When the laughter induced by his father's humor had ceased, the boy, with a fine affectation of delight, said:

"Now, dad, _do_ tell the other one!"

The June bride frowned.

"These tomatoes," she said, "are just twice as dear as those across the street. Why is it?"

"Ah, ma'am, these"--and the grocer smiled--"these are hand-picked."

She blushed.

"Of course," she said, hastily; "I might have known. Give me a bushel, please."

Mistress--"Jane, I saw the milkman kiss you this morning. In the future I will take the milk in."

Jane--"'Twouldn't be no use, mum. He's promised never to kiss anybody but me."

Not long ago a man was charged with shooting a number of pigeons, the property of a farmer. In giving his evidence the farmer was exceedingly careful, even nervous, and the solicitor for the defense endeavored to frighten him. "Now," he remarked, "are you prepared to swear that this man shot your pigeons?" "I didn't say he did shoot 'em," was the reply. "I said I suspected him o' doing it." "Ah! now we're coming to it. What made you suspect that man?" "Well, firstly, I caught him on my land wi' a gun. Secondly, I heerd a gun go off an'

saw some pigeons fall. Thirdly, I found four o' my pigeons in his pocket--an' I don't think them birds flew there and committed suicide."

"Mama, can't I go up to the next block and play with the Jones boys?"

asked Henry, a boy of six, who was being brought up very carefully.

"No, indeed!" answered his mother. "They are very bad boys."

"Then can't I go over to see Mrs. Smith's little girls?"

"No, Henry; I'm afraid to let you go."

The little fellow left the room; later, he stuck his head inside with, "Say, mama, I'm going over next door an' play with the dog."

The Right Reverend Chauncey B. Brewster, D.D., Bishop of Connecticut, tells a story which he says is Mrs. Brewster's favorite. It seems the Bishop had caught a small boy stealing apples in his orchard; so, after reproving him severely for some time, he said, "And now, my boy, do you know why I tell you all this? There is One before whom even I am a crawling worm; do you know who?"

"Sure," replied the boy, promptly; "the missus."

A Bishop was once traveling third-cla.s.s on a branch line in Devonshire, England. At one of the stations a countryman got in. After gazing at the Bishop's attire in a puzzled manner for some time, he ventured the remark, "Be you a curate, sir?"

"Well," said the Bishop meditatively, "I was once."

"A-ah," said the rustic, a comprehensive smile overspreading his face, "the drink, I suppose?"

A celebrated parson preached a rather long sermon from the text "Thou art weighed and found wanting." After the congregation had listened about an hour, some began to get weary and went out; others soon followed, greatly to the annoyance of the minister. Another person was about to retire when the minister stopped his sermon and said: "That's right, gentlemen; as fast as you are weighed, pa.s.s out."

"Here, hold my horse a minute, will you?"

"Sir! I'm a Member of Congress!"

"Never mind. You look honest. I'll take a chance."

A red-faced man was holding the attention of a little group with some wonderful recitals.

"The most exciting chase I ever had," he said, "happened a few years ago in Russia. One night, when sleighing about ten miles from my destination I discovered, to my intense horror, that I was being followed by a pack of wolves. I fired blindly into the pack, killing one of the brutes, and to my delight saw the others stop to devour it.

After doing this, however, they still came on. I kept on repeating the dose, with the same result, and each occasion gave me an opportunity to whip up my horse. Finally there was only one wolf left, yet on it came, with its fierce eyes glowing in antic.i.p.ation of a good, hot supper."

Here the man who had been sitting in the corner burst forth into a fit of laughter.

"Why, man," said he, "by your way of reckoning that last wolf must have had the rest of the pack inside him!"

"Ah!" said the red-faced man without a tremor, "now I remember, it did wobble a bit."

Frederic Remington, the ill.u.s.trator, fresh from a Western trip on which he had been making studies of Indians and cowpunchers and things outdoors, met an art editor who insisted upon dragging him up to an exhibition of very impressionistic pictures.

"You don't seem enthusiastic," remarked the editor as they were coming out. "Didn't you like them?"

Remington, remembering what he had been told as a boy, counted ten before replying. Then:

"Like 'em? Say! I've got two maiden aunts in New Roch.e.l.le that can _knit_ better pictures than those!"

The wife of General S. was doing some shopping one morning recently when, coming out of a store, she noticed a small country wagon draw up to the curb. In it sat a woman whom the lady recognized as a former servant in the family who had lost her husband some two or three years before. The woman was clad in deep mourning which had an air of newness about it. Mrs. S. hastened to greet the woman. "How is this, Bridget. I hope you haven't met with any recent bereavement?"

"No, mem, not so racent--it's for poor Mike. I allus said _when_ I could I would--and so I _am_!"

Those who know a certain Southern Senator will picture his ample proportions when they read this story:

While journeying through the South, he was very much annoyed one day at the delay in getting food served in a certain _cafe_. He had given his order, and waited impatiently an unreasonable length of time, when the waiter appeared and was evidently looking for some one who must have gone out without waiting for his meal.