Cholly—Aw, Fweddie, did you see her smile at me? Quite angelic, doncher know.
Fweddie—Smiled, did she? Well, I cahn't blame her. Youah looks sometimes make me smile, bah jove.
—Chicago Liar.
A number of the school-ma'ams are employing their Summer vacations in educating the blind. Their only pupil is a bad boy named Cupid.
—Chicago News.
"I understand the progressive dinner party craze has struck St. Louis," said Miss Societie, of Lucas avenue to Mr. Featherhide.
Mr. Featherhide (dryly)—"Yes, but such dinners are simply a matter of course."
—St. Louis Critic.
A street car going west on Madison street last Saturday afternoon was loaded with women returning from the matinee. In one corner of the car a countryman sat. When the car reached May street the conductor opened the door and called "May!" A woman left the car at this street. When he reached Ann the conductor called that name and another woman got off. At Elizabeth Street he called out "Elizabeth!" and two women got off. When he called "Ada!" still another woman got up and left.
The countryman went out on the platform and said to the conductor:
"Do you know where I want to get off?"
"I do not."
"Do you know my name?"
"No, sir; I don't."
"Do you know all the women in Chicago?"
"Well, I should say not. Why?"
"Nothing. I heerd you callin' them women that have jist been gitting off by their first names, an' you knowed jist where they wanted to stop, an' I thought you was acquainted with all the people in town."
—Chicago Mail.
Doddle—I say, Coddle, old boy! What's the ideah of having a howid big flap on a fellah's ear? Couldn't we have heard pwetty nearly as well without it?
Coddle—Pwobably, Doddle, but it dwaws the collar line, don't yer know; it sawter keeps the collar from wunning up and knocking our hats off.
—Glens Falls Republican.
Young Doctor—Well, I've got a case at last.
Young Lawyer—Glad to hear it. When you get him to the point where he wants a will drawn, telephone over.
—Life.
A bass weighing one pound in 1880 was returned to the Potomac with a small sleigh bell attached to its tail with a wire. A few days ago it was caught with the bell still attached, the fish weighing six pounds. This may seem like a fish story, but some of our readers will remember that a one-pound bass caught in the Eastern branch five years ago was returned to the water with a penny tin whistle attached to its tail. Three years later the bass was caught near the same spot. It still weighed a pound, but the whistle had grown into a fog horn.
—New Orleans Picayune.
"I think that fellow is real mean," said Marie, throwing down the paper.
"What fellow?"
"Why, the one it speaks of here who has invented a car window that will open and shut readily by touching a spring."
"Well, I think it is a great thing. Why do you object to it?"
"Simply because now I can never have, when traveling, some fascinating drummer bending over me to open or shut the window for me."
—Wasp.
A certain politician holding office in Washington comes from Gilead, N. H. and he is proud of his native town. It is told of him that on one occasion a visiting clergyman preached in the village church and during the course of his remarks, he exclaimed:
"Is there no balm in Gilead?"
Mr. Blank jumped to his feet at once.
"Of course there is," he sung out, to the horror of the congregation, "but you can't get it on Sunday."
—Troy Telegram.
Mrs. Smith—John, has Mrs. Thompson done anything to offend you? She complains that you spoke very rudely to her when you came in yesterday evening.
Mr. S.—Oh, I'm sorry for that. I'm always glad to see Mrs. Thompson, and wouldn't like to hurt her feelings. Fact is, when I came in, the room was rather dark and I mistook her for you.
—Toronto Grip.
Little Johnny McSwilligen, surreptitiously sampled his mamma's brandied peaches yesterday, and soon after had occasion to use the telephone.
"A little later Mr. McSwilligen called his wife to the 'phone to inform her that he would be late getting home.
"Yes, I know why," she replied.
"Ah, how do you know?"
"Why, you're drinking again, and intend to make a night of it."
"Indeed I am not," protested McSwilligen. "I have not touched a drop for a year."
"Oh, you can't impose on me that way," insisted his wife. "I can smell your breath."
