“Well, mister,” said the native, “it’s like this: County Judge Sim Hightower’s oldest boy, Simmy Junior, comes of age to-day and they’re runnin’ him down to put pants on him.” § 24 A Radical Difference Noted A friend of mine has a friend who went abroad while Victoria the beloved, was still on the throne of Great Britain. In London one night the traveler saw Madame Bernhardt play in “Anthony and Cleopatra.” The scene came where Cleopatra receives news of Mark Antony’s defeat at Actium. Bernhardt was at her best as Egypt’s fiery queen that night. She stabbed the unfortunate slave who had borne the tidings to her, stormed, raved, frothed at the mouth, wrecked some of the scenery in her frenzy and finally, as the curtain fell, dropped in a shuddering, convulsive heap. As the thunderous applause died down, the American heard a middle-aged British matron in the next seat remarking to her neighbor in tones of satisfaction: “How different—how very different from the home life of our own dear queen!” § 25 Where the Partnership Dissolved One of the oldest stories in the known world—and in my humble judgment one of the best ones—deals with three actors—an aged negro, an itinerant conjurer and a twelve pound snapping-turtle. It is a hot day in a Mississippi countryside. The conjurer, who is making his way across country afoot, is sitting alongside the dusty road, resting. There passes him an ancient negro returning from a fishing expedition. The darky is not going home empty-handed. He has captured a huge snapping-turtle. He is holding it fast by its long tail, which is stretched tautly over his right shoulder so that the flat undershell of the captive rests against his back. He bids the stranger a polite good-morning and trudges on. He has gone perhaps twenty feet further when an impish inspiration leaps into the magician’s brain. In addition to his other gifts he is by way of being a fair ventriloquist. He throws his voice into the turtle’s mouth and speaking in a muddy, guttural tone such as would be suitable to a turtle if a turtle ever indulged in conversation, he says sharply: “Look here, nigger, where are you taking me?” The old man freezes in his tracks. He rolls his eyes rearward. There is the look of a vast, growing, terrific bewilderment on his face. “W-h-who—who dat speakin’ to me?” he asks falteringly. “It’s me speakin’ to you,” the turtle seemingly says, “here on your back. I asked you where you were taking me.” “Huh, boss,” cries the old man, “I ain’t takin’ you nowhars—I’se leavin’ you right yere!” § 26 Absolutely Unfitted for the Rôle A few months before his death Gen. Basil Duke of Kentucky, who commanded Morgan’s Cavalry after the killing of his brother-in-law, Gen. John Morgan, told this tale at a Confederate reunion: