“Shall you need it a long time?” asked the neighbor.

“I think I shall,” replied the owner, “as I am going to tie up some sand with it.”

“Tie up sand!” exclaimed the would-be borrower.  “I do not see how you can do that!”

“Oh, you can do almost anything with a rope when you do not want to lend it,” was the reply.

MISS PRITTIKID—­“But, father, he is a man you can trust.”

HER PA—­“Gracious, girl; what I want is one I can borrow from.”

BOSTON

MR. PENN—­“They say the streets in Boston are frightfully crooked.”

MR. HUBB—­“They are.  Why, do you know, when I first went there I could hardly find my way around.”

“That must be embarrassing.”

“It is.  The first week I was there I wanted to get rid of an old cat we had, and my wife got me to take it to the river a mile away.”

“And you lost the cat all right?”

“Lost nothing!  I never would have found my way home if I hadn’t followed the cat!”

Owing to the war a distinguished Boston man, deprived of his summer trip to Europe, went to the Pacific coast instead.  Stopping off at Salt Lake City, he strolled about the city and made the acquaintance of a little Mormon girl.

“I’m from Boston,” he said to her.  “I suppose you do not know where Boston is?”

“Oh, yes, I do,” answered the little girl eagerly.  “Our Sunday-school has a missionary there.”

The motorist was a stranger in Boston’s streets.  It was evening.  A man approached.

“Sir,” said he, “your beacon has ceased its functions.”

“What?” gasped the astonished driver.

“Your illuminator, I say, is shrouded in unmitigated oblivion.”

“I don’t quite—­”

“The effulgence of your irradiator has evanesced.”

“My dear fellow, I—­”

“The transversal ether oscillations in your incandenser have been discontinued.”

Just then a little newsboy came over and said: 

“Say, mister, yer lamp’s out!”

Senator Hoar used to tell with glee of a Southerner just home from New England who said to his friend, “You know those little white round beans?”

“Yes,” replied the friend; “the kind we feed to our horses?”

“The very same.  Well, do you know, sir, that in Boston the enlightened citizens take those little white round beans, boil them with molasses and I know not what other ingredients, bake them, and then—­what do you suppose they do with the beans?”

“They—­”

“They eat ’em, sir,” interrupted the first Southerner impressively; “bless me, sir, they eat ’em!”

The newly married couple had gone West to live, and as the Christmas season drew nigh she became homesick.

“Even the owls are different here,” she sighed.

“And how is that?” he asked.

“Here they say ‘To-hoot-to-who,’ and in Boston they say
‘To-hoot-to-whom.’”