unconscious humor, in the Albany _Express_.

* * * * *

Arrived at the Grand Central Station in New York at noon, I gave up my
check to a transfer man, but learned to my chagrin that the vestibule
train from Albany had carried no baggage, and that my things would only
arrive by the next train at about three o'clock. Pleasant news for a
man who was due to address an audience at three!

[Illustration: "A LITTLE BIT STIFF."]

There was only one way out of the difficulty. Off I went post-haste to a
ready-made tailor's, who sold me a complete fit-out from head to foot. I
did not examine the cut and fit of each garment very minutely, but went
off satisfied that I was presenting a neat and respectable appearance.
Before going on the stage, however, I discovered that the sleeves of the
new coat, though perfectly smooth and well-behaved so long as the arms
inside them were bent at the elbow, developed a remarkable cross-twist
as soon as I let my arms hang straight down.

By means of holding it firm with the middle finger, I managed to keep
the recalcitrant sleeve in position, and the affair passed off very
well. Only my friends remarked, after the lecture, that they thought I
looked a little bit stiff, especially when making my bow to the
audience.

* * * * *

My lecture at Daly's Theater this afternoon was given under the auspices
of the Bethlehem Day Nursery, and I am thankful to think that this most
interesting association is a little richer to-day than it was yesterday.
For an afternoon audience it was remarkably warm and responsive.

I have many times lectured to afternoon audiences, but have not, as a
rule, enjoyed it. Afternoon "shows" are a mistake. Do not ask me why;
but think of those you have ever been to, and see if you have a lively
recollection of them. There is a time for everything. Fancy playing the
guitar under your lady love's window by daylight, for instance!

Afternoon audiences are kid-gloved ones. There is but a sprinkling of
men, and so the applause, when it comes, is a feeble affair, more
chilling almost than silence. In some fashionable towns it is bad form
to applaud at all in the afternoon. I have a vivid recollection of the
effect produced one afternoon in Cheltenham by the vigorous applause of
a sympathizing friend of mine, sitting in the reserved seats. How all
the other reserved seats craned their necks in credulous astonishm