Greed glades add forest shades, farewell to you;
With sorrowing heart I, wretched add forlord,
Bid you--achew!!!
A PANTOMIME SPEECH
ANONYMOUS
Have you ever realized what a funny thing it is to see a lot of people
talking and gesticulating and not hear a single sound from them? The
next time you are in a crowded dining-room, close your ears with your
hands, and you will be quickly converted to the Darwinian theory.
This was forcibly imprest upon my mind at a political gathering. The
hall was very large, but was crowded to the doors, so that when I
reached there I was obliged to stand outside and on my toes to see the
speakers. Please remember that altho I could in this way distinctly see
the speakers, I was too far away to hear the slightest sound. It was
simply a pantomime performance to me, and I shall try to give you a
faithful representation of just what I saw.
Simply say: "The Chairman." The rest is pantomime. Seat yourself as an
old man, put your right hand behind your ear as if listening to a side
remark. Repeat to the left. Evidently someone has told you it is time to
begin. Take out your watch and compare it with the clock on the wall
behind you. Bring out an imaginary pair of spectacles, clean them with
your handkerchief, and as you put them on your nose draw down your face
as old men do. Get up with seeming difficulty. The business here is _ad
lib_. Point to the speaker of the evening, who is supposed to be sitting
at your right. By silent movements of the lips seem to introduce him to
the audience. Then suddenly remember that you have something else to say
just as you are about to sit down. Repeat this two or three times. Then
sit down at last with much difficulty.
Then say aloud: "The Speaker." Impersonate him as assuming a
grandiloquent air. While he speaks in pantomime he rises on his toes and
makes numerous gestures. He pounds fist on table. Someone evidently
interrupts him from the audience. He looks in that direction and then
replies. He seems to say to the man to come up on the platform or else
get out of the hall. He talks for some time as if in argument, then
dodges as if something has been thrown at him. Two or three times he has
to dodge in this way and then something seems to have struck him in the
face. He takes out his handkerchief and wipes off face and coat. Then
things are thrown at him from right and left, while he continues to
dodge. At last they come so thick that he rushes off the platform in
great alarm.
THE ORIGINAL LAMB
ANONYMOUS
Oh, Mary had a little lamb, regarding whose cuticular
The fluff exterior was white and kinked in each particular.
On each occasion when the lass was seen perambulating,
The little quadruped likewise was there a gallivating.
One day it did accompany her to the knowledge dispensary,
Which to every rule and precedent was recklessly contrary.
Immediately whereupon the pedagog superior,
Exasperated, did eject the lamb from the interior.
Then Mary, on beholding such performance arbitrary,
Suffused her eyes with saline drops from glands called lachrymary,
And all the pupils grew thereat tumultuously hilarious,
And speculated on the case with wild conjectures various.
"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" the scholars asked the teacher.
He paused a moment, then he tried to diagnose the creature.
"Oh, _pecus amorem Mary habit omnia temporum_."
"Thanks, teacher dear," the scholars cried,
and awe crept darkly o'er 'em.
WHEN PA WAS A BOY
BY S. E. KISER
I wish 'at I'd of been here when
My paw he was a boy;
They must of been excitement then--
When my paw was a boy.
In school he always took the prize,
He used to lick boys twice his size--
I bet folks all had bulgin' eyes
When my paw was a boy!
There was a lot of wonders done
When my paw was a boy;
How grandpa must have loved his son,
When my paw was a boy!
He'd git the coal and chop the wood,
And think up every way he could
To always just be sweet and good--
When my paw was a boy!
Then everything was in its place,
When my paw was a boy;
How he could rassle, jump and race,
When my paw was a boy!
He never, never disobeyed;
He beat in every game he played--
Gee! What a record there was made!
When my paw was a boy!
I wish 'at of been here when
My paw was a boy;
They'll never be his like agen--
Paw was the moddle boy.
But still last night I heard my maw
Raise up her voice and call my paw
The biggest goose she ever saw--
He ought have stayed a boy.
By permission of Messrs. Forbes & Company, Chicago.
THE FRECKLED-FACED GIRL
(She entertains a visitor while her mother is dressing)
ANONYMOUS
"Ma's up-stairs changing her dress," said the freckled-faced little
girl, tying her doll's bonnet-strings and casting her eye about for a
tidy large enough to serve as a shawl for that double-jointed young
person.
"Oh! your mother needn't dress up for me," replied the female agent of
the missionary society, taking a self-satisfied view of herself in the
mirror. "Run up and tell her to come down just as she is in her
every-day clothes, and not stand on ceremony."
"Oh! but she hasn't got on her every-day clothes. Ma was all drest up in
her new brown silk, 'cause she expected Miss Diamond to-day. Miss
Diamond always comes over here to show off her nice things, and ma don't
mean to get left. When ma saw you coming, she said, 'The dickens!' and I
guess she was mad about something. Ma said if you saw her new dress
she'd have to hear all about the poor heathen, who don't have silk, and
you'd ask her for more money to buy hymn-books to send to 'em. Say, do
the nigger ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up and make it
frizzy? Ma says she guesses that's all the good the books do 'em, if
they ever get any books. I wish my doll was a heathen!"
"Why, you wicked little girl, why do you want a heathen doll?" inquired
the missionary lady, taking a mental inventory of the new things in the
parlor to get material for a homily on worldly extravagance.
"So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, and feel sorry to
have her going about naked. I ain't a wicked girl, either, 'cause Uncle
Dick--you know Uncle Dick, he's been out West, and he says I'm a holy
terror, and he hopes I'll be an angel pretty soon. Ma'll be down in a
minute, so you needn't take your cloak off. She said she'd box my ears
if I asked you to. Ma's putting on that old dress she had last year,
'cause she said she didn't want you to think she was able to give much
this time, and she needed a new muff worse than the queen of the
cannon-ball islands needed religion. Uncle Dick says you ought to go to
the islands, 'cause you'd be safe there, and the natifs'd be sorry they
was such sinners if anybody would send you to 'em. He says he never seen
a heathen hungry enough to eat you 'less 'twas a blind one, and you'd
set a blind pagan's teeth on edge so he'd never hanker after any more
missionary. Uncle Dick's awful funny, and makes pa and ma die laughing
sometimes."
"Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved man, and ought to have remained
out West, where his style is appreciated. He sets a bad example for
little girls like you."
"Oh! I think he's nice. He showed me how to slide down the banisters,
and he's teaching me to whistle when ma ain't 'round. That's a pretty
cloak you've got, ain't it? Do you buy all your good clothes with
missionary money? Ma says you do."
Just then the freckled-faced little girl's ma came into the parlor and
kissed the missionary lady on the cheek, and said she was delighted to
see her, and they proceeded to have a real sociable chat. The little
girl's ma can't understand why a person who professes to be so
charitable as the missionary agent does should go right over to Miss
Diamond's and say such ill-natured things as she did, and she thinks the
missionary is a double-faced gossip.
WILLIE
BY MAX EHRMANN
A little boy went forth to school
One day without his chum.
The teacher said, "Why, you're alone!
Why doesn't Willie come?"
"O Willie!" sobbed the little boy,--
"There ain't no Willie now."
"What do you mean?" the teacher asked,
With puzzled, knitted brow.
"Please, sir," the little boy replied,
"We made a bet fur fun,--
Which one could lean the farthest out
Our attic,--Willie won."
AMATEUR NIGHT
ANONYMOUS
It was one of those little evening entertainments where everyone talks
at once, where everyone asks questions and does not wait for an answer.
Mrs. Fitzgibbon, the hostess, finally broke into the babble:
"Sh! I want you all to be very quiet. Mr. Chooker--Mr. Chooker,--please
don't talk,--don't talk, please,--Mr. Chooker is very excitable.
Chooker,--yes, he is one of the Chookers. Young people come off the
stairs. Sh! I have very great pleasure in introducing to you Mr.
Chooker."
Mr. Chooker came forward with a malicious look, which seemed to say,
"You all seem to be very happy,--very jolly,--and enjoying yourselves.
Just wait a bit. I am about to recite a little poem of my own entitled,
'The Triple Suicide!'"
Then came the boy of the family, a kind of child prodigy, who, after
giving a low and jerky bow, recited as follows: (_Here impersonate a boy
in awkward style._)
"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's
tears;--there was dearth of woman's tears." (_Stops._)
"The women were crying, you know. Some were crying and others were
weeping. Those that weren't weeping were crying!" (_Pauses, then bows
low, and begins again._)
"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's
tears;
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away--
while his life-blood ebbed away,--while his life-blood ebbed away
----"
"His blood was flowing along, you know. There was blood here and there.
