Part 4

An Unreliable Symptom.

Chicagoan (decisively)--I feel it in my bones that Chicago is going to have the fair.

New Yorker--I should advise you to see a physician. I know a man who felt something in his bones, and it turned out to be rheumatism.

V. S.

A Financial Solomon.

Gontran--But you are surely mad! How can you think of borrowing money on those terms and from people of that stamp?

Holske--My dear fellow, better go to a scamp who lends you money at 15 percent than to an honest man who refuses you at 5.

--_Le Figaro._

Four Too Many.

Chicago Woman--I want a marriage license. My fiance is too busy to come himself.

Clerk of Court--Yes, ma'am (glancing at calendar). Let me see, this is the 10th, isn't it?

Chicago Woman--Why, how perfectly absurd of you! This is only my sixth.

--_Minneapolis Tribune._

Too Much of a Denial.

Wiggins--You're rather too old to take in as an office-boy. You must have lived pretty fast to be at the bottom of the ladder at your age.

Applicant--No indeed, sir. I'm just as slow as I ever was while a boy.

--_Life._

A Puzzled Celt.

A class in a San Francisco art school was recently startled by the sudden appearance in its midst of a dilapidated Irishman who, with tears in his eyes begged for enough money to get him a "bite." The first impulse of the presiding genius was to request him to move on, but his picturesque qualities suggested that he be given a chance to earn his supper by sitting as a model.

"Sit down," said the instructor, kindly. "If you will permit these young ladies to paint you we will pay you four bits. What do you say?"

"Av Oi'll let 'em wha-at?" replied the beggar, with a puzzled look on his face.

"Paint you. Paint you. It won't take very long."

"Bedad, Oi want th' foor bits bad enough," he returned, after a moment's reflection, "an' Oi'll be viry gla-ad t' let th' young ladies paint me av ye'll tell me how'll Oi'll git the paint arf me afterwar-rds."

--_Harpers' Magazine._

A Suitable Adviser.

Simpson (to friend who is lamenting the conduct of his son)--You should speak to him with firmness, and remind him of his duties.

Father--He pays no attention to what I say. He listens only to the advice of fools. I wish you would speak to him!

--_San Francisco Wasp._

Broke In.

Araminta--You put your arm around my waist so gracefully, George.

George--I have had lots of practice. I was a street car conductor five years.

--_Epoch._

Dog Days.

Kind Lady (to tramp)--That coat you have on is pretty well worn out, isn't it?

Tramp--Yes, madame, I fear it has gone to the dogs.

--_Clothier and Furnisher._

Although people do not like a tumble, they generally appreciate a fall in the mountains.

--_Boston Gazette._

There is no experience more heavily fraught with deep ghastly lonesomeness than that of being shaved by a deaf-and-dumb barber.

--_Washington Star._

MRS. GABB--What is the matter with my husband?

DOCTOR--Nothing, except that he needs change. I prescribe opiates and rest.

MRS. GABB--Shall I give him the opiates at once?

DOCTOR--Oh, the opiates are not for him; they are for you.

--_Once a Week._

The fact that diamonds are rapidly increasing in price is pleasing news to the Glass Trust.

--_N. Y. World._

Bucket-shops are so called, apparently, because they carry in a pail the same goods which the bigger exchanges carry in hogsheads.

--_Albany Times._

The Firm Schoolmistress.

Firm Schoolmarm--You children must behave yourselves. I'll go wild if you don't. Jimmie Smith, stop cutting that desk. (Jimmie does not stop.) I'll put your knife in the fire if you don't. Never mind; I am going to write a note to your father.

Jimmie--Don't care if you do.

Schoolmarm--Don't talk to me that way. Put up that knife this very instant, or I'll box your ears. (Starts towards him.) Never mind, sir (taking her seat), I'm going to tell your mother.

Jimmie--Don't care if you do.

Schoolmarm--Don't you talk to me that way. Never mind, sir, I'm going to keep you in after school. Will Brown, you must not eat in school. Willie, Willie Brown. Never mind, sir. I'm going to tell your father.

Willie--Ain't got no father.

Schoolmarm--Well, I'll tell your mother.

Willie--Ho, she won't do nothin' but scold me.

Schoolmarm--Then I'll whip you myself. Bobbie Guns, go out and get me a switch.

Bob--Bill might hit me after school.

