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Hk could loft a ball from the top of his watch But he never could win in the tournaments, no straight into his beaver hat.
matter how well he played. He could tee a ball on the window-sill and pink He'd never a cup on his mantel-piece; in medals the vagrom cat.
was never arrared He could putt from the top of the oaken stair to For though his game was the finest golf that ever a hole on the floor below,
was witnessed yet, And niblick the sphere from a baby's car and He never could seem to comprehend a bit of golf the baby wouldn't know.
He could brassie some fifteen hundred feet and He'd cross the putt of the other man; he'd play clip off a daisy's top.
when nearer the hole. He could jigger the ball o'er a steeple tall as most He couldn't grasp the simplest rules to save his men would jigger a cop.
golfing soul. He could stand on his head, to his caddie's dread, And that is why this golfer keen is never “up," and dismay of all hard by,
but “down"; And then with the case with which I would And that is why this King of the Green doesn't sneeze lift the ball from a cuppy lie.
wear the golfers' crown. He could drive a ball for two hundred yards to The moral is clear, oh golfer bold, oh golser the blade of a carver keen,
strong and true: And cut it in two as easy as you could slice up You may be able to whack the ball, and make sod from the green.
your opponent blue; The bird that flies high up in the skies he'd wing You may be able to do freak things, and play with his driving cleek,
past all compare; And I've seen him graze as soft as haze the But unless you learn the etiquette, you'd better down on a damsel's cheek.
HE, SHE, AND THEY.
as he became profane abont it, his wife consentBY ALBERT LEE.
ed that he should resign, battered and bruised,
from the various trades thrust upon him loy I.
matrimony; and Benton forth with vower lie They always dine promptly at seven at the would never again, even secretly, offend the Beutops'-or, rather, as Benton puts it, they Pole-bangers' Uuion, or the Brotherhood of are pretty certain to dine promptly according Carpet-Layers, or the Piano-movers' Associato at least one of the five clocks that tick in tion, by performing the work specifically conthe immediate neighborhood of the dining- ceded to their respective trades. And since room, because there is a difference of about then, Sunday bas been for him a day of rest, half an hour between the time shown by the in fact as well as in fiction. fastest and that marked by the slowest one. But this is digressing. It is seven o'clock. So it is merely a question of kuowing which Two of the time - pieces bave announced the clock to look at when wondering why dinner fleeting bour, and the others will surely fleet is not announced. This is an excellent plan, along with the soup. and should be recommended to one's ene- “I have a surprise for you this evening," mies, for there certainly is some satisfac- says Ethel, as sbe squeezes a section of lemon tion in having at
over an oyster, and shoots the juice into lier Jeast time
husband's eye. But Benton's eye is quite acpiece in the house
customed to this. Ethel is his wife, and sbe is that will strike
a very snperior person. At the dinner table seven as yon in
the two discuss the affairs of state, likewise fold your napkin.
those of the household, freqnently those of Then, if Benton
their neighbors, and if Benton allowed such a has been grum
small matter as a drop of lemon juice to interbling, bis wife
fere with the flow of conversation, le wonld looks
justly deserve censure. Therefore, when Ethel ly as she bears
annouces that she has a surprise, be says, the hour strike;
“ Indeed P" and blinks rapidly. or, if he bas been
“And a surprise that I think yon will enobtrusive in his
joy," continues Ethel, complacently. remarks, sbe says,
“I hope you have not invited any idiots to sweetly,
come in after dinner ?" Benton says.
"I HAVE A SURPRISE." “ Your watch
“No," smiles luis wife; “it is not that kind must be a little
of a surprise. It's something for you--" fast this evening, Arthur dear; the clock is “Yon bave not gone and bonght me some just striking seven."
stnpidly expensive present ?" There is a tone The clock, ivdeed! Benton says he haso't of genuine concern iu liis voice, for Benton discovered yet which particular one of the five bates presents. is entitled to that distinction ; he thinks that “Oh no," returns Ethel. “Don't alarm sourperhaps this honor varies, but he has long since self; this is only a gastronomic surprise." given up all attempts to keep then running “Ali,” says Benton, with the sigh of relief along at the same pace.
He has come to the which escapes every man after he has learned conclusion that he cannot be a clock-maker, a what kind of a “surprise" his wife bas in store picture-banger, a furniture-mover, a carpet- for him ; "ah, yes, that nice fat partridge!" layer, a brass - polisher, and various other “How did you know there was to be parthings, and properly attend to the many re- tridge for dinner ?” esclaims his wife, with a quirements of his own profession besides. This tone of disappointment. is trite. Benton admits that. But he enjoys " I saw it in the kitchen." the satisfaction of saying it himself. It is a " You saw it in the kitchen! Well, I'd like very simple matter, apparently, to put up cur- to know what you were doing in the kitchen " tain-poles; but if you smash your finger with "I had business there," answers Beuton, a hammer, so as to incapacitate it from holding meekly. a pen for several days thereafter, and if you "I can't conceive of any emergency that make your living by your pen—as Benton tries would require your presence in the kitchen," to do—it is cheaper in the end to pay an ex- replies Ethel, with dignity, "except perhaps orbitant price to a rongh fellow with soiled in the case of a recalcitrant iceman or an obboots to come into your parlor and put up the streperous grocery - boy. How many times poles. Every body knows this; but every- must I tell you, Arthur, to keep out of the body's wife does not. Benton's wife did not- kitchen? The servants don't like you to go until one day she begged him, with tears in there; and besides, you have no business her eyes, to come down off the stepladder and there."
1 cease blaspheming. Tlava: the end of Ben- “ Well, I bad business there to-day," he aston's career as Jack-of- ades. Previous to serts. this, he used to be sent a stepladder every
" What was it ?” Sunday, and on all leg lidays. But as soon “I was looking for iny hat."
A CHOICE OF HATS.
“Looking for your bat !” cries Ethel. “In would be the last the kitchen ?"
place I should ever “Exactly."
go to in search of “Now, Arthur" (pleadingly), “ what did you it. I really bad go into the kitchen for ?"
bopes of tinding " That is exactly what I went into the it in the kitchen,
kitchen for my especially when I
" What experi-
But I found told me anything
Perhaps I for-
got to tell you, but My waste-paper I will tell yoni basket. It
in a great burry to get on the kitclien ta- down to the office one morning about three ble. Mary's idea of weeks ago. I conld not find my bat anywhere. humor seems to be I looked all over, and said all sorts of things
to take my waste- in every kuown langnage. I even looked under WHERE IS MY DERBY?
paper basket ont of the sofa in the parlor, and had a rush of blooil
my study and keep to the head. Then Mary came along, and I it away from me for three days. Result: being asked her where she bad put my bat. And afraid to scatter paper on the floor, I stuff the where do you suppose it was ?" waste into my pockets until they fairly bulge. " I'm sure I can't guess." Then, when I go out, I extract the wads in “In the only place I had not looked—” small quantities, and drop them surreptitious- “Of course!" triumphantly. ly into ash-barrels on my way to the elevated “In your music-stand.” station. Then our neighbors get into tronble, (Now this music-stand is a small mahogany vo donbt, for having their ashes and their cnpboarıl that rests on four Colonial legs, apel waste paper mixed.”
it is filled with borizontal shelves each abont “Men are such fools!" cries Ethel, in esas. four inches above the other.) peration. “If Mary takes your waste-paper “I never bad any idea before,” explains basket away and forgets to bring it back, wliy Benton, “how low a Derby bat is, mutil I saw don't you ring and ask for it ?"
mine comfortably resting on one of those “Well,” stammers Benton, “I suppose I shelves.” miglit do that."
“The best thing for you to do," comments “I should think you might. Now why Ethel, “is to buy another lat. Then there did you go into the kitchen for your will probably be at least one that you can find bat?"
when you want to go out." • Because I could not find it anyırhere else. “Oh yes, I migh buy any inmber of I looked everywhere, even in the ice-box; the hats. But it would be cheaper to hire a kitchen was the only place left."
valet." “ Did you live it there?”
“ To wear your lats for you, I suppose ?” "No."
“Well, possibly; but if I knew where my “Did you find your bat at all ?”
valet was, I could at least be sure of a hat." “No; I had to get out my silker."
Hereupon there is “I'll ask Mary if she knows where your hat
a lull in the conleris—your brown Derby, you mean ?"
sation, a Jull which “Oli, you need not ask her," laughs Ben
been tou. “ I asked her when I came home. I know
quickly followed up where it is now."
by more plaints from “Where is it?"
Beniton if the par“On the bat-rack."
tridge -- which had “Where was it wbile you were looking for
started the whole it?"
discussion-had not “On the bat-rack, I suppose.”
appeared, and by " And did not you look for it there ?".
means of this same “Yes; but I could not see it. Mary liad care
partridge, Ethel, fully hung my covert-coat over the hat.”
knowing the weak" It seems to me you must have been very
wess of man, skilstupid."
fully turns the con"Well, I'd bad one experience with Mary
versation into other and that bat before this, and the hat-rack
THE BIRD APPEARED.
One day, by chance, each occupied a place
(Here I use asterisks, though not from choice But type las limits, and must play the dunce; Next day I found the page in smithereens, When two young ladies both converse at once.) And I reflected, " It is very sad
That two nice girls should get so awfully mad
About a thing for which, had they but known, !!!--!-!
Two artists were responsible alone." I left them to their scenes.
BY JOUN KENDRICK BANGS
the public mind has been wronght up to a only from the manner of the etfort. When a pitch that enables it to contemplate the shed- Stevenson takes us through a series of headding of blood with more or less complacency, crackings and blood-lettings that appall, even that our writers of fiction shonld cut their ma- a Quaker leg innst beat time to the music of terial to fit snugly into that condition. The his style. Realism and romance both have lionr has not arrived, of course, when bair- their champions, and donghty ones, and a watchsplitting in fiction has gone ont of fashion. It ing world, made up of open-minded jurors, must is highly probable that there will always re- decide that the supremacy of the one over the main in the lump of popular appreciation a other can never be established as a settled sufficient leaveu of interest in emotions to war- fact, and that the differences between the two rant our analysts in sticking to their lasts; showing the superiority of the one become but certainly there has been a reaction latterly simply a matter of the art of the individual. in favor of what may be termed beacıl-splitting, It is in this respect, in the matter of his in contradistinction to hair-splitting. A large number of readers who five years ago found pleasure in an author's speculations as to why a hero walked across the muddy street on the tips of his toes instead of on bis heels, and who would have resented in their fiction any dramatic incident iuvolving a greater catastrophe tban the dislocation of a hero's shoulder, now rejoice when the same wonderful person really risks his life iu behalf of no principle whatsoever. It is possible, indeed, to say more. A large number of readers, who have wearied of minute descriptions of the commonplace, are to-day often found condemning an author who does not keep his hero in imminent danger of death through at least seventy-five per cent. of his pages.
Wbich is the healthier style of fiction it is not for the writer of these notes to say. It is not impossible for one to enjoy both kinds. When a Howells essays the keenest analysis of a seemingly unimportant mo
H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON.