“I do hope, Mrs. Preston, that you are a suffragette.”

“Oh, dear no!” replied Mrs. Preston; “you know, Mrs. Pankhurst, I am happily married.”

BILL—­“Jake said he was going to break up the suffragette meeting the other night.  Were his plans carried out?”

DILL—­“No, Jake was.”—­Life.

SLASHER—­“Been in a fight?”

MASHER—­“No.  I tried to flirt with a pretty suffragette.”—­Judge.

“What sort of a ticket does your suffragette club favor?”

“Well,” replied young Mrs. Torkins, “if we owned right up, I think most of us would prefer matinee tickets.”

See also Woman suffrage.

SUICIDE

The Chinese Consul at San Francisco, at a recent dinner, discussed his country’s customs.

“There is one custom,” said a young girl, “that I can’t understand—­and that is the Chinese custom of committing suicide by eating gold-leaf.  I can’t understand how gold-leaf can kill.”

“The partaker, no doubt,” smiled the Consul, “succumbs from a consciousness of inward gilt.”

SUMMER RESORTS

GABE—­“What are you going back to that place for this summer?  Why, last year it was all mosquitoes and no fishing.”

STEVE—­“The owner tells me that he has crossed the mosquitoes with the fish, and guarantees a bite every second.”

“I suppose,” said the city man, “there are some queer characters around an old village like this.”

“You’ll find a good many,” admitted the native, “when the hotels fill up.”

SUNDAY

Albert was a solemn-eyed, spiritual-looking child.  “Nurse,” he said one day, leaving his blocks and laying his hand on her knee, “nurse, is this God’s day?”

“No, dear,” said the nurse, “this is not Sunday; it is Thursday.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sadly, and went back to his blocks.

The next day and the next in his serious manner he asked the same question, and the nurse tearfully said to the cook: 

“That child is too good for this world.”

On Sunday the question was repeated, and the nurse, with a sob in her voice, said:  “Yes, lambie, this is God’s day.”

“Then where is the funny paper?” he demanded.

TEACHER-"Good little boys do not skate on Sunday, Corky.  Don’t you think that is very nice of them?”

CORKY—­“Sure t’ing!”

TEACHER—­“And why is it nice of them, Corky?”

CORKY—­“Aw, it leaves more room on de ice!  See?”

  Of all the days that’s in the week,
    I dearly love but one day,
  And that’s the day that comes betwixt
    A Saturday and Monday.

  —­Henry Carey.

O day of rest!  How beautiful, how fair,
How welcome to the weary and the old! 
Day of the Lord! and truce to earthly care! 
Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!