Chapter C: A. M

Too Late Even for Lecocq.

A gentleman here who was "burglarized" about two years ago, reported his loss to the detectives and offered naturally to assist them in every way. At first he called frequently to ascertain if any news of the thieves had been obtained, but being met always with a negative his visits became infrequent and finally ceased. He had forgotten the matter altogether until recently, when he was called upon by one of the detectives, who stated:

"We have got a clew."

"That is good. Is it a promising one?"

"Certainly. We have discovered the thief."

"Better still. You have him arrested?"

"We can't do that. It's too late."

"How is that?"

"He died last week, confessing to the robbery."

It's a grand thing to get a clew.

--_Denver News._

CHOLLY--I say, Fweddie, what makes J. Wilkes Brutus take such long stweps? Do all actahs walk that way?

FWEDDIE--Yes. They acquiah that twagic stwide while traveling. They take two ties at one step, ye know.

--_Chicago Liar._

MR. BOWSER AS A WHITEWASHER.

He Is Not a Howling Success at Inside Decorating.

There were several little things I wanted done about the house this fall, and so the other week I engaged a colored man to come and work for a couple of days. It so happened that he came one morning before Mr. Bowser had left the house, and was greeted with:

"Well, what's up now?"

"I'ze dun bin hired to work, sah."

"Who hired you?"

"De lady, sah."

"What to do?"

"Jobbin', sah."

"Well, the lady has changed her mind and doesn't want you."

After the man had gone, Mr. Bowser came into the house and asked:

"Did you hire a colored man?"

"Why, yes."

"What for?"

"I was going to have him whitewash the vegetable cellar, take down and clean the laundry stovepipe and do some other jobs."

"H'm! Mrs. Bowser, I don't believe in encouraging such people. He'd have done about one hour's work and charged you for a whole day. I don't believe he knows any more about whitewashing than I do about playing the harp."

"But he said he did."

"Certainly. Did you ever see a negro who wouldn't say anything to fit the occasion?"

"Well, but---"

"There is no 'but' about it. If there are any little jobs about the house I've got plenty of time to do them. In fact, I need just such exercise. Such work is a diversion to me, and the doctor recommends it."

"Do you mean to say you will do the whitewashing?"

"I do. I don't do it to save a dollar, but for my own benefit. I always like the smell of lime."

"I wish you wouldn't do it. You will get lime in your eyes, and you will blame me for it, and---"

"There you go! Blame you! What would I blame you about? If I get lime in my eyes it's my own fault. Mrs. Bowser, you are getting to be a good deal of a crank lately."

"Well, if you are determined on it, don't say that I asked you or encouraged you."

"That's a funny way to talk to me, Mrs. Bowser! Are you getting ready for the insane asylum? I think I run my own house yet. If I'm willing to peel off and do these odd jobs, I ought to be encouraged instead of insulted."

I was quite sure how it would end, but I said nothing more, and in the course of half an hour he got into his old clothes and went down cellar. I followed him down to give him a few last words of advice, but he didn't need them.

"You go right upstairs and sit down and enjoy yourself," he said. "Here's the brush and here's a pail of lime, and if I don't white-wash more cellar in ten minutes than Moses could in all day, I'll never try it again. Besides, Mrs. Bowser, whitewashing is not the slouch work you imagine it to be. It has got to be done by a person of taste and intelligence or it won't stand. I want a little blueing to give it a tinge."

"You understand," I said, as I got what he wanted, "that I did not ask you to do this work."

"Ask me! What on earth ails you, Mrs. Bowser? You are making fuss enough over ten minutes' work to warrant a year's job."

"It must be well done."

"Certainly."

"Two coats all around."

"Just so."

"Even if it takes you all day?"

"Even if it takes me over half an hour, which it won't. I'll show you a job here that will make a black man turn green with envy. Just run upstairs and make yourself comfortable."

I retreated up the stairs to the kitchen door and waited for results, which I knew were sure to come. Mr. Bowser dipped and dished and sozzled and stirred until he had the liquid to his liking, and as he began on the stone wall I heard him chuckling:

"I said fifteen minutes, but I'll go slow and take twenty. The idea of a colored man sloshing around here all day to do this work. Let's see. I believe I'll take the overhead first."

I held my breath in suspense for a long minute. Then a yell arose from that cellar which jumped the cook out of her old slippers and made her cry out:

"For heaven's sake, Mrs. Bowser, have we been struck by another cyclone?"

