Oh, Nora McCune!Is it draimin’ ye are?Is it wakin’ or shleepin’ ye be?’Tis the dark of the moonAn’ there’s niver a starTo watch if ye’re peepin’ at me.Throw opin yer blind, shweet love, if ye’re there;An’ if ye are not, plaze be shpakin’;An’ if ye’re inclined, ye might bring yer guitah,An’ help me, me darlint to wakin’.I am lonely! Ahone!An’ I’m Michael Maloney,Awakin’ shweet Nora McCune.For, love, I’m alone,An’ here’s Larrie Mahoney,An’ Dinnis O’Rouk an’ Muldoon.I’ve brought them to jine in the song I’ll be singin’;For, Nora, shweet Nora McCune,Ye’ve shtarted me heart-strings so loudly to ringin’,One person can’t carry the chune!But don’t be unaisy,Me darlint, for fearOur saicrit of love should be tould.Mahoney is crazy,An’ Dinnis can’t hear;Muldoon is struck dum wid a could.Their backs are all facin’ the window, me dear;An’ they’ve shworn by the horn of the moonThat niver a note of me song will they hearThat refers to shweet Nora McCune.
Oh, Nora McCune!Is it draimin’ ye are?Is it wakin’ or shleepin’ ye be?’Tis the dark of the moonAn’ there’s niver a starTo watch if ye’re peepin’ at me.Throw opin yer blind, shweet love, if ye’re there;An’ if ye are not, plaze be shpakin’;An’ if ye’re inclined, ye might bring yer guitah,An’ help me, me darlint to wakin’.I am lonely! Ahone!An’ I’m Michael Maloney,Awakin’ shweet Nora McCune.For, love, I’m alone,An’ here’s Larrie Mahoney,An’ Dinnis O’Rouk an’ Muldoon.I’ve brought them to jine in the song I’ll be singin’;For, Nora, shweet Nora McCune,Ye’ve shtarted me heart-strings so loudly to ringin’,One person can’t carry the chune!But don’t be unaisy,Me darlint, for fearOur saicrit of love should be tould.Mahoney is crazy,An’ Dinnis can’t hear;Muldoon is struck dum wid a could.Their backs are all facin’ the window, me dear;An’ they’ve shworn by the horn of the moonThat niver a note of me song will they hearThat refers to shweet Nora McCune.
Oh, Nora McCune!Is it draimin’ ye are?Is it wakin’ or shleepin’ ye be?’Tis the dark of the moonAn’ there’s niver a starTo watch if ye’re peepin’ at me.Throw opin yer blind, shweet love, if ye’re there;An’ if ye are not, plaze be shpakin’;An’ if ye’re inclined, ye might bring yer guitah,An’ help me, me darlint to wakin’.
I am lonely! Ahone!An’ I’m Michael Maloney,Awakin’ shweet Nora McCune.For, love, I’m alone,An’ here’s Larrie Mahoney,An’ Dinnis O’Rouk an’ Muldoon.I’ve brought them to jine in the song I’ll be singin’;For, Nora, shweet Nora McCune,
Ye’ve shtarted me heart-strings so loudly to ringin’,One person can’t carry the chune!
But don’t be unaisy,Me darlint, for fearOur saicrit of love should be tould.Mahoney is crazy,An’ Dinnis can’t hear;Muldoon is struck dum wid a could.Their backs are all facin’ the window, me dear;An’ they’ve shworn by the horn of the moonThat niver a note of me song will they hearThat refers to shweet Nora McCune.
It was his first banquet, and they were making speeches. Everybody was being called on for a speech, and he was in mortal terror, for he had never made a speech in his life. An old-timer at his side cruelly suggested that he “get under the table—or say a prayer.” His name was called and he got up with fear and trembling, and said:
“My friends, I never made a speech in all mylife, and I’m just scared nearly to death. A friend here beside me has suggested two things for me to do—to get under the table, or to pray. Well, I couldn’t get under the table without observation, and now that I am on my feet, I can’t think of any other prayer to say except one that I used to hear my sister Mary say in the morning when mother called us—‘O Lord, how I do hate to get up!’”
When Benjamin F. Butler lived in Lowell, Massachusetts, he had a little black-and-tan dog. One morning, as he was coming down the street, followed by the dog, a policeman stopped him and told him that, in accordance with an ordinance just passed, he must muzzle the dog.
“Very well,” said Butler.
Next morning he came along with the dog, and the policeman again told him of the muzzling ordinance and requested him to muzzle the dog.
“All right,” snorted Butler. “It is a foolordinance, but I’ll muzzle him. Let me pass.”
Next morning the policeman was on the lookout. “I beg your pardon, General,” he said, “but I must arrest you. Your dog is not muzzled.”
“Not muzzled?” shouted Butler. “Not muzzled? Well, look at him.”
The policeman looked more carefully at the dog and found a tiny, toy muzzle tied to its tail.
“General,” he expostulated, “this dog is not properly muzzled.”
