The So-called Human Race. Taylor Bert Leston

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or two.

      My lady hath a garden fair,

      Or will when buds are blown:

      I’ve but a blossom here and there —

      Poor posies, but mine own.

      “Very well, here is a constructive criticism,” declared Col. Roosevelt, tossing another grenade into the administration trenches. The Colonel is our favorite constructive critic. After he has finished a bit of construction it takes an hour for the dust to settle.

      Judgment day will be a complete performance for the dramatic critics. They will be able to stay for the last act.

      Why is it that when a woman takes the measurements for a screen door she thinks she has to allow a couple of inches to turn in?

      “Woman Lights 103 Candles With One Match.”

      Huh! Helen, with one match, lit the topless towers of Ilium.

      It may be – nay, it is – ungallant so to say, but – Well, have you, in glancing over the beauty contest exhibits, observed a face that would launch a thousand ships? Or five hundred?

      “Learn to Speak on Your Feet,” advertises a university extension. We believe we could tell all we know about ours in five hundred words.

GOOD NIGHT![From the Omaha Bee.]

      Mrs. Riley gave a retiring party in honor of her husband.

      At the Hotel Dwan, in Benton Harbor, “rooms may be had en suite or connecting.” Or should you prefer that they lead one into another, the management will be glad to accommodate you.

      Government census blanks read on top of sheet: “Kindly fill out questions below.” One of the questions is: “Can you read? Can you write? Yes or No?” This reminds a Minneapolis man of the day when he was about 15 miles from Minneapolis and read on a guide post: “15 miles to Minneapolis. If you cannot read, ask at the grocery store.”

      The wave of spiritualism strikes Mr. Leacock as absurd, simply absurd. “And yet people seem to be going mad over it,” he adds. What do you mean “and yet,” Stephen? Don’t you mean “consequently”?

      A Joliet social item mentions the engagement of Miss Lucille Muff De Line. We don’t recall her contribution.

      Gilded Fairy Tales

(Revised and regilded for comprehension by the children of the very rich.)THE BABES IN THE WOODI

      Once upon a time there dwelt in a small but very expensive cottage on the outskirts of a pine forest a gentleman with his wife and two children. It was a beautiful estate and the neighborhood was the very best. Nobody for miles around was worth less than five million dollars.

      One night the gentleman tapped at his wife’s boudoir, and receiving permission to enter, he said: “Pauline, I have been thinking about our children. I overheard the governess say to-day that they are really bright and interesting, and as yet unspoiled. Perhaps if they had a fair chance they might amount to something.”

      “Reginald,” replied his wife, “you are growing morbid about those children. You will be asking to see them next.” She shrugged her gleaming shoulders, and rang for the maid to let down her hair.

      “Remember our own youth and shudder, Pauline,” said the gentleman. “It’s a shame to allow Percival and Melisande to grow up in this atmosphere.”

      “Well,” said the lady petulantly, “what do you suggest?”

      “I think it would be wise and humane to abandon them. The butler or the chauffeur can take them into the wood and lose them and some peasant may find and adopt them, and they may grow up to be worthy citizens. At least it is worth trying.”

      “Do as you please,” said the lady. “The children are a collaboration; they are as much yours as mine.”

      This conversation was overheard by little Melisande, who had stolen down from her little boudoir in her gold-flowered nightdress for a peep at her mamma, whom she had not seen for a long, long time. The poor child was dreadfully frightened, and crept upstairs weeping to her brother.

      “Pooh!” said Percival, who was a brave little chap. “We shall find our way out of the wood, never fear. Give me your pearl necklace, Melisande.”

      The wondering child dried her eyes and fetched the necklace, and Percival stripped off the pearls and put them in the pocket of his velvet jacket. “They can’t lose us, sis,” said he.

II

      In the morning the butler took the children a long, long way into the woods, pretending that he had discovered a diamond mine; and, bidding them stand in a certain place till he called, he went away and did not return. Melisande began to weep, as usual, but Percival only laughed, for he had dropped a pearl every little way as they entered the wood, and the children found their way home without the least difficulty. Their father was vexed by their cleverness, but their mamma smiled.

      “It’s fate, Reginald,” she remarked. “They were born for the smart set, and they may as well fulfill their destinies.”

      “Let us try once more,” said the gentleman. “Give them another chance.”

      When the servant called the children the next morning Percival ran to get another pearl necklace, but the jewel cellar was locked, and the best he could do was to conceal a four-pound bunch of hothouse grapes under his jacket. This time they were taken twice as far into the wood in search of the diamond mine; and alas! when the butler deserted them Percival found that the birds had eaten every grape he had dropped along the way. They were now really lost, and wandered all day without coming out anywhere, and at night they slept on a pile of leaves, which Percival said was much more like camping out than their summer in the Adirondacks. All next day they wandered, without seeing sign of a road or a château, and Melisande wept bitterly.

      “I am so hungry,” exclaimed the poor child. “If we only could get a few marrons glacés for breakfast!”

      “I could eat a few macaroons myself,” said Percival.

III

      On the afternoon of the third day Percival and Melisande came to a strange little cottage fashioned of gingerbread, but as the children had never tasted anything so common as gingerbread they did not recognize it. However, the cottage felt soft and looked pretty enough to eat, so Percival bit off a piece of the roof and declared it was fine. Melisande helped herself to the doorknob, and the children might have eaten half the cottage had not a witch who lived in it come out and frightened them away. The children ran as fast as their legs could work, for the witch looked exactly like their governess, who tried to make them learn to spell and do other disagreeable tasks.

      Presently they came out on a road and saw a big red automobile belonging to nobody in particular. It was the most beautiful car imaginable. The hubs were set with pigeon blood rubies and the spokes with brilliants; the tires were set with garnets to prevent skidding, and the hood was inlaid with diamonds and emeralds. Even Percival and Melisande were impressed. One door stood invitingly open and the children sprang into the machine. They were accustomed to helping themselves to everything that took their fancy; they had inherited the instinct.

      Percival turned on the gas. “Hang on to your hair, sis!” he cried, and he burnt up the road all the way home, capsizing the outfit in front of the mansion and wrecking the automobile.

      Their mamma came slowly down the veranda steps with a strange gentleman by her side.

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