The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V. | Page 7

plates appeared, all separately wrapped in India paper. Each of
the family snatched up a plate and hastily tore off the covering. There
were the flowers glowing in beautiful colors, and the gold star and the
gold A, admirably executed. But under the gold star, on every plate,
dish and tureen were the words, "THIS IN THE MIDDLE!"--being the
direction which the literal and exact Chinese had minutely copied from
a crooked line that Mr. Atmore had hastily scrawled on the pattern with
a very bad pen, and of course without the slightest fear of its being
inserted _verbatim_ beneath the central ornament.
Mr. Atmore laughed--Mrs. Atmore cried--the servants giggled
aloud--and Marianne cried first, and laughed afterwards.
SUPPRESSED CHAPTERS[1]
BY CAROLYN WELLS

Zenobia, they tell us, was a leader born and bred;
Of any sort of
enterprise she'd fitly take the head.
The biggest, burliest buccaneers
bowed down to her in awe; To Warriors, Emperors or Kings, Zenobia's
word was law.
Above her troop of Amazons her helmet plume would toss, And every
one, with loud accord, proclaimed Zenobia's boss. The reason of her
power (though the part she didn't look), Was simply that Zenobia had
once lived out as cook.
Xantippe was a Grecian Dame--they say she was the wife
Of Socrates,
and history shows she led him a life!
They say she was a virago, a
vixen and a shrew,
Who scolded poor old Socrates until the air was
blue.
She never stopped from morn till night the clacking of her tongue, But
this is thus accounted for: You see, when she was young-- (And 'tis an
explanation that explains, as you must own), Xantippe was the Central
of the Grecian telephone.
[Footnote 1: By permission of Life Publishing Company.]
OLD GRIMES
BY ALBERT GORTON GREENE
Old Grimes is dead, that good old man
We never shall see more:
He
used to wear a long black coat
All button'd down before.
His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true;
His hair
was some inclined to gray--
He wore it in a queue.
Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burn'd;

The large, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turn'd.
Kind words he ever had for all;
He knew no base design:
His eyes
were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;
His
coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.
Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes
He pass'd securely o'er,
And
never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.
But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:

He wore a double-breasted vest--
The stripes ran up and down.
He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert:
He had no
malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.
His neighbors he did not abuse--
Was sociable and gay:
He wore
large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.
His knowledge hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view,
Nor
made a noise town-meeting days,
As many people do.
His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances,
But
lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.
Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran;
And
everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.
MISS LEGION
BY BERT LESTON TAYLOR
She is hotfoot after Cultyure;
She pursues it with a club.
She
breathes a heavy atmosphere
Of literary flub.
No literary shrine so
far
But she is there to kneel;
And--
Her favorite bunch of reading
Is O. Meredith's "Lucile."
Of course she's up on pictures--
Passes for a connoisseur;
On free
days at the Institute
You'll always notice her.
She qualifies approval


Of a Titian or Corot,
But--
She throws a fit of rapture
When she comes to Bouguereau.
And when you talk of music,
Why, she's Music's devotee.
She will
tell you that Beethoven
Always makes her wish to pray,
And "dear
old Bach!" his very name,
She says, her ear enchants;
But--
Her favorite piece is Weber's
"Invitation to the Dance."
HAVE YOU SEEN THE LADY?
BY JOHN PHILIP SOUSA
"Have I told you the name of a lady?
Have I told you the name of a
dear?
'Twas known long ago,
And ends with an O;
You don't hear
it often round here.
Have I talked of the eyes of a lady?
Have I talked of the eyes that are
bright?
Their color, you see,
Is B-L-U-E;
They're the gin in the
cocktail of light.
Have I sung of the hair of a lady?
Have I sung of the hair of a dove?

What shade do you say?
B-L-A-C-K;
It's the fizz in the
champagne of love.
Can you guess it--the name of the lady?
She is sweet, she is fair, she
is coy.
Your guessing forego,
It's J-U-N-O;
She's the mint in the
julep of joy."
THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
'Twas a Funny Little Fellow
Of the very purest type,
For he had a
heart as mellow
As an apple over-ripe;
And the brightest little

twinkle
When a funny thing occurred,
And the lightest little tinkle

Of a laugh you ever heard!
His smile was like the