There was blood spattered over everything, and----" (_Pauses long, bows
low, and begins again with great determination and in loud voice._)
"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's
tears;
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,--
ebbed away,--ebbed away (_gradually begins to cry_),--ebbed away (_as
if speaking to someone at the side_)--eh?" (_Exits slowly with hands
at eyes silently weeping._)
The young miss of the family, recently graduated, next gave an original
poem entitled "The Hen," as follows:
"Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!--
For the hen is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
"Life is real, life is earnest,
And the shell is not its pen,
Egg thou wert and egg remainest,
Was not spoken of the hen.
"In the world's broad field of battle,
In the great barnyard of life,
Be not like those lazy cattle,
Be a rooster in the strife.
"Lives of roosters all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And when roasted leave behind us
Hen-tracks on the sands of time.
"Hen-tracks that perhaps another chicken
Drooping idly in the rain,
Some forlorn and henpecked brother,
When he sees shall crow again."
The gem of the evening, however, was a recitation given in fine style by
Mr. Chillingworth Chubb. He had rather a husky voice and a wooden arm.
His memory, moreover, was defective. The effect of his wooden arm, which
was made to perform the various actions of a real one, was highly
amusing. (_Here the reciter may use "Excelsior," "The Speech of Mark
Antony," or some similar selection. The left arm represents the wooden
one. The hand should wear a right-hand, white kid glove, put on wrong
way round with the finger-tips screwed into points. The arm should be
assisted in all its movements by the right one. It should be made to
move in a jerky and unnatural manner at all its joints. A violent push
at the elbow raises it suddenly aloft, and it is brought again to the
side by a tremendous slap from the right hand. Finally, the arm appears
to get out of order, and moves violently in all directions, until at
last the right hand, after vainly trying to reach it, pins it down to a
table or to some other object. This imitation requires considerable
practise, but when properly done never fails to send an audience into
fits of laughter._)
BOUNDING THE UNITED STATES
BY JOHN FISKE
Among the legends of our late Civil War there is a story of a
dinner-party, given by the Americans residing in Paris, at which were
propounded sundry toasts concerning not so much the past and present as
the expected glories of the American nation. In the general character of
these toasts, geographical considerations were very prominent, and the
principal fact which seemed to occupy the minds of the speakers was the
unprecedented bigness of our country.
"Here's to the United States!" said the first speaker,--"bounded on the
north by British America, on the south by the Gulf of Mexico, on the
east by the Atlantic Ocean, and on the west by the Pacific Ocean!"
"But," said the second speaker, "this is far too limited a view of the
subject, and, in assigning our boundaries, we must look to the great and
glorious future, which is prescribed for us by the manifest destiny of
the Anglo-Saxon race. Here's to the United States!--bounded on the north
by the North Pole, on the east by the rising, and on the west by the
setting, sun!"
Emphatic applause greeted the aspiring prophecy. But here arose the
third speaker, a very serious gentleman, from the far West. "If we are
going," said this truly patriotic gentleman, "to lessen the historic
past and present, and take our manifest destiny into account, why
restrict ourselves within the narrow limits assigned by our fellow
countryman who has just sat down? I give you the United States!--bounded
on the north by the Aurora Borealis, on the south by the precession of
the equinoxes, on the east by the primeval chaos, and on the west by the
Day of Judgment!"
DER DOG UND DER LOBSTER
ANONYMOUS
Dot dog, he vas dot kind of dog
Vot ketch dot ret so sly,
Und squeeze him mit his leedle teeth,
Und den dot ret vas die.
Dot dog, he vas onquisitive
Vereffer he vas go,
Und like dot voman, all der time,
Someding he vants to know.
Von day, all by dot market stand,
Vere fish und clams dey sell,
Dot dog vas poke his nose aboud
Und find out vot he smell.
Dot lobster, he vas dook to snooze
Mit vone eye open vide,
Und ven dot dog vas come along,
Dot lobster he vas spied.
Dot dog, he smell him mit his noze
Und scratch him mit his paws,
Und push dot lobster all aboud,
Und vonder vat he vas.
Und den dot lobster, he voke up,
Und crawl yoost like dot snail,
Und make vide open ov his claws,
Und grab dot doggie's tail.
Und den so quick as neffer vas,
Dot cry vent to der sky,
Und like dot swallows vot dey sing,
Dot dog vas homevard fly.
Yoost like dot thunderbolt he vent--
Der sight vas awful grand,
Und every street dot dog vas turn,
Down vent dot apple-stand.
Der children cry, der vimmin scream,
Der mens fell on der ground,
Und dot boliceman mit his club
Vas novare to pe found.
I make dot run, und call dot dog,
Und vistle awful kind;
Dot makes no different vot I say,
Dot dog don't look pehind.
Und pooty soon dot race vas end,
Dot dog vas lost his tail--
Dot lobster, I vas took him home,
Und cook him in dot pail.
Dot moral vas, I tole you 'boud,
Pefore vas neffer known--
Don't vant to find out too much tings
Dot vasn't ov your own.
HE LAUGHED LAST
ANONYMOUS
A young man was sitting in the Grand Central Depot the other day,
holding a baby in his arms, when the child began to cry so lustily as to
attract the attention of everyone around him. By and by a waiting
passenger walked over to him with a smile of pity on his face and said:
"A woman gave you that baby to hold while she went to see about her
baggage, didn't she?"
"Yes."
"Ha! ha! ha! I tumbled to the fact as soon as I saw you. You expect her
back, I suppose?"
"Of course."
"Ha! ha! ha! This is rich! Looking for her every minute, aren't you?"
"Yes, and I think she'll come back."
"Well this makes me laugh,--ha! ha! ha! I had a woman play that same
trick on me in a Chicago depot once, but no one ever will again. Young
man, you've been played on for a hayseed. I would advise you to turn
that baby over to a policeman and get out of here before some newspaper
reporter gets hold of you."
"Oh, she'll come back, she'll come back."
"She will, eh? Ha! ha! ha! The joke grows richer and richer. Now what
makes you think she'll come back?"
"Because she's my wife and this is our baby."
"Oh--um--I see," muttered the fat man, who got over feeling tickled all
at once, and seeing a dog that a farmer had tied to one of the seats
with a piece of clothes-line, he went over and gave it three swift
kicks.
NORAH MURPHY AND THE SPIRITS
BY HENRY HATTON
Miss Honora Murphy, a young female engaged in the honorable and
praiseworthy occupation of general housework, merely to dispel _ennui_,
not hearing in some time from the "boy at home," to whom she was engaged
to be married, was advised by the girl next door to consult the spirits.
The result I shall give as detailed by her to her friend:
"How kem I by the black eye? Well, dear, I'll tell ye. Afther what yer
wur tellin' me, I niver closed me eyes. The nixt marnin' I ast Maggie,
the up-stairs gerrl, where was herself. 'In her boodoore,' sez Maggie,
an' up I goes to her.
"'What's wantin', Nora?' sez she.
"'I've heerd as how me cousin's very sick,' sez I, 'an' I'm that
frettin'. I must go an' see her.'
"'Fitter fur ye to go ter yer worruk,' sez she, lookin' mighty cross,
an' she the lazy hulks as niver does a turn from mornin' till night.
"Well, dear, I niver takes sass from anny av 'em; so I ups an' tould
her, 'Sorra taste av worruk I'll do the day, an' av yer don't like it,
yer can find some one else,' an' I flounced mesel' out av the boodoore.
"Well, I wint to me room ter dress mesel', an' whin I got on me
sale-shkin sack, I thought av me poor ould mother--may the hivins be her
bed!--could only see me, how kilt she'd be intoirely. Whin I was drest I
wint down-stairs an' out the front-doore, an' I tell yer _I slammed it
well after me_.
"Well, me dear, whin I got ter the majum's, a big chap wid long hair and
a baird like a billy-goat kem inter the room. Sez he:
"'Do yer want ter see the majum?'
"'I do,' sez I.
"'Two dollars,' sez he.
"'For what?' sez I.
"'For the sayants,' sez he.
"'Faix, it's no aunts I want ter see,' sez I, 'but Luke Corrigan's own
self.' Well, me dear, wid that he giv a laugh ye'd think would riz the
roof.
"'Is he yer husband?' sez he.
"'It's mighty 'quisitive ye are,' sez I, 'but he's not me husband, av
yer want ter know, but I want ter larn av it's alive or dead he is,
which the Lord forbid!'
"'Yer jist in the nick o' time,' sez he.
"'Faix, Ould Nick's here all the time, I'm thinkin', from what I hear,'
sez I.
"Well, ter make a long story short, I paid me two dollars, an' wint into
another room, an' if ye'd guess from now till Aisther, ye'd never think
what the majum was. As I'm standin' here, 'twas _nothin' but a woman_! I
was that bet, I was almost spacheless.
"'Be sated, madam,' sez she, p'intin' to a chair, 'yer must jine the
circle.'
"'Faix, I'll ate a triangle, av yer wish,' sez I.
"'Yer must be very quiet,' sez she. An' so I set down along a lot av
other folks at a table.
"'First I'll sing a hymn,' sez the majum, 'an' thin do all yees jine in
the chorus.'
"Yer must excuse me, mum,' sez I. 'I niver could sing, but rather than
spile the divarshun of the company, av any wan'll whistle, I'll dance as
purty a jig as ye'll see from here to Bal'nasloe, tho it's meself as sez
it.'
"Two young whipper-snappers begun ter laugh, but the look I gev them
shut them up.
"Jist then, the big chap as had me two dollars kem into the room an'
turned down the lights. In a minit the majum, shtickin' her face close
to me own, whispers:
"'The sperrits is about--I kin feel them!'
"'Thrue for you, mum,' sez I, 'fur I kin shmell them!'
"'Hush, the influence is an me,' sez the majum. 'I kin see the lion an'
the lamb lying down together.'
"'Bedad! it's like a wild beastess show,' sez I.
"'Will yer be quiet?' sez an ould chap next ter me. 'I hev a question to
ax.'
"'Ax yer question,' sez I, 'an' I'll ax mine. I paid me two dollars, an'
I'll not be put down.'
"'Plaze be quiet,' sez the majum, 'or the sperrits 'll lave.'
"Jist then came a rap on the table.
"'Is that the sperrit of Luke Corrigan?' sez the majum.
"'It is not,' sez I, 'for he could bate any boy in Killballyowen, an' if
his fisht hit that table 'twould knock it to smithereens.'
"'Whist!' sez the majum, 'it's John Bunion.'
"'Ax him 'bout his progress,' sez a woman wid a face like a bowl of
stirabout.
"'Ah, batherashin!' sez I. 'Let John's bunion alone, an' bring Luke
Corrigan to the fore.'
"'Hish!' whispers the majum, 'I feel a sperrit near me.'
"'Feel av it has a lump on his nose,' sez I, 'for be that token ye'll
know it's Luke.'
"'The moment is suspicious,' sez the majum.
"'I hope yer don't want to asperge me character,' sez I.
"'Whist!' sez she, 'the sperrits is droopin'.'
"'It's droppin' yer mane,' sez I, pickin' up a shmall bottle she let
fall from her pocket.
"'Put that woman out,' sez an ould chap.
"'Who do you call a woman?' sez I. 'Lay a fing-er on me, an' I'll
scratch a map of the County Clare on yer ugly phiz.'
"'Put her out!' 'Put her out!' sez two or three others, an' they made a
lep for me. But, holy rocket! I was up in a minute.
"'Bring on yer fightin' sperrits,' I cried, 'from Julis Sazar to Tim
Macould, an' I'll bate them all, for the glory of Ireland!'
"The big chap as had me money kem behind me, and put his elbow in me
eye; but, me jewel, I tossed him over as ef he'd bin a feather, an' the
money rolled out his pocket. Wid a cry of 'Faugh-a-ballah!' I grabbed
six dollars, runned out av the doore, an' I'll niver put fut in the
house again. An' that's how I kem be the black eye."
OPIE READ
BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY
Dis language Anglaise dat dey spe'k,
On State of Illinois,
Is hard for Frenchmen heem to learn,
It give me moch annoy.
Las' w'ek ma frien', McGover_ane_
He com' to me an' say:
"You mak' a toas' on Opie Read
W'en dey geeve gran' banqay."
"I mak' a toas'? Not on your life!
Dat man's wan frien' of me.
W'at for I warm heem op lak' toas'?
De reason I can't see."
An' den John laugh out on hees eye
W'en he is to me say:
"To mak' a toas' is not a roas',
It's jus' de odder way."
Dat's how I learn dat toas' an' roas'
Is call by different name,
Dough bot' are warm in dere own way,
Dere far from mean de same.
An' so, ma frien', in lof' I clasp
Your gr'ad, beeg, brawny han',
An' share vit you in fellowship,
An' pay you on deman'.
You're built upon a ver' large plan,
Overe seex feet you rise:
You need it all to shelter in
Your heart dat's double size.
You are too broad for narrow t'ings,
You gr'ad for any creed;
I'll eat de roas', but drink de toas',
To ma frien', Opie Read.
THE VILLAGE CHOIR
After the Charge of the Light Brigade
ANONYMOUS
Half a bar, half a bar,
Half a bar onward!
Into an awful ditch
Choir and precentor hitch,
Into a mess of pitch,
They led the Old Hundred.
Trebles to right of them,
Tenors to left of them,
Basses in front of them,
Bellowed and thundered.
Oh, that precentor's look,
When the sopranos took
Their own time and hook
From the Old Hundred!
Screeched all the trebles here,
Boggled the tenors there,
Raising the parson's hair,
While his mind wandered;
Theirs not to reason why
This psalm was pitched too high:
Theirs but to gasp and cry
Out the Old Hundred.
Trebles to right of them,
Tenors to left of them,
Basses in front of them,
Bellowed and thundered.
Stormed they with shout and yell,
Not wise they sang nor well,
Drowning the sexton's bell,
While all the church wondered.
Dire the precentor's glare,
Flashed his pitchfork in air,
Sounding fresh keys to bear
Out the Old Hundred.
Swiftly he turned his back,
Reached he his hat from rack,
Then from the screaming pack,
Himself he sundered.
Tenors to right of him,
Tenors to left of him,
Discords behind him,
Bellowed and thundered.
Oh, the wild howls they wrought:
Right to the end they fought!
Some tune they sang, but not,
Not the Old Hundred.
BILLY OF NEBRASKA
BY J. W. BENGOUGH
'Twas out in Nebraska--a town they call Lincoln,
(I but mention the place, and everyone's thinkin'
Of W. J. B., the favorite son,
Who twice for the Washington sweepstakes has run),
But this is not a political story,
And has nothing to do with the Silver question,
Or Rate-bills, or Trusts, or even Old Glory,--
Tho Bryan's name may start the suggestion;
And he, as a matter of fact, is the source
Of the tale, which makes it much better, of course;
For it goes to show
What some may be slow
To believe,--that this Democrat, earnest and stern,
On whose lips the eloquent sentences burn,
And who never is known to drink or to smoke,
Has a fondness for fun and enjoys a good joke.
It appears that Billy--if I may make free,
(Like the G. O. P. press) with the Commoner's name--
Kept a goat, with a cognomen just the same,
(At least I suppose such was likely to be,
For Billy's the name of each goat that is _he_);
And I likewise suppose,
(Tho nobody knows)
That William's idea in keeping a goat
Was to make himself sound with the shantytown vote;
But be that as it may,
It happened one day
That he went to the court-house, did W. J.,--
To lodge in due form a complaint--to protest
'Gainst the manner in which his estate was assessed;
And especially to kick
(For even a peace-arbitrationist hollers
When you cut to the quick)--
To kick 'gainst the taxing at twenty-five dollars
Of Billy the goat. "I say it's too much,"
Cries Bryan, "and savors of kingcraft and such!
Tax-dodging's a thing I abhor, but I swear
This tax is unrighteous, unjust, and unfair;
'Tis a tax more odious than taxes on tea,
And illegal, moreover, for I fail to see
Where the law gives you power to impose such a rate,
For the statutes don't say that a goat's _real estate_.
I stand on my rights!"--Here he threw back his coat,
And like Hampton of old
Stood up brave and bold,
"I refuse," he declared, "to be taxed for my goat!"
The assessor, a gentle and mild-faced old chap,
Most anxious to do only that which was right,
Grew pale with affright
When he saw the great orators angry eyes snap;
But he ventured to speak
In a mild little squeak,
"If you will excuse me, I think you're astray;
The rules 'nd riglations is printed that way;
And I haint did nothin' but what I am bid;
I done it this year as I always have did;
Here's the book;
Take a look,
And read for yerself how the law sets it out,
And I guess you will see I know what I'm about.