Schoolmarm--I never saw the like in my life. If you all don't stop making such a noise my head will split open. All of you, except Jimmie Smith, may go now. Jimmie, don't you go out of this house. Jimmie, Jimmie. Well, then, go on, you good-for-nothing thing. No, I won't kiss you. Go on away, I won't. Well, then (kissing him), I'll kiss you this once. Don't you put your dirty little arms around my neck. Oh, look, you have mussed my hair. You little rascal (hugging him), I can't help loving you.

--_Liverpool Post._

At the London Law Courts.

Mike (pointing to the patriot O'Brien)--Ah! there's a man who Balfour would like to imprison for life if he only dared.

Pat--Imprison for life, d'ye say? Sure, man, 'twould be no use at all. For O'Brien would die long before such a brutal sintince could come to an end.

Mike--Ah, me bhoy! Faith, and I believe ye're right!

--_N. Y. World._

The Pensive Maiden.

Pretty little darling Gazing 'cross the sea, Wonder what the tenor Of her thoughts may be; Wonder if she ever Gives a thought to me!

Bright as sparkling dewdrop Glistening on a rose, Sweeter far than any Pretty flower that blows; Madly do I love her-- Wonder if she knows!

Ere the voyage is over I would fain declare That I love her dearly, With a wild despair; Wonder if she'll love me! Wonder if she'll care!

SHELLMAN.

Our Cunning Kids.

A city child, wandering over a farm-yard with its father, was greatly frightened at the sight of a good-sized gobbler.

"Why, my boy, you don't mean to say that you're afraid of a turkey, when you ate one only yesterday."

"Yes, pa, but this one isn't cooked."

--_Judge._

Some returned Boomers who failed to get claims in the Oklahoma territory are said to be anxious that Col. Ingersoll shall go out to Guthrie and modify his views as to the non-existence of Hades.

--_Munsey's Weekly._

He Was.

Parson (to candidate for Sunday school)--Have you been christened, my boy?

Boy--Yes, shir. Got marks in three plaishes on my left arm!

--_Punch._

HE WAS ONERY BUT INNOCENT.

No Evidence to Convict Thomas of Stealing the Hog.

When I reached Lester's Crossroads it was to find the score or so of people comprising the hamlet very much excited, and their numbers had been re-enforced by a dozen or more farmers, who had come in on mules and in ox carts. I got accommodations at Jeffers', and in a few minutes Mrs. Jeffers had posted me as to the cause of the excitement.

"Thar's gwine to be the powerfulest lawsuit nobody ever hearn tell of," she explained. "Thar's gwine ter be as many as ten witnesses, and the lawyers will gab, and the squar' will boss everybody, and it will be the excitingest time we ever had. I'm so glad you got yere in time!"

The squar' who lived a mile out of the hamlet took dinner with us, also the lawyers, both of whom had made a ride of fifteen miles in the interest of their respective clients. The squar' was on his dignity, and the lawyers were looked up to with all the reverence and respect due the president of the United States. School was dismissed that the trial might take place in the school-house, and when we all found seats the place was packed. When the case was stated Thomas Andrews, a "squat farmer," was charged with having stolen, killed and converted to his own use one hog belonging to and the lawful property of William Ainsworth, another "squat farmer." The squar' opened his own court as follows:

"Here ye and look yere! This court ar' now open fur bizness, and it's agin the law to fuss or trifle. Them negroes and all others is warned to be powerful quiet, and if ary purson be in contempt he will get the full extent of the law. Hank Stovin, kick that ar big dog of your'n outer doors."

The prosecutor then charged the prisoner with having, between the 5th and the 20th of the month, stolen, killed and eaten, in whole or in part one hog belonging to the plaintiff, and described as black and white, 2 years old, weight 115 to 120 pounds, and in good health and fair condition.

He was followed by the other lawyer who denied the charge in toto, and intimated that he would prove a conspiracy to down the defendant, to the injury of his name and fame as an honest citizen of the commonwealth. The plaintiff was put on the stand, and when told to go ahead he said:

"I know that he 'un stole my hog, and I wanter see him sent to prison."

"Why do you suspect him of stealing the hog?"

"Hain't he shiftless and onery?"

"Is that why you suspected him?"

"It ar'. And I know the hog went over his way the last I seed of him."

The plaintiff hadn't made out much, but he had a witness who swore that he ate fresh pork at Andrews' cabin on the 12th. He also saw hog bristles and hoofs on the ground near the cabin.

"You declare that on your oath, do you?"

"Sartin, I've got to tell it as it was, though Tom and I hev always jiggered (got along) without a word."

A second witness swore that he called at Andrews' cabin on the 15th and the wife had fresh pork in a kettle. He asked if Tom had been killing and she seemed confused and did not reply. That was the case for the prosecution. It looked slim in one sense, and yet everybody knew that Andrews was a shiftless, suspicious character not above hog stealing. When the opposing counsel got hold of the plaintiff he asked:

"Was this hog ranging the country?"

"Yes, he was loosely about and around."

"Went where he pleased, didn't he?"

"Reckon he did."

"Well, how do you know he is dead? How far have you hunted for him?"

"Three miles."

"But he may be alive and well and four miles away."

"Couldn't be. Tom Andrews killed him."

"That's only your suspicion. Can you swear that that hog isn't home this very minute?"

"Mebbe he ar', but I shan't dun giv in."

The witness who had sworn to eating pork at Andrews' table was asked:

"Can you tell pork from a two-year-old hog from pig meat?"

"No, sah."

"Dare you swear that the meat you ate that day wasn't coon or bear meat?"

"Reckon 'twas pork."

"Yes, you reckon, but do you know it was?"

"Dasn't dun sw'ar any harder, sah."

The second witness was also tangled up on cross-examination, and then Andrews was put on the stand.

"Tom, did you ever see this hog in question?" asked his lawyer.

"Lawd, no!"

"How long since you had any fresh pork at your house?"

"Almost before the wah, sah."

"What meat did Miner eat there that day?"

"Coon, sah."

"What about those bristles and hoofs he says he saw?"

Tom produced a small package and opened it and displayed the four feet of a coon and a handful of hair. He admitted on cross-examination that he was onery, but he claimed to be honest.

"Mrs. Andrews," asked the lawyer when she was called, "do you remember when Jackson called about the quilt frames?"

"'Deed, I do."

"Were you cooking meat?"

"Sartain, I was."

"Fresh pork?"

"No, sah--'possum."

"Were you confused?"

"Lawd save ye, but I was never dun confused in all my life."

The case wasn't very strong in a legal sense against Andrews, but after it had been submitted his Honor called up all his dignity and commanded:

"You thar! Tom Andrews, stand up!"

Tom arose.

"Prisoner," continued the judge, "you stole that air hog suah's shooting! It's jist like you. You killed it and converted it to your own use. I'm jist as satisfied of that as I ar' that you took coons outen my trap last winter. However, they hain't proved it down fine and I've got to turn ye loose. Ar' yer ears wide open, Tom?"

"'Deed they is allus so."

"Then you skitter (listen) to what I'm going to say. Justice is arter you. She hit your trail way back ten years ago, and she's followin' right along. She moves slow but suah. She's gittin very clus to your vest buckle, and when she reaches out fur ye it will be good-by, Tom Andrews. You kin go loose, but it's only fur a leedle while. Justice is givin' ye mo' rope so that the bringin' up will be harder. Git out of yere and lumber yer carcass off hum, and if I was the plaintiff I'd cut across lots and meet ye down by the creek and lick the value of that hog outer yer wrinkled hide. Court stands a-journed."

--_Detroit Free Press._

TRAVIS--What! going into the Adirondacks without a guide?

DESMITH--Of course. Do you suppose a man who has trotted around Boston for five years is going to lose his way in the Adirondacks? Not much!

--_Burlington Free Press._

There is a demand among theatrical people for "protection for American actors." How would an egg-intercepting screen at the front of the stage do?

--_Philadelphia Times._

Not in His Line.

"Oh, dry up!" shouted somebody in the crowd to the intoxicated individual in the middle who was trying to make a campaign speech.

"Gen'l'men," said the speaker, stopping short in his harangue and looking about with an injured and insulted air, "I dunno what I've ever (hic) done to make you wish (hic) that I should ever (hic) come (hic) to such an awful end!"

--_Somerville Journal._

Outwitted.

As Rich, the harlequin, was one evening returning home from the playhouse in a hackney coach, he ordered the coachman to drive him to the Sun, then a famous tavern in Clare Market. Just as the coach passed one of the windows of the tavern, Rich, who perceived it to be open, dexterously threw himself out of the coach window into the room. The coachman, who saw nothing of this transaction, drew up, descended from his box, opened the coach door, and let down the step: then taking off his hat, he waited for some time, expecting his fare to alight; but at length, looking into the coach, and seeing it empty, he bestowed a few hearty curses on the rascal who had cheated him, remounted his box, turned about, and was driving back to the stand, when Rich, who had watched his chance, threw himself into the coach, looked out, asked the fellow where in all the world he was driving, and desired him to turn again. The coachman, almost petrified with fear, instantly obeyed, and once more drew up to the door of the tavern. Rich now got out; and, after reproaching the fellow with stupidity, tendered him his money.

