Mis. Do you know where they are?
Rosa. Yes’m.
Mis. Well—where are they?
Rosa. Under the kitchen table. You can find them there when they are wanted.
A bereaved widower had ordered a bust of his late wife, and called on the sculptor to inspect the work. “If you want any alterations,” said the artist, “it is only in the clay, you see, and can easily be retouched.
The widower gazed at it sadly.
“It is just like her ... the nose rather large ... a sure indication of kindliness and benevolence....”
Then bursting into tears—
“She was so good!... Can’t you make her nose a great deal longer?”
A few days ago there appeared on the last page of a newspaper the following advertisement:—