Chapter III: Part 3

Brothers and Sisters: I come to say good-bye. I don’t think God loves this church, because none of you ever die. I don’t think you love each other, because I never marry any of you. I don’t think you love me, because you have not paid my salary. Your donations are moldy fruit and wormy apples, and by their fruits ye shall know them. Brothers, I am going to a better place. I have been called to be chaplain of a penitentiary. Where I go ye cannot come, but I go to prepare a place for you, and may the Lord have mercy on your souls. Good-bye.

* * * * *

Sister Henderson, said Deacon Hypers, you should avoid even appearance of evil.

Why Deacon, what do you mean? asked Sister Henderson.

I observe that on your sideboard you have several cut-glass decanters, and that each of them is half filled with what appears to be ardent spirits.

Well, now, Deacon, it isn’t anything of the kind. The bottles look so pretty on the sideboard that I just filled them half way with some floor stain and furniture polish, just for appearances.

That’s why I am cautioning you, sister, replied the Deacon. Feeling a trifle weak and faint, I helped myself to a dose from the big bottle in the middle.

* * * * *

An archdeacon engaged as new footman a well-recommended youth who served as stable boy. The first duty which the youth was called upon to perform was to accompany the archdeacon on a series of formal calls.

Bring the cards, Thomas, and leave one at each house, ordered his master. After two hours of visiting from house to house the archdeacon’s list was exhausted. This is the last house, Thomas, he said; leave two cards here.

Beggin’ yor pardon, sir, was the deferential reply, I can’t; I’ve only the ace of spades left.

* * * * *

Senator Gore, of Oklahoma, is given credit for this story, told on his recent visit to a Methodist convention at St. Joseph. It is related by the Rev. Mr. Williams, pastor of the Baptist Church of Pleasant Hill, who happened to hear it.

According to Senator Gore, there was an accomplished hen with a brood of chickens—five roosters and five pullets. The chicks matured and went their various ways, while the mother hen busied herself with a new brood. In course of time Methodist ministers came into the vicinity of Chickenville to hold a conference, and, as might be suspected, the five young roosters, fat, yellow-legged and extremely tender, were feasted upon by various and sundry preachers. The young pullets, left behind, were met by the mother hen a few days later. My children, she asked, where are your brothers?

They have entered the ministry.

Bracing herself from the shock of disclosure, a look of resignation spread over Biddy’s countenance as she replied:

Well, my dears, perhaps it is all for the best. They would not have made very good lay members, anyway.

* * * * *

A Philadelphia clergyman, visiting an old schoolmate in Montana, was called upon to speak during revival services in a large camp of Swedish miners.

Looking straight at a powerful looking man who sat in front of him, the minister asked:

My friend, don’t you want to work for the Lord?

The Swede thought a few seconds and replied slowly:

No, I tank no, de Norden Pacific fallers is good enough for me.

* * * * *

A short time ago a somewhat laughable incident took place in a northern church. The minister, after proclaiming the banns of matrimony between a young couple, concluded by saying, If there be any objections, they can now be stated. A fashionable youth, an old admirer of the intended bride, noticing the eyes of a portion of the congregation fixed upon him, rose up and exclaimed, I have no objection for my own part, to the astonishment of all about him, and resumed his seat, as if he had done a mere formal piece of business.

* * * * *

Each Sunday the parson rode three miles to church. On this particular Sunday it was raining very hard. He rode the distance on horseback and, when he reached the church, was soaking wet.

Several of the good old sisters who were there early placed a chair before the fire for him and hung his wet coat up to dry.

I am so afraid I won’t be dry enough to preach, he said.

Oh, said one of the sisters, when you get in the pulpit and start preaching, you will be dry enough.

* * * * *

Whenever a Sunday school teacher comes to Louisville invariably a good story is in order. Last night one of them was at a local hotel, and he brought along his story. Morrison R. Kendrick is his name, and Chicago is his town. The story is told by Mr. Kendrick as follows:

Sunday School Superintendent—Who led the children of Israel into Canaan? Will one of the smaller boys answer?

No reply.

Superintendent (sternly)—Can no one tell? You little fellow on that seat next to the aisle, who led the children of Israel into Canaan?

Little Boy (badly frightened)—It wasn’t me. I—I just moved here last week from Missouri.

* * * * *

An amusing incident occurred at the close of Sam Jones’ sermon at Pulaski. Stepping down from the pulpit, folding his hands across his breast, and looking solemnly over the audience, the great revivalist said—

I want all the women in this crowd who have not spoken a harsh word or harbored an unkind thought toward their husbands for a month past to stand up.

One old woman, apparently on the shady side of sixty, stood up.

Come forward and give me your hand, said the preacher.

The woman did so, whereupon Jones said—

Now turn around and let this audience see the best-looking woman in the country.

After taking her seat, the revivalist addressed the men—

Now I want all the men in this crowd who have not spoken a harsh word or harbored an unkind thought toward their wives for a month past to stand up.

Twenty-seven great big strapping fellows hopped out of the audience with all the alacrity of champagne corks.

Come forward and give me your hands, my dear boys.

Jones gave each one a vigorous shake, after which he ranged all of them side by side in front of the pulpit and facing the audience. He looked them over carefully and solemnly, and then, turning around to the audience, he said—

I want you all to take a good look at the twenty-seven biggest liars in the State of Tennessee.

_Khaki Klad_

Captain (examining uniforms which are expected to be marked with the owner’s name)—What does this mean, my man? Your name seems to be obliterated.

Private (in the rear rank)—No, sir, it’s O’Brien.

* * * * *

A young officer at the front wrote home to his father—

Dear Father—Kindly send me fifty pounds at once. Lost another leg in a stiff engagement, and am in hospital without means.

The answer was as follows—

My Dear Son—As this is the fourth leg you have lost (according to your letters), you ought to be accustomed to it by this time. Try and hobble along on any others you may have left.

* * * * *

She had been hoping against hope that Bill would get leave of absence so they could spend their wedding anniversary together. But, alas! he was unsuccessful in his application. Knowing how disappointed his wife would be he sent an order to a local store for a treadle sewing machine, knowing that would be her choice of a present.

The crate arrived before Bill’s letter of explanation, and on examining it the good lady gave a loud scream, and seizing a hatchet, proceeded to open it.

Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Smith? cried a neighbor, who happened to be present.

Pale and faint, Mrs. Smith pointed to an inscription on the crate. It read—

Bill inside!

* * * * *

Rear Admiral Osterhaus, at a luncheon in New York, said of a naval disappointment.

It was as disappointing as absent-minded Ibsen’s Christmas dinner.

Ibsen, you know, ran absent-mindedly one Christmas night into the restaurant of a railway station and asked—

Look here, waiter, did you say I had twenty minutes to wait or that it was twenty minutes to eight?

The Tipperary waiter stopped carving a turkey long enough to reply—

I said nayther. I said ye had twenty minutes to ate, but that was nineteen minutes ago. There’s yer train whistlin’ fur ye now.

* * * * *

Isaac had been drafted and sent to France. Jacob, his partner, distracted, had begged Isaac to cable when he got over. Three weeks elapse. No cable.

Jacob cables Isaac—Isaac! Woe is us! Our factory burned down ten days ago. Why don’t you cable or write?

Three weeks more. No reply.

Jacob cables again—Isaac! Woe is us! Our storage warehouse burned down last week. Total loss. Settled for $75,000. I am nearly crazy from grief. Why don’t you cable? Are you dead?

Three weeks more. No reply.

Jacob cables again—Isaac! Woe is us! Our main office burned last week. Settled insurance for $90,000. I will die if you don’t cable. Haven’t heard from you at all. Where are you? Are you alive?

Answer comes next day—Jacob, stop that nonsense, spending all our money for cables! I’m all right. You just keep the home fires burning!

* * * * *

The French soldier found as much cause to complain about English as she is spoken as our lads did with the lingo over there. One of the tri-color veterans chirped up one day by letting out—Ze English spoken, pas bon. Here ze sentence—What color is ze blackberry when it is green? and I find out he is red!

* * * * *

General W. W. Blackmar was talking to a group of soldiers in Boston when a fakir came up and held out for inspection a rusty old sword.

Look at it, gents, he said, examine it close. It is the sword what Lee surrendered to Grant. You can have it for $5.

Go along with you, said one of the soldiers sternly. Go along with you. You can’t fool us.

The fakir hurried away, and General Blackmar said—

That was, indeed, an impudent fraud, wasn’t it? It reminds me of the frauds that were practiced in the old relic shows that used to be a feature of country fairs.

At a country fair in my youth there was a show devoted almost to biblical relics. I wish you could have seen the faded cloth, the rusty nails, and the brass jewels that did duty severally for a piece of Solomon’s robe, an earring of the Queen of Sheba, Absalom’s hairpin, David’s sling, and so on. In the place of honor hung a sword, and the showman said—

This is the sword that Balaam was going to kill his ass with.

But, I interposed, I thought that Balaam had no sword. I thought he only wished for one.

You’re right, said the showman, this is the sword he wished for.

* * * * *

What is a man-of-war? said a teacher to his class.

A cruiser, was the prompt reply.

What makes it go?

Its screw, sir.

Who goes with it?

Its crew, sir.

* * * * *

Is de major got his pension yit?

Oh, yes!

Used him up purty bad, didn’t dey?

Wuss you ever see! Los’ one arm whilst he waz a-tryin’ ter surrender en broke two legs a runnin’!

* * * * *

When I was a little child, the sergeant sweetly addressed his men at the end of an hour’s exhaustive drill, I had a set of wooden soldiers. There was a poor little boy in the neighborhood and after I had been to Sunday school one day and listened to a stirring talk on the beauties of charity I was softened enough to give them to him. Then I wanted them back and cried, but mother said, Don’t cry, Bertie, some day you will get your wooden soldiers back, and believe me, you lob-sided, mutton-headed, goofus-brained set of certified rolling pins, that day has come.

* * * * *

A firm in Liverpool, delighted that one of its employes was called upon to join the reserves, volunteered to pay half his wages to his wife in his absence. At the end of the month the woman appeared, and the moiety was given her. What? she said; four pound? Yes, replied the senior partner, that is exactly half, sorry you are not satisfied. It isn’t that I’m not satisfied. Why, for years he has told me he only got 16 shillings altogether, and—and—if the Boers don’t kill him, I will.

* * * * *

A recruiting sergeant stationed in the south of Ireland met Pat and asked him to join the army. The latter refused, whereupon the sergeant asked his reason for refusing.

Aren’t the King and the Kaiser cousins? asked Pat.

Yes, said the recruiting sergeant.

Well, said Pat, begorra I once interfered in a family squabble, and I’m not going to do so again.

* * * * *

Two British soldiers went into a restaurant at Saloniki and asked for Turkey with Greece. The waiter said—

I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I can’t Servia, whereupon the Tommies cried—Fetch the Bosphorus!