"Your goat he runs on the highway, I guess?"
"Well, yes, I suppose,"
Says Bryan, "he does."
"And he butts, I presume, don't he, now, more or less?"
"Yes," says Bryan, "no doubt
He butts when he's out,
But what has that got to do with----"
"See here!"
Says the old man, as one who had made his point clear:
"I calk'late, mister, you hain't read the laws,
If you'll just take a look at this here little clause;
Where the duties of 'sessors it specially notes;
It says, as you see,
_Tax all property
Runnin' and a-buttin' on the highway!_
And that has jest exactly bin _my_ way;
And the 'pinion's sound as oats
That it taxes on billy-goats
So you can't git out o' payin' in such a sly way!"
DOT LAMBS VOT MARY HAF GOT
ANONYMOUS
Mary haf got a leetle lambs already;
Dose vool vas vite like shnow;
Und efery times dot Mary dit vent oued,
Dot lambs vent also oued mit Mary.
Dot lambs did follow Mary von day of der schoolhouse,
Vich vas obbosition to der rules of der schoolmaster,
Also, vich it dit caused dose schillen to schmile out loud,
Ven dey dit saw dose lambs on der inside of der schoolhouse.
Und zo dot schoolmaster dit kick dot lambs quick oued,
Likevize, dot lambs dit loaf around on der outsides,
Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently bound,
Until Mary dit come also from dot schoolhouse oued.
Und den dot lambs dit run right away quick to Mary,
Und dit make his het on Mary's arms,
Like he would say, "I doand vas schkared,
Mary would keep from drouble ena how."
"Vot vas der reason aboud it, of dot lambs und Mary?"
Dose schillen dit ask it dot schoolmaster;
Veil, doand you know it, dot Mary lov dose lambs already,
Dot schoolmaster dit zaid.
_Moral_
Und zo, alzo, dot moral vaz,
Boued Mary's lamb's relations;
Of you lofe dese like she lofe dose,
Dot lambs vas obligations.
GEORGA WASHINGDONE
ANONYMOUS
Georga Washingdone vos a vera gooda man. Hees fadda he keepa bigga place
in Washingdone Street. He hada a greata bigga lot planta wees cherra,
peacha, pluma, chesnutta, peanutta, an' banan trees. He sella to mena
keepa de standa. Gooda mana to Italia mana was Georga Washingdone. He
hata de Irish. Kicka dem vay lika dees.
One tay wen litta Georga, hees son, vos dessa high, like de hoppa-grass,
he take hees litta hatchet an' he beginna to fool round de place. He vos
vera fresh, vos litta Georga. Poota soon he cutta downa de cherra tree
lika dees. Dat spoila de cherra cropa for de season. Den he goa round
trea killa de banan an' de peanutta.
Poota soon Georga's fadda coma rounda quicka lika dees. Den he lifta
uppa hees fista looka lika big bunch a banan, an' he vos just goin' to
giva litta Georga de smaka de snoota if he tola lie. Hees eyes blaze
lika dees.
Litta Georga he say in hees minda, "I gitta puncha anyhow, so I tella
de square ting." So he holda up hees litta hands lika dees, an' he calla
"Tima!"
Den he says, "Fadda, I cutta de cherra tree weesa mia own litta
hatchet!"
Hees fadda he say, "Coma to de barn weesa me! Litta Georga, I wanta
speeka weesa you!"
Den hees fadda cutta big club, an' he spitta hees handa, lika dees!
Litta Georga say, "Fadda, I could notta tella de lie, because I knowa
you caughta me deada to rights!"
Den de olda man he smila lika dees, an' he tooka litta Georga righta
down to Wall Street, an' made him a present of de United States!
DA 'MERICANA GIRL
BY T. A. DALY
I gatta mash weeth Mag McCue,
An' she ees 'Mericana, too!
Ha! w'at you theenk? Now mebbe so,
You weell no calla me so slow
Eef som' time you can looka see
How she ees com' an' flirt weeth me.
Most evra two, t'ree day, my frand,
She stop by dees peanutta-stand
An' smile an' mak' do googla-eye
An' justa look at me an' sigh.
An' alla time she so excite'
She peeck som' fruit an' taka bite.
O! my, she eesa look so sweet
I no care how much fruit she eat.
Me? I am cool an' mak' pretand
I want no more dan be her frand;
But een my heart, you bat my life,
I theenk of her for be my wife.
To-day I theenk: "Now I weell see
How moocha she ees mash weeth me,"
An' so I speak of dees an' dat,
How moocha playnta mon' I gat,
How mooch I makin' evra day
An' w'at I spend an' put away.
An' den I ask, so queeck, so sly:
"You theenk som' pretta girl weell try
For lovin' me a leetla beet?"--
O! my! she eesa blush so sweet!--
"An' eef I ask her lika dees
For geevin' me a leetla keess,
You s'pose she geeve me wan or two?"
She tal me: "Twanty-t'ree for you!"
An' den she laugh so sweet, an' say:
"Skeeddoo! Skeeddoo!" an' run away.
She like so mooch for keessa me
She gona geev me twanty-t'ree!
I s'pose dat w'at she say--"skeeddoo"--
Ees alla same "I lova you."
Ha! w'at you theenk! Now, mebbe so
You weell no calla me so slow!
BECKY MILLER
ANONYMOUS
I don'd lofe you now von schmall little bit,
My dream vas blayed oudt, so blease git up and git,
Your false-heardted vays I can't got along mit--
Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!
Vas all der young vomans so false-heardted like you,
Mit a face so bright, but a heart black and plue,
Und all der vhile schworing you lofed me so drue--
Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!
Vy, vonce I t'ought you vas a shtar vay up high;
I like you so better as gogonut bie;
But oh, Becky Miller, you hafe profed von big lie--
Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!
You dook all de bresents vat I did bresent,
Yes, gobbled up efery virst thing vot I sent;
All der vhile mit anoder rooster you vent--
Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!
Vhen first I found oudt you vas such a big lie,
I didn't know vedder to schmudder or die;
Bud now, by der chingo, I don't efen cry--
Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!
Don'd dry make belief you vas sorry aboudt,
I don'd belief a dings vot comes oudt by your moudt;
Und besides I don'd care, for you vas blayed oudt--
Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!
P. S. (pooty short)--Vell, he dold Becky to go avay enough dimes, enner
how. I dinks he vas an uckly vellow. Vell, berhaps dot serfs Becky
choost right for daking bresents from von vellow, vhile she vas vinking
her nose by anoder vellow.
PAT AND THE MAYOR
ANONYMOUS
An Irishman named Patrick Maloney, recently landed, called upon the
mayor to see if he could give him a position on the police force. The
mayor, thinking he would have some fun with him, said:
"Before I can do anything for you, you will have to pass a Civil Service
examination."
"Ah, dthin," said Pat, "and pfhat is the Civil Sarvice?"
"It means that you must answer three questions I put to you, and if you
answer them correctly I may be able to place you."
"Well," said Pat, "I think I can answer dthim if they're not too hard."
"The first question is, 'What is the weight of the moon?'"
"Ah, now, how can I tell you that? Shure and I don't know."
"Well, try the second one, 'How many stars are in the sky?'"
"Now you're pokin' fun at me. How do I know how many Stars there are in
the shky?"
"Then try the third question, and if you answer it correctly I'll
forgive you the others, 'What am I thinking of?'"
"Pfhat are you thinkin' of? Shure, how can any man tell what you
politicians are thinkin' about. Bedad I don't belave you know pfhat
you're thinkin' about yourself. I guess I'll be lookin' for work
ilsewhere, so good-day to you!"
The mayor called Pat back and told him not to be discouraged, but to go
home and think about it, and if on the morrow he thought he could answer
the questions to come down again and he would give him another chance.
So Pat went home and told his brother Mike about it, whereupon Mike
said:
"Now you give me dthim clothes of yours and I'll go down and answer his
questions for him."
So next morning Mike went down bright and early, and the mayor
recognizing Patrick as he thought, said:
"Ah, good morning, Patrick. Have you really come back to answer those
three questions I put to you yesterday?"
"Yis, I have."
"Well the first question is, 'What is the weight of the moon?'"
"The weight of the moon is one hundred pounds, twenty-five pounds to
each quarther, four quarthers make one hundred."
"Capital, Patrick, capital! Now the second question is, 'How many stars
are in the sky?'"
"How many shtars are in the shky? There are four billion, sivin million,
noine hundred and thirty-two tousand and one."
"Splendid, Patrick, splendid. Now look out for the last question which
is, 'What am I thinking of?'"
"Pfhat are you thinkin' of? Well I know pfhat you're thinkin' of. You're
thinkin' I'm Pat, but you're tirribly mistakin'; _I'm his brother
Mike!_"
THE WIND AND THE MOON
BY GEORGE MACDONALD
Said the wind to the moon, "I will blow you out.
You stare
In the air
Like a ghost in a chair,
Always looking what I am about;
I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."
The wind blew hard and out went the moon.
So, deep
On a heap
Of clouds, to sleep,
Down lay the wind, and slumbered soon--
Muttering low, "I've done for that moon."
He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high
In the sky,
With her one ghost eye,
The moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the wind--"I will blow you out again."
The wind blew hard, and the moon grew dim.
"With my sledge
And my wedge
I have knocked off her edge!
If only I blow right fierce and grim,
The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."
He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
"One puff
More's enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"
He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone;
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Far off and harmless the shy stars shone;
Sure and certain the moon was gone!
The wind, he took to his revels once more;
On down,
In town,
Like a merry mad clown,
He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar,
"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage--he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain;
For still the broader the moon-scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.
Slowly she grew--till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone,
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.
Said the wind--"What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath
Good faith!
I blew her to death--
First blew her away right out of the sky--
Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"
But the moon she knew nothing about the affair,
For, high
In the sky,
With her one white eye,
Motionless, miles above the air,
She had never heard the great wind blare.
TOTAL ANNIHILATION
ANONYMOUS
Oh, he was a Bowery boot-black bold,
And his years they numbered nine.
Rough and unpolished was he,
Albeit he constantly aimed to "shine."
Proud as a king on his box he sat
Munching an apple red,
While the boys of his set looked wistfully on.
And "give us a bite," they said.
That boot-black smiled a lordly smile--
"No free bites here," he cried.
Then his comrades sadly walked away,
Save one, who stood at his side.
"Bill, give us the core," he whispered low.
That boot-black smiled once more,
And a mischievous dimple grew in his cheek--
"There ain't going to be no core."
UPS AND DOWNS OF MARRIED LIFE
ANONYMOUS
A well-drest woman walked into a prominent New York office building the
other day and took one of the elevators. Her husband saw her from across
the street, and hurrying over took the next elevator. He went to the
office where he knew she had business, and found she had stept in only
for a moment and had gone down again.
The elevator despatcher said to her: "Your husband just went up, and I
think he's looking for you."
She took the next elevator up. Just then her husband came down. He
looked all around and then inquired:
"Have you seen my wife here?"
"Yes, she went up this minute."
He took the next elevator and was just out of sight when she came down.
"Your husband has just gone up."
"Then I'll go right up, as he'll wait for me this time."
Down came her husband a second afterward.
"Did my wife come down again?"
"Yes, and just went up. She thought you'd wait for her."
After waiting a few moments he became impatient and went up again. She
had been waiting for him, and came down.
"Husband just gone up."
"Then I'll wait here, as he will surely come down."
She waited a few moments and then hurried up again just as he came down.
"Wife here?"
"Just gone up!"
"Well I'm going home and you tell her----" He paused, turned around and
went up again. Down she came.
"Did he come down?"
"Yes, and he's gone up again as mad as a hornet."
"Then I had better go right up."
Up she went and down he came.
"Just gone up."
"Well, I'll be hanged if I'm going up again. No, sir! I've seen many ups
and downs in my time, but this is the limit. I'm going to sit right here
and wait if she never comes down!"
When they closed the building for the night, he was still sitting
down-stairs, and she, equally determined, was waiting up-stairs, while
the elevator man remarked:
"Well, I hope dey'll meet in heav'n!"
THE CROOKED MOUTH FAMILY
ANONYMOUS
In a locality not far removed from the city's busy hum, there lived a
family noted for certain remarkable peculiarities of facial distortion.
In the father the lower jaw protruded; in the mother it receded so that
the upper jaw overhung it like a canopy; the daughter had her face drawn
to the left side, while the son had his drawn to the right, and in
addition to this deformity stammered most dreadfully. While he attempted
to talk his face assumed an expression equally grotesque as the
caricatures in a yellow journal.
The father kept a store and one day a man entered whose face, strangely
enough, was drawn strongly to the right side. Addressing the daughter,
who was standing back of the counter, he said, "I want a pound of tea,"
his words coming from the corner of his mouth.
"What are you making fun of me for?" replied the girl, her face drawn in
the opposite direction.
"I ain't making fun of you. Can't help it. I was born this way."
The young lady, however, was not satisfied that the stranger was telling
the truth, so, stepping to the door she called to her father, "Pa,
there's a man down here making fun of me."
The father put in an appearance and demanded of the customer why he had
made fun of his daughter.
"I didn't make fun of her."
"Yes you did," said the girl.
"I s-s-saw y-y-you," stammered the brother, from out the corner of his
twisted face.
"I tell you I didn't. I was born this way. Can't talk any other."
"Well," said the old man, "you would make a good match and you ought to
marry each other."
This proposition meeting with a favorable consideration, the two were
made one.
The entire family went on the wedding tour, and one night they spent at
a country inn where candles were used for purposes of illumination.
Picking up a candle the groom attempted to blow it out, but he nearly
exhausted himself in the effort without accomplishing his purpose. The
bride came to his rescue and blew, and blew, and blew, but with no
better result. Papa appearing upon the scene, said, "Let me have it.
I'll show you how to do it," and he went to work with a noise that
sounded like the exhaust of a high-pressure engine, but the candle
stubbornly refused to go out. The mother, hearing the racket, then came
upon the scene, and learning of their quandary, put the candle on her
head and blew upward but the flame merely flickered as tho fanned by a
gentle zephyr. Just then they saw the watchman passing by, so, in their
extremity, they called him to their aid and he promptly blew out the
candle because he had a straight mouth.
"IMPH-M"
ANONYMOUS
When I was a laddie lang syne at the schule,
The maister aye ca'd me a dunce an' a fule;
For somehoo his words I could ne'er un'erstan',
Unless when he bawled, "Jamie, hand oot yer han'!"
Then I gloom'd, and said, "Imph-m,"
I glunch'd, and said, "Imph-m"--
I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say--a-y-e!
Ae day a queer word, as lang-nebbits' himsel',
He vow'd he would thrash me if I wadna spell,
Quo I, "Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither,
"I'll spell ye the word if ye'll spell me anither:
Let's hear ye spell 'Imph-m,'
That common word 'Imph-m,'
That auld Scotch word 'Imph-m,' ye ken it means a-y-e!"
Had ye seen hoo he glour'd, hoo he scratched his big pate,
An' shouted, "Ye villain, get oot o' my gate!
Get aff to your seat! yer the plague o' the schule!
The de'il, o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule!"
But I only said, "Imph-m,"
That pawkie word "Imph-m,"
He couldna spell "Imph-m," that stands for an a-y-e!
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
"At once 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."
Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumpin' quid,
He spun this painful yarn:
"'Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_
That we sailed to the Indian sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.
"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned,
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the _Nancy's_ men
Said 'Here!' to the muster roll.
"There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold,
And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.
"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.
"The next lot fell to the _Nancy's_ mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.
"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.
"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.
"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshiped me;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other chap's hold, you see.
"'I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be.'
'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.
"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook _me_,
While I can--and will--cook _you_?'
"So he boils the water, and takes the salt,
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot
And some sage and parsley, too.
"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell,
''Twill soothing be if I let you see
How extremely nice you'll smell.'
"And he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth--
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the boiling broth.
"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And--as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight I see.
* * * * *
"And I never grieve, and I never smile,
And I never larf nor play,
But I sit and croak, and a single joke
I have--which is to say:
"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!"
I TOL' YER SO
BY JOHN L. HEATON
John Jones he was the beatenus cuss.
Allus a-pickin' 'n' sayin' to us:
"I tol' yer so, I tol' yer so!"
No matter what happened, he'd up an' say:
"Yer sorry ye done it, haint ye, hey?
Well, well, I tol' yer so!"
When Kerin-Happuck wuz tuk down sick
From the pizen ivy she'd gin a lick,
He'd tol' us so, he'd tol' us so.