And she hung up the receiver with a rattle that almost dislocated the instrument.
—Pittsburgh Chronicle.
Insulted Montanian (to tenderfoot newspaper correspondent)—Lookee here, young man, you want to be a little more keerful how you write things that ain't so to them newspapers back East. This is a high-toned town, by Jinks, and the boys won't stand it.
Terrified Tenderfoot—Why, I—I—what have I written?
"Why, you writ to a Chicago paper that we lynched thirteen men here last month, and it's a lie."
"I—I—thought it was true, or—I——"
"Well, it wasn't. We didn't lynch but twelve, and we only rid the other on a rail and peppered him a little with buckshot. Stick to facts, young man, that's all we ask of you."
—Time.
A little fellow who was earnestly searching the columns of a certain religious journal for something in the juvenile department, found the paper rather bulky to manage and spread it upon the floor. In reply to his little sister, who was impatient at his slowness, he defended himself by saying: "Well, you must remember that this paper has two parts—the religious and the sacrilegious!" It was the same boy, by the way, who announced that the Scripture lesson at school one morning was from the Book of Collisions.
—Troy Times.
Bliffers—What's wrong to-day, Bluffers? You look blue.
Bluffers—I'll never forgive myself. I kicked a caller out of my house last night.
"Huh! I've kicked out many a one. Young fellow, I suppose?"
"No; past middle age."
"Well, these old codgers have no business to be coming around sparking young girls. I kicked out one of that sort last week."
"Yes, but I've found out this man wasn't courting my daughter. He was after my mother-in-law."
—Philadelphia Record.
"Maria," said Mr. Cuteboy yesterday, "I made $20 this morning."
"Indeed," said Mrs. C. curiously. "Did Reading go up?"
"Not exactly," was the quiet rejoinder, "but your brother John asked me to lend him that sum and I didn't happen to have it at the time."
—Philadelphia Inquirer.
Old woman presents herself at the booking office and asks for a third-class ticket. "Where for?" inquires the clerk.
"That's my business!" is the reply.
—Dictionnaire Universal.
That the moon is made of green cheese is a mere idle fancy, but that the honeymoon is made of taffy is an established fact.
—Terre Haute Express.
Why am I a woman suffragist?
Because I am.
Because a woman has more good, hard, common sense than a man.
Because she makes less bluster about her rights, and quietly maintains them better than a man.
Because she won't give $1.50 for an article that she knows very well she can get for 75 cents.
Because she does not stalk loftily away from the counter without her change if the robber behind it is a little reluctant about counting it out.
Because she is too independent to pay the landlord $2.25 for her dinner, and then pay the head-waiter $1 to send her a waiter who will bring it to her for 50 cents.
Because she will hold her money tightly in her own good little right hand for two hours until she first gets a receipt for it from the fellow who made her husband pay the same bill three times last year. Not any "just give you credit for it" for her.
Because one day a Pullman porter complained to me "No money on this trip; too many women aboard. Don't never get nothin' out of a woman 'ceptin' just her regular fare." I had just paid him 25 cents for blacking one of my boots and losing the other; and when he said that, when I saw for myself the heroic firmness of those women, traveling alone, paying their fare and refusing to pay the salaries of the employes of a wealthy corporation, I said: "These women have a right to vote. To vote? By all that is brave and self-reliant and sensible, they have a right to run the government!"
—New York Star.
"Urtication" is a new cure for rheumatism. It means pricking the skin with a bunch of fresh nettles. Perhaps "hurtication" would be a better word for it.
—San Francisco Alta.
What a glorious world this would be if people lived up to the epitaphs on their tombstones.
—Hutchison News.
In an English country church the curate had to give out two notices, the first of which was about baptisms and the latter had to do with a new hymn book. Owing to an accident he inverted the order and gave out as follows: "I am requested to announce that the new hymn book will be used for the first time in this church Sunday next, and I am requested to call attention to the delay which often takes place in bringing children to be baptized; they should be brought on the earliest day possible. This is particularly pressed on mothers who have young babies."
"And for the information of those who have none," added the rector, in gentle, kindly tones and who, being deaf, had not heard what had been previously said—"and for the information of those who have none, I may state, if wished, they can be obtained on application in the vestry immediately after service to-day. Limp ones, one shilling each: with stiff backs, two shillings."
—Chicago Chronicle.
Stranger—Your town seems awful dead. Had a scourge of any kind?
Citizen—No.
"No small-pox or yellow fever?"
"No."
"No floods or famine?"
"No."
"Well, what ails your town this year?"
"Nothing ails it this year, but a boom struck it last year."
—Omaha World.
America is not given to jewelry, gauds or trappings, but those familiar with the business say that she has a seal ring.
—Detroit Free Press.
Some one suggests that John L. Sullivan's bust be placed on the new two-cent postage stamps. But Sullivan can't be licked.
—N. Y. News.
George (referring to young lady just entering, in evening dress)—Ah, here is something pretty nice coming in!
Clarence—Something coming out, I should say.
—Journal Amusant.
There was a young lady named MollWho purchased a new parasol,With a handle so longThat she had to be strongOr she couldn't have lugged it at all.She met a young man who, 'twas plain,Was staggering with might and mainTo steady his gait'Neath the terrible weightOf his dreadfully cumbersome cane.So intent was the beautiful MollIn lugging her long parasol,That she passed the young swainWith the cumbersome caneAnd never once saw him at all.What a narrow escape for that swain!Had she recognized him he would fainHave lifted his hat;But how could he do thatAnd carry his cumbersome cane?
There was a young lady named MollWho purchased a new parasol,With a handle so longThat she had to be strongOr she couldn't have lugged it at all.
She met a young man who, 'twas plain,Was staggering with might and mainTo steady his gait'Neath the terrible weightOf his dreadfully cumbersome cane.
So intent was the beautiful MollIn lugging her long parasol,That she passed the young swainWith the cumbersome caneAnd never once saw him at all.
What a narrow escape for that swain!Had she recognized him he would fainHave lifted his hat;But how could he do thatAnd carry his cumbersome cane?
—Washington Post.
Some of the Vassar girls have organized a gum-chewing association. They meet for cul-chaw.
—Burlington Free Press.
It is not good to take tea in the middle of the day. The man who tried it in an Austin grocery store when he thought the clerk was not looking is our authority.
—Texas Siftings.
"Did ye hear about the Wurruld's Fair, Mrs. McGlaggerty?"
"Sorra's the wurrud, me frind. Fwhat's there about id, Mrs. Magoogin?"
"Noo Yarrick is goin' to have id."
"Is that so, now?"
"Yis, an' they're roisin' the money fur id, avourneen," said the Widow Magoogin. "A committay's bin appinted to go around an' ax payple fwhat they're willin' to shushcroibe an' they pits down the names an' prints thim in the papers, an' there's a hully-balloo an' jubilorum, an' uv'rybody sez Noo Yarrick is a fine place, an' that brings the Wurruld's Fair to iz, Mrs. McGlaggerty. Now, thin, fwhat ar' you goin' to shushcroibe fwhin the committay calls round to see ye, Mrs. McGlaggerty?"
"Divil a cint Oi have to give thim, Mrs. Magoogin," said the neighbor.
