Chapter X: Part 10

A plaintiff thus explained his cause
To counsel learned in the laws.
“My bond-maid lately ran away,
And in her flight was met by A,
Who, knowing she belonged to me,
Espoused her to his servant B.
The issue of this marriage, pray,
Do they belong to me or A?”
The lawyer, true to his vocation,
Gave signs of deepest cogitation;
Looked at a score of books, or near,
Then hemmed and said, “Your case is clear.
Those children, so begot by B
Upon your bond-maid, must, you see,
Be yours or A’s. Now this, I say,
They can’t be yours, if they to A
Belong. It follows then, of course,
That if they are not his, they’re yours.
Therefore, by my advice, in short,
You take the opinion of the Court.”

_A Judge Like Solomon_

Two cows went astray at Newport News, Virginia. One belonged to a negro, and the other to a white man named Shields. A cow answering the description of either of the two animals was purchased by a farmer not long after. The bereaved men heard of the purchase, and each claimed the animal and presented proof equally convincing. The case came up before a judge and the jury heard the evidence, but as the witnesses for each party described the same cow, they were unable to give a decision. Then the judge said he would turn the cow out on the green. If she went toward the negro’s farm she should be his, if she went toward Shields’s farm she should be his. The cow was turned out, but she found the grass so satisfying that she went neither way.

_The Butchers_

When Napoleon I. came, after a series of victories, to visit annexed Belgium, he found, on entering Ghent, a triumphal arch erected by the guild of butchers, inscribed: “The little butchers of Ghent to Napoleon the great” (butcher). The deacon of the guild had asked a clever nobleman (who loathed Napoleon) to write the inscription, the sarcasm in which the worthy deacon did not detect.

_Meeting the Difficulty_

Merivale tells a story of a Quaker who lived in a country town in England. He was rich and benevolent, and always responsive to appeals for purposes of local charity and usefulness. The townspeople wanted to rebuild their parish church, which was falling into decay, and a committee was appointed to raise the funds. It was agreed that the Friend could not be asked to subscribe towards an object so contrary to his principles; but then, on the other hand, so true and public-spirited a friend to the town might take it amiss if he was not at least consulted on a matter of such general interest. So one of their number went and explained to him their project; the old church was to be removed, and such and such steps were to be taken towards the construction of a new one.

“Thee is right,” said the Quaker, “in supposing that my principles would not allow me to assist in building a church. But did thee not say something about pulling down a church? Thee may put my name down for a hundred pounds.”

_A Tough Witness_

Not even a lawyer, however skilful in cross-examination, can make a witness tell the truth, provided the witness wishes to evade it. It is impossible to put the question in such exact language that it will demand the desired answer. It was necessary, on a certain occasion in court, to compel a witness to testify as to the way in which a Mr. Smith treated his horse. “Well, sir,” said the lawyer, with a sweet and winning smile—a smile intended to drown all suspicion as to the ulterior purposes—“how does Mr. Smith generally ride a horse?” The witness looked up innocently and replied: “Generally a-straddle, sir, I believe.” The lawyer asked again: “But, sir, what gait does he ride?” The imperturbable witness answered, “He never rides any gate at all, sir; but I’ve seen his boys ride every gate on the farm.” The lawyer saw he was on the track of a Tartar, and his next question was very insinuating. “How does Mr. Smith ride when he is in company with others? I demand a clear answer.” “Well, sir,” said the witness, “he keeps up with the rest if his horse is able to, or if not he falls behind.” The lawyer by this time was almost beside himself, and asked: “And how does he ride when he is alone?” “I don’t know,” was the reply, “I never was with him when he was alone,” and there the case dropped.

_Shifting Responsibility_

There is something of the shrewd humor of the Oriental cadi, says the _Pall Mall Gazette_, in the decision of a Russian stipendiary magistrate, a report of which comes from Odessa. It appears that a new cemetery was about to be opened near that city, and that two Greek merchants, each anxious to secure the most comfortable or most distinguished resting-place, were allowed by some official blunder to buy the same allotment. When the mistake was discovered neither would yield his claim, and the matter was referred to the district judge. Greek had met Greek, and the tug of war threatened to be severe, when the magistrate, with an astuteness worthy of Solomon, arranged the matter in the simplest way possible, by applying the rule, “First come, first served,” and suggesting that whichever died first should have the right to the coveted resting-place. The parties went away reconciled and happy. It is not stated whether they had to find sureties to guarantee that neither would take an unfair advantage of the other by committing suicide.

_Erskine’s Pleasantry_

Lord Erskine was in the habit of making a very effective pause in all letters replying to solicitation for subscriptions. He wrote:

“Sir: I feel much honored by your application to me, and I beg to subscribe”—here the reader had to turn over the leaf—“myself your very obedient servant,” etc. One of the best instances of this form of pause occurred in a letter received by a popular physician. This gentleman was pleased with a certain aërated water, and by his recommendations he managed to secure for it some celebrity. For this he expected neither reward nor thanks. Imagine his surprise, therefore, when he received one day from the makers of the aërated water an effusive letter, stating that his kind recommendations had done so much good that they ventured to send a hundred—(here the page turned over). “This will never do,” said the doctor. “It is very kind, but I will never think of accepting anything.” Here he turned the page and found the sentence ran—“of our circulars for distribution.”

_Mortuary Word-Play_

Equivocal forms of expression find their way into church-yard literature, as in the following examples:

Maria Brown, wife of Timothy Brown, aged eighty years. She lived with her husband fifty years, and died in the confident hope of a better life.

