Part 9 (1/2)

Leigh Hunt was asked by a lady at dessert if he would not venture on an orange. ”Madam,” he replied, ”I should be happy to do so, but I am afraid I should tumble off.”

Mrs. Prattle looked at her visitor with reproach in her wide blue eyes. ”Talk,” she said eagerly, ”our baby talk? Well, I guess he can.

He's three months younger than my cousin's boy and he's a year ahead of him in language. You know often people tell you their children can say things, and when you hear them you have to work hard with your imagination to tell what they're saying.

”Now, there's my cousin's baby--the one I spoke of. They declare that child has a vocabulary of fifteen words, but, my dear, if you could hear him. He says 'bay' for bread, and 'flis' for fish, and 'cang' for candle, and 'hort' for horse, and 'apa' for father. Now I'll try Harold with those very words, and you'll see the difference.

”Say bread, Harold--bread--bre-e-ad.”

”Wed,” said the baby.

”Now say fish, fi-sh.”

”Whish,” said the baby.

”And now horse,” said Harold's mother. ”Horse--ho-orse, ho-r-se.”

”Woss,” said the baby.

”And now will precious say father, fa-ather, fa-a-ar-ther?”

”Wahwah,” said the baby.

”There, you see!” cried Mrs. Prattle in triumph. ”He seems to catch the sound of every word. Now say good-by, darling, and then nurse will take you upstairs. Good-by--goo-ood-by-y-y.”

”Wy wy,” said the baby.

The superintendent of a Sunday-school cla.s.s in Philadelphia recently called upon a visitor to ”say a few words” to the cla.s.s, the members of which are mostly children of tender age.

The visitor, a speaker well known for his verbose and circ.u.mlocutory mode of speech, began his address as follows:

”This morning, children, I purpose to offer you an epitome of the life of St. Paul. It may be perhaps that there are among you some too young to grasp the meaning of the word 'epitome.'

”'Epitome,' children, is in its signification synonymous with synopsis.”

A milliner endeavored to sell to a colored woman one of the last season's hats at a very moderate price. It was a big white picture-hat.

”Law, no, honey!” exclaimed the woman. ”I could nevah wear that. I'd look jes' like a blueberry in a pan of milk.”

A few years ago the celebrated Potter family, of which Bishop Potter was a member, held a reunion the chief feature of which was a banquet.

During the banquet the various heads of the different families of Potters arose and gave a short account of the pedigrees and deeds of their ancestors and each head seemed to be able to demonstrate that their branch was the oldest and most renowned. After all the speakers had finished, Honorable William M. Evarts, who was present as the legal adviser of the New York branch, was called upon for a speech and responded by saying that he felt there was little left for him to say, but after listening to the ancestry and history of the family he felt he could cast his eyes toward heaven and say, ”Oh, Lord! thou art the clay and we are the Potters.”

A Ma.s.sachusetts minister was making his first visit to Kentucky several years ago. He had to spend the night in a small mountain town where feuds and moons.h.i.+ne still abounded. Engaging in conversation with one of the natives, he said: