"No; I only know he doth it!"

BEETLES

BEGGING

THE "ANGEL" (about to give a beggar a dime)—"Poor man! And are you married?"

BEGGAR—"Pardon me, madam! D'ye think I'd be relyin' on total strangers for support if I had a wife?"

MAN—"Is there any reason why I should give you five cents?"

BOY—"Well, if I had a nice high hat like yours I wouldn't want it soaked with snowballs."

MILLIONAIRE (to ragged beggar)—"You ask alms and do not even take your hat off. Is that the proper way to beg?"

BEGGAR—"Pardon me, sir. A policeman is looking at us from across the street. If I take my hat off he'll arrest me for begging; as it is, he naturally takes us for old friends."

Once, while Bishop Talbot, the giant "cowboy bishop," was attending a meeting of church dignitaries in St. Paul, a tramp accosted a group of churchmen in the hotel porch and asked for aid.

"No," one of them told him, "I'm afraid we can't help you. But you see that big man over there?" pointing to Bishop Talbot.

"Well, he's the youngest bishop of us all, and he's a very generous man. You might try him."

The tramp approached Bishop Talbot confidently. The others watched with interest. They saw a look of surprise come over the tramp's face. The bishop was talking eagerly. The tramp looked troubled. And then, finally, they saw something pass from one hand to the other. The tramp tried to slink past the group without speaking, but one of them called to him:

"Well, did you get something from our young brother?"

The tramp grinned sheepishly. "No," he admitted, "I gave him a dollar for his damned new cathedral at Laramie!"

See also Flattery; Millionaires.

BETTING

The officers' mess was discussing rifle shooting.

"I'll bet anyone here," said one young lieutenant, "that I can fire twenty shots at two hundred yards and call each shot correctly without waiting for the marker. I'll stake a box of cigars that I can."

"Done!" cried a major.

The whole mess was on hand early next morning to see the experiment tried.

The lieutenant fired.

"Miss," he calmly announced.

A second shot.

"Miss," he repeated.

A third shot.

"Miss."

"Here, there! Hold on!" protested the major. "What are you trying to do? You're not shooting for the target at all."

"Of course not," admitted the lieutenant. "I'm firing for those cigars." And he got them.

Two old cronies went into a drug store in the downtown part of New York City, and, addressing the proprietor by his first name, one of them said:

"Dr. Charley, we have made a bet of the ice-cream sodas. We will have them now and when the bet is decided the loser will drop in and pay for them."

As the two old fellows were departing after enjoying their temperance beverage, the druggist asked them what the wager was.

"Well," said one of them, "our friend George bets that when the tower of the Singer Building falls, it will topple over toward the North River, and I bet that it won't."

BIBLE INTERPRETATION

"Miss Jane, did Moses have the same after-dinner complaint my papa's got?" asked Percy of his governess.

"Gracious me, Percy! Whatever do you mean, my dear?"

"Well, it says here that the Lord gave Moses two tablets."

"Mr. Preacher," said a white man to a colored minister who was addressing his congregation, "you are talking about Cain, and you say he got married in the land of Nod, after he killed Abel. But the Bible mentions only Adam and Eve as being on earth at that time. Who, then, did Cain marry?"

The colored preacher snorted with unfeigned contempt. "Huh!" he said, "you hear dat, brederen an' sisters? You hear dat fool question I am axed? Cain, he went to de land o' Nod just as de Good Book tells us, an' in de land o' Nod Cain gits so lazy an' so shif'less dat he up an' marries a gal o' one o' dem no' count pore white trash families dat de inspired apostle didn't consider fittin' to mention in de Holy Word."

BIGAMY

BILLS

The proverb, "Where there's a will there's a way" is now revised to "When there's a bill we're away."

YOUNG DOCTOR—"Why do you always ask your patients what they have for dinner?"

OLD DOCTOR—"It's a most important question, for according to their menus I make out my bills."

Farmer Gray kept summer boarders. One of these, a schoolteacher, hired him to drive her to the various points of interest around the country. He pointed out this one and that, at the same time giving such items of information as he possessed.

The school-teacher, pursing her lips, remarked, "It will not be necessary for you to talk."

When her bill was presented, there was a five-dollar charge marked "Extra."

"What is this?" she asked, pointing to the item.

"That," replied the farmer, "is for sass. I don't often take it, but when I do I charge for it."—E. Egbert.

PATIENT (angrily)—"The size of your bill makes my blood boil."

DOCTOR—"Then that will be $20 more for sterilizing your system."

At the bedside of a patient who was a noted humorist, five doctors were in consultation as to the best means of producing a perspiration.

