“The ham is all right, Zeph,” insisted the storekeeper.

“No, it ain’t, boss,” insisted the negro.  “Dat ham’s shore bad.”

“How can that be,” continued the storekeeper, “when it was cured only a week?”

The darky scratched his head reflectively, and finally suggested:  “Den, mebbe it’s had a relapse.”

On a recent trip to Germany, Doctor Harvey Wiley, the pure-food expert, heard an allegory with reference to the subject of food adulteration which, he contends, should cause Americans to congratulate themselves that things are so well ordered in this respect in the United States.

The German allegory was substantially as follows: 

Four flies, which had made their way into a certain pantry, determined to have a feast.

One flew to the sugar and ate heartily; but soon died, for the sugar was full of white lead.

The second chose the flour as his diet, but he fared no better, for the flour was loaded with plaster of Paris.

The third sampled the syrup, but his six legs were presently raised in the air, for the syrup was colored with aniline dyes.

The fourth fly, seeing all his friends dead, determined to end his life also, and drank deeply of the fly-poison which he found in a convenient saucer.

He is still alive and in good health.  That, too, was adulterated.

QUARRELS

“But why did you leave your last place?” the lady asked of the would-be cook.

“To tell the truth, mum, I just couldn’t stand the way the master an’ the missus used to quarrel, mum.”

“Dear me!  Do you mean to say that they actually used to quarrel?”

“Yis, mum, all the time.  When it wasn’t me an’ him, it was me an’ her.”

“I hear ye had words with Casey.”

“We had no words.”

“Then nothing passed between ye?”

“Nothing but one brick.”

There had been a wordy falling-out between Mrs. Halloran and Mrs. Donohue; there had been words; nay, more, there had been language.  Mrs. Halloran had gone to church early in the morning, had fulfilled the duties of her religion, and was returning primly home, when Mrs. Donohue spied her, and, still smouldering with volcanic fire, sent a broadside of lava at Mrs. Halloran.  The latter heard, flushed, opened her lips—­and then suddenly checked herself.  After a moment she spoke:  “Mrs. Donohue, I’ve just been to church, and I’m in a state of grace.  But, plaze Hivin, the next time I meet yez, I won’t be, and thin I’ll till yez what I think of yez!”

A quarrel is quickly settled when deserted by one party:  there is no battle unless there be two.—­Seneca.

See also Marriage; Servants

QUESTIONS

The more questions a woman asks the fewer answers she
remembers.—­Wasp.