Here lies Bernard Lightfoot, who was accidentally killed in the forty-fifth year of his age. This monument was erected by his _grateful_ family.

Here lies —— who died —— aged — years.
The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.

COMICAL BLUNDERS

_Disinfecting a Telegram_

The Milan journal, _Pungolo_, relates that a Turin merchant, who had correspondents in the French Department of Bouches du Rhône, received at his private house, at Pinerolo, a telegram from Marseilles. Upon reading it he discovered, to his great annoyance, that it must have been sent off some twenty-four hours before it was delivered to him. He called upon the telegraph clerk to account for the delay, and the honest man at once confessed that the despatch had indeed lain for a day and a night in his office. He went on to gravely explain that, as it had come from a place where cholera was known to be raging, he had felt himself bound, in compliance with the regulations of the Italian sanitary authorities, to disinfect it by exposing it to the fumes of burning sulphur!

_The Wrong Man Made a Count_

When King Gustavus III., of Sweden, was in Paris, he was visited by a deputation of the Sorbonne. That learned body congratulated the king on the happy fortune that had given him so great a man as Scheele, the discoverer of magnesium, as his subject and fellow-countryman. The king, who took small interest in the progress of science, felt somewhat ashamed that he should be so ignorant as never even to have heard of the renowned chemist. He dispatched a courier at once to Sweden with the laconic order, “Scheele is to be immediately raised to the dignity and title of a count.” “His majesty must be obeyed,” said the prime minister, as he read the order; “but who in the world is Scheele?” A secretary was told to make inquiries. He came back with very full information. “Scheele is a good sort of a fellow,” said he; “a lieutenant in the artillery, a capital shot, and first-rate hand at billiards.” The next day the lieutenant became a count, and the illustrious scholar and scientist remained a simple burgher.

_Stiefel_

M. Bouchitté, a learned Frenchman, has made a curious blunder in “The Dictionnaire de la Conversation.” He has compiled a biography of Jacob Böhme, and supplements it by a list of the numerous writings of the philosophical shoemaker. Among these he cites “Reflections sur les bottes d’Isaie.” The notion of a shoemaker devoting some time to reflections on Isaiah’s boots appears sufficiently in accordance with a well-known axiom invented for the instruction of the craft. But the fact is that what Jacob wrote was an essay on the theological dissertation of Professor Isaias Stiefel. Now, Stiefel is German for boots, and to that extent M. Bouchitté was correct enough in supposing that Jacob Böhme had been casting reflections on Isaiah’s boots.

_A Happy Thought_

At a dinner party in “town,” in August, there were two sisters present, one a widow who had just emerged from her weeds, the other not long married, whose husband had lately gone to India for a short term. A young barrister present was deputed to take the widow in to dinner. Unfortunately he was under the impression that his partner was the married lady, whose husband had just arrived in India. The conversation between them commenced by the lady’s remarking how hot it was. “Yes, it is very hot,” returned the young barrister. Then a happy thought suggested itself to him, and he added, with a cheerful smile, “but not so hot as the place to which your husband has gone.” The look with which the lady answered this “happy thought” will haunt that unhappy youth till his death.

_Couldn’t Fool Him_

It was in Pittsburg, and Mr. Irving was playing Shylock, when from the gallery “a voice fell like a falling star,” “Great gosh!” It fell from a countryman from Moon township, who, when the play was over, went to the stage door and wanted to thrash the actor. But he didn’t. Later, at a hotel, he was asked if he saw Shylock. “Yes, I seen him,” said he, “and it’s not the first time, either.” “When did you see him before?” “Why, I seen that fellow in Moon township last week peddling notions. It’s the same Jew, and you can bet a hundred if he ever comes out there again we will not split hairs with him about a pound of flesh, for Frank McGinnis and I will skin him alive.” “You are certainly mistaken about the man.” “No, sir. He was trading cuff-buttons for wool, and he had the same pair of scales and the same ugly look.” “But that Jew on the stage was Henry Irving, the celebrated English actor.” “That’s enough; you can’t fool me. I know my man, and I’ve been in the same fix myself as that young Antonio. That young fellow, Antonio, had been out ‘log-rolling,’ and having some fun with the boys, and that sheeny Shylock had lent him some money and then wanted the earth, and he would have killed the young fellow with that carver if I hadn’t been right there.” Critics will please never again say that Mr. Irving’s representations are “not natural.”

_Gibson’s Venus_

When the Viceroy of Egypt was in London, at the time of the great exposition, Gibson’s beautiful statue of Venus was on exhibition. The viceroy stopped in front of the statue one day, and continued for some time to contemplate its beauties and to study the features. Upon one of his aides remarking to him that the afternoon was passing away and that much remained to be seen, the viceroy said: “No, do not disturb me. I wish to be able to recognize her, for I am going to dine with her this evening.” It was then revealed that the Egyptian ruler confounded Gibson’s Venus with the wife of Milner Gibson, a member of the cabinet, at whose house he was engaged to dine that evening. The nude statue he took for a life-like representation of the charms of his hostess.

_Highgate_

An amusing story is told of the daughter of a well-known London alderman, who was recently taken in to dinner by a judge who figured prominently in the Tichborne trial. The conversation turned on the young lady’s usual place of residence, which happened to be Highgate. “Don’t you think Highgate pretty?” she asked. Unfortunately, she was slightly uncertain in her aspirates. His lordship gave her one hurried glance of intense astonishment. “You _get_ pretty?” he replied, gallantly, recovering his presence of mind. “No, Miss ——, I think you were _always_ pretty.” However horrified at the compliment, the young lady quite justified it by her profuse blushes.

