keyhole."


An ambitious young man called upon a publisher and stated that he had
decided to write a book.

"May I venture to inquire as to the nature of the book you propose to
write?" asked the publisher, very politely.

"Oh," came in an offhand way from the aspirant to literary fame, "I
think of doing something on the line of 'Les Miserables,' only livelier,
you know."


"So you have had a long siege of nervous prostration?" we say to the
haggard author. "What caused it? Overwork?"

"In a way, yes," he answers weakly. "I tried to do a novel with a Robert
W. Chambers hero and a Mary E. Wilkins heroine."--_Life_.


Mark Twain at a dinner at the Authors' Club said: "Speaking of fresh
eggs, I am reminded of the town of Squash. In my early lecturing days I
went to Squash to lecture in Temperance Hall, arriving in the afternoon.
The town seemed very poorly billed. I thought I'd find out if the people
knew anything at all about what was in store for them. So I turned in at
the general store. 'Good afternoon, friend,' I said to the general
storekeeper. 'Any entertainment here tonight to help a stranger while
away his evening?' The general storekeeper, who was sorting mackerels,
straightened up, wiped his briny hands on his apron, and said: 'I expect