MILLENNIUM

What Will We Do?

What will we do when the good days come—­
When the prima donna’s lips are dumb,
And the man who reads us his “little things”
Has lost his voice like the girl who sings;
When stilled is the breath of the cornet-man,
And the shrilling chords of the quartette clan;
When our neighbors’ children have lost their drums
Oh, what will we do when the good time comes? 
Oh, what will we do in that good blithe time,
When the tramp will work—­oh, thing sublime! 
And the scornful dame who stands on your feet
Will “Thank you, sir,” for the profered seat;
And the man you hire to work by the day,
Will allow you to do his work your way;
And the cook who trieth your appetite
Will steal no more than she thinks is right;
When the boy you hire will call you “Sir,”
Instead of “Say” and “Guverner”;
When the funny man is humorsome—­
How can we stand the millennium?

  —­Robert J. Burdette.

MILLINERS

“Madam,” announced the new maid, “your husband is lying unconscious in the reception hall, with a large box beside him and crushing a paper in his hand.”

“Ah,” cried her mistress in ecstacy, “my new hat has come.”

MILLIONAIRES

The Idle Rich

The teacher asked his pupils to write an essay, telling what they would do if they had five million dollars.

Every pupil except little William Powers began writing immediately.  William sat idle, twiddling his fingers and watching the flies on the ceiling.

Teacher collected the papers, and William handed in a blank sheet.

“How is this, William?” asked teacher.  “Is this your essay?  Every other pupil has written two sheets or more, while you have done nothing!”

“Well,” replied William, “that’s what I would do if I were a millionaire!”

“WILLIE,” asked a New York teacher of one of her pupils, “how many make a million?”

“Not many,” said Willie with a grin.

MINISTERS

See Clergy.

MISERS

Amos Whittaker, a miserly millionaire, was approached by a friend who used his most persuasive powers to have him dress more in accordance with his station in life.

“I am surprised, Amos,” said the friend “that you should allow yourself to become shabby.”

“But I’m not shabby,” firmly interposed the millionaire miser.

“Oh, but you are,” returned his old friend.  “Remember your father.  He was always neatly, even elaborately, dressed.  His clothes were always finely tailored and of the best material.”

“Why,” shouted the miser, triumphantly, “these clothes I’ve got on were father’s!”