"No, God bless your honor," said the coachman; "my master has ordered me to take no money to-night."

"Pshaw!" said Rich; "your master's a fool; here's a shilling for yourself."

"No, no," said the coachman, who by that time had remounted his box, "that won't do; I know you too well, for all your shoes--and so, Mr. Devil, for once you're outwitted."

--_Birmingham Post._

The Reason.

Why are very young sailors like condiments?

Because they are little salts for sea-sons.

--_Ocean._

A Sense of Safety.

I asked my own class of boys and girls if they always said their prayers night and morning. Most replied that they did, but one small child said she only said her prayers in the morning. "Indeed, and how is that?" I inquired. "I should think you would need God's care more at night than in the daytime. Why don't you say your prayers at night?"

"'Cause I always sleep in the middle," was the quick reply.

--_Pittsburgh Press._

New England Courtship as it Was and Is.

Scene--Salem, 1660.

Priscilla Puritannica--Yes, Master Virtuous Ebenezer Smith, I love you.

Virtuous Ebenezer--Oh, you sweet girl.

Pris. Pur.--Now, do not be too voluptuous, Master Virtuous Ebenezer Smith, and do not call me sweet.

Virt. Eb--I will try.

They engage in silent prayer.

* * * * *

In Boston, 1889.

Victor Emanuel Smythe--Darling, kiss me.

Priscillesca Powderpuff--I should like to, but oh, Vicky, God sees everything!

Vic. Em. Sm.--Well, turn the light down.

(Priscilla turns it out.)

Chorus--Yum, yum, yum!

--_To-Day._

Trotters' Rival.

"I'll do it," he repeated, grinding his teeth and showing the whites of his eyes.

"Nonsense!" said Matilda. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for threatening such wickedness--and besides, you don't mean it. Go along!"

"Ha, ha!" exclaimed William Trotters, in a hollow voice. "Ha, ha!"

"You give me the creeps when you laugh like that," said Matilda; "and all the way to Gravesend you grumbled--when you weren't seasick. That is pretty lover, to go and be bilious on a pleasure trip!"

"It was the iron that had entered into my soul, Matilda," remarked Trotters, solemnly.

"It disagreed with you, whatever it was," said Matilda, tossing her pretty head and turning up her nose. "And when another gentleman--a stranger--was attentive, and took care of me, instead of being grateful, you went on like a mad bull, and talked about having his gore."

"Either his or my own," groaned Trotters. "Oh, woman! why art thou thus?"

"You wouldn't want to marry us if we weren't, would you, gaby?" snapped Matilda. "Give me that nasty thing, there, do!" She pointed to Trotters' breast pocket, which, as far as could be seen by the light of the street-lamp near them, looked bulky.

"Never!" said Trotters, recoiling.

"It'll go off one of these days, I know it will," sobbed Matilda, "and then you'll be sorry."

A smile illumined Trotters' visage. Nobody knew better than himself that the deadly weapon wasn't loaded. He had bought it of a marine store dealer, cleaned and polished it--it was a five-chambered revolver--and clicked the trigger three or four times to make sure; but even that made him nervous.

"She's really frightened!" he said, as he walked away.

An irresistible impulse came over him to frighten her a little more. He went back. He peeped over the garden gate. The house stood dark and silent. Everybody had gone to bed. He would steal round into the back garden and throw a little gravel up at Matilda's window. That would bring her down.

The onion and cabbage beds rose right up to the house wall. In the soft mould his footsteps fell silent. Ha! what was that? Jealousy! Wrath! Revenge!

A male figure stood in the center of the onion-bed. Its hat was cocked on one side, its gaze uplifted to Matilda's window. One arm was stretched out in an attitude of supplication. A bush rustled as Trotters stole warily behind him. Matilda's window opened. Matilda's voice queried, "Is that you, dear?" It was too much. Trotters drew the fatal pistol and clapped it to his rival's ear.

"Stir a step and you're a dead man!" he hissed, trying to steady his shaking hand. Too late! There was a flash--a terrible explosion! The stranger fell prone, and lay motionless on the ground.

Trotters was unaware that his cousin Jack, who was in the Carabineers, had expressed much curiosity regarding the weapon Trotters carried with such jealous solicitude, and, being of a larksome disposition, had surreptitiously gained possession of the revolver, placed a blank cartridge in each of the barrels, and returned it to the pocket of the unsuspecting Trotters, or he might have behaved differently. But no, he felt that in his passionate jealousy he had committed a deadly crime, and sent to his last account an innocent man. 'Twas too much. Trotters shrieked aloud in terror, and then fainted.

