“Old subscriber:  Finding a spider in your paper was neither good luck nor bad luck for you.  The spider was merely looking over our paper to see which merchant is not advertising, so that he can go to that store, spin his web across the door and lead a life of undisturbed peace ever afterward.”

“Good Heavens, man!  I saw your obituary in this morning’s paper!”

“Yes, I know.  I put it in myself.  My opera is to be produced to-night, and I want good notices from the critics.”—­C.  Hilton Turvey.

Paderewski arrived in a small western town about noon one day and decided to take a walk in the afternoon.  While strolling ling along he heard a piano, and, following the sound, came to a house on which was a sign reading: 

“Miss Jones.  Piano lessons 25 cents an hour.”

Pausing to listen he heard the young woman trying to play one of Chopin’s nocturnes, and not succeeding very well.

Paderewski walked up to the house and knocked.  Miss Jones came to the door and recognized him at once.  Delighted, she invited him in and he sat down and played the nocturne as only Paderewski can, afterward spending an hour in correcting her mistakes.  Miss Jones thanked him and he departed.

Some months afterward he returned to the town, and again took the same walk.

He soon came to the home of Miss Jones, and, looking at the sign, he read: 

“Miss Jones.  Piano lessons $1.00 an hour. (Pupil of Paderewski.)”

Shortly after Raymond Hitchcock made his first big hit in New York, Eddie Foy, who was also playing in town, happened to be passing Daly’s Theatre, and paused to look at the pictures of Hitchcock and his company that adorned the entrance.  Near the pictures was a billboard covered with laudatory extracts from newspaper criticisms of the show.

When Foy had moodily read to the bottom of the list, he turned to an unobtrusive young man who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Say, have you seen this show?” he asked.

“Sure,” replied the young man.

“Any good?  How’s this guy Hitchcock, anyhow?”

“Any good?” repeated the young man pityingly.  “Why, say, he’s the best in the business.  He’s got all these other would-be side-ticklers lashed to the mast.  He’s a scream.  Never laughed so much at any one in all my life.”

“Is he as good as Foy?” ventured Foy hopefully.

“As good as Foy!” The young man’s scorn was superb.  “Why, this Hitchcock has got that Foy person looking like a gloom.  They’re not in the same class.  Hitchcock’s funny.  A man with feelings can’t compare them.  I’m sorry you asked me, I feel so strongly about it.”

Eddie looked at him very sternly and then, in the hollow tones of a tragedian, he said: 

“I am Foy.”

“I know you are,” said the young man cheerfully.  “I’m Hitchcock!”

Advertisements are of great use to the vulgar.  First of all, as they are instruments of ambition.  A man that is by no means big enough for the Gazette, may easily creep into the advertisements; by which means we often see an apothecary in the same paper of news with a plenipotentiary, or a running footman with an ambassador.—­Addison.