ARMY RATIONS

The colonel of a volunteer regiment camping in Virginia came across a
private on the outskirts of the camp, painfully munching on something.
His face was wry and his lips seemed to move only with the greatest
effort.

"What are you eating?" demanded the colonel.

"Persimmons, sir."

"Good Heavens! Haven't you got any more sense than to eat persimmons at
this time of the year? They'll pucker the very stomach out of you."

"I know, sir. That's why I'm eatin' 'em. I'm tryin' to shrink me stomach
to fit me rations."

On the occasion of the annual encampment of a western militia, one of
the soldiers, a clerk who lived well at home, was experiencing much
difficulty in disposing of his rations.

A fellow-sufferer nearby was watching with no little amusement the first
soldier's attempts to Fletcherize a piece of meat. "Any trouble, Tom?"
asked the second soldier sarcastically.

"None in particular," was the response. Then, after a sullen survey of
the bit of beef he held in his hand, the amateur fighter observed:

"Bill, I now fully realize what people mean when they speak of the
sinews of war."--_Howard Morse_.

ART

There was an old sculptor named Phidias,
Whose knowledge of Art was invidious.
He carved Aphrodite
Without any nightie--
Which startled the purely fastidious.

--_Gilbert K. Chesterton_.

The friend had dropped in to see D'Auber, the great animal painter, put
the finishing touches on his latest painting. He was mystified, however,
when D'Auber took some raw meat and rubbed it vigorously over the
painted rabbit in the foreground.

"Why on earth did you do that?" he asked.

"Why you see," explained D'Auber, "Mrs Millions is coming to see this
picture today. When she sees her pet poodle smell that rabbit, and get
excited over it, she'll buy it on the spot."

A young artist once persuaded Whistler to come and view his latest
effort. The two stood before the canvas for some moments in silence.
Finally the young man asked timidly, "Don't you think, sir, that this
painting of mine is--well--er--tolerable?"

Whistler's eyes twinkled dangerously.

"What is your opinion of a tolerable egg?" he asked.

The amateur artist was painting sunset, red with blue streaks and green
dots.

The old rustic, at a respectful distance, was watching.

"Ah," said the artist looking up suddenly, "perhaps to you, too, Nature
has opened her sky picture page by page!