When that gentleman arrived and heard the complaint, the manager said—

Well, gentlemen, I don’t want to Russia, but you can not Rumania.

And so the poor Tommies had to go away Hungary.

* * * * *

The Baron Speck von Sternberg, the newly appointed charge d’affaires from Berlin, was at a dinner where, in a purely humorous spirit the courage of the various nations of the world was being impugned. The German’s courage was pretty severely attacked by an Englishman. Baron von Sternberg took revenge on him with this brief story—

An Englishman and a German were to fight a duel. They were locked in a pitch dark room together with cocked pistols. All was still, and neither could tell where the other was. Finally the German, not wishing to have murder on his soul, tiptoed to the chimney and fired up it. There was a shriek, and the Englishman, badly wounded, came tumbling down.

* * * * *

Two officers once appeared before Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden to ask his permission to fight a duel, as one had grievously insulted the other. Certainly, my friends, said the king. I will be present myself at the encounter. On the day appointed Gustavus Adolphus appeared on the scene, accompanied by a sinister looking person, who proved to be the public executioner. Pointing to the two combatants, the king said—

You see those two men? Immediately after their duel you will behead the survivor.

The two officers shook hands on the spot.

* * * * *

Corporal James Tanner lost both his legs at the second battle of Bull Run. Later, when in a hospital, he and other wounded soldiers were visited by charitably inclined women.

One day an elderly female carrying a neat basket sat down beside Tanner and talked religion to him while he thought of the delicacies in the basket. At length she lifted the lid and took therefrom a tract on the evils of dancing, which she handed to the patient. Tanner looked it over and then said earnestly—

I give you my word of honor, madam, that I’ll never dance again as long as I live. The elderly lady departed with great satisfaction, fully believing she had made a convert.

_Emeralds_

Hospital Physician—Which ward do you wish to be taken to? A pay ward or a—

Maloney—Iny of thim, Doc, thot’s safely Dimocratic.

* * * * *

He had reached heaven in good time. Hello, St. Peter, said he. ’Tis a foine job you have.

Right, sir. ’Tis a great place here. We count a million years as a minute and a million dollars as a cent.

Is that so, said he, wonderingly. Well, it’s money I need. Will you lend me a cent, St. Peter?

Sure, replied St. Peter, in a minute.

* * * * *

Brannigan, Flannigan, Milligan, Gilligan,
Duffy, McGuffy, Mullarky, Mahone,
Rafferty, Lafferty, Connelly, Donnelly,
Dooley, O’Hooley, Muldowny, Malone;
Maddigan, Caddigan, Hallahan, Callahan,
Fagan, O’Hagan, O’Houlihan, Flynn,
Shanagan, Lanagan, Fogarty, Hogarty,
Kelly, O’Skelly, McGinnis, McGinn.

* * * * *

Pat came to the wake. He walked up to the bier and looking at the remains of his buddie, Mike, he burst out laughing. He was prompt-hustled out of the room by many strong hands and when he got his breath he explained: Well, you see, the last time I talked with Mike he argied with me that there wasn’t no heaven and there wasn’t no hell, and I couldn’t kape from laffin’ when I see him lyin’ there all dressed up and no where to go.

* * * * *

Two Irishmen were on a ship coming over to America. One night Mike awoke Pat and said, Pat, get up quick, the ship is sinking. Pat said, what do we care? It’s not ours.

* * * * *

The little Irishman was being examined for admission to the army. He seemed all right in every way except one. The doctor said, you’re a little stiff. Quickly the Irish blood mounted as the applicant replied, You’re a big stiff!

* * * * *

R. Hinton Perry, the sculptor, is responsible for the following story of the scrublady who cares for his studio.

How many children have you Mrs. O’Flarity? he asked of her one morning.

It’s siven I have, sir, she replied. Four be the third wife of my second husband, three be the second wife of me furst.

* * * * *

Two young men met an Irishman. Said one: Well, Pat, what’s the news?

Divil a bit, yer honors; ’tis very dull in these parts. Have yez any news?

Yes, Pat; some very important news.

Is that so, yer honors? Phat is it?

We heard awhile ago for a fact that the devil was dead.

Is that so? Och, worra, worra! What a pity, said he, taking out some money and giving to each a quarter.

Oh, Pat, take back your money; we don’t charge you anything.

Och, I know yez don’t; but ’twas a custom in the old country to give the orphans something when their father died.

* * * * *

An Irishman who was signing articles on board a ship began to write his name with his right hand, then, changing the pen to his left hand, finished it.

So you can write with either hand, Pat? asked the officer.

Yis, sor, replied Pat. Whin I was a boy me father (rist his soul) always said to me Pat, learn to cut yer finger nails wid your left hand, for some day ye might lose your right.

* * * * *

A good old Irish pastor was thanking his congregation for the many Easter offerings, and his tremulous voice told how great was his pleasure.

I want to thank the congregation, he said, for the many beautiful gifts from my people this glorious Easter Sunday. The plate donations were far in excess of my expectations, the candles were many and freely contributed, and the flowers were simply beautiful; but I want to say right here and now that the thing that touched my heart the most was whin little Mar-r-y Killy walked oop the aisle an’ laid an egg on the altar.

* * * * *

Two Irishmen, long enemies, met one day. Said one: What’s the sinse of two intilligint min goin’ along year after year like a couple of wildcats spittin’ at each other? Here we live in the same tinimint, and ’tis a burnin’ shame that we do be actin’ like a couple of boobies. Come along wid yer and shake hands, and we’ll make up and be friends. Which they did, and went to an adjacent public house to cement their friendship with a glass of grog. Both stood at the bar in silence. One looked at the other and said:

What are you thinkin’ about?

