Part 7

A clergyman was very anxious to introduce some hymn-books into the church, and arranged with his clerk that the latter was to give out the notice immediately after the sermon. The clerk, however, had a notice of his own to give out with reference to the baptism of infants. Accordingly, at the close of the sermon he arose and announced that “All those who have children whom they wish to have baptized please send in their names at once to the clerk.” The clergyman, who was stone deaf, assumed that the clerk was giving out the hymn-book notice, and immediately rose and said: “And I should say, for the benefit of those who haven’t any, that they may obtain some from the ushers any day from three to four o’clock; the ordinary little ones at twenty-five cents each, and special ones at fifty cents.”

* * * * *

Clyde Fitch, the brilliant playwright, said of a jeweled watch that had been sent him by a Scotch admirer in Peebles:

“A jeweled watch from Peebles. How strangely unexpected! It reminds me of an open-air performance of ‘As You Like It’ that I once rehearsed.

“I rehearsed this amateur performance in a garden that was overlooked by a building operation. As my amateurs postured and chanted the bard’s beautiful lines, bricklayers above us laid bricks, carpenters planed boards, and masons chipped stones.

“And one afternoon, during a silent pause in our rehearsal, we heard a voice from the building operation say gravely:

“‘I prithee, malapert, pass me yonder brick.’”

* * * * *

A clergyman who was very popular with his congregation saw a lady about to call whom he was anxious not to meet. So he said to his wife:

“I’ll run upstairs, my dear, and escape till she goes away.”

After about an hour he quietly tiptoed to the stair landing and listened. All was quiet below. Reassured, he began to descend, and called out over the balustrade:

“Well, my dear, you got rid of that old bore at last?”

The next instant a voice from below rooted him to the spot. It was the voice of the caller! Then came a response which sounded inexpressibly sweet to him. It was the voice of his wife:

“Yes, dear, she went away over an hour ago; but here is our good friend, Mrs. Blank, whom I am sure you want to meet.”

* * * * *

A lady and her little daughter were walking through a fashionable street when they came to a portion of the street strewn with straw, so as to deaden the noise of vehicles passing a certain house.

“What’s that for, ma?” said the child, to which the mother replied, “The lady who lives in that house, my dear, has had a little baby girl sent her.” The child thought a moment, looked at the quantity of straw, and said: “Awfully well packed, wasn’t she, ma?”

* * * * *

A politician, upon his arrival at one of the small towns in North Dakota, where he was to make a speech the following day, found that the two so-called hotels were crowded to the doors.

Not having telegraphed for accommodations, the politician discovered that he would have to make shift as best he could.

He was compelled for that night to sleep on a wire cot which had only some blankets and a sheet on it. As the statesman is a fat man, he found his improvised bed anything but comfortable.

“Well,” asked a friend, when the politician appeared in the dining-room in the morning, “how did you sleep?”

“Oh, fairly well,” replied the statesman, nonchalantly, “but I looked like a waffle when I got up.”

* * * * *

William Waldorf Astor, before he set out for his English home, said, apropos of the Russo-Japanese War: “Nations engaged in war not only harm each other, but they lay themselves open to harm at the hands of all sorts of other nations. In fact, two nations at war are in the defenseless and gullible position of a certain English married couple.

“This couple will fall out and cease to speak to one another for a year or more at a time. They have a beautiful country house, and there is a certain elderly matron, a great bore, who visits them continually. Some one asked this matron which of the pair was always inviting her. She answered, frankly, ‘Neither invites me ever, but since they don’t speak to each other, each always thinks I am the other’s guest.’”

* * * * *

They were talking over the carelessness of well-to-do people who, by overlooking their small bills, frequently bring disaster upon the tradesmen who are trying to do business on a small capital.

“It sometimes happens that these poor devils have two or three times the amount of their capital out in bills that if paid promptly would make their commercial ways a path of roses,” said the economist. “Little bills of three, four, and five dollars, not much in themselves, mount up high in the aggregate, and it sometimes happens that a seeming prosperity, through the failure of a lot of customers to pay their bills within a reasonable time, results in ruin.

“And yet,” said the reminiscencer, “it sometimes works the other way. I heard a story in England once of a harness dealer who on entering his shop one afternoon, after an absence of several hours, noticed that a rather handsome saddle that he had had in stock had disappeared. He made immediate inquiry of his salesmen, and one of them informed him that he had sold it to a gentleman who had come to the shop with his trap, that the purchaser had thrown it into his wagon and driven off, after telling him to charge it. Unfortunately, however, he had forgotten to ask the gentleman’s name, and all effort to identify him by description failed.

“‘Well,’ said the shopkeeper, who was an ingenious man, ‘there is only one thing left to be done. We will charge the saddle up on all our outstanding accounts. Those who did not buy the saddle will, of course, call our attention to our error, and the man who did take it will, of course, pay.”

“This method was adopted, and at the beginning of the next month the bills were sent out accordingly. Two weeks later the saddler approached his cashier, and asked if he had heard as yet about the matter. ‘How about that missing saddle, Marcus?’ he asked. ‘We are doing very well, sir,’ replied the cashier. ‘Forty of our customers have paid for it, and only two have discovered the mistake.’”

* * * * *

The story is told of a young Oregon girl, a favorite in society, but who was poor and had to take care not to get her evening gowns soiled, as their number was limited. At a dance not long ago a great, big, red-faced, perspiring man came in and asked her to dance. He wore no gloves. She looked at the well-meaning moist hands despairingly, and thought of the immaculate back of her waist. She hesitated a bit, and then she said, with a winning smile:

“Of course I will dance with you, but if you don’t mind, won’t you please use your handkerchief?”

The man looked at her blankly a moment or two. Then a light broke over his face.

“Why, certainly,” he said.

And he pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

* * * * *

Willie finally persuaded his aunt to play train with him. The chairs were arranged in line and then he said:

“Now, you be engineer and I’ll be the conductor. Lend me your watch and get up into your cab.” He then hurried down the platform, timepiece in hand.

“Pull out there, you red-headed, pie-faced jay,” he shouted to the astonished young woman.

“Why, Willie,” she exclaimed in amazement.

“That’s right, chew the rag,” he retorted. “Pull out. We’re five minutes late already.”

They have had to forbid his playing down by the tracks.

* * * * *

Andrew Lang once wrote to Israel Zangwill to ask him to take part in an author’s reading for the benefit of a charity, and received in reply the following laconic message: “If A. Lang will--I. Zangwill.”

* * * * *

Mr. Peet, a rather diffident man, was unable to prevent himself from being introduced one evening to a fascinating young lady, who, misunderstanding his name, constantly addressed him as Mr. Peters, much to the gentleman’s distress. Finally, summoning courage, he bashfully but earnestly remonstrated:

“Oh, don’t call me Peters; call me Peet!”

“Ah, but I don’t know you well enough, Mr. Peters,” said the young lady, blushing as she playfully withdrew behind her fan.

* * * * *

Senator Tillman, of South Carolina, tells of a little girl whose statements were always exaggerated until she became known in school and Sunday-school as a “little liar.” Her parents were dreadfully worried about her, and made strenuous efforts to correct the bad habit. One afternoon her mother overheard an argument with her playmate. Willie Bangs, who seemed to finish the discussion by saying emphatically: “I’m older than you, ’cause my birthday comes first, in May, and yours don’t come until September.”

“Oh, of course your birthday comes first,” sneeringly answered little Nellie; “but that is ’cause you came down first. I remember looking at the angels when they were making you.”

“Come here, Nellie; come here instantly,” cried her mother. “It is breaking mother’s heart,” said she, “to hear you tell such awful stories. Remember what happened to Ananias and Sapphira, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, mama, I know. They were struck dead for lying. I saw them carried into the corner drugstore.”

* * * * *

The relationship between Mr. Gladstone and his wife was one of the most beautiful the world has known, and of all the millions who looked up to him, she was his greatest admirer. On one occasion when Mrs. Gladstone was entertaining visitors, conversation turned on the Bible, and there was a lively argument on the meaning of a certain passage.

Presently one of the callers, hoping to end the discussion, remarked devoutly:

“There is One alone who knows all.”

The cloud vanished from Mrs. Gladstone’s face and she smiled sunnily as she said:

“Yes, and William will be down in a few minutes.”

* * * * *

Mabel (testing the wisdom of the grown-ups).--“Well, how did Martin Luther die?”

Uncle Jim.--“Die? Oh, in the ordinary way, I suppose.”

Mabel.--“Oh, Uncle! you really don’t know anything. He was excommunicated by a bull.”

* * * * *

Small Robbie was laboring over a drawing which was obviously of great importance.

His mother, who was sewing in the room, got up to see what he was doing.

“What is it you’re drawing, dear?” she said, as she stood behind him.

Robbie was embarrassed. Struggling to cover his nervousness, he answered with an air of great nonchalance:

“Oh, it’s papa I’m drawing, but I don’t care anything about it. Guess I’ll put a tail to it, and have it for a dog.”

* * * * *

It is told of Charles Lamb, that one afternoon, returning from a dinner-party, having taken a seat in a crowded omnibus, a stout gentleman subsequently looked in, and politely asked, “All full inside?” “I don’t know how it may be with the _other_ passengers,” answered Lamb, “but that last piece of oyster-pie did the business for _me_.”

* * * * *

One of the ladies-in-waiting to the late Queen Victoria had a very bright little daughter about four years old of whom the Queen was very fond.

The Queen invited the child to have lunch with her.

Of course the mother was highly pleased, and charged the little girl to be very careful about her table manners, and to be very polite and careful before the Queen.

The little girl came home in high glee, and the mother asked her all about the luncheon.

“Were you a very polite little girl? and did you remember to do all I told you at the table?” asked the proud mama.

“Oh, yes. I was polite,” said the little one, “but the Queen wasn’t.”

“The Queen wasn’t!” said the mother. “Why, what did she do?”

“She took her chicken bone up in her fingers, and I just shook my finger at her like you did at me, and said, ‘Piggy, piggy, piggy!’”

* * * * *

A young girl once asked Mark Twain if he liked books for Christmas gifts.

“Well, that depends,” drawled the great humorist. “If a book has a leather cover it is really valuable as a razor strop. If it is a brief, concise work, such as the French write, it is useful to put under the short leg of a wabbly table. An old-fashioned book with a clasp can’t be beat as a missile to hurl at a dog, and a large book like a geography is as good as a piece of tin to nail over a broken pane of glass.”

* * * * *

One of the most candid tributes the late Edwin Booth ever received was rendered to him on his last Southern tour by one who knew neither of his presence nor of his identity in the play. Mr. Booth told the story to his friend, Dr. John H. Girdner.

“We opened our engagement in Atlanta, Ga., with ‘Othello,’” said Mr. Booth, “and I played Othello. After the performance my friend, Mr. Malone, and I went to the Kimball House for some refreshment. The long bar was so crowded that we had to go around the corner of it before we could find a vacant space. While we were waiting to be served we couldn’t help hearing the conversation of two fine-looking old boys, splendid old fellows with soft hats, flowing mustaches, and chin tufts, black string ties and all the other paraphernalia.

“‘I didn’t see you at the theater this evening, Cunnel,’ said one.

“‘No,’ replied the other. ‘I didn’t buy seats till this mawnin’, and the best we could get were six rows back in the balcony. I presume, suh, you were in the orchestra.’

“‘Yes, Cunnel, I was in the orchestra,’ said the first man. ‘Madam and the girls were with me. We all agreed that we nevuh attended a mo’ thrillin’ play. The company was good, too, excellent company. And do you know, Gunnel, in my opinion that d--d nigguh did about as well as any of ’em!’”

* * * * *

A Southern colonel had a colored valet by the name of George. George received nearly all of the colonel’s cast-off clothing. He had his eyes on a certain pair of light trousers which were not wearing out fast enough to suit him, so he thought he would hasten matters somewhat by rubbing grease on one knee. When the colonel saw the spot, he called George and asked if he had noticed it. George said, “Yes, sah, Colonel, I noticed dat spot and tried mighty hard to git it out, but I couldn’t.”

“Have you tried gasoline?” the colonel asked.

“Yes, sah, Colonel, but it didn’t do no good.”

