Andrew Lang once wrote to Israel Zangwill to ask him to take part in an author’s reading for the benefit of a charity, and received in reply the following laconic message: “If A. Lang will—I. Zangwill.”
Mr. Peet, a rather diffident man, was unable to prevent himself from being introduced one evening to a fascinating young lady, who, misunderstanding his name, constantly addressed him as Mr. Peters, much to the gentleman’s distress. Finally, summoning courage, he bashfully but earnestly remonstrated:
“Oh, don’t call me Peters; call me Peet!”
“Ah, but I don’t know you well enough, Mr. Peters,” said the young lady, blushing as she playfully withdrew behind her fan.
Senator Tillman, of South Carolina, tells of a little girl whose statements were always exaggerated until she became known in school and Sunday-school as a “little liar.” Her parents were dreadfully worried about her, and made strenuous efforts to correct the bad habit. One afternoon her mother overheard an argument with her playmate. Willie Bangs, who seemed to finish the discussion by saying emphatically: “I’m older than you, ‘cause my birthday comes first, in May, and yours don’t come until September.”
“Oh, of course your birthday comes first,” sneeringly answered little Nellie; “but that is ‘cause you came down first. I remember looking at the angels when they were making you.”
“Come here, Nellie; come here instantly,” cried her mother. “It is breaking mother’s heart,” said she, “to hear you tell such awful stories. Remember what happened to Ananias and Sapphira, don’t you?”