When one reaches the end of his rope, he should tie a knot in it and hang on.

EPITAPHS

A Tired Woman’s Epitaph
(Before 1850)

Here lies a poor woman,
Who always was tired;
She lived in a house,
Where help was not hired;
Her last words on earth were,
“Dear friends I am going;
Where washing ain’t done,
Nor sweeping nor sewing;
But everything there is exact to my wishes,
For where they don’t eat,
There’s no washing of dishes;
I’ll be where loud anthems will always be ringing;
But having no voice, I’ll be clear of the singing;
Don’t mourn for me now, don’t mourn for me never,
I’m going to do nothing, forever and ever.”

Mrs. Whann, the weeping widow of a well-known man, requested that the words “My sorrow is greater than I can bear” be placed upon the marble slab of her dear departed.

A few months later the lady returned and asked how much it would cost her to have the inscription effaced and another substituted.

“No need of that, marm,” replied the man, soothingly; “you see, I left jes’ enough room to add ‘alone.’”

THE TOMBSTONE MAN (after several abortive suggestions)—­“How would simply, ‘Gone Home’ do?”

MRS. NEWWEEDS—­“I guess that would be all right.  It was always the last place he ever thought of going.”—­Puck.

  Here lies my wife:  here let her lie! 
    Now she’s at rest, and so am I.

  —­John Dryden.

“Did you hear about the defacement of Mr. Skinner’s tombstone?” asked Mr. Brown a few days after the funeral of that eminent captain of industry.

“No, what was it?” inquired his neighbor curiously.

“Someone added the word ‘friends’ to the epitaph.”

“What was the epitaph?”

“He did his best.”

EQUALITY

In a mood for companionship with none at hand, a New Yorker was making her way through a quiet down town cross street to an East Side subway.  As she approached a team of horses standing by the curb, the nearer of the pair looked her straight in the eye man-to-man like.  No driver being in sight she took from her pocket some lumps of sugar (reserved as a tip for the ice-horse) and fed and fondled and talked foolishly to her friend of the curb.  Looking up before turning to the second horse, she was confused and startled to find a brisk young driver, reins in hand, looking ready to tear up the pavements in a mad rush to Jersey or somewhere.  She hurried off to escape his wrath at being delayed.  The angry words flung after her were:  “The other one ain’t no stepchild.”

And the horses galloped off equally sugared.

ETIQUET

“Frances,” said the little girl’s mamma, who was entertaining callers in the parlor, “you came downstairs so noisily that you could be heard all over the house.  Now go back and come down stairs like a lady.”