Au Fil des Jours

Wake up to music. An emulator of Edison has just imagined a combination of phonograph and alarm clock that promises great pleasure to lovers of serenades. You wind the instrument like ordinary alarm clocks. And the next morning, at the desired time, instead of a more or less unpleasant chime, it is the best piece of your repertoire that escapes from the acoustic pavilion to pull you from the arms of Morpheus. But if all the tenants of the same house get such marvels of clockwork, what a cacophony in the building from the first light of dawn until the moment when the concierge, madam, brings you your mail!

Maternal excuse.
THE MASTER. I am very unhappy with your son. He couldn't even tell me when Philippe-Auguste died.
THE MOTHER. You shouldn't hold it against him too much. At home, we never read the newspapers.

A la Turenne!
Where does this fashion for the short moustache come from that has caught on so well in our country since the war? Ask your husband, your fiancé or your father, dear reader. Nine times out of ten, I bet the answer will be: "from England" or "from America". Well! not at all, and this supposedly new fashion is only a modern rehash of the one that spread in France three centuries ago, after the famous Alsace campaign. We know how intrepidly Turenne fought there. The marshal was not afraid to pay with his person. Attacked by an enemy party when he had strayed a little too far from his escort, he had to endure the fire of a few saddle pistols. Most of the bullets went astray. However, one of them, fired at an angle, literally shaved his upper lip, and if he escaped, he left part of his moustache there. After having killed his attacker and put the rest of the troop to flight, Turenne, somewhat mortified by his mishap, went to a nearby barber and asked him for help and advice. The practitioner collected himself for a moment and inspiration came. By an unprecedented artifice, he managed to repair the damage by giving his illustrious client a short, crew-cut moustache.
So let's give Turenne what is Turenne's, with all due respect to John Bull or Uncle Sam!

Charade.
Question. What is this something so light that we cannot name it without breaking it? Answer. Silence.

The congestion of liberal careers.
In 1860, there were still only 5,000 pharmacists in France, one for every 7,200 inhabitants since our population amounted, in round figures, to 36 million souls. In 1900, their number had almost doubled, there were 9,406, or one pharmacy for every 4,100 inhabitants. In 1912, it was much better and their number rose to 12,000, one for every 3,280 inhabitants! In Paris alone, the statistics indicated 1,347, one for every 2,000 inhabitants! How many are there today?

The Master's Eye.
A boss catches his employee sleeping with his nose in his ledgers.
-What! he said to him, after shaking him. Your accounting is not up to date and you take it easy on her?
-Excuse me, sir, replied the delinquent. My youngest is unbearable. He kept me awake at night.
In that case, said the boss, in his deadpan tone, you'd better bring him to the office with you.

CLÉGUER.