“Is Judge David Poggenburg stopping here?” asked an impressive-looking stranger approaching the desk.

“No,” replied the clerk with his most winning manner, “but—­er—­we have something else just as good.”

He was engaged to the daughter of a literary man.  He was bold as a wooer, but the veriest coward when it came to approaching the fair one’s father.  So he waited outside the great man’s study while the “fayre ladye” did the tackling.  In five minutes she was out again and on her dress was pinned a slip of paper bearing the words: 

“With the author’s compliments.”

“I took that pretty girl from the store home the other night, and stole a kiss.”

“What did she say?”

“Will that be all?”

The two American war correspondents were gazing at the conflict when Winkletop caught sight of a gallant officer leading a charge.

“His face is strangely familiar,” he said.  “That Greek lieutenant, I mean—­”

“Yes,” said Blithers.  “He used to run the bootblacking stand in that barber-shop over on Steenth Avenue and Umptyiph Street.”

And just then the noble warrior dashed madly past, and, forgetting himself under the excitement of the moment, turned and cried aloud to his advancing troops: 

“Next!  Shine!”

And the indomitable phalanx moved steadily up the hill, giving the enemy the worst polishing-off they had had since war was declared.

RELATIVE—­“He is sleeping so quietly that I wonder if we will know when the end comes.”

WIFE OF DYING FIRST-NIGHTER—­“Yes, we will.  He will get up and go out about five minutes before the end.”—­Puck.

HURRY—­“What’s happened to Speeder.  I haven’t seen him for weeks?”

CANE—­“Oh, he tried all the different makes of cars and then bought an aeroplane.”

HURRY—­“Has he crashed?”

CANE—­“Well, not exactly.  He started on a cross-country flight the other day, heard something rattle and absent-mindedly climbed out to look under the machine.”

“For ten years,” said the new boarder, “my habits were as regular as clockwork.  I rose on the stroke of six, and half an hour later was at breakfast; at seven I was at work; dined at one; had supper at six, and was in bed at nine thirty.  Ate only plain food, and hadn’t a day’s illness all the time.”

“Dear me!” said a hearer, in sympathetic tones; “and what were you in for?”

DOCTOR—­“I have to report, sir, that you are the father of triplets.”

POLITICIAN—­“Impossible!  I’ll demand a recount.”—­Puck.

  Ill habits gather by unseen degrees,
  As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.

  —­Dryden.

    “Habit” is hard to overcome. 
    If you take off the first letter, it does not change “a bit.” 
    If you take off another, you have a “bit” left. 
    If you take still another the whole of “it” remains. 
    If you take still another, it is not “t"-totally used up. 
    All of which goes to show that if you wish to be rid of a
  “habit,” you must throw it off altogether.