Chapter XI: Part II: Humorous Hits (7)

And the widow they all thought so shy,
My eye!
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,--
For why?
But, "Lucius," says she,
"Since you've now made so free,
You may marry your Mary Malone,
Ohone!
You may marry your Mary Malone."

There's a moral contained in my song,
Not wrong;
And one comfort, it's not very long,
But strong,--
If for widows you die,
Learn to kiss, not to sigh;
For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
Ohone!
Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!

HIS LEG SHOT OFF

ANONYMOUS

You have all met him. He is the man with the funny story. As a listener he would be popular. If he would only keep quiet and listen to other people tell stories without attempting to emulate their ability he would be liked where he is now cordially disliked. But that doesn't suit his temperament. He will buttonhole you with his forefinger, and with an idiotic smile on his face say.

"Ha! ha! ha! ha! If I didn't just hear the funniest thing! Oh, but it was funny! Ha! ha! ha! You don't begin to know how funny it was! You see it was this way: A long time ago there was a war,--fighting,--fighting, you know,--between the North and South. Ha! ha! ha! There was a war, as I was saying, and they got fighting, and this man,--ha! ha! ha!--the funniest thing!--this man, Jim Jones,--you see it was this way,--it was in the war, you know,--between the North and South,--ha! ha!--and this man Jim Jones,--ha! ha! ha!--it is too funny for any thing,--it was too funny! Well, Jim Jones was fighting. He went into the battle one day, and that is the funny part of it. Along came a cannon-ball and took off his head! Ha! ha! ha! (_Laugh here for two minutes; then the face gradually assumes an air of gravity._) No, it wasn't his head, it was his leg. It was funny just the same. Down he went to the ground. It stands to reason a man with one leg can't walk and go on fighting. So he just laid down in his tracks. Couldn't do anything else. Just then along came a battery,--you know that is cannons,--they have horses to drag them,--men can't pull those big, heavy cannons into battle. Well, you know, this man Jim Jones that had his leg shot off, he knew this man with the cannons,--ha! ha!--Oh, but it was funny! And he says to him, 'If you don't carry me to where a doctor is, my wife's a widow, that's all about it!' He knew his wife was a widow if he didn't get to where the doctor was. You know the doctors don't stay up where the soldiers are fighting in a battle,--they're back, away back, the doctors are. So this man with his leg shot off, he says, 'You've got to take me where a doctor is, or my wife's a widow, that's all about it!' Well, this neighbor of his didn't like to go back on an old friend,--ha! ha!--with his leg shot off,--this man that had his leg shot off early in the battle and couldn't go on fighting,--but he says to him: 'How am I to get you back there?' and he 'lowed he'd have to carry him. Well, with that he shouldered Jim Jones,--ha! ha!--threw him over his shoulder just like that, and away they went! (_Laugh heartily here._) And that is where the joke came in,--along came a cannon-ball and took of his head! Not the man's head, but Jimmy Jones' head! But pshaw, the man didn't know anything about it. Along he went with Jimmy over his shoulder. Just then an officer came up. He says: 'Where are you going with that thing?' Well, the man didn't like to give a short answer. Soldiers are not allowed to give short answers to officers. He simply saluted and says: 'Well, it's this way: This man's an old neighbor of mine. He was coming into battle,--ha! ha!--and he 'lowed that a cannon-ball came along and took off his leg. He says if we don't take him to where a doctor is his wife's a widow and that's all about it,--and so,--ha! ha!--and so I'm just taking him back to where the doctor is, captain.' The captain looked at him a moment, and he says: 'Why you idiot, it isn't his leg, it's his head!' Then the man says,--not Jimmy Jones,--he had his head off and couldn't say anything,--'Oh, the confounded rascal, he told me it was his leg!'"

THE STUTTERING UMPIRE

BY THE KHAN

Oh, we had our share of trouble,
I'll tell you now the source,
The umpire that we sent for,
Well, he didn't come, of course.
Have you noticed, at the line-up
When everything's for fair,
The referee, the umpire,
That should be there, isn't there?

The crowd it grew impatient;
We heard their angry mutters.
We picked on Johnny Jimson,
Tho Johnny Jimson stutters;
But, still, he knows the game all right--
Indeed, he knows it all--
So in his place he hollered:
"Pup-pup-pup-play bub-ball!"

Jake Mingus was first batter,
Our county's favorite son;
He hit an' missed. Johnny yelled:
"Stuh-stuh-stuh-strike wu-one!"
Another ball went o'er the plate,
And Jakey's bat went whoo!
Then all the crowd heard Johnny shout:
"Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-two!"

The next one was a daisy,
It made the audience howl;
Jakey tapped it, Johnny yelled:
"Fow-ow-ow-ow-oul!"
And so the game went gaily,
A game a body likes,
Till Jack had called three balls on Jake
And also called two strikes.

The breathless crowd was anxious,
For this will tell the tale;
The pitcher tied himself in knots,
The catcher did not quail.
Whizz! went the ball--the rabble waits
The umpire's verdict, but
All that Johnny Jimson said
Was "Tut-tut-tut----"

Did he mean to say, "Tut-tut-take your base,"
Or else, "Tut-tut-three strikes?"
Just fix it up to suit yourself
As anybody likes,
It busted up our little game,
It was too utterly utter.
Don't try to be an umpire if
You stut-tut-tut-tutter.

THE MAN WHO WILL MAKE A SPEECH

ANONYMOUS

A man wearing passably good clothes and a look of mental anxiety entered a fashionable drug-store, and said to the clerk:

"Are you pretty well posted on big words?"

"Yes," said the clerk, "I know quite a large number of big words."

"Well, then," said the stranger, "here's the situation: Out where I live I am a pretty big gun, and when anything is going on they call on me for a speech. I made one on election day, another the same evening, and another the next morning, and now I'm laying the sleepers for a speech to eclipse them all."

"What sort of a speech?" asked the clerk.

"Political, of course. My other speeches were political, but were very plain. This time I want to get in some regular old twisters. For one thing I would declare this country in a state of--what do you call it?"

"Peace!"

"No, sir; I mean confusion, excitement, and so on. There's a word to signify it, but I can't speak it."

"Abject terrorism?"

"No--no. Its archany, or something of the kind."

"I guess you mean anarchy, don't you?"

"I do--I do! Bless me if I haven't been trying for a whole hour to get that word! That's the very thing. When called out I want to lead off with: 'Fellow citizens, the peace has flown, and arnica reigns supreme!' I guess that will knock them."

"You don't mean arnica--you mean anarchy."

"That's what I mean, of course, but every time I think anarchy I get it arnica, and I don't know but I will have to give up the speech."

"Why don't you write it down?"

The man took up a pen and wrote: "A-r-k-a-n-y." Then he said: "Peace has fled and arkany reigns in the land."

"I told you it was anarchy."

"That's so--that's so. This suspense is telling on my memory like a fit of illness. Now, then, a-n-a-r-k-y, anarky, and don't you forget it. You needn't say anything about my calling in here."

"Oh, that's all right. Over seven-eighths of the best speakers in town come to me for big words."

"Many thanks; and now, 'Fellow citizens, peace has fled far, far away, and arkany reigns----' Hold on, is that the right word?"

He halted at the door to examine the slip of paper, and after repeating the right word over several times he went on:

"A state of anchovy is upon us, and where will it end?"

As he walked up the street he was overheard to say:

"Arnica! Arnica! where will it end?"

CARLOTTA MIA

BY T. A. DALY

Giuseppe, da Barber, ees great for "mash,"
He gotta da bigga, da blacka mustache,
Good clo'es an' good styla an' playnta good cash.

W'enever Giuseppe ees walk on da street,
Da people dey talka "How nobby! How neat!
How softa da handa, haw smalla da feet."

He raisa hees hat, an' he shaka hees curls,
An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls;
Oh, many da heart of da silly young girls
He gotta,
Yes playnta he gotta--
But notta--
Carlotta!

Giuseppe, da Barber, he maka da eye,
An' lika da steam-engine puffa an' sigh
For catcha Carlotta w'en she ees go by.

Carlotta she walka weeth her nose in da air,
An' look through Giuseppe weeth far-away stare,
As eef she no see dere ees som'body dere.

Giuseppe, da Barber, he gotta da cash,
He gotta da clo'es an' da bigga mustache,
He gotta da silly young girls for da "mash."
But notta--
You bat my life, notta--
Carlotta;
I gotta!

THE VASSAR GIRL

BY WALLACE IRWIN

"Oh, Martha's back from Vassar,"
Said farmer James McCassar:
"O Martha, come into the house and mix
a batch of bread."
But Martha's accents fluttered
As she murmured, as she stuttered,
"I have studied the satanic
Ways of bacilli organic,
And it throws me in a panic, pa, to mix
a batch of bread."

_Chorus_
At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,
That's what we learn at Vassar!
We love our Alma Mater so
We do not like to sass 'er.
We have a superstition
There's nothing like the damsel with
the dear old Vassar V.

"Oh, Martha's back from Vassar,"
Said farmer James McCassar:
"O Martha, go out to the barn and milk
the brindle cow."
But Martha cried: "Oh, bother!"
As she faced her poor old father,
"With golf I love to tussle
And with basket-ball to hustle--
But I haven't got the muscle to subdue
the brindle cow."

_Chorus_
At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,
That's what we learn at Vassar!
We love our Alma Mater so
We do not like to sass 'er.
We have a superstition
There's nothing like the damsel with
the dear old Vassar V.

"Oh, Martha's home from Vassar!"
Cried the angry James McCassar:
"O Martha, take yer study-books and
don't come home no more!"
So the maiden in contrition
Got a typist-girl's position,
Wed a millionaire named Harris
Who, lest poverty embarrass,
Made his wife a millionairess. And she's
ne'er been heard of more.

_Chorus_
At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,
That's what we learn at Vassar!
We love our Alma Mater so
We do not like to sass 'er.
Learning's road is rough and stony;
But for golden matrimony
There's nothing like the maiden with
the dear old Vassar V.

From "Shame of the Colleges," Outing Publishing Co., by permission.

A SHORT SERMON

ANONYMOUS

(_Delivered in usual singsong style of the conventional curate._) I am going to preach to you this morning, my friends, upon the young man who was sick of the palsy. Now, this young man was sick of the palsy. The palsy, as you are all aware, is a very terrible disease, a wasting scourge. And this young man was sick of the palsy. And the palsy, as you know, is strongly hereditary. It had been in his family. His father had been sick of the palsy, and his mother had been sick of the palsy, and they had _all_ of them, in fact, been sick of the palsy. And this young man had been sick of the palsy. Yes, my dear friends, he had had it for years and years, and--_he was sick of it_.

A LANCASHIRE DIALECTIC SKETCH

(Tummy and Meary)

ANONYMOUS

Tummy and Meary wor barn to be wed, tha knaws. And th' neet afoor they were to be wed, Tummy he goes to Meary, and he says, "Meary, lass," he says, "I'se noonan barn to wed tha." "Oo isn't?" hoo says. "Nooa," says Tummy, "I isn't. I'se chaanged my mind." "Why, tha greeat thiek-heead," hoo says, "tha's allus a-chaangin' thy mind." "Ah, weel," say Tummy, "I _ha'_ chaanged my mind, and that's enough for _thee_." Weel, tha knaws Meary didn't want for to loose Tummy, for she didn't knaw where she'd pick up another as good. Soa she tried all sooarts of waays for keepin' him on. First hood tried carneyin' an' cooaxin' of him, and when she found as cooaxin' weren't o' noa use hoo tried bully-raggin' him, and when she found as bully-raggin' weren't o' noa use, she tried _stratagem_--and that's a woman's last resource!

"Tummy," hoo says, "tho tha's a' love for me, I still ha' a gradely liking for thee, lad. And, tha sees, if tha gies me up, folks'll lay a' blame upo' thee. Noo, I'll tell tha what tha mun do. Tha mun gooa to th' church wi' me i' th' mornin', and when the parson says to thee, 'Wilt tha ha' Meary for to be thy wedded wife?' tha mun say, 'Yes, I will.' And when th' parson says to me, 'Meary, lass, will tha ha' Tummy for to be thy wedded husband?' I'll say, 'Noa, I weean't.' And then tha'll get off scot-free, tha seeas, and th' folk'll lay a' th' blame upo' me." Weel, Tummy, he were a coward at heart, and he didn't want Meary for to gooa aboot sayin' nasty things aboot him, and so he went--_poor lad!_ And when they'd getten to' th' church i' th' mornin', parson he says to Tummy, "Tummy," he says, "wilt thou have Meary for to be thy wedded wife?" And Tummy, he speaks oot bold-like, "Aw! Ah will!" And soona then th' parson he turns to Meary, and he says, "Meary, lass, wilt thou have Tummy for to be thy wedded husband?" And Meary shoo up and shoo says, "Aw! Ah will!" Tummy says, "Nay, nay; that winnot dew. Tha was to say as tha wouldn't." "Aye, but," says Meary, "there's others can chaange their minds, Tummy, as weel as thee!" Sooa hoo gat him!

HIS BLACKSTONIAN CIRCUMLOCUTION

ANONYMOUS

"I received, this afternoon," said the bright-eyed, common-sense girl, the while a slight blush of maidenly coyness tinted her peach-hued cheeks, "a written proposal of marriage from Horace J. Pokelong, the rising young attorney, and----"

"Huh! that petrified dub!" jealously ejaculated the young dry-goods dealer, who had been hanging back because of his timidity and excessive adoration.

"He says," proceeded the maiden, gently ignoring the interruption, and reading aloud from the interesting document, "'I have carefully and comprehensively analyzed my feelings toward you, and the result is substantially as follows, to wit: I respect, admire, adore and love you, and hereby give, grant and convey to you my heart and all my interest, right and title in and to the same, together with all my possessions and emoluments, either won, inherited or in any other manner acquired, gained, anticipated or expected, with full and complete power to use, expend, utilize, give away, bestow or otherwise make use of the same, anything heretofore stated, exprest, implied or understood, in or by my previous condition, standing, walk, attitude or actions, to the contrary notwithstanding; and I furthermore----'"

"I--I----!" fairly shouted the listener, springing to his feet, and extending his arms. "Miss Brisk--Maud--I love you! Will you marry me?"

"Yes, I will!" promptly answered the lass, as she contentedly snuggled up in his encircling embrace. "And I'll reply to the ponderous appeal of that pedantic procrastinator with the one expressive slangism, 'Twenty-three!' I am yours, Clarence!"

KATRINA LIKES ME POODY VELL

ANONYMOUS

Somedimes ven I'm a-feeling bad,
Cause dings dey don'd go righd,
I gid so kinder awful sick,
Und lose my abbedide.
Und ven I go me to der house,
Und by dot daple sit,
Dot widdles makes me feel gwide bale,
Und I don'd kin ead a bit.

My head dot shbind arount unt rount,
Und my eyes dem look so vild,
Dot of my mudder she was dere,
She voodn't know her shild.
Dot is der dime Katrina comes,
Und nice vords she does dell,
Mit her heart a-busding oud mit loaf,
For she likes me poody vell.

She gifes me efery kind of dings
Dot she dinks will done me goot;
She cooks me shblendid sassage mead,
Und oder kinds of foot;
She ties vet rags arount my head
When dot begins to shvell,
Und soaks my feet mit Brandred's bills,
For she likes me poody vell.

She sings me nice und poody songs,
Mit a woice dot's shweed und glear,
Und says, "Dot of I vas to die
She voodn't leef a year."
Of dot aind so, or if id is,
I don'd vas going to dell;
But dis much I am villing to shwore--
She likes me poody vell.

AT THE RESTAURANT

ANONYMOUS

_Waiter_--"Well, ladies, what will it be?"

_Mrs. Etamine_--"I don't know what you girls are going to take, but I can't eat a thing--unless it's ice-cream."

_Miss De Beige_--"I'm sure I don't want anything except cream. I never _can_ eat in this hot weather."

_Miss Satine_--"I'd like some ice-cream, if they've got any _real_ pistache."

_Miss Foulard_--"Oh, I wouldn't trust them to give me pistache _here_! I don't believe they know what pistache is. I'm going to take chocolate."

_Mrs. E._--"I'd take chocolate, too, only it's so heavy all by itself."

_Miss De B._--"Why don't you take it with strawberry?"

_Mrs. E._--"Oh, I don't think strawberry and chocolate go well together! The contrast is too striking, don't you think?"

_Miss De B._--"Well, perhaps it _is_ a little--loud."

_Miss F._--"Lemon and chocolate are awfully nice."

_Miss S._--"But there's something about pistache, don't you know, so delicate."