'N' Shadrack's fuss with his mother-in-law,
Before the weddin' John Jones foresaw;
Well, well, he tol' us so.
If a fellow wuz hit by a fallin' tree,
Or kicked by a horse, says Jones, says he:
"I tol' yer so, I tol' yer so!"
If a barn tuck fire, or a well-sweep broke,
We might a-knowed it before Jones spoke,
The time he tol' us so.
It got so tejus, says Bill one day:
"Ye're a dern ol' idjit, 'ith nothin' ter say
But 'tol' yer so,' 'n 'tol' yer so,'--
A mean, contemptible, sneakin' cuss!"
'N' jes from habit, Jones sez to us:
"Well, well, I tol' yer so!"
"YOU GIT UP!"
BY JOE KERR
There's lots of folks that has good times,
There's lots that never does;
But the ones that don't like morning naps
Is the meanest ever wuz.
It's very nice to eat a meal
With pie for its wind-up;
'Taint half so sweet's th' nap pa spoils
When he yells, "You git up!"
I'd rather lay in bed and snooze,
Jest one small minit more
In the morning, when the sunshine
Comes a-creeping o'er the floor,
Then to go to Barnum's circus or
To own a bulldog pup.
The meanest thing pa ever said
Wuz, "Come now--you git up!"
I like to go in swimming,
And I like to play baseball;
I like to fight and fly a kite,
'N' I sometimes like to bawl;
But them thare forty winks of sleep
Pa tries to interrup',
Is better 'n' all. It breaks my heart
When pa yells, "You git up!"
I'd stand the hurt and ache and pain
And all the smart and itch
Of having him turn the bedclothes down
To wake me with a switch,
Ef he 'ud on'y jest go 'way
And let me finish up
The nap I started jest before
He yelled out, "You git up!"
You bet, when I git growed up big,
Es rich 'n' old as pa,
'N' never haf to go to school,
Nor work nor stand no jaw--
I'll sleep all day and all night, too,
And only jest git up
When I git 'nough sleep to suit me
Ef all the world yells, "You git up!"
By permission of G. W. Dillingham Company.
PRESENTATION OF THE TRUMPET
ANONYMOUS
In the days of the old volunteer fire department there existed in this
city a certain hose company noted for the bravery of its foreman, whose
reckless daring in time of danger, coupled with his pugilistic
attainments, had made him a local celebrity.
The members of his company decided to present him with a handsome silver
trumpet, as an expression of their regard and appreciation of his pluck,
courage and fighting qualities. One of the members was chosen to prepare
a fitting speech for the occasion, and after some weeks of labor
announced himself as being thoroughly prepared for the task.
In the meantime, the foreman, who was supposed to be in blissful
ignorance of all the preparations being made to surprize him, was let
into the "secret" through the kindness of one of the boys. He recognized
this as his supreme opportunity to display his literary qualifications
in the shape of a speech of acceptance. He secured the services of a
literary friend to write a glowing oration, replete with metaphors,
similes, and sweet-sounding poetry, expressing his "unworthiness of the
honor," the "deep gratitude which words failed him to adequately
express," etc.
The night in question at last arrived. The building was filled to
overflowing. The band played "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and the
boys gave three hearty cheers and a "tiger" for the proud foreman.
The chairman advanced to the front, holding the massive trumpet in one
hand, while his other hand grasped convulsively at the collar of his
shirt.
After staring around the room and giving a few preparatory coughs, he
said:
"Mr. Foreman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:
I--a--a--I--a--I----(_Looks hard at the floor. Begins again with great
determination._) Mr. Foreman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:
I--a--a--I--a--feel--I feel a----(_Puts one hand in his pocket and looks
very foolish. Begins again, shouting, and looking very angry._) Mr.
Foreman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10: I--I--I--I feel a--much
a pleas----(_Word sticks in his throat. Very angrily, and striding
toward the foreman._) Ah! take your trumpet!"
A look of consternation spread over the faces of the boys at the failure
of their spokesman, and there were many whisperings of "I told you so!"
It was now the foreman's turn. He drew his hand across his mouth and
began as follows:
"Mr. Chairman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10: It is--it is--it
is--it is with a--with a----(_Looks at ceiling, and shifts his position
uneasily. Begins over again, with a very confident air._) Mr. Chairman,
and Members of Hose Company Number 10: It is with--with a--with a--with
a--a--a--a--a heart----(_Stops, stares wildly at the ceiling, floor and
company. Begins over again, very angrily, and with his body in fighting
attitude._) Mr. Chairman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:
I--I--I--it is--it is with a heart--with a heart full---full----(_Stops.
Very loud and violently._) Ah! give us yer trumpet!"
DON'T USE BIG WORDS
ANONYMOUS
In promulgating your esoteric cogitations, or articulating your
superficial sentimentalities and amicable, philosophical or
psychological observations, beware of platitudinous ponderosity. Let
your conversational communications possess a clarified conciseness, a
compact comprehensibleness, coalescent consistency, and a concatenated
cogency. Eschew all conglomerations of flatulent garrulity, jejune
babblement and asinine affectations. Let your extemporaneous descantings
and unpremeditated expatiations have intelligibility and veracious
vivacity, without rhodomontade or thrasonical bombast. Sedulously avoid
all polysyllabic profundity, pompous prolixity, psittaceous vacuity,
ventriloquial verbosity, and vaniloquent vapidity. Shun
double-entendres, prurient jocosity, and pestiferous profanity,
obscurant or apparent.
In other words, talk plainly, briefly, naturally, sensibly, truthfully,
purely. Keep from "slang"; don't put on airs; say what you mean; mean
what you say. And don't use big words!
DER MULE SHTOOD ON DER STEAMBOAD DECK
ANONYMOUS
Der mule shtood on der steamboad deck,
For der land he wouldn't dread,
Dhey tied a halder rount his neck,
Und vacked him over der headt.
But obstinate und braced he shtood,
As born der scene to rule,
A creature of der holt-back brood--
A shtubborn, shtedfast mule.
Dhey curst und shwore, but he vould not go
Undill he felt inclined,
Und dhough dhey dundered blow on blow,
He aldered nod his mind.
Der boats-boy to der shore complained,
"Der varmint's bound do shtay,"
Shtill ubon dot olt mule's hide
Der sounding lash made blay.
His masder from der shore reblied,
"Der boats aboud do sail;
As oder means in vain you've dried.
Subbose you dwist his dail.
"I dhink dot dat will magke him land,"
Der boats-boy brave, dhough bale,
Den near drew mit oudstretched hand,
Do magke der dwist avail.
Dhen game a kick of thunder sound!
Dot boy--oh, vhere vas he?
Ask of der vaves dot far around
Beheld him in der sea.
For a moment nod a voice vas heard,
Bud dot mule he vinked his eye,
As dhough to ask, to him occurred,
"How vas dot for high?"
THE NEW SCHOOL READER
ANONYMOUS
I will now give you a selection from my New School Reader. It is built
upon the lines of the school-books in use in the years preceding our
early childhood. It is one of the selections that unfortunate boys would
render in an heroic attitude, and in stilted, unnatural tones:
"The October sun was shining down upon an avenue of trees, and gilding
with its golden splendor the chromatic nose of a solitary horseman, who
reigned up his steed at the sight of a small boy with a school-book on
his shoulder. 'Where do you live, my fine fellow?' said the stranger, in
low, pleasing tones. 'In yonder cottage, near the glen; my widowed
mother and her thirteen children dwell with me,' replied the boy, in a
rich, mellow voice. 'And is your father dead?' asked the stranger with a
rising inflection. 'Extremely so,' murmured the lad, 'and that is why my
mother is a widow.' 'And how does your mother gain a livelihood?' asked
the horseman, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. 'I support the
family,' proudly replied George. 'You support the family? Why, what can
such a little fellow as you do?' 'I dig wells during the day, and help
my mother at night. I have a good education and am able to dig wells
almost as well as a man.' 'But you must have to work very hard,' said
the stranger, wiping a tear from his eyebrow. 'Indeed I do, sir, and
since my little sister Ann got married, and brought her husband home to
live with us, I have to work with more assiduity than ever. I am enabled
to barely maintain our family in a precarious manner; but, oh, sir,
should my other sisters marry, I fear that some of my brothers-in-law
would have to suffer.' 'My boy,' asked the solitary horseman, looking at
the youth proudly, 'what would you say if I told you your father was not
dead?' 'Sir,' replied the boy respectfully, 'I am too polite to tell you
what I would say,--besides you are much larger than I am.' 'But, my
brave lad,' said the man in low, musical tones, 'do you not recognize
your parent on your father's side?--do you not know me, Georgie? O
George!' 'I must say,' replied George, 'that you have the advantage of
me. While I may have met you before, I can not at this moment place you,
sir!' At this the stranger opened his valise and took therefrom a
large-sized strawberry mark, which he placed on his right arm.
Immediately the boy recognized him as his long-lost parent, and he,
drawing the lad to his bosom, ejaculated, 'O my son, my son!' 'But how
did you escape, father?' said the boy through his tears, in a voice
broken by emotion. 'We were far away at sea,' said the heartbroken man.
'The winds howled and the waves threatened to engulf our frail bark.
When everybody was lost, the rest of the crew turned and sprang into the
foaming billows and swam several miles. At last I felt my feet touch
something _hard_,--it was Jersey City!'"
THE POOR WAS MAD
A FAIRY SHTORY FOR LITTLE CHILDHER
BY CHARLES BATTELL LOOMIS
Wance upon a toime the poor was virry poor indade, an' so they wint to a
rich leddy that was that rich she had goold finger-nails, an' was that
beautiful that it'u'd mek you dopey to luke at her. An' the poor asht
her would she give thim the parin's of her goold finger-nails fer to
sell. An' she said she would that, an' that ivery Chuesdeh she did be
afther a-parin' her nails. So of a Chuesdeh the poor kem an' they tuke
the gold parin's to a jewel-ery man, an' he gev thim good money fer
thim. Wasn't she the koind leddy, childher? Well, wan day she forgot to
pare her nails, an' so they had nothin' to sell. An' the poor was mad,
an' they wint an' kilt the leddy intoirely. An' when she was kilt, sorra
bit would the nails grow upon her, an' they saw they was silly to kill
her. So they wint out to sairch fer a leddy wid silver finger-nails. An'
they found her, an' she was that beautiful that her face was all the
colors of the rainbow an' two more besides. An' the poor asht her would
she give thim the parin's of her finger-nails fer to sell. An' she said
that she would that, an' that every Chuesdeh she did be afther a-parin'
her nails. So of a Chuesdeh the poor kem an' they tuk the silver parin's
to the jewel-ery man, an' he giv thim pretty good money fer thim, but
not nair as good as fer the goold. But he was the cute jewel-ery man,
wasn't he, childher? Well, wan day she forgot to pare her nails an' so
they had nothin' to sell. An' the poor was mad, an' they wint an' kilt
the leddy intoirely. An' when she was kilt, sorra bit would the nails
grow upon her, an' they saw they was silly to kill her. So they wint out
to sairch for a leddy with tin finger-nails. An' they found her, and she
was that beautiful that she would mek you ristless. An' the poor asht
her would she give thim the parin's of her tin finger-nails fer to sell.
An' she said she would that, an' that ivery Chuesdeh she did be afther
a-parin' her nails. So of a Chuesdeh the poor kem. An' did they get the
tin nails, childher? Sure, that's where y are out. They did not, fer the
leddy had lost a finger in a mowin'-machine, an' she didn't have tin
finger-nails at arl, at arl--only noine.
LIDES TO BARY JADE
ANONYMOUS
The bood is beabig brighdly love,
The sdars are shidig, too;
While I ab gazing dreabily
Add thigkig, love, of you;
You caddot, oh, you caddot kdow,
By darlig, how I biss you,--
(Oh, whadt a fearful cold I've got--
Ck-_tish_-u! Ck-ck-_tish_-u!)
I'b sittig id the arbor, love
Where you sat by by side,
Whed od that calb, Autubdal dight
You said you'd be by bride.
Oh, for wud bobedt to caress
Add tederly to kiss you;
Budt do! we're beddy biles apart--
(Ho-_rash_-o! Ck-ck-_tish_-u!)
This charbig evedig brigs to bide
The tibe whed first we bet;
It seebs budt odly yesterday,
I thigk I see you yet.
Oh, tell be, ab I sdill your owd?
By hopes, oh, do dot dash theb!
(Codfoud by cold, 'tis gettig worse--
Ck-_tish_-u! ck-ck-_thrash_-eb!)
Good-by, by darlig Bary Jade
The bid-dight hour is dear,
Add it is hardly wise by love
For be to ligger here!
The heavy dews are fallig fast;
A fod good-dight I wish you;
(Ho-_rash_-o!--there it is agaid--
Ck-_tish_-u! Ck-ck-_thrash_-eb!)
"CHARLIE MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT"
Parody on "Curfew Must not Ring To-night"
ANONYMOUS
Slowly England's sun was setting o'er a mansion old and grey;
Filling all the land with glory, in the usual kind of way.
And its bright rays tinged the foreheads of a man and maiden fair:
He with powdered head and whiskers, she with locks of--someone's
hair.
She was clutching at it wildly, as, with lips all cold and white,
She was saying, "Listen, Thomas,--Charlie must not ring to-night!"
"Thomas," Bessie's white lips murmur'd, as she feverishly laid hold
Of the buttons of his liv'ry--lobster-red with spots of gold--
"Freddie Smith will call this evening; he'll be ringing by and by;
Charlie does not know about him; if they met here I should die!
Tell him I am out, dear Thomas; gone to call on Mrs. Blight;
Tell him any lie you like but--Charlie must not ring to-night."
"Bessie," calmly said the flunkey-ev'ry word was like a dart
Barbed with poison, entering in that damsel's heart--
"For the last three weeks that pusson--w'ich 'is name are Charlie
Power--
Hev'ry hevenink's called to see you, jest about the dinner-hour.
'E' as never failed to tip me--w'ich is only just and right--
So I still must do my duty, should that pusson ring to-night!"
She with quick steps bounded upward, till she reached the chamber-
door,
Seized her purse, and quick returning, threw it wildly on the floor.
"Take it, Thomas," cried the maiden, with her eyes and cheeks aglow,
"Take it all and welcome--what there is I do not know--
But 'tis yours, ay, ev'ry farthing; gold and precious silver bright,
Only, take good care, dear Thomas, Charlie must not ring to-night!"
She had fled to dress for Freddie; Thomas seeks the front door-bell.
He will muffle up the clapper, in a way he knows full well.
See! The bell is being shaken; 'tis the fateful moment now!
Thomas hastes to "do his dooty," with a firm, determined brow.
Shall he let it ring? No, never; he has touched the guerdon bright,
So he grasps the clapper, whisp'ring, "Charlie _shall_ not ring
to-night!"
It was o'er; the youth ceased pulling, and the maiden breathed once
more.
But, alas! that fickle maiden wept as maid ne'er wept before
When she learn'd that he who'd called there, promptly at the
dinner-hour,
Was the long-expected Freddie, _not_ the hated Charlie Power.
While the tried and trusted Thomas, knowing not her evil plight,
Open'd wide the door for Charlie when that "pusson" called that
night!
A SHORT ENCORE
Man wants but little here below,
He's not so hard to please;
But woman (bless her little heart)
Wants everything she sees!
MY DOUBLE, AND HOW HE UNDID ME
BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE
I am, or rather, was a minister, and was settled in an active,
wide-awake town with a bright parish and a charming young wife. At first
it was all delightful, but as my duties increased I found myself leading
a double life--one for my parish, whom I loved, and the other for a
vague public, for whom I did not care two straws. It was then that on my
wife's suggestion I looked for a double--some one who would pass for me
and fill the many engagements I wanted to shirk. I found him. When he
was discovered his name was Dennis Shea, and he was not shaved, had no
spectacles, and his style of dress was not at all like mine; but these
difficulties were soon surmounted, for, by application to the Judge of
Probate, his name was soon changed to Frederick Ingham--my name. As for
appearance, he was so much like me that by the united efforts of Polly
and myself and a tailor he was made to look the exact image of me. Then
in four successive afternoons I taught him four speeches, which were to
be his stock in trade:
No. 1--"Very well, thank you; and you?" (This for an answer to casual
salutations.)
No. 2--"I am very glad you liked it." (This in response to a compliment
on a sermon.)
No. 3--"There has been so much said, and on the whole so well said, that
I will not occupy the time." (This for public meetings when called to
speak.)
No. 4--"I agree in general with my friend on the other side of the
room." (This when asked for an opinion of his own.)
