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Title: Will Rossiter's Original Talkalogues by American Jokers

Editor: Will Rossiter

Release date: October 15, 2016 [eBook #53280]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILL ROSSITER'S ORIGINAL TALKALOGUES BY AMERICAN JOKERS ***

WILL ROSSITER’S

ORIGINAL

TALKALOGUES.

BY

AMERICAN JOKERS.

(COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY WILL ROSSITER.)

NEW YORK:

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

57 ROSE STREET.

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

If at times you’re feeling blue,

Take this book and read it through;

Pass it on to friend or brother;

For yourself—just buy another!

Contents

TALKALOGUES

9-33

By E. P. Moran

MORE TALKALOGUES

34-38

By Joseph Horrigan

LOVE AND LAGER BEER

38

By Leontine Stanfield

THE MAN FROM SQUASHOPOLIS

40-49

By Harry L. Newton

THE PACIFIC SLOPE

49-60

By Harry L. Newton

WOULDN’T GOLF DIALECT DO?

60-62

SOME WESTERN STORIES

62-64

HAPPENINGS IN KEROSENELAMPVILLE

64-67

BITS OF VERSE AND PROSE

68-72

By Edwards & Ronney

RAPID FIRE

73-85

By Harry L. Newton

“A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME”

86

AN ORIGINAL HABEAS CORPUS CASE

87-89

LI HUNG CHANG’S JOKE

89

FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH A PLAYWRIGHT

90-95

By Harry L. Newton

POPULAR SONGS APPROPRIATELY APPLIED

96

WILL ROSSITER’S

Original

Talkalogues

Well, well! here we are again! I just did manage to get here on time, too. I never thought I’d be able to do it in the world. My wife and I were out riding in our automobile, and we got into a heated argument as to which of us was the better chauffeur. During the excitement of the argument we both neglected to hold the lines of the automobile, and it shied at a piece of paper and ran away.

Instinct told us both to make a grab, I for the lever and she for my hair. Just then the automobile struck the curb-stone, and my wife and I had a “falling out.”

My wife and I had a “falling out.”

There I was, several miles from the theater, with a broken-down automobile and an angry wife that wouldn’t speak to me. Wasn’t that suffering for you? I felt sure that I could make it to the theater all right, but I didn’t know whether I’d have time to “make up” or not.

This trying to please a woman is a tough game. I tell you, ladies, the trouble is the men don’t know just how to take their wives. Now I took mine in an automobile, and it turned out a frost. Maybe if I had taken her in a wheelbarrow she’d have thought it delightful—still, I doubt it.

But I wasn’t married always; I was an American citizen once myself. I say American citizen once, because an American citizen prides himself that he is under no tyrannical ruler, enjoys liberty and the fact that he can do as he pleases. Therefore, a married man can’t be an American citizen.

The reason I married was that I was out of work. I answered an advertisement for a situation, and the proprietor asked me “if I was married.” I told him no, that I was single. Then he said: “Well, I’d give you the position at once, only I must have a married man.” I said: “Keep the place open for about an hour, and I’ll fix that all right—it’s easier to get married than it is to get a job.”

There’s no trouble in getting married at all; the trouble starts after you are married—when you have to get up in the middle of the night and walk the floor with Reginald singing coon songs; that is, Reginald does not sing coon songs—you’ve got to sing to Reggy; and you can’t sing a lullaby, or you’d go to sleep yourself.

Why, I had an awfully hard time getting used to it; the kid used to cry so much that it wouldn’t even stop for meals. The neighbors all said: “O, my! why don’t you feed that baby on Mellin’s food? It would make a different child of him.” I didn’t say a word to anyone, but went out and bought eight watermelons and five cantaloupes and then I fed him till I thought he’d bust. Well, after the doctors brought him to, he was a different child; they asked me why I didn’t feed him on cucumbers and sliced tripe.

Of course, after that experience I knew better. So I got a box of the true article at the druggist’s, and took the baby on my knee to feed him. The directions said: “Before feeding the baby, shake well.” Well, that was pie for me, because I had it in for him, anyway. I nearly shook the life out of him; then I fed him.

“Before feeding the baby, shake well.”

I was overly anxious to follow the directions strictly to the letter, so I read the whole thing through two or three times to make sure. Down near the bottom it read: “N. B.—After child is fed—set in a cool place—” I put him in the ice-box.

I went home the other evening and my wife said: “Ed, you know that this is the night that we are to go to the swell reception given by the Richmonds.” I said: “Yes, dear, I remember.” I hadn’t given it a thought, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Then she came over and put her arms around me and started to cry. I asked what the trouble was, and she said: “Well, you know, dear, I only intended getting just a light dinner, because, you know, we’ll get plenty to eat at the reception.” Then I lied again and said: “Yes, I know.” “Well,” she went, on, “the cook has allowed what little we were going to have to burn, and now there isn’t a thing in the house fit to eat. But don’t scold,” she said, “for she is so young and inexperienced, and, besides, she’s so sweet; won’t a kiss do instead?” I was pretty hungry, but I said: “All right; send her in.”

Put her arms around me and started to cry

For a long time I didn’t think we’d go to the reception—but, finally I squared matters and told her to run on and get dressed. I read the evening paper until she started putting on her hat,—and then I started to get ready. After I was dressed and waiting about five minutes she said she was ready. So we started for the reception, she on her dignity and I on an empty stomach. And I might as well say right here, I took my empty stomach back home with me again, for all I saw there to eat was some opera-glass sandwiches—that is, you could look through them.

With these they passed around lemonade, and after that was gobbled up by the hungry mob they flashed a box or two of bon-bons. Think of it—bon-bons on an empty stomach! If it wasn’t for fear of my wife being jealous I’d have gone to the kitchen and made a play for the cook.

I never attended anything that I got so disgusted with in all my life. Did you ever have to go to one, fellows, with your wife? The women all sit around in bunches, and each bunch runs down the others. Mrs. Hypocrite will look up rather suddenly to see if she can discover anybody talking about her, and she notices that Mrs. Stabyouinthe Back is gazing fixedly at her; then, each seeing that they are caught, smile sweetly, bow to each other and go back to knocking.

How can they do it, girls? How can they do it? Each woman there knew, deep down in her heart, that every woman three feet away was talking about her! If it wasn’t about her hat being one of last season’s styles it was about the way her dress was made; and if both of these happened to be above criticism then they would say: “O, pshaw! what good is all that finery to her? It doesn’t become her! It would be just the same if she had a Worth gown on, and the hat—well, she could put on picture-hats from all the picture-books published and it wouldn’t make her look dressed! Why, she can look well with nothing on!”

As though that woman would go to a reception with nothing on!

But the part that takes my time is that after all their knocking they stand in the hall when it’s time to go home, and, with the door open until everybody in the house is chilled to death, they have three or four rounds of kisses, tell what a delightful time they have had and invite each other to come and see them!

Henceforth I scratch receptions off my list. Nothing but a stag goes with me any more.

There was one poor fellow there that I took quite a fancy to—he was holding up the wall opposite to me. After a bit I went over and spoke to him. “How are you getting on?” I asked. “O, I’m holding up all right,” he said—I didn’t know whether he meant the wall or his spirits.

We talked for a while, and then he gaped and said: “Excuse me”; and I gaped and said: “Excuse me.” Then after a bit I gaped and said: “Pardon me”; and he gaped immediately after me and said: “Pardon me,” and we went on talking. Finally he said: “Don’t you think it’s a long gap between gaps?” I said: “So it is.” Then, feeling one coming on, I said: “Have a gap on me.” He said: “Not on your life! The last one was on you; have this one on me”—and I did.

I said: “It’s awfully slow here, isn’t it?” “I should say it is,” he replied. I said: “Let’s go home.” “I am home,” he said; “my wife is giving this affair.”

My mother-in-law is a lovely woman—at least, that’s what my wife tells me, anyway; so it must be so. The old dame thinks a great deal of me, too—in fact, she’s always thinking of me, and she’s not the little girl that’s afraid to tell me what she’s thinking, either. My! but my left ear is burning!

We came near losing her the other day—unintentionally on our part, too, because you couldn’t lose her if you tried.

It happened in this way: We have a large, old-fashioned clock hanging in the hall. It’s a massive affair and weighs quite a bit. Well, we were all surprised to hear a terrible crash, which was caused by the clock falling from its place on the wall and breaking in a thousand pieces.

Now my mother-in-law figures in the story in this way: She had been standing right underneath that clock only two minutes before it fell—and had walked away.

Of course, I was awfully sorry—to lose the clock, as it had been in our family for generations back, and in all those years it had kept good time up until the time it fell—and then it was ONLY TWO MINUTES SLOW.

Only two minutes slow

I was walking along the street the other day when a tramp walked up and touched me on the arm. He said: “Pardon me, but I have seen better days.” I said: “So have I. I can remember back when such awful weather as this was unknown.”

A tramp touched me on the arm

I said: “So long,” and started to walk away, but little Willie was right there. “Excuse me,” he said, “but will you give me five cents for a bite to eat?” I said: “A bite! what good is a bite? If you had a meal for sale I might talk business to you.”

Of all the narrow escapes from death I ever witnessed I think the one that I saw to-day was nothing short of a miracle. I was walking along Broadway [substitute local street] when my attention was attracted to a man standing on a scaffold painting an advertising sign on the fourth story of a building. It made me feel dizzy to look up at him. He worked away, seemingly unconscious of his dangerous position.

Suddenly I noticed him stagger; he made a grab for one of the ropes to protect himself, but missed it. I closed my eyes in horror as I saw him fall—the blood seemed to freeze in my very veins—I felt faint.

I closed my eyes in horror

I could stand the suspense no longer. I opened my eyes, but all seemed blurred before them. “Is he dead?” I asked of a man standing by my side. “No; he’s all right,” the man answered. “But he fell, didn’t he?” I cried. “O, yes, he fell all right,” he said; “but he landed on a bunch of rubber-necks and bounced back on the scaffold again.”

Wishing to make the jump from New York to Chicago a few weeks ago, I called on a friend of mine who stands pretty well with one of the officials of a certain railroad. I asked my friend if he thought he could get me a rate over that line, and he promised to see what he could do for me.

He said: “I’ll go right down, and if I can possibly get you a rate I’ll send word up to your hotel.” I said: “All right, old man; I’ll appreciate it very much.”

After waiting around the hotel for about an hour I recollected that I had a little business to transact down town, and I thought I’d have time to attend to it and get back to my hotel before the message arrived concerning the rate. So I bought a newspaper and jumped on a down-town car.

I had scarcely rode over four or five blocks when the conductor came by and shook me roughly by the arm and said, in a rough, surly manner: “Hey, you! Did you expectorate? [Expect a rate.] Now don’t sit there and tell me that you didn’t,” he added, “for I know you did.”

“Hey, you! did you expectorate?”

I was on my feet in an instant. “Why, you little insignificant, illiterate collector of plugged coins and dispenser of pennies!” I cried. “What do you mean by insulting me before this car full of people? Yes,” I said, “I did expect a rate, but that’s my affair. It’s none of your confounded business, nor anyone else’s, if I expect a pass! What I expect and what I don’t expect concern me alone!”

“O, is that so?” he sneered. “You’re going to bluff me—that’s what you expect. Now here’s what you don’t expect”—and he called a policeman and had me arrested for spitting on the floor of the car.

Did you ever have the toothache? My! but isn’t it a great thing to make you forget all your other troubles? I had the toothache the other night, and it nearly had me wild. I wouldn’t have minded being awakened by the tooth so much, but it was the nerve of the thing that struck me—and it struck me properly.

I jumped up, dressed myself and dashed over to the dentist’s. I said: “Doc, you argue with it, will you—you’ve got more of a pull than I have.”

Dashed over to the dentist’s

Then after he had it out he showed it to me, and I was surprised to think that such a tiny thing could make a person act so foolishly.

But I wasn’t the only one in misery, for there was a lady that came in shortly after I, and her jaw was swollen out like that. [Measure.] The doctor looked in her mouth and said: “My dear madam, you have evidently made a mistake—this is a dental office, not a quarry. You’ll have to take that to some place where they blast rock.”

I went into a cigar-store the other day, and walking up to the counter I said to the proprietor: “Let me have a Childs cigar.” “Pardon me, sir,” he said; “but what did you say you wanted?” “A Childs cigar, if you please,” I replied. “A child’s cigar? I am very sorry,” he said; “but we are not allowed to sell a child a cigar—but if a cinnamon cigarette will do you any good I can sell you one of those.”

“Let me have a Childs cigar”

I had a friend once that suffered terribly from a half-dozen different complaints. He woke up in the middle of the night once, and he didn’t know what ached him the most—the cold that had settled on his chest, his liver that was out of order, or the corn that he had on his little toe.

Anyway he got up, dressed himself and woke the druggist up to fix him some medicine that would give him some relief. The druggist fixed him up a powerful liniment, some pills and a corn-plaster, saying: “Rub your chest with the liniment for your cold, swallow the pills for your liver and use the corn-plaster for your toe.”

My friend kept repeating this to himself all the way back home, but when he got there he was all puzzled up. He stuck the corn-plaster on his chest, swallowed the liniment and tied the pills on his corn.

After that, he never suffered any more pain—he died without a struggle.

Isn’t it strange the funny things a man will run into? Now I ran into a well-known comedian this morning. I got an awful bump, too—it cost me a V. Have you ever noticed that an actor whom nature has best fitted for comedy invariably wants to break into the legit., and vice versa?

Now, for instance, the man that I met this morning is doing comedy, while every one that knows him will tell you that he is at his best in “touching” scenes. He can get my testimonial any old time.

Do you know a woman can’t stand flattery? It’s a fact. Now I went home the other evening, and, seeing my wife so earnestly engaged with the housework I could not refrain from commenting on it. I said: “Why, my dear, you’re as busy as a bee”—and the next day she got all jollied up and broke out with the hives.

By E. P. Moran

There seems to be a lot of talk about woman suffrage going on lately. It’s in reference to giving women the same right to vote that men have. Some men are in favor of it, while others are not; but, strange to say, the politicians to a man are against giving woman the right to vote, and I’ll tell you why.

A politician can get up in front of a gathering of men, throw out his chest and exclaim: “I am man’s greatest friend”—and they’ll believe him. But can that man get up before a crowd of women and say: “I am woman’s greatest friend”?

“I am man’s greatest friend”

No, sir—not on your life! They wouldn’t believe him—not while there is a bottle of Lydia Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound on the market!

