Good stories are always acceptable, and the art of story-telling is well worth cultivating. In recent years the practice of telling a few good stories instead of giving a recitation or making a speech has opened up a new field of opportunity for the raconteur. Some stories are good enough to tell themselves, that is to say, their humour is so broad and clear that it cannot fail of its mark, and the story only needs to be told simply and it will carry its own effect. Others again require some little art in delivery, that the main point may not be anticipated until the dramatic moment, when the incongruous surprise will provoke inevitable mirth. Three good stories are sufficient for one effort, for if more are wanted, an encore can easily be given. These may be arranged to include contrast, or to form sequence, and they may be all the better if a few appropriate words link them in natural connection.
Stories may be classified under various headings, and a certain unity is secured when all the stories told at one time are of one class. Irish stories, Scotch stories, sporting stories, dog stories, stories of lawyers, actors, artists, musicians, soldiers, sailors, and eccentrics. In the telling of stories the dog fancier runs the fisherman very close in the art of drawing the long bow. Whichever class of story is affected it is important to follow the positive, compara tive, and superlative order of delivery. To anticipate the tit-bit is to produce an anti-climax, and the best should always be told last. The story-teller should always remember that “brevity is the soul of wit,” and that all superfluous verbiage is so much discount on his success. In the following pages a few suggestive speech-stories are given.
I. Dr. Johnson has been credited with saying that the best view to be obtained in Scotland is that of the road to England, and English wit has often been exercised upon the supposed indisposition of the Scotsman who has come south to go “bok again.”
II. That Scotsmen are well able to retort upon this charge was shown at a dinner of the Urban Club some years ago, when Hain Friswell, as chairman, twitted some young Scotsmen, including William Black and Robert Buchanan, who had recently arrived in London, with the national failing of not returning to their native heath. Robert Buchanan, in responding, remarked that the failing was not peculiar to Scotsmen, for he knew of a large number of Englishmen who visited Scotland on one occasion, and never came back again. “They went,” he said, “to a place called Bannockburn.”
III. A story which is supposed to illustrate the characteristics of the several nationalities is told of an Englishman, a Welshman, and a Scotsman who paid a visit to Ireland, and who upon their return brought with them mementoes of their trip. The Englishman brought a tobacco pouch with “God preserve old Ireland” on it; the Welshman brought a mug with “A present from Dublin” on it; but the Scotsman brought a knife and fork each with “London and Northwestern Railway” on it.
IV. There is a good story of a certain Scot who, having fulfilled the years of an honourable career, passed away and was seen no more. Following precedent and natural instinct, he graduated to the wealthiest city within his ken, and begged the apostolic janitor to let him in. For some reason, I believe quite apart from his nationality, he was refused admission on the technical ground that his name was not on the register, or that, all Scotsmen being more or less of the same name, he could not be identified.
Not having much choice, he descended the hill, and approached the only other city he knew of in the neighbourhood, but only to receive the same answer and for the same alleged reasons. Weary and disconsolate, it is said he sat down on the doorstep, and began to cry. “Boo-oo-oo-oo,” brought a crowd of little devils round him in a moment, all of whom attempted to cheer him up with the assurance that he never need pretend to be good any more, and that he would never again have to suffer from the cold. On ascertaining that he had been denied even these advantages, they still expressed their surprise that he should weep at being excluded from the nether world. Whereupon he began to cry again and said: “But, boo-oo-oo-oo, what am I to do? I don’t want to have to go back to Scotland.”
I. “So you’re an early riser, Pat?” “I am that, yer ’onner, and me father was an early roiser before me.” “Oh! your father was an early riser before you, was he, Pat?” “Ah! he was that, yer ’onner. Why, if he’d gone to bed a little later he’d ’a’ met himself gettin’ up in the mornin’, ’e would.” “And how is your father, Pat?” “Me father, sor, he’s dead this long toime, he is.” “Dead, is he, Pat? and how long ago might that be?” “Faith, yer ’onner, if he’d lived till next Thursday week he’d ’a’ been dead two years and a half, he would.” “And what are you working at now, Pat?” “I’m workin’ on the railway, yer onner!” “On the railway, are you, Pat? Well, that will be a good job done.” “It will that, yer ’onner! When the new loin’s opened you’ll be able to get to London and back quicker than you can stay at home, you will.”
