“That’s rather a handsome mantelpiece you have there, Mr. Binkston,” said the visitor.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Binkston, proudly.  “That is a memorial to my wife.”

“Why—­I was not aware that Mrs. Binkston had passed away,” said the visitor sympathetically.

“Oh no, indeed, she hasn’t,” smiled Mr. Binkston.  “She is serving her thirtieth sojourn in jail.  That mantelpiece is built of the bricks she was convicted of throwing.”

MEMORY

“Uncle Mose,” said a drummer, addressing an old colored man seated on a drygoods box in front of the village store, “they tell me that you remember seeing George Washington—­am I mistaken?”

“No, sah,” said Uncle Mose.  “I uster ‘member seein’ him, but I done fo’got sence I jined de chu’ch.”

A noted college president, attending a banquet in Boston, was surprised to see that the darky who took the hats at the door gave no checks in return.

“He has a most wonderful memory,” a fellow diner explained.  “He’s been doing that for years and prides himself upon never having made a mistake.”

As the college president was leaving, the darky passed him his hat.

“How do you know that this one is mine?”

“I don’t know it, suh,” admitted the darky.

“Then why do you give it to me?”

“‘Cause yo’ gave it to me, suh.”

“Tommy,” said his mother reprovingly, “what did I say I’d do to you if I ever caught you stealing jam again?”

Tommy thoughtfully scratched his head with his sticky fingers.

“Why, that’s funny, ma, that you should forget it, too.  Hanged if I can remember.”  Smith is a young New York lawyer, clever in many ways, but very forgetful.  He was recently sent to St. Louis to interview an important client in regard to a case then pending in the Missouri courts.  Later the head of his firm received this telegram from St. Louis: 

“Have forgotten name of client.  Please wire at once.”

This was the reply sent from New York: 

“Client’s name Jenkins.  Your name Smith.”

  When time who steals our years away
    Shall steal our pleasures too,
  The mem’ry of the past will stay
    And half our joys renew.

  —­Moore.

  The heart hath its own memory, like the mind,
    And in it are enshrined
  The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought
    The giver’s loving thought.

  —­Longfellow.

MEN

  Here’s to the men!  God bless them! 
    Worst of me sins, I confess them! 
  In loving them all; be they great or small,
    So here’s to the boys!  God bless them!

    May all single men be married,
    And all married men be happy.

“What is your ideal man?”

“One who is clever enough to make money and foolish enough to spend it!”