"Very well," said the King, "my subjects' wishes are the highest law."

So he disbanded his army and the consumers became producers also. The
sale of their products so brought down prices that farming was ruined,
and their skilled and unskilled labour drove the artisans and labourers
into the almshouses and highways. In a few years the national distress
was so great that the Farmer, the Artisan, and the Labourer petitioned
the King to reorganize the standing army.

"What!" said the King; "you wish to support those idle consumers again?"

"No, your Majesty," they replied--"we wish to enlist."

The Mirror

A Silken-Eared Spaniel, who traced his descent from King Charles the
Second of England, chanced to look into a mirror which was leaning
against the wainscoting of a room on the ground floor of his mistress's
house. Seeing his reflection, he supposed it to be another dog, outside,
and said:

"I can chew up any such milksoppy pup as that, and I will."

So he ran out-of-doors and around to the side of the house where he
fancied the enemy was. It so happened that at that moment a Bulldog sat
there sunning his teeth. The Spaniel stopped short in dire
consternation, and, after regarding the Bulldog a moment from a safe
distance, said:

"I don't know whether you cultivate the arts of peace or your flag is
flung to the battle and the breeze and your voice is for war. If you are
a civilian, the windows of this house flatter you worse than a newspaper,
but if you're a soldier, they do you a grave injustice."

This speech being unintelligible to the Bulldog he only civilly smiled,
which so terrified the Spaniel that he dropped dead in his tracks.

Saint and Sinner

"My friend," said a distinguished officer of the Salvation Army, to a
Most Wicked Sinner, "I was once a drunkard, a thief, an assassin. The
Divine Grace has made me what I am."

The Most Wicked Sinner looked at him from head to foot. "Henceforth," he
said, "the Divine Grace, I fancy, will let well enough alone."

An Antidote

A Young Ostrich came to its Mother, groaning with pain and with its wings
tightly crossed upon its stomach.

"What have you been eating?" the Mother asked, with solicitude.

"Nothing but a keg of Nails," was the reply.

"What!" exclaimed the Mother; "a whole keg of Nails, at your age! Why,
you will kill yourself that way. Go quickly, my child, and swallow a
claw-hammer."

A Weary Echo