AXIOMS

Tew brake a mule—commence at his head.

In shooting at a deer that looks like a calf, always aim so as to miss it if it iz a calf, and to hit it if it iz a deer.

Tew git rid of cock-roaches—sell yure house, and lot, and flee tew the mountains.

Tew pick out a good husband—shut up both eyes, grab hard, and trust in the Lord.

There ain’t nothing that iz a sure kure for laziness, but i hav known a second wife tew hurry it sum.

Josh Billings Allminax.

A GOOD AFTER-DINNER SPEECH

It was his first banquet, and they were making speeches. Everybody was being called on for a speech, and he was in mortal terror, for he had never made a speech in his life. An old-timer at his side cruelly suggested that he “get under the table—or say a prayer.” His name was called and he got up with fear and trembling, and said:

“My friends, I never made a speech in all my life, and I’m just scared nearly to death. A friend here beside me has suggested two things for me to do—to get under the table, or to pray. Well, I couldn’t get under the table without observation, and now that I am on my feet, I can’t think of any other prayer to say except one that I used to hear my sister Mary say in the morning when mother called us—‘O Lord, how I do hate to get up!’”

WHAT THE STATUTE DID NOT SAY

When Benjamin F. Butler lived in Lowell, Massachusetts, he had a little black-and-tan dog. One morning, as he was coming down the street, followed by the dog, a policeman stopped him and told him that, in accordance with an ordinance just passed, he must muzzle the dog.

“Very well,” said Butler.

Next morning he came along with the dog, and the policeman again told him of the muzzling ordinance and requested him to muzzle the dog.

“All right,” snorted Butler. “It is a fool ordinance, but I’ll muzzle him. Let me pass.”

Next morning the policeman was on the lookout. “I beg your pardon, General,” he said, “but I must arrest you. Your dog is not muzzled.”

“Not muzzled?” shouted Butler. “Not muzzled? Well, look at him.”

The policeman looked more carefully at the dog and found a tiny, toy muzzle tied to its tail.

“General,” he expostulated, “this dog is not properly muzzled.”

“Yes, he is, sir,” asserted Butler. “Yes, he is. I have examined that idiotic statute and I find it says that every dog must wear a muzzle. It doesn’t say where the dog shall wear the muzzle, and I choose to decorate the tail of my dog instead of the head with this infernal contraption.”

A LINCOLN STORY

“One day,” said General Howard, “Mr. Lincoln saw Senator Fessenden coming toward his office room. Mr. Fessenden had received the promise of some appointment in Maine for one of his constituents. The case had been overlooked. As soon as Mr. Lincoln caught sight of the Senator he saw he was angry, and called out: ‘Say, Fessenden, aren’t you an Episcopalian?’ Mr. Fessenden, somewhat taken aback, answered, ‘Yes, I belong to that persuasion, Mr. President.’ Mr. Lincoln then said, ‘I thought so. You swear so much like Seward. Seward is an Episcopalian. But, you ought to hear Stanton swear. He can beat you both. He is a Presbyterian.’”

ANOTHER LINCOLN STORY

Some one once called on President Lincoln during the war to suggest some change of command for General B——, who did not seem to do well as a commander anywhere. “Well,” said Mr. Lincoln, “that’s so. General B—— doesn’t fit in well anywhere. He reminds me of an experience I once had with a piece of iron I found while at work in the woods. I thought it would make a good axe-head, and took it to a blacksmith. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘it’ll make a good axe.’ So he put it into the fire, made it red-hot and pounded away on it on his anvil. After hammering it a good while, he stopped and said, ‘No, it won’t make an axe, but I tell you, it’ll make a mighty good clevis.’ So I told him to make a clevis out of it. Then he heated it again, and again pounded away at it a great while, and then stopped and looked at it and said, ‘No, it won’t make a clevis neither. But,’ said he, holding it red-hot in his pincers over his tub of water, ‘I’ll tell you what it will make. It will make a blame’ good fizzle.’ And here he dropped it into the tub—and it

fizzled.”

SHE DRIED UP

The occupants of a Pullman sleeper were diligently trying to get some rest, but could not. There was a very thirsty woman in one of the berths who kept the whole car awake by her perpetual song of—“Oh, I am so dry. I am so dry. My, but I am dry. Dear me, what shall I do? I am so dry.”

