NEW YORK CITY


At a convention of Methodist Bishops held in Washington, the Bishop of

New York made a stirring address extolling the powers and possibilities

of his state. Bishop Hamilton, of California, like all good

Californians, is imbued with the conviction that it would be hard to

equal a place he knows of on the Pacific, and following the Bishop of

New York he gave a glowing picture of California, concluding:



"Not
only is it the best place on earth to live in, but it has superior

advantages, too, as a place to die in; for there we have at our

threshold the beautiful Golden Gate, while in New York they only

have--well, you know which gate it is over at New York!" One night Dave

Warfield was playing at David Belasco's new theatre, supported by one of

Mr. Belasco's new companies. The performance ran with a smoothness of a

Standard Oil lawyer explaining rebates to a Federal court. A worthy

person of the farming classes, sitting in G 14, was plainly impressed.

In an interval between the acts he turned to the metropolitan who had

the seat next him.



"Where do all them troopers come from?" he inquired.



"I don't think I understand," said the city-dweller.



"I mean them actors up yonder on the stage," explained the man from

afar. "Was they brought on specially for this show, or do they live

here?"



"I believe most of them live here in town," said the New Yorker.



"Well, they do purty blamed well for home talent," said the stranger.





A traveler in Tennessee came across an aged negro seated in front of his

cabin door basking in the sunshine.



"He could have walked right on the stage for an Uncle Tom part without a

line of makeup," says the traveler. "He must have been eighty years of

age."



"Good morning, uncle," says the stranger.



"Mornin', sah! Mornin'," said the aged one. Then he added, "Be you the

gentleman over yonder from New York?"



Being told that such was the case the old darky said; "Do you mind

telling me something that has been botherin' my old haid? I have got a

grandson--he runs on the Pullman cyars--and he done tell me that up thar

in New York you-all burn up youah folks when they die. He is a poherful

liar, and I don't believe him."



"Yes," replied the other, "that is the truth in some cases. We call it

cremation."



"Well, you suttenly surprise me," said the negro and then he paused as

if in deep reflection. Finally he said: "You-all know I am a Baptist. I

believe in the resurrection and the life everlastin' and the coming of

the Angel Gabriel and the blowin' of that great horn, and Lawdy me, how

am they evah goin' to find them folks on that great mawnin'?"



It was too great a task for an offhand answer, and the suggestion was

made that the aged one consult his minister. Again the negro fell into a

brown study, and then he raised his head and his eyes twinkled merrily,

and he said in a soft voice:



"Meanin' no offense, sah, but from what Ah have heard about New York I

kinder calcerlate they is a lot of them New York people that doan'

wanter be found on that mornin'."



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