_Both Sides_

“Was your room on the port or the starboard side of the vessel?” asked an old traveller of a new one, who had just returned from his first trip to Europe. “Oh, I had the same room both ways,” was the answer. “It was on the port side going over, and so of course it was on the starboard side coming back.”

_A Hopeless Case_

A certain Philadelphia gentleman was ordered by his physician to travel for the benefit of his health. He went to England, and after tiring of London he decided to hire a trap and see the beauties of interior England in dignified ease and luxury. Just then he fell in with a hearty, good-natured Englishman, and as they soon became fast friends the American invited the other to attend him on his coaching trip.

The son of John Bull accepted, and during the days that followed, each frequently and in a joking manner improved every occasion to laud his own country and express his contempt of the other. On the evening of the fourth day, as they were driving along a dusty road, the American pulled the horses up suddenly and proceeded to read a sign, “To Manchester 20 miles,” and underneath were the words, “If you cannot read this sign, apply for information at the blacksmith shop.”

“Well, I’ll be darned,” said the American, “if that isn’t the most ridiculous sign I ever saw.”

“Jove, old man,” replied the Englishman, “that sign is all right, isn’t it? I don’t see anything the matter.”

“You don’t, eh? Well, then, you just sleep over it and see what you think of it in the morning.”

The next morning the Englishman came down beaming.

“I say, old man,” he said, wisely, “that was a funny sign to put up, for don’t you see the blacksmith might not be in after all, you know.”

_A Question of Capacity_

A gentleman in Ireland having built a large house was at a loss what to do with the rubbish. His steward advised him to have a pit dug large enough to contain it. “And what,” said the gentleman, “shall I do with the earth which is dug out of the pit?” To which the steward replied, “have the pit made large enough to hold all.”

_An Unexpected Reception_

One Sunday, during Mass in the chapel of the little village of Glengariff, three ladies of the Protestant faith were obliged to take shelter from one of those heavy summer showers which so frequently occur in the south of Ireland. The officiating priest, knowing who they were, and wishing to appear respectful to them, stooped down to his attendant, or clerk, who was on his knees, and whispered to him,—

“Three chairs for the Protestant ladies.”

The clerk, being an ignorant man, mistook the words, stood up, and shouted to the congregation,—

“Three cheers for the Protestant ladies!” which the congregation immediately took up, and gave three hearty cheers, while the clergyman stood dumfounded.

_Half-Truths_

Mr. D., an Irish gentleman, was invited to dinner, on one occasion, by a well known Scottish resident, at whose generous table he met quite a number of the host’s countrymen. The conversation turned on Irish bulls, of which one and another repeated several, until the whole company was in a roar of laughter. Our Irish friend kept quiet until his patience was exhausted. Then he blurted out: “Stay, Mr. C., an’ do ye know what I think?” “Why, indeed, what do you think, Mr. D.?” “Shure, sir, and do ye know that I think, indade, that not more than one-half of these _lies_ that they tell about the Irish are _true_.” This may be said to have “brought down” the table.

_The Happening of the Unexpected_

A witness was once examined before a Parliamentary Committee with the following result. Sergeant A. (to witness): “And on Thursday, the thirteenth, you say you called on Mr. Jones?” Witness: “I did.” Sergeant A.: “And what did he say?” Sergeant B. objected to this question. Sergeant A. argued that it could be put, and cited several precedents. The juniors hunted up all the cases. Sergeant B. replied at length, and stated his precedents. These arguments lasted two hours. The committee then retired to consider whether the question should be put or not, and after an absence of about an hour they returned, and stated that it might be asked. Up then rose Sergeant A., and said to witness: “And on Thursday, the thirteenth, you say you called on Mr. Jones?” Witness: “I did.” Sergeant A. (with an air of triumph): “And what did he say?” Witness: “He wasn’t at home.” Tableau!

_A Great Mind_

There are some curious blunders in indexing books. A seeker of knowledge, running his eye down an index through letter B, arrived at the reference, “Best, Mr. Justice, his great mind.” Desiring to be better acquainted with the particulars of this assertion, he turned to the page referred to, and there found, to his entire satisfaction, “Mr. Justice Best said he had a great mind to commit the witness for prevarication.”

_Psoriasis_

That reverend wag, Sydney Smith, while looking throughout the hot-house of a lady who was very proud of her flowers, and who had a habit of inaccurately using a profusion of botanical terms, inquired of her, “Madam, have you the _Septennis psoriasis_?” “No,” said she, “I had it last winter, and I gave it to the Archbishop of Canterbury; it came out beautifully in the spring.” For non-medical readers it maybe noted that “Septennis psoriasis” is the _seven-year-itch_.

_Exchanging Errors_

In the perusal of a very solid book on the progress of the ecclesiastical differences of Ireland, written by a native of that country, after a good deal of tedious and vexatious matter, the reader’s complacency is restored by an artless statement how an eminent person “abandoned the errors of the Church of Rome and adopted those of the Church of England.”

_Betting on the Lord’s Prayer_

A Western ranchman, as an old story goes, bet a pal five dollars that he could not repeat the Lord’s Prayer correctly. The bet was accepted, and after a few moments’ thought, the challenged party repeated the lines, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” etc. “Well, I swear,” said the loser, as he handed over the V; “I didn’t think you could do it.”

This story has a very old English counterpart, which was originally told as follows:

A reprobate fellow once laid an associate a bet of a guinea that he could not repeat the Creed. It was accepted, and his friend repeated the Lord’s Prayer. “Confound you,” cried the former, who imagined that he had been listening to the Creed, “I had no idea you had such a memory; there’s your money.”

_Contradictory Phraseology_

Judge Brackenridge, of Western Pennsylvania, used to relate the following:

I once had a Virginia lawyer object to an expression in one of the acts of the Assembly of Pennsylvania, which read, “that the State-house yard in the city of Philadelphia should be surrounded by a brick-wall, and remain _an open inclosure_ forever.”

But I put him down by citing one of the acts of the Legislature of his own State, which is entitled, “A supplement to an act entitled an act making it penal to alter the mark of an unmarked hog.”

_Individuals_

A clergyman in Massachusetts, more than a century ago, addressed a letter to the General Court on some subject of interest which was then under discussion. The clerk read the letter, in which there _seemed_ to be this very remarkable sentence: “I address you not as magistrates, but as _Indian devils_.” The clerk hesitated and looked carefully, and said, “Yes, he addresses you as _Indian devils_.” The wrath of the honorable body was aroused; they passed a vote of censure, and wrote to the reverend gentleman for an explanation, from which it appeared that he did not address them as magistrates, but as _individuals_.

_Infelicities_

One cannot help smiling at the infelicity of the tablet recently set up in the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York, in memory of Dr. John Hall. It simply gives the dates of his birth and death, and says that he was “pastor of this church from November 3, 1867, to September 17, 1898,” and then ends with this singular text, “There remaineth therefore a rest for the people of God.” That his departure should give rest to the people of God is what some who remember the dissensions in that church the last year or two of his life do not like to have suggested. That is not what the committee meant by the Scripture passage; neither did Cowper mean by the lines,—

“And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees,”

what the little girl supposed who asked her mother why any saint should want to get on Satan’s knees.

_A “Sufficient” Guide-Post_

Two gushing Boston girls were walking one day in the suburbs of the Hub, when they stumbled on a little old-fashioned mile-stone, forgotten in the march of improvement. One of them stooped, and, parting the grass, discovered the half-effaced inscription “I. m. from Boston,” upon which she exclaimed ecstatically, “Here is a grave, perhaps, of some young girl, who wished it written on her tombstone, ‘I’m from Boston.’ How touching! so simple, and so sufficient!”

_Faux Pas_

Rev. Dr. Wolcott Calkins, in _The Congregationalist_, tells an interesting story of his visit to Mr. McCall, the missionary to the French. Mr. McCall told him amusing stories, among which was one about an Englishman who undertook to address a meeting in one of the Salles, in broken but voluble French. After a while his preparation appeared to have run out and he faltered, till in desperation he exclaimed, “Mes chers amis! Je regrette beaucoup de ne pas connaître mieux la belle Française!” That was the end of the meeting. The smile broke into laughter and the whole audience, was soon in a tumult. The Englishman didn’t know that he had expressed regret for his lack of acquaintance with the beautiful French woman.

_One Form of Vanity_

A sturdy peasant from the Tyrol, says the _Fremdenblatt_, was standing at a shop-window in Vienna, looking at a reproduction of the fine group, by Rauch, of “The Three Graces.” The peasant did not seem insensible to the perfection of form, but after awhile he burst forth, “What fools these girls are! They have not got money enough to buy themselves a suit of clothes; yet what little they have, they spend to get their photograph taken.”

_“Beats,” Not Turnips_

The angry mother of a small girl, a pupil in a New York grammar-school, indignantly demanded of the principal that the music-teacher in that school be discharged. When asked why she wanted the teacher dismissed, the mother said that in the midst of a lesson the day before, she had asked the child to tell her how many turnips were in a peck. This, she added, was probably done to humiliate her daughter.

Thinking this a most peculiar question for the teacher to ask, the principal sent for her. The astonished teacher could not remember asking such a question; but on learning the name of the pupil a light dawned on her. “Oh,” said she, “your daughter misunderstood me. I asked her how many beats there were in a measure.”

_Reasonable Excuse_

The following is said to have been the postscript to a letter received lately by a sporting nobleman in Lancashire from his steward: “I beg your lordship will excuse me for having taken the liberty of writing this in my shirt-sleeves, but the excessive heat has compelled me to be guilty of this disrespect.”

_Sending a Postscript_

The wife of an Irish gentleman having been suddenly taken ill, he ordered a servant to get a horse ready to go for the doctor. By the time, however, that the horse was ready, and the note to the doctor written, the lady recovered from her sudden indisposition. Thereupon he added the following postscript to his note, and sent the servant off with it: “My wife having recovered, you need not come.”

_Didn’t Understand Quakerese_

There was a queer scene at the home of a Quaker family living in Philadelphia. The lady of the house had advertised for a servant girl, and a promising one, lately arrived, applied.

“Whin do ye have your washin’ done?” asked the girl.

“We would wish to have thee do it every Second-day,” answered the Quakeress.

“Ivery second day? May the saints presarve us! Sure it’s not meself that will wash for ye ivery other day in the week!” said the girl, as she took her departure.

_John the Baptist_

A colored minister of the Baptist persuasion, in order to strengthen and confirm the faith of his congregation, took as the text of his discourse the first verse of the third chapter of Matthew: “In those days came John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness of Judea.” “Oh,” said he, “how I like to read these precious words in the blessed Bible. You don’t read anywhere in it about John the Presbyterian, or John the Methodist, or John the Episcopalian. No, it is John the Baptist. Oh, how I like to read that.”

_A German Pickwick_

Germany has a Pickwick indeed, without guile, according to a story told by the _Schweizerische Dorfkalender_. The antiquarian stood before a stable-door, in rapt delight, contemplating a stone fixed in the archway, which bore the inscription 1081. Calling the tenant farmer, he said, “Am I not right, my friend, in supposing that you procured this stone from the castle ruin on the hill yonder?” “It may be,” replied the owner, “that my grandfather fetched it when he built the stable.” The professor asked what he would take for the stone. “Since you seem to have a fancy for it,” said the farmer, “pay me down 40 guldens, and I will leave it at your house.” “That is rather a large sum,” said the professor; “never mind; bring it to me to-morrow morning, and you shall have the 40 guldens.” On the next morning, when the peasant brought the stone upon the truck, the zealous antiquarian eagerly turned it over to refresh his eyes with a sight of its chronological inscription. “Why,” cried he in amazement, “what is this? This is not the right stone. Yesterday I read the date 1081, while this bears the date 1801, which proves that the other was exactly 720 years older than this.” “The Herr Professor must not trouble himself about that small matter,” replied the boor. “You see, sir, the masons turned the stone upside down when they set it in the doorway, because it fitted better that way. You can turn it whichever way you like now it is your own, but, of course, I must have the 40 guldens.” The money was paid.

_Not a Chiropodist_

During his first visit to Paris Herr Lasalle, the distinguished German, presented himself at the house of a well-known lady, to whom he had sent letters of introduction in advance. When the servant opened the door and received his card, she conducted him to the boudoir and told him to be seated, saying, “Madame will come immediately.”

Presently the lady entered. She was in déshabillé, and her feet were bare, covered only with loose slippers. She bowed to him carelessly, and said, “Ah, there you are; good morning.”

She threw herself on a sofa, let fall a slipper and reached out to Lasalle her very pretty foot.

Lasalle was naturally completely astonished, but he remembered that at his home in Germany it was the custom sometimes to kiss a lady’s hand and he supposed it was the Paris mode to kiss her foot. Therefore he did not hesitate to imprint a kiss upon the fascinating foot so near him, but he could not avoid saying, “I thank you, madame, for this new mode of making a lady’s acquaintance. It is much better and certainly more generous than kissing the hand.”

The lady jumped up, highly indignant. “Who are you, sir, and what do you mean?”

He gave his name.

“You are not, then, a corn doctor?”

_Unfamiliar Familiarity_

Professor Phelps used to tell with glee of the way he gained a reputation for knowing a thing he hated. He took a walk with Professor Newton, who lived in the world of the higher mathematics, and started off at once to discuss an abstruse problem. Mr. Phelps’s mind could not follow, and wandered off to other things. At last he was called back when the professor wound up with “which you see gives us X.” “Does it?” asked Mr. Phelps, politely. “Why, doesn’t it?” exclaimed the professor, excitedly, alarmed at the possibility of a flaw in his calculations. Quickly his mind ran back and detected a mistake. “You are right, Mr. Phelps; you are right,” shouted the professor. “It doesn’t give us X; it gives us Y.” And from that time Mr. Phelps was looked upon as a mathematical prodigy, the first man who ever tripped the professor.

_Alleged Danger of Rapid Movement_

In the Archives of the Nürnberg Railway at Fürth, which was the first line constructed in Germany, a protest against railroads has been found, drawn up by the Royal College of Bavarian Doctors. In it occurs the following passage: “Travel in carriages drawn by a locomotive ought to be forbidden in the interest of public health. The rapid movement cannot fail to produce among the passengers the mental affection known as _delirium furiosum_. Even if travellers are willing to incur the risk, the government should at least protect the public. A single glance at a locomotive passing rapidly is sufficient to cause the same cerebral derangement; consequently it is absolutely necessary to build a fence ten feet in height on each side of the railway.”

_Aaron and Hur_

Said a well-known clergyman, “Coming home from a service where I had preached from the words, ‘And Aaron and Hur stayed up his hands,’ one of the congregation, a prominent man in the town, said to me, ‘I wonder you don’t touch on the argument in favor of female influence in that text to-night.’ I replied that ‘I don’t see where it comes in.’ ‘Why,’ said he, ‘it says _her_ stayed up his hands as much as Aaron did.’ He thought _Hur_ was the pronoun of _her_ for _she_. I made the best of it by admitting frankly, ‘I never thought of it before.’ But it taught me to be very careful to explain terms, if a man who ought to be as intelligent as any one of my hearers _could_ make such a blunder.”

_Twenty Dunkards with an R_

A party of twenty-five Dunkards was en route to the General Conference, via St. Louis. No agent accompanied them, and a telegram was sent to Union Depot Passenger Agent Bonner to “meet twenty Dunkards.”

The religious education of the telegraph operator who received the message had been neglected. He had never heard of the Dunkards, and, supposing a mistake had been made, he just inserted the letter “r,” and when Bonner received the message it read “Meet No. 4. Twenty drunkards aboard. Look after them.”

Bonner was somewhat taken aback. He did not know but that an inebriate asylum had broken loose, but any way prompt action was necessary. The twenty drunkards must be desperate men, or the despatch would not have been sent, and murder might have been committed on the road.

Bonner posted off to police head-quarters, and his story did not lose in the telling. The chief of police, alive to the exigencies of the situation, made a special detail of ten policemen and a patrol wagon.