"Fy fur shame, Mrs. McGlaggerty—that's no way to be afther thraiting the committay. Fwhere's yer h'art, woman? Have ye no sinse, at all, at all, alanna? Fwhisper an' I'll tell ye fwhat Berdie Magoogin's goin' to say to thim fwhin they comes an' axes her to shushcroibe. 'Gud mawrnin', Mrs. Magoogin.' they'll say to me. 'The same to ye, sors,' Oi'll say to thim. 'Fwhat'll ye shushcroibe to the Wurruld's Fair this foine mawrnin', ma'am?' they'll ax me nuxt. 'Fwhat did the McGuffin's beyant give ye?' Oi'll ax thim. 'Nawthin',' they'll say to me. 'Thin id's breakin' their h'arts they ar' intoirely givin' nawthin' to an interproise av this koind, sors,' Oi'll say to thim. 'An' fwhat'll we put ye down for, ma'am?' they'll say to me. 'Well, gintlemin av the committay,' Oi'll say to thim, puttin' an me Sunda' shmoile an' howldin' me head as proud as a paycock—'well, gintlemin,' Oi'll say, 'it isn't mooch that Berdie Magoogin has—there's only the shanty an' the goat an' a bit av furnicher, some av fwhich is in pawn—but Oi'll tell ye fwhat Oi'll do, gintlemin,' Oi'll say to thim. 'Berdie Magoogin'll agree to give twinty-noin thousan' eight hundhert an' tin dollars out av her own pocket to the Wurruld's Fair, aff the committay kin foind noineteen other widdy womin an Cherry Hill that'll do the same thing, an' how diz that praposishun shoot ye, gintlemin?' Oi'll say to thim. Thin they'll go away shmoiling an' they'll tell uv'rybody about id, an' uv'rybody'll say how ginerous is Mrs. Magoogin'v!
"But sure'n ye haven't no twinty-noine thousand dollars to give thim, me frind?" the neighbor interposed.
"No more has th' other noineteen widdies, Mrs. McGlaggerty—so ye see there's no danger av anny av iz losin' mooch, an' ow, wow, but won't payple think that we're gin'rous. Id's a byootiful bloof Oi'll be afther givin' thim, Mrs. McGlaggerty—nawthin', acushla, but a byootiful bloof."
—John J. Jenningsin Sunday Mercury.
"Were you ever engaged in a train robbery?" asked the prosecuting attorney, looking at him keenly.
"I was never indicted for train robbing," answered the witness, evasively.
"That is not the question," said the lawyer. "I will ask you again. Were you ever a train robber?"
"Judge," said the witness, turning imploringly to the dignitary of the Bench, "must I answer that question?"
"You must," answered the judge. "And remember you are under oath."
The witness turned pale and his knees knocked together.
"I suppose it's got to come out. I sold books and bananas on the cars for a whole year when I was a young fellow," faltered the miserable man.
—Chicago Tribune.
"The greatest point," writes a specialist in the treatment of obesity, "is to find the right diet." But the greatest point in these cases, after all, is the embonpoint.
—Philadelphia Ledger.
While there is a great variety of conditions submitted with the handsome donations made to aid the fair, it is noticeable that there is entire unanimity in one thing—the "if."
V. S.
A gang of men were at work on a city street, when a slight, beardless youth laid down his pick, and approaching the foreman, said to him:
"Can I take a fit, sir?"
"Take what?" asked the foreman.
"A fit—I feel one coming on," replied the young man, without emotion.
"Why, certainly," said the foreman.
So the young man walked over to a bit of grass under a leafy tree—it was a new street in the suburbs—and had a fit.
Then he went and washed his face, came back to his place in the line, took up his pick and struck into work. After the day's work was over the young man said to the foreman: "You don't mind my having fits?"
"No—I guess not if you do a fair day's work."
"Well, you see I used to work for a butcher an' he wouldn't let me take fits—said it interfered with business—an' I thought you might feel the same way about it."
And the young man works hard with pick and shovel and takes a fit once in a while as you or I might take a drink of water.
—Pittsburgh Dispatch.
Hollis Holworthy—Yes, I've been looking up some of my ancestors, and——
Miss Beacon—I guess you found a good many of them up a tree, didn't you?
—Harvard Lampoon.
A burning question among the Rochester newspapers is: "Have bicycles an earnest purpose?" The fellow who has just shot over the handle-bar of one is convinced that they have.
—Buffalo Courier.
Old General Debility was for a time held responsible for the Allegheny baseball team's wretched work in this season's campaign, but now the blame is being divided with old John Barleycorn.
—Pittsburgh Post.
"One day when living at Beaufort, S. C.," said a gentleman the other day, "the young colored nurse in my family came in with a terribly lugubrious face. Around her head was wound a white cloth, which extended fully two feet above.
"'What on earth is the matter, Tilly?' said my wife.
"'Oh! I's a-seekin'.'
"'What are you seeking?'
"'I'se a-seekin' 'ligion.'
"'Do you have to wear that when you are seeking religion?'
"'Oh, yes, miss. I has to wear that to mortify de flesh.'
"That afternoon she came to her mistress and said: 'I cyarn't tek keer de chill'n dis afternoon. I'se got to go to de woods an' wrassle wid de sperut.'
"She 'wrassled' for four days, and finally came in with a beaming countenance, and with the cloth taken from her head. She had found Jesus and had been baptized. 'Tilly,' I said, 'do you have to go through that performance every time you get religion?'
"'Yes, Marse Thompson!'
"'How many times have you been baptized in the course of life?'
"''Bout leb'n times.'"
—Washington Post.
There was company for dinner at Dilly's house and they were enjoying the first course, which consisted of oyster soup. Dilly made away with hers for some time in silence until she had nearly cleaned the plate, when she suddenly paused, and looking at her mother across the table, said, in a stage-whisper: "Mamma, what you fink?—dere's a hair in my soup!"
"Hush, Dilly," said mamma, frowning; "it's nothing but a crack in the plate."
Dilly moved the bowl of her spoon back and forth over the supposed crack, and then exclaimed, triumphantly:
"Kin a quack move?"
—Philadelphia Times.
The only thing that a man can borrow in this world without giving security is trouble.
—Lawrence American.
"Grindstone," exclaimed Kiljordan, in a tone of severe rebuke, as he leaned wearily over the aisle of the car, "why don't you get up and give that lady a seat? I would do it myself, only I've been doing the work of two men at the office for a whole week."
"My wife has been away from home for two days," answered Grindstone feebly, "and I've been sleeping with the baby."
"Madame," called out Kiljordan, rising briskly, "I'm not at all tired. You may have my seat."
—Chicago Tribune.
Lady of the house (to tramp)—You eat as if you never had seen a meal of victuals before!
Tramp—Madam, you must excuse me. I s'pose I do eat awkward, but the fact is I hain't had much practice lately.
—Life.
"Stop that!" roared the exchange reader as the dramatic editor struck into the first bars of "He's in the Asylum Now."
"What's the matter?" mildly asked the offender.
"Why, when you sing your voice sours my paste," was the explanation.
—Buffalo Express.
School Teacher (to boy at head of class, the lesson being philosophy)—How many kinds of force are there?
Boy—Three, sir.
"Name them."
"Bodily force, mental force and the police force."
—Punch.
Client (in Chicago)—I want a divorce.
Lawyer—For what reason?
"My wife cannot make good coffee."
"I am sorry, but the law is not broad enough for a man to get a decree on mere coffee grounds."
—Time.
"Oi say, Mrs. McGlaggerty!"
"Arrah, fwhat is id, Mrs. Magoogin?"
"War ye uver in Parish, Oi dunno?"
"Is id me in Parish, Mrs. Magoogin?"
"Yis, you, Mrs. McGlaggerty. 'Twas to yersel' Oi was shpakin'."
"Me in Parish—the rale polly-boo-pancake Paris, Oi shuppose ye mane, Mrs. Magoogin?"
"Oy, the same, me frind."
"Well, Oi was never there, thanks be to gudness."
"An' no more was Oi, me frind; but Oi hope there was no harrum in axin' ye," said the Widow Magoogin. "An' how Oi kem to ax ye was jisht this, d'ye see: The Montmorincy McGues acrass th' way had a fallin' out wud aich other in the back yard two noights ago lasht Winsda', an' they med that mooch av a rooction that foor polaicemin was called in be the naybors, an' they had to shplit Micky Montmorincy McGue's nose in three halves an' opin'd a hole in his wife Cordaylia's head that ye kud pit a taycup into before they'd be quoiet an' lave the daycint payple livin' on aither soide av thim go to shleep. The polaice tuk Micky to th' shtation house an' begorrah the Joodge sint him to th' Oisland fur noinety days. Now, d'ye know fwhat the Montmorincy McGues ar' givin' out? They're tellin' ivrybody that Micky's gone over to th' Parish Uxposition be the rekusht av the King an' Queen av France, an' that he'll have a room all to himself in the palace av the Tooriloories, wud wall paper an inch thick an the walls an' oice water to wash his hands in an' a naygur to loight his poipe fur him an' howld it fwhoile he shmokes. Mrs. Montmorincy McGue throied to give me the sthiff about Micky an' the Parish Uxposition, but we hear ducks, Mrs. McGlaggerty. That's an owld gag av th' sassoi'ty folks, Mrs. McGlaggerty, to partind they're goin' to Europe fwhin they're only tin maile out in th' counthry puyin' foive dollars a waik fur boord, an' Oi'm rale sarry to know that the payple av Cherry Hill ar' takin' to id. Oi thawt Oi'd pit ye an to th' gag, Mrs. McGlaggerty, bekase wan of these byootiful blyue Danube days mebbe ye'll be hearin' that Mrs. Berdie Magoogin an' her accomplished daughther, Mrs. Arethusy Dinkelshpiel, has gone to Parish to intertain th' jook av Rockaway Cheese, an' fwhin ye do ye kin pit it down as a fact that yer frind an' naybor, the daycint widdy woman that's now shpakin' to ye, has kicked the shtuffin' out av a little banty-legged Ditchman that was wanst her son-in-law, but that talked too mooch about th' koind av poi an' cake that his ould freckle-haired mother ushed to make, thet kin no more shpake th' Inglish languidge c'reckly than a pig can say his pray'rs. Remim'er that, now, Mrs. McGlaggerty!"
John J. Jennings.
Smudge—Dr. Tanner was not the first man who lived on water for forty days.
Fudge—No!
"Of course not."
"Who else?"
"Well, what's the matter with Noah?"
—San Francisco News Letter.
I always hate to tell a story out of season, but I am afraid that this one will not keep until the next Fourth of July, so here goes: A woman who lives in the western part of our city was very much disturbed by the frightful noises which accompanied the celebration this year. She was old and quite ill, and she had spent a night in tossing, waiting in vain for a silence that came not and which drove sleep out of the question. It was near sunbreak, when the noise was at its wildest, when with a groan she turned over and in despair ejaculated: "Goodness, gracious me. I wish the other side had licked!"
—Baltimore Free Press.
Mrs. J. (severely)—John, there is a very strong odor about you.
Mr. J.—Yes—hic—my dear, I've—hic—been eating onions.
Mrs. J.—You may have the onion breath, John, but you certainly have not the onion walk.
—Life.
Ministerial Friend (on a visit)—I wonder what makes your mamma so happy to-day? She is singing around all over the house.
Little Nell—I dess she's thought of somfin' to scold papa about when he comes home.
—Philadelphia Record.
Algernon—You must not think, dearest, that because you are rich and I am poor I am anxious to marry you on account of your money.
Genevieve—Whose are you after, pa's?
—Judge.
HE.
I wonder now would she say yes?I'd really like to make a goOf one proposal to learn how,And would, if only she'd say no.
I wonder now would she say yes?I'd really like to make a goOf one proposal to learn how,And would, if only she'd say no.
SHE.
I wonder now will he propose?I must have one before I go,It's hard to hurt his feelings—still,Can I say yes? Let's see—well—no.
I wonder now will he propose?I must have one before I go,It's hard to hurt his feelings—still,Can I say yes? Let's see—well—no.
—Wasp.
Up in a certain town the grocers understand all the little tricks of the trade. A gentleman bought six pounds of sugar, and found it sadly adulterated with sand. The next day a notice was posted reading thus:
"Notice—I bought six pounds of sugar of a grocer in this village. From it I have taken one pound of sand. If the rascal will send me six pounds of sugar I will not expose him."
The next day five six-pound packages of sugar were left at the gentleman's residence, there being just five grocers in the village.
—Boston Record.
CHAMPION KICKERS.
THE INVARIABLE RESULT.
(With apologies to Scott and Pope.)
Oh, woman in our hours of ease,Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Oh, woman in our hours of ease,Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
—Town Topics.
I can't seem to realize, fully,How quickly the season has flown;I've scarce had a day through the summer,To rest and to be quite alone.I've been yachting and driving and bathing,I know every horse on the track;And I've planned out a beautiful future,I'm engaged to be married to Jack.From the first of July to September,Is not a long courtship I know;But, then, if we wait until Christmas,'Twill be half a twelvemonth, and soAfter telling Jack "Yes," on an impulse,I couldn't somehow take it back;And he says we can court all our lifetime,So I'm to be married to Jack.He hasn't a very large fortune,But he's handsome and brimful of life,And he says that his prospects will brightenWith me for his own little wife.How little I dreamed when I came here,How settled and staid I'd go back;Not caring for flirting or dancing,For I'm to be married to Jack.I thought, at the first of the season,Of titles and money and style;But the charm which they hold is but trifling,When I think of his bright, tender smile.Ah, me! when a girl loves her lover,Of happiness there is no lack,My heart is as light as a feather,I'm engaged to be married to Jack.
I can't seem to realize, fully,How quickly the season has flown;I've scarce had a day through the summer,To rest and to be quite alone.I've been yachting and driving and bathing,I know every horse on the track;And I've planned out a beautiful future,I'm engaged to be married to Jack.
From the first of July to September,Is not a long courtship I know;But, then, if we wait until Christmas,'Twill be half a twelvemonth, and soAfter telling Jack "Yes," on an impulse,I couldn't somehow take it back;And he says we can court all our lifetime,So I'm to be married to Jack.
He hasn't a very large fortune,But he's handsome and brimful of life,And he says that his prospects will brightenWith me for his own little wife.How little I dreamed when I came here,How settled and staid I'd go back;Not caring for flirting or dancing,For I'm to be married to Jack.
I thought, at the first of the season,Of titles and money and style;But the charm which they hold is but trifling,When I think of his bright, tender smile.Ah, me! when a girl loves her lover,Of happiness there is no lack,My heart is as light as a feather,I'm engaged to be married to Jack.
Mrs. Youngwife—Well, Harry, our first dinner party will be a great success, I think. The dinner, I am sure, will be perfect.
Harry—I hope so. What's the game?
"Roast ducks with currant jelly."
"Gracious, Eleanor, the one thing I can't carve. They'll be tough, too, I'll bet."
"Oh, no, they won't. I took care not to get canvas backs."
—Utica Observer.
When General O. O. Howard was marching down through Tennessee, General Whittlesey, late president of the Freedmen's Bank, was assistant adjutant general on his staff. Whittlesey had been a clergyman down in Maine, and was fully as strait-laced as Howard. One day Howard drove into a farm-yard from which Whittlesey was just departing. A woman and her grown daughter were standing outside the door.
"My good woman," said Howard, "will you kindly give me a drink of water?"
"No. Get out of my yard. A lot of more impident Yankees I never seed."
"But I have done nothing and said nothing out of the way, and will severely punish any of my soldiers who should say or do anything wrong."
"That sojer insulted me," said she, pointing to the retreating form of General Whittlesey. "He axed me for a drink of water and when I done give it to him he sassed me."
"But—but that is General Whittlesey, of my staff. I am sure he wouldn't be rude to any woman."
"Maw," said the girl, pulling her mother's dress, "I reckon he moughtn't have meant anything misbeholden."
"Hush; don't I know low-down blackguard talk when I hears it? He asked me 'what was the State of my nativity?'"
—Washington Post.
"I climb to rest," sings Lucy Larwin in a recent poem. So do we, Lucy. Our sleeping apartment is on the first floor from the roof.
—Light.