THE STAG PARTY
THE BOOK CONTAINS:
CADUNK,
THEIR JEWELS,
FORBIDDEN FRUIT,
A FRENCH CRISIS,
AND ONLY A BOY?
FOOD OF THE GODS,
ON THE DELAWARE,
GRACE BEFORE MEAT,
MIDNIGHT THRENODY,
A BRIDE'S CONFESSION,
SCHOOL-DAY RECOLLECTIONS,
THE KEYHOLE IN THE DOOR,
THE CHESTNUT CLUB YARNS,
MEDIEVAL MAID'S CONFESSION,
THE MARK OF THE MAN-CHILD,
RECOLLECTIONS OF A SLEIGHRIDE,
THE GRISETTE AND THE STUDENT,
A CALAMITY THAT BEFEL A TRAVELING MAN,
AND
THOUSANDS OF OTHER STORIES, FULL OF
PITH AND POINT.
THE CHESTNUT CLUB.
At the first regular session of the Chestnut Club, or
Chicago, Mr. Bird was selected as king. In the choice of
Mr. Bird as presiding officer the club struck the bull's eye
of fitness. He was a man of broad views and correspond-
ing physique, was well read, much traveled, full fed and
ballasted in both pocket and brain; had studied for the
ministry, and as he expressed it, narrowly escaped the
spoiling of a first-class drummer through the lefthanded
bias of the gospels; was posted in parliamentary rules; a
polished gentleman, and as serene in temper as the pro-
verbial pig in clover. His voice, a mellow baritone, was
the envy of every member of the club. Mr. Scribner hav-
ing been chosen as secretary of state, and Mr. Green as
comptroller of the treasury, the king rose and said:
"Gentlemen of the Chestnut Club. I will endeavor
briefly to state the cause of the organization of this body.
Since primeval man and his traditions have passed into the
great
has been, and modern civilization with its written
language and its history has appeared upon the stage of
life, man has been led to the study of man from the plane
of reason. Barbarism and lawlessness have succumbed to
the master mind, and law and order have gradually evolved
the home, the family, the society, the community and the
nation of the nineteenth century. Brute force has given
way to brain. The mythical gods have disappeared from
the realm of thought, and the not more substantial but
decidedly less objectionable god of the present age has
arisen in their place.
"Even as the religious master ruled the nations of earth
in the olden time, so in a milder more beneficent way are
the people of to-day controlled; the bonds of ignorance
and superstition are rapidly giving way under the research
of science and the investigation of skepticism. Man is be-
ginning more consistently to recognize the economy of
nature -- the living, moving, evoluting, materialism of the
earth and all thereon and therein. There is a great law of
compensation in nature that tends to progression by an
almost imperceptible step. Hers is no rapid march.
Haste invariably precedes a slip to the rear, but the march
is onward and the centuries prove themselves the offspring
of past centuries only in their baser traits. Out of the
past one universal law has proven itself as the funda-
mental law of the universe, and the law is reproduction.
From that which was by procreative force, has come that which is, will come,
all that will be.
"Throughout all ages, among all animate things, the ex-
tatic thrill of copulation has been, is, and will be the main-
spring of life. Brute and humanity alike give testimony
here. Without this animating law there is no love. With-
out love, this love, there is no life.
"The best brains of the centuries past and of to-day
have paid tribute to this universal law and have outraged
the ruling religious powers by their wantonness in act and
record.
"To guide, to control, to subjugate excess in all things
is commendable, but total abstinence is folly. The perfect
man will be, can only be, the product of all climes. The
cold of winter and the summer sun are needs to full frui-
tion. Sweet scents alone would soon destroy all sense of
smell. The rose the sweeter seems by reason of some
fouler scents. The argument is plain. There is within
the inner life of man, and ever still will be some need,
some turning to the past, the grosser past, which will not
be denied. The pressing of the lever downward makes a
greater upward sping in the rebound.
"The pendulum is ever swinging and must ever swing
beyond the central point. Even as there can be no retro-
grade without progression, so there can be no onward
march without some backward trend. Man need to see,
to feel, to touch the wrong before he learns to know the
right. He must at times turn back. 'Tis part of nature's
self that this is so. Out of disease rises the phoenix of
health. An endless brightness blinds the eye more
certainly and suddenly than long enduring night.
"It is because of this need that we, the busy, bustling
drummers of the great Northwest are met on this occasion.
We feel this need -- this bent of man to turn our faces from
the dusty way that leads to cent per cent, and here in song
and toast and story and the joke,. turn back the page of life.
"It is because we recognize the universal and funda-
mental law of procreation that we do not bar the door
against the tough and mouldy yarn.
"We are here to throw off the yoke. To be cussed. To
say naughty words. To simulate a lack of virtue for the
time and imagine we are wicked as can be. Gentlemen, it
is
the law of this club that when a member is called upon
for story, joke or song, he shall at once respond, or pay a
round of drinks. In case he does his tale unfold, it must
be an old chestnut, or the penalty applies.
"The king can do no wrong, and hence his word is law.
There can be no appeal short of a revolution.
"And now, by right of my selection to the throne, I will
assume the crown, and lifting up the sceptre give command
that all shall rise and swear allegiance to my rule, by join-
ing me in liquid from the still.
"So said -- so done.
"Mr. Smith will crack the first chestnut."
Mr. Smith -- The king and gentlemen of the club: The
oldest and mustiest chestnut that occurs to me at this time,
is the well worn story of the man who was so inordinately
jealous of his pretty little wife. So haunted was he with
fear that she might be untrue to him; that night and day
he ceased not to toss the subject about in his mind. It
worried him so much that it disturbed his sleep, and
hence one night he had a dream. He dreamed that an
angel appeared to him, and claiming to be his good genius,
gave him a ring which he should place upon the first finger
of his right hand, and assured him that so long as that ring
was on the finger he need have no fear of his wif's un-
faithfulness. So overjoyed was the man that he awoke,
and found that same finger in to the third joint where
another of his members had much better been.
The king -- Will some of the members please lower the
windows a trifle? If all the yarns are as musty as this, the
club must order a pail of cold tea. Let us hear from Mr.
Jones.
Mr. Jones -- A parson of the olden time once rose in his
pulpit and said.
"Bretheren and sisters, there are many of our hearers
who are in the condition of the ancient English captain
who got religion. He had been a tough old fellow and had
been very much given to cock fighting, but when the lord
took hold of him he gave up the brutal sport and destroyed
the birds all save one. This one had been his special pet
and pride. He could not bring himself to the point of
putting away this one, but saving its life kept the game
fowl in the barn, where he could frequently look upon and
admire the beautiful creature. As a natural consequence
there were frequent longings for the excitement of the
fight. The old captain tried in vain to subdue the desire,
and the upshot was that he was at length force to the con-
clusion that he must either give up religion or the bird.
"He prayed earnestly for strength to conquer, and the
Lord gave him grace.
"What did he do?
"He went to the barn and cut off the head of his cock.
Go thou and do likewise."
The King -- I am opposed to capital punishment. We
will hear from Mr. Ferguson.
Mr. Ferguson -- A certain foreman had been much
troubled by reason of the delay caused by the young ladies
in the shop. They paid so much attention to the question
of frizzes and bangs that the working hours were sorely in-
fringed upon. The taking off and putting away of hair
and the plastering on and rearranging of same consumed
too much of the employer's hours. It was custom of
the girls to take off said bangs and frizzes and put them in
the table drawers while at work. At length the foreman
complained to the boss, who was at once boiling over with
wrath. Marching into the workshop he planted himself in
the middle of the room and fairly shouted silence. Every-
one stopped work and looked in silent awe upon the angry
man.
"Now," said he, "everyone of you girls who has hair in
her drawers stand up." All save one little ten-year-old
girl arose. He turned to her and asked: "Why don't you
stand up?" "Because I aint old enough to have hair on
mine yet."
Robinson -- Never heard that one before. I'll take straight
whiskey for mine.
Ferguson -- I appeal to the king if --
King -- I will drink with the gentleman, certainly. Never
mind etiquette Brother Ferguson [They drink].
The king -- Since Mr. McFadden has so thoroughly wet
his whistle, I am sure, he will now favor us with a song.
Mr. McFadden was a descendent of the same old Irish
kings who have figured so frequently in newspaper histories.
His voice was really musical, but on this occasion it
seemed a cross between a bagpipe and a hurdy-gurdy,
as without a deal of preliminary he sang
THE GRAY MARE.
Az Oi wuz a goin' to Nottinham faire,
A ridin' on horseback upon a gray maire,
Wid a lang mane and tail and a wishp on her back,
Divil a haire wuz upon her that wuzn't coal-black
OI mit a king and queen and a comp'ny a-more
wid a nate little dhrummer bye, dhrummin' before
Oh a nate little dhrummer bye batin his dhrum,
Wid his heels in his pockets, before me did run.
Oi bowed meself down to His Majesty's Grace,
And Oi axed him the road, for Oi knew not the place.
Dhe dhrums they did rattle and the people did shtare
T' see a coach and six horses drawn by a gray maire.
Oi sat meself down on a hot frozen shtone,
Tin thousand around me, and me all alone.
Oi called for a dhrink to dhrive madness away,
Oi wuz shtiff wid dhe dusht as it rained all the day.
It rained and it hailed, and Oi stud in dhe shtorm
Wid me hat in me hand for to kape me head warm.
Crying Mollie, dear Mollie, come fancy me now,
Oi'm as good as the day whin Oi firsht lift dhe plow.
Oh, dhis famous gray maire, she was down at Bull Run.
She cocked up her ears and she thought it wuz fun,
She t'rew her head back t' let a cannon ball passs,
The cannon ball struck her an' knocker her down on her
elbow.
Now I'll take me gray maire and a fishin' Oi'll go.
A fishin' Oi'll go, er--a--whether--or--no--
Me fish they will doi and me nets they will shpill,
Then Oi'll sell me gray maire--no; Oi'm dammed av Oi
will.
Crane -- That was a pretty dammed good song. Well
done Mac. I say. What was Eve made for?
Adams -- For Adams Express Company. Guess I'll smoke.
They all smoked. Crane liquidated.
The King -- Mr. Morgan what have you in your grip this
evening?
Mr. Morgan -- So the story goes, an Irishman by the
name of Kelly fell from the top of a building in process of
construction and broke his neck. The contractor came up,
expressed his regret in extravagant phrase, and instructing
Dennis O'Grady to inform the widow of the accident, tried
to impress the messenger with the idea that the sad news
must be broken gently. All right, sir, says Dennis, and
away he goes. When he reached the domicile of the late
Kelley he knocked, and when Mrs. Kelly opened the door
he asked:
"Does the widow Kelly live here?"
"No," says the lady, "the widow Kelley don't live here,
ye spalpeen."
"Yer a liar," says Dennis, "and the corpse is comin'
around the corner behint."
The King -- That's a yard wide brogue you have Brother
Morgan and you do it well.
Mr. Morgan -- Thanks. Mine is a small glass of ale.
The rest of you need not be bashful -- and they were not.
Smith -- Why should a child love mother more than
father?
Opdyke -- That's a good one.
