“Oh,” replied Bismarck, “I have my easy escape.  My wife knows people of this class very well, and when she is sure there is a bore here and sees them staying too long she manages to call me away on some plausible pretext.”

Scarcely had he finished speaking when the Princess Bismarck appeared at the door.  “My dear,” she said to her husband, “you must come at once and take your medicine; you should have taken it an hour ago.”

Not for Him

A quiet and retiring citizen occupied a seat near the door of a crowded car when a masterful stout woman entered.

Having no newspaper behind which to hide he was fixed and subjugated by her glittering eye.  He rose and offered his place to her.  Seating herself—­without thanking him—­she exclaimed in tones that reached to the farthest end of the car: 

“What do you want to stand up there for?  Come here and sit on my lap.”

“Madam,” gasped the man, as his face became scarlet.  “I beg your pardon, I—­I——­”

“What do you mean?” shrieked the woman.  “You know very well I was speaking to my niece there behind you.”

Such a Pleasant Room

“It ain’t ev’rybody I’d put to sleep in this room,” said old Mrs. Jinks to the fastidious and extremely nervous young minister who was spending a night at her house.

“This here room is full of sacred associations to me,” she went on, as she bustled around opening shutters and arranging the curtains.  “My first husband died in that bed with his head on these very pillers, and poor Mr. Jinks died settin’ right in that corner.  Sometimes when I come into the room in the dark I think I see him settin’ there still.

“My own father died layin’ right on that lounge under the winder.  Poor Pa!  He was a Speeritualist, and he allus said he’d appear in this room after he died, and sometimes I’m foolish enough to look for him.  If you should see anything of him tonight you’d better not tell me; for it’d be a sign to me that there was something in Speeritualism, and I’d hate to think that.

“My son by my first man fell dead of heart-disease right where you stand.  He was a doctor, and there’s two whole skeletons in that closet that belonged to him, and half a dozen skulls in that lower drawer.

“There, I guess things’ll do now——­

“Well, good-night, and pleasant dreams.”

Giving a Woman Her Rights

The car was full and the night was wet.  The bell rang, the car stopped, and a lady entered.  As she looked tired a nice old gentleman in the corner rose and inquired in a kind voice, “Would you like to sit down, ma’am?  Excuse me, though,” he added; “I think you are Mrs. Sprouter, the advocate of woman’s rights.”

“I am, sir,” replied the lady calmly.

“You think that women should be equal to men?” further queried the old gentleman.

“Certainly,” was the firm reply.