_Miss F._--"I'm sure lemon is delicate. You can't taste any flavor at all, the way they make it at most places."

_Miss S._--"But pistache is so _refined_, don't you know."

_Mrs. E._--"Dear me, here's this man standing by waiting--it's perfectly horrid to have him looming over us like a ghost or something. Do let's give our orders and get him away!"

_Miss De B._--"Well, what are you going to order?"

_Mrs. E._--"Why, I told you--chocolate and lemon."

_Miss F._--"No; that was what I ordered, wasn't it?"

_Mrs. E._--"Why, so it was! Chocolate and strawberry I meant. Some people think that's too heavy--too cloying, you know--but I think it's about as good as anything."

_Miss De B._--"Well, I think I'll take that, too. I don't know, tho. Lemon is awfully good. I know a lady up in the Catskills--she had the loveliest little boy, just six years old, with curly hair that hung ever so far down his back, and he used to come to me every morning and ask for candy in the prettiest way--just like a little dog, and he learned it all himself--his mother told me nobody taught him--tho I've always believed that that child never _could_ have originated the idea all by himself----"

_Mrs. E._--"Excuse me, Clara, but the man is waiting."

_Miss De B._--"As I was _saying_, she was poisoned by eating lemon ice-cream; but I believe they found out afterward that some one put the rat-poison in the freezer by mistake--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Etamine; I didn't know you were speaking--oh, yes--strawberry ice-cream, waiter, and a fork, if you please--don't bring me a spoon--I don't want it."

_Miss S._--"Well, if I can't have pistache----"

_Miss F._--"You can't--I'm sure they haven't got it here. I'll take--let me see--some chocolate, I guess. Is your chocolate good, waiter?"

_Miss S._--"Oh, it's sure to be good--they never give you bad chocolate. Well, I _did_ want pistache; but I think I'll take lemon. Some lemon ice-cream, waiter--lemon flavor--and don't bring it in half melted."

_Mrs. E._ (_impressively_)--"Some chocolate and strawberry ice-cream, waiter, mixed. And a spoon. Do you understand me, waiter? A spoon. _Not_ a fork."

_Miss F._--"Chocolate ice-cream--don't forget!"

_Miss S._--"Lemon ice-cream!"

_Miss De B._--"Strawberry--and a fork!"

_Mrs. E._--"Chocolate and strawberry--spoon, of course, waiter. I suppose you know _that_."

_Waiter_--"Ice-cream? Yes, ma'am. We ain't got nothin' only verniller, ma'am. Yaas'm--all out of everythin' only verniller. What'll it be, ladies?"

By permission of _Puck_. New York

A-FEARED OF A GAL

ANONYMOUS

Oh, darn it all! a-feared of her,
And such a mite of a gal;
Why, two of her size rolled into one
Won't ditto Sister Sal!
Her voice is sweet as the whippoorwill's,
And the sunshine's in her hair;
But I'd rather face a redskin's knife,
Or the grip of a grizzly bear.
Yet Sal says: "Why, she's such a dear,
She's just the one for you."
Oh, darn it all! a-feared of a gal,
And me just six feet two!

Tho she ain't any size, while I'm
Considerable tall,
I'm nowhere when she speaks to me,
She makes me feel so small.
My face grows red, my tongue gets hitched,
The plagued thing won't go;
It riles me, 'cause it makes her think
I'm most tarnation slow.
And tho folks say she's sweet on me,
I guess it can't be true.
Oh, darn it all! a-feared of a gal,
And me just six feet two!

My sakes! just s'pose if what the folks
Is saying should be so!
Go, Cousin Jane, and speak to her,
Find out and let me know;
Tell her the gals should court the men,
For isn't this leap-year?

That's why I'm kind of bashful like,
A-waiting for her here.
And should she hear I'm scared of her,
You'll swear it can't be true.
Oh, darn it all, a-feared of a gal,
And me just six feet two!

LEAVING OUT THE JOKE

ANONYMOUS

Some people are bright enough to enjoy a good joke, but do not have retentive memories, so as to be able to repeat it to others. Failures of this kind are sometimes very ludicrous. We give some good specimens.

The most famous of this class was the college professor, who, on parting with a student that had called on him, noticed that he had a new coat, and remarked that it was too short.

The student, with an air of resignation, replied: "It will be long enough before I get another."

The professor enjoyed the joke heartily, and going to a meeting of the college faculty just afterward, he entered the room in great glee and said:

"Young Sharp got off such a joke just now. He called on me a little while ago, and as he was leaving, I noticed his new coat, and told him it was too short, and he said: "It will be a long time before I get another."

No one laughed, and the professor sobering down, remarked: "It doesn't seem so funny as when he said it."

A red-haired woman who was ambitious of literary distinction found but poor sale for her book. A gentleman, in speaking of her disappointment, said: "Her hair is red (read) if her book is not." An auditor, in attempting to relate the joke elsewhere, said: "She has red hair if her book hasn't."

The most unfortunate attempt at reproducing another's wit was made by an Englishman who didn't understand the pun, but judged from the applause with which it was greeted that it must be excellent. During a dinner at which he was a guest a waiter let a boiled tongue slip off the plate on which he was bearing it, and it fell on the table.

The host at once apologized for the mishap as a _lapsus linguæ_ (slip of the tongue). The joke was the best thing at the dinner, and our friend concluded to bring it up at his own table.

He accordingly invited his company and instructed his servant to let fall a roast of beef as he was bringing it to the table.

When the "accident" occurred, he exclaimed: "That's a _lapsus linguæ_."

Nobody laughed, and he said again, "I say that's a _lapsus linguæ_," and still no one laughed.

A screw was loose somewhere; so he told about the tongue falling, and they did laugh.

"Why is this," said a waiter, holding up a common kitchen utensil, "more remarkable than Napoleon Bonaparte? Because Napoleon was a great man, but this is a grater." When the funny man reproduced it in his circle, he asked the question right, but answered it, "Because Napoleon was a great man, but this is a nutmeg-grater."

THE CYCLOPEEDY

BY EUGENE FIELD

Havin' lived next door to the Hobart place f'r goin' on thirty years, I calc'late that I know jest about ez much about the case ez anybody else now on airth, exceptin' perhaps it's ol' Jedge Baker, and he's so plaguey old 'nd so powerful feeble that _he_ don't know nothin'.

It seems that in the spring uv '47--the year that Cy Watson's oldest boy wuz drownded in West River--there come along a book agent sellin' volyumes 'nd tracks f'r the diffusion uv knowledge, 'nd havin' got the recommend of the minister 'nd uv the select-men, he done an all-fired big business in our part uv the county. His name wuz Lemuel Higgins, 'nd he wuz ez likely a talker ez I ever heerd, barrin' Lawyer Conkey, 'nd everybody allowed that when Conkey wuz round he talked so fast that the town pump ud have to be greased every twenty minutes.

One of the first uv our folks that this Lemuel Higgins struck wuz Leander Hobart. Leander had jest marr'd one uv the Peasley girls, 'nd had moved into the old homestead on the Plainville road,--old Deacon Hobart havin' give up the place to him, the other boys havin' moved out West (like a lot o' darned fools that they wuz!). Leander wuz feelin' his oats jest about this time, 'nd nuthin' wuz too good f'r him.

"Hattie," sez he, "I guess I'll have to lay in a few books f'r readin' in the winter time, 'nd I've half a notion to subscribe f'r a cyclopeedy. Mr. Higgins here says they're invalerable in a family, and that we orter have 'em, bein' as how we're likely to have the fam'ly bime by."

"Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk!" sez Hattie, blushin' all over, ez brides allers does to heern tell uv sich things.

Waal, to make a long story short, Leander bargained with Mr. Higgins for a set uv them cyclopeedies, 'nd he signed his name to a long printed paper that showed how he agreed to take a cyclopeedy oncet in so often, which wuz to be ez often ez a new one uv the volyumes wuz printed. A cyclopeedy isn't printed all at oncet, because that would make it cost too much; consekently the man that gets it up has it strung along fur apart, so as to hit folks once every year or two, and gin'rally about harvest time. So Leander kind uv liked the idee, and he signed the printed paper 'nd made his affidavit to it afore Jedge Warner.

The fust volyume of the cyclopeedy stood on a shelf in the old seckertary in the settin'-room about four months before they had any use f'r it. One night 'Squire Tuner's son come over to visit Leander 'nd Hattie, and they got to talkin' about apples, 'nd the sort uv apples that wuz the best. Leander allowed that the Rhode Island greenin' wuz the best, but Hattie and the Turner boy stuck up f'r the Roxbury russet, until at last a happy idee struck Leander, and sez he: "We'll leave it to the cyclopeedy, b'gosh! Whichever one the cyclopeedy sez is the best will settle it."

"But you can't find out nothin' 'bout Roxbury russets nor Rhode Island greenin's in _our_ cyclopeedy," sez Hattie.

"Why not, I'd like to know?" sez Leander, kind uv indignant like.

"'Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet," sez Hattie. "All ours tells about is things beginnin' with A."

"Well, ain't we talkin' about Apples!" sez Leander. "You aggervate me terrible, Hattie, by insistin' on knowin' what you don't know nothin' 'bout."

Leander went to the seckertary 'nd took down the cyclopeedy 'nd hunted all through it f'r Apples, but all he could find wuz "Apple--See Pomology."

"How in the thunder kin I see Pomology," sez Leander, "when there ain't no Pomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow!"

And he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'nd never sot eyes into it agin.

That's the way the thing run f'r years 'nd years. Leander would've gin up the plaguey bargain, but he couldn't; he had signed a printed paper 'nd had swore to it before a justice of the peace. Higgins would have had the law on him if he had throwed up the trade.

The most aggervatin' feature uv it all wuz that a new one uv them cussid cyclopeedies wuz allus sure to show up at the wrong time,--when Leander wuz hard up or had jest been afflicted some way or other. His barn burnt down two nights afore the volyume containin' the letter B arrived, and Leander needed all his chink to pay f'r lumber, but Higgins sot back on that affidavit and defied the life out uv him.

"Never mind, Leander," sez his wife, soothin' like, "it's a good book to have in the house, anyhow, now that we've got a baby."

"That's so," sez Leander, "babies does begin with B, don't it?"

You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley,--Peasley Hobart,--after Hattie's folks. So, seein' as how he wuz payin' f'r a book that told about babies, Leander didn't begredge that five dollars so very much after all.

"Leander," sez Hattie, "that B cyclopeedy ain't no account. There ain't nothin' in it about babies except 'See Maternity'!"

"Waal, I'll be gosh durned!" sez Leander. That wuz all he said, and he couldn't do nothin' at all, f'r that book agent, Lemuel Higgins, had the dead-wood on him,--the mean, sneakin' critter!

So the years passed on, one of the cyclopeedies showin' up now 'nd then,--sometimes every two years 'nd sometimes every four, but allus at a time when Leander found it pesky hard to give up a fiver. It warn't no use cussin' Higgins; Higgins jest laffed when Leander allowed that the cyclopeedy wuz no good 'nd that he wuz bein' robbed. Meantime Leander's family wuz increasin' and growin'. Little Sarey had the hoopin'-cough dreadful one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn't help out at all, 'cause all it said wuz: "Hoopin' Cough--See Whoopin' Cough"--and uv course, there warn't no Whoopin' Cough to see, bein' as how the W hadn't come yet.

Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went to the cyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered wuz: "Drain--See Tile." This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had only got down to G.

The cow wuz sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid her dyin' to that cussid cyclopeedy, 'cause when he went to readin' 'bout cows it told him to "See Zoology."

But what's the use uv harrowin' up one's feelin's talkin' 'nd thinkin' about these things? Leander got so after a while that the cyclopeedy didn't worry him at all: he grew to look at it ez one uv the crosses that human critters has to bear without complainin' through this vale uv tears. The only thing that bothered him wuz the fear that mebbe he wouldn't live to see the last volyume,--to tell the truth, this kind uv got to be his hobby, and I've heern him talk 'bout it many a time settin' round the stove at the tavern 'nd squirtin' tobacco juice at the sawdust box. His wife, Hattie, passed away with the yaller janders the winter W come, and all that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin' her wuz the prospect uv seein' the last volyume uv that cyclopeedy. Lemuel Higgins, the book agent, had gone to his everlastin' punishment; but his son, Hiram, had succeeded to his father's business 'nd continued to visit the folks his old man had roped in. By this time Leander's children had growed up; all on 'em wuz marr'd, and there wuz numeris grandchildren to amuse the ol' gentleman. But Leander wuzn't to be satisfied with the common things uv airth; he didn't seem to take no pleasure in his grandchildren like most men do; his mind wuz allers sot on somethin' else,--for hours 'nd hours, yes, all day long, he'd set out on the front stoop lookin' wistfully up the road for that book agent to come along with a cyclopeedy. He didn't want to die till he'd got all the cyclopeedies his contract called for; he wanted to have everything straightened out before he passed away.

When--oh, how well I recollect it--when Y come along he wuz so overcome that he fell over in a fit uv paralysis, 'nd the old gentleman never got over it. For the next three years he drooped 'nd pined and seemed like he couldn't hold out much longer. Finally he had to take to his bed,--he was so old 'nd feeble,--but he made 'em move the bed up ag'inst the window so he could watch for that last volyume of the cyclopeedy.

The end come one balmy day in the spring uv '87. His life wuz a-ebbin' powerful fast; the minister wuz there, 'nd me, 'nd Dock Wilson, 'nd Jedge Baker, 'nd most uv the fam'ly. Lovin' hands smoothed the wrinkled forehead 'nd breshed back the long, scant, white hair, but the eyes of the dyin' man wuz sot upon that piece uv road over which the cyclopeedy man allus come.

All to oncet a bright 'nd joyful look come into them eyes, 'nd ol' Leander riz up in bed 'nd sez: "It's come!"

"What is it, father?" asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' like.

"Hush," sez the minister, solemnly; "he sees the shinin' gates uv the Noo Jerusalem."

"No, no," cried the aged man; "it is the cyclopeedy--the letter Z--it's comin'!"

And, sure enough! the door opened, and in walked Higgins. He tottered rather than walked, f'r he had growed old 'nd feeble in his wicked perfession.

"Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr. Hobart," says Higgins.

Leander clutched it; he hugged it to his pantin' bosom; then stealin' one pale hand under the pillar he drew out a faded banknote 'nd gave it to Higgins.

"I thank Thee for this boon," sez Leander, rollin' his eyes up devoutly; then he gave a deep sigh.

"Hold on," cried Higgins, excitedly, "you've made a mistake--it isn't the last----"

But Leander didn't hear him--his soul hed fled from its mortal tenement 'nd hed soared rejoicin' to realms uv everlastin' bliss.

"He is no more," sez Dock Wilson, metaphorically.

"Then who are his heirs?" asked that mean critter Higgins.

"We be," sez the fam'ly.

"Do you conjointly and severally acknowledge and assume the obligation of deceased to me?" he asked 'em.

"What obligation?" asked Peasley Hobart, stern like.

"Deceased died owin' me f'r a cyclopeedy!" sez Higgins.

"That's a lie!" sez Peasley. "We seen him pay you for the Z!"

"But there's another one to come," sez Higgins.

"Another?" they all asked.

"Yes, the index," sez he. So there wuz.

Reprinted by permission of the author.

ECHO

BY JOHN G. SAXE

I asked of Echo, t'other day
(Whose words are often few and funny),
What to a novice she could say
Of courtship, love, and matrimony.
Quoth Echo plainly,--"Matter-o'-money!"

Whom should I marry? Should it be
A dashing damsel, gay and pert,
A pattern of inconstancy;
Or selfish, mercenary flirt?
Quoth Echo, sharply,--"Nary flirt!"

What if, aweary of the strife
That long has lured the dear deceiver,
She promise to amend her life,
And sin no more; can I believe her?
Quoth Echo, very promptly,--"Leave her!"

But if some maiden with a heart
On me should venture to bestow it,
Pray, should I act the wiser part
To take the treasure or forego it?
Quoth Echo, with decision,--"Go it!"

But what if, seemingly afraid
To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter,
She vow she means to die a maid,
In answer to my loving letter?
Quoth Echo, rather coolly,--"Let her!"

What if, in spite of her disdain
I find my heart entwined about
With Cupid's dear delicious chain
So closely that I can't get out?
Quoth Echo, laughingly,--"Get out!"

But if some maid with beauty blest,
As pure and fair as Heaven can make her,
Will share my labor and my rest
Till envious Death shall overtake her?
Quoth Echo (sotto voce),--"Take her!"

Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company.