The sick man overheard the discussion, and, after listening for a few moments, he turned his head toward the group and whispered with a dry chuckle:

"Just send in your bills, gentlemen; that will bring it on at once."

"Thank Heaven, those bills are got rid of," said Bilkins, fervently, as he tore up a bundle of statements of account dated October 1st.

"All paid, eh?" said Mrs. Bilkins.

"Oh, no," said Bilkins. "The duplicates dated November 1st have come in and I don't have to keep these any longer."

BIRTHDAYS

When a man has a birthday he takes a day off, but when a woman has a birthday she takes a year off.

BLUFFING

Francis Wilson, the comedian, says that many years ago when he was a member of a company playing "She Stoops to Conquer," a man without any money, wishing to see the show, stepped up to the box-office in a small town and said:

"Pass me in, please."

The box-office man gave a loud, harsh laugh.

"Pass you in? What for?" he asked.

The applicant drew himself up and answered haughtily:

"What for? Why, because I am Oliver Goldsmith, author of the play."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," replied the box-office man, as he hurriedly wrote out an order for a box.

BLUNDERS

An early morning customer in an optician's shop was a young woman with a determined air. She addressed the first salesman she saw. "I want to look at a pair of eyeglasses, sir, of extra magnifying power."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the salesman; "something very strong?"

"Yes, sir. While visiting in the country I made a very painful blunder which I never want to repeat."

"Indeed! Mistook a stranger for an acquaintance?"

"No, not exactly that; I mistook a bumblebee for a black-berry."

The ship doctor of an English liner notified the death watch steward, an Irishman, that a man had died in stateroom 45. The usual instructions to bury the body were given. Some hours later the doctor peeked into the room and found that the body was still there. He called the Irishman's attention to the matter and the latter replied:

"I thought you said room 46. I wint to that room and noticed wan of thim in a bunk. 'Are ye dead?' says I. 'No,' says he, 'but I'm pretty near dead.'

"So I buried him."

Telephone girls sometimes glory in their mistakes if there is a joke in consequence. The story is told by a telephone operator in one of the Boston exchanges about a man who asked her for the number of a local theater.

He got the wrong number and, without asking to whom he was talking, he said, "Can I get a box for two to-night?"

A startled voice answered him at the other end of the line, "We don't have boxes for two."

"Isn't this the —— Theater?" he called crossly.

"Why, no," was the answer, "this is an undertaking shop."

He canceled his order for a "box for two."

A good Samaritan, passing an apartment house in the small hours of the morning, noticed a man leaning limply against the doorway.

"What's the matter?" he asked, "Drunk?"

"Yep."

"Do you live in this house?"

"Yep."

"Do you want me to help you upstairs?"

"Yep."

With much difficulty he half dragged, half carried the drooping figure up the stairway to the second floor.

"What floor do you live on?" he asked. "Is this it?"

"Yep."

Rather than face an irate wife who might, perhaps, take him for a companion more at fault than her spouse, he opened the first door he came to and pushed the limp figure in.

The good Samaritan groped his way downstairs again. As he was passing through the vestibule he was able to make out the dim outlines of another man, apparently in worse condition than the first one.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Are you drunk, too?"

"Yep," was the feeble reply.

"Do you live in this house, too?"

"Yep."

"Shall I help you upstairs?"

"Yep."

The good Samaritan pushed, pulled, and carried him to the second floor, where this man also said he lived. He opened the same door and pushed him in.

As he reached the front door he discerned the shadow of a third man, evidently worse off than either of the other two. He was about to approach him when the object of his solicitude lurched out into the street and threw himself into the arms of a passing policeman.

"For Heaven's sake, off'cer," he gasped, "protect me from that man. He's done nothin' all night long but carry me upstairs 'n throw me down th' elevator shaf."

BOASTING

Maybe the man who boasts that he doesn't owe a dollar in the world couldn't if he tried.

"What sort of chap is he?"

"Well, after a beggar has touched him for a dime he'll tell you he 'gave a little dinner to an acquaintance of his.'"—R.R. Kirk.

WILLIE—"All the stores closed on the day my uncle died."

TOMMY—"That's nothing. All the banks closed for three weeks the day after my pa left town."—Puck.

Two men were boasting about their rich kin. Said one:

"My father has a big farm in Connecticut. It is so big that when he goes to the barn on Monday morning to milk the cows he kisses us all good-by, and he doesn't get back till the following Saturday."

"Why does it take him so long?" the other man asked.

"Because the barn is so far away from the house."

"Well, that may be a pretty big farm, but compared to my father's farm in Pennsylvania your father's farm ain't no bigger than a city lot!"

"Why, how big is your father's farm?"

"Well, it's so big that my father sends young married couples out to the barn to milk the cows, and the milk is brought back by their grandchildren."