"MY boy," said an aged Father to his fiery and disobedient Son, "a
hot temper is the soil of remorse. Promise me that when next you
are angry you will count one hundred before you move or speak."

No sooner had the Son promised than he received a stinging blow
from the paternal walking-stick, and by the time he had counted to
seventy-five had the unhappiness to see the old man jump into a
waiting cab and whirl away.



The Discontented Malefactor



A JUDGE having sentenced a Malefactor to the penitentiary was
proceeding to point out to him the disadvantages of crime and the
profit of reformation.

"Your Honour," said the Malefactor, interrupting, "would you be
kind enough to alter my punishment to ten years in the penitentiary
and nothing else?"

"Why," said the Judge, surprised, "I have given you only three
years!"

"Yes, I know," assented the Malefactor - "three years' imprisonment
and the preaching. If you please, I should like to commute the