A number of prominent literary men were at one time gathered together in a well-known chop-house in New York. The conversation was, of course, brilliant, and the repartee sparkled with mirth and wit. During a lull in the talk the door was slowly opened, and an old Southern darky, grizzled with age, poked his head in, and then slowly drew his body after him. A waiter immediately started to eject him, when one of the gentlemen cried out, "Wait a moment! let's see what he wants!" The old darky hobbled up to the table where this gentleman sat, and held out his hat. Throwing a wink to his neighbors, the gentleman took the hat, and making a show of placing something into it, bravely passed it on to the next gentleman, who did likewise. The hat made a tour of the entire room, to the puzzled wonder of the darky. The last man to receive it solemnly handed it back, with a very polite bow, saying, "There, sir, don't you think you have something to be thankful for?" The old darky looked slowly round the company, and mechanically taking the hat said, "Gen'men, I's indeed tankful dat I's eben got de hat back." The reply was so thoroughly enjoyed by the company that the old darky left the place a much richer man than he had entered it.
"I don't see why it is," said Ethel, "that they begin the new year in January, when everything is all dead and cold and horrid. I should think they'd begin it in April, when the little buds begin to burst out on the trees, and the grass and crocuses and things begin to come up. Then everything looks new, and it would seem more 'propriate."
WRONG AS TO SEX.
Heber. "Papa, we call a war between people of the same nation an internecine war, don't we?"
Father. "Yes, my boy."
Heber. "Wouldn't it be better to call it an internephew war? The nieces never have anything to do with war."
Bobby. "Did you turn over a new leaf?"