“Yes, he is, sir,” asserted Butler. “Yes, he is. I have examined that idiotic statute and I find it says that every dog must wear a muzzle. It doesn’t say where the dog shall wear the muzzle, and I choose to decorate the tail of my dog instead of the head with this infernal contraption.”
“One day,” said General Howard, “Mr. Lincoln saw Senator Fessenden coming toward his office room. Mr. Fessenden had receivedthe promise of some appointment in Maine for one of his constituents. The case had been overlooked. As soon as Mr. Lincoln caught sight of the Senator he saw he was angry, and called out: ‘Say, Fessenden, aren’t you an Episcopalian?’ Mr. Fessenden, somewhat taken aback, answered, ‘Yes, I belong to that persuasion, Mr. President.’ Mr. Lincoln then said, ‘I thought so. You swear so much like Seward. Seward is an Episcopalian. But, you ought to hear Stanton swear. He can beat you both. He is a Presbyterian.’”
Some one once called on President Lincoln during the war to suggest some change of command for General B——, who did not seem to do well as a commander anywhere. “Well,” said Mr. Lincoln, “that’s so. General B—— doesn’t fit in well anywhere. He reminds me of an experience I once had with a piece of iron I found while at work in the woods. I thought it would make a good axe-head, and took it to a blacksmith. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘it’llmake a good axe.’ So he put it into the fire, made it red-hot and pounded away on it on his anvil. After hammering it a good while, he stopped and said, ‘No, it won’t make an axe, but I tell you, it’ll make a mighty good clevis.’ So I told him to make a clevis out of it. Then he heated it again, and again pounded away at it a great while, and then stopped and looked at it and said, ‘No, it won’t make a clevis neither. But,’ said he, holding it red-hot in his pincers over his tub of water, ‘I’ll tell you what it will make. It will make a blame’ good fizzle.’ And here he dropped it into the tub—and it fizzled.”
The occupants of a Pullman sleeper were diligently trying to get some rest, but could not. There was a very thirsty woman in one of the berths who kept the whole car awake by her perpetual song of—“Oh, I am so dry. I am so dry. My, but I am dry. Dear me, what shall I do? I am so dry.”
“Hello, Porter!” at last sang out a gentleman across the way, “For Heaven’s sake givethat woman some ice water, and plenty of it. I want to get some sleep.”
The Porter brought a glass of water. He brought a second glass. She drank them both—and took up her song afresh—
“My, but I was dry. I was so dry. I never was so dry in all my life. Dear me, but I was dry.”
“Oh, Great Scott, woman,” sang out the man across the way, “dry up, and let me sleep!”
In the good old days of the rod of birch a Philadelphia school teacher was very partial to one of his boys, and very severe to another. One day they were both tardy. Rod in hand he called them both up on the floor. “James, my boy,” said he to the favorite regretfully, but kindly, “why were you late to-day?” “You see, sir,” replied James, “I was asleep, sir, and I dreamed I was going to California, and I was down on the wharf, and I thought the school-bell was the bell of the steamboat.” “That will do, my boy,” said the teacher, glad of an excuse to shield his favorite, “always tell thetruth, my boy. And now, sir,” said he to the other sternly, “and where were you?” “You, see, sir,” said the other candidly, “I was down on the wharf waitin’ to see Jim off!”
Annie had a beau. She also had a small brother of the proverbially troublesome age of five. One day at the dinner table they were teasing Annie about Mr. Lovejoy—that was the beau’s name—and Annie declared that she didn’t like him one bit, and said moreover that Mr. Lovejoy “had a soft spot in his head.” That called off the dogs, for a time at least, but her brother Bobbie took note.
The next evening Mr. Lovejoy called to see Annie. They were both in the parlor. He was sitting on the sofa, and she occupied a chair on the other side of the room. Bobbie strolled into the room, climbed up on the sofa and began a very diligent examination of Mr. Lovejoy’s head. He felt all over it, and looked puzzled. Mr. Lovejoy was puzzled likewise, and at length said, “Why, Bobbie, what are you examining my head for? Are you studying phrenology?” “No,” said the boy, “Sister Annie says you have a soft spot on your head somewhere, and I was just trying to find it!”
They made it up somehow, and Mr. Lovejoy began to call again, evidently with better results. For, one rainy day the father of the household was looking everywhere in the hall for his umbrella. “Where’s my umbrella, Annie?” asked he. “I believe somebody has carried it off.” And Bobbie said, “Annie’s beau stole it.” And Annie said, “Bobbie! how dare you say such a thing of Mr. Lovejoy?” And Bobbie said, “I know he did, because when he was giving you good-night at the hat-rack last night, I heard him say as plain as could be, ‘I’m going to steal just one!’”
Two Irish hod-carriers were arguing about their ability to carry their hods safely to the top of a high building. One said he could carry a tumbler of water on top of his load without spilling a drop. And Pat said, “Ach! a tumblerof water! Why, Mike, I could carry you in my hod to the top of this ten-story buildin’ without spillin’ you.” And Mike said, “I bet you tin dollars you can’t.” “Done!” said Pat. “Get into my hod.”
Mike got in, and up Pat went quickly and safely until he came to the sixth floor, when all of a sudden his foot slipped off the rung of the ladder and his hod pitched, threatening to deposit its cargo on the sidewalk seventy-five feet below. But with a mighty effort he steadied himself, grasped his hod tight and proceeded to the top safely, where he deposited Mike on the floor of the scaffolding with, “There, Mike, I’ve won the bet. Out wid yer tin dollars.” “Sure, ye did, Pat,” said Mike, “the tin is yours, but whin ye got to the sixth flure, an’ stoombled—be gob, I thought I had ye!”
In a sleeping car one morning not long ago a Vermont man was accosted by his neighbor opposite, who was putting on his shoes, with the inquiry: “My friend, allow me to inquire,are you a rich man?” The Vermonter looked astonished, but answered the pleasant-faced, tired-looking gentleman with a “Yes, I am tolerably rich.” A pause occurred, and then came another question, “How rich are you?” He answered, “Oh—about seven or eight hundred thousand. Why?” “Well,” said the weary-looking old man, “if I were as rich as you say you are, and went traveling, and snored as loud as I know you do, I’d hire a whole sleeper all for myself every time I went traveling.”
An old darkey who was asked if in his experience prayer was ever answered, replied: “Well, sah, some pra’rs is ansud an’ some isn’t—’pends on what yo’ asks fo’? Jest arter de wah, w’en it was mighty hard scratchin’ fo’ de cullud brudren, I ’bsarved dat w’enebber I pway de Lo’d to sen’ one o’ Massa Peyton’s fat turkeys fo’ de ole man, dere was no notice took o’ de partition; but—w’en I pway dat he would sen’ de ole man fo’ de turkey, de tingwas ’tended to befo’ sunup nex’ mornin’ dead sartain.”
A lonely traveler on horseback, riding through a dreary section of the far West, eagerly scanned the horizon for some signs of a human habitation. At last away in the distance he spied a cabin, put his horse to a trot, only to find the house deserted. Nailed on the front door was a sheet of paper on which he read the following pathetic story:
Five miles from water.
Ten miles from timber.
A hundred miles from a neighbor.
A hundred and fifty miles from a post office.
Two hundred and fifty from a railroad.
God bless our home!
We have gone East to spend the winter with my wife’s folks.
Bobbie was taken to church for the first time, and his dear Aunt Lou, who took him there, “just wondered how he would behave.” She soon discovered, for Bobbie was no sooner seated in the pew than he observed a very bald-headed man two seats to the front, and exclaimed in a loud whisper which set everybody smiling, “Oh, Aunt Lou! there’s a man with a skinned head!” Aunt Lou’s face was crimson, and she shook him, but it did little good, for when the minister took his place in the chancel, the boy remarked, “Another man with a skinned head!” Things were getting uncomfortable, and reached their climax when the boy, seeing the choir up in the gallery, called out, “Oh, Aunt Lou! what are all those people doing up there on the mantel-piece?”
Once upon a time there was a minister, a very orthodox man, and he was very fond of pepper-sauce, and he liked it piping hot, the very strongest kind on the market. Distrusting that furnished by the hotels, he always carried with him on his travels a bottle of his favorite brand. One day as he was seated at the dinner table of a hotel, a man on the otherside of the table asked him to “please pass the pepper-sauce.” “Certainly,” said he, “with pleasure. This bottle is my own private property, I always carry it with me. I think you will find it very good.” The man helped himself freely, and when he had got done coughing and had recovered enough breath to enable him to speak, he said: “Pardon me, sir. I believe you are a preacher?” “Yes, that is my calling in life.” “An orthodox preacher, I presume?” “Yes, sir.” “And you really believe in hell-fire?” “Yes—I feel it my duty to warn the inpenitent of their danger.” “And you do preach and believe in a literal hell-fire?” “I cannot do otherwise with the Scriptures before me.” “Well”—said the man, “I have met a good many preachers in my time who believe and preach just as you do, sir, but I must say I never before met a man who carries his samples with him.”
“When I get to heaven,” said Brown, as he laid down the book he had been reading—“when I get to heaven, the very first person I want to see will be Shakespeare.”
“And what do you want to see Shakespeare for?” inquired his wife.
“Why, I just want to ask him whether he wrote his own plays, or whether he got some one else to write them for him, and have this question settled.”
“Well, but”—objected his wife, “how do you know he’ll be there? Not all people will get to heaven.”
“That’s so, that’s so,” said Brown meditatively. “Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do—if he isn’t there, then suppose you ask him?”
At a criminal trial both judge and counsel had a deal of trouble to make the timid witnesses speak loud enough to be heard by the jury, and it is possible that the temper of the counsel may thereby have been turned from the even tenor of its way. After this gentleman had gone through the various stages of bar pleading, and had coaxed, threatened andeven bullied the witnesses, there was called into the box a young hostler who appeared to be simplicity itself.
“Now, sir,” said the counsel, in a tone that would at any other time have been denounced as vulgarly loud, “I hope we shall have no difficulty in making you speak out.”
“I hope not, sir,” was shouted, or rather bellowed out, by the witness in tones which almost shook the building, and would certainly have alarmed any timid or nervous person.
“How dare you speak in that way, sir?” demanded the counsel.
“Please, sir, I can’t speak no louder,” roared the perplexed witness, evidently thinking that fault was found with him for speaking too softly.
“Pray, have you been drinking this morning?” shouted the counsel, who had now thoroughly lost the last remnant of his temper.
“Yes, sir,” was the stentorian reply.
“And what have you been drinking?”
“Corfee, sir.”
“And what did you have in your coffee?”
“A spune, sir,” bawled the witness in his highest key amidst the roars of the court.
It occurred in an Ohio college, in the early days when the small college was struggling for an existence, and the students were struggling for an education. Many of the boys were very poor, and had to board themselves, doing all their cooking, sleeping and studying in the same room. To economize space they were used to keep their little store of groceries and provisions under the bed, and the bed was of the old bed-cord kind. The two particular boys of whom we write, for some reason or other, at this particular time, had a pan full of molasses under the bed.
Boys will be boys, poor as well as rich, and college boys the world over are full of all manner of tricks. These two chaps had concocted a very neat little scheme for getting on to the nerves of Professor John, who had charge of the building in which they were domiciled. For days and days they had been secretly carrying a lot of stones up into their room anddepositing them in an empty barrel. When the barrel was full, the trick was ready to be pulled off just at bedtime, the trick consisting of simply rolling the barrel to the top of the corkscrew staircase, and letting her go Gallagher, when the perpetrators would skip to their room hard by, dive into bed and be sound asleep before Professor John could say Jack Robinson.
But—Professor John knew about all the possible combinations of the college boy, and could smell a hatching trick a mile away. Knowing that something was in the air, he had quietly stationed himself in a dark niche in the wall at the head of the staircase, and was watching the two night-begowned boys as they tugged with all their strength at the heavy barrel of stones, gently rolling it to the top of the stairs. “Don’t make a noise,” hoarsely whispered the one who was bossing the job, “and don’t let her go till all is ready and I give the word.”
When all was about ready to heave away, out stepped Professor John with a terrible “What’s—all—this!”
Away went the boys pell-mell to their room. They tried to slam the door shut, but the Professor’s foot got there first, and they dived into bed.
But alas! there had been a trick within a trick. Some one had cut the bed-cords! And as the two went down to the floor, one pitifully called out “Oh—we’re in the molasses!”
Professor John knew what that meant. He leaned up against the wall and laughed till he cried. “Let them go, poor fellows,” he said, as he went to his room, “they have been punished enough.”
In a lecture on Carlyle, Moncure D. Conway related how the great writer was interviewed one morning by a very rough man in his neighborhood. A great revival being in progress in the vicinity, this man, well known as a very rough and profane fellow, had been attending the meetings and was “under conviction,” as the phrase went. Thinking that perhaps Mr. Carlyle might be able to give himsome good and godly advice, he made a morning call on the celebrated writer, who unfortunately was just then enduring a most grievous attack of dyspepsia.
“Good morning, Mr. Carlyle,” said the man.
“Morning,” growled Carlyle.
“Mr. Carlyle,” said he, “I have come to see you this morning about my soul——“
“And what has gone wrong with your soul, then?” interrupted the man of letters.
“Why, Mr. Carlyle, I’ve been such an awful bad man that I’m afraid, if I were to die, I’d go straight to hell.”
“Very likely,” was the prompt answer. “Very likely indeed. And, what is more—you may be very thankful you have a hell to go to, too.”
“Now, James,” said a business man to his ten-year-old boy, “you are going to be a business man, and it is time that we should begin to give you some practical lessons in the art and science of investing money. Here’s a halfdollar. You take it and go down town and invest it on your own hook and to the best advantage. I don’t care where you put it in, only so you put it where it will be safe and where you will get a good interest for your money.”
The boy took the silver and started off. In an hour he returned, reporting that he had made a good investment, and was going to get a hundred per cent. interest.
“Splendid!” said the admiring father. “Where did you put it in?”
“Well,” said the boy, “I went down town and walked around a while, wondering where I should find a good place, and by and by I came by a church, and there was a meeting, and they were singing, and I went in. It was a missionary meeting, and the man was begging money for Missions, and he said if you gave him your money why the Lord would send it back to you doubled—He would pay you a hundred per cent.”
“I hope,” expostulated his father, “you didn’t put that half dollar on the collection plate?” “Yes, I did, father,” said the boy, “and theman he said that the Lord is a good paymaster and that He’d send it back doubled.”
“And you believed him! O pshaw, I’m utterly disappointed in you, James. You’ll never make a business man. The idea of your believing such stuff like that. Why, that half dollar—you’ll never see it again, and that man—why, he’s nothing but a fakir. O well—pshaw! I’ll give you another chance, and see that you do better this time. Here’s a dollar. Now you steer clear of all churches and missionary meetings this time——“
“Why, father!” exclaimed the boy as he took the dollar, “why, that man was right after all. The Lord did send my half dollar back, and sooner than I looked for it—and doubled, too!”
