Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 62, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 March 1910 — GOOD SHORT STORIES [ARTICLE]

GOOD SHORT STORIES

During th« delivery of an afterdinner speech to a gathering of lawyers at Washington, Joseph H. Choate told of a unique sentence once imposed by a Scotch judge. When this sentence had been pronounced, his honor offered the following remarks: “Ye did not only kill and murder the man, and thereby take away his valuable life, but ye did push, thrust, or impel the lethal weapon through the band of his regimental trousers, which were the property of his majesty.’’ The old gentleman had prospered In business, and took his son into partnership. The young man appreciated this move, but in his newly added dignity became just a little bit too pouch Inclined to take things into his owp hands. So his father resolved to remonstrate. “Look here, young man,” he said, "let’s have a little less ‘l’ and a ‘ little moFe ‘We,’ in this business. You must remember that you’re the junior partner." A week later the son appeared in his father’s office looking a little bit anxious. “I say, dad,” he said, “we’ve been and done It now.” “Done what?” snapped the parent. “Well —er —we’ve been and married the typist." Sir E. Chandos Leigh, the former counsel to the Speaker of the House of Commons, in a speech full of interesting literary reminiscences at the opening of a free library at Irchester, the other day, told a Thackeray story. “I knew Thackeray pretty well,” he said. "Thackeray perfectly abominated anything in the nature of flattery. I was with Thackeray one night when a man came up, and for five minutes administered to the great novelist the most fulsome flattery. When the man had gone I said to Thackeray, ‘Who is that?’ Thackeray replied, ‘He calls himself an artist, but I think he paints as much In “butter” as he does In oils.’ ” | A member of a house party managed to shoot the head keeper in the leg the first morning he tried pheasant shooting. Next day he again had wretched luck though the wounded head keeper, without malice, had assigned him to a fairly good place.. J Bang, bang, bang! went his gun every few seconds, but not a bird tell before it. He was much embarrassed. It seemed, too, that at each of his misses the under keepers smiled at one another oddly. Finally his cartridges gave out. He hurried to the nearest keeper and demanded more. “There ■ ain’t no more, sir,” the man answered. "No more! Nonsense! Why, you’ve got at least a thousand in that box." ‘ The keeper flushed and stammered. “Ah, but them ain’t for you, sir. They’re for another gent. They’ve got shot in ’em, sir.” i A prominent Yale professor is exceptionally fond of mushrooms. His son, who is an enthusiastic botanist, one day brought some home and told his mother to have them prepared, as a special treat for his father. When the profeqsor came in to dinner he was delighted to find his favorite dish at his place. “These are not all for me, are they?” he asked, not wishing to be selfish. “Yes, father, I gathered , them especially for you,” answered the dutiful son. Next morning hla soil was awaiting him with rather an anxious expression on his face. “Good morning, Dad,” he ventured. “Did you sleep all right last night? "Fine," was the encouraging reply. "Not sick at all, or didn’t have any pain?” "Why, of coarse not,” answered the professor. “Hoorah,” said the botanist; “I have discovered another species that is not poisonous!”