Thus equipped, my double attended a number of conventions and meetings
which I was too busy to notice and was very successful. He gained a good
reputation for me, and people began to say I was less exclusive than I
used to be, and that I was more punctual, less talkative, etc. His
success was so great that one evening I risked him at a reception. I
could ill afford the time to go, and so I sent him with Polly, who kept
her eye on him, and afterward told me about it. He had to take a very
talkative lady--Mrs. Jeffries--down to supper, and at sight of the
eatables he became a little excited, and attempted one of his speeches
to the lady. He tried the shortest one in his most gallant manner: "Very
well, thank you; and you?" Polly, who stood near his chair, was much
frightened, as this speech had no connection with anything that had been
said, but Mrs. Jeffries was so much engrossed with her own talking that
she noticed nothing. She rattled on so busily that Dennis was not
obliged to say anything more until the eating was over, when he said, to
fill up a pause: "There has been so much said, and on the whole so well
said, that I will not occupy the time." This again frightened Polly, but
she managed to get him away before he had done anything serious.
After this my double relieved me in so many ways that I grew quite
light-hearted. That happy year I began to know my wife by sight. We saw
each other sometimes, and how delightful it was! But all this could not
last; and at length poor Dennis, my double, undid me!
There was some ridiculous new movement on foot to organize some kind of
a society, and there was to be a public meeting. Of course I was asked
to attend and to speak. After much urging I consented to go and sit on
the platform, upon condition that I would not be called upon to make a
speech. This was agreed upon, and I went--that is, Dennis went, having
been told to say nothing on any subject. He sat resplendent on the
platform, and kept his peace during the preliminary exercises, which
were rather dry. Governor Blake called the meeting to order, but as he
really did not know what the object of the gathering was, he said that
there were other gentlemen present who could entertain them better than
he. Then there followed an awkward scene, for nobody wanted to speak,
and every one that was called upon was either absent or unprepared; and
finally a wretched boy in the gallery called out, "Ingham! Ingham!" The
governor thought I would respond, and as nothing had been said so far,
he ventured to ask me, saying: "Our friend, Mr. Ingham, is always
prepared, and tho we had not relied upon him, he will say a word
perhaps." Applause followed, which turned Dennis' head. He rose and
tried speech No. 3: "There has been so much said, and on the whole so
well said, that I will not longer occupy the time!"
Then he sat down, looking for his hat--for things seemed squally. But
the people cried, "Go on! Go on!" and some applauded. Dennis still
confused, but flattered by the applause, rose again, and this time tried
No. 2: "I am very glad you like it." Which, alas! should only be said
when complimented on a sermon. My best friends stared, and people who
didn't know me yelled with delight. A boy in the gallery cried out:
"It's all a humbug!" just as Dennis, waving his hand, commanded silence,
and tried No. 4: "I agree in general with my friend on the other side of
the room." The poor governor, doubting his senses, crossed to stop him,
but too late. The same gallery boy shouted: "How's your mother?" And
Dennis, completely lost, tried as his last shot No. 1: "Very well, thank
you; and you?" The audience rose in a whirl of excitement. Some other
impertinence from the gallery was aimed at Dennis; he broke all
restraint and to finish undoing me, he called out: "Any wan o' ye
blatherin' rascals that wants to fight, can come down an' I'll take any
five o' yez, single-handed; ye're all dogs and cowards! Sure an' I've
said all his riverance an' the mistress bade me say!"
That was all; my double had undone me.
Reprinted by permission of Little, Brown & Co., Boston, Mass.
ROMANCE OF A HAMMOCK
ANONYMOUS
Shady tree--babbling brook,
Girl in hammock--reading book.
Golden curls--tiny feet,
Girl in hammock--looks so sweet.
Man rides past--big mustache,
Girl in hammock--makes a "mash."
"Mash" is mutual--day is set,
Man and maiden--married get.
Married now a year and a day,
Keeping house in Avenue A.
Red-hot stove--beefsteak frying,
Girl got married--cooking trying.
Cheeks all burning--eyes look red,
Girl got married--almost dead.
Biscuit burnt up--beefsteak charry,
Girl got married--awful sorry.
Man comes home--tears mustache,
Mad as blazes--got no cash.
Thinks of hammock--in the lane;
Wishes maiden--back again.
Maiden also--thinks of swing,
And wants to go back, too, poor thing!
Hour of midnight--baby squawking;
Man in bare feet--bravely walking;
The baby yells--now the other
Twin, he strikes up--like his brother.
Paregoric--by the bottle
Poured into--the baby's throttle.
Naughty tack--points in air,
Waiting some one's--foot to tear.
Man in bare feet--see him there!
O my gracious!--hear him swear!
Raving crazy--gets his gun
Blows his head off--dead and gone.
Pretty widow--with a book
In the hammock--by the brook.
Man rides past--big mustache;
Keeps on riding--nary "mash."
FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN
BY S. W. GILLINAN
Superintindent wuz Flannigan;
Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin;
Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack,
An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back,
Finnigin writ it to Flannigan,
Afther the wrick wuz all on ag'in;
That is, this Finnigin
Repoorted to Flannigan.
Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan,
He writed tin pages--did Finnigin,
An' he tould jist how the smash occurred;
Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd
Did Finnigin write to Flannigan
Afther the cars had gone on ag'in.
That wuz how Finnigin
Repoorted to Flannigan.
Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin--
He'd more idjucation, had Flannigan;
An' it wore'm clane an' complately out
To tell what Finnigin writ about
In his writin' to Muster Flannigan.
So he writed back to Finnigin:
"Don't do sich a sin ag'in;
Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"
Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan,
He blushed rosy rid, did Finnigin;
An' he said: "I'll gamble, a whole month's pa-ay
That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay
Befoore Sup'rintindint--that's Flannigan--
Gits a whack at this very same sin ag'in.
From Finnigin to Flannigan
Repoorts won't be long ag'in."
* * * * *
Wan da-ay, on the siction av Finnigin,
On the road sup'rintinded by Flannigan,
A rail gave way on a bit av a curve,
An' some kyars went off as they made the swerve.
"There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin,
"But repoorts must be made to Flannigan."
An' he winked at McCorrigan,
As married a Finnigin.
He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin,
As minny a railroader's been ag'in,
An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright
In Finnigin's shanty all that night--
Bilin' down his repoort, was Finnigin!
An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan:
Off ag'in, on ag'in,
Gone ag'in--Finnigin."
From _Life_, by courtesy of the publishers.
AN INTRODUCTION
BY MARK TWAIN
"Ladies--and--gentlemen:--By--the request of the--Chairman of
the--Com-mit-tee--I beg leave to--introduce--to you--the reader of the
evening--a gentleman whose great learning--whose historical
ac-curacy--whose devotion--to science--and--and--whose veneration for
the truth--are only equaled by his high moral
character--and--his--majestic presence. I allude--in these vague general
terms--to my-self. I--am a little opposed to the custom of ceremoniously
introducing a reader to the audience, because it
seems--unnecessary--where the man has been properly advertised! But
as--it is--the custom--I prefer to make it myself--in my own case--and
then I can rely on getting in--all the facts! I never had but one
introduction--that seemed to me just the thing--and the gentleman was
not acquainted with me, and there was no nonsense. Ladies and gentlemen,
I shall waste no time in this introduction. I know of only two facts
about this man: first, he--has never been in the state prison; and
second, I can't--imagine why."
THE HARP OF A THOUSAND STRINGS
A Hard-shell Baptist Sermon
BY JOSHUA S. MORRIS
(This characteristic effusion first appeared in a New Orleans paper. The
sermon is supposed to have been preached at a village on the bank of the
Mississippi River, whither the volunteer parson had brought his flatboat
for the purpose of trade.)
I may say to you, my brethring, that I am not an edicated man, an' I am
not one of them as beleeves that edication is necessary for a Gospel
minister, for I beleeve the Lord edicates his preachers jest as He wants
'em to be edicated; an' altho I say it that oughtn't to say it, yet in
the State of Indianny, whar I live, thar's no man as gits bigger
congregations nor what I gits.
Thar may be some here to-day, my brethring, as don't know what
persuasion I am uv. Well, I must say to yu, my brethring, that I'm a
Hard-shell Baptist. Thar's some folks as don't like the Hard-shell
Baptists, but I'd rather have a hard shell as no shell at all. You see
me here to-day, my brethring, drest up in fine clothes; you mout think I
was proud, but I am not proud, my brethring; and altho I've been a
preacher of the Gospel for twenty years, an' altho I'm capting of the
flatboat that lies at your landing, I'm not proud, my brethring.