Josh Billings concluded his celebrated lecture on “Milk” with these memorable words—“Remember the poor. It costs nothing.”
A town meeting had been called to devise ways and means to provide for the poor of the community. After many speeches had beenmade, and many recommendations offered, and much time wasted and nothing done, a benevolent German arose in the back part of the hall and said:
“Mister Chairman, I move, before we adjourn, we all shtand oop undt gif three cheers for de poor!”
The first Temperance Society organized in this country, in the year 1808, provided that “No member shall be intoxicated under a penalty of fifty cents, and no member shall ask another person to take a drink under a penalty of twenty-five cents.”
There was a Temperance Society in the State of Maine, prior to the year 1825, which had the following remarkable plank in its platform: “If any member of this Society shall get drunk, he shall be obliged to stand treat for the whole Society all round!”
A hundred years ago the virtues of rum were set forth in an English publication after the following fashion:
“It sloweth age, it strengthened youth, it helpeth digestion, it cutteth phlegme, it abandoneth melancholy, it relisheth the heart, it lighteneth the mind, it quickeneth the spirits, it cureth the hydupsia, it healeth the strangurie, it pounceth the stone, it expelleth the gravel, it puffeth away ventosity; it keepeth and preserveth the head from whirling, the tongue from lisping, the mouth from snaffling, the teeth from chattering and the throat from rattling. It keepeth the weasen from stiffling, the stomach from wambling and the heart from swelling. It keepeth the hands from shivering, the sinews from shrinking, the veins from crumbling, the bones from aching, and the marrow from soaking.”
When Sherman’s army was making its great march through Georgia the colored people were, of course, very much excited over the news of the approach of the Northern army. They had very little idea of what Northern soldiers looked like, but had commonly heard them spoken of as “the dam Yankees.” In acertain part of Georgia, when they heard of the approach of the great army, the darkies held a prayer-meeting, and one old fellow prayed—“O Lawd, bress Massa Linkum, an’ bress Gin’l Sherman. O Lawd, he’s one o’ us. He got a white skin, but he got a black heart, he one o’ us. An’, O Lawd, bress all dem dam Yankees!”
A circus came to town down in Kentucky. The tents were set up and the cages put in, and the people gathered about to look. “There, ladies and gentlemen,” shouted the barker, “is the Royal Lion, the king of beasts. He can whip any other animal in the world.”
“He kin, kin he?” queried a gawky Kentuckian. “I’ll bet you five dollars I have an animal at home that’ll lick him the very first round.”
“Can’t take your bet,” said the barker. “Too little money. Couldn’t think of letting him fight for five dollars, but I’ll take a bet of twenty-five dollars.”
“I ain’t got that much,” said Kentuck, “but I’ll borrow it of my friends, an’ we’ll have a fight.”
The bystanders made up the money, and the stakes were duly put up. Kentuck went to his home, and by and by returned with a bag over his shoulder.
“What you got in that bag?” asked the showman.
“A snolligoster,” answered Kentuck.
“A snolligoster? What’s that? Let’s see it.”
“No, you don’t,” answered Kentuck. “You open the top of your cage and I’ll put my animile in, the money’s put up, you know.”
So the cage was opened and Kentuck climbed up to the hole in the top and, opening his bag, shook out of it a big snapping turtle. The turtle stood on the defensive. The lion came up to smell him. He took only one smell, gave a yell of pain and retired to his corner to howl the snapper loose if he could.
“Take him off,” yelled the showman.
“Take him off yerself, if ye want to,” said Kentuck. “The fightin’s just commenced. First blood for my snolligoster.”
Two human Whetstones met on the street.
“Queer, isn’t it?”
“What’s queer?”
“The night falls——“
“Yes.”
“——but it doesn’t break.”
“No.”
“And the day breaks——“
“Yes.”
“But it doesn’t fall?”
“No—but it’s getting very warm.”
“Yes, it is.”
“There would be a big thaw but for one thing——“
“And what’s that?”
“There’s nothing froze.”
And they parted.
A missionary in the Far West, residing near an Indian reservation, relates how one day there came to his house an Indian and a squaw wishing to “get married white man’s way.” Everything being in order they were duly made man and wife according to the service of the Church. “I was a little apprehensive,” said the minister, laughing, “that it might not turn out well with them. They had such queer names. His name was ‘Little Red Horse,’ and hers was ‘Jane-kick-a-hole-in-the-sky.”
“Who was the strongest man?” asked the Sunday-school teacher. One boy said “Samson, cause he choked a lion to death.” “Naw,” said another boy, “g’wan, it wasn’t Samson. It was Jonah, ’cause a whale couldn’t keep him down.”
Postal cards having been sent out to all the married men in a certain town in Western New York carrying the question, “Why did you marry?” the following are some of the answers returned:
“That’s what I’ve been trying for eleven years to find out.”
“Married to get even with her mother—but never have.”
“Was freckle-faced and thought it was my last chance. I’ve found out, however, that freckles ain’t near as bad as henspeck.”
“Because I was too lazy to work.”