II. “What’s yours?” said the foreman as the boys knocked off work for the night. “Mine’s a pint,” says Tom; “And mine’s a pint, too,” says Dick. “And what’s yours, Pat?” “Och! I’ll just have a mouthful, yer ’onner!” said the Irishman. “No, you won’t,” said the foreman (he knew Pat’s mouth), “you’ll have just the same as the others.” On turning out of doors Pat’s movements were observed to be somewhat circuitous, and the foreman said to him, “Pat, I’m afraid you’ll find that road longer than you expect.” “Longer, yer ’onner? It’s not that that’s troublin’ me; it’s the width that’s destroyin’ me entoirely!”
III. From drinking to fighting is not a very far cry at any time, and Pat had not proceeded far before he had a difference with a wastrel and went out into the road to settle it. According to the articles of war it was arranged that either combatant could end the fight by calling out “sufficient,” and, with this proviso, they went at it “hammer-and-tongs.” It was a very equal match, and the issue was long doubtful, but at last the wastrel shouted “sufficient,” upon which Pat exclaimed, with intense disgust, “Begorrah! and I’ve been troin’ to think of that word for a quarter of an hour!”
I. A lawyer retired from his profession the other day and, having made his money out of ruined estates, bought one and set about repairing the ruins. Not wishing to maintain the identity of the place, he sought a title for his mixture of old stone and new stucco. Some one suggested “Dunrobbin Castle.” He thought about it, but decided not to adopt it. He did not wish to convey the idea that he was not still open to business if it was sufficiently promising.
II. Another lawyer—or was it the same—having won a case involving a hundred pounds, deducted eighty pounds as his charges, and, handing the remaining twenty to his client, said: “I am your friend, sir. I cannot charge you my full fee; I knew your father.” The client took the balance with no very good grace, but he recognised that things might have been worse, for he said as he took it: “Thank goodness you didn’t know my grandfather.”
III. One day, at the table of the late Dr. Pease, just as the cloth was being removed, the subject of conversation happened to turn on mortality amongst lawyers. “We have lost,” said a gentleman, “not less than six eminent barristers in as many months.” Where upon the Dean, who was very deaf, and had not heard the remark, rose immediately and pronounced the grace—“For this and every other mercy, the Lord’s name be praised!”
IV. If we could be quite sure that we should be immune from legal worries in the next world we might feel encouraged to endure what we have to suffer here, but apparently we have no guarantee of freedom from interference even there. It is said that some time ago the amenities of heaven were much disturbed by the frequent incursion of little devils, who climbed over the walls when no one was looking, and, scooting down among the angels, caused all kinds of scandal and annoyance. Complaints were made to the apostolic janitor, who protested that he was quite unable to cope with the difficulty, whereupon he was instructed to apply for an injunction. Still the annoyance went on without abatement. Still the little devils continued to climb over the walls when no one was looking and scooting down among the angels played all manner of pranks with harps and haloes and all other movable properties. Again the janitor was told that such things must not be. Indeed he was told that the character of the place was suffering, and that it was not nearly so select as it was before he held the keys. Retorting, with some warmth, he was asked why he had not applied for an injunction. “I have, I have!” was his passionate reply, “but it’s no use. There are too many lawyers on the other side.”
I. A coroner was holding an inquest on the body of a man who had destroyed his life by hanging, and, after hearing the evidence of the police, always taken first, he called the man who had called the police, and interrogated him: “Tell us what occurred,” said the great functionary, leaning back in his chair with a look of benign encouragement on his face. “Well, sir,” he said, “it was like this: I was goin’ down to the Red Lion for my mornin’ pick-me-up when I see the defendant hangin’ to a barn door!” “Yes,” said the coroner, “and what did you do?” “Me, sir? I went and fetched a policeman!” “You went and fetched a policeman,” exclaimed the coroner. “Why on earth didn’t you cut him down?” “Cut him down, your ’onner?” said the astonished witness, “Why, he wasn’t dead then!”
II. A young man, who had true humanitarian feelings, was much concerned on account of his brother’s tendency to suicide. Constantly on the alert, he was one night disturbed by hearing unusual sounds from his brother’s bedroom, which was situated immediately above his own. Jumping out of bed, he ran upstairs and entered his brother’s room, when he found, to his horror, a rope suspended to a big nail in the wall, and encircling his brother’s waist. “What are you doing? What are you doing?” cried the interrupter in an agony of dismay. “Oh!” said his brother, with tears in his voice, “it’s no use; I can’t stand it any longer. I’m going to make away with myself, and the sooner the better.” “Well, but,” said the interrupter, “you must be mad. You shouldn’t put the rope round your waist, but your neck.” “My neck,” cried the astonished penitent; “not me! I tried it there, and it nearly choked me!”