Because while the father sends it up for nine months
mother lets it out for life.
The King -- Mr. Opdyke you may continue to express
your sentiments.
Mr. Opdyke --
Scene -- A bridal chamber; fresh country couple; gas
blown out and stench accumulatin.
Enter bell boy -- Knocks on door.
Groom -- Hello, what's the matter?
Bell Boy -- The gas is running in your room.
Groom (opening the door slightly) shoves a $5 bill through
the door (whispers) -- That's all right. Just married this
morning.
Bell boy retires; gass still escaping; other guest complain.
Bell boy knocks on door again.
Groom -- Hello.
Bell boy -- I say that gas is running yet. Shut'ar off.
Groom -- Opening the door on a crack and shoving out
another $5. That's all right. Just married this morning,
but if I'd known she was so rank I'd have opened her up
in the country.
The King -- That story ranks well up.
Chorus -- A pun. Peanalty.
The King -- Call the porter.
Scott -- I prefer ale.
The King -- Mr. Scott you can sing a good song and sing
a song well. Please favor us.
Mr. Scott sings:
MY GIRL IN THE CALICO DRESS.
A fig for your fashionable girls,
With their velvets and satins and laces,
Their diamonds and rubies and pearls,
And their milliners' figures and faces.
They may shine at a party or ball,
Emblazoned with half they possess;
But give me in place of them all
My girl with the calico dress.
She's as plump as a partridge and fair
As the rose in its earliest bloom;
Her teeth will with ivory compare,
And here breath with the clover perfume.
If you want a companion for life,
To comfort, enliven and bless,
She is just the right sort for a wife,
Is my girl with the calico dress.
Your dandies and foplings may laugh
At her simple and modest attire,
But the charms she permits to appear
Would set a whole iceberg on fire,
She can dance, but she never allows
The hugging and squeezing caress,
She's saving all these for her spouse,
My girl in her calico dress.
The King -- Gentlemen, there is both truth and poetry in
the old song. We are under obligations to Mr. Scott.
Mr. Wilson -- If it please your majest, I am reminded of
another bridal chamber story which ,with your permission,
I will relate.
The King -- Proceed.
Mr. Wilson -- The newly wedded country gent was regis-
tering at the Grand Pacific. The urbane clerk suggested
the bridal chamber. Groom did not seem to take. The
clerk again repeats his question, "don't you want a bridal
chamber?" Countryman -- Wall, you might send one up
for her, I guess, but I can piss out of the winder.
Mr. Thomas -- Oh, King.
The King -- Unburden yourself, Brother Thomas.
Mr. Thomas -- One night our friend McFadden, over
younder, was stopping over in a country town in Iowa. He
had been feeding liberally on fress vegetables, and in the
night was take short. He looked around for the catchall,
but found it not. So what does he do, but hoist himself
onto the window sill and fire away. The result was the
next morning decidedly apparent all the way from the
window to the ground. Mine Host was tearing mad, and
taking Mac out to the side of the house, pointed to the
chromo and said: "There, sir, what do you think of that?"
Mac eyed it critically for a moment, and then replied:
"Yes, I see. Damned old house ain't plumb."
The King -- I was not aware that Mr. McFadden was an
artist. Mr. Perkins, it is your say.
Mr. Perkins --
I sad, at the play, to a friend at my side,
Look! Look, in the box on your right.
What a bosom is there, enraptured I cried--
How plump. How enchantily white.
My friend seemed amused -- turned quickly his head,
Then shrugging, said yes -- nothing more --
'Tis heavenly I cried -- when -- yawning, he said,
It is -- but -- I've seen it before.
The King -- We have all seen it, and possibly many of us
have -- but never mind. Mr. Rogers is in order.
Mr. Rogers -- One of the oldest chestnuts on my list is
that of the young man who wanted to know what the
womens said and did at the sewing circles. SSo he dressed
up in womans togs and went in as a visitor from the
country. During the afternoon nothing special occured,
until the subject of birthmarks was hit. Then one showed
a strawberry on her arm, another a cherry on her breast,
still another a bee on her thigh. Sleeves had been rolled
up, stockings rolled down, bosoms and interesting places
freely exposed. Nearly everyone had had something to
show, and in a majority of cases a fruit or vegetable was
supposed to be represented. At last the eyes of all turned
rather inquiringly to the lady from the country. Without
obtrusive explanation the young man arose, pulled up his
dress and skirts in front and asked, "How's that for a
cucumber?"
The King -- That cucumber story has been told in a mul-
titude of ways.
Mr. Bolton -- I would like to get off my story while I
think of it.
The King -- All right Brother Bolton. It's your shoot.
Mr. Bolton -- It is that story of the young lady organist.
She was suspected by the female portion of the congrega-
tion, and the tongue of slanderous or scandalous gossip had
been wagging fiercely. The attention of the good deacons
had been called to the matter, but as the girl was very
pretty and a good organist they had been slow to act. One
day when they were holding a business meeting in the
church the young lady came in, passed up to the organ loft
and began playing softly. Her presence calling to mind
the gossip, a committee of two -- an old deacon and a young
usher -- were appointed to wait on the young lady in the
matter. The committee started for the organ gallery, but
stopped on the way to settle the question as to which
should do the talking. Neither wanted to tackle her.
After some arguments, pro and con, the young man gave
in, overcame his bashfulness in measure, and approach-
ing the girl, touched her on the shoulder, and intimated
that he would like some private conversation on a delicate
personal matter. The two stepped aside into a cloak room,
and the old deacon paced back and forth at the end of the
gallery. The time dragged wearily to the old deacon, and
several times he found himself wishing he had attended to
the business himself, but probably not more than fifteen
or twenty minutes had elapsed when the young man ap-
peared and said: "I tell you, deacon, this scandalous gossip
is all wrong. That is as pure and virtuous a young lady as
there is in all the world. I am certain of it. We must
stop this gossiping."
"All right," says the deacon. "button up your breeches
and we will go down and report."
"Mr. Griggs -- I am reminded of an old chestnut, and if
I hear no kick will get it off.
Two Irishmen met:
Pat - How aire ye Moike?
Mike -- Bad, Pat. Shurne oi'm all broke up wid family
thrublles.
Pat -- Is dhat so. Phats the matter?
Mike -- Shure, whin oi wint hoame lasht noight oi found
me wife in bid wid Cerebro Sphinal Miningeetis.
Pat (excitedly) -- Did yez kill dhe I-tal yun son-o-a-bitch?
The King -- Mr. Cooke has the floor.
Mr. Cooke -- During an entertainment given by a slight-
of-hand performer. A pet squirrel which had been running
around the stage wandered into the body of the hall, and
all unnoticed scud about under the seats. Suddenly a lady
in the audience grasped her skirts, jumped to her feet and
screamed. In a moment all was excitement. The Profes-
sor inquired as to the cause, and was informed that a rat
had run up the lady's clothes. "Don't be alarmed," said
the Professor. "It is only a pet squirrel. He will come
down when he finds out that there are no nuts there."
Chorus of voices -- Song from Hopkins.
Mr. Hopkins --
AFTER TIT-WILLOW.
On the brink of a brooklet a young maiden leans,
Sighing, "Bill, Oh come Bill, Oh come Bill, Oh!"
I am feeling so queer, I don't know what it means,
Oh Bill, Oh come Bill, Oh come Bill, Oh.
Whether waking or sleeping I'm thinking of you,
I am mashed on you Billy, and wish that you know.
If you did, might I guess what you'd come here and do.
Oh Bill, Oh come Bill, Oh come Bill, Oh.
On the bank close behind her a Billy-goat stood,
Wicked Bill, Oh cross Bill, Oh tough Bill, Oh,
And he thought as he saw her, I could if I would,
You spill, Oh down hill, Oh in billow.
Then he made a grand rush and he struck her behind,
As she tumbled, the thought that came into her mind
Was to spit out the mud and a big rock to find,
And just kill that damned Bill, Oh damned Bill, Oh.
The King -- We will have a chestnut from Mr. Hicks.
Mr. Hicks -- An Irishman of all work went to the priest
to confess.
"Well," says the priest, "What is it?"
"Sure, sir," says Pat, "as I was going by Mary Ann's
room the other night, the door was ajar and Mary Ann
undressing and winkin' at me."
"Well," says the priest, "What did you do?"
"Nothin' sir," says Pat. "I went to my own room; but
I had awful bad thoughts, sir."
"Well," says the priest, "Is that all?"
"No, sir," says Pat. "As I was passing the door the
next night, the door was further ajar and Mary Ann with
nothin' on but her chemise, and her winkin' and smilin'.
"Well, well," says the priest. "What did you do?"
"Nothin', sir," says Pat. "I went to my room, but, Oh
the bad thoughts I had."
"Well, Well," says the priest, anxiously. "Is
that all?"
"No, sir," says Pat. "The next night I was passin' the
door, and there was Mary Ann on the bed and she without
a stitch of clothes on her, and she still winkin' and smilin'.
"Ah," says the priest, excitedly. "What did you do?
What did you do?"
"Nothin', sir," says Pat. "I went to my room, but, Oh
the awful bad thoughts I had."
"Well," says the priest, viciously. "Is that all?"
"Yes, sir," says Pat.
"Well," says the priest. "The penance on you is that
you eat a peck of oats."
"Sure, your reverence," says Pat, "I'm not a horse."
"No," says the priest. "Yer not a horse but yer a
horse's arse."
Wheaton -- That reminds me of the sotry of the old
Irish woman who saw the clown exhibiting his feats (not
his feet) to the priest, turning summersaults back and
forth. The old woman thought it was a punishment and
exclaimed: "Och! Howly Mither. Luk at the pinance
the priest iz puttin an uz an me here widout me dhrawers."
The King -- Will Brother Warner favor us with a story?
Warner -- There lived in the won of Kennebec, Maine,
a good, old Unitarian preacher who felt that he must retire
from active service. So he called the trustees of the
church together and with their reluctant consent laid down
the duty. The old man was financially comfortable, but
the association had been so long and so endearing that the
members of the church felt that they must make him some
partying demonstration, presentations, etc.
Among others who were looking for a presentable gift
was a young lady who represented a Sunday-school class.
They had delegated to her the selection of some article in
silverware. Now it so happened that this young lady was
healthy, passionate and full of besom. She had on a few
occasions, unknown to her acquaintances, indulged herself
in something on the side when away from home, and when
the strapping young clerk came to wait on her she made up
her mind that she would like a little fun with him. So she
delayed here selection, and still delayed. At length the
young man became somewhat impatient, urging her to
decide. Well, she had found a vase that suited her very
well, but the inscription plate was rather small. The
young man asked if she could not abbreviate so that the
working would go in the space. Well, she might, but it
was only after closing hour had passed and all the other
clerks had gone that she was ready to report.
She suggested this:
F -- for First
U -- for Unitarian
C -- for Church,
K -- for Kennebec,
ME -- for Maine.
"Do you think you can do that?" He thought he could.
The King -- Mr. Hitchcock have you anything to say for
yourself?
Mr. Hitchcock -- When out on the road the other day I
struck several new men at a country town up in Wisconsin.