The policemen were drawn up in a line at the depot, and intense excitement prevailed among the numerous depot loungers, a rumor having gained currency that a band of desperate train robbers was on the incoming train.

In due time the train arrived, but no party of roystering drunkards alighted. The party on the train was composed of several pious-looking gentlemen with broad-brimmed hats, who stood around as though expecting some one.

Bonner approached one of them and said, interrogatively,—

“Had any trouble on the road?”

“No, brother,” said the gentleman, “none that I know of. And now I’ll ask you a question. Do you know a gentleman named Bonner?”

“Yes, I am Mr. Bonner,” was the answer.

“Well, these brethren and myself are Dunkards, and you were to meet us and put us on the right train. Didn’t you get a telegram?”

Bonner was completely done for. He excused himself, and, calling the sergeant of police aside, he told him that it was all a mistake, and he and his men could go back to head-quarters. Then he disposed of his religious friends, went around and cussed the telegraph operator, after which he had to “set ’em up” for the whole police force on the promise to keep mum.

_The Economy of Nature_

A young man on a Staten Island boat explained to his fair companion that Robbin’s Reef Light-house was built upon a rock in the bay.

“Ah, yes,” said she. “Funny that the rock should be just where they wanted a light-house, wasn’t it?”

_Desirable Uniformity_

Mr. Colville was reading to his wife from a newspaper on Saturday morning, when he saw this paragraph: “Mr. and Mrs. James Clark, of Pulaski, New York, both came into the world on the same day, both died on the same day, and both were killed by a cancer.”

“Well, I declare! wasn’t that singular?” observed Mrs. Colville. “Born on the same day, died on the same day, and with the same disease. Now, if they’d only been married on the same day, the thing would have been complete.”

“What’s that?” suddenly interrogated Mr. Colville, looking curiously at her over the top of the paper.

“I say,” she repeated, “if they’d both been married on the—why, to be—” she embarrassingly added, as she caught the amused expression of his face—“that is—I wonder if I thought to put on the dish-water,” and she hastened into the kitchen to attend to it.

_False Doctrine_

A woman in a village in Kent lost three children from diphtheria, and when the clergyman’s wife went to condole with her, she railed against the doctors, and said she couldn’t think how they could go to church, and say _that prayer_, and then go and practice on the people as they did. In answer to the question what prayer she meant, she said, “Why they pray to be delivered from false _doctoring_, heresy, and schism, and then they go about and do false doctoring, and kill the children.”

_Poor Children_

A Mobile paper, speaking of Dan Bryant, says, “Bryant died, and, after a life of great profit, left his wife and five children as poor as they were when he was married.” It is a very expressive sentence so far as the children are concerned.

_Help from Above_

The wife of Emile de Girardin had the most absolute faith in his powers. A few days after the revolution of 1848 a lady who was greatly distressed about political events and troubled as to the future went to see Mme. de Girardin, whose parlor was exactly underneath her husband’s study and workroom. “Oh, my dear friend,” said the visitor, “what terrible times we live in! What awful events! Who then can extricate us from them?” “There is only one. He who is above (_là haut_) can do it!” responded gravely Mme. de Girardin. “Yes, that’s so—the good Lord; you are right!” “No; I am speaking of Emile!”

_Minding One’s Business_

An old dial in the Temple, London, bore the curious motto, “Begone about your business.” The maker, wishing to know what motto the benchers required for the dial, sent his lad to ascertain it. The boy applied while the benchers were dining, and one of them, annoyed at the unseasonable interruption, said, shortly, “Begone about your business.” The lad, thinking that this was the desired motto, reported it to his master, and the dial accordingly bore this novel inscription as long as the building upon which it was placed remained. The United States cent, which is usually called the Franklin cent, because its maxim was suggested by the philosopher, bore another legend, “Mind your business.” This has often been misquoted and altered to “Mind your own business,” which, of course, has an entirely different sense.

_Direct Information_

The late Mrs. Jane W—— was equally remarkable for kindness of heart and absence of mind. One day she was accosted by a beggar, whose stout and healthy appearance startled her into a momentary doubt of the needfulness of charity in this instance. “Why,” exclaimed the good old lady, “you look well able to work.” “Yes,” replied the supplicant, “but I have been deaf and dumb these seven years.” “Poor man, what a heavy affliction!” exclaimed Mrs. W——, at the same time giving him relief with a liberal hand. On returning home she mentioned the fact, remarking, “What a dreadful thing it is to be deprived of such precious faculties!” “But how,” asked her sister, “did you know that the poor man had been deaf and dumb for seven years?” “Why,” was the quiet and unconscious answer, “he told me so.”

_Mistranslation_

A daughter of James Fenimore Cooper once remarked that the translator who first rendered her father’s novel, “The Spy,” into the French tongue, among other mistakes, made the following: “Readers of the Revolutionary romance will remember that the residence of the Wharton family was called ‘The Locusts.’ The translator referred to his dictionary and found the rendering of the word to be _Les Sauterelles_, ‘The Grasshoppers.’ But when he found one of the dragoons represented as tying his horse to one of the locusts on the lawn, it would appear as if he might have been at fault. Nothing daunted, however, but taking it for granted that American grasshoppers must be of gigantic dimensions, he gravely informs his readers that the cavalryman secured his charger by fastening the bridle to one of the grasshoppers before the door, apparently standing there for that purpose.

“Much laughter has been raised at a French _littérateur_ who professed to be ‘_doctus utriusque linguæ_.’ Cibber’s play of ‘Love’s Last Shift’ was translated by a Frenchman who spoke ‘Inglees’ as ‘_La Dernière Chemise de l’Amour_;’ Congreve’s ‘Mourning Bride,’ by another, as ‘_L’Epouse du Matin_;’ and a French scholar included among his catalogue of works on natural history essays on ‘Irish Bulls’ by the Edgeworths. Jules Janin, the great critic, in his translation of ‘Macbeth,’ renders ‘Out, out, brief candle!’ as ‘_Sortez, chandelle_.’ And another, who _traduced_ Shakespeare, commits an equally amusing blunder in rendering Northumberland’s famous speech in ‘Henry IV.’ In the passage

“‘Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so _woe-begone_.’

the words italicized are rendered, ‘_ainsi douleur! va-t’en!_’-‘so grief, be off with you!’ Voltaire did no better with his translations of several of Shakespeare’s plays; in one of which the ‘myriad-minded’ makes a character renounce all claim to a doubtful inheritance, with an avowed resolution to carve for himself a fortune with his sword. Voltaire put it in French, which retranslated, reads, ‘What care I for lands? With my sword I will make a fortune cutting meat.’

“The French translator of one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels, knowing nothing of that familiar name for toasted cheese, ‘Welsh rabbit,’ rendered it literally by ‘_un lapin du pays de Galles_,’ or a rabbit of Wales, and then informed his readers in a foot-note that the lapins or rabbits of Wales have a very superior flavor, and are very tender, which cause them to be in great request in England and Scotland.”

_Misplaced Zeal_

“I was once sent to attend a man who had taken laudanum,” said the doctor. “I hurried to the place and found the would-be suicide being walked up and down the room as fast as they could walk by two friends of his. As they put him down on a chair for me to treat him one of them remarked, ‘Awful glad to see you, doctor; we’ve been walking Jim up and down for an hour and a half. It’s been terrible hard work to keep him alive all this time.’

“I made a slight examination; took my hat and started to go, when one of the pedestrians said, ‘What’s the matter, doctor? Ain’t you going to give him anything?’ ‘He’s been dead for an hour,’ I replied, and left.”

_Before Railroads_

A party of cultivated people were standing before an ancient cathedral admiring its grandeur, which several centuries of existence had failed to dim. The noise of the cars in the immediate vicinity so annoyed one of the ladies that she impulsively said, “I wonder why they built the cathedral so near the railroad!”

This is on a par with another innocent party’s commendation of the wisdom of Providence in making rivers flow past the largest towns.

_The Wrong Word_

A young Methodist missionary who had been stationed in Brazil long enough to acquire familiarity with Brazilian Spanish, after a brief absence in the United States, returned with his bride. She, anticipating the need of learning the Spanish language, studied diligently, and, for a time, there was some hesitation and embarrassment, but no trouble. Thinking she was getting along famously, she soon gained more confidence.

So all went well till the young couple set up an establishment and secured a man-servant with the fine manners of a Spanish grandee. The reverend gentleman’s wife stood in awe of him from the start. And her greatest trial was when her husband would be detained from home during the dinner hour, when she had to dine alone, except for that grand man-servant. One day that functionary was standing elegant and impressive, when she had occasion to ask him to hand her the cheese. The man stood immovable like a lay figure in a clothing-house. She felt sure that he had heard her, and she became angry when he made no move to do her bidding.

She repeated her command, as she thought, “Give me the cheese,” This time the grandee of a man-servant perceptibly laughed, but was immovable. In indignation, supposing him to be impertinent, or worse still, crazy, she rushed to the front door to call assistance, when she met the belated missionary, her husband, and promptly explained the situation.

“What did you say, my dear,” was his smiling query.

“‘Give me the cheese,’ was what I said.”

“Yes, but the word,” he insisted. ·

“I said beso,” replied the wife, still puzzled.

Then the unfeeling missionary fairly roared with laughter. His wife had begun to think that he, too, had gone mad, when he managed to keep calm long enough to explain. It was only a mistake in the sound of one letter that she had made, but it was a funnily fatal one that time. She should have said “queso” instead of “beso.” And instead of asking the man-servant for the “cheese” she had asked him without any qualification for a “kiss.”

MISSING THE POINT OF THE JOKES

A gentleman in conversation with his wife at dinner, said, “Mary, I heard a good conundrum down town to-day. If the devil should lose his tail, where would he go to get it repaired?” The answer was, “In the place where they re-tail bad spirits.” In the course of the evening a lady visitor dropped in, and Mary remarked, “Oh, I must tell you a good thing my husband got off at dinner. If the devil should lose his tail, where would he get it repaired?” The lady confessed her inability to answer, whereupon Mary said, “Why it’s where they sell liquor by the glass.”

“I’ve been digging over my garden,” said Brown, “and I’m all worn out.” “Ah!” remarked Fogg; “a new variety of earthenware, eh?” Fenderson, who was present, thought it was a good joke, and seeing Smith a short time afterward, of course he had to tell it. “I say, Smith,” said he, “Fogg just got off a neat thing. Brown was saying that he was all worn out digging in his garden, and Fogg asked him if that wasn’t a new kind of crockery-ware. What do you think of that?” “I don’t see the point.” “Darned if I do, either, now; but I thought I did when Fogg told it.”

A college professor, on parting with a student who had called on him, noticed that he had a new coat, and remarked that it was too short.

