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By TAD
By George McManus
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'—@ Up-to-Date Jokes @ l
When Mr. W. D. Howells, the fa
mous American writer, was editing
an American magazine, a young man
called .on him at the office and of
fered him a poem, Mr. Howells read
the poem and thought it was good,
but somehow it seemed rather fa
miliar.
“Did you write this unaided?’ he
asked.
“l 1 did¢’ replied the youthful poet.
“T wrote every line of ijt.”
“Then I am very glad to meet you,
Lord Byron,” said Mr. Howells., “But
1 was under the impression that you
had died some years ago.” _—
During a concert tour of the late
Theodore Thomas and his celebrated
orchestra, one of the musicians died,
and the following telegram was im
mediately dispa?(‘hed to the parents
of the deceased:
“John Black died suddenly to-day.
Advise by wire as to disposition.”
In a few hours the answer was re
celved, reading as follows:
“We are broken-hearted; his dis
position was a roving one.”
They were discussing the relative
position of various countries as mu
sical centers. Germany seemed (0
have the most votaries, much to the
evident displeasure of one excitable
Italian, who wished his own country
to carry off the palm.
“Italy is turning out the most mu
sicians, and has always turned out the
most,” he cried.
“Ach!"” exclaimed a German pres
ent, “can you blame them?”
“Professor, I know, my son 18
rather slow, but in the two years
that you have had charge of his edu
cation he must have developed a ten
dency in some direction or other.
What occupation do you suggest as
a possible outlet for his energies,
such as they are?”
“Well, sir, I think he is admirably
fitted for taking moving pictures of
a glacier.”
“YWhy do you insist on having the
biggest share of the pudding, Harry?”
asked the mother of z: small boy.
“Isn't your older brother entitled to
¥ g
“No, he isn't,” replied the little
fellow. “He was eating pudding two
yvears before 1 was born.”
Determination Triumphed.
Percy was motoring in his new caz.
It was a pale-green affair—a sort of
young lettuce-colored thing, with here
and there a stripe of salad dressing.
The lanes are narrow, and the
hedges are high. Percy rather liked
that, as it gave him a chance of ex
ercising the latest thing in hooters,
known as “The Dying Gladiator.”
However, he was eventually brought
to a standstill by a farmer's gig o:-
cupying the whole of the road. Percy
protested in vain that the old farmer
should back his horse to a wider part
of the road. The farmer was of tlie
opinion that, as Percy's car had no
mouth to be pulled about, it should
do the backing.
But Percy came of a fighting stock
—his father had once been at the War
Office—-s 0 he pulled out a paper and
began to read it, or, rather. to pre
tend to read it.
Half an hour passed thusly., Then
the farmer yawned.
“l say, mister, when you've done
with the paper let us know, and I'll
come along and borrow it!"”
Perey backed,
Little Bobbie's
Pa
UM of Ma's club friends was 'p
to the house last nite, talkiog
about Shakespeer & and the
glad day that is cummin wen wim
men will have thare rites, & pa hd
te*wtay in beekaus it was raining o
hard that nobody was out on he
streets at all. All the fun Pa was
abel to have was to contradick every
thing that the club ladies sed, & he
did that all the time.
Thare is nothing so sublime as the
sublim-ity of Shakespeer, sed onc of
the club ladies.
I nevver cud see why peepul went
so dippy oaver Shakespeer, sed [’
Of course, he was a pretty riter, but I
have just been reeding sum oOf 'he
works of Rider Haggard, & 1 th:ink
he is grater than Shakespeer. !
Oh, hevings, sed all the club ladi s
at onst, what in the wurld are you
saying? Why, they sed, Rider Iluz
gard ‘was just a riter of lite fickshun,
& Shakespeer was the master riter
of all time. Why, he was as much
grater than Haggard.as a pipe orgun
is greater than a pénny whistle.
I nevver cud see it that way, =ed
Pa. Thay call his gtuff poetry, but he
dident eeven know how to maik th>
lines rhyme at the ends., Lissen, =eil
Pa;
Yon Cassius hath a lean & hungry
look;
He thinks too much—such men are
dangerous.
Now, sed Pa, do you meen to te!!
me that any self-regpeck-ting poet
of to-day would try to rhyme “loox”
with “dangerous?” You mite as we!l
try to rhyme “heaven” with “Bi.-
mingham, Alabama.”
But, my deer sir, you do not under
stand, sed one of the club ladies, Mi=-
ter Shakespeer dident intend that the
lines of his grate romantic poems
shud rhyme. He rote moastly what
is called blank verse. It has ihe
rithem & swing & lilt to it, but not
the rhyme.
Then . isent poetry, sed Pa.
What do you call poetry? sed one
of the ladies. .
Well, sed Pa, Wex Jones was telling
me one time about a man that rote «
poem on a envelope insted of a ad
dress. The envelope con-tained a let.
ter to a wood chopper in Silver Cuy,
ldaho, & the man that addressed the
letter rote on the envelepe:
John Anderson, the red-faced scrub)
To whom this letter ought to go.
Is chopping hardwood for his grub
At Silver City, Ildaho.
That is what I call true poetry, sel
Pa. It has the rithem & the rhym?
to it, & at the saim time it is useful.
All of the ladies looked at eecch
other & thay looked at Ma., Ma looked
man shud eetter rite poetry or prose,
at Pa.
1 have always sed, sed Pa, that «
man shud eether rite poetry or prose.
If it has the tinkel & musick to if, it
is poetry.” If it doesnt have the tinkel
& musick to it, it is prose. You
ladies cud set thare & argue with n:e
all nite, sed Pa, but you cuddent
change my mind a partikel.
Jest then it stopped raining & I’v
put on his coat & hat & went out ¢
visit the boys at the corner. 1 gugss
Ma & her club friends was glad [
guess Pa was glad, too.
Good Reason Why.
He was an Inquisitive little man,
was Jenks—a busybody; one of those
people who make a’point of finding
out everything about everything,
especially when the thing in question
is no concern of theirs.
Why, therefore, he elected to spend
a winter holiday at Slocombe-on-Mudl
none of his friends could understand.
And Jenks himself heartily regretted
his decision after he had spent t(wo
days there. It was the dullest place
on earth,
Then suddenly he heard of the vil
lage centenarian. There lay a chance
to continue the pursuit «f knowledge.
Jenks forthwith hastened to the old
man’s cottage.
“And to what, if I may ask the
question,” he began, “do you attribute
your longevity?”
The old man removed the long
“churchwarden” from his nouth,
looked at the young man, then, with
a toothless lisp, dryly replied:
“Po the fact that I have never
died?”
Something More to Tell.
“This life,” said Muggins to him
self, as he stood at Charing (‘ross
and watched the stream of people
and vehicles d
It was his first visit to London, and
he was making a note of everything
of interest to tell the village debating
society on his return home,
Already he had invested in a soft
hat with a tuft of feathers at the
back. He had quickly caught the
angle at which it should be worn, so
that not a hair was tg be scen on his
noble brow,
As a further doggish ruse, he had
adopted a pair of orange-toned spats,
and, feeling one of London's K'nuts,
he strolled down the Strand.
The spirit of adventure was strong
upon him, and he, with inward fut
terings, decided to try a theater that
displayed _alluring posters on the
other ¢ide of the street,
But, alas, when midwey a motor
bus laid him low,
“Where am 17" he gasped, as he
breathlessly sat up,
“'Bre yer are, sir,” quickly an
swered an enterprising gutter mer
chant. “Map of London, only one
penny.”