We had all filed in together, and one after another regis-
tered. The names of the others were: Allcock, Babcock
and Hancock. As we registered in turn a smile began
and slowly broadened as on after another the names were
written. At the rear of the gang was a small, black-eyed
Hebrew. He looked at the register, turn his head on one
side, waved his hand a la horizon and said:
"Vell, shentlemen, I pelongs to dot femmily mineselluf."
"Eh! What is your name?"
"My name vos Kuntz."
Roach -- Here's an old conundrum for you. Why is it
wrong for a maiden to co-habit?
Several voices -- It aint.
The King -- Gentlemen it is a Miss-take, and Mr. Roach
will pay the penalty at once.
Smith -- What's the best way to keep a hired girl.
Chorus -- Screw her on the floor.
The King -- We will hear from Mr. White.
Mr. White -- For many years after the war there were
hot political debates between the members of the two great
parties. Down in Ohio during one of the warm campaigns
a joint debate was arranged between two local leaders. It
was mutually agreed that no personal allusions should be
indulged in. At the close of the republican's speech he
referred to this agreement, but said that he could not re-
frain from departing from the rule in one instance. He
then said:
"When I was down at the front fighting for my country
my worthy opponent was at home nursing the healing pro-
cess of a wound caused by the removal of three fingers of
his right hand. This job of surgery had been performed
by himself for the purpose of escaping the draft. Stand
up and show your hand!"
At the close of the democrat's speech he said:
"It is true that I cut off three fingers of my right hand
to escape the draft, that I, a poor man, might thus be per-
mitted to remain at home and care for my five motherless
children. It was at this time that our republican friend
was a principal figure in a tragedy in front of the enemy,
wherein a man is seen strapped across the breach of a
mortar while his comrade branded him upon the arse with
the letter D. Stand up and show your arse!"
Mr Ferguson -- Something has brought to my mind an
old story.
The King -- Go ahead Mr. Ferguson.
Mr. Ferguson -- Four young men went to college together,
roomed together, graduated together, and married young
ladies who were acquainted. As a natural sequence they
held their annual reunions. Along in middle life, at one of
these meetings, Mr. Jones offered the toast, "Here's to the
finest thing in life. We all know where to find it." When
walking home with her husband, Mrs. Smith, who was
about as innocent at forty as she had been at fifteen, said:
"I don't see what Mr. Jones meant by that toast, 'Here's to
the finest thing in life, et.'" "Why," says Smith, "he
meant the church." "Oh, yes!" says Mrs. S. "Well,
now, that
is a good toast. I'll remember that."
The next year the reunion was held at Smith's. Some-
body suggested that the hostess offer the first toast. Mrs.
Smith modestly expressed her lack in the matter of toasts,
and said that she would simply repeat an excellent toast
that had once been offered by Mr. Jones. So she raised
her glass and repeated the same old sentiment: "Here's
to the finest thing in life. We all know where to find it."
Of course everybody laughed, and Smith just laid back in
his chair and roared. Mrs. Smith turned to him and said:
"Well, you may laugh now, but you didn't get there but
four times last year, and you went off each time before
service was out."
Mr. Roberts -- That reminds me of the toast, "Here's to
the festive bean that makes the Boston belles astute."
Mr. Jones -- I was out fishing and hunting awhile ago,
and we were giving a visitior a great razzle about a dog we
had. "Why," says one of the boys, "That dog will go
to the bottom of the lake and bring up a stone." "That's
nothing," says the visitor. "Come over to my camp and I
will show you a dog that will go down to the bottom of
the lake and bring up two stones."
The King -- That reminds me of the story of the darkey
who was being tried for shooting a dog. The justice asked
him: "Did you shoot the dog in self-defense?" "No,
sah!" says the darkey. "I shot him in de ass and he
jumped over de fence."
Mr. Harrison will tell a story.
Mr. Harrison -- Jim Blake lived in the country, and
though a pretty fly boy among the rustics was not up in
the ways of the outside world. He thought he would try a
little elephant business in the city, and got one of his vil-
lage acquaintances to make the trip with him. His friend,
Joe Smart, had been in town and was posted. He thought
he would have some fun with Jim, so when they struck the
city, he slipped away a few minutes and made arrange-
ments at a hotel-de-loose, whereby Jim was to get his con-
solation under the impression that he was stealing it.
The programme went through all right, and when they left
the supposed residence of Col. Johnson, where they had
been hospitably entertained by the Colonel's three
daughters, Jim informed his friend Joe that his passion
had gotten the best of him and he had actually seduced the
youngest daughter. Joe made a hell of a fuss about it and
said that when the Colonel found it out there would be the
devil to pay.
The young men went back home and nothing came of it
for the time, but about five or six weeks later a traveling
man with whom Joe was on intimate terms came to the
country village. Joe told the drummer about the joke on
Jim, and they made up a scheme for scaring the life out of
Jim. The drummer was to personate the wealthy colonel
and demand satisfaction. They hired a rig and drove out
to the farm. The pseudo colonel went out in the field,
and, squaring himself before Jim, announced his name and
mission in thunderous tones. Jim looked him all over and
seem to be solemnly pondering on some difficult problem.
At last he asked:
"So you are Colonel Johnson, eh?"
"Yes, sir, I am Colonel Johnson."
"And you want satisfaction, eh?"
"Yes, sir, I demand satisfaction."
"Well, colonel, I'm sorry, damn'd sorry, but the fact is,
Colonel Clapp was here about two week ahead of you."
Mr. Ward -- Speaking of country jakes reminds me of the
fellow fresh from the rural districts who wanted to hire out
to the railroad company as a switchman, car-coupler, etc.
He had never worked at the business, but thought he could
learn. So he was sent out in the yard. The engineer
thought he would have some fun with the greenhorn, so
after telling him how to drop the pin in the hole at just the
right time, etc., he began slamming the cars around at a
great rate, but no matter how he rushed the fellow always
got there on time, never missed a single shot. At last the
engineer got off his engine and took the chap to the boss,
charging that the man was an old hand at the business run-
ning incog and they had better look out for him. The
superintendent called the man up and the following con-
versation ensued:
"The engineer says you are an old hand at the business."
"No, sir. I am not. Never switched before."
"Have you been working in the country for the last two
years?"
"Yes, sir."
"What have you being doing?"
"Steerin' a stud hoss."
Jones -- That reminds me of another countryman. He
had been in town, and while standing around in one of the
tony saloons where dudes and high-flyers congregate, he
heard a chappie get off this sentiment: "Ah, boys, this is
nectar fit for the gods." Shortly after he returned to the
rural districts, he went in with some of the rustics to get a
drink of raw whiskey and thought to show his knowledge
of the ways of the world by repeating the sentiment, so he
raised his glass and said:
"Ah! boys, this is a necktie for Jesus Christ."
Smith -- Here's one. A gentleman had an Irish man of
all work and a German cook. Neither could understand
the lingo of the other. After a time the condition of the
girl required an explanation, when to the surprise of Mr.
Jones he was given to understand that Pat had had evn
more than a finger in it. He called the Irishman and
said: "How is that, Pat? Katy says you did it, and yet
you cannot understand each other at all." "Ah, sir," says
Pat, "I have an interpreter wid me that spakes in all
langwidges.
The King -- Will some member tell the story of the
telegrapher's mistake?
Mr. Wilson -- So the story goes, the husband was off on a
trip. He had promised to write, but business had rushed
him. When he did get on the home stretch he sent a
telegram to his wife.
"Home to-night. Beg pardon."
When he got home his wife met him at the door and at
once began to cry.
"What is the matter, my dear?"
"Matter enough. I'll never dare to show my head in
town again."
"Why not? I don't understand."
"Oh, that awful telegram. How could you do it?"
"Why, I telegraphed that I would be home to-night and
begged your pardon for not writing."
"Oh, no, you didn't. That wasn't what it said."
"Bring me the telegram."
She brought it and he read:
"Home to-night. Big hardon."
Mr. Rogers -- That story of Jones' reminded me of an
Irish yarn. At a party, stories, etc. were in order. Casey,
being called on, said he could neither sing a song nor tell a
story, but, says he, I have a conundrum for you: "My
first is a vowel, my second a stove, and you can suck my
whole." At once a chorus of Oh's and Ah's arose and
"Ain't you ashamed of youself, Casey?" But Casey said
they were all wrong. There was nothing bad about the
conundrum, and when they gave it up, explained thus:
"My first is the vowel, O; my second a stove, or range, and
you can suck my whole, which is an orange." MacGinnis
hearing the conundrum, tried a few week later to get it off
on a similar occaion, and this is the way he put it: "Oi
can nayther sing a song nor tell a story, but Oi have a con-
nunderdum for yez: Me first is a stove, me sicund is a
limmon, and yez can suck me arse."
The King -- I observe with surprise that you have left out
the old chestnut sell about the patent stove that (when
some sucker asked the question) sent its smoke up the
cook's stern, and that other about the cow that had but
one fault -- her tail was so short that the sun shone in her
arse and soured her milk, and numerous other dilutable
tales. Doubtless future sessions ofthe club will develop
a more complete list. And now, as it is far on in "the
wee sma' hours ayont the twal," if the members will join
me in a nightcap, we will rise and sing the doxology in the
words of
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood
When fond recollection presents them to view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot that my infancy knew.
The wide-spreading pond and the well which stood by it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy-house night it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hung in he well.
That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure,
For often at noon, when returned form the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield;
How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing!
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then, soon with the emblem of truth overflowing
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well;
The old oaken bucket; the iron-bound bucket;
The moss-covered bucket, that hung in the well.
How sweet, from the green mossy brim to receive it;
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And, now far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell;
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well.
The old oaken bucket; the iron-bound bucket;
The moss-covered bucket that hung in the well.
----------
SALINE, Kan. March 30, 1878.
Messrs. Bluff and Call.
Shentlemans: Der lasht 2 bags of coffee we did get from
you its mixt mit Ratt Schitt; der coffee may be gutnuff but
der Ratt schitts spils der hole traid. We did not see der
Ratt Schitts in der samples your agent showt us. It takes
som time to pick it all out. We ordered plane coffee. You
sent us Ratt durds mit coffee. Der's some mistakes.
Please anser wot we do mit it. Yours druly,
Yawcub, Krouse & Co.
Why is the devil lke shovel and tongs? Because he be-
longs to the fire place.
-----
Some men go fishing to get fish, and some don't; those
that don't generally get what they go for.
----
"it is the little bits ov things that fret and worry us,"
says Josh Billings; "we kan dodge an elephant, but we
kan't a fly."
----
"Thou rainest in this bosom," as the chap said when a
basin of water was thrown over him by the lady he was
serenading.
-----
Said a conscientious auctioneer: "Ladies and gentlemen,
[th]ere is no sham about the carpets; they are genuine tape-
try carpets. I bought them of old Tapestry himeslf."
---
Mose Schaumburg is very arbitrary in the management
of his family affairs. He has been trying for some time to
marry off his daughter Rebecca, and at last he succeeded
in persuading and old man who was rich to marry her. At
dinner Mose said:
"Rebecca, allow me to congratulate you on your engage-
ment. I have you a husband got."
"Who vas he, vadder?"
"Who vas he? Vat a kevestion! Vy ton't you attend to
your own affairs, don't it? You vash choost eaten up mit
curiosity. Vat von't you vant to know next?"
----
SULLIVAN -- Feb. 2, MICHAEL, beloved and only son
of Timothy and Anne Sullivan, aged 3 years, 3 months and
25 days.
Funeral from his late residence, by cars to Calvary
Cemetery.
Oh, Michael Francis, thou hast left us;
For you on earth there was not room;
But, 'tis God who has bereft us,
And take our darling up the flume.
-----
"Here lies my wife Sal-lie; let her lie,
She's at peace and so am I."
Some medical students put up a job on a Dutch saloon-
keeper. They dressed up a stiff, and about 9 o'clock in the
evening got him into the saloon and into a chair, propped
up in such shape as to carry out the idea that 'twas a case
of sleepy drunk. Then the students began to fill up on
the Dutchman's bee. Hans was informed from time to
time that when John woke up he would pay the bill.
About 11 o'clock when the fellows had filled up they one
by one dropped out, and still Hans was told that John
would settle the bill.
Hans waited a while, then from behind the bar mildly
suggested to John that it was pretty near time to wake up.
This failing to have any effect, he spoke quite plainly;
suggested that John was a drunken loafer and had better
pay that $4.85 and get out. Then he went over and touched
the sleeper on the shoulder, then shook him. Of course
John paid no heed -- or bill. Finally the Dutch got up in
earnest. Hans swore. He got out a bung-starter and
threatened. Then he got raving, tearing mad, and in his
anger swung the bung-starter and gave him one on the
head. Of course the corpse went over on the floor in a
heap. At this juncture the students, who had been on the
watch, rushed in, threw up their hands, and berated the
Dutchman for having killed their friend John. But says
Hans, "I hat to. it was in self-tefense. Te damn son-of-a-
pitch trew a knife on me."
----
A young gent from the city while fishing along the bank
of an Ohio stream found a large number of small dead
fish along shore. He called to a young country boy and
asked the cause. The boy said he would tell him the
reason of it for a half dollar. The money being paid over
the boy asked: "Do you see that big buildin' over yonder?"
"Yes." "Wall, that's a female seminary, and the gals was
all in swimmin' yesterday, and the fishe's tails got so stiff
that they couldn't steer themselves and they drownded."
-----
"A few moments ago I saw the strangest sight down on
Madison street. A woman was walking along on the sunny
side, and she never once made an effort to knock other
pedestrians' eyes out with the ribs of her umbrella."
"Incredible! Never heard of such a thing. How do
you account for it?"
"She had no parasol."
STUDYING THE STARS
It was at Spirit Lake, at the very limit of the pier.
They were all alone. There was no moon, but the stars
were big and bright and so full of self-conceit that they
looked at themselves in the water and winkes.
Far out a boat slid noiselessly along. In a nearer boat a
fair tenor voice carelessly half hummed, half sang a com-
mon love song. From the hotel came now and then the
twangs of the strings of the orchestra of mandolins. On
such a night as this did Dido stand upon the wild sea bank
and wave her love to come back to Carthage. On such a
night as this did Jessica -- but a truce to the bard!
It was the sort of a night on which a man could make
love to his own wife -- and those two, Edouard and Alicia,
had not yet bespoken their tender vows.
"Do you know anything about the stars?" inquired
Edouard in a voice like the murmur of the wind in sum-
mer trees.
"A little," answered Alicia, tenderly. "I know some of
the great constellations -- the great bear -- the -- "
"Yes," interrupted Edouard, "I know all about the big
bear and I can find the north star, but right over here is a
group. Do you know the name of that?" and Eduard
threw his arm across Alicia's shoulder and pointed to a
cluster of shining worlds in the east.
Alicia leaned toward him. "I don't know what that is,"
she breathed as one who did not care.
"And there is another constellation just over our heads!"
Edouard passed his arm around her neck, and placing his
hand under her chin so tilted it that it would be easy for
her to see.
And then to Alicia's eyes the heavens became one grand
carnival of constellations. Shooting stars chased each
other athwart the firmament, comets played riotous games
among the planets, and finally there comes a soft and
radiant blurr which hid them all.
Edouard had kissed Alicia.
--------
"This is a nice time of night for you to be coming in,"
said a mother to her daughter. "When I was like you,"
continued she, "my mother would not allow me out any
longer than 7 o'clock." "Oh, you had a nice sort of a
mother," murmured the girl. "I had, you young jade,"
said the mother, "A nicer mother than ever you had."
GIMLET'S SOLILOQUY.
To pee -- or not to pee. That is the qustion.
Whether 'tis better in the flesh to suffer
The stings and smarts of this outrageous clap,
Or, taking physic 'gainst the damned disease
And with a syringe end it. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To dose. And piss
No more. And by a course of drugs to end
The cordee and the thousand cursed pains
Sore cocks are heir to. To drug, and pee.
To pee -- perchance to burn. Aye, there's the rub.
When we've unrolled this cotton coil,
For in that voiding act what twinges come
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of chronic gleet.
For who would bear the shame and scorn of self,
The doctor's sneer. The boon friends' badinage.
The pangs of disappointing stands -- the weakened tool --
The insolence of whore, and all the spurns
The undefiled of him who suffers, takes
When he himself might his quietus make
With a glas syringe? Who would these fardels bear
To grunt and sweat because of sickly tool.
But that the dread of something in the dose.
Some unknown drug whose caustic burn
There's no escape -- puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear the clap as 'tis
Than brave the pains the syringe brings.
Thus Gonorrhoea makes us cowards all,
And thus the moments gritty resolution
Is sicklied o'er with weak temerity,
And bold resolves of cleaning out the thing
Grow weak and faint and tamely die away
And love them in inaction. Soft, you know
The fair Belinda. Bitch in thy wild orgies
Be my sick cock remembered.
--------
The wife of a Harlem man, who is very fond of singing
Sankey's revival hymn, has named their baby Fort, so
that he would want to hold it.
--------
It was very ungallant in the old bachelor who was told
that a certain lady had "one foot in the grave," to ask "if
there wasn't room for both feet."
One of those naturally bright children who are always
getting people into difficulties was at prayer-meeting the
other evening with his mother, when he asked aloud:
"Ma, say ma -- who was Dinah Moore?"
"Hu-u-sh," whipsered his mother cautiously, "it's a
hymn."
"No, it ain't, ma," continued the hopeful, "it's a woman's
name; say who's going home to Dinah Moore?"
"Willie," said his mother in a ghastly voice, "you're dis-
turbing the meeting. It means going to heaven to die no
more."
"Dine no more? O, ma, don't they eat anything there?"
His mother explained as well as she could and Willie sat
Still for half a minute, his bright eyes roving about the
church. Then he asked in a shrill whisper:
"Ma, is God out of town?"
"No-o-o, no, no," answered the distracted woman, faintly.
"Then what's Mr. Kelly running this meeting for, ma?"
continued the sweet child."
The choir sang him down, but as the meeting closed with
a moment of silent prayer, his gentle voice was distinctly
heard.
-----
TIMBUCTOO.
School-romm during recess. Young lady teacher to boy
pupil: "my boy, can you write a verse of four lines,
putting in the word Timbuctoo twice and still make sense?"
The boy wrote as follows:
Tim and I a hunting went
On the plains of Timbuctoo,
We found three maidens in a tent,
I bucked one and Tim bucked two.
Lady: "Well, did you get it in twice?" Boy: "No I did
not, but Tim did.
-----
Biddy, in dusting the statuary, had accidentally broken
off the stone penis of a nude figure and was engaged in a
futile attempt to glue it on. Her mistress coming in an
explanation followed, and the lady observed that Biddy
had turned the pendant upward instead of hanging down
as before. So she said: "Why, Biddy, that is not the way
it goes. It should hand down." "Well, maam," says
Biddy, "all as ever I see stuck up."
WHAT IS IT.
From Nature's chrysalis of procreation,
That long had been in slumbrous trituration,
And all unknown the cosmic derivation.
Or alchemic fermenting maceration.
Perhaps an intricated amalgamation,
Whate'er it was that made the combination
We wot not; but we make this declaration
That all this trangely hidden preparation,
Was but a mighty plan of generation,
To be wrought out by means of copulation.
(This much is not an idle speculation.)
Else why these tools so fit for tittillation?
This unctious priapismic puncuation.
And why that gash -- the female bifurcation,
The gestate womb to catch the percolation.
Why, too, the fierce amoric inclination,
But to replenish Nature's population
We crave your pardon for the allegation,
Or rather for the mild insinuation.
The plan is an imperfect calculation,
Else would it brook no awkward deviation
Or ugly, gnarled and knotted malformation.
If perfect, there had been no masturbation.
Or ripped up, torn and bloody laceration.
Had each its own, there'd be no peculation;
Nor that abomination - fornication.
No cause for salutary exhortation;
No placing under secret obligation;
No ground for bloody castigation,
Or fierce revengeful close emasculation.
No phrases for expressing objurgation,
Or weakly cringing terms of palliation.
Had we the power to change the situation,
We'd give each sex an equal delegation,
And unto each its rightful assignation.
We'd fill the universe with cachination;
Warm up the fire of love with bibulation,
And make and end of cranky peroration
-----
The following over a baby aged 3 months:
"Since I am so quickly done for
I wonder what I was begun for."
John went to see Katie, and three time she refused to
marry him because he smoked. He stopped smoking and
they were married. The first night he did nothing nor the
second. Katie's mother explained to her that it was
because he had not smoked. She would just have to wait
patiently until the tobacco habit was overcome when John
would be all right. Katie waited over another night and
still no move from John. The next day she bought him a
cigar and he had a smoke. The day after she bought two,
and the next a whole box.
------
The following genuine epitaph is from an old grave yard
in Scotland:
Here lies the body of Alexander Macpherson,
Who was a most extraordinary person,
He was two yards high in the stocking feet,
And kept his accoutrements clean and neat.
He was slew --
At the battle of Waterloo:
He was shot by a bullet,
Plumb through the gullet:
It went in at his throat
And came out at the back of his coat.
-----
SERMON OF AN OREGON PREACHER.
BRETHREN AND SISTERS -- I am an aged tree, withered in
the branch and hollow at the butt. The storms of sixty
winters have whistled through my boughs and stripped
them of their foliage. The scorching heats of sixty sum-
mers have peeled the bark and dried the sap, but thank
the Lord my old root still stands.
-------
She was a pretty salesgirl:
He asked for a kiss,
For he was the accepted
Of the fair and blushing miss.
She gave him one, and as she drew
Her rosy lips away,
"Is there," she asked in trembling tones,
"Anything else to-day?"
A RARE DISCOVERY.
"Honi soit quit mal y pense."
Beneath this stone Tom Crossfield lies,
Who cares not now, who laughs or cries;
He laughed when sober, and when mellow
He was a harum-scarum fellow.
He gave to none designed offense,
So, "Honi soit qui mal y pense."
----
A little boy on being told by his mother that too much
ice cream would make him sick, replied, as he extended an
arm: "Guess it won't hurt me, 'cause I've been waxinated."
