WAR

Stuff a hired dress-suit case with an effort to please,Add a half-dozen stumbles and trips;Remove his right thumb from the cranberry sauce,Roll in crumbs, melted butter and tips.—Life.WAR"Flag of truce, Excellency.""Well, what do the revolutionists want?""They would like to exchange a couple of Generals for a can of condensed milk."If you favor war, dig a trench in your backyard, fill it half full of water, crawl into it, and stay there for a day or two without anything to eat, get a lunatic to shoot at you with a brace of revolvers and a machine gun, and you will have something just as good, and you will save your country a great deal of expense."Who are those people who are cheering?" asked the recruit as the soldiers marched to the train."Those," replied the veteran, "are the people who are not going."—Puck.He who did well in war, just earns the rightTo begin doing well in peace.—Robert Browning.A great and lasting war can never be supported on this principle [patriotism] alone. It must be aided by a prospect of interest, or some reward.—George Washington.See alsoArbitration, International; European War.WARNINGSPietro had drifted down to Florida and was working with a gang at railroad construction. He had been told to beware of rattlesnakes, but assured that they would always give the warning rattle before striking.One hot day he was eating his noon luncheon on a pine log when he saw a big rattler coiled a few feet in front of him. He eyed the serpent and began to lift his legs over the log. He had barely got them out of the way when the snake's fangs hit the bark beneath him."Son of a guna!" yelled Pietro. "Why you no ringa da bell?"WASHINGTON, GEORGEA Barnegat schoolma'am had been telling her pupils something about George Washington, and finally she asked:"Can any one now tell me which Washington was—a great general or a great admiral?"The small son of a fisherman raised his hand, and she signaled him to speak."He was a great general," said the boy. "I seen a picture of him crossing the Delaware, and no great admiral would put out from shore standing up in a skiff."A Scotsman visiting America stood gazing at a fine statue of George Washington, when an American approached."That was a great and good man, Sandy," said the American; "a lie never passed his lips.""Weel," said the Scot, "I praysume he talked through his nose like the rest of ye."WASPSThe wasp cannot speak, but when he says "Drop it," in his own inimitable way, neither boy nor man shows any remarkable desire to hold on.WASTEThe automobile rushed down the road—huge, gigantic, sublime. Over the fence hung the woman who works hard and long-her husband is at the cafe and she has thirteen little ones. (An unlucky number.) Suddenly upon the thirteenth came the auto, unseeing, slew him, and hummed on, unknowing. The woman who works hard and long rushed forward with hands, hands made rough by toil, upraised. She paused and stood inarticulate—a goddess, a giantess. Then she hurled forth these words of derision, of despair: "Mon Dieu! And I'd just washed him!"—Literally translated from Le Sport of Paris.A Boston physician tells of the case of a ten-year-old boy, who, by reason of an attack of fever, became deaf. The physician could afford the lad but little relief, so the boy applied himself to the task of learning the deaf-and-dumb alphabet. The other members of his family, too, acquired a working knowledge of the alphabet, in order that they might converse with the unfortunate youngster.During the course of the next few months, however, Tommy's hearing suddenly returned to him, assisted no doubt by a slight operation performed by the physician.Every one was, of course, delighted, particularly the boy's mother, who one day exclaimed:"Oh, Tommy, isn't it delightful to talk to and hear us again?""Yes," assented Tommy, but with a degree of hesitation; "but here we've all learned the sign language, and we can't find any more use for it!"WEALTHIf you want to make a living you have to work for it, while if you want to get rich you must go about it in some other way.The traditional fool and his money are lucky ever to have got together in the first place.—Puck.He that is proud of riches is a fool. For if he be exalted above his neighbors because he hath more gold, how much inferior is he to a gold mine!—Jeremy Taylor.WEATHER"How did you find the weather in London?" asked the friend of the returned traveler."You don't have to find the weather in London," replied the traveler. "It bumps into you at every corner."An American and a Scotsman were discussing the cold experienced in winter in the North of Scotland."Why, it's nothing at all compared to the cold we have in the States," said the American. "I can recollect one winter when a sheep, jumping from a hillock into a field, became suddenly frozen on the way, and stuck in the air like a mass of ice.""But, man," exclaimed the Scotsman, "the law of gravity wouldn't allow that.""I know that," replied the tale-pitcher. "But the law of gravity was frozen, too!"Two commercial travelers, one from London and one from New York, were discussing the weather in their respective countries.The Englishman said that English weather had one great fault—its sudden changes."A person may take a walk one day," he said, "attired in a light summer suit, and still feel quite warm. Next day he needs an overcoat.""That's nothing," said the American. "My two friends, Johnson and Jones, were once having an argument. There were eight or nine inches of snow on the ground. The argument got heated, and Johnson picked up a snowball and threw it at Jones from a distance of not more than five yards. During the transit of that snowball, believe me or not, as you like, the weather