“Have you tried brown paper and a hot iron?”

“Yes, sah, Colonel, I’se done tried ’mos’ everything I knows of, but dat spot wouldn’t come out.”

“Well, George, have you tried ammonia?” the colonel asked as a last resort.

“No, sah, Colonel, I ain’t tried ’em on yet, but I knows dey’ll fit.”

* * * * *

It was the first vaudeville performance the old colored lady had ever seen, and she was particularly excited over the marvelous feats of the magician. But when he covered a newspaper with a heavy flannel cloth and read the print through it, she grew a little nervous. He then doubled the cloth and again read the letters accurately.

This was more than she could stand, and rising in her seat, she said:

“I’m goin’ home. This ain’t no place for a lady in a thin calico dress!”

* * * * *

At a certain railway junction the train divides, one portion going to Edinburgh, the other to Glasgow. The guard put his head in at one of the carriage windows and asked, “All here for Edinburgh?” All replied in the affirmative except one old woman, who after the train had started remarked with a smile, “I was just goin’ to Glesca masel’ but I wasna goin’ to tell yon inquisitive deevil.”

* * * * *

A pompous Bishop of Oxford was once stopped on a London street by a ragged urchin.

“Well, my little man, what can I do for you?” inquired the churchman. “The time o’ day, please, your lordship.”

With considerable difficulty the portly Bishop extracted his watch. “It is exactly half-past five, my lad.”

“Well,” said the boy, setting his feet for a good start, “at ’alf-past six you go to ’ell!” and he was off like a flash and around the corner. The Bishop, flushed and furious, his watch dangling from its chain, floundered wildly after him. But as he rounded the corner he ran plump into the outstretched arms of the venerable Bishop of London.

“Oxford, Oxford,” remonstrated that surprised dignitary, “why this unseemly haste?”

Puffing, blowing, spluttering, the outraged Bishop gasped out: “That young ragamuffin--I told him it was half-past five--and--he--er--told me to go to hell at half-past six.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Bishop of London with a twinkle in his kindly old eyes, “but why such haste? You’ve got almost an hour.”

* * * * *

A lady entered a railway station not a hundred miles from Edinburgh and said she wanted a ticket for London. The pale-looking clerk asked:

“Single?”

“It ain’t any of your business,” she replied. “I might have been married a dozen times if I’d felt like providin’ for some poor shiftless wreck of a man like you.”

* * * * *

“M-my dear,” said the muddled citizen, “I ’sure you I wouldn’t been s’late, but footpad stopped me.”

“And you were so scared your tongue clove to the roof of your mouth.”

“How’d you know that?”

“I smell the clove.”

* * * * *

A man addicted to walking in his sleep went to bed all right one night, but when he awoke he found himself on the street in the grasp of a policeman. “Hold on,” he cried, “you mustn’t arrest me. I’m a somnambulist.” To which the policeman replied: “I don’t care what your religion is--yer can’t walk the streets in yer nightshirt.”

* * * * *

“I can’t keep the visitors from coming up,” said the office-boy dejectedly to the editor. “When I say you’re out they don’t believe me. They say they must see you.”

“Well,” said the editor, “just tell them that’s what they all say. I don’t care if you ‘cheek’ them, but I must have quietness.”

That afternoon there called at the office a lady. She wanted to see the editor, and the boy assured her that it was impossible.

“But I must see him!” she protested. “I’m his wife!”

“That’s what they all say,” replied the boy. And forthwith a new boy was wanted there.

* * * * *

Mr. Weedon Grossmith used to tell a good story about a play by Mr. Robert Ganthony, which that gentleman asked him to read. Mr. Grossmith took the comedy, but lost it on his way home. “Night after night,” he said, “I would meet Ganthony and he would ask me how I liked his play. It was awful; the perspiration used to come out on my forehead as I’d say sometimes, ‘I haven’t had time to look at it yet!’ or again, ‘The first act was good, but I can’t stop to explain,’ etc., ‘must catch a train.’ That play was the bane of my existence, and haunted me even in my dreams.” Some months passed, and Ganthony, a merry wag, still pursued him without mercy. At last it occurred to Mr. Grossmith that he might have left the comedy in the cab on the night it was given to him. He inquired at Scotland Yard.

“Oh! yes,” was the reply. “Play marked with Mr. Ganthony’s name, sent back to owner four months ago, as soon as found.”

* * * * *

Some years ago when Head Consul Book, of the Western Jurisdiction, Woodmen of the World, was traveling through the South, the train stopped for some time in a small town, and Mr. Book alighted to make a purchase. The storekeeper could not make the correct change for the bill which was presented, so Mr. Book started in search of some one who could.

Sitting beside the door, whittling a stick, was an old darky.

“Uncle,” said Mr. Book, “can you change a ten-dollar bill?” The old fellow looked up in surprise; then he touched his cap, and replied: “’Deed, an’ Ah can’t, boss, but Ah’ ’preciates de honah, jest de same.”

* * * * *

A gentleman riding with an Irishman came within sight of an old gallows and, to display his wit, said:

“Pat, do you see that?”

“To be sure Oi do,” replied Pat.

“And where would you be to-day if the gallows had its due?”

“Oi’d be riding alone,” replied Pat.

* * * * *

Jerry O’Rafferty came from the north of Ireland. During all his life there and later in Chicago he had never been inside a Catholic Church.

He was something of a scoffer at religious ceremonies, although he knew little about them. His good friend, Michael O’Brien, was troubled at this, and always used his influence to get Jerry into the church. At last he was successful. Jerry grudgingly consented to go to church Easter Sunday because of the importance of the occasion.

The two sat together, Jerry an interested spectator, while Mike entered into the services like the devout man he was.

Jerry was soon evidently impressed by the splendor of his surroundings and the grandeur of the services. He watched the lighting of the candles and listened attentively to the glorious burst of Easter music. Then he could refrain from commenting no longer.

“Mike,” he whispered, leaning over to his companion, “this bates h--l.”

“Whist,” replied Mike, in a loud whisper, “sich is the intintion.”

* * * * *

Bishop Wilmer of Alabama, famous as a story-teller, told of one of his friends who had lost a dearly beloved wife and, in his sorrow, caused these words to be inscribed on her tombstone: “The light of mine eyes has gone out.” The bereaved married within a year. Shortly afterward the Bishop was walking through the graveyard with another gentleman. When they arrived at the tomb, the latter asked the Bishop what he would say of the present state of affairs, in view of the words on the tombstone. “I think,” said the Bishop, “the words ‘But I have struck another match’ should be added.”

* * * * *

A man of letters who visited Washington recently appeared at but one dinner-party during his stay. Then he sat next to the daughter of a noted naval officer. Her vocabulary is of a kind peculiar to very young girls, but she rattled away at the famous man without a moment’s respite. It was during a pause in the general conversation that she said to him: “I’m awfully stuck on Shakespeare. Don’t you think he’s terribly interesting?” Everybody listened to hear the great man’s brilliant reply, for as a Shakespearian scholar he has few peers. “Yes,” he said, solemnly, “I do think he is interesting. I think he is more than that. I think Shakespeare is just simply too cute for anything.”

* * * * *

A well-known Scotch professor was occasionally called up to Balmoral to attend the late Queen Victoria, and was extremely proud of the honor. One day a notice appeared in the university which stated that Professor ---- could not attend his classes that day as he had been called up to Balmoral to see the Queen. A waggish student who saw the notice wrote underneath it, “God save the Queen.”

* * * * *

“The other day,” said a man passenger in a street-car, “I saw a woman in a street-car open a satchel and take out a purse, close the satchel and open the purse, take out a dime and close the purse, open the satchel and put in the purse. Then she gave the dime to the conductor and took a nickel in exchange. Then she opened the satchel and took out the purse, closed the satchel and opened the purse, put in the nickel and closed the purse, opened the satchel and put in the purse, closed the satchel and locked both ends. Then she felt to see if her back hair was all right, and it was all right, and she was all right. That was a woman.”

* * * * *

As a couple of callers were in the parlor of a friend who is a firm Christian Scientist, the voice of five-year-old Florence could be heard from an upper room, fretting. Upon their inquiries about her the mother replied simply she was suffering from a “belief” in a boil.