“Because Sarah told me that five other young fellows had proposed to her. Lucky dogs!”
“The old man thought eight years courtin’ was long enough.”
“I was lonesome and melancholy, and wanted some one to make me lively. N. B. She makes me lively, you bet!”
“I was tired of buying ice cream and candies and going to theatres and church, and wanted a rest. Have saved money.”
“Please don’t stir me up!”
“Because I thought she was one among a thousand; now I sometimes think she is a thousand among one.”
“Because I did not then have the experience I now have.”
“The Governor was going to give me his foot, so I took his daughter’s hand.”
“I thought it would be cheaper than a breach-of-promise suit.”
“That’s the same fool question all my friends and neighbors ask.”
“Because I had more money than I knew what to do with. And now I have more to do with than I have money.”
“I wanted a companion of the opposite sex. P. S. She is still opposite.”
“Don’t mention it!”
“Had difficulty in unlocking the door at night, and wanted somebody in the house to let me in.”
“Because it is just my luck.”
“I didn’t intend to go and do it.”
“I yearned for company. We now have company all the time—her folks.”
“I married to get the best wife in the world.”
“Because I asked her if she’d have me. She said she would. I think she’s got me!”
It is related of the late William Travers of New York City, who was used at times tomake merry of his own incurable and distressing infirmity, that he was on one occasion asked by a woman in a street car, “Would he be so good as to tell her whether it was nine o’clock yet?” Pulling his timepiece out of his pocket and looking at it a moment, he began, “N—n—no, M—m—madam, it isn’t n—n—nine oc—oc—o’clock yet, b—b—but it will be by—by—by the time I can g—g—get it out.”
On another occasion he was asked some question by an entire stranger on the street, who stammered quite as painfully as he himself did, and when he stuttered out a laborious answer, the man thinking Travers was mocking him, grew angry and exclaimed:
“How d—dare y—y—you m—make sport of m—m—m—my inf—infirmity?”
And Travers replied, “I wasn’t m—m—making f—f—fun of your in—inf—infirmity. I stut—tut—tut—tutter myself. W—w—why don’t you go to Doctor B—B—Brown? He—cu—cuc—cured me!”
Two men once went squirrel shooting. One of them was a notorious stammerer. He hadno load in his gun when he saw a squirrel running up a tree, and wishing to call the attention of his companion to it he began:
“J—J—James! I see a—a—a—a sq—sq—sq—Oh, by George he’s gone into his hole!”
There was a chap who kept a store,And though there might be grander,He sold his goods nor asked for more,And his name was Alexander.He mixed his goods with cunning hand,He was a skillful brander;And since his sugar half was sand,They called him Alex-Sander.He had his dear one, to her came,Then lovingly he scanned her;He asked her would she change her name?Then a ring did Alex-hand-her.“Oh, yes,” she said, with smiling lip,“If I can be commander!”And so they framed a partnershipAnd called it Alex-and-her.
There was a chap who kept a store,And though there might be grander,He sold his goods nor asked for more,And his name was Alexander.He mixed his goods with cunning hand,He was a skillful brander;And since his sugar half was sand,They called him Alex-Sander.He had his dear one, to her came,Then lovingly he scanned her;He asked her would she change her name?Then a ring did Alex-hand-her.“Oh, yes,” she said, with smiling lip,“If I can be commander!”And so they framed a partnershipAnd called it Alex-and-her.
There was a chap who kept a store,And though there might be grander,He sold his goods nor asked for more,And his name was Alexander.
He mixed his goods with cunning hand,He was a skillful brander;And since his sugar half was sand,They called him Alex-Sander.
He had his dear one, to her came,Then lovingly he scanned her;He asked her would she change her name?Then a ring did Alex-hand-her.
“Oh, yes,” she said, with smiling lip,“If I can be commander!”And so they framed a partnershipAnd called it Alex-and-her.
Once in traveling the Rev. Dr. Bledsoe was exceedingly annoyed by a pedantic bore who forced himself upon him, and made a great parade of his shallow learning. The doctor endured it as long as he could, but at length, looking at the man, said: “My friend, you and I know all that is to be known.” “Why, how is that?” asked the man, much pleased with what he thought a very complimentary association. “Why,” blandly replied the doctor, “you know everything in this world, except that you are a fool—and I know that.”
When the pious deacon, riding a very poor horse, pulled up at the cross-roads and asked a farmer’s boy to tell him which road to take, the boy asked him who he was and where it was he was going?
“My boy,” replied the deacon with a pious gaze heavenward, “I am a follower of the Lord.”
“A follower of the Lord!” exclaimed the lad.“I reckon, mister, you’d better buy another nag, for you’ll never catch up to him on that old horse of yourn!”
Stooping down to wash his hands in a creek, the darkey couldn’t, of course, observe the peculiar motions of a goat right behind him. When he scrambled out of the water and was asked how it happened, he answered: “I dunno zacktly. ’Peared as if de shore kinder histed an’ frowed me.”
During the trying days of drafting in Civil War times, a farmer from away out West called on President Lincoln. As soon as he got near enough to the President he slapped him familiarly on the back and said, “Hello, old hoss, how are ye?”