“Hello, Porter!” at last sang out a gentleman across the way, “For Heaven’s sake give that woman some ice water, and plenty of it. I want to get some sleep.”

The Porter brought a glass of water. He brought a second glass. She drank them both—and took up her song afresh—

“My, but I was dry. I was so dry. I never was so dry in all my life. Dear me, but I was dry.”

“Oh, Great Scott, woman,” sang out the man across the way, “dry up, and let me sleep!”

A TIMELY ANSWER

In the good old days of the rod of birch a Philadelphia school teacher was very partial to one of his boys, and very severe to another. One day they were both tardy. Rod in hand he called them both up on the floor. “James, my boy,” said he to the favorite regretfully, but kindly, “why were you late to-day?” “You see, sir,” replied James, “I was asleep, sir, and I dreamed I was going to California, and I was down on the wharf, and I thought the school-bell was the bell of the steamboat.” “That will do, my boy,” said the teacher, glad of an excuse to shield his favorite, “always tell the truth, my boy. And now, sir,” said he to the other sternly, “and where were you?” “You, see, sir,” said the other candidly, “I was down on the wharf waitin’ to see Jim off!”

THAT TERRIBLE INFANT

Annie had a beau. She also had a small brother of the proverbially troublesome age of five. One day at the dinner table they were teasing Annie about Mr. Lovejoy—that was the beau’s name—and Annie declared that she didn’t like him one bit, and said moreover that Mr. Lovejoy “had a soft spot in his head.” That called off the dogs, for a time at least, but her brother Bobbie took note.

The next evening Mr. Lovejoy called to see Annie. They were both in the parlor. He was sitting on the sofa, and she occupied a chair on the other side of the room. Bobbie strolled into the room, climbed up on the sofa and began a very diligent examination of Mr. Lovejoy’s head. He felt all over it, and looked puzzled. Mr. Lovejoy was puzzled likewise, and at length said, “Why, Bobbie, what are you examining my head for? Are you studying phrenology?” “No,” said the boy, “Sister Annie says you have a soft spot on your head somewhere, and I was just trying to find it!”

They made it up somehow, and Mr. Lovejoy began to call again, evidently with better results. For, one rainy day the father of the household was looking everywhere in the hall for his umbrella. “Where’s my umbrella, Annie?” asked he. “I believe somebody has carried it off.” And Bobbie said, “Annie’s beau stole it.” And Annie said, “Bobbie! how dare you say such a thing of Mr. Lovejoy?” And Bobbie said, “I know he did, because when he was giving you good-night at the hat-rack last night, I heard him say as plain as could be, ‘I’m going to steal just one!’”

ALMOST WON THE BET

Two Irish hod-carriers were arguing about their ability to carry their hods safely to the top of a high building. One said he could carry a tumbler of water on top of his load without spilling a drop. And Pat said, “Ach! a tumbler of water! Why, Mike, I could carry you in my hod to the top of this ten-story buildin’ without spillin’ you.” And Mike said, “I bet you tin dollars you can’t.” “Done!” said Pat. “Get into my hod.”

Mike got in, and up Pat went quickly and safely until he came to the sixth floor, when all of a sudden his foot slipped off the rung of the ladder and his hod pitched, threatening to deposit its cargo on the sidewalk seventy-five feet below. But with a mighty effort he steadied himself, grasped his hod tight and proceeded to the top safely, where he deposited Mike on the floor of the scaffolding with, “There, Mike, I’ve won the bet. Out wid yer tin dollars.” “Sure, ye did, Pat,” said Mike, “the tin is yours, but whin ye got to the sixth flure, an’ stoombled—be gob, I thought I had ye!”

THE USE OF RICHES

In a sleeping car one morning not long ago a Vermont man was accosted by his neighbor opposite, who was putting on his shoes, with the inquiry: “My friend, allow me to inquire, are you a rich man?” The Vermonter looked astonished, but answered the pleasant-faced, tired-looking gentleman with a “Yes, I am tolerably rich.” A pause occurred, and then came another question, “How rich are you?” He answered, “Oh—about seven or eight hundred thousand. Why?” “Well,” said the weary-looking old man, “if I were as rich as you say you are, and went traveling, and snored as loud as I know you do, I’d hire a whole sleeper all for myself every time I went traveling.”