-----
"No," said a prominent member of a Vermonet parish,
"Jackson will never do for deacon. He hasn't got the
qualifications. Why, durn it, I've cheated him on a hose
trade myself."
-----
A Rhode Island clergyman was given permission to sing
"The Sweet By-and-By" in an insane asylum. Many
patients were moved. So was the clergyman. A lunatic
moved him clear down stairs.
-----
A meditative man was roaming through an anatomical
museum, and came across the skeleton of a donkey.
"Ah," he said in reverential awe, "we are, indeed, fear-
fully and wonderfully made."
-----
"That Husband of Mine" was lying upon the lap of a
young married woman on the train the other day when a
base-ball dude and would-be masher leaned over the seat,
read the title of the book, and then looking around in mon-
key pantomime simpered out: "Ah, where is he?" "Mind-
ing his own business, I hope," was the crushing reply.
-----
A green printer, in setting some copy, ran across the sen-
tence: "---- didn't say a word for an hour," the first word
having been cut off in clipping it from the paper where it
first appeared. He took it to the foreman to supply the
word. "What shall I put in there?" he asked, when the
foreman read it. "Put in 'he,' of course; you don't sup-
pose 'she' would fit in such a sentence as that, do you?"
There are people in the world who stop so long haggling
over notions that they let the opportunity to get a good
thing pass.
A buxom young hare of the gentler sex meeting a robust
young buck of her own persuasion a mutual attachment
soon became manifest. She endeavored to lead him away
from the open ground to a safe retrat where their love
could be consummated in secret and according to her own
special notion. The young buck plead the urgency of
nature's demands, but she would not have it. Good time
was wasted by long and nonsensical arguments on her part,
and while he reluctantly consented to delay their progress
was slow, so slow that nature got the best of her, and ere
they were out of the field she was trembling with passion
and anxious for a matrimonial contest on the spot.
Upon seeing the vicory at hand the young buck squared
himself and dropping his ears upon his back said: "Bunny,
my dear, I do this day take thee unto myself to be my law-
ful wedded wife to have and to hold until death do us
part. And now, if you will kndly move your tail to the
south ---" At this pint his quick ear caught the thump
thump of a running dog. "Madam," said he, "this is no
time for splitting hares," and he skipped for parts unknown.
------
A certain doctor had an Irishman in his employ, who at
times was left in the office to take orders. One day the
Irishman made up his mind to personate the doctor and
pocket the fee. The next caller was a young lady. Pat,
on the question being put, said that he was the doctor, and
calling for advance payment, pocketed five dollars. The
young lady explained that she had not had her month for
some time and feared that she was in a bad fix. Pat asked
about her sleep and her appetite; her bowels and her pulse,
etc., and then inquired how much water she usually made
in a day. On being told the quantity (about a quart) he
said: "Well, ma'am, me advice is this: You go home,
and don't ye make wather for a week, an' ye'll drown out
the son-o-a-bitch."
-----
"Wife," said a man looking for his razor-case, "I have
places where I keep my things and you ought to know it."
"Yes," said she, "I ought to know where you keep your
late hours."
The saddest words of tongue or pen,
Here's that collector of bills again.
-----
A small boy was asked to name some part of his own
body. He thought a moment and the replied: "Bowels;
which are five in number -- a, e, i, o and u, and sometimes
w and y."
-----
A Massachusetts's politician's opinion of the intermar-
riage of whites and negroes was that he didn't believe in it.
Said he, "I think that every one ought to marry some one
of his own sex."
-----
A lady who had quarreled with her baldheaded lover
said, in dismissing him, "What is delightful about you,
my friend, is that I have not the trouble of sending you
back any locks of hair."
-----
An absent-minded professor was sitting at his desk writ-
in one evening when one of his children entered. "What
do you want? I can't be disturbed now." "I only want to
say good-night." "never mind now, tomorrow morning
will do as well."
------
When you take a girl to a picnic, and you wander away
together to commune with nature, and she suddenly ex-
claims, "O George! there is an ant down my back!" don't
stand still with your mouth open; don't faint; don't go for
the girl's mother -- go for the ant.
-----
The old query, "Why is a dog's nose always cold?" is
thus answered by a party who purports to be a poet:
There sprung a leak in Noah's Ark
Which made the dog begin to bark;
Noah took his nose to stop the hole
And hence his nose is always cold.
----
A well-fed hog roused up in his sty
And dropped a regretful tear --
"The beautiful snow was come," he said,
"And slaying will soon be here."
A NOVELETTE.
"Do you love me Dolphus?"
The soft rays of the vening sun were lining the rocking
treetops with a hale of golden splendor; the zephyrs of the
night were kissing into somnolence the flowers that by day
had smiled in the meadows; the doves nestled their heads
under their downy wings little wotting that the halcyon
days of pot-pies would soon appear, and the old man has
the bulldog out in the barn putting a wire edge on his teeth
Such is the chromo of the opening chapter.
Estella Openface was not handsome, but her manner
had that blithe naivette about it peculiar to boarding-house
gravy. As he stood there underneath the lindens dressed
in a flimsy costume of fly on-the-butter silk, her lily white
hand toy9ing with Dophus Stemwinder's pego, one must
needs look twice to see where he left off, and she began --
the union had begun.
"Do you love me?" the girl asked again, choking back a
sob that was swelling up from the last glass of soda water.
Adolphus did not speak for some time. He was agitated
and his mind wandered back and forth between the ques-
tion and the more enticing business below. He tried to
frame a reply, but could not find a phrase to suit him. At
length his answer came in slow, dactylic cadence suited to
the swaying of their forms.
"How can you ask me, darling? My whole life as you
know is a bright tin pan which reflects your every humor.
My weary existence depends on eating liberally, sleeping
prodigally, and seeing you between meals. Without you
what am I?"
The girl gave it up.
"Yes, darling," continued Dolphus. "If we can only
put up a job on the old man we will speed away to parts
unknown. Once in the open country --"
At this point the dog's chain broke. With a yell Dolphus
pulled out and sped away.
Let us draw a veil over the picture.
-----
A country Jake, being guyed by some city girls at a pic-
nic, one of the young ladies says to him: "Why, you must
be cracked." "Yes," says Hayseed, "and I've got a sister
that's cracked, but the doctor says its so near her ass that
it don't hurt her any."
He came home with a serious face. She, who was all
love and smiles, saw in an instant that something was the
matter: He turned his face away when she attempted to
plant the warm kiss of greeting on his lips. Her soul sank
within her. It was the first time that he had repulsed her,
"George," she said, eagerly, "tell me what it is. Has your
love grown cold? Treat me frankly. It is better to know
the truth than to be kept in suspense." He kept his head
averted a minute. His lip trembled. Then he said: "Oh,
heavens! Florence, how can you wear that mask of deceit
when I know all?" "All!" she repeated, as her face grew
white. "All what?" "Spare me the sad recital," he con-
tinued. "There are some things that are better left un-
said." "I will not spare you. I insist upon knowing what
it is you mean. Tell me, and at once. Some perjured vil-
lian has abused your mind." "Alas, no!" he said. "I was
an eye-witness of it all. Do not add deceit to our other
crimes. I was there and saw it." "Saw what?" she cried.
"What have you seen? Are you mad?" "Calm yourself,
madam. I saw you -- you, the wife of my bosom -- when
you did not think my eye was on you. You were on Broad-
way, mingling with the giddy throng. He was hurrying
on. You beckoned to him. You made telegraphic signs
until you attracted his attention." "Merciful powers!"
she gasped. "You see I know all," he continued. "You
did this on the public street. At first he would have gone
on and disregarded you, but you were importunate. You
caught his eye and beckoned. He smiled, and you went
down the thoroughfare together." "'Tis false, as false as
------." "Madam, it is too true; I tell you I saw it. Let us
have no nonsense about it." Then she sank upon the sofa.
Again he turned his manly head to hide his emotion. The
diamond tears began to come through his fingers. Help-
lessness, indignation and shame were struggling together in
her soul. Suddenly she looked up. "Perhaps, sir, you will
tell me who he is." "Certainly," replied the brute. "He
was the driver of a Madison avenue omnibus." Then he
went suddenly out of the door as if fearful that one of the
statues would fly after him. And she dried her tears and
said somebody was a fool. She was right, only she got the
person wrong.
-----
A Chicago's girl's shoes never belong to her. But they
seem to be long to Boston folks.
Beneath this rugged stone doth lie
The rarest scold that e'er did die;
Her softest words to dearest friend
Would make one's hair stand straight on end.
You'd think storms rising when she sung --
Thunder was music to her tongue;
When real storms in her did arise,
Lightning was twilight to her eyes,
Where she has gone, don't seek to know,
Yet, I can't doubt it, she's gone below;
If she's above -- Lord, hear my prayer,
And send me anywhere but there.
-----
After a lingering illness, which gave time for talking over
matters, Bridget had died. Pat was inconsolable. The
body was laid out in style. The friends and neighbors all
turned out to the wake. About three o'clock in the morn-
ing, everybody being pretty full, sleep closed ever the
watchers eyes and none were left to guard the body. Rats
took advantage of the silence and the night and bit off the
nose, ears and lips of the corpse. In the morning Pat
came in, gave one look at Bridget, and then exclaimed:
"Oh, wirra-wirra, look at her now. Shure Oi tould her
Oi'd send her up to hiven in illegant stoyle, wid beautiful
flowers and iverything, and she lukin' loike a angel, and
now, bac cess to her, she's not luckin' fit to go to hell, even."
-----
Addie was about three years old, and could not talk
plainly, but he had eyes that saw all that was going on.
There were two young ladies in the family, one a sister
and the other a sort of swing girl and quasi companion.
In the necessary care of the youngster (dression and un-
dression) the girls had at times referred to the little fel-
low's water-works as his rig-a-ma-gig. Cousin Selah, a
young man, came on a visit and slept in the same chamber
with Addie. One morning, after having taken observa-
tions, the little fellow somewhat abashed the family by
remarking to his sister: "Nell, Selah dot drate big
igmadig -- not like I."
-----
A truthful but apparently absurd proposition is called a
paradox, and so are two physicians. See it?
FROM RABELAIS.
When Yoland saw her spouse equipped for fight,
And save the cod-piece all in armour bright,
My dear, she cried, wh, pray of all the rest
Is that exposed you know I love the best.
Was she to blame for an ill managed fear
Or rather pious conscionable care.
Wise lady she! In a hurly burly fight
Can any fell where random blows may light.
------
She lay stark naked on the bed,
So fair and round and chubby,
And I beside her naked lay,
While each hand held a bubby.
I kissed her lips a thousand times,
And 'neath the chin did chuck her,
And then our legs got interwined,
And I began to fuck her.
"Pull out," she cried, "don't spend inside,
Or I'll get into trouble."
I did, and on her snowy breast
The stream did squirt and buble
I gazed into her frightened eyes,
And into laughter burst, and said:
"I guess, my dear, that's the youngest child
That you ahve ever nursed."
She scooped it up with one fair hand,
And laughed a soft "ha, ha,"
Then threw it in my face and cried:
"Go, child, and kiss your pa."
