HomeMy WebLinkAboutZurich Herald, 1924-02-21, Page 3Good Jokes Ne ver J
A humorous writer in au English
• ,dally Seas that anmebody once, de-
•clared ,that there are only ten real
lakes in the ^ 'osld, all the others be-
ing merely variations 'upon them. Con -
wonting upon this, the • pinglishman
remarked that, although such 'a state
latent,inigltt not be strictly true, there
was no doubt that a great many jokes
• traveled a long way before MO died.
Thein he told a story of a Jake which
he originated,. and 'which, he asserted,
was fairly good. It made its first ate
pearauce in the• pages of a well-known
English humorous weekly. Within a
fortnight, he said, lie saw that joke
reprinter,in no fewer than eleven pro-
vincial pavers, occasionally with,' but
more"often without, -acknowledgment.
Six weeks later he read his joke in
an American ;periodleal, this time with
due ac'-nowledgment; and after that
it was snapped up by countless, papers
,all over the united States and Canada.
As 'it was an international joke, cap-
able of being understood in any coun-
try, he was not wholly surprised to •
find in a, German humorous weekly .
which a 'friend returning from Ger-
many, had brought with him, his own
joke,, which had been awarded the die-'
Unction of a full-page illustration. ,
Soon after that the .same compliment
was paid in a I+ Tench periodical. ,
But the joke: had not yet finished its
coursel ale at a music hall, a man •
who was telling jokes finished with
this long-lived one. The Englishman
ooncluded hie ,,Rory by saying that at
a dinner party a short time ago, a man
seated opposite him at the table, told
this same joke with great sucoe.ss, and
when the laughter had died down the
lady on the left of its author said to
him, "I "wonder who .thinks of all these
jokes," to which the author simply re-
plied, "I wonder."
But he did nbi'tell just what his
own joke was, so we do not know
whether or not it was the last really
good one we read or heard told.
- An "llegint Pick."
Many years ago, when I was a young
girl, living just outside of Boston, I
was riding in a trolley car which was
threading its way through Cambridge -
port .to cross the Charles River and
fellow -laborers had, sent to the sorrow
Inc family a large anchormade of,
flowers. At any rate, I cpncluded that
the florist had intended .it for an an-
chor, the emblem of hope;, but the
mtother had mistakenIt fpr something
else, and told her friend that "the
boys sent an ilogint pick, all in white
mem"
The story struck me as such a good
one that I wrote it out and sent it to.
a magazine which at that time was
offering a dollar for any joke accept-
ed. In due season I received my dol-
lar, and later I read in the magazine
my little story about "the pick."
1 That was, as I have said, a good
many years ago, more years than I
should like to tell you; yet only last
winter I read the sante joke, hardly,
changed at all, in a well-known month-
ly magazine. Certainly I agree with
the Englishman that a joke travels a
long way before it dies; and I also
think it dies hard.
There was a little boy living in our
neighborhood when my children also
were small, who had a provoking habit
of asking "Why?" after anything was
told to him. It made no difference
what was said, John always asked
"Why?" One time after this had hap-
pened I heard my younger boy say,
"John, if you say why again I'll punch
you," and the other child inquired,
"But why, Jimmie?" We always said
that the letter "Y" must be John's
middle initial.
A Pound of Skips.
It was a good many, years ago that
this happened, yet on my desk I have
an illustrated joke' that . was clipped
from an evening newspaper a week or
two ago. Here is the joke:
Mr. Cross—"My dear, you have an
annoying habit of asking 'why?' after
every statement I make. Now, won't
you try to break yourself of this?"
Mrs, Cross—"O course I will dear.
But why?"
When my hus'band's sister was a lit-
tle girl her mother asked her to go to
a grocery store to get her a pound of
hops. "Now, remember," she said, "a
pound of hops. Think of it as you go
hopping along to the store."
Carrie thought of it as she ran hop-
ing and skipping down the street,
ad when she reached the place 'she
coked• up at the clerk and smilingly
aid, "Mother wants a pound of skips."
That was a real occurrence. Some-
one in the store who Icnew .Carrie told
the story to, her mother and to others,
so that it became a local joke.. Yet
every little while I read that same
joke in a paper or magazine. It dis-
appears for a time but bobs up 'serene -
le later. One "wonders," as the pro-
fessional ; humorismdid; wtnders�
whether the same using things hap-
pen in several . different •;places; or
whethera joke never rea11y. dies.
p
thus •reach the city. It was in sum- a
mer, and`the tar was an open one, the 1
kind which had the seats going across s
the car.
We wore ` delayed for a little time,
owing to .repairs on the track, and
while we were waiting for a car com-
ing from the city to pass us I heard
the voices of two Irish women who
' were seated right behind me.
I had not, of ,course;•;intended to be
an eave^drt per, but ,their voices car-
ried.' e C+f she women began to' tell
oA8 �,
ab
funeral other son. He had:
been as worker on the streets, and his,
A MOTHER'S
SACRIFICE
e and he delved eager y into`: it. Alas!
here was onlymore despair. The ar-
ticle
rticle was comprehensive but technical
and .required learning to understand
it. The illustrations ` spoke a plainer
language, however, and •carried him
from the simplest trusses to those
vast spans of weblike steel that are
the world's wonders of modern en-
gineering.
Plain Hugh Wirtmere canto through
the room where they were sprawled.
upon the floor. absorbed in their eager
quest.
"Don't spoil Dave with your books,
Ruth," he good-naturedly admonished.
"He's too good a farmer."
"He's spoiled now," she retorted,
with a glance of pride at David.
The way once shown, the task set,
he worked as he had never worked
before—arid Ruth worked with him.
Again a bitter abstraction came upon
him, but this time he was fathomed by
the intuition of only one woman, his
mother. WIth Spartan muteness she
herself unlocked the last barrier that
held him back from the world into
which she knew she ?oust' lose him,
into which she could never follow him,
where she would be an alien—nay, al-
most a pariah. She dug from a hidden
recess her own meager savings, she
coaxed other savings to the last cent
from the sparse, unwilling pockets of
Abner Grayson, and she gave her boy
—money!
Again gleamed the light of promise.
He bought textbook; instruments, ma-
terials; he worked as if a demon drove
him.
Such fierce earnestness was bound
to achieve. There came a day when,
after correspondence and samples of
his work had passed to and fro, an of-
fer came at what seemed to him like
a fabulous remuneration, On the way
hbme from the village he met doth at
their usual trysting-place and showed
her the letter, a new gleam of fire in
his eye, an answering wave of color
in her face. Together they sat under
the shade of the broad oak and plan-
ned it all out, their wonderfulsfttture.
But fate, for those who would grasp
her golden prizes, holds the test of the
white-hot crucible, At the door of his
home Davide joy was blackened by the
announcement that his father had fall-
en from the mow •of the barn to his
death.
With eyes that burned because there
ad ooane no tears to quench their
thing, Mrs. Grayson sat, still numbed,
till unawakened to the weary days
hat were yet to be Hired through.
resently she became aware of a voice
that came out to her through the open
indoor, and the Voice was that of her
on.
"The happiest hour of my life has
bine and ' has gone forever, Ruth,"
avid was saying, "That hour was
he i 1 canto back from the posto:d'ice
By George Randolph Chester
'Ile hated the stony hillside farm,
hated the very soil that so grudgingly
produced the living they wrested from
it. ' Through generation after genera-
tion his forefathers had fought their
' _dogged battle with nature, never ad-
vancing, never .receding, and David
Grayson's father and mother, stern,
silent, grim, were the numbed and
stunted outgrowths of this weary war-
fare. It was not until he was a man
grown that the first ray of Iight glim-
mered in upon his own darkness.
Down in the trough of the hills lived a
girl. Hitherto she had been merely a
part of his enviroahent, like the bar-
ren circling ranges, and the little val-
ley made its, ugly stripe of bounty.
There, too, green trees and waving
grain flaunted their richness 'in de-
rision at the bare knolls looming
above them; and amid• •these she dwel,.
heiress of the valley.
There tame a day when David Gray-
son awoke to find that this one detail
of his environment had ceased to- be
commonplace. In that day Ruth Wirt -
mere became no longer a part ofhis
mere landscape.
With
the
untrammeled naivete of a
child, Ruth watched for this grave
young neighbor; she threw herself in
his way; she tried to break down the
barrier of reserve that he had builded
up between them for his own protec-
tion, One day she stopped him un-
derneath the big oak at the roadside
as he'was trudging home from the
poor little village at the end of the
valley.
"I found your picture, Dave," she
said. "Just look here."
She held open 'a magazine, which
flared up at him a pulse -quickening
picture. The artist had drawn a farm-
er boy, standing erect at his plow -
handles and gazing with half -parted
lips into" the sky.
He drew a deep breath and sat lost
in a reverie of wild conjecture. With
instant sympathy she 'followed his
train of thought. h
"We've an encyclopedia over at the a
house," slie presently ventnred. "n s
tells all about everything. Come over t
and I'll show It to you." P
He went gladly, and the visit was a
revelation. He had heard rumors of w
the booka and magazines that Haigh s
Wirtmere had bought "to spoil Ruth,"
but his oyes glistened as he saw them, c
She tools down the volume that eon- D
tamed an article en bridge -building, Iv
The time -old custom was hollered again recently when the Beef -eaters
searched the vaults of the Howse of Lords before the, opening, of parliament.
They -found no Guy Fawkes, and, are shown leaving empty-handed except
for their long halberds. •
with that offer, and, with it as my for-
tune, asked you to be my wife. The
offer is still open, but I must answer
it to -night. I am going to refuse it."
There canoe no answer to ,this, but
presently her son said, "My gall." And
the woman on the porch knew that
Ruth had crept into the shelter of hi
arms to .comfort him, e.
"There is only one . thing for me : t
do," he went on, presently. • "I mus
take my father's place, as he took th
place of his father before him.. I mu
Spelling By Machinery.
A phonetic typewriter which writes
straight from dictation has been in-
vented by a young Swiss, who des-
cribes the machine as "a typewriter
enabling a person to write by the use
of the - voice only." A person may talk
at a speed of from ninety to one bun-
o dred words'a minute, and as many
t copies of dictated matter can be ob-
e tained as with the ordinary type-
st writer.
The Soul's Farewell to
the Sod .
sent my soul tltrougla the Ineleible,
And said; "Ah, Soul, return thou quic
to me;
And, seeing all, toll me what thou dos
see"
Then spake my Soul "I gin in hush o
night,
Whilst the earth slumbereth will
take my flight
Through starry dome, soaring o'e
clouds of earth,
To Land, Celestial of Bright Spirit's
birth."
• 9 * *
In glad expectancy I long did wait,
Then said; "Beloved, why tarriest so
late?
Forsakest thou thine own for one more
fair,
Or in .glad ecstacy art-ling'ring there?"
A hush! A flint°ring of pinions white,
A glorious radiance of celestial light;
Then voice in cadence sweet, and ae-
cent clear,
Thrilling any senses, smote upon mine,
ear:
Entertaining the Arabs.
Among the strange adventures, of
the war was that of the crew of lad,
tish transport that was sunk In the
Mediterranean by a German submat'
t ine, The German captain reeeued the
victims of his torpedo and set thorn''•
ashore on the African .coast, whore
f . they 'became the priaoxters of a band
of Senussi Arabs. .Capt. R. 5, (Twat-
/ kin -Williams, the commander of tho
transport, has told the story In his.
✓ Prisoners of the Red Desert. Recount -
ins his own experiences with the cari-
ous and simple-minded Bedouns, he
writes:
For the rest of the morning I was
dragged round and exhibited at the
various tents, much as dancing bears
used to be exhibited in England, and
my uniform and the tattoos with
Which my arms are covered were dis-
played with much pride. I smiled and
tried to ingratiate myself with the in- t
habitants, but my first smile was al-
most my undoing—for I have a gold
tooth! The sight of so much wealth
—for to those incredibly poor people
a gold tooth meant real riches -at
once excited their cupidity, and -they
appeared to consider that the removal
of my head was the simplest method
of obtaining the treasurer Seeing how
the wind blew, I thereupon hastened
to assure them that the object of their
avarice was not gold, and I intimated
that it was in reality brass or some
such base. metal. They believed me,
for they could not credit any human
being with employing gold 80 extravae
gently; but from that moment on the
display of my tooth -was • added to my
other assets for "showing -off" pure
poses.
:When my pantomimic interrogation
was finished, and my uniform, tattoos
and belongings had been duly studied,
Hassan looked at me and said the one
word, "Legiise." When he had re-
peated it several times Igathered that
he meant that I was English, and I
assented. They then whistled loudly
and flapped their arms after the man-
ner of a bird in flight. There was no
mistaking the pantomime; they were
obviously suggesting that I was an
"escapee!' I gave assent and men-
tioned the words "Bir Hakkim"; where-
at Ali Hassan with his fore -flinger
drew down the lower eyelid of his
ight eye, •exposing the eyeball. That
s the Eastern method of winking or
hewing incredulity, and I responded
y making a grimace. To my aston-
shment they beth roared with laugh-
er and made me repeat the gesture,
which was evidently new to them.
Seeing their unfailing delight at its
epetition, I then assumed several
ther facial expressions; hauteur, dis-
dain, withering contempt, supercilious-
ess, vanity and .the, like.' • I was a
made man! Never was, comic actor'
alf
so appreciated as I in that i3e-
uin tamp of the Red Deseret M.
Y
eine at once spread through the vil-
agge, and I was once mare taken' from
ent to tent. My uniform and tattoos
ow became only a side show; but as
facial contortionist I at once rose to
me as the star turn of the Libyan
esert. No more did I squat humbly
the dust. I was given the seat of
onor, and, having duly performed in
rn to each delighted family gather -
g, I was liberally rewarded with
�ndfuls of dates and bowls of milk.
ven then I could not help smiling to
yself at the thought of how those
ave and stately gentlemen who
oro the admiralty at Whitehall
ould regard that novel method of
rning a living, especially by one in
eir own employ, who held, moreover,
e exalted rank of captain in His
ajesty's navy!
"The land, beloved, is a fair land and
blest,
'Tis weary pilgrims' haven of glad
rest;
A land of glory ne'er to mortals told,
Its river crystal and its gates of gold.
"But thou art of earth, beloved, and
must wait,
For mortal neer may enter through
the gate;
But graven on this Soul thine image
deep, •
Rest thee awhile, beloved, rest thee
in sleep,"
The Master calleth me and I must go,
'Tie thought of leaving thee that
grieves me so;
Hush thee, mine own! Glad tryst
with thee I'll keep
At morning's dawn—till then, beloved
sleep.
—FFdi "x Carr Pearce.
outhsea, Eng.
dig into these barren fields as he dig-
ged and never let mother know how`
bitter is the sacrifice I must make."
There ensued another silence and
The greatest difficulties to be over-
come were those of spelling and the
writing of figures. Spelling was for a
long time an almost insurmountable.
pro em, because, especially in th
then the gentl....,.._e of ,, b'1
English lanesuage, there are- in some
"I'11 wait, dear."
Wait! That one word opened at
last for the woman on the porch the
floodgates of her tears.
Presently she; arose with a strange
peace, upon her. As she. mo . fifth d)
d moved ,for= pia b t
� P ter combination. t.•e
the shadows round the same firth Jaw �i' Who tl_e cat�,es;t letter hevoice
and stein -lips and open, fearless eyes • When iigtrres k e wanted the voice
tidal had. descended to her .son. Turn- is lowered considerably," so that only;
cases half -a -dozen different letter com-
binations for one single word.
The c'iifliculty is. overoome by :a de-
vice' by means of which the short' in-•
teryals of silence , (one-tenth to one, secon : which in,every case take
ward, her face came' into t • note e a act
t e ,.
"i" llab'1d� a �ti'
the sun, which
�thr-ewy9ttq sham re�� `"!
.{�, ,wok d� :Qf�, disttintt�
ing, , flee went quietly into the house
and 'came upon David, where he still
stood caressing with his broad hand
the sound waves created by the
vowels impress the microphone, while
those created by the consonants are
the 'bead that rested upon his shoulder. lost:
"David, my boy, and you, my daugh- The person who wishes to use the
ter," she said, her clear, even machine starts it by turning the inter -
voice gave no hint of the stern cost, rulttar, waits a few seconds until the
"I've been thinking after. all that's
happened here that this place is a
mighty sorrowful one for me,. and I
wish you could go away off somewhere
and take nie with you."
Not From Tee to Tee.
"He just goes from one tea to an-
other all the time."
"Must be a good golfer then."
"No—a good gulper, I'd say."
Red .Indians in Canada number 106,-
000; they live on Government reserva-
tions covering nearly 5,000,000 acres.
wheels have obtained the necessary
speed, and then begins talking, in a
distinct but not a loud voice, into a
specially built microphone arrange-
ment in which every sound wave
creates corresponding alternating cur-
rents.
These are amplified and pass
through. distributors which, in com-
bination with a series of synchronized
devices, produce typewriting on paper
rolled on a cylinder similar to that of w
an 'ordinary typewriter, but placed
vertically.
The Calm Mind.
The best intellectual labor is not oo-; r
compiished in a frenzy. To reason ! 1
wisely and decide aright one should
be able to withdraw into the depths of i b
the inner consciousness, as though to
the heart of a mountain vale or the. t
ancient forest, and there formulate
ideas undisturbed by "man's fitful up-
roar mingling with his toil." r
But in the quest of the places that o
are silent and removed we shall.no.t
be, auc, essful ip the attainment of any n
s
ofi,lieace if we a carry a .restless
r'fevd' •is i
r lz rit " "
0
nth
P. the tl:•....
r
n
come
. • � old never find peace; do
people co
nor make it ,for any oneselse, where-
ever they' might be. For they bring
strife and discontent where they in- t
trude. They represent an infinite po- n
tentiality for being unhappy and for a
spreading unhappiness.
A'cahn wind is always wanted in the D
conduct .of .business, even as it is the ' is
acceptable leaven of ordered and de-lh
cornus society. What captain of in -1 to
dustry long holds his place if he can - 'in
not control himself? What tenacity h,
can there be in friendship, including E
that deepest friendship of marriage, m
when there are constant outbursts of er
petulant temper and infantile exhibi-
tions of nervous instability? The most w
phlegmatic among us cannot endure ea
the strain of constant close associa- th
tion with those who repeatedly give th
a�' to the emotional vacillations M
which it is the aim of education and
the triumph of character to subdue.
Yet to preserve an appearance of
unruffled placidity as the index of a da
mind in perfect balance and at ease is J
not the supremely important thing. To ter
wear the face of the Sphinx is nothing
unless there are qualities of soul and th
intellect behind the countenance.
14ierely to be silent is only to be
Out of Luck.
"Would you," suggested the shop as-
sistant to the purchaser of the wid-
ow's hat, "would you like to try be-
fore the glae,s,, ma'am?"
"No, thank you," replied the pur-
chaser with an envious sigh, "it isn't
formae.' I wish it was."
—AND THE WORST IS YET TO COME
1.
Floods, Faith, and Drainage.
The floods which caused so touch
mage and inconvenience in Paris in
anuary are no new thing in the his
Y of the French capital.
One historic flood was in 1206, when
e water reached the second -floor
windows of the houses. To stop its
ages the Abbe of St. Denis march -
to the edge of the invading river at
head of a procession of bare-footed
ars, carrying sacred images, and
ve the flood his benediction. This
y have been misinterpreted, how -
r, for the waters, apparently en-
raged rather than deterred, did not
side until three weeks after the
emony.
ow we pin our faith to rather dif-
ent methods, ds thanks
to which we
eve the floods of to -day are less
rible than those of fernier times;
at least, was the faith of an old'
ttish beggar, who once successfully
appealed to the generosity of the then
Mr. Arthur James Balfour, in the days
of the latter's Premiership. In return
fo.r the alms he Volunteered the pro-'
cy that it would rain for seventy-
days.
eventy
days.
"Impossible!" exclaimed the then
Prime Minister. • "The world was
flooded in forty days."
"Ay," replied the old man, "but. it
wisna' sae weel drained then es it is
noo,"
stupid. Anybody can be static, any- ed
body can vegetate, anybody can be
he
counted among those present and ; fri
count in no other way.
The value of keeping a calm mind me
gav
using it is that it may reach a de- ev
cision worth while, after processes. of ; eve
ee
rational consideration, to the end that j sub
action proceeding from the decision
may be something far better than the CeN
outcome of mere sound and fury. The ! ter
world i a n
s o longer fooled by a specious ; heli
appearance of thought and action. It
looks for the ultimate issue, the finish- ; This
ed product of apparatus set in motion , Sco
by an idea, inaudible and invisible
in a cool and quiet mind.
No Glasses Could Help His Case,
A Sheffield pian, says the Tatler, 1 pile
thinking his sight Was failing, went in-: two
to an optician's shop for advice.
"Can you read that?" asked the op-
tician, pointing to a card on the wall.
"No," replied the man.
The optician accordingly gave him
stronger glasses. "Well," he inquired,
"can you read it now?"
The man shook his head, "No, not
a word," he replied. After repeating
the performance several times the op-
tician was about to give him up in des-
pair, when the man explained:
"You see, air, 1 never learned to
read."
Three hundred tons of the best rag
paper are used in producing one year's
supply of i3ritish stamps,' numbering
I
seven hundred million.
I)ue to a jellyfish getting spread
out over an inlet pipe twelve inches
Tin diameter, a large' steamer was re -
1 Gently hold up for sixteen hours in
Durban harbor;
And Something . Snapped.
"Why'd the violinist shake the little
girl he was so sweet on?"
"She was always stringing him, you
know."