“Well,” rejoined James, “If you want to hear me say it again, you might put some jam on it.”

HOME

Home is a place where you can take off your new shoes and put on your old manners.

Who hath not met with home-made bread,
A heavy compound of putty and lead—­
And home-made wines that rack the head,
And home-made liquors and waters? 
Home-made pop that will not foam,
And home-made dishes that drive one from home—­
* * * * * *
Home-made by the homely daughters.

—­Hood.

HOMELINESS

See Beauty, Personal.

HOMESTEADS

“Malachi,” said a prospective homesteader to a lawyer, “you know all about this law.  Tell me what I am to do.”

“Well,” said the other, “I don’t remember the exact wording of the law, but I can give you the meaning of it.  It’s this:  The government is willin’ to bet you one hundred and sixty acres of land against fourteen dollars that you can’t live on it five years without starving to death.”—­Fenimore Martin.

HONESTY

“He’s an honest young man” said the saloon keeper, with an approving smile.  “He sold his vote to pay his whiskey bill.”

VISITOR—­“And you always did your daring robberies single-handed?  Why didn’t you have a pal?”

PRISONER—­“Well, sir, I wuz afraid he might turn out to be dishonest.”

Ex-District Attorney Jerome, at a dinner in New York, told a story about honesty.  “There was a man,” he said, “who applied for a position in a dry-goods house.  His appearance wasn’t prepossessing, and references were demanded.  After some hesitation, he gave the name of a driver in the firm’s employ.  This driver, he thought, would vouch for him.  A clerk sought out the driver, and asked him if the applicant was honest.  ‘Honest?’ the driver said.  ’Why, his honesty’s been proved again and again.  To my certain knowledge he’s been arrested nine times for stealing and every time he was acquitted.’”

“How is it, Mr. Brown,” said a miller to a farmer, “that when I came to measure those ten barrels of apples I bought from you, I found them nearly two barrels short?”

“Singular, very singular; for I sent them to you in ten of your own flour-barrels.”

“Ahem!  Did, eh?” said the miller.  “Well, perhaps I made a mistake.  Let’s imbibe.”

The stranger laid down four aces and scooped in the pot.

“This game ain’t on the level,” protested Sagebush Sam, at the same time producing a gun to lend force to his accusation.  “That ain’t the hand I dealt ye!”

A dumpy little woman with solemn eyes, holding by the hand two dumpy little boys, came to the box-office of a theater.  Handing in a quarter, she asked meekly for the best seat she could get for that money.