Chapter VIII: Part II: Humorous Hits (4)

An' when a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean--
O' Avon's braw lasses the pride an' the queen--
When 'neath my gray pladie, wi' heart beatin' fain,
I speired in a whisper if she'd be my ain,
She blushed, an' said, "Imph-m,"
That charming word "Imph-m,"
A thousan' times better an' sweeter than a-y-e!

Just ae thing I wanted my bliss to complete--
Ae kiss frae her rosy mou', couthie an' sweet--
But a shake o' her head was her only reply--
Of course, that said no, but I kent she meant a-y-e,
For her twa een said "Imph-m,"
Her red lips said, "Imph-m,"
Her hale face said "Imph-m," an' "Imph-m" means a-y-e!

THE USUAL WAY

ANONYMOUS

There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."
And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
And they met--in the usual way.

Then he sat down beside her, and an hour or two went by,
But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;
"I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day."
And he was--in the usual way.

So he gravely took his rod in hand and threw the line about,
But the fish perceived distinctly, he was not looking out;
And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you," but she said she could not stay,
But she did--in the usual way.

Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh,
As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by;
"We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray,
And they did--in the usual way.

And day by day beside the stream, they wandered to and fro,
And day by day the fishes swam securely down below,
Till this little story ended, as such little stories may
Very much--in the usual way.

And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?
Do they never fret or quarrel, like other couples do?
Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey?
Well, they do--in the usual way.

NOTHING SUITED HIM

ANONYMOUS

He sat at the dinner-table there,
With discontented frown.
The potatoes and steak were underdone
And the bread was baked too brown.
The pie too sour, the pudding too sweet,
And the mince-meat much too fat,
The soup was greasy, too, and salt--
'Twas hardly fit for a cat.

"I wish you could taste the bread and pies
I have seen my mother make;
They were something like, and 'twould do you good
Just to look at a slice of her cake."
Said the smiling wife: "I'll improve with age.
Just now, I'm a beginner.
But your mother called to see me to-day
And I got _her_ to cook the dinner."

A LITTLE FELLER

ANONYMOUS

Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller,
With pop and mom a-readin' all the while,
An' never sayin' anything to cheer ye,
An' lookin' 's if they didn't know how to smile;
With hook an' line a-hangin' in the wood-shed,
An' lots o' 'orms down by the outside cellar,
An' Brown's creek just over by the mill-dam--
Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.

Why, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller
Right on from sun-up when the day commences
Fur little fellers don't have much to think of,
'Cept chasin' gophers 'long the corn-field fences,
Or diggin' after moles down in the wood-lot,
Or climbin' after apples what's got meller,
Or fishin' down in Brown's creek an' mill-pond--
Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.

But Sunday's never lonesome fur a little feller
When he's a-stayin down to Uncle Ora's;
He took his book onct right out in the orchard,
An' told us little chaps just lots of stories,
All truly true, that happened onct fur honest,
An' one 'bout lions in a sort o' cellar,
An' how some angels came an' shut their mouths up,
An' how they never teched that Dan'l feller.

An' Sunday's pleasant down to Aunt Marilda's;
She lets us take some books that some one gin her,
An' takes us down to Sunday-school 't the schoolhouse;
An' sometimes she has a nice shortcake fur dinner.
An' onct she had a puddin' full o' raisins,
An' onct a frosted cake all white an' yeller.
I think, when I stay down to Aunt Marilda's,
That Sunday's pleasant fur a little feller.

ROBIN TAMSON'S SMIDDY

BY ALEXANDER RODGER

My mither men't my auld breeks,
An' wow! but they were duddy,
And sent me to get Mally shod
At Robin Tamson's smiddy.
The smiddy stands beside the burn
That wimples through the clachan,
I never yet gae by the door,
But aye I fa' a-laughin'.

For Robin was a walthy carle,
An' had ae bonnie dochter,
Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,
Tho mony lads had sought her.
And what think ye o' my exploit?--
The time our mare was shoeing,
I slippit up beside the lass,
An' briskly fell a-wooing.

An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks,
The time that we sat crackin',
Quo' I, "My lass, ne'er mind the _clouts_,
I've new anes for the makin';
But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,
An' lea' the carle, your father,
Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,
Mysel', an' a' thegither."

"'Deed, lad," quo' she, "your offer's fair,
I really think I'll tak' it,
Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,
We'll baith slip on the back o't;
For gin I wait my father's time,
I'll wait till I be fifty;
But na;--I'll marry in my prime,
An' mak' a wife most thrifty."

Wow! Robin was an angry man,
At tyning o' his dochter;
Through a' the kintra-side he ran,
An' far an' near he sought her;
But when he cam' to our fire-end,
An' fand us baith thegither,
Quo' I, "Gudeman, I've ta'en your bairn,
An' ye may tak' my mither."

Auld Robin girn'd an' sheuk his pow,
"Guid sooth!" quo' he, "you're merry,
But I'll just tak' ye at your word,
An' end this hurry-burry."
So Robin an' our auld wife
Agreed to creep thegither;
Now, I ha'e Robin Tamson's pet,
An' Robin has my mither.

A BIG MISTAKE

ANONYMOUS

Recently our church has had a new minister. He is a nice, good, sociable man; but having come from a distant State, of course he was totally unacquainted with our people.

Therefore, it happened that during his pastoral calls he made several ludicrous blunders.

The other evening he called upon Mrs. Hadden. She had just lost her husband, and naturally supposed that his visit was relative to the sad occurrence. So, after a few commonplaces had been exchanged, she was not at all surprized to hear him remark:

"It was a sad bereavement, was it not?"

"Yes," faltered the widow.

"Totally unexpected?"

"Oh, yes; I never dreamed of it."

"He died in the barn, I suppose?"

"Oh, no; in the house."

"Ah--well, I suppose you must have thought a great deal of him."

"Of course, sir,"--this with a vim.

The minister looked rather surprized, but continued:

"Blind staggers was the disease, I believe?"

"No, sir," snapped the widow, "apoplexy."

"Indeed; you must have fed him too much."

"He was always capable of feeding himself, sir."

"Very intelligent he must have been. Died hard, didn't he?"

"He did."

"You had to hit him on the head with an ax to put him out of misery, I was told."

"Whoever told you so did not speak the truth. James died naturally."

"Yes," repeated the minister, in a slightly perplexed tone, "he kicked the side of the barn down in his last agonies, did he not?"

"No, sir, he didn't."

"Well, I have been misinformed, I suppose. How old was he?"

"Thirty-five."

"Then he did not do much active work. Perhaps you are better without him, for you can easily supply his place with another."

"Never, sir--never will I see one as good as he."

"Oh, yes, you will. He had the heaves bad, you know."

"Nothing of the kind!"

"Why, I recollect I saw him, one day, passing along the road, and I distinctly recollect that he had the heaves, and walked as if he had the string-halt."

"He could never have had the string-halt, for he had a cork leg!"

"A cork leg!--remarkable. But really, now, didn't he have a dangerous trick of suddenly stopping and kicking a wagon all to pieces?"

"Never; he was not a madman, sir!"

"Probably not. But there were some good points about him."

"I should think so!"

"The way in which he carried his ears, for example."

"Nobody else ever noticed that particular merit; he was warm-hearted, generous and frank!"

"Good qualities. How long did it take him to go a mile?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"Not much of a goer. Wasn't his hair apt to fly?"

"He didn't have any hair. He was bald-headed."

"Quite a curiosity?"

"No, sir; no more of a curiosity than you are."

"Did you use the whip much on him?"

"Never, sir."

"Went right along without it, eh?"

"Yes!"

"He must have been a very good sort of a brute!"

"The idea of you coming here and insulting me!" she sobbed. "If my husband had lived you wouldn't have done it. Your remarks in reference to that poor, dead man have been a series of insults. I won't stand it."

He colored and looked dumbfounded.

"Are you not Mrs. Blinkers, and has not your old gray horse died?"

"I never owned a h-horse, but my husband died a week ago!"

Ten minutes later the minister came out of that house with the reddest face ever seen on mortal man.

"And to think," he groaned, as he strode home, "that I was talking horse to that woman all the time, and she was talking husband."

LORD DUNDREARY'S LETTER

ANONYMOUS

(_He enters holding a letter in his hand and a monocle in his eye._) I wonder who w-w-wote me this letter? I thuppose the b-b-best way to f-f-find out ith to open it and thee. (_Opens letter._) Thome lun-lunatic hath w-w-witten me this letter. He hath w-w-witten it upthide down. I w-w-wonder if he th-thought I wath going to w-w-wead it thanding on my head. Oh, yeth, I thee; I had it t-t-turned upthide down.

"Amewica." Who do I know in Amewica? I am glad he hath g-g-given me hith addwess anyhow. Oh, yeth, I thee, it ith from Tham. I alwaths know Tham's handwiting when I thee hith name at the b-b-bottom of it.

"My dear bwother." Tham alwaths called me bwother, becauthe we never had any thisters. When we were boyths, we were ladths together--both of us. They used to g-g-get off a pwoverb when they thaw uth com-com-coming down the stweet. It iths awfully good, if I could only think of it. Iths--it iths the early bir-bir-bird--iths the early bir-bir-bird that knowths iths own f-f-father. What nonthense that iths! How co-co-could a b-b-bird know iths own father? Iths a withe child--iths a withe child--iths a wise child that geths the worm. T-t-that's not wite. Wat nonthense that iths! No pa-pa-pawent would allow hiths child to ga-ga-gather worms. Iths a wyme. Fish of-of-of a feather,--fish of a f-f-feather,--now what nonthense that iths! Fish don't have feathers. Iths a b-b-bird--iths b-b-birds of a feather,--b-b-birds of a feather--flock together. B-b-birds of a f-f-feather! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-b-birds had only one f-f-feather. They'd all catch cold. Only one b-b-bird could have that f-f-feather, and he'd fly sidewithse. What con-confounded nonthense that iths! Flock to-to-together! Of courthse th-th-they'd flock together. Who ever heard of a b-b-bird being such a f-f-fool as to g-g-go into a corner and flock by himself? That's one of those things no fellow can find out.

"I wote you a letter thome time ago----" Thath's a lie; he d-d-didn't w-w-wite me a letter. If he had witten me a letter he would have posted it, and I would have g-g-got it; so, of courthse, he didn't post it, and then he didn't wite it. Thath's easy. Oh, yeths, I thee: "but I dwopped it into the poth-potht-office without putting any name on it." I wonder who the d-d-dickens got that letter. I w-w-wonder if the poth-pothman iths gwoin' awound asking for a fellow without any name. I wonder if there iths such a fellow, a fellow without any name? If there iths any fellow without any name, how doeths he know who he iths himself? I-I-I wonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How could he ask a girl to take hiths name if he h-h-had no name? That's one of those things no fellow can find out.

"I have just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's alwaths d-d-doing thomthing. "I have dithcovered that my mother iths--that m-m-my mother iths not my m-m-mother; that a--the old nurthe iths my m-m-mother, and that you are not my b-b-bwother, and a--that-that-that I was changthed at my birth." How ca-ca-can a fellow be changthed at hith b-b-birth? If he hiths not himthelf, who iths he? If Tham's m-m-mother iths not hiths m-m-mother, and the old nurthe iths hith m-m-mother, and Tham iths not my b-b-bwother, then who the dickens am I? Stope a minute. (_Points to forefinger of left hand._) That's Tham's m-m-mother, and that's Tham's nurthe (_pointing to thumb of left hand_). Tham's nurthe ith only half the size of hith m-m-mother. Well, that's my m-m-mother (_pointing to second finger of left hand_). I can't get my m-m-mother to stand up! (_All the fingers spring up_.) Hello, there's a lot of other fellows' m-m-mothers. Well, as far as I can make out, Tham hath left me no m-m-mother at all! That's one of those things no fellow can find out.

"I have just purchathed an ethstate som-som-somewhere----" Dothn't the idiot know wh-wh-where he hath bought it? Oh, yeth: "on the banks of the M-M-M-Mith-ith-ippi." Who iths Mit-this Thippi? I g-g-gueth iths Tham's m-m-mother-in-law. Tham's got mawaid. He thayths he felt awfully ner-ner-nervouths. S-s-speaking of m-m-mother-in-lawths, I had a fwiend who had a m-m-mother-in-law, and he didn't like her very well; and she felt the thame way toward him; and they went away on a steamer acwoths the ocean, and they got shipwecked, catht away on a waft, and they floated awound in the water, living on thuch things ath they could pick up--such ath thardines, ice-cweam, owanges, and other canned goods that were floating awound. When that was all gone, everybody ate everybody else. F-f-finally only himthelf and hiths m-m-mother-in-law waths left, and they played a game of c-c-checkers to thee who thould be eaten up--himthelf or hith m-m-mother-in-law. He w-w-won! He thays that wath the only time that he weally cared for his mother-in-law!

Oh, herthe a pothscript. "By the way, what do you think of the f-f-following widdle?" One of Tham's widdles. "If fourteen dogs with three legs each catch forty-eight rabbits with seventy-six legs in twenty-five minutes, how many legs must twenty-four rabbits have to get away from ninety-three dogs with two legs each in half an hour!" That's one of those things no fellow can find out.

SLANG PHRASES

ANONYMOUS

It is not strange that children misunderstand our slang phrases. Not long ago a gentleman about to go abroad, made the round of the steamship. When he came back he walked up to the captain and said: "Captain, what has become of the old steward? I do not see anything of him this trip."

"The old steward,--hm,--the old steward, well, he got too big for his breeches, and we fired him."

Now it happened that a little girl stood by and overheard the conversation, and not long after a second gentleman made the round of the ship, and coming up to a fellow traveler said:

"John, we do not see anything of the old steward this trip; what do you suppose has become of him?"

"I do not know, I am sure."

"I do," said a small voice.

They looked around and saw a little girl peeping out from a cabin door.

"Well, well, my little friend, could you tell us what has become of the old steward?"

"I don't like to say."

"Oh, that's a nice little girl, I am sure; was he discharged?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was the matter? What was the matter?"

"His pants were too short."

THE MERCHANT AND THE BOOK AGENT

ANONYMOUS

A book agent importuned James Watson, a rich merchant, living a few miles out of the city, until he bought a book entitled "The Early Christian Martyrs." Mr. Watson didn't want the book, but he bought it to get rid of the agent; then taking it under his arm he started for the train which takes him to his office in the city.

Mr. Watson had not been gone long before Mrs. Watson came home from a neighbor's. The book agent saw her, and went in and persuaded the wife to buy a copy of the book. She was ignorant of the fact that her husband had bought the same book in the morning.

When Mr. Watson came back in the evening, he met his wife with a cheery smile as he said: "Well, my dear, how have you enjoyed yourself to-day? Well, I hope."

"Oh, yes! had an early caller this morning."

"Ah, and who was she?"

"It wasn't a 'she' at all; it was a gentleman--a book agent."

"A what?"

"A book agent, and, to get rid of his importuning, I bought his book, the 'Early Christian Martyrs.' See, here it is."

"I don't want to see it."

"Why, husband?"

"Because that rascally book agent sold me the same book this morning. Now we've got two copies of the same book--two copies of the 'Early Christian Martyrs,' and----"

"But, husband, we can----"

"No, we can't, either! The man is off on the train before this. Confound it! I could kill the fellow----"

"Why, there he goes to the depot now!" said Mrs. Watson, pointing out of the window at the retreating form of the book agent making for the train.

"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not drest. I've taken off my boots, and----"

Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, drove by, when Mr. Watson pounded on the window-pane in a frantic manner, almost frightening the horse.

"Here, Stevens! You're hitched up! Won't you run your horse down to the train and hold that book agent till I come? Run! Catch 'im now!"

"All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse and tearing down the road.

Mr. Stevens reached the train as the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"

"Book agent!" he yelled, as the book agent stept on the train. "Book agent! hold on! Mr. Watson wants to see you."

"Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the seemingly puzzled book agent. "Oh, I know what he wants; he wants to buy one of my books; but I can't miss the train to sell it to him."

"If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take it to him. How much is it?"

"Two dollars for the 'Early Christian Martyrs,'" said the book agent as he reached for the money and passed the book out the car-window.

Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, in his shirt sleeves. As he saw the train pull out he was too full for utterance.

"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens; "just got it and that's all."

"Got what?"

"Got the book--'Early Christian Martyrs,' and paid----"

"By-the-great-guns!" moaned Watson, as he placed his hand to his brow and swooned right in the middle of the street.

THE COON'S LULLABY

ANONYMOUS

Heah, yo' Rastus, shet yo' sleepy head,
Mammy's gwine tuh rock huh lamb tuh res'--
Ebry little possom coon am sleepin' in its bed,
Yo's my precious honey--yes yo' am.
Swing oh; swing oh;--Lucy whar yo' bin so late?
Lemme catch a niggah courtin' you, yes you!
Hurry up yo' rascals fo' dah's corn bread on de plate,
Fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do!

(_Sings_)
Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.
Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.

Laws now, Rastus, I done gwine to swat yo' one ha'd,
Slap yo' tuh a peak an' break it off--
Monst'us drefful Bogie man am waitin' in de ya'd--
Mammy's only jokin', yes she am.
Swing oh; swing oh;--Petah, yes I see yo' git!
Washin'ton, I'll cu'l yo' wool fo' you,
Neber in dis whole, roun' wo'ld I seen sich chilluns yit,
But mammy loves huh honey, yes she do!

(_Sings_)
Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.
Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.

(After the last chorus the speaker should softly hum the tune again, with an occasional "Sh!" to the audience, and with pantomime of putting the baby in the cradle, putting it to sleep, and softly tiptoeing out.)

[Music:

Swing oh; Swing oh; fo'
mam-my loves huh hon-ey, yes she
do.... Swing oh; Swing oh; fo'
mam-my loves huh hon-ey, yes she do.
]

PARODY ON BARBARA FRIETCHIE

ANONYMOUS

Drough der streeds of Friedrichtown,
Mit der red-hot sun a-shinin' down,
Past dose saloons all filled mit beer,
Dose repel fellers valked on der ear.

All day drough Friedrichtown so fasd,
Hosses foot und sojers past,
Und der repel flag skimmerin' oud so pright,
You vould dink, py jiminy, id had a ridght.

Off all der flags dot flopped in der morning vind,
Nary a vone could enypody find.
Ub shumbed old Miss Frietchie den,
Who vas pent down py nine score years und den.

She took der flag the men hauled down,
Und stuck it fasd on her nighd-gown,
Und pud id in der vinder vere all could see
Dot dear old flag so free.

Yust den ub came Stonewall Jack,
Ridin' on his hosses' pack,
Under his prows he squinted his eyes,
By gracious, dot old flag make him much surprize.

"Halt!" Vell, efery man stood sdill,
"Fire!" vas echoed from hill to hill;
Id broke der strings of dot nighd-gown,
Put olt Miss Frietchie, she vas round.

She freezed on dot olt flag right quick,
Und oud of der vindow her head did stick:
"Scoot, if you must, dis olt cray head,
Put spare dot country's flag!" she said.

A look of shameness soon came o'er
Der face of Jack, und der tears did pour;
"Who pulls oud a hair of dot pauld head
Dies like a donkey!--skip along," he said.

All dot day and all dot night,
Undil der repels vas knocked oud of sight,
Und vay pehind from Friedrichtown,
Dot flag stuck fasd to dot olt nighd-gown.

Barbara Frietchie's vork vas done,
She don'd eny more kin hafe some fun;
Pully for her! und drop a tear
For dot olt gal midoud some fear.

BEFORE AND AFTER

BY CHARLES T. GRILLEY

_Before_

We had been engaged for just a week
And now that we must part
The thought of it was maddening,
And it nearly broke my heart.
As I waved her adieux from the steamer
She answered back from the pier,
And I murmured softly to myself,
"My, but isn't she dear!"

_After_

A year has passed of married life,
I received a note to-day
Written in wifey's well-known hand:
"Send me fifty right away!"
I thought of all she had cost me
During that one brief year,
And then I murmured softly,
"My, but isn't she dear!"

WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK

ANONYMOUS

_Stranger here?_ Yes, come from Varmount
Rutland county. You've hern tell
Mebbe of the town of Granville?
You born there? No! sho! Well, well!
You was born at Granville was you?
Then you know Elisha Brown,
Him as runs the old meat market
At the lower end of town!
Well! well! well! Born down in Granville!
And out here, so far away!
Stranger, I'm homesick already,
Tho it's but a week to-day
Since I left my good wife standin'
Out there at the kitchen door,
Sayin' she'd ask God to keep me;
And her eyes were runnin' o'er!
You must know ole Albert Withers,
Henry Bell and Ambrose Cole?
_Know them all?_ And born in Granville!
Well! well! well! Why, bless my soul!
Sho! You're not old Isaac's nephew!
Isaac Green, down on the flat!
Isaac's eldest nephew,--Henry?
Well, I'd never thought of that!
_Have I got a hundred dollars
I could loan you for a minute,
Till you buy a horse at Marcy's?_
There's my wallet! Just that in it!
Hold on tho! You have ten, mebbe,
You could let me keep; you see
I might chance to need a little
Betwixt now and half past three!
Ten. That's it; you'll owe me ninety;
Bring it round to the hotel.
So you're old friend Isaac's nephew?
Born in Granville! Sho! Well, well!
What! policeman, did you call me?
_That a rascal going there?_
Well, sir, do you know I thought so,
And I played him pretty fair;
Hundred-dollar bill I gave him--
Counterfeit--and got this ten!
Ten ahead. No! you don't tell me!
_This bad, too?_ Sho! Sold again!

MR. POTTS' STORY

BY MAX ADELER

While I was over at Jersey City, the other day, I called on the Potts. Mr. Potts is liable to indulge in extravagance in his conversation, and as Mrs. Potts is an extremely conscientious woman where matters of fact are concerned, she's obliged to keep her eye on him. Potts was telling me about an incident that occurred in the town a few days before, and this is the way he related it:

_Potts._--"You see old Bradley over here is perfectly crazy on the subject of gases, and the atmosphere, and such things--absolutely wild; and one day he was disputing with Green about how high up in the air life could be sustained, and Bradley said an animal could live about forty million miles above the earth, if----"

_Mrs. Potts._--"Not forty millions, my dear; only forty miles, he said."

_P._--"Forty, was it? Thank you. Well sir, old Green, you know, said that was ridiculous; and he said he'd bet Bradley a couple of hundred thousand dollars that life couldn't be sustained half that way up, and so----"

_Mrs. P._--"William, you are wrong; he offered to bet only fifty dollars."

_P._--"Well, anyhow, Bradley took him up quicker'n a wink, and they agreed to send up a cat in a balloon to decide the bet. So what does Bradley do but buy a balloon about twice as big as our barn, and begin to----"

_Mrs P._--"It was only about ten feet in diameter, Mr. Adeler; William forgets."

_P._--"Begin to inflate her. When she was filled, it took eighty men to hold her, and----"

_Mrs. P._--"Eighty men, Mr. Potts? Why, you know Mr. Bradley held the balloon himself."

_P._--"He did, did he? Oh, very well; what's the odds? And when everything was ready, they brought out Bradley's tom-cat, and put it in the basket, and tied it in so that it couldn't jump, you know. There were about one hundred thousand people looking on, and, when they let go, you never heard such a----"

_Mrs. P._--"There were not more than two hundred people there. I counted them myself."

_P._--"Oh, don't bother me! I say you never heard such a yell, as the balloon went scooting up into the sky, pretty near out of sight. Bradley said she went up about one thousand miles, and--now don't interrupt me, Henrietta; I know what the man said--and that cat, mind you, a-howling like a hundred fog-horns, so's you could a' heard her from here to Peru. Well, sir, when she was up so's she looked as small as a pin-head, something or other burst. I dunno how it was, but pretty soon down came that balloon a-flickering toward the earth at the rate of fifty miles a minute, and old----"

_Mrs. P._--"Mr. Potts, you know that the balloon came down as gently as----"

_P._--"Oh, do hush up! Women don't know anything about such things. And old Bradley, he had a kind of a registering thermometer fixt in the balloon along with that cat. Some sort of a patent machine; cost thousands of dollars, and he was expecting to examine it; and Green had an idea he'd lift out a dead cat and scoop in the stakes. When all of a sudden, as she came pelting down, a tornado struck her--now, Henrietta, what in the thunder are you staring at me in that way for? It was a tornado--a regular cyclone--and it struck her and jammed her against the lightning-rod on the Baptist Church steeple, and there she stuck--stuck on that spire, about eight hundred feet up in the air."

_Mrs. P._--"You may get just as mad as you like, but I am positively certain that steeple's not an inch over ninety-five feet."

_P._--"Henrietta, I wish to gracious you'd go up-stairs and look after the children. Well, about half a minute after she struck out stept that tom-cat on to the weathercock. It made Green sick. And just then the hurricane reached the weathercock, and it began to revolve six hundred or seven hundred times a minute, the cat howling until you couldn't hear yourself speak--now, Henrietta, you've had your put; you keep quiet. That cat stood on that weathercock about two months----"

_Mrs. P._--"Mr. Potts, that's an awful story; it only happened last Tuesday."

_P._ (_confidentially_)--"Never mind her. And on Sunday the way that cat carried on and yowled, with its tail pointing due east, was so awful that they couldn't have church. And Sunday afternoon the preacher told Bradley if he didn't get that cat down he'd sue him for a million dollars damages. So Bradley got a gun, and shot at the cat fourteen hundred times--now, you didn't count 'em, Henrietta, and I did--and he banged the top of the steeple all to splinters, and at last fetched down the cat, shot to rags, and in her stomach he found the thermometer. She'd ate it on her way up, and it stood at eleven hundred degrees, so old----"

_Mrs. P._--"No thermometer ever stood at such a figure as that."

_P._ (_indignantly_)--"Oh, well, if you think you can tell the story better than I can, why don't you tell it? You're enough to worry the life out of a man."

Then Potts slammed the door and went out, and I left. I don't know whether Bradley got the stakes or not.

AT FIVE O'CLOCK TEA

BY MORRIS WADE

"So good of you to come!"

"Ah, thanks."

"So good of you to come!"

"As if I could get along without you! The obligation is all on my side."

"How sweet of you to say so!"

"Now I want you to meet Mrs. Slambang. Mrs. Slambang, let me present to you my deah friend, Mrs. Twiddle-twaddle."

"So glad to know you, Mrs. Slambang! I have so often heard deah Mrs. Sweet speak of you that I feel quite as if I knew you. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Chawming!"

