Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/533

Rh

T was at a table d'hôte in Baden. Among the guests was a young American couple; and one of our party, in an attempt to make conversation, ventured to ask the lady, who was seated next her, whether she liked Botticelli. The reply came somewhat hesitatingly:

"No, I—that is—I'm afraid I've never tasted it. In fact," she added, "I know very little about wines."

"My dear!" exclaimed her husband, in a fever of expostulation, "Botticelli isn't a wine—it's a che-e-e-se!"

Later, amid other scenes, we repeated the story, to the great delight of a numerous company. As the laughter subsided, a voice was heard saying in accents of relief:

"Well! I'm glad to have that settled! I know I ought to be ashamed to confess it, but the truth is I've always vaguely supposed Botticelli was a sculptor!"

OLLY is only five, but her small mind shows a decided theological bent.

"Come, Dolly," I called one day, "open your mouth and shut your eyes and I'll give you something to make you wise."

"Oh, papa," she cried, in wide-eyed reproof, "that's just what the serpent said to Eve!"

N AMERICAN going abroad heard on shipboard a story which gave him keen delight. Arrived in London, it occurred to him to try the effect of this story upon an Englishman of his acquaintance.

"It seems," said he, "that during the late war there was at one time a great scarcity of horses in the British army—in fact, the demand was so great that the government was obliged to press a lot of cab-horses into the service. The Boer general got wind of it somehow just on the eve of battle. He issued certain instructions. As the armies advanced upon each other—at the very moment of encounter—every Boer held up his hand; every English horse stopped like a shot."

"I should require proof of that story!" said the Englishman, firmly.