R EC RE A TION. 



179 



POSSIBLE SMILES. 

 a boy's essay on hands. 



There is several kinds of hands. There is 

 right hands and left hands, and hired hands and 

 harvest hands and hand spikes, but the hand that 

 my pa spanks me with is the hottest one of all. 

 It is hotter than the harvest hands ever gits. 

 A hand some boy stands the best show at school, 

 'specially if you go to a girl teacher. My sister 

 says I am always on hands when her beau 

 comes, so she can't get to talk to him. Another 

 kind of a hand is a hand organ, but I'd ruther 

 have a mouth organ any time. 



My pa has a thing in his office that he calls a 

 hand stamp, but I don't think it's as hand (y) to 

 write with as a typewriter. Leastways he seems 

 to like his typewriter better. Mebbe it's because 

 she's got blue eyes and the stamp hain't. She 

 can write a good deal plainer than my hand 

 write, which is another kind of a hand. I heard 

 pa and our doctor talking low about poker hands, 

 but I don't know what them is. I read in the 

 Bible about a handmaid, and I asked ma what it 

 was, and she said it was same as our hired girls 

 and she's a daisy, you bet, for she always save; 

 the biggest piece of pie for me. I read about a 

 stage robber that always told the passengers 

 "hands up," but I don't know exactly what kind 

 of hands them is neither. O yes, I forgot about 

 the hand car. That's another kind. Some of 

 us boys stole one last summer, when I was out at 

 Uncle Dick's. We went up to the big grade, 

 and got on her and turned her loose. She run 

 off the track, and I come darn near gittin' killed. 

 Got my left hand tore off, and now my right 

 hand is the only one I have left, and this is all I 

 know about hands. 



When you see a young man step nimbly up to 

 the ticket window, snap down his quarter, jerk it 

 slightly toward him, and then flip it so that it 

 slides just a certain distance toward the ticket 

 seller and stops, you know this young man wants 

 the crowd to understand that he is himself a 

 cashier, and is accustomed to handling money ; 

 but you know that he is a $io-a-week cashier in 

 a cheap restaurant. Cashiers in big concerns 

 never advertise themselves in public. 



My father has two lovely dogs, 

 They're brightest of the bright. 



They bask before the blazing logs. 

 And never growl or fight. 



Indeed they do not even bark, 



Or romp upon the grass. 

 The reason why — if you will hark — 



I'll tell — they're made of brass. 



— Carlisle Smith. 



There was once in the army a Col., 

 Who kept a large book called a jol., 

 To be read when he'd die, 

 And had gone up on high — 

 (Or else to the regions infol.) 



— Washington Pathfinder. 



A Toronto court recently decided that every 

 one has a right to fish in private waters, " so long 

 as no fish are caught." 



So long as men maintain the well-established 

 custom of buying their fish, on the way home, no 

 game-keeper can touch them. — Truth. 



WORTH THE PRICE. 



Wife — I'm awfully glad we subscribed to this 

 magazine, dear. 



Husband — Indeed — why ? 



Wife — Why the advertising pages are such 

 excellent literature. — Exchange. 



Bruddle — That little dog of mine is a great 

 saving. 



Muddle — Is that so ; how ? 



Bruddle — Why, don't you see, he's most al- 

 ways on the cur-tail. — Boston Courier. 



History repeats itself, 



The maid approval wins ; 

 Erstwhile beside, but now upon 



Her wheel she spins and spins. 



— Detroit Tribune. 



He wrote about the babbling brooks, 



He sang of sylvan streams, 

 Where sunlight into leafy nooks 



Comes down in furtive gleams. 

 He sang of freedom of the sea, 



Of nature's joy profound — 

 And never out of town went he 

 The whole 



year 



round. 



He — Come, let us sing " The Rejoicing 

 Pheasants." 



She — Oh, you always get that wrong, it's " The 

 Rejoicing Peasants." 



He — Oh, well, I was only making game of 

 them. 



" Every kind of game is getting scarcer and 

 scarcer in this country," remarked the man with 

 the gun. 



" That's so," replied the personage who wears 

 conspicuously striped cuffs. " I reckon de tax 

 on playin' cards has a good deal ter do wid it." — 

 Washington Star. 



" Mister," said the small, neatly dressed boy, 

 " have you seen anythin' of a dog that looked 

 like he was lost?" 



" No, my boy," replied the kindly faced gen- 

 tleman. "Are you sure you aren't lost your- 

 self ?" 



" No, sir. I ain't sure about not bein' lost. 

 Fact is, I know I'm lost. But, mister, that 

 dog's lost so much wuss'n I am that I ain't got 

 time to think 'bout my own troubles." — Wash- 

 ington Star. 



Wisht I could go back a little while, 'n be a boy 



again, 

 A jerkin' o' the minners with a little crooked 



pin ; 

 'N hear the frogs a-gruntin' as I get 'em on the 



jump, 

 'N me skeered wusser'n they was, when they hit 



the water plump. 



Wisht I could go loafin' crost the medder smellin' 



sweet, 

 'N feel the sassy daisies a ticklin' o' my feet, 

 All the while a-noddin' 'n a-smilin' up at me — 

 Wisht I could go back 'n be like I uster be. 

 — Edward N. Wood, in the Old Homestead. 