changed and became hot and summer like, and Jones, instead of being hit with a snowball, was—er—scalded with hot water!"Ex-President Taft on one of his trips was playing golf on a western links when he noticed that he had a particularly good caddie, an old man of some sixty years, as they have on the Scottish links."And what do you do in winter?" asked the President."Such odd jobs as I can pick up, sir," replied the man."Not much chance for caddying then, I suppose?" asked the President."No, sir, there is not," replied the man with a great deal of warmth. "When there's no frost there's sure to be snow, and when there's no snow there's frost, and when there's neither there's sure to be rain. And the few days when it's fine they're always Sundays."On the way to the office of his publishers one crisp fall morning, James Whitcomb Riley met an unusually large number of acquaintances who commented conventionally upon the fine weather. This unremitting applause amused him. When greeted at the office with "Nice day, Mr. Riley," he smiled broadly."Yes," he agreed. "Yes, I've heard it very highly spoken of."The darky in question had simmered in the heat of St. Augustine all his life, and was decoyed by the report that colored men could make as much as $4 a day in Duluth.He headed North in a seersucker suit and into a hard winter. At Chicago, while waiting for a train, he shivered in an engine room, and on the way to Duluth sped by miles of snow fields.On arriving he found the mercury at 18 below and promptly lost the use of his hands. Then his feet stiffened and he lost all sensation.They picked him up and took him to a crematory for unknown dead. After he had been in the oven for awhile somebody opened the door for inspection. Rastus came to and shouted:"Shut dat do' and close dat draff!"There was a small boy in Quebec,Who was buried in snow to his neck;When they said, "Are you friz?"He replied, "Yes, I is—But we don't call this cold in Quebec."—Rudyard Kipling.Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.—Ruskin.WEDDING ANNIVERSARIESUncle Ephraim had put on a clean collar and his best coat, and was walking majestically up and down the street."Aren't you working to-day, Uncle?" asked somebody."No, suh. I'se celebrating' mah golden weddin' suh.""You were married fifty years ago to-day, then!""Yes, suh.""Well, why isn't your wife helping you to celebrate?""Mah present wife, suh," replied Uncle Ephraim with dignity, "ain't got nothin' to do with it."WEDDING PRESENTSAmong the presents lately showered upon a dusky bride in a rural section of Virginia, was one that was a gift of an old woman with whom both bride and groom were great favorites.Some time ago, it appears, the old woman accumulated a supply of cardboard mottoes, which she worked and had framed as occasion arose.So it happened that in a neat combination of blues and reds, suspended by a cord of orange, there hung over the table whereon the other presents were displayed for the delectation of the wedding guests, this motto:FIGHT ON; FIGHT EVER.WEDDINGSAn actor who was married recently for the third time, and whose bride had been married once before, wrote across the bottom of the wedding invitations: "Be sure and come; this is no amateur performance."A wealthy young woman from the west was recently wedded to a member of the nobility of England, and the ceremony occurred in the most fashionable of London churches—St. George's.Among the guests was a cousin of the bride, as sturdy an American as can be imagined. He gave an interesting summary of the wedding when asked by a girl friend whether the marriage was a happy one."Happy? I should say it was," said the cousin. "The bride was happy, her mother was overjoyed, Lord Stickleigh, the groom, was in ecstasies, and his creditors, I understand, were in a state of absolute bliss."—Edwun Tarrisse.The best man noticed that one of the wedding guests, a gloomy-looking young man, did not seem to be enjoying himself. He was wandering about as though he had lost his last friend. The best man took it upon himself to cheer him up."Er—have you kissed the bride?" he asked by way of introduction."Not lately," replied the gloomy one with a far-away expression.The curate of a large and fashionable church was endeavoring to teach the significance of white to a Sunday-school class."Why," said he, "does a bride invariably desire to be clothed in white at her marriage?"As no one answered, he explained. "White," said he, "stands for joy, and the wedding-day is the most joyous occasion of a woman's life."A small boy queried, "Why do the men all wear black?"—M.J. Moor.Lilly May came to her mistress. "Ah would like a week's vacation, Miss Annie," she said, in her soft negro accent; "Ah wants to be married."Lillie had been a good girl, so her mistress gave her the week's vacation, a white dress, a veil and a plum-cake.Promptly at the end of the week Lillie returned, radiant. "Oh, Miss Annie!" she exclaimed, "Ah was the mos' lovely bride! Ma dress was pcrfec', ma veil mos' lovely, the cake mos' good! An' oh, the dancin' an' the eatin'!""Well, Lillie, this sounds delightful," said her mistress, "but you have left out the point of your story—I hope you have a good husband."Lillie's tone changed to indignation: "Now, Miss Annie, what yo' think? Tha' darn nigger nebber turn up!"There is living in Illinois a solemn man who is often funny without meaning to be. At the time of his wedding, he lived in a town some distance from the home of the bride. The wedding was to be at her house. On the eventful day the solemn man started for the station, but on the way met the village grocer, who talked so entertainingly that the bridegroom missed his train.Naturally he was in a "state." Something must be done, and done quickly. So he sent the following telegram:Don't marry till I come.—HENRY.—Howard, Morse.In all the wedding cake, hope is the sweetest of the plums.—Douglas Jerrold.WEIGHTS AND MEASURES"Didn't I tell ye to feed that cat a pound of meat every day until ye had her fat?" demanded an Irish shopkeeper, nodding toward a sickly, emaciated cat that was slinking through the store."Ye did thot," replied the assistant, "an" I've just been after feedin' her a pound of meat this very minute.""Faith, an' I don't believe ye. Bring me the scales."The poor cat was lifted into the scales. Thy balancd at exactly one pound."There!" exclaimed the assistant triumphantly. "Didn't I tell ye she'd had her pound of meat?""That's right," admitted the boss, scratching his head. "That's yer pound of meat all right. But"—suddenly looking up—"where the divvil is the cat?"WELCOMESWhen Ex-President Taft was on his transcontinental tour, American flags and Taft pictures were in evidence everywhere. Usually the Taft pictures contained a word of welcome under them. Those who heard the President's laugh ring out will not soon forget the western city which, directly under the barred window of the city lockup, displayed a Taft picture with the legend "Welcome" on it.—Hugh Morist.Come in the evening, or come in the morning,Come when you're looked for, or come without warning,Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you.—Thomas O. Davis.WEST, THEEASTERN LADY (traveling in Montana)—"The idea of calling this the 'Wild-West'! Why, I never saw such politeness anywhere."COWBOY—"We're allers perlite to ladies, ma'am."EASTERN LADY—"Oh, as for that, there is plenty of politeness everywhere. But I refer to the men. Why, in New York the men behave horribly towards one another; but here they treat one another as delicately as gentlemen in a drawing-room."COWBOY—"Yes, ma'am; it's safer."—Abbie C. Dixon.WHISKYThis is from an Irish priest's sermon, as quoted in Samuel M. Hussey's "Reminiscences of an Irish Land Agent": "'It's whisky makes you bate your wives; it's whisky makes your homes desolate; it's whisky makes you shoot your landlords, and'—with emphasis, as he thumped the pulpit—'it's whisky makes you miss them.'"In a recent trial of a "bootlegger" in western Kentucky a witness testified that he had purchased some "squirrel" whisky from the defendant."Squirrel whisky?" questioned the court."Yes, you know: the kind that makes you talk nutty and want to climb trees."General Carter, who went to Texas in command of the regulars sent south for maneuvers along the Mexican border, tells this story of an old Irish soldier: The march had been a long and tiresome one, and as the bivouac was being made for the night, the captain noticed that Pat was looking very much fatigued. Thinking that a small drop of whisky might do him good, the captain called Pat aside and said, "Pat, will you have a wee drink of whisky?" Pat made no answer, but folded his arms in a reverential manner and gazed upward. The captain repeated the question several times, but no answer from Pat, who stood silent and motionless, gazing devoutly into the sky. Finally the captain, taking him by the shoulder and giving him a vigorous shake said: "Pat, why don't you answer? I said, 'Pat, will you have a drink of whisky?'" After looking around in considerable astonishment Pat replied: "And is it yez, captain? Begorrah and I thought it was an angel spakin' to me."Seealso Drinking.WHISKY BREATHSeeBreath.WIDOWSDuring the course of conversation between two ladies in a hotel parlor one said to the other: "Are you married?" "No, I am not," replied the other. "Are you?""No," was the reply, "I, too, am on the single list," adding: "Strange that two such estimable women as ourselves should have been overlooked in the great matrimonial market! Now that lady," pointing to another who was passing, "has been widowed four times, two of her husbands having been cremated. The woman," she continued, "is plain and uninteresting, and yet she has them to burn."WINDVISITOR—"What became of that other windmill that was here last year?"NATIVE—"There was only enough wind for one, so we took it down."Whichever way the wind doth blowSome heart is glad to have it so;Then blow it east, or blow it west,The wind that blows, that wind is best.—Caroline A. Mason.WINDFALLSA Nebraska man was carried forty miles by a cyclone and dropped in a widow's front yard. He married the widow and returned home worth about $30,000 more than when he started.WINEWhen our thirsty souls we steep,Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep.Talk of monarchs! we are thenRichest, happiest, first of men.When I drink, my heart refinesAnd rises as the cup declines;Rises in the genial flow,That none but social spirits know.To-day we'll haste to quaff our wine,As if to-morrow ne'er should shine;But if to-morrow comes, why then—We'll haste to quaff our wine again.Let me, oh, my budding vine,Spill no other blood than thine.Yonder brimming goblet see,That alone shall vanquish me.I pray thee, by the gods above,Give me the mighty howl I love,And let me sing, in wild delight."I will—I will be mad to-night!"When Father Time swings round his scythe,Intomb me 'neath the bounteous vine,So that its juices red and blythe,May cheer these thirsty bones of mine.