The student, with an air of resignation, replied, “It will be long enough before I get another.”

The professor enjoyed the joke heartily, and going to a meeting of the college faculty just afterwards, he entered the room in great glee and said, “Young Sharp got off such a good joke just now. He called on me a little while ago, and as he was leaving I noticed his new coat, and told him it was too short, and he said, ‘It will be a long time before I get another.’”

No one laughed, and the professor, sobering down, remarked, “It don’t seem as funny as when he said it.”

Sam Ward was once seated opposite a well-known Senator at a dinner in Washington. This Senator was very bald, and the light shining on the breadth of scalp attracted Ward’s attention.

“Can you tell me,” he asked his neighbor, “why the Senator’s head is like Alaska?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Because it’s a great white bear place.”

The neighbor was immensely tickled, and he hailed the Senator across the table:

“Say, Senator, Ward’s just got off a very smart thing about you.”

“What is it?”

“Do you know why your head is like Alaska?”

“No.”

“Because it’s a great place for white bears.”

A few miles beyond Hammersmith, a village on the banks of the Thames, in England, is another village called Turnham Green. One day at a tavern the peas were of an unmistakable yellow, and one of the guests said to the waiter that he ought to send them to Hammersmith.

“Why?” asked the waiter. “Because,” returned the wag, “that’s the best way to _Turnham Green_.”

This was overheard by Oliver Goldsmith, who, a few days afterwards, undertook to palm the _bon mot_ off as his own; therefore, calling the waiter to him, he pointed to the peas, which were very far from green, and told him to take them to Hammersmith.

“Why?” asked the other. “Because that is the way to _make ’em_ green.”

As the point of the joke was lost, nobody laughed, whereat Goldsmith said in an angry tone, “Why don’t you laugh? That was an excellent joke when I heard it a week ago, and I laughed heartily at it.”

An unfortunate attempt at reproducing another’s wit was made by a man who had more money than education. He did not understand the pun, but judged from the applause with which it was greeted that it must be excellent. During the dinner at which he was a guest, a waiter let a boiled tongue slip off the plate on which he was bearing it, and it fell on the table.

The host at once apologized for the mishap as a _lapsus linguæ_ (slip of the tongue). The joke was the best thing at the dinner, and our friend concluded to bring it up at his own table.

He accordingly invited his company, and instructed a servant to let fall a roast of beef as he was bringing it to the table.

When the “accident” occurred, he exclaimed: “That’s a _lapsus linguæ_.”

Nobody laughed, and he said again, “I say that’s a _lapsus linguæ_,” and still no one laughed.

A screw was loose somewhere; so he told about the tongue falling, and they did laugh.

A red-haired lady, who was ambitious of literary distinction, found but a poor sale for her book. A gentleman, in speaking of her disappointment, said: “Her hair is red [read] if her book is not.” An auditor, in attempting to relate the joke elsewhere, said, “She has red hair, if her book hasn’t.”

“Why is this,” said the waiter, holding up a common kitchen utensil, “more remarkable than Napoleon Bonaparte? Because Napoleon was a great man, but this is a grater.” When the funny man reproduced it in his circle, he asked the question right, but answered it, “Because Napoleon was a great man, but this is a nutmeg grater.”

A man who owns a book store facetiously remarked that he couldn’t leave Chicago this summer because he kept stationery. Smarty heard him, and he went away to spring a joke. This is the way he sprung it: “Mitchell can’t go out of town this summer. Why?” “Don’t know.” “Because he sells books and papers.” And he never can understand why the other fellow didn’t laugh.

In a certain court in Maine the proceedings were delayed by the failure of a witness named Sarah Mony to arrive. After waiting a long time for Sarah the court concluded to wait no longer, and wishing to crack his little joke, remarked, “This court will adjourn without Sarah-mony.” Everybody laughed except one man, who sat in solemn meditation for five minutes, and then burst into a hearty guffaw, exclaiming, “I see it! I see it!” When he went home he tried to tell the joke to his wife. “There was a witness named Mary Mony who didn’t come,” said he, “and so the court said, ‘We’ll adjourn without Mary-mony,’” “I don’t see any point to that,” said his wife. “I know it,” said he, “I didn’t at first; but you will in about five minutes.”

It is interesting to observe how the old stories turn up, in brand-new clothes, but the same old stories. A Boston paper said that Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes and the venerable Dr. Peabody, of Cambridge, once had an appointment to see a statue of Eurydice. Dr. Holmes arrived first, and when a few moments later his friend drove up in a cab he greeted him with the very obvious pun: “Ah, you rid, I see.” Dr. Peabody was wonderfully pleased with this sally, and on his return attempted to repeat it to his family. “Dr. Holmes was extremely witty this afternoon,” he said. “We went to see the Eurydice, and when I drove up he said just as quick as a flash, ‘Ah, Doctor, I see you came in a buggy.’” The same week that this appeared in print the following appeared in a New York weekly journal: Speaking of how some people always misquote, a Southern lady once told the following: “A cavalry officer, bespattered with mud, entered an opera box during the representation of ‘Orpheus and Eurydice,’ and exclaimed: ‘Well I have just ridden ten miles to see Orpheus—’ ‘And Eurydice,’ remarked a young belle, amid much laughter. Having occasion to visit the opposite box, he was asked what caused all that laughter, whereupon he laughed heartily and said, ‘Oh, that Miss Eyre is the wittiest girl I know; when I said I had come to see Orpheus,’ she said, ‘And I presume that you came on horseback, Captain.’”