ence.

"Well," said Patrick, "sure, an' I was beginning to think that it might
be the pumping station."

The sages say, Dame Truth delights to dwell
(Strange Mansion!) in the bottom of a well:
Questions are then the Windlass and the rope
That pull the grave old Gentlewoman up.

--_John Wolcott_.

_See also_ Curiosity.

QUOTATIONS

Stanley Jordan, the well-known Episcopal minister, having cause to be
anxious about his son's college examinations, told him to telegraph the
result. The boy sent the following message to his parent: "Hymn 342,
fifth verse, last two lines."

Looking it up the father found the words: "Sorrow vanquished, labor
ended, Jordan passed."

RACE PREJUDICES

A negro preacher in a southern town was edified on one occasion by the
recital of a dream had by a member of the church.

"I was a-dreamin' all dis time," said the narrator, "dat I was in ole
Satan's dominions. I tell you, pahson, dat was shore a bad dream!"

"Was dere any white men dere?" asked the dusky divine.

"Shore dere was--plenty of 'em," the other hastened to assure his
minister "What was dey a-doin'?"

"Ebery one of 'em," was the answer, "was a-holdin' a cullud pusson
between him an' de fire!"

RACE PRIDE

Sam Jones, the evangelist, was leading a revival meeting in Huntsville,
Texas, a number of years ago, and at the close of one of the services an
old negro woman pushed her way up through the crowd to the edge of the
pulpit platform. Sam took the perspiring black hand that was held out to
him, and heard the old woman say: "Brudder Jones, you sho' is a fine
preacher! Yes, suh; de Lord bless you. You's des everybody's preacher.
You's de white folks' preacher, and de niggers' preacher, and
everybody's preacher. Brudder Jones, yo' skin's white, but, thank de
Lord, yo' heart's des as black as any nigger's!"

An Irishman and a Jew were discussing the great men who had belonged to
each race and, as may be expected, got into a heated argument. Finally
the Irishman said:

"Ikey, listen. For ivery great Jew ye can name ye may pull out one of me
whiskers, an' for ivery great Irishman I can name I'll pull one of
yours. Is it a go?"

They consented, and Pat reached over, got hold of a whisker, said,
"Robert Emmet,' and pulled.

"Moses!" said the Jew, and pulled one of Pat's tenderest.

"Dan O'Connell," said Pat and took another.

"Abraham," said Ikey, helping himself again.

"Patr