MRS. A.—­“Does your husband consider you a necessity or a luxury?”

MRS. B.—­“It depends, my dear, on whether I am cooking his dinner or asking for a new dress.”

There are certain family privileges which we all guard jealously: 

An attorney was consulted by a woman desirous of bringing action against her husband for a divorce.  She related a harrowing tale of the ill-treatment she had received at his hands.  So impressive was her recital that the lawyer, for a moment, was startled out of his usual professional composure.  “From what you say this man must be a brute of the worst type,” he exclaimed.

The applicant for divorce arose and, with severe dignity, announced:  “Sir, I shall consult another lawyer.  I came here to get advice as to a divorce, not to hear my husband abused!”

See also Domestic finance; Marriage; Woman

WOMAN

The reason we never hear of a self-made woman is because she changes the plans so frequently that the job is never finished.

If They Meant All They Said

Charm is a woman’s strongest arm;
My charwoman is full of charm;
I chose her, not for strength of arm
But for her strange, elusive charm.

And how tears heighten woman’s powers! 
My typist weeps for hours and hours: 
I took her for her weeping powers—­
They so delight my business hours.

  A woman lives by intuition. 
  Though my accountant shuns addition
  She has the rarest intuition. 
  (And I myself can do addition.)

  Timidity in girls is nice. 
  My cook is so afraid of mice. 
  Now you’ll admit it’s very nice
  To feel your cook’s afraid of mice.

  —­A.D.  Miller.

“De little girl,” said Uncle Eben, “dat’s allus takin’ her dolly and dishes an’ sayin’ she won’t play, grows up to be de lady dat says unless she’s de chairman dar ain’ g’ineter be no meetin’.”

“Brown acknowledges that he knows nothing about women.”

“What an immense experience with them he must have had.”

“Does your wife neglect her home in making speeches?”

“Not a bit of it,” replied Mr. Meekton.  “She always lets me hear the speeches first.”

A lady was sitting in the garden with the family stocking basket beside her, and was examining the holes in her little boy’s socks, when the old gardener came by with his wheelbarrow.  “What beats me,” he remarked, “is you ladies.  Always lookin’ for what you don’t want to find!”

“Hello!  Is this a party wire?”

“My dear sir, it’s worse.  It’s a woman’s party wire.”

A red-haired, freckle-faced boy of fourteen, weighed down with the responsibility of his first essay, walked into a city library the other day.  He approached the reference librarian rather timidly, standing on one foot, then on the other, and finally said: