he natural answer. "That is correct," from Sophocles, with
one of his blandest smiles. Another day a student was playing chess in
recitation-time, feeling certain that his name would not be called, as
the professor had a fixed habit of calling up the students in regular
order, and this student was at the tail of the class. But Sophocles saw
what was going on, out of the corner of his eye, and said, suddenly,
"Mr. Kew, what do you say to this question?" Mr. Kew at once arose and
promptly replied, "It is imperfect, because it is in the indefinite
tense," an answer which, in nine cases in ten, would have been correct.
"Not at all, sir," said Professor Sophocles, calmly, "it is an island in
the Aegean Sea!"

Professor Vierecke (four cornered) was connected with a celebrated
German university in a walled town, during war times. He was very severe
in his teaching methods, and the students determined to get even with
him. So three of them went outside the town one day, when they knew he
had gone into the country, and disguised themselves with white wigs and
spectacles so as to look exactly like him. Toward night they started to
return, about half an hour apart. At the gate of the town every one had
to give his name to the sentinel stationed there. The first student to
arrive gave his name as Einecke (one cornered); the second, half an hour
afterward, as Zweiecke (two cornered); the third as Dreicke (three
cornered). By this time the sentinel began to be very suspicious over
the fact that these elderly men, looking exactly alike, but with names
increasing in numerical value, should have passed into the city. There
must, he thought, be some plot hatching, and just as he had resolved to
report the affair to his superior officer a fourth old man, with white
hair and spectacles, came up to the gate. "Your name, sir?" asked the
sentinel. "Vierecke." "Ha!" cried the sentinel. "I arrest you as a spy!"
The professor vainly protested, told where he lived and his occupation,
but the circumstances were so suspicious that he was taken to prison,
where he was kept all night and part of the next day, to the intense
delight of the persecuted students.

A little six-years-old boy, just learning to spell words of three or
four letters, was poring over a book at home, which contained words much
beyond his capacity. After trying in vain to make them out, he looked up
and said, "Mamma, if I had glasses, I think I could read all these
words."