JACK THE KAISER KILLER Camp Grant, Sept. 23. FRIEND AL: Well Al I am writeing this in the recreation room at our barracks and they's about 20 other of the boys writeing letters and I will bet some of the letters is rich because half of the boys can't talk english to say nothing about writeing letters and etc. We got a fine bunch in my Co. Al and its a cinch I won't never die in the trenchs because I will be murdered in my bed before we ever... more...

ON THE POSSESSION OF A SENSE OF HUMOR "Man," says Hazlitt, "is the only animal that laughs and weeps, for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are and what they ought to be." The sources, then, of laughter and tears come very close together. At the difference between things as they are and as they ought to be we laugh, or we weep; it would depend, it seems, on the point of view, or the temperament. And if,... more...

THIS SIMIAN WORLD   ONE Last Sunday, Potter took me out driving along upper Broadway, where those long rows of tall new apartment houses were built a few years ago. It was a mild afternoon and great crowds of people were out. Sunday afternoon crowds. They were not going anywhere,--they were just strolling up and down, staring at each other, and talking. There were thousands and thousands of them. "Awful, aren't they!" said Potter. I... more...

CHAPTER I THE CREATION Six busy days it took in allTo make a World and plan its fall,The seventh, SOMEONE said ’twas goodAnd rested, should you think he could?Knowing what the result would beThere would have been no rest for me!Claire Beecher Kummer. It takes much longer to write a Geography than, according to Moses, it took to create the World which it is the Geographer’s business to describe; and since the Critic has been added... more...

PROEM. We are coming to the rescue,Just a hundred strong;With fun and pun and epigram,And laughter, wit, and song; With badinage and repartee,And humor quaint or bold,And stories that are stories,Not several æons old; With parody and nondescript,Burlesque and satire keen,And irony and playful jest,So that it may be seen That women are not quite so dull:We come—a merry throng;Yes, we're coming to the rescue,And just a hundred... more...

Never rains where Jim is—People kickin', whinin';He goes round insistin',—"Sun is almost shinin'!"Never's hot where Jim is—When the town is sweatin';He jes' sets and answers,—"Well, I ain't a-frettin'!"Never's cold where Jim is—None of us misdoubt it,Seein' we're nigh frozen!He "ain't thought about it"!Things that rile up othersNever seem to strike him!"Trouble-proof," I call it,—Wisht that I was like him!... more...

In the warm sun of the southern morning the great plantation lay as though half-asleep, dozing and blinking at the advancing day. The plantation house, known in all the country side as the Big House, rested calm and self-confident in the middle of a wide sweep of cleared lands, surrounded immediately by dark evergreens and the occasional primeval oaks spared in the original felling of the forest. Wide and rambling galleries of one height or... more...

BREITMANN AND THE TURNERS BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND Hans Breitmann choined de ToornersNovemper in de fall,Und dey gifed a boostin' benderAll in de Toorner Hall.Dere coomed de whole GesangvereinMit der Liederlich Aepfel Chor,Und dey blowed on de drooms und stroomed on de fifesTill dey couldn't refife no more. Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners,Dey all set oop some shouts,Dey took'd him into deir Toorner Hall,Und poots him a course of... more...

GRAINS OF TRUTH BY BILL NYE A young friend has written to me as follows: "Could you tell me something of the location of the porcelain works in Sèvres, France, and what the process is of making those beautiful things which come from there? How is the name of the town pronounced? Can you tell me anything of the history of Mme. Pompadour? Who was the Dauphin? Did you learn anything of Louis XV whilst in France? What are your literary... more...

They all climbed up on a high board-fence—Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes—Nine little Goblins that had no sense,And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat—And I asked them what they were staring at.And the first one said, as he scratched his headWith a queer little arm that reached out of his earAnd rasped its claws in his hair so red—"This is what this little... more...