Love the immortal, the transfigurer of souls, the
unsealer of eyes which in vain have sought the light which streams from
eternity, thou hast come to work anew the old, old story, even though
thy coming rends my heart-strings. Down, selfish, stubborn fumes of
senile cynicism! I bow to the law of life. Come to my embrace, O
sons-in-law; I love you, I bid you welcome to my hearth, even though
you regard me as one for whom the grave is yawning! Listen how bravely
I call Jim--Jim--Jim, a thousand times Jim. And you, the other one,
whose name I do not know, but whose fell purpose I have detected, when
your name is divulged to me I will call that too.
X
Said Josephine to me some three months ago: "Fred, we shall have been
married twenty-five years on the twenty-first of next November. We
ought to celebrate it in some way."
"How better than by having a silver wedding?"
"Because so many people would feel obliged to give us silver," she
replied. "I am perfectly willing, Fred, that people, should send me
flowers when I'm dead, but I will not have them send silver to my
silver wedding."
"The simplest way then would be to tell them not to. Put in the corner
of the invitation the letters A. S. W. B. S. B. 'All silver will be
sent back.'"
"This is a serious subject, Fred.
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