SOME GOOD STORIES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1509, 31 January 1901, Page 16

SOME GOOD STORIES.

QUEER ADVENTURES AND EXPERIEN C ES. THIS IS A TRUE STORY. It was told by a Philadelphia man who dislikes nothing so much as to he asked questions: —“My little girl is very fond of seasheils,” he said, "and, Having been called to Atlantic City on business the other day, I took advantage of the opportunity to run down to the beach to see if I could pick up a few shells and pebbles, w'hich I placed in my handkerchief, when along came one of those old idiots who ask __ questions with their mouths which their eyes could answer. He smiled upon me and said :

‘Fine day, isn’t it? Are you gathering shells?’ ‘No,’ I snapped back, saying the first thing that popped into my mind, ‘l’m looking for a set of false teeth I lost while bathing.’ He expressed his sympathy, and then lias face lit up as his eye caught sight of a pink and white object on the sand. ‘Well, I declare! Here they are now!’ ho exclaimed, and, sure enough, he picked up a set of false teeth lying right at his feet.

“I was too surprised to do anything but grab them and put them into my pocket, Ihe funny part of it is that I never had a tooth pulled in my life. [ wonder w horn that false set belongs to.”

A SUBSTITUTE FOR COAL. Fuel is now being manufactured in London river mud, street refuse, and sewage, for sale to the poor. A chemical process has been invented by vliioh all this waste material is so treated that it is rendered combustible. Mud has been withdrawn from the Thames at Mill wall, treated chemically, and compressed into briquettes that in appearance closely resemble blocks of dull ebony or bog oak. This mud has boon proved to have a calorific value of 7 52 pounds. It burns readily, exhales a minimum. of smoke, and leaves only 25 per cent, of firm ash. The street sweepings are mixed with a. small percentage of cheap chemicals, pressed into blocks, and serilised by being subjected to an intense heat of about 400 degrees Fahrenheit. This fuel produces great heat, bums freely with little smoke, and leaves very little ash. The sewage, when subjected to this chemical process and pressed into briquettes, looks like the best coal, so deep and ricb is its sable character. The last fuel can be manufactured at the low rust of two dollars per ton, and is equal in every way to the the cheaper coals. Licenses have- been granted to manuiacture the fuel from these hitherto waste materials, and works are shortly to he installed upon the river’s banks at Barking.—“ Detroit Press.”

WHAT BECOMES OF OLD LIFEBOATS ?

Eyery year a small proportion of the lifeboats stationed round our coasts are replaced by the Royal National Life Boat Institution, because, though carefully constructed of the very best matt rials with the highest class of workmanship, age has begun to affect their proficiency for the work in hand. Storm damage is one cause, dry rot and partial decay another. Or perhaps the local crew desire to have a larger and heavier, or smaller and lighter craft in which to do their duty. All these,

and more leasons (says the “Daily Mail”) result in the sale of old or displaced lifebeats.

As the price at which they can be purchased is generally very reasonable, fishermen frequently become their new By removing the fore and aft "aircases, lowering the floor and halfdecking with waterways all round, a strong, serviceable sea boat is the result. Several of these altered lifeboats are now in active service as “Btuvley” boats at Leigh-on-Sea, Southend, and erher fishing centres. Most of them are ketch or yawl-rigged, and are employed all the year round.

Retired sea oaptains and yachting amateurs appear to have a fondness for the lifeboat yacht; To begin with, the model is perfect, both for sea-going and speed, and few alterations are necessary.

Several of these yachts, formerly owned by ihe Royal National Lifeboat Institution, can generally be seen laid up or fitting out in the West India or Tiiburj' Docks. A trip up the Thames to Hampton Court may also reveal one or more useful little houseboats 7 moored in a backwater or some quiet spoc. There is no mistaking the type. The extreme sheer, the diagonal planking, and double ends give the origin away at once. After all it is quite in the fitness of things that the latter days of these “"stormy petrels” should pass away amid such peaceful and pleasant surroundings. When the addition of boiler, engine, and propeller, retired lifeboats can bo seen at their moorings far from the sea, both on the Thames andi the Broad 3. The fineness of their lines enable them to steam well, and with suitable engines and boiler, long coasting voyages can be made quite safely.

The longest voyage and the strongest life must, however, face finality, and m the end, the “friend of all nations” lias to yield her battered ribs to the shipbreakers like less worthy or less serviceable craft.

MORE THAN SHE EXPECTED. A. little girl well expressed the mingling of hope anti doubt which anticipation holds for many people. When she received her first “very own” doll, after a succession of treasures inherited from her older sisters, she turned to her mother a face full of rapture. “I expected I’d have a doll some day,” she said 1 , breathlessly, “but I didn’t expect I should ever have my expect!”

HIS IDEA OF A REST. The German artist, Adolf Menzel, is a great favourite, and his vagaries afford endless amusement to the Berlin art fraternity. It seems that Menzel was engaged on a mural decoration. He. had rigged up a scaffolding in his studio, on which his model was requested to stand. For two long hours the poor “poseur” stood up aloft in a most fatigu_ ing posture. Menzel. in the meantime, worked at his sketch, heedless of the fact that his model was growing tired. At length the model found it necessary to speak. “Herr professor,” said he, “how about a recess P”

Menzel (apologised profusely for his forgetfulness. “Certainly, certainly, my dear sir,” said he. “Come down and rest yourself a bit.” The model had clambered down from the scaffolding to the ladder, which led down from it o the studio floor. “Stop!” cried the artist suddenly, “That pose is fine! Don’t ' move a muscle!” And once more the model was forced into strained rigidity, while the enthusiastic draftsman set about sketching" him. At the end of half-an-hour Menzel looked ut> from his work. “There.' said he, “that will do nicely! Get back on the scaffold. We have had our rest. Let us get back to work again.”