“You call me an old hoss,” said Mr. Lincoln; “may I inquire what kind of a hoss I am?” “Why—an old Draft hoss, to be sure. Ha, ha!”
Somehow or other there were many more queer things happening in church in the olden time than occur in these sober and decorous days. In old St. Paul’s, Newburyport, for example, some very amusing things are recorded to have happened during the hours of service. Uncle Nat Bailey was the sexton, and it was his duty to attend to the new stove which had just been put in. But one Sunday morning Uncle Nat was engaged in ringing the bell, and the last comers were hurrying in, and the clerk, Harvey, perceived that the stove needed attention. Taking the sexton’s duty, he poked the fire, chucked in more wood, shut the door and returned to his place at his desk. Unfortunately he had got his hand all black with soot, and unwittingly he had smeared the soot all over his face. The congregation broadly smiled a few minutes later when he solemnly rose at his desk and gave out the first hymn, “Behold the beauties of my face.”
Lighting as well as heating gave trouble in those days. Candles guttered, or went out, and kept the attentive sextons busy tiptoeingabout, snuffing or relighting them. Sexton Currier—pronounced in country speech “Kiah”—of Parson Milton’s church in the same old town, once neglected this duty during an evening service.
Parson Milton, from his tremendous, booming voice nicknamed “Thundering Milton,” was an excellent pastor, but very singular and abrupt in his ways. Observing the condition of the lights, he quite upset the congregation by proclaiming at the top of his voice, without the slightest break between the sentences:
“The Lord said unto Moses, Kiah, snuff the candles.”
He it was, too, who, when a worthy parishioner whose Christian name was Mark once dropped off into a doze in his pew, recalled him to his duty in a marvelous fashion. Leaning forward in the middle of the sermon, and apparently addressing himself directly to the offender, he exclaimed in quick, sharp tones, “Mark!”
At the sound of his name, the man opened his eyes and sat hastily erect, while the preacher, resuming his normal voice, concluded the sentence—“the perfect man, and behold the upright.”
On a very cold day, when the church was inadequately warmed, another minister preached from a very hot text. At the conclusion of the service he leaned over the pulpit and said, in a tone audible to all the congregation:
“Deacon Craig, do, I pray you, see to it that this church is properly warmed this afternoon. What’s the use of my preaching to a parcel of sinners about the danger of hell-fire when the church is as cold as a barn?”
They were both musical, and of course became engaged. One evening the young man was late in paying his visit. The young lady was anxious and getting nervous. The whole family sympathized with the poor girl as she waited for the bell to ring. Suddenly the bell rang, and the calm blue sky of peace reappeared in the young girl’s eyes as she exclaimed rapturously even if ungrammatically, “That’s him! How exquisite his technique is on the bell-pull, and oh! the breadth and compass of his ring!”
Three street boys were brought by the city missionary into a downtown Sunday-school, and placed in Mr. B——’s class. “What is your first name?” he asked of one. “Lem,” was the reply. “Ah, Lemuel,” corrected the teacher. “And yours, my boy?” he asked of the next. “Sam,” yelled the urchin. “Ah, Samuel,” rejoined Mr. B——. “And what may I call you?” he kindly asked of the third. “My name is—Jimuel,” said he.
That English clergyman had no tact who vehemently declared his parishioners to be “a set of unmitigated asses.” One of the Long-Eared standing by ventured to inquire whether that was the reason his reverence addressed them every Sunday morning as “Dearly beloved Brethren?”
But here was another English clergyman who had tact. On one occasion he was traveling in a stage-coach in company with a noisy talker who persisted in thrusting upon his fellow-passengers the fact that he did not believe in the Bible. In particular he was severe upon the writer who had alleged that Joshua had commanded the sun to stand still and look on while he wiped out the heathen. The clergyman had been measuring up his companion, and at this point he spoke out——
“Did you ever read the further explanation of that great miracle as given in the First Book of Zorobbabel?”
“Yes, I have,” snapped the learned infidel, “and that doesn’t throw any light on it either. In fact, it makes it worse——“
The general roar of laughter which followed this confession of ignorance ended the controversy, and bottled up the agnostic.
On another occasion this same clergyman was annoyed by a bustling preacher who walked up to him in public, and, in a voice that arrested the attention of all within hearing, challenged him to a controversy on ApostolicSuccession. The challenged man turned sharply and said: “Can you repeat the Lord’s Prayer, sir?” “But—“ stammered the man, “I want to discuss—“ “Sir,” said the other, “I repeat, say the Lord’s Prayer, if you can.” The man was so taken aback by this unexpected flank movement that, if he ever knew the Lord’s Prayer, every petition of it had vanished from his memory, and he became red-faced and silent. Then his dignified antagonist turned in a stately way to the group of amused auditors, and said, “Sir, I will leave it to this intelligent assemblage to decide whether a man who is unable to repeat the Lord’s Prayer is competent to discuss Apostolic Succession.”
A tourist was told by a guide that the echo on a Killarney lake was very fine. So, off went the tourist to hear it, and hired two men to row him out, accomplishing the transaction so swiftly that there was no time for them to arrange for the usual echo to be in attendance. The echo wasn’t working. What was to bedone? In despair of a better expedient, the men that were rowing broke an oar, and one swam ashore to fetch another—and while he was gone, the echo began to work!
“Good morning,” cried the tourist.
“Good marning,” said the echo, with a charming brogue.
“Fine day, sir.”
“Foine day, sir,” improved the echo.
“Will you take a drink?” cried the tourist.
“Begorra, an’ that I will!” roared the echo.
Jack and his friend Mickey were walking uptown one morning and Jack said, “Mickey, I bet you a dollar I can prove to you that you are on the other side of the street.”
“Done,” said Mickey, “I’m the man for your money.”
“Well,” continued Jack, pointing to the opposite side of the street, “that is one side of the street, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Mickey.
“And this side is the other side, isn’t it?And you are on the other side. And I’ll take your dollar, please.”
Mickey passed out the dollar, but scratched his head. He resolved to win that dollar back, and later in the day waylaid a man with, “I say—I bet you a dollar I can prove to you that you are on the other side of the street.” “Done,” said the man. “I’d as soon make a dollar easy as not.”
“Well,” said Mickey, “this is one side of the street, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that can’t be disputed.”
“And over there is the other side, isn’t it?”
“Yes—but I ain’t on that side—and I’ll take your dollar, please.”
And Mickey walked home scratching his head and wondering how it came that “the dang thing didn’t work?”
This is how the colonel and the lieutenant-colonel of a French regiment in Algeria were lionized. The major of the regiment one day came across a lion suffering grievous pain froma thorn in his paw. Pitying the poor animal, the major extracted the thorn. Considering what he could do in return for the kindness, the grateful lion secured a copy of the army register, ran his eye over the list of officers in the gentle major’s regiment, and waylaid and devoured both the colonel and the lieutenant-colonel, so that his friend, the major, could be promoted.
In the course of a sermon on “The Soul,” a certain minister once said: “They are saying these days that the soul is nothing but electricity. Now, brethren, just to show you how utterly ridiculous this modern conceit is, suppose we substitute the word ‘electricity’ for the words ‘the soul’ wherever they occur in the Bible, and see how it will read. For instance: ‘What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his—electricity. Or what shall a man give in exchange for his—electricity.’ Ridiculous, perfectly ridiculous!”
There was a farmer who had a balky mule and he couldn’t make the mule go. A stranger came along and offered to help, and the farmer told him to go right ahead. The stranger had a bottle of turpentine, and he opened the mule’s mouth and pushed back his head and poured about half of the bottle into the mule’s stomach. The mule gave one startled gasp and struck out across the prairie, and was lost to sight. The surprised farmer stood for a while immersed in deep thought, and then he said, “Stranger, please give me the rest of that turpentine; I’ve got to catch my mule.”
Many children are so crammed with everything that they really know nothing.
In proof of this, read these veritable specimens of definitions, written by public school children:
“Stability is taking care of a stable.”
“A mosquito is the child of black and white parents.”
“Tocsin is something to do with getting drunk.”
“Expostulation is to have the smallpox.”
“Monastery is the place for monsters.”
“Cannibal is two brothers who killed each other in the Bible.”
“Anatomy is the human body, which consists of three parts, the head, the chist and the stummick. The head contains the eyes and brains, if any. The chist contains the lungs and a piece of the liver. The stummick is devoted to the bowels, of which there are five, a, e, i, o, u, and sometimes w and y.”
Some amusing “baptismal experiences” of a “well-known clergyman” are printed in the columns of an exchange. A boy born on January 3, 1863, was dubbed Emancipation Proclamation Baxter. Another he christened Perseverance Jones. When the minister endeavored to dissuade the father he replied that the child’s mother was named Patience, and he saw no reason why the boy should not becalled Perseverance, because the two always went together. But the richest of his reminiscences had to do with twins:
“What names will you call them?” I inquired.
“Cherubim and Seraphim,” replied their mother.
“Why?” I asked, in astonishment.
“Because,” she replied, “de pra’er book says, ‘De cherubim and seraphim continually do cry,’ an’ dese yere chil’en do nuffin’ else.”
As the newspaper man put it: “A late invoice from Boston to Africa included three missionaries and eighty-three casks of rum—salvation in the cabin, damnation in the hold, and Old Glory floating over both.”
This fine bit of ecclesiastical sarcasm is further illustrated by a fact concerning a church in the city of Edinburgh, which city is noted for its Scottish brand of “religion and whiskey,” and of which wits have spoken as being “the most spiritually minded city in theKingdom.” Well—there is said to be a church there, so built as to include a spacious basement adapted for storage purposes, which the pious elders, with a business eye to revenue, did not scruple to rent for the storage of casks of wine and other spirits in considerable bulk. Well—along comes some clever wit with a facile pen and writes on the door of the basement of that Edinburgh church the following lines. The authorship is unknown, but Macready is suspected: