“She will have music wherever she goes.”

He has become enraptured with the glowing vision, and now, as he lays down his pen his eyes flash and his cheeks burn with poetic fire.  How happy his mother will be to hear the result of his afternoon’s labor!  Rejoicing he descends, taking with him the precious verse, and proudly begins to read it to his appreciative audience.  Falteringly he commences, but, warming with the subject, his spirits rise, till at the last line he triumphantly waves the paper over his head, looks around for applause, and sees——­his mother lying on the floor in a dead faint.

* * * * *

Pen and Sword.

“War to the knife!” is the cry of the Paris Siecle.  This is merely a cry from a Pen-knife, of course; but then it is sure to be heard by the Butcher-knife.

* * * * *

Nurse Wanted.

We understand that there will shortly be a “Birth” at WALLACK’S.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  A BAD LOOK OUT.

Paterfamilias (reading). “IT APPEARS FROM THIS PAPER THAT TURKEY IS LIKELY TO BE ENTIRELY GOBBLED UP BY RUSSIA.”

Alitmentive Youth. “THEN WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT THANKSGIVING DAY?”]

* * * * *

ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A MAN.

A THRILLING TALE.

WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES.

CHAPTER I.

Once.—­In serious literature you cannot be too exact.  You will notice that I say once, not twice or thrice, and you will find that that is a very important point at once.  Thus, you might put your hand under a trip-hammer once, but not twice.  You might take a trip on a Mississippi steamer, or an Erie train, once.  You might go to the Legislature or Congress and be honest once.  You might get a seat in a horse-car once.  You might be civilly treated by a public official once.  You might lend an umbrella, or indulge in the luxury of a lawsuit, or persuade your better half that you are only tired when you are really beery, once; but, I assure you, that your chance of doing any of those things twice is decidedly slim.  If you do any of them once and don’t find yourself in Greenwood, the alms-house, or matrimonial hot water, retire on your laurels and let out the job.

CHAPTER II.

Upon a time.—­This is not a fairy tale, though it opens in a very suspicious manner.  It is a sad recital of facts.  Upon a time does not mean that any one sat down on a watch, or made himself familiar with the town clock.  It is not very specific, I admit.  It may refer to any time, but, I think, the design was to call attention to Benedict’s time.  You know how it is yourself.  You remember how often you have stood on a dock, and seen the steamboat ten feet out in the stream, or have struck a depot just as the train was rolling around a curve in the distance, simply because you were not upon a time.  Then, as you walked on the dock or platform, you would strew your pathway with—­curses.  But I do not mean anything of that sort.  No, I refer to something grander, nobler, more magnificent.