SOME GOOD STORIES

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4366, 25 May 1901, Page 6 (Supplement)

SOME GOOD STORIES

PUNISHMENT FITTING THE CRIME

A certain fiirmcr bad a field which joined up to lii<! i oad 'Micro ivih a long and steep slope from tlie -.vail to Hie eentre of the field, and it was the delimit of a certain section of the villagers to push the coping stones oil the wall, and watch them roil down the slope. Warning notices were put up, out were of no avail, so the fanner put on heavier ston's, Iml limy were pushed off as usual. One dav the farmer, a man of herculean Iniild, secreted himself with a big whip, and captured a pair of the culprits, young men who ought to have known belter. “Now then, ' said the farmer, “you rolled 1 hern slopes grandly down the hill, now we’ll see if you can roll them hack, as easily.” The men gazed at the stern features of I ho farmer, then at his whip, and capitulated. II took hours to put the stones back on trie wall, (he farmer keeping guard with Ids whip, and ere (lie task was completed all the village had come to see the fun. That wall is left in peace now. (lETTINO ACQUAINTED. A young woman of country birth and roaring, who has made her home for the last three years in a small provincial town, says that for laid and diplomacy she knows nobody to equal her neighbours She' had scarcely settled herself in her new home when one day she heard a hen proudly cackling in her back yard. Site wont out. to see what, could have brought a strange hen into her yard, and lound that the fowl had just laid an egg in the dust-hill onlsido the kitchen door. While she was still wondering where on earth the creature had come from, the. shock head of a thin and tall girl of twelve years rose from Ihe yard of the house next door, "Hello!’’ said the girl. “Good morning,” answered the country ■woman. "We got a plenty o’ eggs,’ remarked the girl. “Ma says you can have that one our hen just laid in that dustbin of youru.” ... "Thank you very much,’ said the country woman. The girl still hung on the fence. “We ain't goin’ to charge you nothin’ for it,” she went on. "That's very kind indeed/’ answered the new neighbour. “It’s a gilt,” remarked the girl. Then there was «ilonce for a few moments. The girl sflll clung to her side of the fence. "I say,’’ she said finally, "ma says now you’re acquainted with us folks she’d like to harrow a hummer.’’ HE STOOD THE TEST. A dentist received a call the other morning from a, couple whom he soon had reason to helievo wore lovers. The girl hail an aching tooth, and as they entered the young man said: "Now, darling, the worst is over. Just take a seat and it will be out in a minute/' "Oh, I daren’t,” she gasped. "But it really won’t hurt you at all, you know.” "But I’m afraid it will.” "It can’t. I’d have one pulled in a minute if it ached.” "I don't helieVe it.” “Well, then, I’ll have one pulled out Just to show you that it doesn't hurt.’’ Ho took a seat, leant back and opened his mouth, and the dentist seemed to be selecting a tooth to seize with his forceps, when the girl protested: "Hold on! The test is sufficient. He has proved his devotion. Move away, Harry, and I’ll have it pulled.” She took the chair, had the tooth drawn without a groan, and as she went out she was saying to the young man: “Now I can-believe yon when you declare that you would die for me.” And yet every tooth in his head was false. BREAD AND CHEESE. A couple advanced in years got married lately. The husband had a room in the house securely locked, the inside of which his wife hud never seen, and being curious ns to its contents, she begged again and again to see the room. At last he consented, and 10, and behold ! the room was full of whole cheeses. He explained matters bv telling her that for .every sweetheart he had in his young days ho bought, a. cheese. His 'wife began' to cry.” "Don’t cry, dear,” he continued; "I’ve had no sweetheart since I met you.” "It's not that,” she replied, stilj sobbing. "I only wish I had been as thoughtful as you and bought a loaf of bread for every man that kissed me; we could have had bread and cheese enough to last us oil our days.” BRIDGET, THE SERVANT GIRL. A doctor in Boston had last winter a newly-arrived Hibernian for a servant, he had also recently purchased a pair of porpoise-leather boots. His wife, attracted ..byv the novelty of the new foot-wear, asked, the doctor in the presence of the servant, what they' were made of, to which he answered, "Porpoise - hide.” Shortly after the lady from the Emerald Isle interviewed Airs S., and announced her intention of “laving whin mo week is up.” Mrs S., somewhat surprised, asked the disturbed domestic the reason for her announced departure, to which Bridget replied with a horrified air, "Yer husband is a dochter, mum, an’ I’ve heard of them dochters cuttin’ up people. An’ didn’t I hear urn wid my r own ears say that the boots of him were made of pauper’s hide? It’s me own mild father that died in the noorhouse, an’ I wouldn’t be servin’ a haythcu that uses the skin of the poor to "cover his dirty feet wid!”

