TRUE, IF NOT NEW.—520.
A burnt child hates the fire, but a man who has been singed by Cupid's torch always has a sneaking kindness for the old flame.
CURING TWO AFFLICTIONS.—521.
An American secretary of state had two afflictions—an obliging doorkeeper and a pertinacious office-hunter. Day after day the latter called, and the former was too polite to shut him out. The secretary, when he could stand the nuisance no longer, said to the doorkeeper: "Do you know what that man comes after?" "Yes," replied the functionary, "an office, I suppose." "True, but do you know what office?" "No." "Well, then, I'll tell you; he wants your office." The bore was admitted no more.
PLAIN SPOKEN.—522.
"Facts are stubborn things," said a lawyer to a female witness under examination. The lady replied: "Yes, sir-ee, and so are women; and if you get anything out of me just let me know it."—"You'll be committed for contempt."—"Very well; I'll suffer justly, for I feel the utmost contempt for every lawyer present."
POPPING THE QUESTION.—523.
A bachelor, too poor to get married, yet too susceptible to let the girls alone, was riding with a lady "all of a summer's day," and accidentally—(men's arms, awkward things, are ever in the way!)—dropped an arm round her waist. No objection was made for a while, and the arm gradually relieved the side of the carriage of the pressure upon it. But of a sudden, whether from a late recognition of the impropriety of the thing, or the sight of another beau coming, never was known, the lady started with volcanic energy, and with a flashing eye exclaimed: "Mr. B., I can support myself!"—"Capital," was the instant reply, "you are just the girl I have been looking for these five years—will you marry me?"