—Eugene Field.See alsoDrinking.WISHESGeorge Washington drew a long sigh and said: "Ah wish Ah had a hundred watermillions."Dixie's eyes lighted. "Hum! Dat would suttenly be fine! An' ef yo' had a hundred watermillions would yo' gib me fifty?""No, Ah wouldn't.""Wouldn't yo' give me twenty-five?""No, Ah wouldn't gib yo' no twenty-five."Dixie gaxed with reproachful eyes at his close-fisted friend. "Seems to me, you's powahful stingy, George Washington," he said, and then continued in a heartbroken voice. "Wouldn't yo' gib me one?""No, Ah wouldn't gib yo' one. Look a' heah, nigger! Are yo' so good for nuffen lazy dat yo' cahn't wish fo' yo' own watermillions?""Man wants but little here belowNor wants that little long,"'Tis not with me exactly so;But'tis so in the song.My wants are many, and, if told,Would muster many a score;And were each a mint of gold,I still should long for more.—John Quincy Adams.WITNESSES"The trouble is," said Wilkins as he talked the matter over with his counsel, "that in the excitement of the moment I admitted that I had been going too fast, and wasn't paying any attention to the road just before the collision. I'm afraid that admission is going to prove costly.""Don't wory about that," said his lawyer. "I'll bring seven witnesses to testify that they wouldn't believe you under oath."On his eighty-fourth birthday, Paul Smith, the veteran Adirondock hotel-keeper, who started life as a guide and died owning a million dollars' worth of forest land, was talking about boundary disputes with an old friend."Didn't you hear of the lawsuit over a title that I had with Jones down in Malone last summer?" asked Paul. The friend had not heard."Well," said Paul, "it was this way. I sat in the court room before the case opened with my witnesses around me. Jones busted in, stopped, looked my witnesses over carefully, and said: 'Paul, are those your witnesses?' 'They are,' said I. 'Then you win,' said he. 'I've had them witnesses twice myself.'"WIVES"Father," said a little boy, "had Solomon seven hundred wives?""I believe so, my son," said the father."Well, father, was he the man who said, 'Give me liberty or give me death?'"—Town Topics.A charitable lady was reading the Old Testament to an aged woman who lived at the home for old people, and chanced upon the passage concerning Solomon's household."Had Solomon really seven hundred wives?" inquired the old woman, after reflection."Oh, yes, Mary! It is so stated in the Bible.""Lor', mum!" was the comment. "What privileges them early Christians had!"CASEY—"Now, phwat wu'u'd ye do in a case loike thot?"CLANCY—"Loike phwat?"CASEY—"Th' walkin' diligate tils me to stroike, an' me ould woman orders me to ke-ape on wurrkin'."Governor Vardaman, of Mississippi, was taken to task because he had made a certain appointment, a friend maintaining that another man should have received the place. The governor listened quietly and then said:"Did I ever tell you about Mose Williams? One day Mose sought his employer, an acquaintance of mine, and inquired:"'Say, boss, is yo' gwine to town t'morrer?'"'I think so. Why?'"'Well, hit's dishaway. Me an' Easter Johnson's gwine to git mahred, an' Ah 'lowed to ax yo' ter git a pair of licenses fo' me.""I shall be delighted to oblige you, Mose, and I hope you will be very happy.""The next day when the gentleman rode up to his house the old man was waiting for him."'Did you git 'em, boss?" he inquired eagerly."'Yes, here they are.'"Mose looked at them ruefully, shaking his head. 'Ah'm po'ful sorry yo' got 'em, boss!'"'Whats the matter? Has Easter gone back on you?'"'It ain't dat, boss. Ah done changed mah min.' Ah'm gwine to mahry Sophie Coleman, dat freckled-faced yaller girl what works up to Mis' Mason's, for she sholy can cook!'"Well, I'll try and have the name changed for you, but it will cost you fifty cents more.'"Mose assented, somewhat dubiously, and the gentleman had the change made. Again he found Mose waiting for him."'Wouldn't change hit, boss, would he?'"'Certainly he changed it. I simply had to pay him the fifty cents.'"'Ah was hopin' he wouldn't do it. Mah min's made up to mahry Easter Johnson after all.'"'You crazy nigger, you don't know what you do want. What made you change your mind again?'"'Well, boss, Ah been thinkin' it over an' Ah jes' 'lowed dar wasn't fifty cents wuth ob diff'runce in dem two niggers.'"A wife is a woman who is expected to purchase without means, and sew on buttons before they come off."What are you cutting out of the paper?""About a California man securing a divorce because his wife went through his pockets.""What are you going to do with it?""Put it in my pocket."A woman missionary in China was taking tea with a mandarin's eight wives. The Chinese ladies examined her clothing, her hair, her teeth, and so on, but her feet especially amazed them."Why," cried one, "you can walk or run as well as a man!""Yes, to be sure," said the missionary."Can you ride a horse and swim, too?""Yes.""Then you must be as strong as a man!""I am.""And you wouldn't let a man beat you—not even if he was your husband—would you?""Indeed I wouldn't," the missionary said.The mandarin's eight wives looked at one another, nodding their heads. Then the oldest said softly:"Now I understand why the foreign devil never has more than one wife. He is afraid!"—Western Christian Advocate.PAT—"I hear your woife is sick, Moike."MIKE—"She is thot."PAT—"Is it dangerous she is?"MIKE—"Divil a bit. She's too weak to be dangerous any more!"SON—"Say, mama, father broke this vase before he went out."MOTHER—"My beautiful majolica vase! Wait till he comes back, that's all."SON—"May I stay up till he does?""Because a fellow has six talking machines," said the boarder who wants to be an end man, "it doesn't follow that he is a Mormon."It was a wizened little man who appeared before the judge and charged his wife with cruel and abusive treatment. His better half was a big, square-jawed woman with a determined eye."In the first place, where did you meet this woman who, according to your story, has treated you so dreadfully?" asked the judge."Well," replied the little man, making a brave attempt to glare defiantly at his wife, "I never did meet her. She just kind of overtook me.""Harry, love," exclaimed Mrs. Knowall to her husband, on his return one evening from the office, "I have b-been d-dreadfully insulted!""Insulted?" exclaimed Harry, love. "By whom?""B-by your m-mother," answered the young wife, bursting into tears."My mother, Flora? Nonsense! She's miles away!"Flora dried her tears."I'll tell you all about it, Harry, love," she said. "A letter came to you this morning, addressed in your mother's writing, so, of course, I—I opened it.""Of course," repeated Harry, love, dryly."It—it was written to you all the way through. Do you understand?""I understand. But where does the insult to you come in?""It—it came in the p-p-postscript," cried the wife, bursting into fresh floods of briny. "It s-said: 'P-P-P. S.—D-dear Flora, d-don't f-fail to give this l-letter to Harry. I w-want him to have it.'" "'Did you git 'em, boss?" he inquired eagerly."'Yes, here they are.'"Mose looked at them ruefully, shaking his head. 'Ah'm po'ful sorry yo' got 'em, boss!'"'Whats the matter? Has Easter gone back on you?'"'It ain't dat, boss. Ah done changed mah min.' Ah'm gwine to mahry Sophie Coleman, dat freckled-faced yaller girl what works up to Mis' Mason's, for she sholy can cook!'"Well, I'll try and have the name changed for you, but it will cost you fifty cents more.'"Mose assented, somewhat dubiously, and the gentleman had the change made. Again he found Mose waiting for him."'Wouldn't change hit, boss, would he?'"'Certainly he changed it. I simply had to pay him the fifty cents.'"'Ah was hopin' he wouldn't do it. Mah min's made up to mahry Easter Johnson after all.'"'You crazy nigger, you don't know what you do want. What made you change your mind again?'"'Well, boss, Ah been thinkin' it over an' Ah jes' 'lowed dar wasn't fifty cents wuth ob diff'runce in dem two niggers.'"A wife is a woman who is expected to purchase without means, and sew on buttons before they come off."What are you cutting out of the paper?""About a California man securing a divorce because his wife went through his pockets.""What are you going to do with it?""Put it in my pocket."A woman missionary in China was taking tea with a mandarin's eight wives. The Chinese ladies examined her clothing, her hair, her teeth, and so on, but her feet especially amazed them."Why," cried one, "you can walk or run as well as a man!""Yes, to be sure," said the missionary."Can you ride a horse and swim, too?""Yes.""Then you must be as strong as a man!""I am.""And you wouldn't let a man beat you—not even if he was your husband—would you?""Indeed I wouldn't," the missionary said.The mandarin's eight wives looked at one another, nodding their heads. Then the oldest said softly:"Now I understand why the foreign devil never has more than one wife. He is afraid!"—Western Christian Advocate.PAT—"I hear your woife is sick, Moike."MIKE—"She is thot."PAT—"Is it dangerous she is?"MIKE—"Divil a bit. She's too weak to be dangerous any more!"SON—"Say, mama, father broke this vase before he went out."MOTHER—"My beautiful majolica vase! Wait till he comes back, that's all."SON—"May I stay up till he does?""Because a fellow has six talking machines," said the boarder who wants to be an end man, "it doesn't follow that he is a Mormon."It was a wizened little man who appeared before the judge and charged his wife with cruel and abusive treatment. His better half was a big, square-jawed woman with a determined eye."In the first place, where did you meet this woman who, according to your story, has treated you so dreadfully?" asked the judge."Well," replied the little man, making a brave attempt to glare defiantly at his wife, "I never did meet her. She just kind of overtook me.""Harry, love," exclaimed Mrs. Knowall to her husband, on his return one evening from the office, "I have b-been d-dreadfully insulted!""Insulted?" exclaimed Harry, love. "By whom?""B-by your m-mother," answered the young wife, bursting into tears."My mother, Flora? Nonsense! She's miles away!"Flora dried her tears."I'll tell you all about it, Harry, love," she said. "A letter came to you this morning, addressed in your mother's writing, so, of course, I—I opened it.""Of course," repeated Harry, love, dryly."It—it was written to you all the way through. Do you understand?""I understand. But where does the insult to you come in?""It—it came in the p-p-postscript," cried the wife, bursting into fresh floods of briny. "It s-said: 'P-P-P. S.—D-dear Flora, d-don't f-fail to give this l-letter to Harry. I w-want him to have it.'""By jove, I left my purse under the pillow!""Oh, well, your servant is honest, isn't she?""That's just it. She'll take it to my wife."There swims no goose so gray, but soon or lateShe finds some honest gander for her mate.—Pope.A clerk showed forty patterns of ginghams to a man whose wife had sent him to buy some for her for Christmas, and at every pattern the man said: "My wife said she didn't want anything like that."The clerk put the last piece back on the shelf. "Sir," he said, "you don't want gingham. What you want is a divorce."Maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.—Shakespeare.In the election of a wife, as inA project of war, to err but once isTo be undone forever.—Thomas Middleton.Of earthly goods, the best is a good wife;A bad, the bitterest curse of human life.—Simonides.See alsoDomestic finance; Suffragettes; Talkers; Temper; Woman suffrage.WOMANWoman—the only sex which attaches more importance to what's on its head than to what's in it."How very few statues there are of real women.""Yes! it's hard to get them to look right.""How so?""A woman remaining still and saying nothing doesn't seem true to life."

Stuff a hired dress-suit case with an effort to please,Add a half-dozen stumbles and trips;Remove his right thumb from the cranberry sauce,Roll in crumbs, melted butter and tips.—Life.

Stuff a hired dress-suit case with an effort to please,Add a half-dozen stumbles and trips;Remove his right thumb from the cranberry sauce,Roll in crumbs, melted butter and tips.

Stuff a hired dress-suit case with an effort to please,

Add a half-dozen stumbles and trips;

Remove his right thumb from the cranberry sauce,

Roll in crumbs, melted butter and tips.

—Life.

"Flag of truce, Excellency."

"Well, what do the revolutionists want?"

"They would like to exchange a couple of Generals for a can of condensed milk."

If you favor war, dig a trench in your backyard, fill it half full of water, crawl into it, and stay there for a day or two without anything to eat, get a lunatic to shoot at you with a brace of revolvers and a machine gun, and you will have something just as good, and you will save your country a great deal of expense.

"Who are those people who are cheering?" asked the recruit as the soldiers marched to the train.

"Those," replied the veteran, "are the people who are not going."—Puck.

He who did well in war, just earns the rightTo begin doing well in peace.—Robert Browning.

He who did well in war, just earns the rightTo begin doing well in peace.

He who did well in war, just earns the right

To begin doing well in peace.

—Robert Browning.

A great and lasting war can never be supported on this principle [patriotism] alone. It must be aided by a prospect of interest, or some reward.—George Washington.

See alsoArbitration, International; European War.

Pietro had drifted down to Florida and was working with a gang at railroad construction. He had been told to beware of rattlesnakes, but assured that they would always give the warning rattle before striking.

One hot day he was eating his noon luncheon on a pine log when he saw a big rattler coiled a few feet in front of him. He eyed the serpent and began to lift his legs over the log. He had barely got them out of the way when the snake's fangs hit the bark beneath him.

"Son of a guna!" yelled Pietro. "Why you no ringa da bell?"

A Barnegat schoolma'am had been telling her pupils something about George Washington, and finally she asked:

"Can any one now tell me which Washington was—a great general or a great admiral?"

The small son of a fisherman raised his hand, and she signaled him to speak.

"He was a great general," said the boy. "I seen a picture of him crossing the Delaware, and no great admiral would put out from shore standing up in a skiff."

A Scotsman visiting America stood gazing at a fine statue of George Washington, when an American approached.

"That was a great and good man, Sandy," said the American; "a lie never passed his lips."

"Weel," said the Scot, "I praysume he talked through his nose like the rest of ye."

The wasp cannot speak, but when he says "Drop it," in his own inimitable way, neither boy nor man shows any remarkable desire to hold on.

The automobile rushed down the road—huge, gigantic, sublime. Over the fence hung the woman who works hard and long-her husband is at the cafe and she has thirteen little ones. (An unlucky number.) Suddenly upon the thirteenth came the auto, unseeing, slew him, and hummed on, unknowing. The woman who works hard and long rushed forward with hands, hands made rough by toil, upraised. She paused and stood inarticulate—a goddess, a giantess. Then she hurled forth these words of derision, of despair: "Mon Dieu! And I'd just washed him!"—Literally translated from Le Sport of Paris.

A Boston physician tells of the case of a ten-year-old boy, who, by reason of an attack of fever, became deaf. The physician could afford the lad but little relief, so the boy applied himself to the task of learning the deaf-and-dumb alphabet. The other members of his family, too, acquired a working knowledge of the alphabet, in order that they might converse with the unfortunate youngster.

During the course of the next few months, however, Tommy's hearing suddenly returned to him, assisted no doubt by a slight operation performed by the physician.

Every one was, of course, delighted, particularly the boy's mother, who one day exclaimed:

"Oh, Tommy, isn't it delightful to talk to and hear us again?"

"Yes," assented Tommy, but with a degree of hesitation; "but here we've all learned the sign language, and we can't find any more use for it!"

If you want to make a living you have to work for it, while if you want to get rich you must go about it in some other way.

The traditional fool and his money are lucky ever to have got together in the first place.—Puck.

He that is proud of riches is a fool. For if he be exalted above his neighbors because he hath more gold, how much inferior is he to a gold mine!—Jeremy Taylor.

"How did you find the weather in London?" asked the friend of the returned traveler.

"You don't have to find the weather in London," replied the traveler. "It bumps into you at every corner."

An American and a Scotsman were discussing the cold experienced in winter in the North of Scotland.

"Why, it's nothing at all compared to the cold we have in the States," said the American. "I can recollect one winter when a sheep, jumping from a hillock into a field, became suddenly frozen on the way, and stuck in the air like a mass of ice."

"But, man," exclaimed the Scotsman, "the law of gravity wouldn't allow that."

"I know that," replied the tale-pitcher. "But the law of gravity was frozen, too!"

Two commercial travelers, one from London and one from New York, were discussing the weather in their respective countries.

The Englishman said that English weather had one great fault—its sudden changes.

"A person may take a walk one day," he said, "attired in a light summer suit, and still feel quite warm. Next day he needs an overcoat."

"That's nothing," said the American. "My two friends, Johnson and Jones, were once having an argument. There were eight or nine inches of snow on the ground. The argument got heated, and Johnson picked up a snowball and threw it at Jones from a distance of not more than five yards. During the transit of that snowball, believe me or not, as you like, the weather changed and became hot and summer like, and Jones, instead of being hit with a snowball, was—er—scalded with hot water!"

Ex-President Taft on one of his trips was playing golf on a western links when he noticed that he had a particularly good caddie, an old man of some sixty years, as they have on the Scottish links.

"And what do you do in winter?" asked the President.

"Such odd jobs as I can pick up, sir," replied the man.

"Not much chance for caddying then, I suppose?" asked the President.

"No, sir, there is not," replied the man with a great deal of warmth. "When there's no frost there's sure to be snow, and when there's no snow there's frost, and when there's neither there's sure to be rain. And the few days when it's fine they're always Sundays."

On the way to the office of his publishers one crisp fall morning, James Whitcomb Riley met an unusually large number of acquaintances who commented conventionally upon the fine weather. This unremitting applause amused him. When greeted at the office with "Nice day, Mr. Riley," he smiled broadly.

"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, I've heard it very highly spoken of."

The darky in question had simmered in the heat of St. Augustine all his life, and was decoyed by the report that colored men could make as much as $4 a day in Duluth.

He headed North in a seersucker suit and into a hard winter. At Chicago, while waiting for a train, he shivered in an engine room, and on the way to Duluth sped by miles of snow fields.

On arriving he found the mercury at 18 below and promptly lost the use of his hands. Then his feet stiffened and he lost all sensation.

They picked him up and took him to a crematory for unknown dead. After he had been in the oven for awhile somebody opened the door for inspection. Rastus came to and shouted:

"Shut dat do' and close dat draff!"

There was a small boy in Quebec,Who was buried in snow to his neck;When they said, "Are you friz?"He replied, "Yes, I is—But we don't call this cold in Quebec."—Rudyard Kipling.

There was a small boy in Quebec,Who was buried in snow to his neck;When they said, "Are you friz?"He replied, "Yes, I is—But we don't call this cold in Quebec."

There was a small boy in Quebec,

Who was buried in snow to his neck;

When they said, "Are you friz?"

He replied, "Yes, I is—

But we don't call this cold in Quebec."

—Rudyard Kipling.

Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.—Ruskin.

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

"Aren't you working to-day, Uncle?" asked somebody.

"No, suh. I'se celebrating' mah golden weddin' suh."

"You were married fifty years ago to-day, then!"

"Yes, suh."

"Well, why isn't your wife helping you to celebrate?"

"Mah present wife, suh," replied Uncle Ephraim with dignity, "ain't got nothin' to do with it."

Among the presents lately showered upon a dusky bride in a rural section of Virginia, was one that was a gift of an old woman with whom both bride and groom were great favorites.

Some time ago, it appears, the old woman accumulated a supply of cardboard mottoes, which she worked and had framed as occasion arose.

So it happened that in a neat combination of blues and reds, suspended by a cord of orange, there hung over the table whereon the other presents were displayed for the delectation of the wedding guests, this motto:

FIGHT ON; FIGHT EVER.

An actor who was married recently for the third time, and whose bride had been married once before, wrote across the bottom of the wedding invitations: "Be sure and come; this is no amateur performance."

A wealthy young woman from the west was recently wedded to a member of the nobility of England, and the ceremony occurred in the most fashionable of London churches—St. George's.

Among the guests was a cousin of the bride, as sturdy an American as can be imagined. He gave an interesting summary of the wedding when asked by a girl friend whether the marriage was a happy one.

"Happy? I should say it was," said the cousin. "The bride was happy, her mother was overjoyed, Lord Stickleigh, the groom, was in ecstasies, and his creditors, I understand, were in a state of absolute bliss."—Edwun Tarrisse.

The best man noticed that one of the wedding guests, a gloomy-looking young man, did not seem to be enjoying himself. He was wandering about as though he had lost his last friend. The best man took it upon himself to cheer him up.

"Er—have you kissed the bride?" he asked by way of introduction.

"Not lately," replied the gloomy one with a far-away expression.

The curate of a large and fashionable church was endeavoring to teach the significance of white to a Sunday-school class.

"Why," said he, "does a bride invariably desire to be clothed in white at her marriage?"

As no one answered, he explained. "White," said he, "stands for joy, and the wedding-day is the most joyous occasion of a woman's life."

A small boy queried, "Why do the men all wear black?"—M.J. Moor.

Lilly May came to her mistress. "Ah would like a week's vacation, Miss Annie," she said, in her soft negro accent; "Ah wants to be married."

Lillie had been a good girl, so her mistress gave her the week's vacation, a white dress, a veil and a plum-cake.

Promptly at the end of the week Lillie returned, radiant. "Oh, Miss Annie!" she exclaimed, "Ah was the mos' lovely bride! Ma dress was pcrfec', ma veil mos' lovely, the cake mos' good! An' oh, the dancin' an' the eatin'!"

"Well, Lillie, this sounds delightful," said her mistress, "but you have left out the point of your story—I hope you have a good husband."

Lillie's tone changed to indignation: "Now, Miss Annie, what yo' think? Tha' darn nigger nebber turn up!"

There is living in Illinois a solemn man who is often funny without meaning to be. At the time of his wedding, he lived in a town some distance from the home of the bride. The wedding was to be at her house. On the eventful day the solemn man started for the station, but on the way met the village grocer, who talked so entertainingly that the bridegroom missed his train.

Naturally he was in a "state." Something must be done, and done quickly. So he sent the following telegram:

Don't marry till I come.—HENRY.

—Howard, Morse.

In all the wedding cake, hope is the sweetest of the plums.—Douglas Jerrold.

"Didn't I tell ye to feed that cat a pound of meat every day until ye had her fat?" demanded an Irish shopkeeper, nodding toward a sickly, emaciated cat that was slinking through the store.

"Ye did thot," replied the assistant, "an" I've just been after feedin' her a pound of meat this very minute."

"Faith, an' I don't believe ye. Bring me the scales."

The poor cat was lifted into the scales. Thy balancd at exactly one pound.

"There!" exclaimed the assistant triumphantly. "Didn't I tell ye she'd had her pound of meat?"

"That's right," admitted the boss, scratching his head. "That's yer pound of meat all right. But"—suddenly looking up—"where the divvil is the cat?"

When Ex-President Taft was on his transcontinental tour, American flags and Taft pictures were in evidence everywhere. Usually the Taft pictures contained a word of welcome under them. Those who heard the President's laugh ring out will not soon forget the western city which, directly under the barred window of the city lockup, displayed a Taft picture with the legend "Welcome" on it.—Hugh Morist.

Come in the evening, or come in the morning,Come when you're looked for, or come without warning,Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you.—Thomas O. Davis.

Come in the evening, or come in the morning,Come when you're looked for, or come without warning,Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you.