There was a second and a third yell, and as I hurried downstairs Mr. Bowser stood in the middle of the cellar, hands out-stretched and jumping up and down as if he had fire under his feet.

"For heaven's sake, what is it, Mr. Bowser?" I asked.

"Whitewash--lime--fire!"

"Where?"

"In my eyes! I'm blind! I've burned them out!"

I got hold of him and led him out to the laundry tubs and set the water to running. He had indeed got a dose in his eyes, but it was more painful than dangerous. He could hardly see daylight after we had washed out all the lime, and as I led him upstairs he said:

"I shall never see again!"

I washed his eyes with milk and got him to lie down on the lounge, and in a couple of hours he was pretty near all right. His eyes were sore, but no great damage had been done. He was very gentle until he discovered this. Then he suddenly turned on me with:

"Mrs. Bowser, what possible excuse can you urge in extenuation of your conduct?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? That's a cool question to ask me! In view of what has transpired what have you to say?"

"I say that you were foolish to undertake the job. I warned you how it would turn out."

"Mrs. Bowser!" he shouted, squirting tears of lime water out of his eyes, "do you pretend to deny that you didn't encourage me to undertake a task which you knew would put my whole future happiness, if not my life, in peril?"

"I do, sir. I did all I possibly could to dissuade you."

"And you are not to blame?"

"Not in the least."

"Mrs. Bowser, this is too much--too much! I could forgive one who had wronged me, if penitent, but when they attempt to brazen it out it is time for action. We will settle on the amount of alimony right here and now."

But we didn't. After blinking around for half a day he went down town, and when he came home to supper he was as good-natured as pie. I got a colored man to come and do the work, and two or three days later, when Mr. Bowser happened down cellar, I heard him saying to himself:

"Yes, it's a mighty slick job I did on this, and I'll tackle that stovepipe to-morrow morning."

--_Detroit Free Press._

MR. DE TEEZE (returning late from the smoking room, and seeing for the first time the hose stretched)--Wha-wha-whash _thish_ mean? Awful bad, thish time! Oh, I shee. I unishtan. 'Sh all ri. No worsh'n ush'l. Shnakes on shore, shea sherp'ns on ships. Or ri'. Qui' proper too.

--_Ocean._

New York can't decide upon a site for the world's fair. An excellent place to hold the fair, after the old folks have retired, is on your lap. P. S.--So we've been told.

--_Norristown Herald._

The Latest About Kissing.

Men have often remarked on the fertility of woman's mind. Physiologists declare she never reasons, but as an instinctive creature she often reaches a correct conclusion much quicker than a man. If they lack the intricate process of ratiocination they have the happy faculty of walking straight through mental difficulties like a somnambulist in sleep.

The fellows who discuss "Is Marriage a Failure?" or "Why I am a Bachelor," have wondered lately how women reach their cute noses with a handkerchief since the advent of the new fangled veil. It covers the greater part of the face, and is as ornamental possibly as protective.

Two women veiled alike met yesterday. It was evident that they hadn't seen each other for some time, and they rushed together in a long embrace. The inevitable kiss came next. Both essayed the attempt, but the veils rendered this impossible. Quick as a flash one of the ladies turned the side of her face to her companion and the latter smacked a spot on her cheek somewhere below the ear. This was satisfactory and then followed the usual storm of quick womanly ejaculations.

"Is kissing on the lips no longer fashionable?" queried a reporter of a lady he met after this event.

"No, not since the introduction of the new veil," she answered sweetly. "You see the lips are completely covered, and it has become the fashion to press the lips against the cheek. This thing of kissing is a nuisance anyhow, and I wish the ladies would all stop it."

--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._

Conclusive.

Careful Papa--But which loves Clara most--Brown, Jones or Smith?

Observant Mamma--Why, Mr. Smith, to be sure.

Papa--How can you make that out? Last night Brown asked and plead with her to sing; when she finished, Jones was enthusiastic in praise; but Smith didn't say a word!

Mamma--No, but to-night he asked her to sing again----

Papa--Poor Smith, he must, indeed, love her!

--_Light._

THE HONEYMOON.

HE--O, my darling, you are so much better than I am, and I am so unworthy of you!

SHE--Love, I don't see what you can find about me to love!

SHE--I don't see why I ever married such a brute. I am going straight home to mother.

HE--Brute, eh? I want you to understand, young woman, that I only married you out of pity.

--_Lawrence American._

The Sly Way in Which Prohibition Works.

A week or two ago a well-known dealer in live stock of this city went over to Washington County to make a deal with a big stock raiser, who is also prominent as a strict Prohibitionist. The cattle having been inspected and the price agreed upon, the Washington County man retired to the house to make out a receipt and so on, leaving the Pittsburgher in his son's hands. As soon as the old man had disappeared indoors his son, a bright lad, nearing his majority, said to the Pittsburgher:

"This is rather dry work talking all day, ain't it?"

The Pittsburgher vehemently assented.

"Well," continued the young man, "I've a bottle out in the haymow, and we might as well get a taste of the stuff while dad's not by."

The Pittsburgher said "yes" again, and the two repaired to the haymow and looked upon the contents of the black bottle. Then the young Washingtonian hid the bottle in the haymow, saying as he did so: "Don't tell the old man anything about this--he's awful down on drinking."

Of course the Pittsburgher vowed silence as he smacked his lips and left the barn. Two minutes later he was in the house paying over the money to the old stock raiser. After the business in hand had been dispatched and the bargain had been closed the Pittsburgher was about to take his leave, when the old man said, rather awkwardly: "Say, are you feelin' dry? I've a jug down in the cellar, and the liquor's fine."

It is hardly necessary to say they were soon in the cellar. As the old Prohibitionist drained his glass he said to his guest: "Don't say nothing 'bout this to them boys o' mine--they don't know about the jug!"

--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._

His Last Resort.

Mrs. Smalltalk (two minutes later)--Well, doctor, why in the world don't you look at my tongue, if you want to, instead of writing away like a newspaper editor? How long do you expect I am going to sit here with my mouth wide open?

Physician--Just one moment more, please, madame; I only wanted you to keep still long enough so that I could write this prescription.

--_Somerville Journal._

How She Told the Latest Joke.

Mrs. Jason came home the other evening with her face "wreathed in smiles," as the novelists have it.

"Well, what are you grinning at?" was the cordial greeting of her lord and master.

"I heard something funny down town," she answered.

"Well, what was it?"

"Oh, nothing much. I happened to meet little Johnny Figg, who used to keep the apple stand across the way, you know, and he's got a better one down town now. I asked him how he was getting along and he says to me, 'Oh, I'm still keeping a stand, you see.' I thought it was the cutest thing I had heard for a good while."

"Oh, you did, did you, Maria? If I ever see where the laugh comes in I'll try and smile, even if I have to get up in the middle of the night to do so," was his crushing reply, to which she deigned no answer.

About two o'clock in the morning Mr. Jason was awakened from a dream of being stabbed by a masked assassin, to find his wife energetically nudging him below the fifth rib.

"Oh, Jehiel, I had that wrong," she twittered, in a tone of one who has made a great discovery. "Johnny said his business was at a stand still. You see the point now, don't you?"

"Yes, I reckon so," said the old man in no gracious tones, "and if I feel the point of your infernal elbow jabbing me in the ribs any more to-night I'll go to sleep in the barn. Do you hear?"

"And he didn't laugh either as he promised to," was her reflection as she settled down to sleep again with the sweet consciousness of duty performed.

--_Terre Haute Express._

On General Principles.

Weather Bureau Chief (to assistant)--Well, what's the forecast for Pennsylvania?

First Assistant (looking perplexed)--Very confusing. There's a falling barometer in Lehigh, a rising one in Lancaster, easterly winds in Berks and----

Chief (pettishly)--Oh, well! make it "showery," then.

--_Philadelphia Inquirer._

His First Shave.

This is a momentous event in a boy's life, as it is to him the line of demarcation between boyhood and manhood.

The microscopic indications under his chin are becoming annoying to him, and he considers it a duty to society to have them removed without delay.

He has already made several surreptitious attempts with his father's razor, to the great detriment of both the razor and his face, and although he succeeded, in a measure, in removing the obnoxious down, yet it was with the unpleasant accompaniment of some of his chin. Therefore he determines to do the thing in a manly way, and resolves to submit to the barber's delicate manipulations without delay.

It takes him some time to muster up the requisite courage to enter the barber's shop, as he has certain misgivings that the barber might indulge in facetious and satirical remarks concerning his beard.

He passes the shop many times and looks in; but his heart sinks within him. There is always some drawback--either too many people inside or too few; in either case of which he thinks he will be noticed. Once he does enter; and one of the barbers venturing the inquiry, "Hair cut, sir?" involves him in delightful confusion, and to avoid further embarrassment, he submits to having his hair cut, and still remains unshaved.

At last, in sheer desperation, he makes a very firm resolve either to get shaved that day or never. With this heroic resolve, and twopence in his hand, he sallies forth to the barber's, and at a favorable moment walks in and tremblingly awaits his turn.

The sharp, short "Next!" sends the blood thrilling up his backbone, and he feebly climbs into the chair, and hurriedly says, "Shave me, please," and shuts his eyes.

The barber, with an eye to the twopence, says nothing, and proceeds to shave him, figuratively speaking. There is only one drawback to the boy's cup of happiness, and that is the entire absence of that peculiarly pleasant rasping sound which comes only from a long experience.

--_Liverpool Post._

The season has come again when a fine string of fish in the hand is worth two dollars out of pocket to the man who didn't catch the fish.

--_Albany Express._

Considering how little the bell knows it is wonderful how much it has tolled.

--_Merchant Traveler._

MR. RETIRED POLITICIAN (to Society Artist)--Now you are sure you can make a good likeness of me?

SOCIETY ARTIST--Oh, yes; you see yours is a very simple face--er, er, I mean to draw, you know.

A great deal of fault can be found with a defaulter.

--_Pittsburgh Chronicle._

Two Kinds of Accompaniment.

Policeman (to street musician)--Have you a permit to play on the streets?

Itinerant Musician--No.

Policeman (making him a prisoner)--Then accompany me.

Itinerant Musician--With the greatest pleasure. What do you wish to sing?

--_Fliegende Blätter._

A Sure Sign.

Husband--I guess Sarah and that young man that calls on her are engaged by this time.

Wife--Why do you think so?

Husband--The gas bills aren't as large as they used to be.

--_Yankee Blade._

A Fair Estimate.

"Have you ever tried, Lawrence, to estimate the height of my father's regard for you?"

"No, but it occurred to me last night that it was about a foot."

--_Glens Falls Republican._

Didn't Intend to Hit Him.

"Did you intend to hit this man when you shot at him?" asked the Judge.

"Did I ten' to hit 'im?"

"Yes."

"No, sah; if I had 'tended to hit 'im I would 'er tuck a club."

--_Merchant Traveler._

Eager for Absorption.

Citizen (to tramp)--Poor fellow! You look as if you had been in the soup.

Tramp (half famished)--For heaven's sake, tell me on which side to open my mouth.

--_Burlington Free Press._

There is nothing novel in the announcement that Mrs. Chamer has abandoned literature. Amelie's literature has always been more or less abandoned.

--_Omaha Bee._

LE SAWFT--Why, captain, what in the world is that flat boat for?

CAPTAIN--That is for use in landing dudes.

--_Ocean._

Claus Spreckels wants to build houses of sugar. If an apartment building of this material is erected we are willing to take a sweet of rooms.

--_Lawrence American._

MR. BOWSER IN THE COUNTRY.

He Enjoys Fresh Air and Mosquitoes to His Heart's Content--His Original Method of Milking Not Indorsed by the Cow.

"Well, what do you think!" exclaimed Mr. Bowser as he came hurrying home from the office the other afternoon.

"Have you gone and got some more hens or bought another horse?"

"Mrs. Bowser, the event of our life is about to happen."

"What is it?"

"You know Gregg? Well, Gregg owns a little farm out here about twelve miles. There's a good house on it, and he says we can occupy it for the summer. We will have a cow and a horse, pigs, poultry and other stock, and we'll go out there and tan up and get fat and have the best time in the world."

"I don't think much of the idea, Mr. Bowser."

"You don't. You don't want cool breezes--fresh eggs--fresh berries--rich milk--songs of birds--lowing of the kine and rest from care!"

"You will be disappointed if you expect any such thing."

"I will, eh? Perhaps I don't know what the country is. You are always ready to throw cold water on any of my plans. I shall go, anyhow."

That was the beginning, and at the end of three days I yielded, womanlike.

One Monday morning we took the train and started, having engaged a farmer's daughter to take charge of the kitchen, and at the nearest railroad station we were met by a farmer and his lumber wagon. The sun poured down its hottest, the dust had covered grass and bushes, and as we jogged and jolted along the farmer queried of Mr. Bowser:

"Come out for your health, I suppose?"

"We did. Ah! this country air has already refreshed me."

"Has, eh? Well, there's heaps of it, and I'm thinking you'll get all you want in about a week. I think a city chap is a blamed fool to come out here."

"Do you? Why, the doctors recommended it. That boy ought to gain a pound a day, and I am sure my wife will brace right up with these pastoral scenes before her eyes."

"The doctors and pastoral scenes be darned!" growled the farmer, as he turned to his horses, and those were the last words he uttered until he landed us at the gate.

It was a comfortable frame house, and I did not observe the surroundings until after dinner. The barn had partly fallen in, giving it a weird and lonely look; most of the fencing was down, a gust of wind had laid the smoke-house on its back, and nearly every tree and bush about the house was dead or dying.

"Is this one of the pastoral scenes you referred to?" I asked Mr. Bowser.

"There you go!" he snapped. "You can't expect things to look as nice out here as in Central Park. We come for the balmy breezes and the rest."

"You spoke of hunting hens' eggs in the meadow grass."

"So we will--come on."

He made a dash for a big patch of burdocks near the back door, got tangled up in the ruins of a barrel, and when he got up he had a cut on his chin and his nose was bleeding. He tried to make light of the affair, but it was hard work.

When I asked after the horse and vehicle in which we were to take our morning jaunts he walked down to the barnyard and pointed out a raw-boned old yellow horse, so weak that he could not brush the flies away, and a one-horse wagon, quaint enough to have taken its place in a museum.

"You'll have our photographs taken after we all get seated in that rig, won't you?" I asked.

"That's it; just as I expected. Mrs. Bowser, what did you come out here for?"

"Because you obliged me to."

"I did, eh! Not by a long shot! You came to restore your health and to give our child a chance for his life. It will be the making of him. No more doctor's bills for us."

In the afternoon Mr. Bowser swung his hammock in the orchard. This was something he had doted on for a week. He had scarcely dropped into it when three or four caterpillars dropped on to him, and he put in the rest of the afternoon on the hard boards of the veranda. The cow came sauntering up about 5 o'clock, covered with flies and mosquitoes, and the girl hinted to Mr. Bowser that he was expected to milk.

"Oh, certainly," he replied. "I wouldn't give a cent for farm life unless I could milk a cow or two. I used to sing a ballad while I was milking."

The girl and I watched him as he took the pail and stool and approached the cow. The cow also watched him. Folks generally sit down on the right-hand side of the cow to milk. Mr. Bowser took the other side.

"What are you trying to do?" I called to him from the gate.

"Mrs. Bowser, when I want to learn anything about a cow I'll ask you for the information. I think I know my business."

So did the cow. She had been fooled with long enough, and she suddenly planted a hoof against Mr. Bowser with such vigor that he tumbled over in a confused heap. Between us we got him into the house, and the girl finished the milking. Mr. Bowser recovered from the shock after a while, and I felt it my duty to inquire:

"Mr. Bowser, don't you think a week of these pastoral scenes will be enough for us?"

"No, nor six weeks!" he growled. "Nothing would do but you must go into the country, and now I'll give you enough of it."

"Why, Mr. Bowser?"

"You needn't why Mr. Bowser me! You gave me no peace until I agreed to come, and now I'll remain here five straight years."

When the summer sun went down and the stars came out we were not as happy as we might have been. Mr. Bowser still held his hand on his stomach, the baby cried because the milk tasted of wild onions, and the girl lost the old oaken bucket in the thirty-foot well while getting a pail of fresh water. I asked Mr. Bowser when the kine would begin to low and the whippoorwills to sing, and he was so mad he wouldn't speak. However, if the kine didn't low, the pinchbugs and mosquitoes did. There wasn't a screen at door or window, and soon after sundown we were besieged.

That night seemed never ending. No one of us three slept a wink. The room was invaded with every insect known to country life, from a bat to a gnat.

When we got up in the morning the girl didn't know us. We were blotched and bitten until one would have suspected us of suffering with smallpox. Mr. Bowser knew himself, however, and before noon we were back in the city. He scarcely spoke to me all the way home, but once in the house he burst out with:

"Now, old lady, prepare for a settlement! You've nosed me round all you ever will. This has broken the camel's back. Which of us applies for a divorce?"

--_Detroit Free Press._

JAMES--Hello, Gus, where have you been? Never see you at the old place.

GUS (swell about town)--No, de fact is, James, me boy, dey has got chicken for de free lunch dere.

The Hard Luck of Some People.

"Tell yo' w'at, Mars' Parson," remarked Uncle Cocklesole, as he sat on the sill of a second-story window and looked down on the mounted missionary and the receding waters, "tell yo' wat it ar', ef hard luck don't jus' play leap frawg wid some sinners an' lan' wid fo' feet on udders, den I'm squinch-eyed in mer judgmen'. Dere's Jim Rasselbait! What de flood do for him? Swup his leaben chillen off de carf an' tu'ned de stove ober in de cabin so dat hit b'un up an he git a hun'ered dollars inshu'ance, an' dar he am, jus' scused ob car and 'sponsibility, goin' eround town rich as Crusoe an' no one ter lay claim ter one single per centum ob de money. An' der's merse'f. Blame ef de waters didn't jus' do nuffin to mer cabin but ransack all de furnicher, an' after hustlin' mer wife and chillens off in a way ter make a feller 'spicion dey's gone fo' good, blame ef they didn't leggo ob 'em jus' roun' de ben', an yer dey is all back ergin an' me wid no inshuance, and no provenger in de house ter s'ply 'em wid. Talk erbout ekal rights! Hit's only fellers like Jim Rasselbait, w'at's bo'n wid a coil, dat gits 'em all."

--_Yonkers Gazette._

A Disastrous Clerical Error.

Government Clerk (to friend)--I'm in a frightful hole. I went to see two doctors yesterday and got a medical certificate from each. One was a certificate of health for a life insurance company, and the other was a certificate of illness to send to the chief with my petition for a week's leave of absence.

Friend--I've done that myself. What's the matter?

G. C.--Matter? Great Scott! I mixed the certificates in mailing them. The insurance company has my certificate of ill-health, and the chief has my certificate of good health.

--_Boston Beacon._

The Johnstown sufferer is the latest variety of tramp in Kansas. He bears a close resemblance to all the rest in the particular that he looks as if he had never seen water.

--_Kansas City Star._

A ballet-girl syndicate is the latest development of the Trust business. But in the nature of things it will not be much of a clothes corporation.

--_Richmond Dispatch._

His Complexion Was Against Him.

Hadji Hassein Ghooly Khan, envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary from Persia, was one of the favorites in Washington society while there. He was very fond of going out and calling on the ladies, and was always most hospitably received wherever he went. That is, almost always, for an experience he had one Sunday afternoon proved that he was not as cordially received at one house as had been his wont. Ghooly Khan started out with the purpose of making a round of calls. It is his custom to pay his respects to the ladies of the fashionable world on Sunday the same as on the week days. The day being an extremely pleasant one, his landau was not brought into use. He walked from his residence on M street, to Massachusetts avenue, in the neighborhood of Fourteenth street, where the subjects of his first call resided. Walking up the stone steps in an indolent fashion, he reached the door and rather timidly touched the electric bell. After lingering some moments the servant appeared, and before Ghooly Khan could utter a word she shouted out: "The ladies are all busy and cannot be bothered with you now."

"Well," said the minister, completely nonplussed, "there must be a mistake; take in my card."

"Oh! don't worry them now," answered the servant, not allowing him to finish his sentence. "They are all about going to dinner and don't care for any one to see them at this time--you'd better come again in the morning; and the side door is always the handiest place for such as yez to call."

The minister waited for no more. The rebuff he had received at the hands of the unruly servant completely paralyzed him. He concluded that he had a sufficient dose of American society.

The ladies of the house soon learned of the "horrible" manner in which their distinguished caller had been received, and they at once made heroic and happily successful efforts to have the affair settled on a basis satisfactory not only to themselves but to the distinguished envoy from Teheran.

--_New York Tribune._

"I want the library," said Mr. Gaswell to the architect, "to be the largest and airiest room in the house." "I don't see what you want with a library," interposed Mrs. Gaswell, "you know very well you don't smoke."

--_Boston Transcript._

The Difference.

The following anecdote, which we have received as authentic from the lips of a clergyman, sets forth in a very pleasant way the folly of reproaching preachers as hirelings, merely because they receive temporal support from their congregations.

At the meeting of a presbytery in an eastern state, it fell to the lot of one of the ministers to be quartered with a man belonging to a denomination which does not allow of salaried preachers. He was accosted by his host as follows:

"What is thy name, friend? I mean the name thy parents gave thee."

"John."

"Has thee any objections that I should call thee by that name?"

"Certainly not; my mother always calls me John."

"Well, John, I understand thee belongs to the class of hireling preachers."

"You are greatly mistaken, sir; I do not belong to that class."

"I mean thee is one of those preachers who receive pay for preaching."

"No, sir; I receive nothing for preaching to my people."

"How then," said the interrogator, evidently surprised and disconcerted, "does thee manage to live?"

"Why, I work for my people six days, and then I preach for them on Sundays for nothing."

--_Yankee Blade._

Sir Wilfred Lawson's Story.

Sir Wilfred Lawson told the following story the other evening: A student at college was sent for by the Don, who said--"Sir, I am told you have a barrel of beer in your room, which is contrary to all orders." And the young man said: "Well, sir, that is true; but the fact is the doctors told me that if I drank this beer I should get stronger." The Don said: "Are you stronger?" "Yes, sir, indeed I am," was the reply, "for when the barrel came in I could scarcely move it, and now I can roll it round the room."

--_Glasgow Weekly Mail._

Expected It.

"I'm in a pickle," remarked a young employe at the store.

"I've been expecting for some time that you'd get into a pickle," was the rather forbidding reply.

"Why, sir?"

"Because you are so confoundedly fresh."

--_Albany Argus._

ANCIENT MARINER--Holy smoke, where's that young feller gone to? Didn't 'pear quite natral like anyhow.

Truth in Absence.

"Charlotte, my dear, how is it I find you weeping? Have you bad news from your husband?"

"Oh! worse than that! Arthur writes me from Carlsbad that he would die with grief at being absent from me, were it not that he gazes at my picture and covers it with a thousand kisses every day."

"That is very nice of him; but surely you are not crying about that? Most woman would give anything to have such a poetic and devoted husband."

"Oh, yes, Arthur is very poetical; but you don't know. Just to try him, I put mother's photo into his traveling bag instead of my own, and the wretch has never found it out. Boo-hoo-hoo!"

--_Pick-Me Up._

Another Kind of Habit.

Old Grinder (to seedy applicant for job)--I hope that no bad habits have brought you to this poverty?

Borrowit--One, sir.

"Ah, I am glad you are frank about it. What was it?"

"This played-out old suit of mine. It has ruined my chances everywhere."

--_Texas Siftings._

Family Loyalty.

A Stevens avenue young lady was much pained and shocked as she walked down the street yesterday to see her young brother sitting astride the prostrate body of another boy and raining down blows upon his struggling victim.

"Johnny!" she almost screamed, "what are you doing? Come here this minute. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, fighting this way in the street?"

The boy reluctantly arose from his vanquished antagonist and faced his indignant sister. Then he explained:

"Well, I don't care. He said you wasn't good looking. I don't think you are either; but it ain't none o' his funeral. So I licked him."

--_Minneapolis Journal._

Not Related.

Magistrate--O'Rally, you are charged with assaulting and brutally beating Michael McDooly at the reunion of the O'Rally family yesterday. Have you anything to say?

O'Rally--Yes, yer Honor. The bloke's an imposthor, sorr, and hasn't wan dhrop of the O'Rally blood in his skin, begorra, an' he dhrank oop all av the beer.

Magistrate--How is this, McDooly? Are you a kinsman of the prisoner?

McDooly--Faix, an' sure it is that I am, yer Honor; his grandfather wor Pathrick O'Rally av Belfast, an'----

O'Rally--An' bedad, phwat do that prove, yer Worship?

McDooly--An' Pathrick O'Rally's dochter marrit me own----

O'Rally--He's lyin', yer Honor; he's lyin'. Me grandfather never had any cheeldren at all, at all, sorr.

--_Life._

One of Chauncey's Latest.

Chauncey M. Depew tells the following story of another of the many interesting characters he encountered last Fall while addressing his fellow citizens on the vital issues of the campaign. It doesn't sound so much like a true story as some that are extant, but it is getting pretty late in the day to doubt his word:

One night, after the meeting was over and while the hall was clearing, a weather-beaten man buttonholed me and said:

"I'm postmaster out here at Shingle Corners. Blaze away and elect your man if you want to."

"You don't care for the office, then?" I said.

"No, that ain't it," he replied. "It don't pay but $14 a year, or mebbe good years, when I boom 'er a little, $15, but it's powerful handy to have in the house. No, my idee is that we can keep it in the fam'ly anyhow."

"How's that?"

"The old woman, you see, she's a rip-snortin' Republican, powerful so, reg'lar uncompromisin'. If Cleveland gets it I stay; if Harrison slides in the old woman comes to the front for her reward. Nobody else wants it, so there we be."

"Well, you're all right then."

"You bet we are. If we get tired of it or too old for it, or anything ever, there's my boy, a red-hot Republican, and my oldest gal, Democrat from 'way back. Oh, we're hustlers in our fam'ly when it comes to politics."

"But suppose the Mugwumps should develop power some day and carry things?" I asked.

"Well," he replied, "we will soon be fixed for that, too. The baby is a Mugwump--I know it 'cause he howls all the time. If you see anybody lookin' for p'ints on keepin' a good thing in the family jess send him out to Shingle Corners."

--_Wasp._

But They Read of It.

Mr. Porker (of Chicago)--Talk about enthusiasm in your city over the fair! Why, I'll venture to say that there are some people in New York who haven't even heard of it.

Mr. Gotham--Well, if there are, they must be the inmates of the deaf and dumb asylum.

V.S.

Oklahoma Hotel Rules

1. If the bugs are troublesome you'll find the kloroform in a bottle on the shelf.

2. Gents goin' to bed with their boots on will be charged extra.

3. Three raps at the door means that there is a murder in the house, and you must get up.

4. Please rite your name on the wall paper so that we know you've been here.

5. The other leg of the chair is in the closet if you need it.

6. If that hole where that pane of glass is out is too much for you, you'll find a pair of pants behind the door to stuff in it.

7. The shooting of a pistol is no cause for any alarm.

8. If you're too cold, put the oilcloth over your bed.

9. Caroseen lamps extra; candles free, but they mustn't burn all night.

10. Don't tare off the wall paper to lite your pipe with. Nuff of that already.

11. Guests will not take out them bricks in the mattress.

12. If it rains through that hole overhead, you'll find an umbrella under the bed.

13. The rats won't hurt you if they do chase each other across your face.

14. Two men in one room must put up with one chair.

15. Please don't empty the sawdust out of the pillers.

16. Don't kick about the roches. We don't charge extra.

--_Spokane Globe._

Electricity Will Do Away With All This.

"I suppose this is my noose suit," laughed the condemned criminal when the jail warden brought him his clothes on the morning of the execution.

"Why," replied the warden, "you are as jolly as if you had been taking a drop."

"I'm going to take one by and by."

"Come, come," said the warden, seriously, "this is no time for joking."

"Why not?" asked the culprit, "ain't the whole thing going to end in a choke?"

--_Boston Courier._

A Bitter Reflection.

Oh why so sad, my lady fair?
What pales thy cheek and dims thy eye?
Thy drooping face is mark'd with care,
Thy heaving breast betrays a sigh.
What lacks thy lot to make it sweet?
What joy is there that is not thine?
What makes that heart in sorrow beat
And gives of happiness no sign?

"Ah, woe is me! I loved a youth,
Handsome in face, and brave and strong.
The paths of honor and of truth
Were his, for he could do no wrong.
Two years ago he sailed away
To seek his fortune o'er the seas,
And I've been yearning every day
That he'd return his love to please.

"But ah! I've waited long in vain
For my old sweetheart to return;
No message came across the main
From him for whom my soul did yearn.
Until to-day, when I am told
His ship is due to come in port;
He comes back worth a pile of gold,
At least, so says the last report."

Then why repine, sweet maid? You should
Be overjoyed to hear the news;
You soon will wed a husband good,
How can you, then, this grief excuse?
The lady answer'd. "Would you know
Why tear drops from my eyes now fall?
To tell the true cause of my woe,
I--married--some--one--else--last--Fall."

JOHN S. GREY.

The buckwheat crop this year takes the cake over all former seasons. It wins by a mere scratch, however.--_Philadelphia Press._ Some door jambs look as though there had been a good deal of scratching in former years.