“The man who sings all day at work is a happy man.”

“Yes, but how about the man who works and has to listen to him?” Miss Jeanette Gilder was one of the ardent enthusiasts at the debut of Tetrazzini.  After the first act she rushed to the back of the house to greet one of her friends.  “Don’t you think she is a wonder?” she asked excitedly.

“She is a great singer unquestionably,” responded her more phlegmatic friend, “but the registers of her voice are not so even as, for instance, Melba’s.”

“Oh, bother Melba,” said Miss Gilder.  “Tetrazzini gives infinitely more heat from her registers.”

At a certain Scottish dinner it was found that every one had contributed to the evening’s entertainment but a certain Doctor MacDonald.

“Come, come, Doctor MacDonald,” said the chairman, “we cannot let you escape.”

The doctor protested that he could not sing.

“My voice is altogether unmusical, and resembles the sound caused by the act of rubbing a brick along the panels of a door.”

The company attributed this to the doctor’s modesty.  Good singers, he was reminded, always needed a lot of pressing.

“Very well,” said the doctor, “if you can stand it I will sing.”

Long before he had finished his audience was uneasy.

There was a painful silence as the doctor sat down, broken at length by the voice of a braw Scot at the end of the table.

“Mon,” he exclaimed, “your singin’s no up to much, but your veracity’s just awful.  You’re richt aboot that brick.”

  She smiles, my darling smiles, and all
    The world is filled with light;
  She laughs—­’tis like the bird’s sweet call,
    In meadows fair and bright. 
  She weeps—­the world is cold and gray,
    Rain-clouds shut out the view;
  She sings—­I softly steal away
    And wait till she gets through.

  God sent his singers upon earth
  With songs of gladness and of mirth,
  That they might touch the hearts of men,
  And bring them back to heaven again.

  —­Longfellow.

SKATING

A young lady entered a crowded car with a pair of skates slung over her arm.  An elderly gentleman arose to give her his seat.

“Thank you very much, sir,” she said, “but I’ve been skating all afternoon, and I’m tired of sitting down.”

SKY-SCRAPERS

See Buildings.

SLEEP

Recently a friend who had heard that I sometimes suffer from insomnia told me of a sure cure.  “Eat a pint of peanuts and drink two or three glasses of milk before going to bed,” said he, “and I’ll warrant you’ll be asleep within half an hour.”  I did as he suggested, and now for the benefit of others who may be afflicted with insomnia, I feel it my duty to report what happened, so far as I am able to recall the details.