Come in the evening, or come in the morning,

Come when you're looked for, or come without warning,

Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,

And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you.

—Thomas O. Davis.

EASTERN LADY (traveling in Montana)—"The idea of calling this the 'Wild-West'! Why, I never saw such politeness anywhere."

COWBOY—"We're allers perlite to ladies, ma'am."

EASTERN LADY—"Oh, as for that, there is plenty of politeness everywhere. But I refer to the men. Why, in New York the men behave horribly towards one another; but here they treat one another as delicately as gentlemen in a drawing-room."

COWBOY—"Yes, ma'am; it's safer."—Abbie C. Dixon.

This is from an Irish priest's sermon, as quoted in Samuel M. Hussey's "Reminiscences of an Irish Land Agent": "'It's whisky makes you bate your wives; it's whisky makes your homes desolate; it's whisky makes you shoot your landlords, and'—with emphasis, as he thumped the pulpit—'it's whisky makes you miss them.'"

In a recent trial of a "bootlegger" in western Kentucky a witness testified that he had purchased some "squirrel" whisky from the defendant.

"Squirrel whisky?" questioned the court.

"Yes, you know: the kind that makes you talk nutty and want to climb trees."

General Carter, who went to Texas in command of the regulars sent south for maneuvers along the Mexican border, tells this story of an old Irish soldier: The march had been a long and tiresome one, and as the bivouac was being made for the night, the captain noticed that Pat was looking very much fatigued. Thinking that a small drop of whisky might do him good, the captain called Pat aside and said, "Pat, will you have a wee drink of whisky?" Pat made no answer, but folded his arms in a reverential manner and gazed upward. The captain repeated the question several times, but no answer from Pat, who stood silent and motionless, gazing devoutly into the sky. Finally the captain, taking him by the shoulder and giving him a vigorous shake said: "Pat, why don't you answer? I said, 'Pat, will you have a drink of whisky?'" After looking around in considerable astonishment Pat replied: "And is it yez, captain? Begorrah and I thought it was an angel spakin' to me."

Seealso Drinking.

SeeBreath.

During the course of conversation between two ladies in a hotel parlor one said to the other: "Are you married?" "No, I am not," replied the other. "Are you?"

"No," was the reply, "I, too, am on the single list," adding: "Strange that two such estimable women as ourselves should have been overlooked in the great matrimonial market! Now that lady," pointing to another who was passing, "has been widowed four times, two of her husbands having been cremated. The woman," she continued, "is plain and uninteresting, and yet she has them to burn."

VISITOR—"What became of that other windmill that was here last year?"

NATIVE—"There was only enough wind for one, so we took it down."

Whichever way the wind doth blowSome heart is glad to have it so;Then blow it east, or blow it west,The wind that blows, that wind is best.—Caroline A. Mason.

Whichever way the wind doth blowSome heart is glad to have it so;Then blow it east, or blow it west,The wind that blows, that wind is best.

Whichever way the wind doth blow

Some heart is glad to have it so;

Then blow it east, or blow it west,

The wind that blows, that wind is best.

—Caroline A. Mason.

A Nebraska man was carried forty miles by a cyclone and dropped in a widow's front yard. He married the widow and returned home worth about $30,000 more than when he started.

When our thirsty souls we steep,Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep.Talk of monarchs! we are thenRichest, happiest, first of men.When I drink, my heart refinesAnd rises as the cup declines;Rises in the genial flow,That none but social spirits know.To-day we'll haste to quaff our wine,As if to-morrow ne'er should shine;But if to-morrow comes, why then—We'll haste to quaff our wine again.Let me, oh, my budding vine,Spill no other blood than thine.Yonder brimming goblet see,That alone shall vanquish me.I pray thee, by the gods above,Give me the mighty howl I love,And let me sing, in wild delight."I will—I will be mad to-night!"When Father Time swings round his scythe,Intomb me 'neath the bounteous vine,So that its juices red and blythe,May cheer these thirsty bones of mine.—Eugene Field.

When our thirsty souls we steep,Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep.Talk of monarchs! we are thenRichest, happiest, first of men.

When our thirsty souls we steep,

Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep.

Talk of monarchs! we are then

Richest, happiest, first of men.

When I drink, my heart refinesAnd rises as the cup declines;Rises in the genial flow,That none but social spirits know.

When I drink, my heart refines

And rises as the cup declines;

Rises in the genial flow,

That none but social spirits know.

To-day we'll haste to quaff our wine,As if to-morrow ne'er should shine;But if to-morrow comes, why then—We'll haste to quaff our wine again.

To-day we'll haste to quaff our wine,

As if to-morrow ne'er should shine;

But if to-morrow comes, why then—

We'll haste to quaff our wine again.

Let me, oh, my budding vine,Spill no other blood than thine.Yonder brimming goblet see,That alone shall vanquish me.

Let me, oh, my budding vine,

Spill no other blood than thine.

Yonder brimming goblet see,

That alone shall vanquish me.

I pray thee, by the gods above,Give me the mighty howl I love,And let me sing, in wild delight."I will—I will be mad to-night!"

I pray thee, by the gods above,

Give me the mighty howl I love,

And let me sing, in wild delight.

"I will—I will be mad to-night!"

When Father Time swings round his scythe,Intomb me 'neath the bounteous vine,So that its juices red and blythe,May cheer these thirsty bones of mine.

When Father Time swings round his scythe,

Intomb me 'neath the bounteous vine,

So that its juices red and blythe,

May cheer these thirsty bones of mine.

—Eugene Field.