OUR RAILROADS

ANONYMOUS

He stood in the station, she at his side--
She is a fair, young, blushing bride.
On their honeymoon they're starting now;
It always follows the marriage vow.
He looks at the flaring railroad maps,
At the train of cars and his baggage traps,
And whispered: "Pettie, how shall we go,--
By the Kankakee or the Kokomo?

"These railroad maps confuse the eye,
There's the C. B. Q. and the R. N. Y.
And this one says your life's at stake
On any road but the Sky Blue Lake.
The N. E. R. L. P. Q. J.
Have sleepers on the entire way;
But I've heard these trains are much more slow
Than the Kankakee or the Kokomo."

She murmured: "Sweetie, I've heard pa say
What a fine old road is the P. G. K.;
But mamma seemed to disagree,
And prefers the X. S. H. O. P.
This chart says, dearie, the views are fine
On the Texas-Cowboy-Mustang line;
But still, perhaps, we'd better go
On the Kankakee or the Kokomo."

A conductor chanced to pass them by
And the bridegroom caught his gentle eye;
He said: "O man, with the cap of blue,
Inform me quick, inform me true,
Which road is best for a blushing, pure,
Young, timid bride on her wedding tour?
And tell us quickly what you know
Of the Kankakee or the Kokomo?"

The conductor's eyes gave a savage gleam;
These words rolled out in a limpid stream:
"There's the A. B. J. D. V. R. Z.
Connects with the Flip-Flap-Biff-Bang-B,
You can change on the Leg-off-Sueville-Grand,
And go through on the Pan-cake-ace-Full-Hand.
That road you named is blocked by snow,
The Kankakee and the Kokomo.

"The Pennsylvania, Pittsburg Through,
Connects with the Oshkosh Kalamazoo,
With a smoking car all the afternoon;
Just the thing for a honeymoon;
And the Central-Scalp-Tooth-Bungville-switch
Goes through a vine-land country rich.
Of the road you named I nothing know,
The Kankakee and the Kokomo."

The bride said: "Honey, 'tis best, by far,
Like the dollar, we return to pa
(That's a pun I heard while on a train
On the U. R. N. G. Jersey main)."
The conductor smiled; his eye-teeth showed;
He had spoiled the trade of a rival road.
He knew in his heart there was no snow
On the Kankakee or the Kokomo.

And the bride and groom returned to pa,
Who heard it all and then said: "Pshaw!
If you found you couldn't go that way,
Why didn't you go on the Cross-eyed Bay?"
The bridegroom gave a howl of pain;
The railroad names had turned his brain.
He raves, insane, forevermore;
In a madhouse, chained unto the floor,
He gibbers: "Tootsie, shall we go
By the Kankakee or the Kokomo?"

WAKIN' THE YOUNG 'UNS

(The old man from the foot of the stairs--5 a. m.)

BY JOHN C. BOSS

Bee-ull! Bee-ull! O Bee-ull! my gracious,
Air you still sleepin'?
Th' hour-hand's creepin'
Nearder five.
(Wal, durned ef this 'ere ain't vexatious!)
Don't ye hyar them cattle callin'?
An' th' ole red steer a-bawlin'?
Come, look alive!
Git up! Git up!

Mar'ann! Mar'ann! (Jist hyar her snorin'!),
Mar'ann! it's behoovin'
Thet you be a-moovin'!
Brisk, I say!
Hyar the kitchen stove a-roarin'?
The kittle's a-spilin'
Ter git hisse'f bilin'.
It's comin' day.
Git up! Git up!

Jule! O Jule! Now whut is ailin'?
You want ter rest?
Wal' I'll be blest!
S'pose them cows
'Ll give down milk 'ithout you pailin'?
You mus' be goin crazy;
Er' more like, gittin' lazy.
Come, now, rouse.
Git up! Git up!

Jake, you lazy varmint! Jake! Hey Jake!
Whut you layin' theer fur?
You know the stock's ter keer fur;
So, hop out!
(Thet boy is wusser'n a rock ter wake!)
Don't stop to shiver,
But jist unkiver,
An' pop out!
Git up! Git up!

Young 'uns! Bee-ull! Jake! Mar'ann! Jule!
(Wal' durn my orn'ry skin!
They've gone ter sleep agin,
Fur all my tellin'!)
See hyar, I hain't no time ter fool!
It's the las' warnin'
I'll give this mornin'.
I'm done yellin'!
Git up! Git up!

_Solus_

Wal, whut's th' odds--an hour, more or less?
B'lieve it makes 'em stronger
Ter sleep a leetle longer
Thar in bed.
The time is comin' fas' enough, I guess,
When I'll wish, an' wish 'ith weepin'
They was back up yender sleepin',
Overhead,
Ter git up.

PAT'S REASON

ANONYMOUS

One day I observed in a crowded horse-car,
A lady was standing. She had ridden quite far,
And seemed much disposed to indulge in a frown,
As nobody offered to let her sit down.
And many there sat who, to judge by their dress,
Might a gentleman's natural instincts possess,
But who, judged by their acts, make us firmly believe
That appearances often will sadly deceive.
There were some most intently devouring the news,
And some thro' the windows enjoying the views;
And others indulged in a make-believe nap,
While the lady still stood holding on by the strap.
At last a young Irishman, fresh from the "sod,"
Arose with a smile and most comical nod,
Which said quite as plain as in words could be stated
That the lady should sit in the place he'd vacated.
"Excuse me," said Pat, "that I caused you to wait
So long before offerin' to give you a sate,
But in troth I was only just waitin' to see
If there wasn't more gintlemin here beside me."