We are all called upon at times to deliver ill-news, and the supreme tact of the wisest sympathy is often subject to severe strain. Many illustrations might be given of attempts to extenuate circumstance and postpone shock, but it is doubtful if a better could be cited than the following story, which has run the round of the clubs of late. It proves at least that there are ways of putting things which may be trusted to prepare the mind by easy stages for the final blow, which may fall the lighter for the graduated process.
A gentleman who had been spending some months abroad, without receiving communications from home, arrived one evening at a country railway station, where he was met by his groom with a stylish dogcart, to enable him to complete his journey. “Glad to see yer back, sir,” said the groom, and his master expressed his satisfaction at coming home once more. “You’ve been away a long time, sir,” said the groom feelingly. “Well, yes, Jim, three months; but three months is not very long after all.” “It’s a long time in the country where nothing ever happens, sir.” “Ah well, I suppose it is, Jim; but what’s the news now I have come back?” “Well, I don’t know as there’s any particular news, sir, but poor old Carlo’s dead!” “Carlo’s dead, is he? He was a good dog in his time, was old Carlo, but he was thirteen years old, Jim, and you can’t expect a dog to live much longer than that.” “Well, no, sir, I s‘pose not, but it was the way he died that upset me.” “The way he died? Why, how was that, Jim?” “He were burnt to death, sir!” “Burnt to death, Jim? Why, however did that happen?” “Well, sir, it were the mornin’ after the old barn were burnt down, as we were rakin’ over the ashes we found his poor old body burned to a cinder.” “What! is the old barn burned down, Jim?” “Aye, that it is, sir, and a fine flare it was, too!” “But whatever set fire to the barn, Jim?” “Well, I don’t know, sir, but they do say as it was the flames from the ’All what set fire to the barn!” “The flames from the Hall, Jim. Is the Hall burnt down, too?” “Aye, that it is, sir, and I never see such a conflagration!” “Well, but how did the Hall catch fire?” “Well, I don’t know, sir, but they do say it was the wind a-blowin’ the curtains agin the candles what was round the corfin what set fire to the ’All!” “Whose coffin, Jim?” “Oh, it were your mother’s corfin, sir!” “My mother’s coffin; and is my mother dead then?” “Aye, that she is, sir, and she didn’t want no cremation neither!” “But what was the matter with her, Jim? She was well enough when I went away.” “A trifle weak at the ’eart, sir, if you remember, and when she heard as your misses had joined the suffragettes, she reg’lar collapsed, she did, and that’s all about it. But ’ere we are, sir, at last, and I’m very glad to see yer back at the old ‘ome once again.”
I. A fervid orator appealing for more workers in the mission field invited any who were desirous of devoting themselves to the work to remain after the conclusion of the meeting. As the congregation dispersed an earnest, intelligent-looking lad made his way nervously towards the platform, and the orator, without waiting for a word of explanation, began congratulating the lad upon his noble resolve to devote his life to the cause of the heathen. A moment’s pause gave the boy a chance, when he stammered: “Please, sir, it isn’t that; but do you happen to have any foreign stamps?”
II. A little girl was once collecting for foreign missions, but was forbidden by her mother to ask people for money. She might tell people she was collecting, and then if they gave her money she might take it for the object she had in view. One day she called upon a friend of the family, who was a man of means, and who was aware of her mother’s restriction, and, intending to give the child a subscription, he put a five-pound note, a sovereign, a half-sovereign, and a five-shilling piece on the table, and asked her which of these she thought he ought to give her. The little girl said she did not know which he ought to give her, but, pointing to the sovereign, she added, “I should like to have that one, but I shouldn’t like to lose it, so (pointing at the bank-note) if you don’t mind wrapping it up in that piece of paper I’m sure it will be quite safe.”
I. The young man was quite eligible, and the fond father quite anxious to improve the occasion. “You know,” said the old man, “I mean to do my duty by my girls. They won’t go empty-handed when they leave my door. There’s Annie, for instance—nice girl, Annie, she’s thirty years old. Annie shall have a thousand pounds when she’s married. Then there’s Mary; she’s thirty-five. I’ve always meant to give Mary two thousand, and I won’t go back on my word; and as for Jane, well, she’s forty, and ought to have been married long ago. I won’t stop short of five thousand to see her comfortably settled.” The young man, who had betrayed a growing interest in the narrative, paused a moment, and then, leaning forward, said in quiet confidence, “You don’t happen to have one about sixty, do you?”
II. Jones received a telegram from his wife, “Mother is at the gates of death. Reply paid.” Jones replied, “Pull her through!”