"What a lovely wintah we are having."

"Chawming! So very, very gay, isn't it?"

"Oh, very, very gay! Haven't I met you at Mrs. Titters' teas?"

"I daresay you have. Isn't she a deah?"

"Oh, I am extravagantly fond of her!"

"I am, too. So clevah!"

"Of course you go to the opera?"

"Oh, I couldn't exist without it. Oh, Melba! Melba!"

"And Nordica! I rave over them all!"

"I fairly CRY over them. And, do you know, I have a friend who does not care in the least for them. She isn't a bit musical."

"Oh, how sad! I would die if I did not----Who is the tall lady in black over by the piano?"

"I'm sure I do not know. What exquisite lace on her gown! Do you know that I just simply rave over beautiful lace!"

"Really?"

"Yes, indeed! I care more for it than for jewels, because it----Do you know the tall, fine-looking man who has just come in?"

"I'm sure I have seen him somewhere, and yet I can not----Yes, thank you, I think I _will_ have a cup of tea. How lovely the dining-room looks!"

"Lovely!"

"Mrs. Sweet has such exquisite taste!"

"EXQUISITE! I often say----How _do_ you do, my deah? So glad to see you!"

"Thanks! So glad to meet YOU!"

"So good of you to say so! Quite well, deah?"

"Oh, vulgarly so. I really must say good-by to dear Mrs. Sweet and go. I must look in at Mrs. Shoddy's for a few minutes."

"So must I. We'll go together."

"HOW LOVELY! Good-by, deah Mrs. Sweet. Have had _such_ a chawming time!"

"Must you go so soon?"

"Yes, really! Such a lovely time!"

"So glad! But it is quite naughty of you to go so soon. So glad you came!"

"By-by, deah."

"By-by. You will come to see me soon?"

"Yes, indeed."

"You MUST. By-by!"

"By-by!"

And as she gathers up her trailing skirts to walk down the steps, she says: "Thank goodness, that's over!"

Reprinted from _Lippincott's Magazine_.

KEEP A-GOIN'!

BY FRANK L. STANTON

If you strike a thorn or rose,
Keep a-goin'!
If it hails or if it snows,
Keep a-goin'!
'Taint no use to sit an' whine
When the fish ain't on your line;
Bait your hook an' keep on tryin'--
Keep a-goin'!

When the weather kills your crop,
Keep a-goin'!
When you tumble from the top,
Keep a-goin'!
S'pose you're out of every dime?
Gittin' broke ain't any crime;
Tell the world you're feelin' prime,--
Keep a-goin'!

When it looks like all is up,
Keep a-goin'!
Drain the sweetness from the cup,
Keep a-goin'!
See the wild birds on the wing!
Hear the bells that sweetly ring--
When you feel like sighin'--sing!
Keep a-goin'!

A LOVER'S QUARREL

BY CYNTHIA COLES

"O Kitty, you _are_ so sweet, and I _do_ love you so. Tell me you love me, dearie."

"I do love you, Dick; why, I never supposed I _could_ love anybody so much."

"O little girl, I only wished you loved me half as much as I love you."

"Half as much! Why, dear, I love you more than you love me--a great deal more----"

"Now, don't be silly, pet. It would be impossible for you to love me as much as I love you. Of course, I love you best."

"Of course you don't! You love me, I know, but not as much as I love you."

"Now, Kitty, be reasonable."

"I will if you'll admit that I do love you best."

"How can I admit what isn't true?"

"Well, you might say it was so just to please me."

"Oh, no, dear, I can't do that."

"Because you don't love me enough!"

"Oh, the idea!"

"If you _did_ love me the best, you'd say anything I asked you to, whether it was true or not."

"Would _you_ do that?"

"Of course I would."

"All right, then you admit that I love you best, because I ask you to do so!"

"O Dick, how horrid you are! How can you be so cruel to me?"

"There, there, don't cry. I'll admit that you love me best, but I only admit it _because_ you ask me to."

"Then that's all right."

"But, don't you see, Kitty, when I say that because you ask me to, and you _won't_ say it when I ask you to, that _proves_ I love you best after all."

"There you go on again! I do think you're too mean for anything!"

"Well, never mind, sweetheart, let's kiss and be friends. You do love me best I'm sure."

"Oh, no, I don't, Dick. Oh, you are so sweet. You love me best, darling."

"Oh, no, I don't, love. You love me best!"

"No, my Dick, _you_ love _me_ best----"

CASEY AT THE BAT

BY PHINEAS THAYER

It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood two to four, with but an inning left to play.
So, when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same,
A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest,
With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast,
For they thought: "If only Casey could get a whack at that,"
They'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake,
And the former was a puddin', and the latter was a fake,
So on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a "single," to the wonderment of all,
And the much-despised Blakey "tore the cover off the ball."
And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred,
There was Blakey safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.

Then, from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell,
It rumbled in the mountain-tops, it rattled in the dell;
It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat;
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stept into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt,
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the New York pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand.
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised a hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on:
He signaled to Sir Timothy, once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Ah, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout:
But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has struck out.

FAMILIAR LINES

ANONYMOUS

(_Arranged so that the little ones can always remember them_)

The boy stood on the burning deck,
His fleece was white as snow;
He stuck a feather in his hat,
John Anderson, my Jo!

"Come back, come back!" he cried in grief,
From India's coral strands,
The frost is on the pumpkin and
The village smithy stands.

Am I a soldier of the cross
From many a boundless plain?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
Where saints immortal reign?

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon
Across the sands o' Dee,
Can you forget that night in June--
My country, 'tis of thee!

Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
We're saddest when we sing,
To beard the lion in his den--
To set before the king.

Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound,
And Phoebus gins arise;
All mimsy were the borogroves
To mansions in the skies.

A FRIENDLY GAME OF CHECKERS

ANONYMOUS

"Now, my dear," said Mr. Italics, as he drew on his slippers and settled himself for the evening, "if you will get the checker-board, I'll play you a game--you're learning so rapidly that it's really a pleasure to try quits with you."

Mrs. Italics giggled with delight, kissed her husband on the top of the head and fluttered away to find the board and checkers. After she had found them, she plumped herself down in a rocking-chair about a foot and a half lower than his easy-chair and arranged the apparatus at an angle of fifty degrees, whereupon Mr. Italics said:

"I think you misapprehend my suggestion. I didn't propose to go sliding down hill at this season of the year, neither do I intend to shoot the chutes. My idea was a game of checkers and if you think those men are going to stand around on a board tipped up on one end and wait to be moved, you are not familiar with their habits."

"Perhaps I had better put a book under it; or if you could lower your knees a little it would come even."

"Oh, that's your idea, is it? My knees weren't constructed with special regard to playing checkers. They were put where they are and fastened and they won't run up and down like a flag. Do you think I'm the india-rubber man from the circus, or the cork-legged man from Oskoloosa? If you can't hold up your side of the board, we won't play."

"Now, dear, it's all right. Let me see, is it your move, or mine?"

"What are you trying to play? Do you think this is a game of baseball? Don't you know you've got to move cattecornered? 'Taint your move anyway. Put that back. There. Now I'll move there."

"Oh, I know you're going to jump me and take my man," said Mrs. Italics, picking up the checker she had moved before and putting it in her mouth. "If I put it here, you'll----"

"SWALLOW IT, why don't you? If you don't want it taken, why don't you masticate it? Can't you leave the thing alone until you get ready to move? Put it down before it chokes you."

"There, dear (_swallowing it_), I've put it down, but it hurt my throat."

"What in thunder do you mean by eating up my set of checkers. When I said 'put it down' I meant put it back on the board. Will you please play this game instead of masticating it."

"If I put this man there, you'll jump it."

"Just watch and see."

"Now, I'll put this man there,--no,--perhaps I had better move here,--or I think I'll----"

"Going to move in six places at once? Think this is the first of May and that you're looking for a new flat? 'Taint your move anyway. Now will you please hold the board straight? D'ye think this is a washboard? Well it isn't and it isn't a teeter-board either. Now, I'll move into your king row. Ha! ha!"

"Then do I jump these two men and get a king? Of course, I do. Crown me! I've got the first king!"

"No, you haven't. I didn't mean that move. If you can't play checkers without cackling like a hen you'd better stop. I'll take back that move. Now, so. Now you can move."

"Over here."

"Certainly. That's splendid. Now I'll take these two men."

"I didn't see that, I'd rather put it here."

"Too late now. You can't take back a move in this game. You should study your moves first."

"Well, if I jump here I get another king."

"What do you want to tumble them all over for? Haven't you got any sense scarcely? You make more fuss over a measly king than most women over a mouse. Don't you know it's my move? Give me back those men. Can't you hold the board straight? What's that? Oh, of course, you know. You know it all. All you want is a pair of hinges and painted sides to be a checker-box. If ever I want to play with some good player I'll put the coal-scuttle on your head and move you around for a king. There goes the whole business! Now, are you satisfied? Do you wonder a man won't play checkers with a woman? I'll throw the measly things out of the window so that I won't waste any time playing with you again." And Mr. Italics suited the action to the word. But then Mr. Italics was such an _odd type_.

MODERN ROMANCE

BY HENRY M. BLOSSOM, JR.

Information, speculation; fluctuation; ruination.
Dissipation, degradation; reformation or starvation.
Application, situation; occupation, restoration.
Concentration, enervation, nerve prostration. A vacation.
Destination, country station. Nice location, recreation.
Exploration, observation; fascination--a flirtation.
Trepidation, hesitation, conversation, simulation;
Invitation, acclamation, sequestration, cold libation.
Stimulation, animation; inspiration, new potation.
Demonstration, agitation, circulation, exclamation!
Declaration, acceptation, osculation, sweet sensation.
Exultation, preparation, combination, new relation.

From _The Smart Set_, New York.

LULLABY

BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

Kiver up yo' haid, my little lady,
Hyeah de win' a-blowin' out o' do's.
Don' you kick, ner projick wid de comfo't,
Less'n fros'll bite yo' little toes.
Shut yo' eyes an' snuggle up to mammy,
Gi' me bofe yo' han's, I hol' 'em tight;
Don' you be afeard an' 'mence to trimble
Des ez soon ez I blows out de light.

Angels is a-mindin' you, my baby,
Keepin' off de Bad Man in de night.
What de use o' bein skeered o' nuffin'?
You don' fink de dakness gwine to bite?
What de crackin' soun' you heah erroun' you?
Lawsey, chile, you tickles me to def:--
Dats de man what brings de fros', a paintin'
Picters on de winder wid his bref.