QUIT YOUR FOOLIN'

ANONYMOUS

Girls is queer! I used to think
Emmy didn't care for me,
For, whenever I would try
Any lovin' arts, to see
How she'd take 'em--sweet or sour--
Always saucy-like says she:
"Quit your foolin'!"

Once a-goin' home from church,
Jest to find if it would work,
Round her waist I slipt my arm--
My! you'd ought 'o seen her jerk,
Spunky? well, she acted so--
And she snapt me up as perk--
"Quit your foolin'!"

Every time 'twas just the same,
Till one night I says, says I--
Chokin' some I must admit,
Tremblin' some I don't deny--
"Emmy, seein' as I don't suit,
Guess I'd better say good-by
An' quit foolin'."

Girls is queer! She only laughed--
Cheeks all dimplin'; "John," says she,
"Foolin' men that never gits
Real in earnest, ain't for me."
"Wan't that cute? I took the hint,
An' a chair, an' staid, an' we
Quit our foolin'.

SHE WOULD BE A MASON

BY JAMES L. LAUGHTON

The funniest thing I ever heard,
The funniest thing that ever occurred,
Is the story of Mrs. Mehitable Byrde,
Who wanted to be a Mason.

Her husband, Tom Byrde, a Mason true--
As good a Mason as any of you;
He is tyler of Lodge Cerulean Blue,
And tyles and delivers the summons due--
And she wanted to be a Mason, too,
This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde.

She followed round, this inquisitive wife,
And nagged him and teased him half out of his life;
So to terminate this unhallowed strife,
He consented at last to admit her.
And first, to disguise her from bonnet and shoon,
This ridiculous lady agreed to put on
His breech--ah! forgive me--I meant pantaloons;
And miraculously did they fit her.

The lodge was at work on the Master's degree,
The light was ablaze on the letter C;
High soared the pillars J and B.
The officers sat like Solomon, wise;
The brimstone burned amid horrible cries;
The goat roamed wildly through the room;
The candidate begged to let him go home;
And the devil himself stood up at the east,
As broad as an alderman at a feast,
When in came Mrs. Byrde.

O horrible sounds! O horrible sight!
Can it be that Masons take delight
In spending thus the hours of night?
Ah! could their wives and daughters know
The unutterable things they say and do,
Their feminine hearts would burst with wo!
But this is not all my story.
Those Masons joined in a hideous ring,
The candidate howling like everything,
And thus in tones of death they sing
(The candidate's name was Morey):
"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble;
Blood to drink and bones to crack,
Skulls to smash and lives to take,
Hearts to crush and souls to burn;
Give old Morey another turn!"

The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame,
Just like a place we will not name;
Good angels, that inquiring came
From blissful courts, looked on with shame
And tearful melancholy.
Again they dance, but twice as bad,
They jump and sing like demons mad;
The tune is far from jolly:
"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble;
Blood to drink and bones to crack,
Skulls to smash and lives to take,
Hearts to crush and souls to burn;
Give old Morey another turn!"

Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde,
Unable to speak a single word.
She staggered and fell in the nearest chair,
On the left of the junior warden there,
And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans,
That the chair was made of human bones.
Of human bones! On grinning skulls
That ghastly throne of horror rolls;
Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore;
Those bones, the bones that Morgan wore.
His scalp across the top was flung,
His teeth around the arms were strung.
Never in all romance was known
Such uses made of human bone.

There came a pause--a pair of paws
Reached through the floor, up sliding-doors,
And grabbed the unhappy candidate!
How can I, without tears, relate
The lost and ruined Morey's fate?
She saw him sink in a fiery hole,
She heard him scream, "My soul! My soul!"
While roars of fiendish laughter roll,
And drown the yells for mercy:
"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble;
Blood to drink and bones to crack,
Skulls to smash and lives to take,
Hearts to crush and souls to burn;
Give old Morey another turn!"

The ridiculous woman could stand no more,
She fainted and fell on the checkered floor,
'Midst all the diabolical roar.
What then, you ask me, did befall
Mehitable Byrde? Why, nothing at all--
She dreamed she had been in a Mason's hall.

HENRY THE FIFTH'S WOOING

BY SHAKESPEARE

_K. Henry._ Fair Katharine, and most fair,
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
Such as will enter at a lady's ear
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

_Katharine._ Your majesty shall mock at me; I can not speak your England.

_K. Hen._ O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?

_Kath._ Pardonnez-moi, I can not tell vat is "like me."

_K. Hen._ An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.

_Kath._ Que dit-il? que je suis semblable à les anges?

_Alice._ Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.

_K. Hen._ I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.

_Kath._ O les langues des hommes sont pleines des tromperies.

_K. Hen._ What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits?

_Alice._ Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de princess.

_K. Hen._ The princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding; I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you": then if you urge me further than to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?

_Kath._ Sauf votre honneur, me understand vell.

_K. Hen._ Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one I have neither words nor measures, and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armor on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jackanapes, never off. But, Kate, I can not look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation: only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: if thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, no; yet I love thee, too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favors, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

_Kath._ Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?

_K. Hen._ No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a village of it; I will have it all mine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine.

_Kath._ I can not tell vat is dat.

_K. Hen._ No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Quand j'ay la possession de France, et quand vous avez la possession de moi,--let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!--donc votre est France et vous êtes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French; I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.

_Kath._ Sauf votre honneur, le François que vous parlez, est meilleur que l'Anglois lequel je parle.

_K. Hen._ No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English, canst thou love me?

_Kath._ I can not tell.

_K. Hen._ Can any of your neighbors tell Kate. I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you love With your heart; but, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. How answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon très chère et divine déesse?

_Kath._ Your majestee ave faussee French enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France.