IN A COMMON LODGING-HOUSE. Tho Rev Forbes Phillips tells a good story Ihe point of which is against himself. Ho was called one night to baptise a little girl, the child of some poor people in a common lodging-house. The parents pleaded their great poverty and received tho customary shilling: but ns ho passed out of the door the deputy jocularly observed: “Aon arc the seventh parson' that has baptised that' kid today.” Tho vicar told this story to illustrate the evils arising from the unhappy divisions of religious folk. TRUE STORY OF A LONDON CABMAN. "Now Cabby.” said a nervous old lady, "1 want you to drive carefully, and do not go racing with other vehicles, and not go round any corners quickly.” “Yes, mum,” replied Cabby. After the job, the old lady tendered cabby a shilling, the bare fare. “You have driven me very carefully,” said tho old lady. "Have you driven a cal) all your life?’’ ‘‘No, mum: 1 used to drive a hearse, and I think Fit go back to it: it’s a better game than this. I hope I’ll drive you again, mum, ' said Cabby. A GOOD STORY FROM MONTE CARLO. Everybody knows that dwarfs, hunchbacks. and other deformed persons nre supposed to “bring luck.” whatever that may mean. It seems, then, that a certain punter, who had been losing heavily at the tables, lately advertised for two dwarfs to sit at cither side of him for the whole of an evening "to break the spell.” The “fee” which he offered to pay to these useful little people was to be sixty francs apiece, in .addition to a commission on the whole of the vast amounts that ho was to rake in whilst under their benign influence. Some scores of dwarfs answered the advertisement, and finally two grotesque and altogether extraordin-ary-looking hunchbacks were selected and

