The pastor of a colored church in Louisiana was haled before the board of deacons on serious charges. It was alleged that, although married, he had been caught in the act of embracing a comely female member of the congregation, in the vestry room. The evidence against him appeared to be conclusive. Three presumably unbiased witnesses testified to the fact. The accused was asked whether he had anything to say in his own defense. He answered at length and with eloquence. He led off by pointing out that the word “pastor” was a Latin word meaning “shepherd.” Therefore, he properly was a shepherd. He also called the attention of the court to the fact that in pictures and paintings and more frequently in stained-glass memorial windows the Master Himself was shown as a shepherd, carrying a lamb. Now then, he contended, it naturally followed that when he, as the shepherd, took a member of his flock in his arms, he merely was carrying out the Scriptural example. In the minds of the deacons there seemed to be no way of controverting these arguments. Accordingly they went into executive session and drew up resolutions exonerating the preacher. But they added a proviso. The concluding clause of the document, as read by the senior deacon before the congregation on the following Sunday night, ran as follows: “And, be it finally resolved, ef in future our beloved pastor should feel de desire stealin’ over him to tek one of de lambs of de flock in his arms, dat he shall tek a ram lamb!” § 284 God Save the King’s English! A London firm received from a merchant in Porto Rico a letter which, properly framed, now hangs on the walls of the home office—proof in denial of the ancient libel that the English don’t know a joke when they see it. The letter read as follows: “Why, for God’s sake, you send me pump without handle? My customer hollar like hell for water. “P. S.—Since writing I find the dam handle in the box.” § 285 The Kink in Mr. Jones Mr. Jones was one of those nervous persons, and inclined to hypochondria. His imagination, from time to time, afflicted him with maladies which never really materialized. Nevertheless, his devoted wife continued to share his apprehensions at each fresh alarm. One afternoon, long before his usual hour for returning from business, he fell into the house. His face was white as chalk, and in his eyes was a stricken look. He was bent forward. He tottered to a chair, and, still curled into a half-moon shape, dropped into it. “Maria,” he gasped, “it’s come at last! I’ll never be a well man again!” “Merciful Heavens!” she cried. “Henry, what has happened?” “There was no warning,” he said. “All of a sudden, a while ago, I found I couldn’t straighten up. I can’t lift my head. I feel all drawn.” “Is there any pain?” she asked, fluttering about in her distress. “No,” he said, “there’s no pain—that’s what makes me think it must be paralysis. Run for the doctor!”