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I QUAINT SUNDAYS. I

IDANGER OF DULL DAYS.I

ITHE SMALLEST MOTOR.I

IWHERE GOATS COME FROM.I

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I CLUB WINDOW. iU 1.) 'i K…

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I CLUB WINDOW. iU 1.) 'i K i.J" ¡ General Sir Francis Lloyd tells the follow- ing amusing story. Jt concerns a. very- small drill sergeant and a tail, burly recruit from Yorkshire. Though diminutive as to stature., the sergeant's temper was fierce, and he pos- sessed a ready and a rasping tongue. "Now then, you Private Knaggs," he bawled tc the tall Yorkshireman, "'01d yor 'ead up. l yer ea d up. There ain't no threepenny-bits !yin' about on this parade-ground." "Shall I always have to look oop, sargeant?" asked the coun- try lad. "Always!" was the fierce reply. "Then," answered Private Knaggs. as he lifted his face to the skies, "Good-bye, sar- geant, for I shan't never see thee no more # Mr. John Burns is happiest when he is amongst his books, many of which were bought with money, earned in his days of struggle, that might well have been spent | in satisfying his hunger or in purchasing some necessary article of attire. On more than one occasion Mr. Burns had to choose between buying a pair of boots or a book, and it was generally the book that he selected. Mr. Ja-^ Pleasants, the whimsical come- dian, tells the following true story: "A young man," he savs "was being questioned by a recruiting officer with regard to par- ticulars about himself that were necessary for the paying of separation allowance: "Next of kin?" asked the officer sharply. "I beg your pardon, t&ir?" "Next of kin?" re peated tho ofifcer, eveu more sharply. "I've only got this shirt on, sirâmy undervests are all at the wash was the astonishing reply. "The recruit thought," Mr. Pleasants explained, "that the officer had said Next your skin Sir Conan Doyle's first story, written at the age of six, told of a tiger that swallowed a man. The youthful novelist used to tell his stories to his schoolmates, for which they paid him in jam-tarts. He would en- sure prompt payment by cutting short the tale at a most exciting point, and refusing to proceed unless the stipulated reward was immediately forthcoming. General Pershing is fond cf telling this story. It happened when he was on the Mexican border A regiment wa5 marching by when it met a small, tow-headed, ragged Irish boy clinging to a moth-eaten, dilapi- dated donkey he had been riding, and which had become restless owing to the noise of the band. It was all the bov could do to hold the beast. A joker in the ranks called out to the boy as he swung past "Say, kid, what are you holding your little brother so tight for? "Because," came the reply from the Irish kid, "he fees you glJyB and I'm afraid he might enlisL" Sir Rosslyn Wemyss, the First Sea Lord, is said to have one pet superstition. He will never wear anything green. This is an aversion that Sir Rosslyn shares with the rest of his kinsmen, and the reason for it is that Wemyss Castle, the home of the family, is supposed to be haunted by an exception- ally unpleasant ghost, which is known as "Green Jean." Moreover, the castle pos- sesses a dungeon shaped exactly like an old green bottle. However much green may suit any of the fair ones of this ancient- family you wH] never find one of them sporting it*! you will never find one of tiici?) FP?ol,tilng -i t ⦠# Quickness in repartee has been credited to Paderewski. A gentleman once introduced the pianist to the champion polo-player of England, and added: "You are both loaders of your separate professions, though they a.re, of course, very different." "Not so very different," quickly responded the great pianist. "My new friend is a dear soul who plays polo, whereas I am a dear POl who plays solo." < President Wilson relates a good story of a. foreigner who came to England to see the "sights." He was very fond of every" thing ancient and spent most of his time in visit- ing out-of-the-way places with interesting histories attached to them. At an old coach- ing inn the traveller ordered some sand- wiches and liquid refreshment, and asked the landlord a-bout the history of the place. The landlord showed him so many relics and mementoes of famous historical epi- sodes that at last the traveller began to sus- pect that he was "having his leg pulled." "Everything here seems to have a legend attached to it," he remarked. "Yes, almost everything" answered the landlord. "Well," said the traveller, between his munches, "do tell me the history of this quaint old ham sandwich » In the days before he became a peer of the realm, the Marquis of Crewe poued for a while in 'London as a literary free lance. He did not, however, meet with any very marked measure of success. When in com- pany one day with a few other wiiters simi- lary circumstanced, a discussion arose re- garding magazine editors. "They're too old said one disappointed contributor. "A bunch of fossils! No wonder they get out such rotten magazines." The future Lord Crewe looked up from a rejected manuscript of a poem which he was tidying with a rubber eraser previous to sending it off on its rounds again. "What is the average age of these men?" he asked. "Sixty-four," came the answer. "That's it!" he ex- claimed with mock bitterness, "they've ail reached their declining years." An exceedingly witty impromptu remark is credited to the Earl of Stair. It was his ancestor, the first Earl who was mainly re- sponsible for the Massacre of Glencee, and in revenge an old Highland woman called down a fearful curse on his House, prophe- sying among other things that the future holders of the title would die childless. And, as a matter of fact, the second, third, fourth, sixth, seventh, and eighth earis did die without issue. A snjwretitious lady once asked the present Lord Stair if this were true. "Quite true," answered his lordship briefly. "And do you attribute it to the 'Curse of Glencoe, persisted the lady. Possibly," was the guarded reply. "Though as regards the third and sixth earls, at all events, there was what the lawyers would call contributory negligence.' "How so: came the puzzled inquiry. "Well, you sec, madam, neither of them got married." t Lieutenant-General T. E. Clarke tells an amusing story of two Irish soldiers belong- ing to his old regiment, the Royal lnnis- killing Fusiliers. They were "difging t hemselves in after an advance, and the entrenching tools supplied by the War Office being of standard size, and none too large at that. one of the Irishmen, a giant over 6ft. tail, found himself a good deal handi- capped by the shortness of the handle of his spade. His back was aching from bend- ing over so much, and he had paused for a moment to straighten himself up, when his companion remarked: "Say, Mike, phwat wud ye do ef ve had a million pounds?" "I'd add four mches to the handle of thi* blurrjr shovel," was the reply. The one-time "demon bowler," Mr. F. R. Spotforth, tell a curious story concerning an early cricket experience of his in Aus- tralia. It appears that he was playing in a match at Adelaide with Sydney E. Gregory, w.s, in my opinion, the best fielder at cover-point in the history of cricket, not even excepting Jessop. On the occasion I am referring to, however, the weather was exceedingly saltry and oppressive, and caused Gregory, who was holding in his favourite position, to I turn sleepy for a, moment. Suddenly mid- I off shouted, 'Look out, Syd! The startled The t- ?rtkd fieldv.nan saw something black elart past him. shot out an arm, aud a caugltt-a bird."

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