In front of the office of the New York Journal [name local paper] on last election night, a tremendous crowd had gathered. They pushed and squeezed each other in order to get a look at the election returns that were being shown by the stereopticon. An old maid passed that way, and wishing to continue on down the street she said to a police officer standing there: “Officer, can I get through that crowd?”

“Officer, can I get thru that crowd?”

He looked at her a moment and said: “Lady, if you attempt to go through that crowd you’ll be squeezed ’most to death.”

A bright smile overspread her antique countenance as she looked up at him and said: “O, I’m not afraid to die!” Then she jumped into the crowd.

In a small town in New England, where the laws against prize-fighting are very strict, an ambitious youth by the name of Green was caught training for a fight. He was arrested and brought before the Judge, who said: “Mr. Green, you are charged with violating the law by training for a prize-fight; have you anything to say in your defense?”

“Well, your honor,” said Green, “is it against the law for a young lady to put on a corset?” “No,” replied the Judge, “it is not.”

“Then, your honor,” said Green, “I ask to be discharged, as there is no difference between a fighter training for a fight and a young woman putting on her corsets—they are both getting into shape.”

“I ask to be discharged”

By Joseph Horrigan

Now the thing we call love is like lager beer,

Only good when it’s fresh on tap, I fear.

Out of cut-glass and silver of course it’s nice,

If you can afford it and have the price;

But you’ll find any day when your purse is small

That from pewter it’s better than no beer at all.

The one thing important, and this is no “con,”

Is to get your drink quick, while the thirst is on.

The Man from

Squashopolis

By Harry L. Newton

[Copyright MCMIII by Will Rossiter]

Ladies and gentlemen, and those that are sitting in the boxes, and you, too, orchestra, you’ll pardon me if I hesitate for a moment, but I’ve just returned from a very long walk. All the way from Squashopolis, b’gosh! I think that was the name of the town where our show closed. We say “Closed,” you see. You know when a saloon-keeper or a bank, or a chop-suey restaurant, or an iceman, gives up business, we say that the owner liquidated, or busted up, or went to the devil, or it was a frost; but a theatrical troupe always “closes.” It sounds better, you know; just as if the manager got tired taking in money and was hiding some place so that no one could throw any twenty-dollar gold-pieces at him.

But Squashopolis is a great town! Ever heard of Squashopolis? No? Why, it’s right between Pumpkinhollow and Spinachville. Squashopolis is the largest town on the map. You see it was this way: The mayor and the fire-department and the postmaster—that is, the fellow that ran the saloon—bought a map of Indiana to find out where they were at, and finding that the man who wrote the map had made a mistake and overlooked the flourishing town of Squashopolis, the mayor and the fire-department, etc., of the aforesaid town betook themselves to the pen and ink and placed Squashopolis upon the map in a manner calculated to give their beloved town its due importance and dignity; and that is how Squashopolis became the largest town on the map. The census of the village—I took it myself—revealed the fact that its population consists of one saloon and three dogs. You see the town has gone to the dogs. I asked the man at the railroad station where I could find the mayor. He said: “Why, the mayor’s left and gone to the Klondike.” “How’d that happen?” He said: “Why, money makes the mayor go.” Well, I’ll sing you a sing.

[INTRODUCE SONG]

Well, I see that I’ve come out of that alive; now I’ll hand you some more. Now, in all my adventures on land or sea, and I’ve often been at sea as to where I was going to land (you never can tell in this business), in all my travels the saddest event in my career occurred the other day. I was invited to a swell dinner party—you know, a handful of lettuce and a cup of coffee; they’re something fierce; you all know how they are—maybe.

Well, as soon as I got through my turn I left the theater prepared for a long walk, as it was some distance from—pay-day. I stepped into the alley—you know they always dump us into the alley when they get through with us (they dump everything into the alley—actors, ashes, everything), then you have to sneak your way between the piles. Why, it, was only last night that I fell in a heap.

Well, right on the corner of the alley I noticed a man posting some bills. I said: “See here! Don’t post any bills there.” He says: “Why not?” I said: “Don’t you see that sign: ‘Post no bills under penalty’?” “Well, you big lobster,” said he, “don’t you see I’m posting them over penalty?”

Now that man was in the wrong business. I said to him: “What are you posting those bills for?” He says: “Why, don’t you see? Them are pictures of Richard Mansfield. He said if I’d stick these pictures up for him he’d buy the drinks.” I said: “O, I see; you’re sticking him for the drinks.”

I just reached the sidewalk when I was approached by a tramp; no, not an actor, but a decent, hard-working tramp. Yes, a hard-working tramp; I know he worked me hard enough. He was one of those fellows who has a child and sixteen wives to support. He said: “Friend, can you help a poor old slob who has got money in the bank but don’t know how to make out a check?” You know I’m generous; I’ve never yet refused any beggar who came to me and asked—for a match. With tears in his voice he said: “Say, mister, save me from a watery grave.” “How’s that?” I asked. “Young fellow,” he says, “if you don’t give me a quarter I’ll have to work in a soap factory or jump in the lake.” Well, I couldn’t help parting with a week’s salary, so I gave him a quarter. You know, somehow, he touched me. The man was overjoyed. “Friend,” he says, “you’ve saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you. I feel as though I never could repay you.” He never did.

I was approached by a tramp.

Talk about beggars! That night I met them all. If there was any I missed they were on a vacation. They all seemed to take to me. They all seemed to keep in touch with me, as it were. One man had nerve enough to ask me for 19 cents to buy a shirtwaist. I gave him the 19 and told him not to waste it. Talk about begging! I asked one man what he did for a living and he begged the question. I asked: “Why don’t you go to work?” He says: “I can’t; I’m a cripple.” I says: “That’s a lame excuse.” “Well,” he says, “you see I’m tongue-tied and I can’t do a lick of work.”

Then a young worried woman—I mean married woman—stopped and said: “Excuse me, sir, but I’m in such trouble. My husband gave me sixty cents to go down to the Boston Store and buy some radishes and a new folding-bed, and I forgot myself and thought that I was single and spent the money for a bunch of Allegretti’s; and now I haven’t any money to buy the radishes, and I don’t know how in the world to get home.”

I always did pity a woman in distress so I showed her the way. Then a man came up to me and said—well, before he could say anything I asked him: “Well, what is it? Radishes or a folding-bed?” He says: “I don’t understand you. I wanted information as to where [local street] is.” “O,” I said, “you want information? I thought you wanted a nickel.”

The doctors say that begging is a disease, and I notice everybody has a “touch” of it. Why, I believe there are more beggars in this town than there are prohibitionists in Milwaukee. Why, all the boxers in China are a Sweet Caporal guard along side the soldiers of misfortune I met that night. I made a detour around the courthouse to avoid their left flank, but I was confronted by the enemy’s center, which advanced toward me and occupied a strong position on [local street.]

They were commanded by a blind man with a picture of his finish on a sixteen-inch hand-organ. With this he was doing great execution—to the music. Among the wounded were the “Wild Irish Rose,” “She Is a Sensible Girl,” “My Rainbow Coon,” “Whistling Rufus” and a “Bird in a Gilded Cage.” “The Georgia Camp-Meeting” was also badly broken up.

My retreat being cut off by their right flank, which moved around to cop me at [local store] kopje, I decided to cut my way through the center and encounter the enemy en masse, en massay, en massee—well, in great big juicy bunches.

One of the enemy approached me; as [local writer] would say, he was brimful of the bibulous effervescence of concentrated outpourings of the intellectual excrescences resulting from the imbibition of infinitesimal—well, he was drunk. He started a spirited argument with me. I scented trouble, and observing trouble—I mean a copper—I gave him a cent. He gave me several scents and I almost lost my senses. He tried to thank me but I told him not to breathe a word of it.

Then a deah little child came up to mah and spoke to mah. She said she was a long way from home. Her aunt had given her three cents to chase herself to the parental roof—to ride home on—and she lost the money. Seeing she was but a little child (under 12 years), I thought it was only half fare, so I put her on the car.

At this point the organ-grinder with a monkey began a disturbance on the corner. One man declared he ought to be “pinched.” I said: “Certainly not.” He asked: “Why not?” I said: “He is a human being and has a perfect right to use his own organ.” He says: “Yes, as long as he doesn’t monkey with anybody else’s.”

I will now beg leave to change the subject, and tell you about the dinner party I mentioned seven minutes ago. Well, no sooner had I arrived at my destination than I was greeted by the hostess, who said: “Why, how do you do? Won’t you recite something?” You know they think an actor is just like a slot-machine. You throw in a meal and out comes a stunt. Well, I didn’t like the meal very well, so I sung them a song.

The Pacific Slop

By Harry L. Newton

[Copyright MCMIII by Will Rossiter]

I have just returned from the Pacific slip—slop—slope, I meant to say. Excuse the slop—I mean the slip of the tongue. I say “returned,” but I didn’t say in what way. That’s a long walk—I mean talk—I should say story. That slip—slop—slope has got me sloppy—slippy—twisted, I mean.

Well, while on the slip—slop—slippery slope, I slopped—slipped in love. I fell in love from slipping on the sloppy slope. I came pretty near getting a life sentence—married, I mean; it’s the same thing. The girl I loved was a brunette by birth. You know some are brunettes by accident; this girl was born that way. I don’t like brunettes. I like the blondes. This girl from the slope was a slippery—slobbery—slobby—I mean nobby—girl and was deeply infatuated with me. She would do anybody, anything for me. She declared she would die for me—and she did. That’s how she’s a blonde now.

Her father was a doctor—a “cure-all.” He claimed he could cure anything. When he found out I loved his daughter he tried to cure my love for her. He gave me a prescription. His specialty was rejections—injections, I mean. So he injected a load of buckshot into my frame. He said I needed something to increase my weight, so he filled me with lead.

The prescription was a good one, though. If they hadn’t called in another doctor to pick out the shot, my love would have certainly proved fatal. They took me to a horse-pistol—I mean a hospital. While I was filled with lead the boys used to come in and borrow me to go fishing with. They used me for a stinker—I mean a sinker. One day I asked the nurse how much longer I was going to be laid up and used for a sinker and she said I’d be well enough to leave just as soon as the fish quit biting. They couldn’t find all the shot that the prescription called for, so I had to leave the hospital “half-shot.”

Well, I finally did a slide from the slope and came east by way of the Northern Precipitate—Northern Pacific, I should say.

We started a game of poker on the train. I lost thirty dollars. When the train was twenty miles out I was thirty dollars out. I didn’t have a cent left. The conductor asked me for my fare and just then the train stopped. One of the passengers called to the conductor and said: “What’s the matter? Anything broke?” The conductor said; “Yes, one of the passengers.” Then the conductor asked me if I could fix the “break.” I couldn’t, so I got off.

Then the conductor began to kick about having to stop the train, and I was the receiver for his kicks. They came so fast I couldn’t stop them all. I do hate to feel—hear a man kick against little things. It wasn’t fair—or rather it was fare—that is, I didn’t have the fare. But anyhow it made me sore. I wouldn’t get back on his old train.

After I had collected my thoughts and the other parts of my anatomy, I found I was several parts of anatomy shy; so I went up to the conductor and I asked him if he had any old anatomy of mine hanging to him; that is, if I had anything coming that I had not got. He raised his foot—his large, massive right foot. I looked at it. It was too large for me; it wasn’t my size. I knew as soon as I looked at it it wouldn’t fit me, so I began to wend my way. I found it was cheaper to wend my way than to pay my way.

When I got to the next station I went into a balloon—I mean salome—so long—saloon; I always did forget that word. Well, on the wall was one of those strong—wrong long-distance telephones—nickel-in-the-slit—slop—slap—slot machine. I thought I’d call up the doctor and tell him what I thought of him. I didn’t think much of him—only about five cents’ worth.

So I slipped up to the slot and slipped a nickel in the slot to get a connection with the slope I had just slipped from. Just then the keeper of the life-shaving—life-saving station, the bar-slender—sender—tender, asked me what I wanted; I said I thought I’d take a gee whiz—a ginfizz. He said I had another thunk coming, so I told him I would take a glass of Schlitz before I heard from the slope. So I slanted a glass of Schlitz in the slot in my face and slowly sopped—sipped the Schlitz. Just then the telephone-bell rang; I went to the rang and rung the ring.

The doctor says: “Who are you?” I says: “I’m the fellow that took your prescription.” He says: “Well, what are you calling me up for?” I says: “I ain’t calling you up; I’m calling you down.” He says: “I think you sloped from the slope with my child, you slob, and if ever I see you again I’ll puncture your——”

Just then the barfender—bender—lender—tender asked me to have another Schlitz, so I dropped the fender—the sender to sip the Schlitz. Just as I sized up the Schlitz to seize it the bartender told me to settle for the last Schlitz. I couldn’t settle, so the bartender settled me. He gave me a sassy slap in the slats and spilled all the Schlitz that I had sipped.

Then I got desperate and commenced dropping nickels in the Schlitz and Schlitzes in the slots, then I got some more slaps in the slats; the doctor was trying to call me and I was calling the bartender—something I can’t repeat here, and—well, I finally got out and after a while, about thirty days after, I reached home—my old home. My father and mother said it was the home of my birth. Well, if “my birth” owned that home he never got any rent for it. The first person I met was a girl. Of course I met three politicians; but she was the first person. She was a singular person; she was the first person singular—singular because she wasn’t married. But that wasn’t so singular, because she was born with only one good eye. In the other one she got in a crockery store—kind of a bum pair of lamps.

Then one day she had the misfortune to be walking on a railroad track and she met a train—that, is, the train met her. Of course, there was no regular introduction; they just came together as people and trains will. Well, the train met her and now she’s got a cork—she’s got a corker. [Slap leg with hand.] Well, as I say, I met the corker—I mean the girl—and she told me she was engaged to be led to the slaughter—I mean sled to the halter—I mean led to the altar; going to be murdered—married; and she invited me to bring presents—I mean to be present at the wedding.

There wasn’t many people knew she had a corker. The fellow that was going to board her for life didn’t know she had a corker, either. The day before the wedding the gloom—that is, the groom—you know, the fellow that was going to marry the corker—I mean the girl—well, he was kind of a diffident fellow; he asked me to go to the parsley—the parsnips—the parson with him, and I went with the victim.

The parson charged him $5.00 to tie the connubial nit—the connubial knot. The parson said: “My dear sir; I will charge you $5.00 to set you sailing on the sea of matrimony.” My friend said: “Well, what’ll you charge for a round-trip ticket?” You see he didn’t know about the corker, but he was a corker. He says: “I’ll save you $4.00 to tie the conjugal knit-knot”—not knit but knot. But the parson refused. He said: “$5.00 or knot—nit.” The parson would not take any less than $5.00 for the imposition—the operation. He belonged to the “union.” So my friend that was engaged to the corker paid him the flea—the fee to knit the knot—I mean tie the knot. Well, the next day we all went to the church to see the fight—the wedding.

The young couple stood up in front of the parson and the parson opened a jackpot—I mean the Bible, looked all around the church and said: “Is there anybody here to give the bride away?” I jumped up and said: “Yes, I can, but I won’t!”

Then the queer—I mean the choir sang queer—that is, the queer choir sang “Take Me Just as I Am.” And the young fellow did. Of course, he didn’t know anything about the corker until——

Well, an old woman, 78 or 48, who lived in the town died one day. Of course, that isn’t strange, because old women die every day. But this particular old lady—but she couldn’t have been particular, either, or she wouldn’t have died. But anyhow she died, with a will, or against her will; that is, she had a will or left a will when she died. In the will she bequeathed to the corker—I mean the girl who married the fellow that didn’t know she had a corker—she bequeathed to her an old arm-chair.

Everybody gave the young couple the horse-laugh, but the young fellow took the old arm-chair home and put it in the house along with the glass eye and the corker. A few days after that they sat down to the breakfast-table—the fellow, the glass eye, the arm-chair and the corker—and while sitting at breakfast, talking over their cocoa, the husband said something over his cocoa, and then the wife said something over her cocoa, and they got into an argument over their cocoa, and finally he picked up the old arm-chair, over his cocoa, and passed it to his wife, over her cocoa, and broke it all to pieces—not the cocoa, but the old arm-chair. The old arm-chair was smashed all to pieces and out rolled fifteen million dollars in gold bull-con—bull-coin—gold bullion. You see, this wise old lady knew that the husband would break the old chair over his wife’s cocoa when he found she had a——

Out rolled fifteen million dollars in gold

Well, the result was a divorce, and naturally the fellow that married the remnant—the girl—came to me, as I had been present at the execution—at the wedding—and he naturally looked upon me as a confidence man—as a confidant—and he asked me my advice.

You see the corker’s brother, a big fellow that weighed about two hundred and looked it, had taken offense at the sister’s husband talking about family secrets and was out looking for trouble. So when the husband came to me for advice I told him to challenge the brother to a duel. He said he didn’t know anything about a duel. So I told him to go get a pair of gloves, go up to the brother and slap him in the face with the gloves.

The next day the young fellow got a pair of gloves, went up to the big brother and slapped him in the face with the gloves. Then he came back to report to me. I says: “Well, did you get the gloves?” He says: “Yes.” I says: “What did you do after you got the gloves?” He says: “I did just what you told me to do. I took the gloves in my hand and went up to the big guy and slapped him in the face with the gloves.” I says: “Well, what did he do?” He says: “He knocked me down and took the gloves away from me.”

WOULDN’T GOLF DIALECT DO?

You’ve heard about the deacon, haven’t you? Deacon Jones? No? Well, well! I thought you had. The deacon went up to our minister one Sunday afternoon and told him he was looking for advice. The reverend gentleman desired to know on what particular subject he required advice.

“I’ve taken to playing golf,” explained the other, “and I—er—I find it difficult to restrain—er——”

“Ah, I see what you mean,” said the minister—“bad language.”

“Exactly,” replied the pillar of the church.

“Well, how would it be to put a stone in your pocket every time you found yourself using a wrong word, just as a reminder, you know?”

“The very thing!” exclaimed the deacon; “thank you so much!” and departed.

A few days later the worthy cleric was passing along the road which led to the links, when he met an individual whose clothes stuck out all over, with great, knobby lumps.

“Gracious me, Mr. Bagshawe!” he cried, as the object approached nearer, “is that really you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” grunted the voice of the deacon.

“Why, you don’t mean—surely all those are not the result of my suggestion?” continued the horrified parson, gazing at the telltale bulges.

“These!” snorted the other contemptuously; “why, these are only the ‘dash its.’ The others are coming along on a wheel-barrow.”

When I was out West I saw two miners playing cards in a place called Toughnut Cafe. They finally found their amusement rather a dull one, for neither could overreach the other. At last one of the precious pair pushed his chair back, arose, and said:

“I’m tired of this; let’s have a change—I’ll jest bet yer a even thousand that I kin take them keerds and cut the jack o’ hearts the very fust time.”

“I’ll take yer,” replied the other, a very quiet fellow.

Stakes were deposited with an onlooker, and a pack of cards was produced and laid on the table between the gamblers. The layer of the bet thereupon drew his bowie-knife and neatly sliced the cards in two from top to bottom.

“Thar,” said he, “I cut the jack o’ hearts the fust time, mister, an’ I reckon I’ll freeze on to that thar cash. Fork her over, mister. The agreement was that I were to cut the jack the fust time, an’ I done it. I cut it, didn’t I?”

“Wal, no,” said the other, “I rayther think not, for th’ jack were not there. Yer see, stranger, I thought it wiser, under the circumstances, to take the precaution of placing that there card up my sleeve!”

Jap Johnson told me that! The greatest man to jump into a town and get acquainted with folks I ever saw, Jap was. Give Jap a night and a day in a country place and everybody there would call him by his first name, and he’d call everybody the same way, even the girls. In forty-eight hours he’d know every man, woman, child, horse, dog and cat in the town, and could tell who married who, who got drunk once in a while, and who had fits or rheumatics. Give him three days in a town and he’d have every bit of the gossip and old, musty scandals that ever went over the back fences of that town. He was a wonderful man, Jap was, and he could sell goods like a house afire.

The biggest thing he ever did, though, was about four years ago. He had four hours to spend in a little town out west. In that time he sold two bales of goods, was invited to dinner by the mayor, decided four bets, was referee in a dog-fight, proposed marriage and was accepted by the belle of the place, borrowed ten dollars from her pa, beat another man two games of billiards, and, it happening to be election day, he capped the whole by sailing in and having himself elected town clerk by a majority of eleven votes.

HAPPENINGS IN KEROSENELAMPVILLE

Did you see me this morning? My cousin Silas was with me! He’s a good fellow, Silas is! Deacon of the church in Kerosenelampville! Ever been there? If you haven’t you’ve missed a lot—of trouble. I took Silas up to our club one afternoon and when he saw Billy Smith and Chris Lane playing chess he ventured to interrupt the game.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but the object of both of you is to git them wooden things from where they are over to where they ain’t?”

“That partly expresses it,” replied Chris.

“An’ you’ve got to be continually on the lookout fer surprises an’ difficulties?”

“Constantly.”

“And if you ain’t mighty careful you’re going to lose some on ’em?”

“Yes.”

“An’ then there’s that other game I see some of you dress up odd for, an’ play with long sticks an’ a little ball.”

“You mean golf?”

“That’s what I mean. Is that game amusin’?”

“It’s interesting, and the exercise is beneficial.”

“Well, I reckon it’s a mighty good joke.”

“To what do you refer?”

“The way I’ve been havin’ fun without knowing anything about it. If you young gentlemen want to reely enjoy yourselves, you come over to my farm an’ git me to let you drive pigs. You’ll git all the walkin’ you want, an’ the way you have to watch for surprises, an’ slip about so’s not to lose ’em, would tickle you nearly to death.”

One day an artist ambulated into Kerosenelampville, and Silas asked him:

“How much’ll you charge to paint my house with me a-standin’ in the door?”

The artist said fifty dollars, and Silas told him to go ahead with the work.

In due course the painting was finished. But, alas! the careless artist clean forgot to paint my cousin on the picture.

“I like it,” said Silas; “but where’s me, lad—where’s me?”

The error he had made flashed across the artist, but he tried to pass it off with a joke. “O,” he said, “you’ve gone inside to get my fifty dollars.”

“O, have I?” said Silas; “p’r’aps I’ll be coomin’ out soon, and if I dew I’ll pay you; in t’ meantime we’ll hang it up and wait.”

Just as I had entered a barber’s shop to-day and was hanging my top-piece on a nail, a 290-pounder rushed in and said to the only other man in the place—a fellow with his coat and vest off and an apron tied around his waist:

“I want my hair cut, and no talk.”

“The——” began the man in the apron.

“No talk, I tell you!” shouted the heavy man. “Just a plain hair-cut. I’ve read all the papers and don’t want any news. Start away now.”

The man in the apron obeyed.

When he had finished, the man who knew everything rose from his chair and surveyed himself in the glass.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “It’s really true, then? You barbers can’t do your work properly unless you talk.”

“I don’t know,” said the man in the apron, quietly. “You must ask the barber. He’ll be in presently. I’m the glazier from next door.”

Bits of Verse & Prose

By Edwards & Ronney

LOVE’S WONDERMENT

I loved a maiden fair as dewy morn;

She was not lean, nor was she stout;

And as we spooned the livelong day

I wondered how ’twould all turn out;

And the sun went up in the azure sky,

And the sun went down as she and me

Sat all the time and wondered why,

And questioned what the end might be.

I’m married; my wonderment is o’er—

The future now is no longer hid;

For while my darling lays back to snore

I walk the floor with a howling kid;

And my son I raise from his little bed,

For he won’t stay there—not he;

And as my heel goes on a tack

I wonder what the end will be.

If you are in need of a good smart bank clerk go to Canada—the smartest ones have gone over there.

FOUND IN A COUNTRY GRAVE-YARD

Mary was healthy, Mary was young;

But Mary lies here, for she had but one lung.

She talked all her life till she died with lockjaw;

I now rest in peace—she was my mother-in-law.

The grass is green, the rose is red,

But the man who lies here had no hair on his head.

A man lies under this monument grand

Who was caught with five aces at once in his hand.

With seven wives when on earth he was blessed,

But now the poor lobster is taking a rest.

Lonely and sad and silent and damp,

But nobody cares, for here lies a tramp.

Johnny lies here all sweet and serene;

Johnny ate apples both sour and green.

On earth it may rain, hail and snow,

But the climate is different, here below.

The day-time is light and the night-time is dark;

Did anyone know me—my name was John Clark?

I never thought skating in winter was nice;

But where I am now I wish they had ice.

Neither flesh nor blood rest beneath these stones;

Just fifty pounds of skin and bones.

THE RED, RED ROSE

The red, red rose is beautiful,

As it grows by the garden-walk,

But do not sit on the red, red rose—

There’s a thorn in its every stalk!

THINGS WE SHOULD NOT FORGET

No man can be all right—half of him is left.

And no matter which shoe you put on first you always put the left one on last.

What kind of cow gives the milk of human kindness?

If all men were created alike, as the constitution of the United States proclaims, what an awful time married women would have trying to find their husbands!

If the man who wrote “The Snow, the Snow, the Beautiful Snow” lived in Florida, then the man who wrote “There Is No Place Like Home” never had a wife; ergo, no mother-in-law!

“There is more pleasure in giving than in receiving.” Certainly, if you are talking about a licking. Any five-year-old kid knows that.

Most people keep their spirits up by pouring spirits down.

The Society for the Prevention of Crime is going to stop the Poultry Show in Madison Square, New York. They say it is a fowl (foul) show.

A bald-headed man is surer of salvation than a man with an abundance of hirsute appendage, there being not a hair between him and Heaven.

You can use the old saying “Slow but sure” when talking to me, but for the sake of your own personal comfort, don’t say it to Dan Smith—and above all don’t say it to Thomas Lipton.

We are all kings and queens in this country—we all have crowns on our heads.

Men’s minds are like onions: some of them are stronger than others, and what is in them often brings tears to women’s eyes.

Hop medasin Kompanie:

Gents—please dont send me enymoar uf yer patent medasin sirkulars. every tim i reed won uf them i half every diseas yu menshun. last sumor i hed the mesells an the kattel tuk it an they broak out uf the pastchur.

Deer doctur:

mi wife used tu stutter sum wen she talked. i used siks botels uv yer wundurfeel Remadie an now she has the locke gaw. pleas sent tu moar botels fer mi mutherinlaw.

Yers trooly

Hen Henpeck

Rapid Fire

By HARRY L. NEWTON

COPYRIGHT MCMIII BY WILL ROSSITER

Tom (Comedian): Can you tell me where there’s a fire-insurance office?

Dick (Straight): Why, are you going to insure your property?

Tom: Well, not exactly; but my boss says he’s going to fire me, and I want to see if I can’t get protection from the fire.

Dick: Well, why don’t you attend to business? Get around bright and early in the morning.

Tom: I would, only my watch stopped this morning.

Dick: What was the matter with it?

Tom: A bedbug got between the ticks.

Dick: O, quit your kidding! I want to ask you something serious—

Tom: I don’t get paid until Saturday.

Dick: O, I don’t want money. I have a plenty of that.

Tom: My goodness! How long since?

Dick: I want you to understand that I am very well off.

Tom: Yes; you’re away off. (Taps forehead.)

Dick: That’ll do you!

Tom: But I knew the time when a bean sandwich looked like a week’s board to you.

Dick: Well, you needn’t tell everybody here about it—that’s my misfortune.

Tom: I won’t say a word. But if you don’t behave I’ll tell everybody here that I loaned you a shirt, till you get yours from the laundry—

Dick: Say, please keep—

Tom: O, I won’t breathe it, don’t worry; and I won’t say a word about you wearing my collar and tie, either—

Dick (angrily): See here—

Tom: O, shavings! Don’t get angry!

Dick: Well, then, listen and be serious. I have written a play—

Tom: Thirty days and costs.

Dick (sarcastically): I suppose you think you could write one.

Tom: I did write one; I wrote a melodrama.

Dick: A melodrama, eh? Was anybody killed?

Tom: No; the audience yelled for the author, but I wouldn’t come out.

Dick: Ha! Ha! It’s a good thing that you didn’t. Now in my first act—

Tom: Say, did you ever hear the story about my coal-bin?

Dick: No; is it a good one?

Tom: No; there’s nothing in it.

Dick: O, behave! In my first act I—

Tom: Say, a fellow asked me to-day if he would have to take a course in a barber-school before he could shave ice at a soda-water counter.

Dick: O, behave! In the first act I have introduced a—

Tom: A piece of cheese.

Dick: Yes; a piece of cheese—no; nothing of the sort. The idea!

Tom: What’s the best way to catch a rat?

Dick: I suppose there are several ways. What is the best way to catch a rat?

Tom: Crawl in a pantry and smell like a piece of cheese.

Dick: Will you behave? I heard you had been speculating on the board of trade?

Tom: Yes; I was a speculator.

Dick: What were you, a bull or a bear?

Tom: Neither. They made a monkey out of me.

Dick: Serves you right! In the first act—

Tom: Say, are you still in the first act?

Dick: Certainly. Why don’t you let me go on?

Tom: O, go on; I don’t care what happens.

Dick: Well, in the first act, I have written—

Tom: You have written home for money.

Dick: Yes, I have written home—no, nothing of the sort.

Tom: Not guilty?

Dick: Not guilty; my folks haven’t seen my face in four months.

Tom: My goodness! Why don’t you wash it?

Dick: Now, stop it, I tell you! In the first act—

Tom: Why is a cascaret?

Dick: Why is a cascaret what?

Tom: Because it works while you sleep.

Dick: For goodness sake! is that a joke?

Tom: I should say so. It’s one of the best I ever traveled with.

Dick: Then you don’t travel with much, do you?

Tom: No; I generally travel with you.

Dick: O, behave, you rascal!

Tom: Say, do you know what?

Dick: No; what?

Tom: What is worse than a giraffe with a sore throat?

Dick: Why, I can’t imagine anything worse. What is worse?

Tom: A centipede with the chilblains.

Dick: I wish you’d behave! I was going by your house yesterday, and I saw your sister looking out of the window; but I didn’t see any of the rest of the family—

Tom: Well, sister is the only one that’s working, and she looks out for us all.

Dick: Behave! Behave! Is your sister a blonde?

Tom: No, but she’s dyeing to be one. (Slaps himself on the wrist.) Behave! how dare you!

Dick: Say, are you going to listen to me?

Tom: Certainly.

Dick: Well, in the first act the villain comes on and strikes the heroine—

Tom: For ten cents to buy an automobile.

Dick: Yes, for ten cents to buy an auto—no, no, he strikes her—

Tom: Why, he must belong to the union, then?

Dick: Certainly, he does—no, he doesn’t either. The idea!

Tom: If two peaches make a date, and two dates make a pair, what do apples make?

Dick: Why, apples make cider, of course.

Tom: And Pears make soap, is it?

Dick: Is it! You talk like a cake of yeast.

Tom: Sure. You see I always rise when I talk. Ha, Ha!

Dick: What are you laughing at?

Tom: That joke. I thought of it so quick. It must be quick-rising yeast, are they?

Dick: Are they! There you go again.

Tom: Did you hear about it?

Dick: Hear about what?

Tom: My sister eloped yesterday.

Dick: Is that so?

Tom: Yes, a horse ran away with her.

Dick: O, behave! That reminds me. When are you going to get married?

Tom: Hush! Can you keep a secret?

Dick: Sure.

Tom: I’m married.

Dick: Why, that’s news to me. How long have you been married?

Tom: Six months.

Dick: Six months, eh? And I suppose you think your wife is an angel?

Tom: No, not quite—but I have hopes.

Dick: O, behave! You know in the first act—

Tom: You know when I asked my wife’s father to marry his daughter, I said: “I love your daughter and I can’t live without her.”

Dick: Very noble of you. And what did the old gentleman say?

Tom: He says: “Take her, young man; I can’t live with her.”

Dick: Ha, ha! And you took her?

Tom: I did. I took her for better or worse, and got the worst of it.

Dick: Too bad! But who gave the bride away?

Tom: Her little brother.

Dick: Her little brother? I never heard of such a thing. The father usually gives the bride away.

Tom: The old man never said a word. It was her little angel-faced brother. He told everybody that she had a cork leg. It was an awful case of give away.

Dick: Then I suppose you took a bridal tour?

Tom: No; I felt more like taking an ax to her.

Dick: Why, that, wouldn’t be very nice—to take an ax to her.

Tom: I would, only she began to sing “O, Woodman, Spare that Tree.”

Dick: O, behave!

Tom: You know my wife used to be a “summer girl.”

Dick: And what is a “summer girl?”

Tom: A “summer girl” is a rack to stretch shirt-waists on; inside is a compartment for lobster salad, chop suey and ice cream; while outside is an attachment for diamond rings.

Dick: A very good definition, my boy. I suppose you hung a diamond ring on the outside?

Tom: No; I hung up my watch on the inside of a pawnshop.

Dick: Well, don’t worry—a man should be satisfied with what he has.

Tom: O, I’m satisfied with what I have. It’s what I haven’t got that causes most of my dissatisfaction.

Dick: You look well. That ought to help some.

Tom: I just returned from taking a water cure.

Dick: Did you derive any benefit from the water?

Tom: I don’t know. You see the water was in a well, and I think the exercise I got going to the well helped me.

Dick: Why, was the well a long way off?

Tom: Yes; you see I was far from well.

Dick: O, behave! In the first act—

Tom: Is your play funny?

Dick: Yes; every hearty laugh adds a day to a person’s life, you know.

Tom: I don’t believe it.

Dick: Why not?

Tom: I laughed yesterday when a guy slipped on a banana peel, and I’ll bet he kicked ten days off of my life, all right.

Dick: Well, you only got what was coming to you. Now the first act—

Tom: Here’s a funny thing.

Dick: What’s that?

Tom: Why, night falls but it doesn’t break.

Dick: Well, what, of it?

Tom: O, nothing, except that day breaks but it doesn’t fall.

Dick: O, behave!

Tom: My landlady forgot this morning and helped me to a second piece of steak.

Dick: That was luck.

Tom: Yes, tough luck.

Dick: O, behave! I see that Kid McCoy says he’s willing to meet any man in the world for any amount of money.

Tom: So am I.

Dick: So are you? Why, the idea! Ha, ha! That makes me laugh.

Tom: Laugh away; but I’ll meet any man in the world for any amount of money, any old time.

Dick: You will?

Tom: Yes, I will. J. P. Morgan preferred.

Dick: Good! You’re all right. Well, in the first act the heroine is discovered asleep in a snow-bank.

Tom: Then she must have cold feet.

Dick: Yes, she has cold—no, she hasn’t got cold feet.

Tom: O, she has a hot-water bag on her feet?

Dick: Yes, she has, of course—no, she hasn’t either. The heroine is discovered asleep in a snow-bank and the villain comes on and—

Tom: And she wakes up and gives him the “frozen face.”

Dick: Yes, now you’ve got it—O, behave!

Tom: Say, my old maid sister found a man under her bed last night.

Dick: Is that so? What did she do, send for a policeman?

Tom: No; she sent for a minister.

Dick: O, behave!

Tom: I ain’t going to church any more.

Dick: Not going to church? Why, what’s the reason?

Tom: I’m sore at the minister.

Dick: What about?

Tom: When my brother died the minister said he had gone to join the great majority.

Dick: Well, what’s wrong with that? That’s simply an expression: “Gone to join the great majority.”

Tom: Yes, but two weeks ago he said that more people went down below than there were up above. Wouldn’t that jingle your small change?

Dick: I understand your brother was a hard drinker?

Tom: Yes; his habits were a little moist.

Dick: Moist?

Tom: Yes, he kept pretty well soaked.

Dick: The idea! In the first—

Tom: Gee! but my father was late in getting home last night.

Dick: What made him late?

Tom: The trolley-car kept stopping every two minutes.

Dick: Every two minutes?

Tom: Yes, it would stop every two minutes and then wait one minute before starting again.

Dick: Wasn’t your father angry at the waits?

Tom: No, they were only short waits and he’s used to short weights—he’s in the coal business.

Dick: O, behave!

Tom: If you ever do what you did last night I’ll never speak to you again.

Dick: What did I do?

Tom: I met you last night just as I was coming in the hotel.

Dick: Yes; what of it?

Tom: You were going out of the hotel when I was coming in, and you insulted me.

Dick: Insulted you? How did I insult you?

Tom: You were singing a song.

Dick: Well, what of it? There’s no harm in that. What song was I singing?

Tom: “All Going Out; Nothin’ comin’ in.”

Dick: O, behave!

“A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME”

Bishop Conaty, rector of the Catholic University at Washington, while on a visit to Brooklyn recently, told of a priest’s experience in a small New England town. The clergyman was just about to retire for the night when he heard a knock at his door. He called “Come in,” and a negro presented himself and said, rather shamefacedly:

“Father, there is a girl outside. May I bring her in?”

Assent having been given, he disappeared for a moment, and returned with a white woman and informed the scandalized priest that they wished to be married.

He was shown the door with promptness, and the girl was severely admonished on the course she was pursuing.

Fifteen minutes later there came another knock, and on opening the door the priest found himself again face to face with the would-be colored bridegroom.

With great indignation the priest said:

“I thought I sent you about your business before!”

The darkey paralyzed him with this reply:

“Yes, I know you did, Father James; but Mary and I have talked it over, and we thought maybe you would look at the matter differently if you knew I was willing to turn Irish.”

AN ORIGINAL HABEAS CORPUS CASE

Some years ago a well-known promoter started to boom a new town in Montana. He adopted the usual methods, built electric railroads, established an electric-light plant, put up business blocks, and erected himself a fine house.

Among the other business enterprises he established a bank, of which he made himself president, and, in order to inspire confidence in this, as well as in his other ventures, he persuaded some well-known Montana men to become directors, among others the then United States Senator T. C. Power.

Things went along swimmingly until the panic of 1893, and then the bubble burst, and the bank suffered in consequence. At a directors’ meeting, at which the president was conspicuous by his absence, it was decided that rather than have the bank fail, each stockholder would “dig up” and save it. After the meeting the members of the board went around to Mr. Promoter’s house to acquaint him with their decision. They found him smoking in his luxurious library, and he listened attentively until the spokesman had finished his explanation, and then he said:

“This is a very good idea, gentlemen, very, and I only regret I cannot join you.”

“Why not?” inquired almost every man at once.

“Because I have absolutely nothing to give.”

“What’s the matter with your business blocks?” asked one.

“They belong to my wife,” suavely replied Mr. Promoter.

“How about your electric railroad?” inquired another.

“That, too, belongs to my wife.”

“Well, to whom does this house belong?”

“I gave it to my wife as soon as it was built. I am very sorry, but you see I have absolutely nothing but my body that I can call my own. I would gladly give that to be divided up if it would do any good.”

“Well, gentlemen,” and Senator Power spoke for the first time, “if you decide to accept Mr. Promoter’s last proposition and take his body, I speak for his gall.”

LI HUNG CHANG’S JOKE

A salutation of respect in China is to comment on the mature and even venerable appearance of one’s guest. When the Minister to Siam called officially on Li Hung Chang he was accompanied by a prominent missionary, a man eighty years of age, with white hair and beard, who was to serve as interpreter. Unknown to Mr. Barrett, the missionary and the Chinaman had had a falling out some years before. Li came into the reception-room, saluted Mr. Barrett cordially, and bowed stiffly to the patriarchal interpreter. To the youthful minister the premier said:

“I congratulate you, sir, on your venerable mien.” And then, nodding toward the octogenarian, he asked: “And is this your son?”

Fifteen Minutes

with a Playwright

By HARRY L. NEWTON

[COPYRIGHT MCMIII BY WILL ROSSITER]

I have written the scenario of a play, which I think will prove an innovation in the drama. It is entitled plain “MICKEY THE MOUSE: or, THE POROUS PLASTER.” The porous plaster does not appear in the play at all—I merely tack it on the title to make the play draw well.

ACT I

Scene 1: Curtain rises to terrific snow-storm. Thermometer 906 degrees below faro—zero. Heroine, as poor flower-girl, enters in an automobile; bunch of violets in each hand, bunch of roses in another, while with the other she holds herself—erect. She wears a beautiful sealskin coat, and a sad smile, for her parents have only five million dollars apiece and no coal, and she has to help support the family by selling violets and daffodils at so much per daffi.

“Fresh violets! Fresh roasted violets!” she cries. Enter chorus and sing song in answer to The Maiden’s Prayer.

Exit chorus, enter villain, an icy smile on his face. Can you blame it?

“I have come to ask you for your hand.”

“I have only two. I have none to spare—I need them both!” the maiden cries.

“O, car-r-ses! car-r-ses! and once again car-r-ses! Can nothing thaw you?” the villain thus speaks.

“You are a bum actor. I cannot give you a hand. I can only give you the frozen face.”

“Filed—foiled! in act first, but watch my smoke in act two.” Curtain, VERY quick curtain.

ACT II

Scene 2: Same as in Act I, only more so.

The snow is still snowing. Nothing is heard but the howling of the audience—howling of the wind. Enter the villain and Mickey the Mouse. Villain bribes The Mouse to kidnap the heroine, tie her to the cold, cold snow, go down to the river, bring it back, and make the heroine take a cold plunge—to death.

Mickey the Mouse accepts. Enter Chasem Cheese, the brave detective. He has been on the trail of the mouse so long that he has grown stale.

The Mouse smells Mr. Cheese. Exit The Mouse. Cheese follows closely, still strong on the scent.

Heroine enters.

“Hot roses! Red-hot roses! Please buy my roses!”

Enter The Mouse. Womanlike, she screams at sight of The Mouse. He seizes her and is just about to splash her into the river, which the property-man has just pushed on. She begs him not to throw her into the cold, cold water, but to wait until it’s warmer. “You had a mother once,” she cries.

He did happen to have a mother once, and he relents; he waits until the ice thaws, then he throws her in.

She is about to swallow the river, when the hero comes on and does a song and dance. One more swallow and the river would vanish forever, but the hero does not wait. He plunges in and gets his feet wet—all for the love of her.

“Shaved—saved!” she cries; “you have saved my golden hair from being lost forever!”

O, joy! exceeding joy! Exit sorrow until act third.

ACT III

Scene 1: Home of the poor flower-girl, on Fifth Avenue, New York.

Heroine discovered in boudoir of her wretched million-dollar residence. Enter French maid with card.

“’Tis he!” the heroine screams—“my brave hair-restorer!”

She glides down the marble staircase; she would have done a two-step, but the glide is more fashionable.

There is no handle on the front door, so she opens it with a glad smile.

The hero walks in upon her invitation; she seats herself upon his entering, and, with a scream, faints upon his departure.

Again quick curtain.

ACT IV

Scene 1: Same as Act III.

Heroine discovered in a pensive mood and an expensive gown.

Enter villain without knocking. He is no “knocker,” though he be a villain.

“I have come for me answer!”

“Will you have it wrapped up?” she answers, a la Siegel-Cooper, and, seizing a glass of wine, she dashes it in the villain’s face.

“Car-r-se the luck!” he yells. “The drinks are on me.”

Slow curtain to give the villain time to put on dry clothes for Act V.

Now, instead of an elapse of nine years between acts four and five, I have written the play in nine acts. That ought to prove an innovation.

Between acts seven and eight another innovation: coffee and rolls will be served. The ushers will pass hot coffee and the curtain will come down with a roll.

Between acts eight and nine morning papers will be distributed, and the milkmen will be admitted free.

Now comes Act V.

ACT V

Scene: Home of The Mouse.

He is discovered trying to get into the ice-box for something to eat.

Enter Chasem Cheese, the brave detective.

The Mouse is surprised at the entrance of Cheese.

Desperate struggle.

The Mouse seizes a keg of gunpowder, hurls it at Cheese and blows him into a thousand pieces.

But Cheese will not give up.

Startling and thrilling climax:

A piece of Cheese chases The Mouse off the stage to quick music.

That’s as far as I can get. That finish to Act V is so strong I don’t know what to do for the other four acts.

A piece of cheese chasing a mouse has got anything beat that I ever heard of in a drama.

WHAT SONGS ARE POPULAR IN—

Philadelphia: “Please Go ’Way and Let Me Sleep.”

Kentucky: “Trouble.”

Kansas: “I Guess I’ll Have to Go, ’Cause I Think It’s Going to Rain.”

Chicago: “Blue, Blew, Blew.”

Milwaukee: “Down Where the Wurzburger Flows.”

New Orleans: “Creole Belles.”

Coney Island: “My Water Lou.”

Sing Sing: “A Bird in a Gilded Cage.”

APPROPRIATE SONGS FOR—

Earl of Yarmouth to Alice Thaw (before marriage): “Can’t Live on Love.” (After marriage): “Home Ain’t Nothin’ Like This.”

Grover Cleveland: “If Time Was Money I’d Be a Millionaire.”

J. P. Morgan: “Hello, Central, Give Me Heaven.”

Andrew Carnegie: “My Money Never Gives Out.”

Wm. J. Bryan: “If I But Knew.”

Jeffries to Corbett: “Just Kiss Yourself Good-By.”

It astounds! and then some!

HAIR RAISING!

STARTLING! AMAZING!

Sophie Lyons

QUEEN OF THE BURGLARS.

BY SOPHIE LYONS

The Uncrowned Queen of Crime

In this epoch making book in which truth makes the wildest imaginings of the wizards of fiction dull and commonplace, Sophie Lyons, known to the police of two continents as the shrewdest, cleverest, brainiest, and most daring and resourceful criminal of the age, tears aside the veil and reveals the most desperate characters of the underworld, the millionaire aristocrats of crime, as they plot, plan and later execute their dark and incredible deeds. With breathless interest we watch these masked midnight marauders as the mighty steel vaults of the greatest financial institutions swing wide at their bidding, yielding their boundless treasures to the crafty cracksman and scientific burglar, the magic manipulators of gun, dynamite and jimmy.

Through the Whole Gamut of Crime,

Stupendous and Blood Curdling.

We are personally conducted by the Queen of Criminals. Read how Gainsborough’s matchless Duchess of Devonshire was stolen, and how the most desperate exploits in the annals of crime were successfully executed. Your heart will almost cease to beat as the authoress tells you of her miraculous escape from Sing Sing. Read how a million dollars was dishonestly made, and learn in spite of enormous ill gotten gains

WHY CRIME DOES NOT PAY.

TENSE!      THRILLING!!      BLOOD CURDLING!!!

FICTION OUTDONE!      ROMANCE ROUTED!

The most fascinating and astounding narrative of the underworld ever placed before the public.

The work contains 268 pages of reading matter besides being fully illustrated and bound in handsome paper cover printed in colors.

Price 25 cents, for sale everywhere.

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

57 ROSE STREET,                            NEW YORK.

NEWS AGENTS AND BOOKSELLERS

will do well NOT TO READ our latest Joke Book just issued, unless they wear a belt instead of suspenders, as their sides are apt to split with laughter.

IT IS BY

RAYMOND AND CAVERLY

AND IS ENTITLED

The Wizards of Joy

These professional fun-doctors and dynamiters of sorrow have

written a roundelay of merry patter, that is a sure

cure for any kind of melancholy.

Witty German Dialogue! Clean! Amusing! Entertaining!

Funny Sayings, Jokes and Parodies.

GUARANTEED UNDER THE PURE FUN LAWS.

The most up-to-date German dialect conversation, cross-fire

jokes, gags, conundrums, songs, parodies,

and wit, on the market.

Raymond and Caverly are known from coast to coast as the most popular vaudeville team of German comedians. Mr. Wm. R. Hearst recognized their talent by running their humorous articles in his chain of papers, including “The New York American,” “Boston American,” “Chicago Examiner,” “San Francisco Examiner,” and “Atlanta Constitution.” Thousands will embrace the opportunity to secure this good material in book form. THE BOOK WILL BE A BIG SELLER.

It contains 178 pages, printed from new, large type on antique wove book paper, illustrated, with attractive cover in colors. It is for sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of PRICE, 25 CENTS.

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING CO., 57 ROSE ST., NEW YORK.

THE HOUSEWIFE’S TREASURE!

THE HOME-KEEPER’S DELIGHT!

PEERLESS! UNEQUALLED!

THE

EVERYDAY COOK BOOK

saves money, saves labor. Makes cooking pleasurable, easy and delightful. Without previous experience or instruction, by the aid of this magic volume, the busy housewife can quickly learn to make hundreds of savory, appetizing, nourishing dishes, plain or fancy, dainty or substantial.

Easy! Practical! Economical! Concise!

THE EVERYDAY COOK BOOK

is the Aladdin’s lamp that converts the kitchen into fairy land, and the stove, oven and range into magic producers of appetizing and delicious edibles.

TWO THOUSAND FAVORITE RECIPES

for cooking every known variety of food. Dishes that tickle the palate, satisfy the appetite, aid digestion, promote health and prolong life. The magic portal to a world of toothsome delights.

IT TELLS YOU HOW! IT SHOWS YOU HOW!

Makes Poor Cooks Good Cooks!

Converts Drudgery Into Pleasure, Toil Into Delight!

It Tells You What to Eat! When to Eat! How to Eat!

What to Buy! When to Buy! How to Buy!

Every recipe has been thoroughly tried and tested, and pronounced by numerous housewives to be par excellence, not only as to pleasant results, but also in regard to the small cost involved. Also contains scores of immensely valuable household hints and information on every subject of interest to the cook, housewife and home-keeper.

A Cook Book and Home Encyclopedia All In One!

Invaluable for the Kitchen! Unequalled for the Home!

You Want It! You Cannot do Without It! Buy It Now!

The book contains 200 pages, size 7 × 5 inches, is bound in heavy paper cover, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of only 25 cents in stamps or silver.

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. BOX 767        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

OGILVIE’S JOKE BOOK SERIES.

All of these books contain more laughs to the square inch than any other books in the market. They are all bound in illustrated covers, profusely illustrated throughout, and will be sent to any address upon receipt, in stamps or money, of 25 cents per copy.

Fun On Draught.

Some Funny Things Said by Clever People.

Five Hundred Merry Laughs.

The Funny World. One hundred illustrations.

Three Hundred Funny Stories.

Twenty Good Stories.

Tho Comic Cook Book.

Ton of Fun.

Jack Robinson’s Yarns.

Funny Experiences of Mr. and Mrs. Bowser.

Two Thousand Prize Jokes.

A Bad Boy’s Diary. Part 1.

A Bad Boy’s Diary. Part 2.

Blunders of a Bashful Man.

Trials and Troubles of the Bowser Family.

Ten Funny Stories. By Opie Read.

The Travels of a Tramp.

Widder Doodle’s Courtship. By Josiah Allen’s Wife.

Our Drummer’s Trip Through the Sunny South.

Six Tank Tales. By Clarence Louis Cullen.

New Irish Yarns. By Mickey Finn.

The Sinker Stories. By J. Joseph Goodwin.

New German Yarns. By J. Joseph Goodwin.

Tales I’ve Heard Told. By Lewis A. Leonard.

Race-Track Stories.

Base-Ball Stories.

Life in New York; or, Tales of the Bowery. By Mickey Finn.

The Funny Fellows Grab-Bag.

The King of Unadilla.

Miss Slimmens’ Window.

Miss Slimmens’ Boarding House.

Corse Payton’s Joke Book.

Hi Holler’s Joke Book.

How About It? Joke Book.

A Bad Boy’s Adventures. No. 1.

A Bad Boy’s Adventures. No. 2.

On a Fast Train Through Georgia.

Slang Fables From Afar.

A Feast of Fun.

Opie Read In Arkansas.

The Smiles I’ve Caused. Part 1.

The Smiles I’ve Caused. Part 2.

The Smiles I’ve Caused. Part 3.

Twelve Kentucky Colonel Stories.

Here’s to Ye; or, Toasts for Everybody.

Weber and Fields’ Funny Sayings.

Weber and Fields’ Stage Whispers.

Old Isaacs’ Joke Book.

A Drummer’s Diary.

Stage Jokes. No. 1.

Stage Jokes. No. 2.

New Jokes by Old Jokers. No. 3.

New Jokes by Old Jokers. No. 4.

Drummers’ Samples.

Southwick’s Monologues.

Southwick’s Jokes Without Whiskers.

Talkalogues.

Hot Stuff Jokelets.

A Thoroughbred Tramp.

Actor’s Monologues and Jokes.

On the Hog Train Through Kansas.

Side-Tracked.

Easy Money.

Lew Hawkins In Black and White.

Barber-Shop Joke Book.

Hiram Birdseed at the Fair.

On An Army Mule Through Virginia.

Ogilvie’s Slow Train.

The Sunny Side of Life. By A Merry Widow.

The Scottish Joker at Home and Abroad. By Harry Lauder.

Going Some.

“The Man of the Hour” Joke Book.

When the World Laughs.

Picture Joke Book.

Mailed, postpaid, for 25 cents per copy. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

THE

FUNNIEST

BOOK

issued in years is the one giving the account of the humorous adventures of our old acquaintance

HIRAM BIRDSEED,

AT THE FAIR.

There is no “frost” about this book. It’s about the only thing at the Jamestown Exposition that made a real hit, and YOU ought to read it. Pronounced by critics to be the best thing since “David Harum.”

The book contains 245 pages of solid reading matter, 8 full-page illustrations of the Exposition, and 25 full-page illustrations of Hiram’s funny experiences. It is bound in paper covers handsomely printed in colors and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of only 25 cents in stamps or silver.

If you enjoy a good laugh, don’t fail to send for this book.

Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

Are You Interested in Things Theatrical?

If so, don’t fail to read the new book just issued entitled

STAGE SECRETS

AND TRICKS OF THE TRADE.

BEING THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ACTOR.

By FRANK LEE.

This book is all that its title implies as far as the life of those on the stage is concerned, and especially as regards the snares and pitfalls to be avoided in making contracts disadvantageous to an actor.

We give herewith some of the subjects written about:

The Vaudeville Manager’s Easy Graft.

The Actor Must Take All the Chances.

How Managers Rob One Another.

The Actor’s Fitful Game.

Tricks of Managers and Agents.

What the Actor Does With His Money.

Looking For Work.

The False Alarms.

Furnished Rooms.

Actor’s Salaries.

Playing Parts.

Stage Hands.

About Burlesque.

About Moving Pictures.

The Theatrical Clubs.

What Makes a Successful Sketch.

How to Get Ideas.

What the Actor is Up Against.

How to Get On the Stage.

How to Write Songs.

The One-Night Stands.

The Hotels.

Getting “Canned.”

The Dressing Rooms.

How to Get a Big Salary.

Photo Play Writing.

Graft.

Vaudeville’s Seamy Side.

The author of this book has been through the mill, and knows whereof he writes. Don’t think you know it all, and that this book cannot tell you anything you don’t already know. One little point may be the means of securing for you Ten Dollars a Week more salary than you would otherwise receive, and if so, the cost of the book is money well invested. You need the book and should have it.

It contains 120 pages, bound in paper covers, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price, 50 Cents. Send for it to-day, this minute, and you will never regret doing so. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

WELL! WELL!! WELL!!!

Talk about your mystery and

detective stories—

THE MYSTERY

OF THE

RAVENSPURS

By FRED. M. WHITE,

is certainly a hummer.

Mr. White stands in the forefront of the mystery and detective story writers of the English speaking world to-day, and this is one of his best and latest books.

Do you like surprises that make your eyes open wide? Sustained excitement and strange scenes that compel you to read on page after page with unflagging interest? Something that lifts you out of your world of care and business, and transports you to another land, clime, and scenes? Then don’t fail to read

The Mystery of the Ravenspurs.

It is a romantic tale of adventure, mystery and amateur detective work, with scenes laid in England, India, and the distant and comparatively unknown Thibet. A band of mystics from the latter country are the prime movers in the various conspiracies, and their new, unique, weird, strange methods form one of the features of the story.

Read of the clever detective work by blind Ralph, which borders upon the supernatural; of walking the black Valley of Death in Thibet, with its attendant horrors; of the Princess Zara, and her power, intrigue and treachery laid bare; of the poisonous bees and the deadly perfume flowers. Unflagging interest holds your spell-bound attention from cover to cover.

NEW! UP-TO-DATE! ENTERTAINING!

The book contains 320 pages, bound in paper cover, with handsome illustration in colors. Formerly published in cloth at $1.25, now issued in paper covers at 25 CENTS.

For sale by booksellers everywhere, or sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of price. Address

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

FRENCH DETECTIVE STORIES,

By EMILE GABORIAU.

We call your attention to the following books constituting the best works of the most widely known and popular writer of French Detective Fiction—EMILE GABORIAU.

MONSIEUR LECOQ.

THE HONOR OF THE NAME.

THE WIDOW LEROUGE.

THE CLIQUE OF GOLD.

CAPTAIN CONTANCEAU.

THE THIRTEENTH HUSSARS.

THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL.

Marvelously Mysterious Stories,

Wonderfully Woven, Entertainingly Written,

holding the reader spell-bound with interest. The stories are delightfully treated, and from the beginning of the plot through each succeeding discovery of the wonderful French detective, one’s interest is increased and expectancy raised until the end of the book is reached.

To bring these clever and entertaining stories within the reach of all, we have just issued the above books in paper covers. They contain about 200 pages each, are printed in good, clear type on novel paper, with cover illustration in colors. For sale by booksellers and newsdealers everywhere, or sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of price, 25 cents per copy, or any 5 for $1.