-----
There was a rash man in Toledo
Who swallowed one day a torpedo,
He fell off a cart
And the folks heard him f--t
Just a mile and a-half from Toledo.
----
Why is a trick of legerdermain like declining an offer of
marriage?
Because it is a sl(e)ight-of-hand.
HER LETTER.
I'm sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire --
It cost a cool thousand in France;
I'm be diamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a queue!
In short, sir, "the belle of the season"
Is wasting an hour on you.
A dozen engagements I've broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits -- on the stairs -- for me yet.
They say he'll be rich -- when he grow up --
And then he adores me indeed.
And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.
"And how do I like my position?"
"And what do I think of New York?"
"And now, in my higher ambition,
With who do I waltz, flirt, or talk?"
"And isn't it nice to have riches,
And diamonds and silks, and all that?"
"And aren't it a change to the ditches
And the tunnels of Poverty Flat?"
Well, yes -- if you saw us out driving
Each day in the park, four-in-hand
If you saw poor mamma contriving
To look supernaturally grand --
If you saw papa' picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that,
You'd never suspect he sold bacon
And flour at Poverty Flat.
And yet, just this moment, while sitting
In the glare of the grand chandelier --
In the bustle and glitter befitting
the "finest soiree of the year,"
In the mists of a
gauze de chambery,
And the hum of the smallest of talk --
Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry,"
And the dance that we had on "The Fork."
Of Harrison's barn, with the muster
Of flags festooned over the wall;
Of the candles that shed their soft luster
And tallow on head-dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fiddle;
Of the dress of my queer
vis-a-vis;
And how I once went down the middle
With the man that shot Sandy McGee;
Of the moon that was quietly sleeping
On the hill, when the time came to go;
Of the few baby peaks that were peeping
From under their bedclothes of snow;
Of that ride -- that to me was the rarest;
Of -- that something you said at the gate;
Ah, Joe, then I wasn't an heiress
To "the best paying lead in the State."
Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny
To think as I stood in the glare
Of fashion, and beauty, and money,
That I should be thinking, right there,
Of someone who breasted high water,
And swam the North Fork, and all that,
Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter,
The Lily of Poverty Flat.
But, goodness! what nonsense I'm wirting!
(Mamma says my taste still is low),
Instead of my triumphs reciting,
I'm spooning on Joseph -- heigh-ho!
And I'm to be "finished by travel" --
Whatever's the meaning of that --
Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat.
Good-night -- here's the end of my paper;
Good-night -- if the longitude please --
For maybe, while wasting my taper,
Your sun's climbing over the trees
But know, if you haven't got riches,
And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that,
That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,
And you've struck it -- on Poverty Flat.
THE REHEARSAL.
I sit here thinking, Will, of you,
Of merry days gone by --
The old church, where oft we sang
Together, you and I;
But thoughts of one rehearsal night
Will constantly arise,
'Till "I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies."
I'm thinking of the rainy night --
The rest had hurried home --
And we, in Deacon Foster's pew,
Were sitting all alone;
You were a "seeker" then, dear Will,
But not of "things above" --
"The length, the depth, the breadth, the heigth
Of everlasting love."
And I was on the "anxious" seat,
Uncertain how to move,
Within thine arms of love embraced,
Thy constancy to prove!
And oh! the promises you made --
You were my own dear Will --
"What peaceful hours I once enjoyed,
How sweet their memory still."
Oh! what sweet words of love you spoke,
And kissed away the tear;
And how I trembled at the thought
Lest someone should appear;
But when you turned the lights all out,
To guard against surprise,
"I bade farewell to every fear,
And wiped my weeping eyes."
I thought, could I these doubts remove,
These gloomy doubts that rise,
"And see the caanan that we love
With unbeclouded eyes!" --
And as you climbed the pulpit stairs,
And viewed the landscape o'er,
"Not Jordan's stream, not death's cold flood
Could fright us from the floor."
And when you fixed the cushions up,
And I reclined at ease,
The pulpit pillow 'neath my head
And you on bended knees;
With your warm kisses on my lips,
How could I stay your hand
"The veil was lifted, and by faith,
You viewed the promised land."
And oh! what rapturous feelings
Thrilled every nerve, and when
I cried, "Oh! Lord my hear is touched,"
You shouted out "Amen."
My very soul was all ablaze,
I thought that I could see
The land of rest, the saints delight
The heaven prepared for me."
I thought "a charge to keep I have"
With mingled fear and shame:
How anxiously I watched, dear Will,
Till I came 'round again!"
In my distress I vainly strove
To check the welling tears
"The precious blood poured freely forth
And conquered all my fears."
But that was many years ago,
And I've no doubt that you
Remember still the rainy night
In Deacon Foster's pew!
But oh! my first "experience"
Will ne'er forgotten be,
"While down the stream of life we glide
To our eternity."
I'm married now, the gudeman thinks
In me he has a prize;
Ah, me! "where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise."
Of you, dear Will, he nothing knows
And so my heart's at rest,
"And not a wave of trouble rolls
Across my peaceful breast."
CIGAR ADV. -- THE WIDOW.
In laying before you The Widow, we wish to call your
attention to her many strong points. She is free from
nicotine, hand made and does not bite the tongue. She
was never in a tenement house. On the contrary, she has
always been strictly private. Her wrapper is of the best
Puritan stock, while her filler is all of foreign culture. Her
tuck is open just enough to ensure success. Epicures
pronounce her the most emotional they have ever tried.
She has developed under the direct supervision of the
senior member of the firm, assisted by our most experience
salesmen. Customers must not expect six for a quarter.
She is too rich for that, but must come down with the
regular five cents every time. Some country customers
have thought her too soft -- that she would not bear squeez-
ing, that she was not well filled; but we know by actual
experience that she does not back filter, as we have tried
more cramming at the store, but found that it only spoiled
her draft. If she seems too soft and juicy it is because she
is too fresh, and all you have to do is to hold her a few
days. Keep baldheaded customers and dudes away from
her and she will come around all right. If she don't
respond satisfactorily it is because you ain't onto her right.
City trade like 'em juicy. We can lay her down to cus-
tomers at five cents straight.
-----
Why is the bird hammering for worms on an old dry tree
like a boy making water?
He does it with his little pecker!
----
A SUNDAY-SCHOOL LESSON.
A Sunday-school class of bright, innocent boys,
Whose teacher the most winning method employs.
Were told to repeat some trite scriptural verse
While adding their mites to the Sunday-school purse.
The first as he on the new feature embarked,
"The Lord loves a cheerful giver," remarked
"Who give to the poor," was the thought which occurred
To the next in his turn, "but lends to the Lord."
And so went the box until it was passed
To a bright little boy, the smallest and last;
While giving his penny this fact he imparted:
"A fool and his money," said he, "are soon parted."
At an elegant tea in Washington were present Repre-
sentative B., whose wife was a very pronounced brunette.
The hostess, also a brunette, asked the usual question as to
Mr. B.'s preference in chicken. With a peculiar smile and
a wink at his wife, he replied: "I prefer the
dark meat
always."
-----
Some years ago, so the story goes,
Two worthy Christians, at least supposed,
Were conversing in a solemn way of things
That happened in their day,
They spoke of earth, of heaven and hell,
Of Christ and God and the devil as well,
And believed all sinners, without a doubt,
Would sooner or later be found out.
"We are all of us sinners," the Deacon said,
"And every night when I lay my head
Upon my pillow I breath a prayer
That from all temptations I may beware;
For I've been a great sinner in my day
And it's natural for me to turn that way;
And to some temptations I always give in,
And one of them is sexual sin."
"In that way I am troubled, too, I fear,"
And down his cheek rolled a solemn tear;
For he wasn't a bad man, the Parson Brown,
So said the ladies for miles around.
They consoled each other as best they could,
Of course good Christians always would;
But being started it was hard to break
The spell such subjects will awake,
So they spoke of connections they had had
With maid and matron, good and bad
Said the Parson, "unless I am much mistaken
I have beaten you in the congregation."
"The devil you have," was the Deacon's reply:
"Say! let's fix a plan betwixt you and I
By which we can tell, without a doubt,
Who has had the most of the new-found-out.
A plan I have and don't think it will fail
Next Sunday, behind the chancel rail,
We'll seat ourselves in a pious way
As we always do on that holy day,
And when a lady comes in that we have bunked
We'll each of us use the word 'Cadunk!'"
"To that," said the Parson, "I agree,
But we must be careful and not let folks see
We are there for a purpose, and be sure to be [on] time
And in our places when the first bell chimes."
The following Sabbath dawned bright and clear
And the hour of service was drawing near
As the people assembled with one accord
In their village church to worship the Lord.
First one "cadunked" and then the other.
And then they both cadunked together.
It looked as though 'twould be a draw game
And if it was, why who was to blame?
Just then the Deacon's wife came in,
A matron of forty, plump and trim,
And as down by her pew she gently sunk
The Deacon heard the Parson cadunk.
"Hold on, Parson, that was my wife,
And on her honor I'd stake my life;
Surely her honor you would not stain;"
But the Parson looked up and cadunked again,
The Deacon was silent, for he was riled,
For who could blame him for being wild,
But the people kept coming more and more
And they went on cadunking the same as before.
Just then the Parson's wife appears,
With a daughter of scarcely eighteen years,
And the Deacon smiles as they pass him by
And says "cadunk" with a twinkle in his eye.
"Hold on, Deacon! my wife and child,
Surely you have not them beguiled,
It cannot be that both you have bunked;"
But the Deacon's reply was "cadunk, cadunk."
The parson wore a solemn look
As he turned the leaves of the holy book.
And the congregation thought he was drunk,
For when the Deacon amended the Parson cadunked.
----
What makes the ocean get angry?
Because it is crossed so often.
----
When has a lady going to Europe most reason to feel flat?
When she is aboard.
AN IDYL.
I saw her first on a day in spring,
By the side of a stream as I fished along,
Andy loitered to hear the robin sing,
And guessed at the secret they told in song.
The apple-blossoms, so white and red,
Where mirrored beneath in the streamlet's flow;
And the sky was blue far overhead,
And far in the depths of the brook below.
I lay half hid by a mossy stone
And looked in the water for flower and sky.
I heard a step -- I was not alone;
And the vision of loveliness met my eye.
I saw her come to the other side,
And the apple-blossoms were not more fair;
She stooped to gaze in the sun-lit tide,
And her eyes met mine in the water there.
She stopped in timid and mute surprise,
And that look might have lasted till now I ween;
But modestly dropping her dove-like eyes,
She turned away to the meadow green.
I stood in wonder and rapture lost
At her slender form and her step so free,
At her raven locks by the breezes tossed,
As she kicked up her heels in the air for glee.
The apple-blossoms are withered now,
But the sky and the meadow and stream are there;
And whenever I wander that way I vow
That some day I'll buy that little black mare.
-----
NEWSPAPER CLIPPING.
Married -- At Potsdam, N.Y., by the Rev. Judson P.
Keep, John Henry Bottomfelt to Miss Sarah Ann Green,
all of the above-named place. No cards.
- Although no cards on this event,
How pleasant marriage seems,
For Sairy get her Bottomfelt,
John Henry get his Greens.
Hard poetry, but soft moral.
PASSIONATE MYTHOLOGY.
I will tell you a tale of a wondrous convention --
'Twas called by the Gods, in the long, long ago,
But the cause of the call I am sure I can't mention,
I was not of the party and hence I don't know.
In the soft, hazy twilight the member were seated
In elegant drawing-room high in the sky
With nectar ambrosial their bosoms were heated
And Venus sat smiling on Jupiter's thigh.
Now Jupiter -- God of the lightning and thunder --
Of Cupid's bold pranks was the sport and the brunt,
'Neath the clothes of sweet Venus he thrust his hand under
And to her astonishment fickled her cunt.
This conduct the she-gods outspokenly blamed,
And said that such actions they never could be stand.
Poor Venus -- she blushed, hung her head, looked ashamed,
And to his astonishment spent in his hand.
Gay Mercury now felt a strong inclination,
And pulled up some half-dozen Goddesses frocks,
But each one declined his polite invitation
For fear that he'd give 'em the clap or the pox.
Esculapius said he'd examine his dodger,
But swore that he never would do it on tick.
And Mercury being a dollarless codger
The physician refused to examine his prick.
Now Neptune -- the God of the rivers and ditches,
Felt the fire of Cupid distilled through his bones,
So without more ado he unbuttoned his breeches
And just commenced picking the crabs off his stones.
Mars went up to Juno and swore upon honor
He'd make it all right and she'd nothing to fear.
He settled the question by mounting upon her
And into her thrust the whole length of his spear
Poor Juno, alarmed at his heated condition,
Now gently endeavored his lust to control.
But burning with passion he tore the partition
That parted her quiff from her dirty arse-hole.
Apollo his lyre now ceased to be playing,
And into a nook pretty Hebe he led.
The God was too hot to waste time in delaying
And quickly the damsel was placed on the be.
In the midst of this strange mythological crisis
Adonis -- a regular dandified buck --
Tipped up on the floor the sweet creature called Isis
And gave her a most systematical fuck.
Old Vulcan -- the blacksmith -- came in with a swagger,
And swore in the rodgering he'd take a part.
He instantly pulled out his old tallawagger
And then let a most diabolical fart.
The disgusted the party, and Castor and Pollox --
Minions of Jupiter, handsome and rich --
Grabbed hold of the cuss by the neck and the ballachs
And chucked out the nasty old son of a bitch
Old Saturn, fierce Jupiter's sire, inspected
The charms that were hidden 'neath Niobe's frock,
But the impudent nymph took a shit unexpected
And wiped off her arse on his limber old cock.
Minerva came in filled with love and desire,
And her month being over she took off the rag,
Then impelled by the pressure of Cupid's bright fire
She went up to Bacchus and asked for a shag.
To him then she offered her matronly treasure,
And in his breeches she thrust her fair hand,
But the goddess of wisdom was grieved beyond measure
To find him so drunk his prick wouldn't stand.
Then Somnus and Morpheus -- guardians of sleep --
O'er the passionate group threw a somnolent cloak,
And sadly and silently sat down to weep,
For no holes had been left where their peckers could
soak.
This over-true tale of the Mythical Gods
Show them up as a lustful lascivious set
They gave up all else for the sake of their cods,
And for all that we know they are going it yet.
LAST LOVE.
The first flower of the spring is not so fair
Or bright as one the ripe midsummer brings.
The first faint note the forest warbler sings
Is not so rich with feeling, or so rare,
As when, full master of his art, the air
Drowns in the liquid sea of song he flings
Like silver spray from beak and breast and wings.
The artist's earliest effort, wrought with care,
The bard's first ballad, written in his tears,
Set by his later toil seems poor and tame,
And into nothing dwindles at the test.
So with the passions of maturer years;
Let those who will demand the first fond flame,
Give me the heart's last love -- for that is best.
Correct, old gal, you've struck it fair and square,
And when we're hunting one of "them aire things"
That thrill our nerves all into little strings,
And curl our toes, with feeling, oh so rare,
So that we sigh and pant and gasp for air.
Drowned in the sensuous sea where passion flings
Her silver spray all up our legs and things
Not then would you or I for novice care.
No victory for us through squeamish tears.
We crave the ripe, maturer game
That has been often tried and stood the test.
Still on the up-hill side of life in years,
But up to snuff to get there just the same.
That dear old girl, we call "the best."
-----
HIS HAT.
A boy threw his hat on the floor,
And was told he must do so no more;
But he did it again,
And his fond mother then
Used her slipper until he was sore.
The boy then looked up askance,
And his mother cast down a mad glance;
"Do you know now," said she,
"Where your hat ought to be?"
"Yes," he answered, "inside of my pants."
CULTIVATING HIS CHEEK.
A young man with a breath like a glue factory, and a
nose like an auction flag, stepped up to the Michigan Cen-
tral ticket office, and roughly elbowed a would-be purchaser
of a pasteboard pass to Kalamazoo.
"Well, hold on, don't shove that way!" expostulated the
traveler. "I've got as much right here as you have."
"O, you go to Jerico, you wall eyed snuff-dipper," re-
plied the aggressive youth.
"Why! What in --- well I'm danged if you ain't the
freshest bloke that ever crawled out of a corn crib. Do
you blow off at sixty pounds, or run your guage up to one
hundred and forty?"
"I'll blow off enough for you, you variegated sneak-
theif. I'm on the ----"
Then the man en route for Kalamazoo suddenly took his
fist out fo the place where the young man's teeth had
formerly been located, kicked in a couple of his ribs, and
was just preparing to add a few more architectural orna-
ments to his head piece, when an officious policeman col-
lared him and got him to walk up to the other end of the
platform.
"I was told," explained the young man when seated in
the drug store, "that I hadn't got cheek enough to get
along in a big city, and was rather too retiring and bashful
like. So I kinder tried to cultivate it and give it a little ex-
ercise. That's what caused most of the trouble."
-----
"It was a nimble editor
Whom from St. Louis came,
And thought himself a creditor
Of heaven, and so his name
Bold in the gateman's hand he thrust,
Who bade him get right in --
But hied him eke with something just
Suggestive of a grin.
"Awhile the elevator stood,
'Til, vexed at the delay.
This editor in anxious mood
Crisped forth: 'Old fellow, say,
When's this 'ere chariot goin' up?'
St. Peter with a frown
Replied: ''Tis not above you'll sup --
This 'ere is goin' down!'"
TIT-WILLOW.
On the edge of a piss-pot a maiden once sat,
Singing "willow, tit-willow, tit-willow,"
And she sighed and she cried for a little "old hat,"
Singing "willow, tit-willow, tit-willow."
As she sat there and piddle this doleful refrain,
She seemed to add sorrowful tune to the strain,
As she sobbed and she moaned like a spirit in pain.
"Tit-willow, tit-willow, tit-willow."
As she gazed down below where her little "twat" lay,
Singing "willow, tit-willow, tit-willow,"
These words she spoke in her tenderest way,
Singing "willow, tit-willow, tit-willow."
I wish some bold lover would end my suspense;
Would I were possessed of a penis immense,
I would soon be transported from here to the whence,
Singing "willow, tit-willow, tit-willow."
As she sat there alone in her maidenly greif,
Singing "willow, tit-willow, tit-willow,"
A strapping young man came to her relief,
With a pillow, a pillow, a pillow.
And placing it under he amorous head,
He knocked the spots out of her sweet maidenhead,
And charmed her until her sorrow all fled,
On the pillow, the pillow, the pillow.
On a young lady's breast grew a very large tit,
Big as hello, O hello, O hello,
It was rather too large for so young a tit-bit,
And mellow, so mellow, so mellow.
What make it so large and so juicy? I cried,
Whose worm have you had in your little inside?
With a tear in her eye and a sob, she replied:
"My fellow, my fellow, my fellow."
-----
A stuttering Hoosier, in town for a day,
Was sauntering through Little Hell,
When a head was stuck out of a window to say.
Come and toy with sweet Venus a spell.
Oh, nun-nun-nun-no-no more gods for this boy,
Yu-you-ca-ca-can't fool me again.
I've tut-toyed with her once and ha-had a long toy
Wi-with mercury ever since then.
THE NUGGET.
Some prospectors having heard that Marsden had taken
out a twelve pound lump, called at his shanty to see the
lump or nugget, and possibly make a bargain.
They reached the house, but Mrs. Marsden only was at
home, when the following dialogue ensued:
"We were told that your husband took out a twelve
pound lump."
"You were correctly informed."
"Is he working the claim alone?"
"Yes, save what help he gets from me."
"Ah! then the spot is near here?"
"It is quite near."
"Can we see it?"
"Oh, no; I couldn't think of showing it to you."
"The it is a secret place, Madam?"
"Quite private, I assure you."
"How long has he been digging in it?"
"Almost a year."
"Had anyone been digging there before?"
"No, indeed."
"Do you think he would sell a part of the claim?"
"I am quite sure he would not."
"Nor work it on shares, Madam?"
"No, sir."
"Has he the lump still?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can we see it?"
"Certainly; here it is," and she uncovered the baby in
its crib.
"Sold, by thunder!"
-----
WRITE TO ME.
Tell her to write to me,
Tell her, I pray.
Tell her I love her,
If you see K.
Your message to K
Is delivered, said she.
I will call 'round tomorrow
To see you and T.
DEFINING AN ANTHEM.
It is possible to enjoy that which we can not define. A
sailor who had been to a church service, where he heard
some fine music, was afterward descanting upon an anthem
which had given him great pleasure.
A listening shipmate finally asked, "I say, Bill, what's a
hanthem?"
"What!" exclaimed Bill. "Do you mean to say you
don't know what a hanthem is?"
"Not me."
"Well, then, I'll tell yer. If I was to tell yer, 'Ere, Bill,
give me that 'andspike,' that wouldn't be a handthem. But
if I was to say. 'Bill, Bill, Bill, give give give me, give
me that, bill, give me, give me that 'and, give me that
'and, 'andspike, 'and, 'andspike, spike, spike, spike. Ah-
men, ah-men. Billgivemethat'andspike, spike, Ahmen!'
why, that would be a hanthem!"
-----
THE BURGLAR AND THE EDITOR.
A burglar climbed into an editor's room --
Needy and poor was he --
And he saw in the dim, uncertain gloom,
With legs as longs as the stem of a broom,
A pair of trousers -- "I'll just freeze to 'em,"
He chuckled with fiendish glee.
He lifted them up from the back of a chair;
Lightly they hung on his arm;
They were the editor's only pair,
Thinner than gossamer everywhere;
Oh, but the kness were worn and bare --
Good clothes -- when the weather is warm.
All over the room he searched in vain;
There was no more to find;
There was no sign of sordid gain,
No passing drops from a golden rain, --
Only the wealth of the sleeper's brain,
The peace of the editor's mind.
He turned his back on that happy home,
Thoughtfully hefting those pants;
Out of the window he cautiously clome;
He emptied the pockets -- a broken comb,
A stub of a pencil, a manuscript pome,
Answered his searching glance.
He started; the tears flashed into his eyes;
He leaned up against the fence:
A look of pitying, mute surprise
Softened his face; he stifled his cries;
He looked at his swag and measured its size:
Value -- about nine cents.
Into his pockets -- his own -- he went,
And he dragged out a ten-dollar bill;
And he hastily crammed it, every cent,
Into the editor's pocket, and bent
The trousers into a wad and sent
Them over the window-sill.
Then on to a wealthier house he sped, --
"'Twas charity well bestowed,"
He said to himself; and when night had fled,
And the editor rose from his virtuous bed,
And found the money, he whistled and said:
"Well, I am essentially blowed!"
----
BECAUSE.
A boy asked his father one evening
About the great writer "Boz."
"Now why in the world do you want to know?"
Said the boy to his father, "Because."
"Now, why," said the boy, "do bad men steal.
And are always breaking the laws?"
The man looked at his boy and said:
"Because, my boy, because."
If you want to get out of something,
And have to stop and pause;
There is one little word that will fill in the blank,
And that little word is "because."
-----
Which runs the fastest, heat or cold?
Heat: because you can catch cold.
BEECHER'S DREAM.
Henry Ward Beecher once had a dream which probably
caused him to again revise his opinions in regard to hell.
One night deep and profound sleep had overcome the great
Brooklyn clergyman, and he dreamed his last days had
come. At last the moment came when the spirit stood out-
side the tenement of clay. There came up to him a very
gentlemanly man, and said: "Mr. Beecher, I have been
commissioned by his majesty to conduct you into the king-
dom and the royal city, where a palace has already been
prepared for you."
"Who are you?" said Beecher.
"I am Dives, of whom you have doubtless heard."
"But," said Beecher, "where are you going to take me?"
"To hell, of course."
"I had come to believe there was no hell, and so preached.
It was a terrible mistake," said Beecher, somewhat fright-
ened.
"Come," said his companion, as a magnificent carriage,
Drawn by four of the most splendid horses Brother Beecher
had ever seen, was halted near to them, "this is to take us
to the depot at the border of the kingdom. We will then
proceed to the imperial city by rail. A special coach has
been provided for you."
They got in, and if the outside of the carriage was at-
tractive, the inside surpassed anything on earthy for lux-
urious appointments.
The horses parnced over a road paved with ivory. The
sky was clear, and the air was balmy. The ride was ex-
hilarating, and Brother Beecher said:
"Well, friend Dives, you are surely deceiving me, this
can't be hell."
"O, yes, this is hell."
"Well, if it's hell, it's good enough for me. It's ahead
of earth."
After a few hours' drive over a road along which the
scenery was of the most enchanting beauty, they arrived at
a railway station constructed of the purest white marble,
and which was a model of architectural beauty. At the
rear of it was a lovely grove of tropical trees. There was
sweet music in the air, and millions of birds of the most
brilliant plumage were warbling their notes in the branches
of the trees.
Dives took Beecher out into the grove, and a repast such
as only kings can sit down to, was spread upon a table be-
fore him. The ride had whetted his appetite and he ate
heartily. After the repast the rarest of wines were set out
before the Brooklyn preacher, and he drank freely.
"That wine," said Dives, "was of the vintage of the
year after the flood, and was manufactured by old Father
Noah."
"I don't blame the old fellow for getting a little set up
on such wine as that. If this is hell, it's good enough for
me," said Beecher.
The train was soon ready to start. Beecher was lifted
upon a litter by four slaves and carried to a special coach
provided for him. The train moved out through a country
that was of unsurpassed loveliness. The mountains and
hills were covered with verdure from base to summit.
Lordly palaces reared their turrets, and castles their battle-
ments above the orange and palm groves. There were no
large towns, but numerous costly residences belongin to
his majesty's creditors. Formerly the land was parceled
out among the people, but the celestial power made ware
upon his majesty, and he was obliged to raise money to
carry it on.
He was shown the palace se apart for him. It was more
more magnificent than the residence of earthly royalty.
There was a cathedral close at hand for him to preach in
whenever he should desire. There were troops of servants
to do his bidding, gold and silver and precious stones in
abundance, downy couches, ottomans and divans -- every-
thing, in short, to captivate the sense.
"Well, well," said Beecher, "if this is hell, it is
certainly good enough for me."
For several days he enjoyed himself far beyond his ex-
pectations, and thought that he would rather be in hell
than on earth or in heaven. On the fourth day, during a
very pleasant interview with his Satanic majesty, Bro.
Beecher observed that it was very singular to him that the
women were not allowed to mingle in society, as he had
seen one since his arrival.
"Sir," said his majesty, "women are not allowed in this
kingdom. They have a kingdom by themselves. No man
is allowed to go there, and no woman to come here."
"Then, sure enough, this is hell," said Beecher, and he
awoke.
THE SONG OF THE NEW BLIZZARD.
I'm the southeastern blizzard, I am!
I'm a storm with a gizzard, I am!
I'm as fierce as Her Most as I rage up the coast,
I'm a terror to tigers, I am!
Dakota's best blizzard I can
Knock out from Beersheba to Dan!
When I tear up and down and have fun with a town,
I'm a ripper and roarer, I am!
I'm a jayhawk that's crested, I am!
I'm a cyclone that's tested, I am!
I've got blood in my eye, and I make the fur fly;
I'm a lolla, a whooper, I am!
I'm a thing that won't stay back, I am!
I'm a wrecker from way back, I am!
Whoop! I've hair on my breast! I can anything best!
I'm a -- whoop! -- a Jim dandy, I am!
-----
The commercial traveler of a Philadelphia house while
in Tennessee approached a stranger as the train was about
to start and said: "Are you going on this train?" "I am."
"Have you any baggage?" "No." "Well, my friend, you
can do me a favor and it won't cost you anything. You
see, I've two big trunks, and they always make me pay ex-
tra for one of them. You can get one of them checked on
your ticket, and we'll euchre them. See?" "Yes, I see;
but I haven't any ticket." "But I thought you said you
were going on this train?" "So I am; I'm the conductor."
"Oh!" He paid extra, as usual.
-----
Old Triggs -- Hello, Jones, got your feet sopping wet,
haven't you? Why don't you war rubbers, as I do? I
haven't wet my feet in sex months.
Jones -- Well, I should think you would be ashamed to
say so.
-----
Base-ball is played by eighteen persons wearing shirts
and drawers. They scatter around a field and try to catch
a cannon-ball covered with raw-hide. The game is to get
people to pay to come inside the fence.
A HARROWING SUSPICION.
He -- And you are sure that I am the first and only man
who ever kissed you?
She -- Of course I am sure. You do not doubt my word,
do you?
He -- Of course I do not doubt you, my darling. I love
you too madly, too devotedly for that. But why, oh, why
did you reach for the lines the very instant I ventured to
put my arm around you if you had never been there before?
-----
TWO PICTURES.
BEFORE MARRIAGE.
My Maggie, my beautiful darling,
Come into my arms, my sweet.
Let me fold you again to my bosom
So close I can hear your heart beat.
What! these little fingers been sewing?
One's been pricked by the needle, I see;
These hands shall be kept free from labor
When once they are given to me.
All mine, little pet, I will shield you
From trouble, and labor and care,
I will robe you like some fairy princess,
And jewels shall gleam in your hair;
Those slippers you gave me are perfect,
That dressing gown fits to a T --
My darling, I wonder that heaven
Should give such a treasure to me.
Eight -- nine -- ten -- eleven! my precious,
Time flies so when I am with you,
It seems but a moment I've been here,
And now, must I say it? -- Adieu!
AFTER MARRIAGE.
Oh, Meg, you are heavy -- I'm tired;
Go sit in the rocker, I pray;
Your weight seems a hundred and ninety
When you plump down in the sort of way.
You had better be mending my coat sleeve --
I've spoken about it before --
And I want to finish this novel
And look over those bills from the store.
This dressing gown acts like the d----l;
These slippers run down at the heel;
Strange, nothing can ever look decent;
I wish you could know how they feel.
What's this bill from Morgan's? Why, surely,
It's not for another new dress?
Look here! I'll be a bankrupt ere New Year,
Or your store bills will have to grow less.
Eight o'clock! Meg, sew on this button
As soon as you finish that sleeve;
Heigh-ho! I'm so deucedly sleepy,
I'll pile off to bed, I believe.
-----
There was one married man got scared the other night.
He sent out a note to his wife about 9 o'clock to say that
he would not be home until late. The messenger boy
when he delivered the message happened to mention that
he had gone to the wrong house and had been very wrath-
fully treated by a man for disturbing him. The wife read
the note, which was on a scrap of paper. She thought a
minute.
"I'll give you four bits if you'll take this note back and
tell that story without saying you came here. Don't say it
was the wrong number."
The boy found the husband.
"Well, why do you bring this back?"
"They wouldn't take it, sir. A man came to the door
and told me to go to the devil."
"All right. Get out."
The husband turned up quite early. He looked at his
wife.
"I sent you a note, but he boy must have taken it to the
wrong house."
"I suppose so," said the wife, innocently; "I haven't
got it."
And that man was dying to find out whether anybody
had called, but he was afraid to ask.
-----
The Cleveland preacher took for his text: "He giveth his
beloved sleep." And then he said, as he glanced around,
that the way his congregation had worked itself into the
affection of the Lord was amazing.
"DOT LEEDLE FUR CAP."
----
THE OLD MAN'S CHRISTMAS.
De next day vos Krismas, de nite it vas shtill,
De schtockins vos hung up, expecting dere fill,
Und nodings vas schtirring ad all in der house.
For fear dot St. Nicholas vos nix com arouse;
Der schild en vos tired and gone by der bedt,
Und mudder in nite cap, und I in bare hedt,
Vos searching aroundt in der kloset for toys,
Ve krept aroundt quiet und not make no noise;
Now mudder's nite gown vos all up by her face,
Und her berson exposed all de vay to her vaist,
Ven, as ve abbroached de krib of our boy --
Our shweetest und youngest -- our bride und our joy --
His eyes vos vide open, he beeps troo der shlatt.
Und he sees everydings vot mueder did hadt;
Und ven he did see all dem toys in her lap,
He ax her, "For who vos dot leedle fur cap?"
Und his mudder say "Sh---h! und she laff out de harder,
Ven she tole him, "I gues I giff dot to your fadder."
-----
One stormy night a man stopped at a hotel and asked
for lodging. "House all full," said the landlord, but one
room with two beds, in one of which a lady is sleeping. If
you will not disturb her, you can sleep in that room."
The traveller being sleepy, consented, and was in the dark
softly shown to his bed. About two o'clock in the morning
there was more noise in that tavern than forty men could
make with gongs. Such howling was never before heard.
The landlord and his guests assembled in the dining-room,
and the traveller came rushing in, half-clad, screaming
that the woman in the other bed was stone dead. "I
knew it," said the inhuman landlord, "but how came you
to find it out?" Nothing like being able to give positive
proof.
-----
Why is a rheumatic person like a glass window?
Because hee is full of pains (panes).
-----
Why is the fourth of July like an oyster stew?
Because it's no good without crackers.