engaged. During the whole of the first half-hour that they sal In-side him our punter won steadily. At the end of that lime lie began to lose, with the result that; at last, finding himselt almost "broke," lie paid off his retainers, rose from the table, and left the Casino. Not so the dwarls, however. They, on the contrary, now began to indulge in a little (hitter on their own account —a little flutter which promised to prove extremely remunerative. and would probably havedone so had the pair not set to work to quarrel. To such good purpose, indeed, did they- quarrel that Horn words they came to blows, until, suddenly, to the surprise and intense amusement, of everybody eb-se present, their respective humps and other ■’deformities” came away one by one, revealing, as they did so, not a pair of cloven hoots, but a pair of unconscionable little imposters! LEIGH KENT’S JOKE. It is related of Leigh Hunt that on one occasion lie went to call on a man as to whoso exact address lie was uncertain. He knew the street, but not the number, so on arriving in the former he made a guess at, the latter. Knocking at the door of the first house he came to, he was eucountcred by a toriddding - looking virago, who scowled at him acidly. "Does Mi- it live hero?" asked Hunt, in his most dulcet tones. “No, ho don’t, ’ snapped the female Cerberus, and promptly shut the door in ids face. Hunt walked slowly up Hio street, cogitating deeply, and at last a happy thought struck him. Retracing his steps, he once more approached the scene of Ins repulse, and again knocked timidly at the portal. The acidulous damsel promptly opened the door. “Who said ho did?” shouted Hunt in stentorian tones, and boat a hasty retreat. “THAT SCOUNDREL MILLAIS.” Trclawnoy, the sailor immortalised by Shelley, was a superbly picturesque figure, and Sir John Millais was anxious to have him sit as the model for the seamen for his great painting, “The North-West PassTrelawncy agreed, after some demur, and all wont well until the picture was finished and exhibited. The night after the private view, Trelawney rushed into the room of a friend of his who lived in London. “I want you to be my second.” ho shouted. "That fellow Millais has insulted me.” “How’s that?’’ asked the friend; "what did he say?" , J , "You know I’m a teetotaler, shouted the excited sailor: "well, that scoundrel Millias has handed me down to posterity with a glass ox rum and water iu one hand and a lemon in the other I” "WAITING TOR THE MESSAGE.” A schoolmaster was giving his pupils instruction in the elements of physiology, and, among other things, told them that whenever they moved an arm or a leg it was iu response to a message from the brain. “The brain always sends a message down your arm or leg whenever you wish to move the particular member,” he explained. At length a mischievous boy roused his ire by his apparent inattention to the hason. "Hold out your hand,” he excbu'nul. ' The boy did not move. "Why don t you hold out your imn 1, sir?” cried the irate pedagogue. “Please, sir. I’m waiting for the message from my brain,” said the lad coolly; and lie was let off the merited pu-iisii-ment for his sharpness. OLD AND NEW. There is a very ancient story that tells of a man meeting a young lady and asking after her father’s health. "How is your father?" he asked, forgetting that tier father had been dead several years. "Still dead," was the reply. This ftciy, whether it ever happened or not, mis a counterpart in an incident that actually transpired a. short time ago. A gcnneiiiaii was talking to a friend that he had not seen in a number of years. "la your father alive yet?” he asked. “Not yet,’’ she said, absent-mindedly. It remains for a Detroit woman, however, to tell the following as an original in her own experience. Meeting Mrs Brown one day, a lady who is apt to agree with those to whom sho talks last, the latter said—- " Why, Mrs Green, do you know that Mr Jones is dead?” “What! You don’t mean it!” “Well,” added Mrs Brown, in an apologetic tone, “well,- he was yesterday.” CARRIAGE PAID. A certain pretentious shopper, after teasing the shopman of a millinery establishment beyond the forbearance limit, promptly ordered a reel of thread to be sent to her house. It was agreed that she should be made an example of, and a warning to her.kind. Shortly after she had arrived home, a common dray, drawn by four horses, proceeded slowly up to her door. On the dray, with bare arms, were a number of stalwart labourers, who were holding on vigorously to some object which sho could not see. . It was a most puzzling affair. Tho neighbours stared. After a deal of whip-cracking and other impressive ceremonies, the cart was hacked against the curb. There, reposing calmly, end up, in the centre of the cart floor, was tho identical reel of thread which she had “ordered.” With tho aid of a plank it was finally rolled, barrel fashion, to the pavement. After a desperate struggle, it was “up-ended” on the purchaser’s doorstep. The fact that the purchaser came out a minute later and kicked her own property into the gutter detracted nothing from the impressiveness of the delivery. DRINKING THE GATE MONEY. Not long ago a certain village club arranged “a grand cricket match, admission one penny/’ for the benefit of John, the old man who looked after the ground. There were no tickets printed, and John stood at the gate of the cricket field and collected the pennies himself. It was a very hot day, there was a public-house just across the road, and John’s thirst—always troublesome wag simply unquenchable. Some time after the luncheon interval a gentleman who takes a keen interest in ihe club approached the gats and addressed the old’ groundsman—- " Well. John, you appear to he doing well. There’s quite a big gate, I see.” “Well/’ replied John, deliberately, '‘it ain’t a bad ’mi, I must say. ’Owsuraever, I’ve managed to sup” (drink) "the gals money so far, an’ I could do wi’ a trainload o’ folks yet!” AN AMERICAN YARN. The following little story was gravely told one evening in a dressingrcom at a certain West-end theatre, where nearly all “the talent” is American. "I guess you’ll hardly believe what I say to be tm\” said the man who told the story, “but I once met with n most touching experience. I was taking a country walk, and hanpened to notice that a largo stone had rolled off the bank at the side of the road on to a snake that was vainly trying to escape from under the weight. Say! I just felt sorry for the poor brute, so I lifted tho stone carefullv away, and tho snake was so grateful flint ho followed me right home, and became a house pet of the whole family! 1

“Now, the most curious thing happened later on,” continued the American actor, with settled gravity, “when we’d had that snake round our place for abont six months. He was a rattlesnake. . One night a burglar broke into the bouse. Not a soul was roused. But our pet must have beard the footsteps. Say! he glided along the floor. He twisted himself firmly round the burglar’s leg and hold him tight, at the same time be thrust bis tail end out of the window where flic burglar bad climbed in, and—shook the rattle to summon the police I’’