"Said he cut his father?" "No, no, no; said he cut down his apple tree." "George's apple tree?" "No, no; his father's." "Oh!" "He said----" "His father said?" "No, no, no; George said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie. I did it with my little hatchet.' And his father said, 'Noble boy, I would rather lose a thousand trees than have you tell a lie.'" "George did?" "No; his father said that." "Said he'd rather have a thousand apple trees?" "No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple trees than----" "Said he'd rather George would?" "No; said he'd rather he would than have him lie." "Oh, George would rather have his father lie?" We are patient, and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers, of Arch Street, hadn't come and got her prodigy at this critical juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled us out of that snarl. And as Clarence Fitzherbert Alencon de Marchemont Caruthers patted down the stairs, we heard him telling his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and he told him to cut down an apple tree, and he said he'd rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple tree. * * * * * In the House of Representatives one day Mr. Springer was finishing an argument and ended by saying, "I am right, I know I am; and I would rather be right than be President." He stood near the late S. S. Cox, who looked mischievously across at him and said as he ended, "Don't worry about that, Springer; you'll never be either." THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT Behold the mansion reared by dedal Jack. See the malt stored in many a plethoric sack, In the proud cirque of Ivan's bivouac. Mark how the rat's felonious fangs invade The golden stores in John's pavilion laid. Anon with velvet foot and Tarquin strides Subtle grimalkin to his quarry glides-- Grimalkin grim that slew the fierce rodent Whose tooth insidious Johann's sackcloth rent. Lo! now the deep-mouthed canine foe's assault, That vexed the avenger of the stolen malt, Stored in the hallowed precincts of that hall That rose complete at Jack's creative call. Here stalks the impetuous cow with crumpled horn Whereon the exacerbating hound was torn. Who bayed the feline slaughter-beast that slew The rat predacious, whose keen fangs ran through The textile fibers that involved the grain Which lay in Hans's inviolate domain. Here walks forlorn the damsel crowned with rue, Lactiferous spoils from vaccine drugs who drew Of that corniculate beast whose tortuous horn Tossed to the clouds in fierce vindictive scorn The harrowing hound whose braggart bark and stir Arched the lithe spine and reared the indignant fur Of puss, that with verminicidal claw Struck the weird rat in whose insatiate maw Lay reeking malt that erst in Juan's courts we saw.