Matilda flew down to him with her hair in curl-papers. They found him lying cold and motionless beside the garden scarecrow!

--_Ally Sloper's Half Holiday._

Everything in Its Place.

Architectural Upholsterer--And how do you think of having the library furnished, Mr. Gasbuhm?

Mr. Gasbuhm--Why, I want a pool table in it, and a sideboard, of course; a couple of card tables and a lay out for the chess club, and what little whim whams and frenzies you want to make it look well.

"And about the book shelves; will you----"

"Oh, shoot the book shelves; put the books in the boys' rooms; they're going to school; I don't want books stuck under my nose when I'm busy enjoying myself."

--_Brooklyn Eagle._

MAKING A HIT.

A Consolation.

Smiley Basker--Yes, I'm going to get married at last, but it's mighty risky, mighty risky.

Van Riper--Well, don't worry; you can't do worse than your wife, anyway. Who is she?

--_Munsey's Weekly._

It Was Perfumed.

First Cadet--Did you ever smell powder?

Second Cadet--Yes?

"Where?"

"On a Vassar girl."

--_San Francisco Argus._

Quite Sure.

Stranger--Did a pedestrian pass this way a few minutes ago? Granger--No, sor. I've been right outer this tater patch more'n a nower, and notter blamed thing has passed 'cept one solitary man, an' he was tramping 'erlong on foot.

--_Time._

Only a Matter of Form.

"Mr. Kajones," said young Springbyle, clearing his throat, "I have called to ask permission to pay my addresses to your daughter."

"Which one, Julius?" inquired Mr. Kajones.

"Miss Maria, sir."

The father looked fixedly at the young man. "What are your prospects in life, Julius?" he said.

"To tell you the truth, sir," acknowledged young Springbyle, "I have no prospects worth mentioning. I am in moderate circumstances and have no resources except a knowledge of my business, good health and steady habits."

"Just so, Julius," mused the father. "Your income, I dare say, is----"

"About $1,200 a year."

"And on this, my young friend, you would expect to support yourself and a young woman who has lived in a home where she has never been used to anything like privation, or even judicious economy?"

"It does seem presumptuous for me to think of it," faltered the youth, "and as I see it does not meet with your approval I will say no more about it and ask your pardon for----"

"Stay, Julius!" exclaimed Mr. Kajones, somewhat hastily. "I only asked you those questions as a matter of form. If you want Maria, my boy, you can have her!" And he shook the young man warmly by the hand.

Mr. Kajones, it may be proper to state, has eight unmarried daughters besides Maria.

--_Chicago Tribune._

Weighed Down.

Joe--Gus looks crushed, as if he had something heavy on his mind.

Jack--A thought, perchance.

--_Time._

Quite a Different Thing.

Old Gent--Little boy, I am sorry to see you smoking a cigarette.

Little Boy--I ain't smoking it. I'm keeping it alight for another feller what's gone on an errand.

--_Boston Courier._

A Negro Who Doesn't Like Chicago Manners.

Yates, an old negro, sought the Mayor of Chicago. "What can I do for you?" the mayor asked.

"Wall, sah, I doan' know 'bout dat, but I come yere to see ef I kain't git jestice somehow."

"What's the matter?"

"'Nuff de matter ter make er man pizen, dat's whut. I moved up yere from the South 'caze I didn't think I wuz enjoyin' all my rights down dar----"

"I see. They interfered with your right to vote."

"Oh, no, sah; da let me vote all I wanted ter. Nices' people 'bout dat I eber seed. Jes' let me stan' up an' vote right erlong, but den da didn't count my vote."

"And you wanted to come to a place where your vote counted?"

"Yes, sah."

"Well, what is the trouble?"

"'Leckshun troubles."

"Don't you believe your vote was counted?"

"Oh, yes, I know it was."

"Then what have you to complain of."

"W'y, sah, I hadn't mo'n voted 'fo' er blame p'liceman came up, he did, an' lammed me ober de head."

"What were you doing?"

"Nothin' er tall; jes' standin' dar."

"Didn't he tell you to move on?"

"Yes, sah, but whut bizness was it o' his'n? I wan't foolin' wid him."

"What did you say when he told you to move on?"

"Didn't say nothin'. Jis' sorter shuck my head, an' den he come er hittin' me wid dat stick. Dat ain't no way ter ack--no way ter do w'en er man is 'habin' hisse'f."

"I'm very sorry----"