One day I received a note, asking me to meet a committee. A new road was to be opened, and as it affected my property, I was to be consulted. I went at the appointed time. A friend introduced me to several I had not met before, and then “Mr. Smith, this is Mr. Japhet.” “O, yes!” said he, “I have seen Mr. Japhet, and gad! I never hear that name, but I am reminded of the story, ‘Japhet in search of his father!’” and he chuckled at his bright saying. I replied, “Mr. Smith, I have heard you make that reference several times. Once you asked me if I was in search of my father, and I told you I was, and wished you to help me find him. Now I can tell you that I have found him, and perhaps you would like to see his photograph, here it is.” And I pulled the picture out of my coat pocket, and held it up for him to see. “I have lately been down to Jalalpur to see him. He is Mr. H. J. Smith, the commissioner, and may be some relation of yours?” The fellow turned white, then red. There was a tableaux, a quiet scene for some moments, when one of the party blustered out, “Come fellows, let’s get to work, as I have got to go to Mrs. Tinkle’s to see about some confounded party.” Our business was soon finished, and as I was going out through the yard my friend remarked, “I say, Japhet, what was that deuce of a joke you got off on Smith?” “Joke?” said I, “There was no joke at all.” “Great Scot!” he exclaimed, “you don’t mean to say that you and Smith are half brothers?” “I have said nothing of the kind,” I replied, “only I know this, that H. J. Smith, commissioner at Jalalpur, is my father, and if he is also this Smith’s father, you can draw your own conclusions, I am not bound to make any statement.” He fairly shouted, “Great heavens! you don’t tell me! Well, ta, ta, I must hurry, or the devil will be to pay with Mrs. Tinkle.”