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

HERE’S ANOTHER ONE!

If you have read any of the detective stories which we have recommended to you, such as THE WORLD’S FINGER, MACON MOORE, Etc., you know that our statements in regard to their being “the real thing” were not overdrawn. We now have another one just as good, which we unhesitatingly recommend. It is entitled

THE HOUSE

BY THE RIVER.

BY

FLORENCE WARDEN.

WHAT THE REVIEWERS SAY OF IT.

“Florence Warden is the Anna Katharine Greene of England. She apparently has the same marvelous capacity as Mrs. Rohlfs for concocting the most complicated plots and most mystifying mysteries, and serving them up hot to her readers.”—N. Y. Globe.

“The author has a knack of intricate plot-work which will keep an intelligent reader at her books, when he would become tired over far better novels not so strongly peppered. For even the ‘wisest men’ now and then relish not only a little nonsense, but as well do they enjoy a thrilling story of mystery. And this is one—a dark, deep, awesome, compelling if not convincing tale.”—Sacramento Bee.

“The interest of the story is deep and intense, and many guesses might be made of the outcome, as one reads along, without hitting on the right one.”—Salt Lake Tribune.

This book contains 310 pages, printed in large clear type, and is bound in handsome paper cover. It is for sale by booksellers and newsdealers everywhere, or it will be sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of price, 25 cents. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

MACON MOORE,

... THE ...

SOUTHERN DETECTIVE.

Here is another rattling good book that we unhesitatingly recommend to every one who enjoys a thrilling detective story. Each chapter contains a startling episode in the attempt of MACON MOORE to run to earth a gang of moonshiners in Southern Georgia, whose business was that of manufacturing illicit whisky.

His capture by the “Night Riders,” and his daring escape from them at their meeting in the Valley of Death, forms one of the many exciting incidents of the story.

One of our readers writes to us as follows:

“I was absolutely unable to stop reading “Macon Moore” until I had finished it. I expected to read for an hour or so, but the situations were so dramatic and exciting at the end of each chapter, that before I knew it I had started the next one. I have read it three times, once while practicing exercises on the piano, and shall read it again. It is a corker.”

The book contains 250 pages, is bound in paper covers, and will be sent to any address by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of 25 cents. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

LAUGH! YELL! SCREAM!

Read It! Read It! Read It!

A Bad

Boy’s Diary

By “LITTLE GEORGIE,”

The Laughing Cyclone.

THE FUNNIEST BOOK EVER WRITTEN!

In this matchless volume of irresistible, rib-tickling fun, the Bad Boy, an incarnate but lovable imp of mischief, records his daily exploits, experiences, pranks and adventures, through all of which you follow him with an absorbing interest that never flags, stopping only when convulsions of laughter and aching sides force the mirth-swept body to take an involuntary respite from a feast of fun, stupendous and overwhelming.

In the pages of this excruciatingly funny narrative can be found the elixir of youth for all man and womankind. The magic of its pages compel the old to become young, the careworn gay, and carking trouble hides its gloomy head and flies away on the blithesome wings of uncontrollable laughter.

IT MAKES YOU A BOY AGAIN!

IT MAKES LIFE WORTH WHILE!

For old or young it is a tonic and sure cure for the blues. The BAD BOY’S DIARY is making the whole world scream with laughter. Get in line and laugh too. BUY IT TO-DAY! It contains 276 solid pages of reading matter, illustrated, is bound in lithographed paper covers, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price, 25 cents. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

DO YOU ENJOY

reading a book that has just enough dash and piquancy about it to cause a smile to wreathe your face? A book that tells in an extremely humorous way of the doings of some smart theatrical folk? Life is many sided, and our book,

THE LETTERS OF

MILDRED’S MOTHER TO MILDRED.

BY E. D. PRICE,

shows one of the sides with which you may not be familiar.

Mildred is a girl in the chorus at one of New York’s famous theatres, and her mother is a woman who “travels” with a friend by the name of Blanche. The book is written by E. D. Price, “The Man Behind the Scenes,” one well qualified to touch upon the stage-side of life.

The following is the Table of Contents:

Mother at the Races.

Mother at a Chicago Hotel.

Mother Goes Yachting.

Mother Escapes Matrimony.

Mother Meets Nature’s Noblemen.

Mother Joins the Repertoire Company.

Mother in the One Night Stands.

Mother and the Theatrical Angel.

Mother Returns to Mildred.

Read what Blakely Hall says of it:

“I don’t know whether you are aware of it or not, but you are turning out wonderful, accurate and convincing character studies in the Mildred’s Mother articles. They are as refreshing and invigorating as showers on the hottest July day.”

The book contains 160 pages, with attractive cover in colors. Price, cloth bound, $1.00; paper cover, 50 cents. For sale by all booksellers everywhere, or sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of price. Address

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

The Confessions

Of a Princess

A book of this sort would necessarily be anonymous, and the name of the author is not essential as indicative of literary ability, the strength of the story depending upon its action as revealed through the laying bare of the innermost secrets of a “Princess of the Realm” whose disposition and character were such as to compel her to find elsewhere than in her own home the love, tenderness, admiration, and society which was lacking there, and which her being craved. Position, money and power, seem to those who do not possess them, to bring happiness. Such is not the case, however, where stability of character is lacking and where one depends upon the pleasures of sense for the enjoyment of life rather than on the accomplishment of things worth while, based on high ideals.

The writer has taken a page from her life and has given it to the world. She has laid bare the soul of a woman, that some other woman (or some man) might profit thereby. The names have been changed, and such events omitted as might lead too readily to the discovery of their identity. Each the victim of circumstance, yet the price is demanded of the one who fell the victim of environment.

The Confessions of a Princess is the story of a woman who saw, conquered and fell.

The book contains 270 pages, printed from new, large type on good paper, bound in paper cover with attractive design in colors. For sale by newsdealers everywhere, or sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of 25 cents. Bound in cloth, price, 75 cents.

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

500 Toasts

We do not hesitate to say this is the best and largest collection of original and popular toasts published. Hundreds never in print before and all the classics by world-renowned authors:

Longfellow

Wordsworth

Mrs. Wilcox

Burns

Tom Moore

Thos. Hood

Ben Johnson

Scott

Thackeray

Goldsmith

Byron

Shakspere

This is a book for all classes. There’s no telling when you may be called upon to propose a toast. To be unprepared means embarrassment. Send for this book and memorize a few. By mail, 15c; cloth-bound, 30c. Mention “500 Toasts.”

A Thousand

Conundrums

This is a companion book to our “500 Toasts.” It is pocket size and contains enough conundrums, riddles, etc., to last you for years. Here are one or two taken at random:

Q. If a bear went into a drygoods store, what would he want?

A. Muzzlin’.

Q. Why is a new-born baby like a storm?

A. Because it begins with a squall.

Q. What is a good definition of nonsense?

A. Bolting a door with a boiled carrot.

Well, boys, there are 997 more of these conundrums, and if you want to have a bunch of fun with your own girl, or some other fellow’s girl, you should send for this book at once. By prepaid mail for 15 cents.

Any of the above books will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company, 57 Rose Street, New York.

OLD WITCHES’ DREAM BOOK

AND

COMPLETE FORTUNE TELLER.

You dream like everyone else does, but can you interpret them—do you understand what your dream portends? If you wish to know what it means, you should buy this book, which contains the full and correct interpretation of all dreams and their lucky numbers. This book is also the most complete fortune teller on the market.

We give herewith a partial list of the contents.

Dreams and Their Interpretations.

Palmistry, or Telling Fortunes by the Lines of the Hand.

Fortune Telling by the Grounds in a Tea or Coffee Cup.

How to Read Your Fortune by the White of an Egg.

How to Determine the Lucky and Unlucky Days of any Month in the Year.

How to Ascertain Whether You will Marry Soon.

Fortune Telling by Cards, Including the Italian Method.

The book contains 128 pages, set in new, large, clear type, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of 25 cents in U. S. stamps or postal money order. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

The Model Letter Writer.

A comprehensive and complete guide and assistant for those who wish to become perfect correspondents. This book contains Sample Letters of Compliment, Inquiry, and Congratulation; Letters of Recommendation, Letters of Business, Advice and Excuse, and gives Rules for Punctuation, Postscripts, and Styles of Addressing, etc.

It also contains love letters, giving the correspondence between a young man and a young lady, on love, courtship and marriage, and should prove indispensable to all young people.

You cannot afford to be without this book, as you do not know at what time you may have to write a particularly important letter. If you have a book of this kind on hand to consult, it may be the means of bringing to a successful end matters of great moment, and upon which may depend your entire future happiness, well-being, and success in life.

The book contains 128 pages, is bound in paper covers with handsome illustration in two colors, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of 25 cents in U. S. stamps or postal money order. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

OUR

ENDEAVOR

in selling books to you, is to have you feel that you are getting your money’s worth. We therefore desire to call your special attention to the following

Four Books In

ONE,

which

If

You are Courting,

You want to Court, or

You want to be Courted,

you should obtain at the earliest possible moment.

HOW TO WOO; WHEN AND WHOM, which gives full and interesting rules for the etiquette of courtship, the time and place for conducting the same, and some good advice as to the selection of your partner for life.

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE, which tells how to win the favor of the ladies, how to begin and end a courtship, and how to “Pop the Question;” and also gives full information in regard to the invitations, gifts, ushers, bridesmaids, conduct of the wedding ceremony, etc., etc.

THE LOVERS’ COMPANION, which gives the flirtations of the handkerchief, parasol, glove, fan and napkin; also, the language of flowers; how to kiss deliciously; and a cure for bashfulness.

THE POPULAR LETTER WRITER, which tells how to write business, social, and love letters, giving numerous examples of all.

This valuable work, containing the four books above mentioned, is issued in one volume under the title HOW TO WOO, and it will be sent to any address, postpaid, upon receipt of 25 cents in postage stamps or money. Address

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

HAVE YOU EVER

HEARD OF A

COMIC COOK BOOK?

We publish a book under that title, and it contains more good laughs to the square inch than any book in the market. Notice a few of the recipes:

TABLE MANNERS.—In carving, should the bird slip from under your knife, do not appear covered with confusion, although you may be with gravy, but simply say to the lady in whose lap the bird has landed: “I’ll trouble you for that hen,” or words to that effect, and proceed with the autopsy.

TO BOIL FISH.—Place the bird in a kettle of cold water and let it boil so gently that the water will remain about as warm as a June day. By so doing the fish can swim about in the kettle, and come to the table, along with the other guests, in a not overheated condition. It will require about eight minutes to cook a fish weighing one pound, and of course, only four minutes to cook one weighing twice as much.

TO FRY FISH.—Remove the works from the interior department, pick off the scales, remove the teeth, and fry in a frying pan—or anything else which fancy dictates.

CHICKEN CROQUETTES.—Having stunned a heavy set hen, croquet the dark meat through three wickets. Loose croquet the bust and other blonde meat until you are a rover. Chop it all up and add something to make it stick together, mould it into sausages, roll in bass-wood sawdust (the croquettes, not yourself). Fry in red-hot lard.

CALVES-FOOT JELLY.—Get a yard of the material, i. e., three feet. Chicago beef is best, as the calves have the largest feet. Cut off the calf for future reference. Wash the feet, applying chilblain remedies when necessary, boil them for a while or so, add enough glue to thicken; stir in a few molasses, strain through a cane-seated chair. Pour the amalgamation into a blue bowl with red pictures on it, and send the whole business to a sick friend.

ANGEL CAKE.—Chop up green apples, raisins, bananas, in quantities to suit; stick them in dough. Feed to the children and the angel part will materialize.

ROMAN PUNCH.—Only a Roman nose how to prepare this dish properly. To prepare it the other way add some rum to your punch. This should be served before the roasts at dinner, but should be eaten frugally, as it was a Roman punch that killed Cæsar.

EMERGENCIES.—Should a child swallow a button, lower a button-hole down its throat with a piece of string, pass it over the button and yank it out.——If you see a runaway horse approaching and are unable to get out of his way, speak to him firmly, saying, “Lie down, sir!”

TO TELL A BAD EGG.—This depends entirely on what you wish to tell the egg. If it be bad news, break it gently—this applies both to the communication and the fruit. The former had better be made by telephone, with the safety plug in position.

TO BREAK A COLT.—Hit him across the back with a sledge hammer. One blow should be sufficient to break him—or at least break his back.

TO MAKE ICE-WATER LAST.—Prepare everything else first.

Sent post-paid to any address upon receipt of fifteen cents in stamps. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

How to Read Character by Handwriting. By Henry Rice. Even to the uninitiated eye there is a greater or less degree of difference in every handwriting, such as the slope of the letters, the upward or downward slant of the line, the coarseness or delicacy of the writing, its neatness and legibility. What the uninitiated do not know is that each of these peculiarities is indicative of the character of the writer, yet a student will be surprised to see the revelations which a few moments’ intelligent perusal of a specimen of handwriting will afford him. Over sixty specimens of handwriting and letters are given in this book, with comments by Mr. Rice as to the different characteristics from a scientific standpoint. Graphology opens up a new field for intelligent effort, and the rapid strides it has been making the past few years bid fair to soon place it above Palmistry, Astrology, etc., in point of popularity. Book sent postpaid for 25 cents.

Pursuit of Virtue. By Roland Burke Hennessy, author of “Beautiful Bad Broadway,” “When a Young Man’s Virtuous,” etc. This is the latest from the pen of Mr. Hennessy, and we consider it one of the best stories he has ever written. The scenes are in and around New York and abound with many thrilling adventures. This book also contains the following short stories:

Peeping Into Paradise

An Act of Heroism

A Wise Gazabo

Synonym Sammy

A Great Scheme

The Man Without a Hoe

Love’s Tokens

A Moral and An Experience

What Three Maidens Dreamed

The Matinee-Girl

Etc., etc.

—all in all, it would be hard to find a book of light reading of more interest than the above. All the above sent prepaid on receipt of price, 25 cents.

Fortune-Telling by Cards. Here, indeed, is a book every young man or woman should have. To-day “playing cards” for an evening’s enjoyment is a most popular pastime. No matter where you are, no matter where you go, nowadays “playing cards” is the thing. When played solely for amusement it is a most innocent entertainment, and at the same time a great memory-trainer. You must have often noticed at card parties, while sitting or standing around waiting for late arrivals to come, there are a few moments when you wish they’d start, or you wish there was “something doing.” Just at this moment is your chance to make a hit with your fortune-telling by cards. No matter how “bum” you are at it, the girls will flock around you four and five deep. You will be the king bee, as it were, and you will have the inward pleasure of making the other boys feel like a long skirt on a rainy day—very damp. In addition to the above, “Fortune-Telling by the Magic Crystal” is gone into in detail, giving all the symbols for a correct divination of the future. “The Oraculum: or, Napoleon Buonaparte’s Book of Fate” (specially translated) is given here for perhaps the first time in the English language. A table of questions generally applicable has been compiled, and sixteen pages of answers, to suit any temperament or individuality, are given. “Fortune-Telling with Dice” is very complete, giving an assorted list of thirty-two answers to questions for every possible throw of two dice. Get this book, study it, and spring it on the “bunch” at the first opportunity, and if the girls don’t say you are certainly IT we’ll refund the money. There’s many a time you’d pay $10 to make a hit with ONE girl—here’s a chance to make a hit with any number of them—all for 25 cents.

Any of the above books will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company, 57 Rose Street, New York.

Were You Ever

Side-Tracked?

Whether You Ever Were,

or Not, You Cannot Fail

to Appreciate ...

HARRY L. NEWTON’S

GREAT JOKE BOOK

ENTITLED

“SIDE-TRACKED.”

There is really “something doing” in this joke book. It has been pronounced IT with a capital I. One hundred and twenty pages of clean, fresh, bright humor—not a dull line!

Harry L. Newton, the author, has declared it to be his masterpiece, and his assertion is being borne out daily, as our sales are increasing very rapidly. The first edition of 50 thousand was sold in less than two weeks.

If you want to laugh and grow fat, read “Side-Tracked.” It’s cheaper than the price of a pound of meat and just as satisfying. So get busy boys, and order a copy before the other fellow beats you to it.

“Side-Tracked” contains the greatest lot of slow-train stories ever in print. This book is getting so popular you see people reading it on the streets, on the cars and in barber shops. There hasn’t been such a run on a joke book in years. Get it! Get it! Get it! Enjoy it and pass it along. Push it along. It’s a good thing. It contains 120 pages, bound in paper cover handsomely illustrated in colors, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of 25 cents. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

A THOROUGHBRED

TRAMP

“A Thoroughbred Tramp” was written by thoroughbred writers and is a thoroughbred publication in every respect.

As a “Tramp” compilation it has every other book backed off the boards—and then some.

One hundred pages of unalloyed joy, spiced with whole bunches of delirious gladness, and seasoned with inimitable wit.

That’s pretty strong, but it goes—and so does the book.

Some of the best writers in the country have taken a crack at supplying the material for this volume.

That’s why we boost it so strongly. We feel that you will get your money’s worth and won’t be disappointed.

We’re not in the business to disappoint anybody.

When you pick up this book and open the first page, hold on to your sides or something will rip. At about the fifth page, call your wife to help you hold them. If you have no wife, call in somebody else’s. When you reach the middle of the book, call for the whole family and you’ll all have a merry-go-round.

Will send you copy by prepaid mail upon receipt of price, 25 cents.

Popular

Recitations

A new collection of old and new favorites for home and stage uses. For want of space we mention only a few to be found therein.

Face on the Bar-Room Floor, Jim Bludso, Whisperin’ Bill, ’Ostler Joe, How Salvator Won, Little Meg & I, Casey at the Bat, Kelly’s Dream, Shamus O’Brien, The Dying Actor, The Village Blacksmith, The Volunteer Organist, Annabel Lee, A Story of St. Peter, Casey’s Tabble Dote, Courting in Kentucky, Gunga Din, Old John Henry, The Betrothed, The Clink of the Ice, The Yarn of the Nancy Bell, Walk, & many more.

This book contains 128 pages, printed from new plates in large type, with attractive cover design in colors. Price, 25 cents.

Either of the above books will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Co., 57 Rose St., New York.

THURSTON’S CARD TRICKS,

(The Greatest Magician Living,)

gives a full description of Thurston’s sensational rising card trick; also his famous continuous front and back hand palming of cards, together with a great number of his new and heretofore unpublished tricks. You can learn them for the purpose of making money or to entertain your friends. The book contains 83 pages with 45 illustrations. Price, paper bound, 25 cents.

HAND SHADOWS ON THE WALL

shows how to produce shadows on the wall by the arrangement of one’s hands held in front of the light. Every position is fully illustrated, and the book will afford a good evening’s amusement for the grown-ups as well as the children. Paper bound, 25 cents.

HOW TO BEHAVE.

The guide to true politeness. Every person wishing to be considered well-bred, who desires to know the customs of good society and to avoid incorrect and vulgar habits should send for this book. It contains table etiquette, street etiquette, how to overcome bashfulness, the art of conversing, and many other things too numerous to mention. Price, paper bound, 25 cents.

YOUR HAND IS YOUR

FORTUNE;

or, Modern Palmistry. We have published a cheap edition of our Modern Palmistry book under the above title, to enable those who are interested in this subject to secure for little money the same material for which we charge 50 cents and $1.00 in another form. It is a complete book on palmistry and will be useful to all who wish to learn this art for the sake of making money. It is fully illustrated, contains 192 pages and is just what you are looking for to enable you to tell the future by reading the hand. Price, paper bound, 25 cents.

Any of the above books will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price by

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

Talkalogues. Illustrated. Some of the best monologue and cross-fire material ever published, now in print for the first time. Such good ones as E. P. Moran, Joseph Horrigan, Leontine Stanfield, Harry L. Newton, Edwards and Ronney, etc., are the principal contributors. There is a wealth of material in this book for the up-to-date performer, amateur or professional, and while it is fresh is the time to make a hit with it. Some of the shorter selections are just the stuff for encores. Or they can be assembled and strung out in such a manner as to keep the audience screaming while you are on the stage. The “rapid fire” by Harry L. Newton is worthy a place on the most select bill. All the above, postpaid, for 25 cents.

Taylor’s Popular Recitations. A new collection of old favorites for home and stage use. Read the contents carefully. Gems from the pens of James Whitcomb Riley, Eugene Field, Robert J. Burdette, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, S. W. Foss, John Hay, Rudyard Kipling, etc.:

Casey at the Bat

Volunteer Organist

Countersign Was Mary

Yarn of the Nancy Bell

Farewell

Life Lesson

Matter of Business

Metaphysical Dilemma

Old Sweetheart of Mine

As My Uncle Ust to Say

Tale of Conscious Virtue

Thankful Parson

Yaller Dog’s Love for a Nigger

Bedrock Philosophy

Bedtime

Bohemia

Casey’s Tabble Dote

College Revisited

Courting in Kentucky

Der Vater-Mill

Faces We Miss from the Stage

Young British Soldier

Trilby

’Ostler Joe

What to Do with a Water-Melon

When the Green Gits Back in the Trees

Whisperin’ Bill

Violets

Two Sinners

Hamlet’s Soliloquy on Death

Father’s Way

Walk

Gunga Din

Honest Confessions

Jim

Jim Bludso

Kathleen Mavourneen

Kelly’s Dream

Letty’s Globe

Face on the Bar-room Floor

Little Breeches

Little Meg and I

Level and the Square

Covered Bridge

Dying Actor

How Salvator Won

Old Stage-Queen

The Popular Song

Village Blacksmith

Worldly Way

They Were Mixed

My Sweetheart of Long Ago

Old John Henry

Our Two Opinions

Over the Crossin’

Parson Snow’s Hint

Retrospection

Sadie

Shamus O’Brien

Sherry

Father Phil’s Subscription-List

Teamster Jim

That Queen

Betrothed

Clink of the Ice

Annabel Lee

Psalm of Life

Rustle Convert

Story of St. Peter

Printed from new type on antique laid paper. Is hand-sewed and opens flat. Cover is an attractive design printed in colors on double enamel. Price, 25 cents.

500 Toasts. We do not hesitate to say this is the best and largest collection of original and popular toasts now published. Hundreds of original toasts never in print before, and all the popular toasts by the world-renowned authors:

Wm. Makepeace Thackeray

Henry W. Longfellow

Sir Walter Scott

William Wordsworth

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ben Jonson

Bobby Burns

William Shakspere

Oliver Goldsmith

Tom Moore

Lord Byron

Thomas Hood

These toasts are arranged in classes under the following captions: “Toasts to Sweetheart,” “Toasts to Wife,” “Toasts to Woman,” “Toasts to Man,” “Toasts Cynical,” “Toasts Patriotic,” and “Toasts Miscellaneous.” This new book, “500 Toasts,” is a book for all classes. There’s no telling when you may be called upon to propose a toast. To be unprepared means embarrassment. Send for this book and memorize a few toasts. Mention that it’s “Will Rossiter’s 500 Toasts” that you want. Send to-day. By mail, 15 cents; cloth-bound, 30 cents.

DON’T MARRY

This book was not written with the idea of advising people not to marry, but rather with a view to giving them advice as to whom NOT to marry. You can readily see how important the marriage question is, how it will come into your life, and how your decision may be your uplifting or your downfall.

This is a question no one is free from, and this book will not only help you to decide, but will result in life-long happiness. “The genius of selection is the rarest of faculties.”

The following is a list of contents:

Don’t Marry for Beauty Alone.

Don’t Marry for Money.

Don’t Marry a Very Small Man.

Don’t Marry too Young.

Don’t Marry a Coquette.

Don’t Elope to Marry.

Don’t Dally About Proposing.

Don’t Marry a Drunkard.

Don’t Marry a Spendthrift.

Don’t Marry a Miser.

Don’t Marry Far Apart in Ages.

Don’t Marry too Old.

Don’t Marry Odd Sizes.

Don’t Marry a Clown.

Don’t Marry a Dude.

Don’t Marry From Pity.

Don’t Marry for an Ideal Marriage.

Don’t Break a Marriage Promise.

Don’t Marry For Spite.

Don’t Mitten a Mechanic.

Don’t Marry a Man too Poor.

Don’t Marry a Crank.

Don’t Marry Fine Feathers.

Don’t Marry Without Love.

Don’t Marry a Stingy Man.

Don’t Marry too Hastily.

Don’t be too Slow About It.

Don’t Marry a Silly Girl.

Don’t Expect too Much in Marriage.

Don’t Marry a Fop.

Don’t Marry in Fun.

Don’t Spurn a Man for His Poverty.

Don’t Marry Recklessly.

This book contains 112 pages, size 7 × 4-3/4 inches, printed in large type on good quality paper, is bound in durable paper cover, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of 25 cents in U. S. stamps or postal money order. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

VAIL’S DREAM BOOK

AND

COMPLETE FORTUNE TELLER

By J. R. & A. M. VAIL

You dream like everyone else does, but can you interpret them—do you understand what your dream portends? If you wish to know what it means, you should buy this book, which contains the full and correct interpretation of all dreams and their lucky numbers. This book is also the most complete fortune teller on the market.

We give herewith a partial list of the contents:

Dreams and Their Interpretations.

Palmistry, or Telling Fortunes by the Lines of the Hand.

Fortune Telling by the Grounds in a Tea or Coffee Cup.

How to Read Your Fortunes by the White of an Egg.

How to Determine the Lucky and Unlucky Days of any Month in the Year.

How to Ascertain Whether You will Marry Soon.

Fortune Telling by Cards, including the Italian Method.

A Chapter on Somniloquism and Spiritual Mediums.

The book contains 128 pages, size 7-5/8 × 5-1/4 set in new, large, clear type, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of 25 cents. For sale where you bought this book.

JUST OUT

TEMPTATIONS OF THE STAGE.

There is probably no other book of this kind on the market that tells so much truth from Stage Life as does this one. If there is, we do not know of it. We herewith give the contents and leave you to draw your own conclusions:—

Ever in the Limelight.

“Propinquity” versus “Association.”

Flattery.

See How it Sparkles.

Gambling—Drugs.

Dangerous Pitfalls on the Road to Success.

My Narrow Escape. By Della Fox.

Girls in Burlesque Companies. By May Howard.

A Nation at Her Feet. By Pauline Markham.

Jane Hading’s Career. By Herself.

A Woman’s Blighted Life. By Jennie O’Neill Potter.

Cigarette Smoking.

A Unique Sensation. By Nina Farrington.

Yvette Guilbert’s Songs.

A Tragic End.

Triumphs and Failures. By Isabelle Urquhart.

A Mad Career.

Likes to Wear Tights. By Jessie Bartlett Davis.

Jolly Jennie Joyce.

Thorns of Stage Life. By Maud Gregory.

The Stage is Not Degenerating. By Eva Mudge.

Ethics of Stage Morality. By Jessie Olivier.

Stage-Door Johnnies.

The Pace That Kills.

Stage Love Letters. Mlle. Fougere.

From Tights to Tea Parties.

Cure For the Stage Struck.

Stock Companies.

In Other Walks.

The above book contains 128 pages, bound in paper cover handsomely illustrated in colors, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of 25 cents. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

ACTORS’ MONOLOGUES AND JOKES. This book contains the complete up-to-date monologues, word for word, of such well-known “stars” and “top-liners” as:

George W. Day,

Charlie Case,

James Thornton,

Low Sully,

John W. Ransone,

George Fuller Golden,

J. W. Kelly,

James J. Morton,

Lew Bloom,

Digby Bell,

James J. Corbett,

Elizabeth Murray,

Loney Haskell,

George Thatcher,

Frank Cushman, etc.

This collection contains just the things you’ve been looking for—funny jokes and funny sayings. If you want to be popular when out in society you must have some funny things pat to your tongue to say, and when you get the boys and girls to laughing it’s a sure thing you’ll get invited to every party. If you are going to “act out” in the amateur show that the boys are getting up, this book has just the piece or monologue you want. We send it, postpaid, for 25 cents.

STAGE JOKES. A big hit. Nothing in the way of a book of up-to-date jokes and funny sayings has been published in years as good as this book. It is just the thing you want for home use and for all kinds of entertainments, and we can best convince you of its merits by naming some of the well-known professionals who have contributed their best:

Weber and Fields,

Rogers Brothers,

Ezra Kendall,

DeWolf Hopper,

Joe Flynn,

Mark Murphy,

Marshall P. Wilder,

George Thatcher,

Nat M. Wills,

Lew Dockstader,

Joe Welch,

Charlie Case,

—and many more just as well known. You can see why this book is so much better than others—it is not “written to order” by any one man, but contains the best efforts of nearly fifty of our best and most popular comedians. Nos. 1 and 2 now ready. Either book, complete, 25 cents.

HOT-STUFF JOKELETS. Hand-lettered and illustrated. “The Unkissed Maid”; “A Fool Story in Three Chapters”; “Monologue,” by Edwards and Ronney; “The Chaser”; “Get Your Money’s Worth”—and hundreds of other choice things are illustrated with the funniest cartoons you ever saw. There is positively nothing on the market to equal this book. So original is it that the advance orders from the news and book dealers totaled 25,000. If you want the best, and appreciate an artistic publication, send for “Hot-Stuff Jokelets.” Price, 25 cents.

CARTER’S MAGIC AND MAGICIANS. There is no use talking, but the girl or boy, man or woman, who can do a few simple card tricks is the “cock of the walk” in any sort of social gathering. The tricks in this book are so clearly explained and illustrated that it takes but a very little while to get proficient in the art. The girls flock ’round you as thick as flies on a “squashed” tomato in the sun. There’s nothing like it. You may not be sporty, you may not spend money with them, but if you can—“by a simple twist of the wrist”; “now you see it and now you don’t”; “the more you watch the less you know”—and do it well, you are just the real fellow. This book is the latest and best on the market. All the new card tricks and sleight-of-hand monkey-doodle business. Price, 25 cents.

Any of the above books will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company, 57 Rose Street, New York.

FORTUNE-TELLING

BY

CARDS, DICE,

and

CRYSTAL.

Here, indeed, is a book every young man or woman should have. You must have often noticed at card parties, while sitting or standing around waiting for late arrivals to come, there are a few moments when you wish they’d start, or you wish there was “something doing.” Just at this moment is your chance to make a hit with your fortune-telling by cards. No matter how poor you are at it, the crowd will flock around you four and five deep. You will be the king bee, as it were, and you will have the inward pleasure of making the others feel like a long skirt on a rainy day—very damp. In addition to the above, “Fortune-Telling by the Magic Crystal” is gone into in detail, giving all the symbols for a correct divination of the future. “The Oraculum: or, Napoleon Buonaparte’s Book of Fate” (especially translated) is given here for perhaps the first time in the English language. A table of questions generally applicable has been compiled, and 16 pages of answers, to suit any temperament or individuality, are given. “Fortune-Telling With Dice” is very complete, giving an assorted list of 32 answers to questions for every possible throw of two dice. Get this book, study it, and use it at the first opportunity, and if the girls don’t say you are certainly IT we’ll refund the money. Here’s a chance to make a hit.

The book contains 100 pages, fully illustrated, is bound in paper cover, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price, 25 cents. Address

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

GOING SOME!

These books contain more laughs to the square inch than any other joke books on the market. Each book is equivalent to a vaudeville show of two hours’ duration, and every book on this list has our unqualified endorsement. Price, 25 cents each.

THREE HUNDRED FUNNY STORIES.

TWENTY GOOD STORIES.

A BAD BOY’S DIARY.

BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.

TEN FUNNY STORIES. By Opie Read.

THE TRAVELS OF A TRAMP.

ON A FAST TRAIN THROUGH GEORGIA.

WEBER AND FIELDS’ FUNNY SAYINGS.

WEBER AND FIELDS’ STAGE WHISPERS.

A DRUMMER’S DIARY.

STAGE JOKES. No. 1.

STAGE JOKES. No. 2.

A THOROUGHBRED TRAMP.

ON THE HOG TRAIN THROUGH KANSAS.

SIDE-TRACKED.

EASY MONEY.

LEW HAWKINS IN BLACK AND WHITE.

HIRAM BIRDSEED AT THE FAIR.

ON AN ARMY MULE THROUGH VIRGINIA.

OGILVIE’S SLOW TRAIN.

THE SUNNY SIDE OF LIFE. By A Merry Widow.

GOING SOME.

PICTURE JOKE BOOK.

FLIGHTY FUN.

LOVE, COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.

TEMPTATIONS OF THE STAGE.

BEHIND THE SCENES.

THE CONFESSIONS OF A YOUNG GIRL.

VAIL’S DREAM BOOK.

The above books are for sale by all booksellers and newsdealers everywhere, or they will be sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of 25 cents per copy, or any 5 for $1.00. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING CO., 57 ROSE ST., NEW YORK.

THE SHADOW OF A CROSS.

BY

MRS. DORA NELSON

AND

F. C. HENDERSCHOTT.

“The sweetest American story ever written,” wrote one critic in reviewing the story, which first appeared as a serial in a magazine of large circulation. A strong inquiry for the novel in book form developed, and we have just issued the book to meet this demand.

The story is wholly American in sentiment, and every chapter appeals to the reader’s sympathies, as the whole book pulsates with pure and cherished ideals. The love theme is sweet and intensely interesting. Through the political fight, the victory and the defeat, the love thread is never lost sight of. The intense struggle in the heart of the heroine between her Church and her lover is of such deep human interest, that it holds the reader in ardent sympathy until the happy solution, when the reader smiles, wipes the moisture from the eyes, and breathes happily again.

While the narrative is intensely interesting, it is more; it instructs and educates. To read it is to feel improved and delighted. Don’t miss this treat; it is one of the very best American stories of recent years.

The book is printed on best quality of laid book paper, contains nearly 200 pages, and is bound in paper covers with handsome illustration. It will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address upon receipt of price, 25 cents. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

SENSATIONAL

FRENCH FICTION

makes a strong appeal to a certain class of readers—people who have lived long enough to realize that there are huge problems of sex and matrimony, that can only be solved through the actual experience of the persons concerned. Numberless books have been and are being written and published treating on these questions, and if through reading them we are enabled to enlarge our view, look at our problem from a different angle, appropriate for our own use the benefit of others’ experience either actual or imaginary, by just so much are we better able to live and think aright and secure to ourselves the happiness that is our inherent right and goal.

SAPPHO

BY ALPHONSE DAUDET,

is a book dealing with the great elements of love and passion as depicted by life in the gay French capital, Paris. It created an enormous sensation when first written, and has been in steady demand ever since from those who, for the first time, have a chance to read it. It should be read by every thoughtful man and woman.

For sale by booksellers and newsdealers everywhere, or sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price, 50 cents.

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

$1.50 WORTH FOR 25 CENTS!

Old Secrets and New Discoveries

CONTAINS INFORMATION OF RARE VALUE FOR ALL

CLASSES, IN ALL CONDITIONS OF SOCIETY.

This book is a combination of six books, each complete in itself, and which were formerly published at 25 cents per copy. Following are the titles of the six books contained in OLD SECRETS AND NEW DISCOVERIES:

(1) Old Secrets;

(2) Secrets for Farmers;

(3) Preserving Secrets;

(4) Manufacturing Secrets;

(5) Secrets for the Housewife; and

(6) The Secret of Money Getting, by P. T. Barnum.

This Book Tells how to make persons at a distance think of you—Something all lovers should know.

It Tells how you can charm those you meet and make them love you.

It Tells how Spiritualists and others can make writing appear on the arm in blood characters, as performed by Foster and all noted magicians.

It Tells how to make a cheap Galvanic Battery; how to plate and gild without a battery; how to make a candle burn all night; how to make a clock for 25 cents; how to detect counterfeit money; how to banish and prevent mosquitoes from biting; how to make yellow butter in winter; Circassian curling fluid; Sympathetic or Secret Writing Ink; Cologne Water; Artificial Honey; Stammering; how to make large noses small; to cure drunkenness; to copy letters without a press; to obtain fresh-blown flowers in winter; to make good burning candles from lard.

It Tells how to make a horse appear as though he was badly foundered; to make a horse temporarily lame; how to make him stand by his food and not eat it; how to cure a horse from the crib or sucking wind; how to put a young countenance on the horse; how to cover up the heaves; how to make him appear as if he had the glanders; how to make a true-pulling horse balk; how to nerve a horse that is lame, etc. These horse secrets are being continually sold at one dollar each.

It Tells how to make the Eggs of Pharo’s Serpents, from which, when lighted, though but the size of a pea, there issues from it a coiling, hissing serpent, wonderful in length and similarity to a genuine serpent.

It Tells of a simple and ingenious method for copying any kind of drawing or picture. And more wonderful still, how to print pictures from the print itself.

It Tells how to perform the Davenport Brothers’ “Spirit Mysteries,” so that any person can astonish an audience, as has been done. Also scores of other wonderful things which we have no room to mention.

OLD SECRETS AND NEW DISCOVERIES contains over 250 solid pages of reading matter, and is worth $1.50 to any person; but it will be mailed to any address on receipt of only 25 cents. Postage stamps taken in payment for it the same as cash. Your money back if book is not as advertised. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

AN AUTOMOBILE

has a fascination for millions of people. There is an exhilaration, a restful, soothing, satisfying feeling about automobiling for pleasure that seems different from that achieved in other ways. But it has its trying, adventurous, and fearful side as well, and so to those who have experienced these emotions, and to those who would like to experience them, we heartily recommend the book

THE CAR

AND THE LADY

By GRACE S. MASON and PERCY F. MEGARGEL,

in which actual experience has been partially interwoven with fiction in an exciting narrative of a race across the American continent. Adventure, mistakes, accidents, good fortune, and surprise, follow one another in rapid succession, keeping the tension of the reader at excitement pitch until the goal is reached and the prize won—a prize which at some time in every one’s career is quite the only prize on earth.

The book contains 276 pages of solid reading matter, printed from large, new type on good quality of paper, and bound in attractive paper covers printed in colors. It is for sale by booksellers and newsdealers everywhere, or will be sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of 25 cents.

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

STOP! LOOK! LISTEN!

Ten True Secret Service

Detective Stories.

BY

D. B. SHAW.

Unquestionably the Greatest Book

Of Detective Stories Ever

Offered to the Public.

These astounding and absorbingly interesting accounts of crime in real life abound in hair-raising incidents that hold the reader spell-bound. Being narratives of actual facts, truthful records of the doings of crafty and desperate criminals, these stories possess for the reader a zest and interest wholly lacking in similar works on fictional lines.

From the slenderest clue we view the trained sleuths, as they piece together strand by strand the meshes of the net which finally incloses the wrong-doers in the relentless grasp of the law.

Away from the hackneyed and ordinary, and brushing aside the conventional, these marvellous stories mark a new epoch in detective literature.

Truth That Makes Fiction Trivial!

A Thrill in Every Page! A Sensation in Every Chapter!

Unparalleled in Interest!

Unexcelled in Dramatic and Thrilling Incident!

The book contains 280 pages, is bound in heavy paper covers with handsome illustration in colors. Retail price, 25 cents. It is for sale by booksellers everywhere, or we will send it by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price. Address

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

One Hundred and Fifty

House Plans for $1.00.

PALLISER’S

UP-TO-DATE

HOUSE PLANS.

By GEORGE A. PALLISER.

We have just published a new book, with above title, containing 150 up-to-date plans of houses, costing from $500 to $18,000, which anyone thinking of building a house should have if they wish to save money and also get the latest and best ideas of a practical architect and eminent designer and writer on common-sense, practical and convenient dwelling houses for industrial Americans, homes for co-operative builders, investors and everybody desiring to build, own or live in Model Homes of low and medium cost. These plans are not old plans, but every one is up-to-date (1906), and if you are thinking of building a house you will save many times the cost of this book by getting it and studying up the designs. We are certain you will find something in it which will suit you. It also gives prices of working plans at about one-half the regular prices, and many hints and helps to all who desire to build. 160 large octavo pages. Price, paper cover, $1.00; bound in cloth, $1.50. Sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.

P. O. Box 767.        57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

Transcriber’s note:

Ad Page 1, ‘them’ changed to ‘then,’ “and then some”

Ad Page 1, ‘maginings’ changed to ‘imaginings,’ “the wildest imaginings of”

Ad Page 1, ‘OGLIVIE’ changed to ‘OGILVIE,’ “J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING”

Ad Page 2, ‘commedians’ changed to ‘comedians,’ “of German comedians”

Ad Page 4, ‘Field’s’ changed to ‘Fields’,’ “Weber and Fields’”

Ad Page 6, comma changed to full stop following ‘Canned,’ “Getting “Canned.””

Ad Page 8, ‘LECOC’ changed to ‘LECOQ,’ “MONSIEUR LECOQ”

Ad Page 8, full stop inserted after ‘LECOQ,’ “MONSIEUR LECOQ.”

Ad Page 8, full stop inserted after ‘LEROUGE,’ “THE WIDOW LEROUGE.”

Ad Page 8, full stop inserted after ‘$1,’ “or any 5 for $1.”

Ad Page 9, full stop inserted after ‘767,’ “P. O. Box 767.”

Ad Page 11, ‘ordres’ changed to ‘orders,’ “Address all orders to”

Ad Page 14, opening double quote inserted before ‘500,’ “Mention “500 Toasts”

Ad Page 14, comma inserted after ‘Company,’ “Publishing Company, 57 Rose”

Ad Page 15, full stop inserted after ‘market,’ “teller on the market.”

Ad Page 18, question mark changed to exclamation point following ‘sir,’ “Lie down, sir!”

Ad Page 20, ‘containes’ changed to ‘contains,’ “contains the greatest”

Ad Page 21, full stop inserted after ‘anybody,’ “to disappoint anybody.”

Ad Page 24, full stop inserted after ‘YORK,’ “STREET, NEW YORK.”

Ad Page 27, comma inserted after ‘Company,’ “Ogilvie Publishing Company,”

Ad Page 27, full stop inserted after ‘York,’ “Street, New York.”

Ad Page 31, full stop inserted after ‘P,’ “P. O. Box 767.”

Ad Page 33, ‘exhiliration’ changed to ‘exhilaration,’ “is an exhilaration,”

Back Cover, full stop inserted after ‘YORK,’ “STREET, NEW YORK.”

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Table of Contents

WILL ROSSITER’S ORIGINAL TALKALOGUES.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Contents

WILL ROSSITER’S Original Talkalogues

The Man from Squashopolis

The Pacific Slop

WOULDN’T GOLF DIALECT DO?

HAPPENINGS IN KEROSENELAMPVILLE

Bits of Verse & Prose

LOVE’S WONDERMENT

FOUND IN A COUNTRY GRAVE-YARD

THE RED, RED ROSE

THINGS WE SHOULD NOT FORGET

Rapid Fire

“A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME”

AN ORIGINAL HABEAS CORPUS CASE

LI HUNG CHANG’S JOKE

Fifteen Minutes with a Playwright

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

ACT IV

ACT V

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