Mammy ain' afeard, you hyeah huh laffin'?
Go' away, Mistah Fros', you can't come in;
Baby ain' receivin' folks this evenin',
Reckon dat you'll have to call agin.
Curl yo' little toes up so, my possum--
Umph, but you's a cunnin' one fu' true!
Go to sleep, de angels is a-watchin',
An' yo' mammy's mindin' of you, too.

Reprinted by permission.

THE REASON WHY

BY MARY E. BRADLEY

"When I was at the party," said Betty (aged just four),
"A little girl fell off her chair, right down upon the floor;
And all the other little girls began to laugh but me--
I didn't laugh a single bit," said Betty, seriously.
"Why not?" her mother asked her, full of delight to find
That Betty--bless her little heart--had been so sweetly kind.
"Why didn't you laugh, darling, or don't you like to tell?"
"I didn't laugh," said Betty, "'cause it was me that fell!"

HOW A BACHELOR SEWS ON A BUTTON

ANONYMOUS

This is a very laughable piece of pantomime. It is well to have a small table and a chair, but everything else is left to the imagination of the audience. The success of the selection depends upon the varied facial expression and other business. It is advisable to first practise with a needle and thread so as to get a correct imitation.

First say to the audience: "Ladies and gentlemen, I shall endeavor to give you an imitation of how a bachelor sews on a button." Then seat yourself and take from the table an imaginary spool of thread. Hold it in your left hand and pull out several lengths with your right hand. Then bite the thread off and put the spool back on the table. Hold the end of the thread in your left hand, then wet the first finger and thumb of your right hand and make the thread into a point. Now start to thread your needle. The thread refuses to find the eye of the needle and there is a lot of laughable business here. Change your position frequently, and at every turn vary the facial expression. Then blow through the eye of the needle. Just as you think you have at last put the thread through, the needle is lost and you look all over for it. After some difficulty you find it on the floor. Then as you seat yourself again you find the thread in a snarl, so you take the spool again and pull off several fresh lengths. Try again to thread the needle and as you get it through the needle's eye, turn it very carefully around and take hold of the thread with your teeth, drawing it through slowly with appropriate facial expression. Now tie a knot in your thread and to make it secure bite it with your teeth. Reach to the table for your imaginary button and place it on the _inside_ of your coat. Begin to sew, with difficulty at first, pulling the thread through at arm's length. At the third stitch prick your finger and jump as if in great pain. The thread gradually gets shorter. As you seem to gain facility you begin to smile. Then wind the thread around the button, make several short stitches, and bite it off with your teeth. Now stand and try to button your coat. You first feel for the button but can not find it. Then you look down at your coat, but there is no button there. You turn the coat over and discover that you have sewed the button on the inside. With a look of anger you pull the button off the coat, throw it violently on the floor, and exit hastily.

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS

ANONYMOUS

Deesa man liva in Italia a gooda longa time ago. He hada a greata heada ever since he was a kidda. Not a bigga heada likea de politicians nowaday--not a swella heada. His fadda keepa de standa in Italia. Sella de peanutta and de banan. Maka plente de mon. Christopher Colum he say, "Fadda, gimma de stamp, I go finda de new world." His fadda he laugh, "Ha! ha!" just so. Den Christopher he say, "Whata you maka fun? I betta you I finda new world." After a long time his fadda say, "You go finda new world, and bringa it over here." Den de olda man he buy him a grip-sack, an' giva him boodle, an' maka him a present of three ships to come over to deesa contra. Well, Christopher Colum he saila an' saila for gooda many day. He don't see any landa. An' he say, "I giva fiva-dollar-bill if I was back in Italia!" Well, he saila, an' he saila, an' vera soon he strika Coney Island. Den dat maka him glad! Very soon he coma to Castle Garden, an' den he walka up Broadway an' he feel very bada. He finda outa dat de Irish gang has gotta possession of New Yorka! He don't lika de Irish, an' de Shamrocka donta lika him. He donta go vera far before a pleasanter mana speaks to him. He say, "How-a-you do, Mista Jones? How a-de folks in Pittaburg?" Christopher Colum he say, "I notta Mista Jones; I reada the papers; I tinka you sella de green goods, ha? You go away, or I broka your jaw!" Den he shaka hees fista deesa way, an' de man he skedaddle. Den he tries to crossa de Broad-a-way, but it fulla de mud an' he canta swim. Very soon he sees a policeman cluba de mana, one, two, three times, an' he feel secka de stom'! Next he meeta de politicians uppa Tammany Hall an' dees wanta him to runna for Alderman. He getta plenty friend. He learna to "settom up" at de bar many times. Next day he hava heada lika deesa!

His fadda writa: "Why you notta bringa back de new world? I like to hava de earth!" Christopher Colum he writa back dat New Yorka is already in de hands of de Shamrocka. Den he goes to Ohio and buys a place an' calla it after himself--Colum. Soon he goa broka an' taka de nexta train home in disgusta, because he reada in de paper dat de Fair in '93 will be holda in Chicago!

THE FLY

ANONYMOUS

The following is told in child dialect. She finds a fly and speaks to it affectionately:

"Poor little fly! Ain't you got anyone to love you? Ain't you got any brothers or any sisters, little fly? Ain't you got any aunts, little fly? Ain't you got anyone to love you? Your mother loves you, little fly. (_She slaps her hand and kills the fly._) Go home to your mother!"

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"

BY W. S. GILBERT

'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,
And I heard this wight on the shore recite
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"

And he shook his fists, and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:

"O elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
How you can possibly be