THREE MUSICAL STORIES

The “Musical Times” tells a good military band story. A British regimental band under a German bandmaster, having shown signs of insubordination, the matter was brought before the notice of the commanding officer, a great martinet and authority on “dressing” who remarked (with objugatory embroidery): “I’ll stop this mutiny.” He accordingly made his way to the bandroom while a rehearsal was in progress. “The first thing that caught his eye was the zigzagged, ness of the slides of the three trofmbenesalto, tenor, and bass. This total disregardl of military precision prompted the colonel to immediate action. ‘Put those two fellows in the guardroom.’ he exclaimed ; ‘th© corporal is right.’ ” This forms (says the “Londoner”) a good pendant to the story of the old admiral who threatened to put the members of his band in irons because he noticed that they did 1 not all keep playing continuously. A somewhat similar story is told of a commercial magnate, a member of the committee of one of our great provincial festivals, in the days before the strictly musical arrangements were intrusted to a body of experts. At one of their meetings the manuscript score of a new work submitted by an aspiring composer was passed' round, and at last found its way into the hands of the merchant. He turned over the leaves with a knowing air, and then observed: “Call this a full score? Why, there are pages and pages with ’ardly anything written on ’em at all!”

SHE OUTWITTED JOHN. In his book, “Among the Northern Hills.” Dr William C. Prime introduces to his readers a Judge wiiom he makes fell the story of a will which he did not draw up, after all. The Judge wa3 summoned in a great hurry to see an old iady who had managed her farm for forty years, since her husband’s death. She had two sons and a stepson, John, who was not an admirable person. After a long dirive on a stormy night, the Judge found the old lady apparently just alive, and was told by the doctor in attendance to hurry, as bis patient was very weak. I had brought paper and pen and ink with me. I found a stand and a candle, placed them at the head of the bed, and after saying a few words to the woman, told her I was ready to prepare the will if she would go on, and tell me what she wanted to do. I wrote the introductory phrase rapidly, and leaning over toward her said: “Now, go on. Mrs Norton.”' Her voice was quite faint, and she seemed to speak with an effort. She said’: ‘First of all I want to give the farm to my sons Harry and James. Just put that down.”

“But.” said I, “you can’t do that, Mrs Norton. The farm isn’t yours to give away.” “The farm isn’t mine ?”„ she said in a voice decidedly stronger than before. “No ,* the farm isn’t yours. You have only a life interest in it.”

“This farm that Tve run for goin on forty-three year next spring isn’t mine to do what I please with! Why not, Judge? I’d like to know what you mean ? ’ “Why, Mr Norton, your husband, gave you a life estate in all his property, and on your "death the farm goes to his son John, and your children get the village houses. I have explained that to you very often before.” “And when I die John Norton is to have this house and! farm, whether I will or no ?” “Just so. It will be his.”

“Then I ain’t going to die!"” said the woman, in a clear and decidedly lunging and healthy voice. And so say_ ing, threw her feet over the front of the bed, sat up, gathered a blanket and coverlet about her, straightened her gaunt form, walked across the room, and sat down in a great chair before the fire. The doctor and I went home. That was fifteen years ago. The old lady’s alive to-day. And she accomplished her intent. She beat John v after all. He died four years ago.

MISUNDERSTOOD. Old Lady (from the country) : “I’d like to get a pair o' shoes, young man.” Polite Clerk : “Yes, ma’am ; something pretty nice, ma’am ?” Old Lady : ”1 want ’em good ’n stout.”

Polite Clerk: “Well, ma’am, here’s a strong shoe—an excellent strong shoe. It has been worn a great deal this winter- — Old Lady: “Man alive,. I don’t want no shoe that’s been worn this v,lnter nor any other winter; I want a brand new pair.”

FUNNY SCENE IN CHURCH

The service had commenced in a certain church. A gentleman sitting near the door had placed his hat in the aisle at the end of his pew. Soon after a , lady came in followed by her husband. Her skirts caught the hat, and swept it against her ankles, when she gave a jump and screamed out that there was a dog under her dress. Giving her skirts a twist, out rolled the hat, and her husband, a short-sight-ed man, thought it was a dog, and gave it such a kick that it flew up into the gallery and lodged there. By this time the service was completely suspended, and the owner of the hat, realising what had happened, at once confronted the near-sighted gentleman, and placing his fist under his nose declared he had a great mind to knock him down. But turning round he walked out and went home bareheaded, declaring that ladies and petticoats were a great nuisance.

MERRY PHILOSOPHERS. It is pleasant to learn from an earwitness that the New England Transcendentalists, who made the Brook Farm famous, were full of fun as well as earnest in their endeavours to reform the world.

There were inveterate punsters among them, and a handful of their impromptu jests have 'been preserved. Anything served to provoke a quip. “Well, how was Drew’s play?” asked one. wag. “All blood and thunder?”

“No; all thud and blunder,” was the rejoinder. ■Mr Ripley once announced that contributions would be taken to, defray expenses, “but as the speaking was to be continued during the time the box was passing round,” the audience was requested to put in as many notes as pos_ sable, so as not to disturb the speaker by the rattling of small change. “Have you seen my umbrella ?” asked one member of another.

“What sort of an umbrella was it?” “It had a hooked end.”

“I have not seen it,” was the reply, “but I had a nice one once, and it had an end exactly like youi's. It was hooked!”

Passing a rosy, unkemnt boy. Miss remarked to her frinect, “Isn’t be a little honey?” “Yes,” replied the more discriminating friend, “honey without a comb.”