Atchoo! Sneezes from a Hilarious Vaudevillian

"My fadder done hit me on de haid while I was standin' on an iron cellar door," was the response.

When I got to Charleston there was a circus in town, and after doing my matinee stunt at the local theatre, I got around to the circus.

There was a pretty fair menagerie along with the show, and it was a treat to me to stand around and hear the original and quaint remarks of the negroes, many of whom had never before in their lives seen lions and elephants.

One big ugly gorilla seemed to attract them above all other living curiosities, and he was a fierce sight, I assure you.

I saw an old wizened-up aunty stand in front of his cage a long time, speechless with awe, and finally heard her vent her feelings in the words:

"Foah massa sakes alibe, if he ain't jest like de ole-time culled folks."

Another queer old chap tried to make the acquaintance of the uncouth and hairy monster.

"How is you?" said the old black man, bowing before the monstrous ape.

No answer.

"How is you?" Eph repeated, with another profound bow, and still no answer. Then, after a long pause, Eph exclaimed:

"You's right, ole man; keep yo' mouf shet or dey'll put a hoe in yo' hand and make yo' raise cotton."

The menagerie always fascinates me. Why, I'm just like a boy again when I get among the animals, and catch that well-remembered odor always connected with a show.

I've even dreamed about 'em, and strange as it may appear, they always seem to be passing before me in a great hurry, just as though on a wager.

As I say, I was kind of fascinated and thinking of boyhood's days and all that sort of thing, you know, when some one spotted me.

"By de great horn spoon, if dar ain't George Niblo!"

I tried to look shy and turned on my best blush.

Then the manager turned to me politely, gave me the glad hand and asked if I wouldn't sing a little song.

I said "sure"; and I did. Here's the song I sung:

The animals thought they would have a race;
The Monkey was referee;
The Bull was stakeholder, for, as he said,
It was his nature to be.
The Camel got a hump on himself;
The Lion ran with might and mane;
The Tiger stood off, for a beast of his stripe
Was not let to enter again.
The Elephant took his trunk along,
In case he won the prize;
The Peacock was starter, and missed no one,
For, you see, he was all eyes.
Some spotted the Leopard for winner sure;
The old ones chose the Gnu;
While those who leap to conclusions quick
Bet on the Kangaroo.
The Ostrich plumed himself on his speed;
All tried the record to wreck;
The Hippopotamus blew his own horn,
But the Giraffe, he won by a neck.

I was in court the other day.

There is no use of any vulgar curiosity concerning the reason of my being present; but I will say right here that I won my case, and when a fellow does that he's all right. Yes, sir; I had the dough with me.

While I was waiting my turn a disreputable-looking chap was brought before the judge, I believe charged with vagrancy or something of the sort.

"What is your name?" inquired the justice.

"Pete Smith," responded the vagrant.

"What occupation?" continued the court.

"Oh, nothing much at present; just circulatin' round."

"Retired from circulation for thirty days," pronounced the court, dryly.

In another case where one of the witnesses had been severely baited by a counsel, the question arose as to the authenticity of a letter of which the witness was reputed to be the author.

"Sir," said the lawyer, fiercely, "do you, on your oath, swear that this is not your handwriting?"

"I think not," was the reply.

"Does it resemble your handwriting?"

"I can't say it does."

"Will you swear that it does not resemble your handwriting?"

"I will."

"You will positively take your oath that this writing does not resemble yours?" persisted the lawyer, working himself into a state bordering on frenzy.

"Ye-s-s, sir."

"You seem less positive," remarked his interrogator; "perhaps we had better have a specimen of your handwriting for purposes of comparison."

The witness caused it to be understood that this was impossible, whereupon the lawyer, scenting his approaching triumph, smiled serenely at the court.

"Oh, sir, it is impossible, is it? And may I ask why?"

"'Cause I can't write," returned the man.