Many interesting and amusing stories have been told of the late Judge Jeremiah Black, an eminent jurist and a very prominent member of President Buchanan’s Cabinet. On one occasion the judge and a legal friend were coming out of the Capitol at Harrisburg, Pa. The judge was busy discussing a certain case at law in which he was interested, and his friend was very hungry. “Say, judge,” said he, “let’s get something to eat. I’m awful hungry.” “Well,” said the judge, “come on. Right down this street is a good place. I know it well.” And they walked on arm in arm, the judge laying down the law as they proceeded. To the amazement of the judge they pulled up in front of an engine house!
“Oh, no,” said the judge, laughing, “I’ve made a mistake. This isn’t the place. Oh—I see. It’s right up this street around the corner.” Around the corner they went, walked three blocks and halted in front of a church!
Again the judge looked foolish and said: “Oh, no. This isn’t the place either. Let me see. Oh—now I have it. The place I was thinking of is in—Baltimore!”
His companion groaned and made a break for the nearest hotel.
LITERATURE MADE EASY
A man wrote to the editor of a small weekly newspaper asking a very simple question: “How can I get an article into your esteemed paper?” and the cruel editor wrote in reply: “It all depends on the kind of article you want to get into our paper. If it is small in bulk, like a hair-brush or a tea-caddy, for instance, spread the paper out on the floor nice and smooth, place the article exactly in the center, neatly fold the edges over it, and tie with a string. This will keep the article from slipping out. If, on the other hand, the article is an English bath-tub or a clothes-horse, you will find one of the New York Sunday papers better suited to your purpose.”
SURE CURE FOR SNORING
I was visiting my friend Nicholas von Spoopendyke over in New York. He has a splendid mansion away uptown, very handsomely furnished. One day he took me all over the house. His bedroom was beautiful indeed, all furnished with rich old mahogany polished like a looking-glass. I was admiring the bed. It was a very old “Napoleon,” most finely veneered and carved, and the bed was faultlessly made up, with a spotless white counterpane, level as a board and not a wrinkle in sight. Beautiful!
“That’s my white elephant,” said Spoopendyke. “I always walk round it and keep my distance. When I was first married and before I knew the rules of the house, I sat down on the side of the bed to take off my shoes—once. I’ve never done that since. Say—that’s a mighty fine bed, ain’t it? For one thing, it always tells me when I’m sick. If I lay down on that bed in the day-time, and pull the white cover over me, and my wife doesn’t say nothing—then I know I’m a sick man, and the doctor’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Say ——“ continued Spoopendyke, growing quite confidential, “I had a queer experience the other night. My wife she says I snore. Well, mebby I do. Most men do. But women snore, too, and you can’t never get ’em to confess it. Well, I was lying wide awake thinking of some bills I had to pay—and had no money to pay ’em with—and beside me lay my wife snoring like all creation. She got higher and louder and louder and higher, till she waked herself up with a tremendous whoop. Then she kicked me—thinking it was me that was making the racket. I said nothing, and she sailed in again—up, up, up she went, higher and higher till she woke up again at the top and said, ‘Nick—stop your blame snoring.’ I said nothing, and she went to work at once again blowing her bugle-horn till she waked up again. This time she was mad. She got up and said something about ‘getting the fire-extinguisher and turning it loose on him,’ and went off to bed in the next room. I lay still listening and laughing, as I heard her blowing the fog-horn again. I laughed till I forgot all about those bills and went to sleep. And the next morning at the breakfast table when she told me how I kept her awake all night with my awful snoring—and how even in the next room she couldn’t sleep for the racket I kept up—I just laughed. Tell her? Not a bit of it. What’s the use? She wouldn’t believe me, and I couldn’t prove it.”