AS YOU LIKE IT.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2486, 21 June 1909, Page 3

AS YOU LIKE IT.

A Newburg goat the other day devoured an entire volume at one sitting. That’s what you might call a regular swallow talfl goat,

A professor says (Ice world is growing larger, but wo doubt whether at will ever be big enough to satisfy the sdlOoiboy with his first pair of trousers and watch. She was a sweetly inexperienced young housekeeper, as one may gather from her remark when someone suggested that she should purchase spring mattresses. " Yes," she said, "if they are in season we had better have one.”

A Claim for Compensation. don’t you work?” said Marivaux to a sturdy beggar who asked alms from him. " You seem strong and hearty.” " Ah, yes,” responded the mendicant,'" but if you only knew how lacy I am." "Don’t you think you have a good mamtyia, to spread nice pieces of breacl-and-jam for you ?” said an old lady to a little boy who was enjoying his tea, " Yes," was the reply ; “ but she would be still better if she’d let me spread on flic jam myself.” As Altered Case.— -A young Indian widow, following the usage of her country, was about to burn herself together with the ashes of her deceased. ” You go to rejoin the spouse you have lost.” said the priest encouragingly, “ What,” said she, "to rejoin my husband ? In that case I shall remain where I am,”

A recent advertisement containg the following;—" If the gentleman who keeps the sh(A-store with a red head will return the umbrella of a young lady with whalebone ribs and aa iron handle to the slate-roofed grocer’s shop, he will hear of something to his advantage, as the same is the gilt of a deceased mother how no more with the name engraved upon it. Landlord to Tenant. —" Good morning, just called round to see if it would be convenient to settle your quarter’s rent, sir." "Tenant "Did, ch ?" Do you know, landlord, that none of the doors in this house will shut ?” Landlord—“ New house, sir, New house, you know; takes time to settle." Tenant —" Ah, then there’s a pair of us. I’m a new tenant; It takes time lor me to settle, too. Good morning. Call again.”

Tom Stokes, half tight, went to the shop for a shave. As no one was in, he sat down and was soon sound asleep. A wag came in, made a clean shave of Tom's head, took a wig from the shop case, put it on, and left him to his nap. Tom woke, put on his hat, and went home to bed. It the night the wig came off, and next morn his wife saw a bald head. " There 1” said she, " I knew how it would be, Stokes. Your brains went long since; now your hair has gone as well." A writer in a juvenile magazine lately gathered a number of dictionary words as defined by certain small people, of which the following are probably genuine ;—" Dust— Mud, with the juice squeezed out. Fan—A thing to brush warm off with. Ice—Walci that stayed out in the cold and went to sleep Monkey—A very small boy with a tail. Pig a hog’s little boy. Salt—What makes your potatoes taste bad when you don't pul any on. Wakefulness—eyes all the time coming unbuttoned."

A Curious Twist.—A labourer who was employed at a building in course of erection in the town of G—- found, on getting up one morning, that he had slept too long. He put on his clothes as quickly as possible, but in his hurry he put the back of his trousers to the front, put his belt round them, and went away to his work without discovering his mistake. On taking a “hod ”of bricks up the ladder he missed his footing, and fed with a crash to the ground. Some of the workmen, hearing the noise, came running up, and, lifting him to his feet, enquired il he was much hurt, and he, looking down and seeing his trousers, replied, " I think I’m no much hurt, but I’ve got a terrible twist.”

False Rumour. Rossini had laid a wager ; it doesn't matter what it was about, but the stake was a turkey with truffles. His adversary lost, but was in no hurry tc ' v t)ay. Rossini met him one day and said—"Well, what about that turkey?" "Ah! the tuffles are not in season just now." " Nonsence," said the maestro, “ 'tis the turkeys that have spread that report."

, A Revised Version.—" What do you :think of our cathedral ?” asked a Parisian ol a countryman whom he met coming out ol Notre Dame. "It is very fine," was the ireply, “ but a thought occured to me whilst I was there during the service, and it was that the choir should make a slight altera tion in their liturgy. Instead of saying—- • Lord, have mercy on us, miserable sinnsrs ! they should say—' Lord, have mercy on us miserable singers !' ”

One day, before breakfast, Mrs Bates had been showing her new servant girl how tc cook some sausages, and after seeing them carefully dished, left the kitchen, telling Betsy to bring them to table along with the tea. The tea was brought but the sausages were not to be seen. " You have forgotten the sausages," said Mrs Bates. “ No, please ma'am; You said I was to bring them in with the tea." So she had. They were in the teapot. Absolution. —An audacious thief whil on his knees in the confessional, filched thv Vatch of the priest to. whom he was confessing. " Father,"» said he, "I steal." " What, my son." Father, I have stolen (the watch was now in his pocket), but I would 'restore. To you, father, would I give back jwhat I have stolen." “It ; «'t to me that ■you should restore, but to him from whom Jou stole." “But, father, he from whom stole won’t have it." " Ah, well, you may (keep it yourself.

§uits. —A pastry cook whom a poet praised highly for his skill in cookery in some verses he had written, wished to regard him for his compliment by presenting Jhim with a cake. The poet found, however, 'that the paper at the bottom of the cake was (part of his poetical production, and went in {a rage to complain of this insult. “ Why 'do you reproach me?" said the cook. “We are quits now; for you made your verses on my cakes, and I make my cake upon yoitr jverses. It Worked.—" Here y'are now ; twe packages for twopence !” yelled a seedylooking envelope-pedlar in Holborn. " Here y'are, this way, two packages for a penny !" nowled another envelope-pedlar, almost hustling his fellow-merchant off the pavement. Women out shopping noted the difference in prices, and soon bought out the two-for-a-penny man, Then both pedlars drifted round the corner, and the* one who had sold no envelopes divided his stock with tho other, remarking, with a chuckle, " Jt bee-utifully, old pal, don’t it ?” 1 In the north of Lanarkshire lived a wellknown character of the name of Sandy B , who lived in a turf house, the roof of which was badly in need of repair. This, however, Sandy was too lazy to do, and c i a wet day the neighbours used to laugh a Sandy, who sat inside with an old umbreli. over him to keep off the rain, which came in by several holes in the roof. " Man. Sandy." ■aid a neighbour to him one wet day, " yon should mend the roof ; you might as well bee a big riddle for a roof as that," " Toots, man," said Sandy, “ it’s far ower wet to Smd the roof the day, and on a dry day I yfjw |ppd(*'lwuK m ooyMfr! ■

A LUNG LAUGH. One cl?.}', when in the study of her housa, :cii almost under the shadow of West- '■ [?x Abbey, Miss Harriet Martineau ■:-J prodigious shout of laughter on the drcase. Presently in came Thomas Carle, laughing aloud. He said he had been ■.li’hing all the way from Charing Cross, hare lie had been in a printing-office. As -on as he could he told the lady what was :o cause of his prolonged laughter. He id been to the office of his printers to , -'d [e the production of his " Miscellanies," first work published in book form in ion. In this, says Miss Martineau, j.st every other word was altered by the

the manager said to (he author, "Sir, 11 are really very hard on us with your Tedious ; they take a deal of time."

Ca !yle observed that ho had been " accusmed to this kind of thing, that he had got irks printed at Edinburgh,” &c., &c._ Yes, indeed, sir." interrupted the printer, e arc aware of that. We have a man p. from Edinburgh and when he took up vour ‘copy’ he dropped it as if il bn rued his lingers, and cried out,

. ,ord, have mercy ori us ! Have you got >.t terrible man to print tor ? The Lord Iv knows when you'll get done.”

Yarlvlc said he could not reply to this fo: ughing, and had been laughing ever since

LOVE IN HATE. “You had belter come tome this Sum i*r," Aunt Ryder had written to me and wc will talk over your plans together not like von to live alone."

Alone! That was the word in the letter hat .struck like ice upon my sore heart. I

vas utterly alone ! Even Aunt Ryder was ny uncle's widow, not really related to me, hough Elsie and I both loved her. Elsie was my step-sister, my second mother since my own died in my infancy, my teacher, friend, companion and comforter. And Elsie was dead.

She was thirty-seven when she died. Wasting away slowly, I thought of no danger till it was too late.

But I accepted Aunt Ryder’s invitation, and was preparing to visit her for the summer, when 1 found the key note to Elsie's life, herdiarv.

1 read it. lam not going to quote it hero, but far back upon the yellow pages I read how my sister gave her heart years before to one Rodney Wallace: how they had exchanged vows and rings, and a wedding day was set, and he left her to prepare a home in the city for his bride, and never returned.

I burned the diary, because upon one ot the pages Elsie had begged I would if ever I read it.

Then I finished my packing, and went to my Aunt Ryder. She was the widow of my mother’s brother, and our grandfather's estate was divided now between herself and me. It was all mine after Elsie died. And I was an heiress in a small way, having the income of £IO,OOO at my command. Aunt Ryder took* me to Brighton, and insisted on my wearing thin, light, black dresses and white lace. All my energies seemed numbed by Elsie’s death. We had been but a few days at Brighton, when Aunt Ryder, who is a handsome, sprightly woman, admired in society, met some friend she had known in Paris, where she had lived many years. She was quite excited o-er this meeting and insisted upon having k luncheon party at our cottage. Do try to brighten up a little, Rhoda, for one of my pets will be here!” " And who is' she ?” I asked, being accustomed to seeing Aunt Ryder pet everybody.

“ This time it is he. He came to Paris some eighteen years r.go, and your uncle was very intimate with him. They were both artists and had a mutual admiration for each other's works. I have npt seen him since I left Paris—nine— years ago,”

“ Doeg he happen to „nve anything so convenient a;; a name ?" I asked. “ Oh, yes, Rodney Wallace. He painted ‘hat portrait of mine over the piano at home, with • R. W.’ in one corner!" Isot an hour later, black dress, white roses, ghastly face and all, was presented .o a tall, grave man, with iron-grey hair c.nd soft brown eyes, the very reverse of the gay Lothario I had pictured as the man who had " loved and rode away.”

I was young, romantic, and I hated this grave, sad man with all the impetuosity of iny youth and romance, and yet he awed me from the first. There was a grave patience about him that reminded me of Elsie. And it was to me, to me who so hated him, that he turned for companionship all through that long summer time. And I, little by little, learned a lesson I had not dreaded" when near him. How could I love when 1 hated ? How could my heart be won by my sister's murderer ? So the dying days of August found me, not brightened or benefited by my sojourn at Brighton, buk pale, listless, wretched, tortured by my fidelity to the dead, my love and hate for the living. .= One resolve I made. I would never marry Rodney Wallace. When he wrote to me, a manly, straightforward letter, asking my love, it eost'me hours of wildest weeping to move my heart to refuse him.

When I tried to nerve myself to scud away the fatal letter 1 heard steps in the drawing-room, and then Aunt Ryder spoke :

” Roddey," she said in a tender voice, as If she were speaking to her own son, " you have made me very happy. I hoped this would happen when I introduced you to Elsie’s sister.”

'• Elsie’s sister!” Rodney cried, harshly, as I had never heard him speak before.

“ Hush ! Elsie was not false.” " Not false ! Was she not my betrothed, almost my bride. Did I not love her with all the strength of my heart ? She’ broke my heart, she desolated my life! And now -now you tell me the woman I love, as I sever hope to love again, is Elsie's sister !" ' My heart throbbed almost suffocatingly : my brain reeled : the room seemed to grow black and rock around me. But I heard Umt Ryder speak. “ Rodney, in those days in Paris when I niew but little of your story, I never dreamed chat it was Elsie you loved.” “ But the truth ?" Rodney replied, " what was the truth ?” •< Elsie did not write that letter. Elsie died, believing you false to her. She was her mother’s heiress, Rodney, and her mother married a villain. Weie Elsie married, and his own child still a mere baby, the home must be broken up, the monev held in your control and that of ..ie trustees, and so a forged letter was sent to you." " Does—she know ?" "No one knows but me, no one! My husband was with Elsie's step- ather wn mi> he died and heard this confession, too late to remedy the evil.” “ And—Rhoda ?" > “ Rhoda was so young she prom •> y lever heard of Elsie's engagement, Rodney. Promise me yon will never tel! her, Remember that Bayard Woolston. for.use uniter, forger as he was—was yel her lather. I stole softlv upstairs. Over my empty rr a te I burned my false, cruel letter, vowing n my utmost heart to be Rodney's true omforter and wife. _ . It is two years since we were married. Vll the shadows are gone from my. bush wN ace, and he tells me hia pictures a. e painted ./ the pi lovft v