Oi’m thinkin’ the same thing that you are.

Oh, so ye’re startin’ agin, are ye?

* * * * *

The frequent and unsuccessful candidacy of certain men in this town for public office reminded George (Scotty) Dore of a story of his friend Hogan.

Hogan was raffling a clock, said Mr. Dore. He was fairly successful in disposing of tickets in the shop where he worked, but he ran up against trouble when he canvassed his neighbors.

Dropping in at a neighbor’s house, he tried to sell a ticket on the clock.

It’s a fine timepiece, and it’ll luk foine on yer what-not er mantel, says Hogan, cajolingly.

Gwan, the old clock doesn’t run! replied the neighbor.

Well, drawled Hogan, changing front completely, well perhaps yez won’t win it, and then ye’ll have the laugh on the fellow who does.

* * * * *

Street cleaning commissioner Paul Inglehart, of Baltimore, returned recently from a gunning trip in Anne Arundel county and brought with him a supply of new stories told in the historic old South River Club.

The one that particularly took Mr. Inglehart’s fancy was that of the Irish servant girl who one day asked her mistress what was the meaning of the word “kismet”. After thinking a little while the mistress said:

Why, Bridget, it is another name for fate.

A day or so afterward the mistress discovered Bridget hobbling down the stairs evidently in great pain and walking very lame.

Why, what on earth is the matter with you? she asked.

Oh, sure, ma’am, was the reply, I’ve got bunions on my kismet.

* * * * *

How is this? the detective inquired, with a jerk of his thumb toward the interior of the car.

How’s what? inquired the Irishman.

Nine passengers got on and you only rung up eight fares.

Is that so, responded the conductor, with a look of innocent surprise. He cautiously counted the fares on the large dial. The spotter was waiting. Begorra, yer right. Wan of thim has got to git off.

* * * * *

Thomas Patrick Gallagher, typical Irish traffic copper, was stationed on Madison street in Chicago at the point intersected by the river.

One bustling Saturday afternoon, Gallagher held up his hand to halt traffic for the draw bridge. In front of him was a new handsome limousine motor car.

While waiting for the bridge to close, a runabout flivver crashed into the rear end of the handsome car.

Gallagher was on the job promptly and hustled over to the driver of the flivver.

Phwat in hal does yez mane by smashing into this handsome car? Haven’t you got any eyes? he bellowed at the meek and humble driver. Are you crazy? I’ve a good mind to take you down to the headquarters, you blithering idiot. What’s your name? continued Gallagher, as he extracted a pencil and notebook from his pocket, what is the number of your car?

The answer back in typical Gaelic, me name is Clancy.

Clancy, replied Gallagher. Clancy, what part of Ireland are you from, what county—

I am from County Mayo.

County Mayo, continued the traffic officer, County Mayo, say Clancy, stay here just a minute till I go head to that big car and see why in the devil he backed into you.

* * * * *

The following anecdote is illustrative of eviction days in Ireland. Pat had served part of his time as a bricklayer in the old country. On arrival in America, he was watching some bricklayers at work when the foreman observed him:

Can they do it as quick as that in Ireland, Pat?

They can indeed, and twice as quick, answered Pat.

Do you know, said the foreman, that we start a house here in the morning and it’s finished and a tenant in it before evening.

That’s all you can do, is it? Well, said Pat, in Ireland we start a house in the morning and the landlord is evicting the tenant for back rent before evening.

* * * * *

Strange as it may seem, there is a public man in this city who is blessed or cursed with a tender conscience that worries him in small matters as well as in great. Among the things that he cannot justify to himself is the bidding a servant to say he is not at home when, in reality, he is inside his house. At the same time he is not able to receive the many visitors who call upon him, and his only recourse was to give instructions that polite excuses should be given to a maid, an Irish girl, gifted with the readiness and good-will of her nation.

Then I’m to be saying, sir, that you’re not at home? the maid inquired.

No, Mary, no! was the reply; that would not be true. If anyone should ask for me, you must just put him off—give him some evasive answer, you know.

I’ll do it, sir, never fear, was the maid’s reply. Mary was as good as her word.

That afternoon a person of importance made his appearance, and was duly sent away. The faithful maid reported the circumstance to her employer.

What did you do, Mary? inquired the latter with some trepidation.

Oh, I just put him off, sir, as you told me. I gave him an evasive answer.

Yes, but what did you say to him?

Oh, sure, he axed me if the boss was at home, and I said to him, was his grandmother a monkey?

* * * * *

There were some deficiencies in the early education of Mrs. Donahoe, but she never mentioned them or admitted their existence.

Will you sign your name here? said the young lawyer whom Mrs. Donahoe had asked to draw up a deed transferring a parcel of land to her daughter.

You sign it yoursilf an I’ll make me mark, said the old woman, quickly. Since me eyes gave out I’m not able to write a wurrd, young man.

How do you spell it? he asked, pen poised above the proper space.

Spell it what iver way you plaze, said Mrs. Donahoe, recklessly. Since I lost me teeth there’s not a wurrd in the wurrld I can spell.

* * * * *

A story is going the rounds in the court house of an Irishman who recently went before Judge Stephens to be naturalized.

Have you read the Declaration of Independence? the Court asked.

I hov not, said Pat.

Have you read the Constitution of the United States?

I hov not, your honer.

Judge Stephens looked sternly at the applicant and asked:

Well, what have you read?

Patrick hesitated but the fraction of a second before replying:

I hov red hairs on me neck, yer honor.

_Shadowgraphs_

I notice she bowed to you. Is she an old acquaintance?

Y-yes; we’re slightly acquainted. In fact, she’s a sort of distant relation. She was the first wife of my second wife’s first husband.

* * * * *

Do you want the court to understand, he said, that you refuse to renew your dog license?

Yessah, but—

We want no buts. You must renew the license or be fined. You know that it expired January 1, don’t you?

Yessah; so did de dog, sah.

* * * * *

That’s a nice-looking dog, remarked the kindly old gentleman, who takes an interest in everything.

Yes, suh. He looks all right, replied the colored man who was leading him with a piece of rope.

He looks like a pointer.

Yes, suh. Dat’s what he look like. But dat ain’ what he is. He’s a disappointer.

* * * * *

A colored parson, calling upon one of his flock, found the object of his visit out in the back yard working among his hen-coops. He noticed with surprise that there were no chickens.

Why, Brudder Brown, he asked, whar’re all yo’ chickens?

Huh, grunted Brother Brown, without looking up, some fool nigger lef de do’ open and dey all went home.

* * * * *

Rev. Mr. Heavyweight (who has just read Peter’s denial of Christ)—What are you so thoughtful about, Uncle ’Rastus?

Uncle ’Rastus—I was thinking’, massa parsin, dat if de Apostle Peter had only been a cullud gemman, dat rooster wouldn’t have crowed more’n once.

* * * * *

I want to be procrastinated at de nex’ corner, said Mr. Erastus Pinkly.

You want to be what? demanded the conductor.

Don’t lose your temper. I had to look in de dictionary myself befo’ I found out dat procrastinate means put off.

* * * * *

A southern planter was asking one of his colored servants about her wedding. Yes, suh, she said, it was jes the finest weddin’ you ever see—six bridesmaids, flowers everywhere, hundreds ev guests, music, an’ er heap er praying.

Indeed, commented her master. And I suppose Sambo looked as handsome as any of them?

An embarrassed pause. Well no—not exactly, suh. Would you believe it, dat fool nigger neber showed up.

* * * * *

Aunt Mary Wells is one of the few befo-de-wah darkies left in a little Kentucky town. Recently she was discussing with her employer the merry-go-round that was running up on the corner.

Nawsuh, Mr. Malcolm, she said, nawsuh, I don’ ride on none o’ dem things. Why, Mr. Malcolm, I’ve seen some o’ these here fool niggers git on that thing and ride as much as a dollar’s worth, and git off at the very same place they gits on at; an’ I sez to em, Now you spent yo’ money, nigger, whah yo’ been?

* * * * *

Mandy was a good-looking young colored girl and had many admirers. Her mistress often lectured her on behaving with propriety. One evening the mistress, going into the kitchen, was surprised to find a strange darky with his arm around Mandy’s waist.

Why, Mandy, said the mistress indignantly, tell that man to take his arm from around your waist.

Tell him yo’self, said Mandy haughtily. He’s a puffect stranger to me.

* * * * *

A negro was discovered carrying a large armful of books, which brought forth the inquiry—

Going to school?

Yes, sah, boss.

Do you study all those books?

No, sah; dey’s mu brudder’s. I’se ignorant kinder nigger side him, boss. Yer jest oughter see dat nigger figgerin’. He done gone ciphered clean through addition, partition, subtraction, distraction, abomination, creation, justification, amputation and adoption.

* * * * *

Uncle Ephraim had put on a clean collar and his best coat, says the Chicago Tribune, and was walking majestically up and down the street.

Aren’t you working to-day, uncle? asked one of his acquaintances.

No, suh. I’s celebratin’ my golden weddin’, suh.

You were married fifty years ago to-day?

Yes, suh.

Well, why isn’t your wife helping you celebrate?

My present wife, suh, replied Uncle Ephraim, with dignity, ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. She’s de fourth, suh.

* * * * *

Sambo—You know, Rastus, dat every time ah kiss mah wife she closes her eyes an’ holler.

Rastus—Ah say she do!

Sambo—What’s dat, nigger?

Rastus—Ah say, do she?

* * * * *

Lord Babbington was instructing the new colored servant in his duties, adding—Now, Zeke, when I ring for you, you must answer me by saying—My lord, what will you have?

A few hours afterward, having occasion to summon the servant, his lordship was astonished with the following—

My Gawd, whut does you want now?

* * * * *

A negro had made several ineffectual efforts to propose to the object of his affections, but on each occasion his courage failed him at the last moment. After thinking the matter over he finally decided to telephone, which he did. Is that you, Samantha? he inquired upon being given the proper number. Yes, it’s me, returned the lady. Will you marry me, Samantha, and marry me quick? Yes, I will, was the reply, who’s speaking?

* * * * *

They installed a new furnace, or some sort of a heating apparatus, at the Brazilian Embassy in Washington this winter.

The Charge went down to look it over. He picked up the shaker. It was large and heavy.

Here, James, he said to the negro butler, you call up that furnace man and tell him this shaker is too heavy. Why, none but a modern Ajax could use it.

Yassir, said the butler, and went to the telephone. Heah, yo’ furnace man, he said, this yere shaker yo’ done put in the Brazilian Embassy is too heavy. Why, nobody short of a modern jackass could use it.

* * * * *

Two darkies engaged in a horse trade. After the sale was made one darky had the other darky’s horse, for which he parted with $30.00. A few days later the buyer of the horse came across the other darky and complained bitterly of being robbed. Why, Rastus, that horse ain’t no good at all. He can’t see. He’s blind.

What makes you think he’s blind, Sam?

Why, the other day I turned him out in the field and he run into the fence, then he stumbled over a great big rock and then he run plumb into a tree.

Aw, go long, nigger, that horse ain’t blind. He just don’t give a damn.

* * * * *

One morning, while visiting in Richmond, a New York lady overheard the following conversation between the hostess and the cook—

Please, Mis’ Gawdon, may I git off nex’ Sunday to go to the fun’ral of a friend of mine?

Next Sunday? Why, Eliza, this is only Monday! They wouldn’t put a funeral off for a week.

Yas’m, respectfully; but dey has to, ’cause he ain’t dead yit.

Not dead! I am positively ashamed of you. How can you be so heartless as to arrange to attend the funeral of a man who is still living? Why, he may not die at all.

Yas’m, but he will; dey ain’t no hope.

It is impossible to say that, Eliza; the best doctors are often mistaken. But even if they do know a case to be hopeless, they cannot predict the exact time of a man’s death with such a certainty that the funeral can be arranged so long beforehand.

Yas’m, with calm assurance; but he will be buried nex’ Sunday, for all dat, ’cause he’s gwin’ to be hung on Friday.

* * * * *

When General John Corson Smith was lieutenant governor of Illinois, one of the colored janitors of the state house at Springfield came into his office one morning and related the following incident, which he said occurred the previous evening in the negro lodge of which he was a member—

The ballot box had been passed and the worshipful master asked—How is the ballot in the south, Brother Junior Warden? Clar in the south, worshipful. How is the ballot in the west, Brother Senior Warden? Clar in the west, worshipful. The W. M. then inspected the box and said—And clar in the east. I therefore declar Mr. Josephus Johnson duly elected to take the degrees in this lodge. Up jumped a big coon, as black as the ace of spades, and cried, That’s a ’fernal lie,’ worshipful master. I put in four black balls myself.

* * * * *

A negro boy walked into a drug store and asked permission to use the telephone. Then the following conversation took place—

Is that you, Mistah Jones?

Yes, apparently was the reply.

Well, Mistah Jones, I saw your ad in de paper the other day and yo’ wanted a cullud boy. Did yo’ get one?

Yes, seemed to be the answer again.

Well, Mistah Jones, is he givin’ perfect satisfaction?

The reply appeared still to be affirmative.

Well, Mistah Jones, providen dis cullud boy don’t give perfect satisfaction, you call me at 54.

The boy turned and started out, and the druggist, who had overheard, remarked—You didn’t do any good, did you?

Yes, sah, came the reply. I’s dat cullud boy what’s workin’ down there. I’se jest checkin’ up to see how I stand.

* * * * *

Edward M. Flesh, of the United States Food Commission, was talking in St. Louis about snobbishness.

Snobbishness penetrates everywhere, he said. It even penetrates our churches.

I know of an old darky who got religion last month and decided to join the church. He selected, of course, the richest and handsomest church in town, the church with the finest music and the best preaching. Then he called on the pastor and stated his design.

But the pastor hemmed and hawed. He felt that his fashionable flock wouldn’t welcome such an addition as the old darky. He didn’t want to hurt the old fellow’s feelings, however, and finally he said—

Go home, Uncle Rooster. Go home and pray over it. This is an important matter, and it should be made a subject of prayer.

Old Uncle Rooster went home, and in a few days he was back again.

Well? said the divine. Well, what’s the verdict now?

Ah prayed an’ Ah prayed, said Uncle Rooster, an’ de good Lawd He say to me, Rooster, mah son, Ah wouldn’t bothah mah haid about dat mattah no mo.’ Ah’ve been a-tryin’ to git into dat chu’ch mahself fo’ de last twenty-nine yeahs an’ Ah ain’t had no luck, nuther.

* * * * *

At the end of the first six months of his pastorate in Kentucky the Rev. Silas Johns had learned the ways of his flock so thoroughly that he knew exactly how to deal with them. One Sunday the collection was deplorably small. The next week he made a short and telling speech at the close of his sermon. I don’t want any man to gib more dan his share, bredren, he said, gently, bending toward the congregation, but we must all gib according as we are favored and according to what we rightly hab. I say rightly hab, bredren, he went on, after a short pause, because we don’t want any tainted money in de box. Squire Blinks told me dat he’d missed some chickens dis week. Now, if any one ob my pore benighted bredren has fallen by de way in connection wid does chickens, let him stay his hand from de box when it comes to him. Brudder Mose, will you pass de box while I watch de signs and see if dere’s one in de congregation dat needs me to wrestle in prayer for him?

* * * * *

An excellent story is told by Kate Douglas Wiggin, the popular writer. A negro servant, wishing to get married, asked his master to buy him a license in the neighboring town. The master, being in haste, did not ask the name of the happy woman, but as he drove along he reflected on the many tender attentions that he had seen John lavish upon Euphemia Wilson, the cook, and, concluding that there could be no mistake, had the license made out in her name.

There’s your license to marry Euphemia, he said to the servant that night. You’re as good as married already, and you owe me only two dollars.

The darky’s face fell.

But, Mas’ Tom, Euphemia Wilson ain’t de lady I’se gwine to marry. Dat wan’t nothin’ mo’n a little flirtation. Georgiana Thompson, the la’ndress, is the one I’se gwine to marry.

Oh, well, John, said the master, amused and irritated at the same time, there’s no great harm done. I’ll get you another license to-morrow, but it will cost you two dollars more, of course.

The next morning the darky came out to the carriage as it was starting for town, and leaning confidentially over the wheel, said—Mas’ Tom, you needn’t git me no udder license; I’ll use the one I’se got. I’se been t’inkin’ it over in de night, an’ to tell you de troof, Mas’ Tom, de conclusion o’ my jedgment is dat dar ain’t two dollars’ worth o’ diff’rence between dem two ladies.

* * * * *

Until recently there was a partnership existing between two darky blacksmiths in an Alabama town. The dissolution of this association was made known by a notice nailed upon the door of the smithy, which notice ran as follows—

The kopardnershipp heretofor resisting between me and Mose Jenkins is heerby resolved. All perrsons owing the firm will settel with me, and all perrsons that the firm owes to will settel with Mose.

_Alliterations_

I wonder if you know that Betty Botter baked a bit of batter, but her batter was so bitter that to make her bitter batter better Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter, and with this bit of better butter Betty Botter made her bitter batter better.

* * * * *

In reply to the question, How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck would chuck wood? I would say, if a woodchuck would chuck all the wood that a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood, a woodchuck would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.

* * * * *

When the tramp begged for somthun to do for a bite o’ bread, the lady of the house said—Did you happen to notice that pile of wood in the yard?

Yes’m, I seen it.

You should mind your grammar. You mean you saw it.

No’m. You saw me see it, but you ain’t seen me saw it.

* * * * *

An old farmer of Arkansas, whose sons had all grown up and left him, hired a young man by the name of Esau Buck to help him on his farm. On the evening of the first day they hauled up a small load of poles for wood, and unloaded them. The next morning the old man said to the hired man—

Esau, I’m going to town today, and while I am gone you may saw wood and keep the old ram out of the garden.

When the old man had gone, Esau went out to saw the wood, but when he saw the saw he wouldn’t saw. When Esau saw the saw he couldn’t saw with that saw. Esau looked around for another saw, but that was the only saw he saw, so he didn’t saw. When the old man came home he said to Esau—

Esau, did you saw the wood?

Esau said—I saw the wood, but I wouldn’t saw it.

The old man went out to see the saw, and when he saw the saw he saw that Esau couldn’t saw with that saw. When Esau saw that the old man saw that he couldn’t saw with the saw, Esau picked up the ax and chopped up the wood and made a seesaw.

The next day the old man went to town and bought a new buck-saw for Esau Buck, and when he came home he hung the buck-saw for Esau Buck on the saw-buck by the seesaw.

Just at that time Esau Buck saw the old buck in the garden eating cabbage, and when driving him from the garden to the barn-yard Esau Buck saw the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw.

When the old buck saw Esau Buck looking at the new buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw, he made a dive for Esau, hit the seesaw, knocked the seesaw against Esau Buck, who fell on the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw.

When the old man saw the old buck dive at Esau Buck, and miss Esau and hit the seesaw and knock the seesaw against Esau, and Esau Buck fall on the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw, he picked up an ax to kill the old buck. But the buck saw him coming and dodged the blow and countered on the old man’s stomach, knocked the old man over the seesaw onto Esau Buck, who was getting the seesaw, crippled Esau Buck, broke the buck-saw and the saw-buck and the seesaw.

* * * * *

A Yale student is reported to be responsible for the following alliteration—

Bill had a billboard. Bill also had a board bill. The board bill bored Bill so that Bill sold the bill board to pay the board bill. So after Bill sold the bill board to pay his board bill the board bill no longer bored Bill.

It is said that with little practice on either exercise a salesman will so loosen his tongue and grease his vocal organs that he can sell Russian bonds to a Japanese.

_Poet’s Corner_

IN KENTUCKY.

The moonlight falls the softest,
In Kentucky;
The summer days come oftest,
In Kentucky;
Friendship is the strongest,
Love’s light glows the longest,
Yet, wrong is always wrongest,
In Kentucky.

Life’s burdens bear the lightest,
In Kentucky;
The home fires burn the brightest,
In Kentucky;
While players are the keenest,
Cards come out the meanest,
The pocket empties cleanest,
In Kentucky.

The sun shines ever brightest,
In Kentucky;
The breezes whisper lightest,
In Kentucky;
Plain girls are the fewest,
Their little hearts are truest,
Maiden’s eyes the bluest,
In Kentucky.

Orators are the grandest,
In Kentucky;
Officials are the blandest,
In Kentucky;
Boys are all the fliest,
Danger ever nighest,
Taxes are the highest,
In Kentucky.

The bluegrass waves the bluest,
In Kentucky;
Yet, bluebloods are the fewest (?),
In Kentucky;
Moonshine is the clearest,
By no means the dearest,
And, yet, it acts the queerest,
In Kentucky.

The dove-notes are the saddest,
In Kentucky;
The streams dance on the gladdest,
In Kentucky;
Hip pockets are the thickest,
Pistol hands the slickest,
The cylinder turns quickest,
In Kentucky.

The song birds are the sweetest,
In Kentucky;
The thoroughbreds are fleetest,
In Kentucky;
Mountains tower proudest,
Thunder peals the loudest,
The landscape is the grandest,
And politics—the damnedest,
In Kentucky.

—_By James H. Mulligan._

* * * * *

A TIME IN THE KITCHEN.

The fork said the corkscrew was crooked;
The remark made the flatiron sad;
The steel knife at once lost its temper,
And called the tea-holder a cad.
The teaspoon stood on its metal;
The kettle exhibited bile;
The stove grew hot at the discussion,
But the ice remained cool all the while.

The way that the cabbage and lettuce
Kept their heads was something sublime;
The greens dared the soup to mix with them,
And the latter, while it hadn’t much thyme,
Got so mad it boiled over—the fire
Felt put out and started to cry;
The oven then roasted the turkey
And the cook gave the grease spot the lye.

The plate said the clock in the corner
Transacted its business on tick.
And the plate, which for years had been battered,
The clock said was full of old nick.
The salt said the cream should be whipped,
The cinnamon laughed—in a rage
The cream said the salt was too fresh,
And its friend wasn’t thought to be sage.

You’d not think a thing that’s so holey
As the sieve would have mixed in the fuss,
But it did, for it said that the butter
Was a slippery sort of a cuss;
No one knows how the row would have ended,
Had not the cook, Maggie O’Dowd,
(Her work being done) closed the kitchen,
And thusly shut up the whole crowd.

* * * * *

JUST NONSENSE.

It was midnight on the ocean
Not a street car was in sight
The sun was shining brightly
And it rained all day that night.

It was a summer day in winter
The rain was snowing fast
A barefoot girl with shoes on
Stood sitting on the grass.

It was evening and the rising sun
Was setting in the west
The little fishes in the trees
Were cuddled in their nests.

The rain was pouring down
The moon was shining bright
And everything that you could see
Was hidden from your sight.

While the organ peeled potatoes
Lard was rendered by the choir
While the sexton rang the dish rag
Some one set the church on fire.

“Holy Smokes” the preacher shouted
In the rain he lost his hair
Now his head resembles heaven
For there is no parting there.

* * * * *

This is the story of Johnny McGuire,
Who ran through the town with his trousers on fire;
He went to the doctor’s and fainted with fright
When the doctor told him his end was in sight.

* * * * *

8 2 MUCH.

I often sit and medit8
Upon the scurvy trick of f8
That keeps me still a celib8.
I want a 10der maid sed8
To love and be my m8.
My 40-2de is not so gr8
I cannot w8.

* * * * *

ANTHEM FOR A HAS-BEEN.

My Auto ’tis of Thee
Short cut to poverty
Of Thee I chant.
I blew a pile of dough
On you three years ago
Now you refuse to go
Or won’t or can’t.

Through town and country side
I drove thee full of pride
No charm you lacked.
I loved your gaudy hue
Your tires so round and new
Now I feel mighty blue
The way you act.

To thee old rattle box
Came many bumps and knocks
For thee I grieve.
Badly thy top is torn
Frayed are thy seats and worn
The croup affects thy horn
I do believe.

Thy perfume swells the breeze
While good folks choke and sneeze
As we pass by.
I paid for thee a price
Would buy a mansion twice
Now every one yells “Ice”
I wonder why.

Thy motor has the grip
Thy spark plug has the pip
And woe is thine.
I too have suffered chills
Fatigue and kindred ills
Trying to pay the bills
Since thou wert mine.

Gone is my bank roll now
No more ’twould choke a cow
As once before.
Yet if I had the yen
So help me John “Amen”
I’d buy a car again
And speed some more.

* * * * *

The lightning bug is brilliant,
But he hasn’t any mind;
It wanders through creation
With its headlight on behind.

* * * * *

Tobacco is a dirty weed—
I like it.
It satisfies no moral need—
I like it.
It makes you fat, it makes you lean,
It takes the hair right off your bean,
It’s the worst darn stuff I’ve ever seen—
I like it.

* * * * *

Little Willie in the best of pink sashes,
Fell in the fire and got burned to ashes.
Bye and bye the room grew chilly,
But nobody wanted to poke up Willie.

* * * * *

Here lies the body of Mary Ann Lowder.
She burst while drinking a seidlitz powder,
Called from this world, to her heavenly rest,
She should have waited till it effervesced.

* * * * *

IF I SHOULD DIE TONIGHT.

If I should die to-night
And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel
Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel,
I say, if I should die to-night
And you should come to me and there and then
Just even hint about paying me that ten
I might arise the while
But I’d drop dead again.

Twice, thought I, the coin to send,
My one indebtedness to end.
But since I’ve learned a shock so great
A prompt remittance would create,
I do not like to pay you quite
For fear that you might die of fright—
So wait.

_Limericks_

Now what is a Limerick pray?
I beg of you poet to say.
Conversation like this
Is a Limerick, miss,
But it doesn’t occur every day.

* * * * *

Said a husband, You think I’m a St.
I will fool you a bit, for I at.
Now please take a look,
Watch me wink at the cook!
* * * * *
No, the black ’round his eye isn’t pt.

* * * * *

A young thing named Katherine Parr
Was crazy to be a screen star,
But she snubbed her director
When he tried to correct her,
So Kate didn’t get very far.

* * * * *

There once was an old man of Lyme
Who married three wives at a time;
When asked, Why a third?
He replied, One’s absurd!
And bigamy sir, is a crime!

* * * * *

There once was a person of Benin
Who wore clothes not fit to be seen in;
When told that he shouldn’t
He replied, Gumscrumrudent!
A word of inscrutable meanin’!

* * * * *

There was a gay damsel of Lynn,
Whose waist was so charmingly thin,
The dressmaker needed
A microscope—she did—
To fit this slim person of Lynn.

* * * * *

There was a young lady named Anna,
Who sang in the choir soprano.
The tenor said, There!
As she mounted the stair,
I’ve both seen and heard your Hose, Anna!

* * * * *