The St. Johns herald., 1901-09-28
GOOD Short Stories


 Two ladies contended for precedence in the court of Charles the Fifth. They appealed to the monarch, who, like Sol omon. awarded: Let the eldest go first" s.Ich a dispute was never known afterward.
 Henry J. Byron, or of the wittiest of English playwrights of a score of years ago. remarked on one occasion: "A play is like cigar. If it's good, everybody wants a box. If it's bad, all the puff fing in the world won't make it go."
 According to NJ. A. P, the naivette and unexpectedness which make the chief charm of children's prattle was amusingly illustrated the other evening in the drawing-room of Mrs. Beerbohm Tree, wife of the noted English actor. Her little daughter was helping to en- certain some visitors, and the talk was running generally on theatrical mat ters A good-natured friend, wishing to bring the little lady into it, said: And you, my dear, I suppose you in tend to be a great actress when you grow up?" "Oh, no; not at all" replied the child; mamma intends me to marry"
 Parson Brownlow, the famous preacher, editor, and patriot, is describ- ed by pr. William D. Barton, author of A Hero in Homespun," as the very in- carnation of East Tennessee's rudeness, strength, and exalted love of country and of right. ''Ef hit warn't that he's a preacher," says one of the characters, you wouldn't know sometimes w'eth- CT he's a-prayin' or a-quotin' scripter chapter an varse, or jus plain every day sOrter cusSin'." Brownlow wrote to Secretary Benjamin at Richmond: Just give me my passports and 1 will do for your Confederacy more than the devil has ever done-I will quit the country"
 Andrew Carnegie is fond of quoting the witty remark made by an old friend of his in Pittsburg, who for some time held the record for fast horses, but was one day beaten in brush by young man. The old gentleman disappeared for some time. He had gone to Ken lucky to get horse that would re-es- tablish his supremacy. He was being shown over stud, and had already gone past long string of horses with their records on the stall and the vic tories they had won. Then he was taken through a long line of young horses with their pedigrees, from which the dealer was proving what they were going to do when they got on the track. The old gentleman, wiping his fore head-for it was hot day-suddenly turned to the dealer, and said: Look here, stranger-you've shown me have beens,' and you've let me see your go ing to-be's,' but what am here for is an fser.'
 In his volume of "reminiscences, '"The Eccentricities of Genius," Major Pond tells the following story of Clara Louise Kellog: "On our arrival at St. Paul, while waiting in the hotel parlors to be assigned to our rooms, William, our piano tuner, came to me with tears running down his face. He was in deep distress. He must leave us at once and go back to New York. His brother had died. Miss Kellogg, seeing the poor fellow, immediately came to his relief. What is 1t, WilliamY she asked. My brother is dead. I must go home.' When did he die? asked Miss Kellogg. I did not get the letter until just now. It has been forwarded from Omaha. He has been buried two weeks Miss Kellogg tried to persuade him that he could be of no assistance in hurrying home now, that in a short time we would all be back, and he would be better off to remain with the company. Besides, we could not spare him, as there was no one to take his place. He was persistent, being superstitious young German. Miss Kellogg said at last: New, William, come with me- She walked out with him to dry goods store, bought a piece of black crepe, and tied it on his arm in a very elab crate bow. She made him get a silk hat and have it trimmed with crepe. Tn half an hour William was back among us. decorated in full mourning and completely consoled. The entire company were sympathizing with him. He was almost happy, and the rest of us were satisfied and pleased"