WIT AND HUMOUR.

Evening Post, Volume LXIV, Issue 149, 20 December 1902, Page 6 (Supplement)

WIT AND HUMOUR.

THE HUNTER FROM THE CITY. Now the hunter from the city takes his gun and hies away, With a wild determination in his heart to maim and slay; He stumbles through the pastures and he scrambles over logs, And he dodges through the briars and goes sloshing through the bogs, | And here and there he sees, Warning signs upon the trees, j And now and then he hustles to outrun the farmer's dogs. Oh, the hunter from the city, starting out with hope so high, Couldn't hit a flock of haystacks if they passed him on the fly, But his sporting blood is tingling, and his breast is all aflame, As he halts and blindly blazes at the startled, fleeing game, And the words he has to say, As the white 'smoke drifts away, Are intended to show clearly that his weapon was to blame. Oh, the hunter from the city goes out boldly hunting now, And he fires at the chipmunk and brings down the farmer's cow ; ' And at night with aching shoulders, he slinks homeward with his gun And a deeply set conviction that it weighs at least a ton — There's a farmer with a bill For a cow that's cold and still, But, no matter, foi 1 the hunter from the city calls it fun. — Chicago Record-Herald. CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. Hunting for a Christmas present For each blooming friend you know Is a task that's far from pleasant When your funds are running low. It is hard to make selections That with joy all hearts will thrill When you've got to make twelve sections Of a lone ten-dollar bill. People's wants nr*j so extensive That they fill you with despair, They all hope for gifts exppnsive, They don't know how ill they'll fare ! If you have a lot of money, Buying pr?sents is great sport, But it's anjrthing but funny When your bank account is short. Through the crowded stores you hustle, . Almost of all hope bereft, Harassed by the ceaseless bustle, ■ Pricing things and getting left. Christmastidc may be a season Of traditional good-will, But it's hard to buy twelve presents With a lone ten-dollar bill. — Somerville Journal. NOT SO "SIMPLE." Simple Bimon went a-fisuing ..For to catch a trout, He spied a sign ''No Fishing Here" And there pulled sixty out ! —Life. AN AWFUL FATE. Full many a mortal, young and old, Has gone to his sarcophagus, Thro' pouring water icy cold Adown his warm oesophagus. — Now York Sun. THE FIRST STEP,. Ah, could he have but guessed or known Of all that was to come, as there He poised an instant all alone With one foot raised in air! But, oh, he did not know or guess — The first step ! Ah, what sorrows may Come nfter it — what sore distress — ' But, hovering there, he smiled away Au innocent of what the .future kept So jealously concealed from him, and stepped. i The first step ! Oh, if we could know What after the first ttsp may be ! He stepped — the step was not there, though, That first hard step, and .vc — I saw him poising in the air — An instant, or mayhap 'twas less — He., Razing backward, had got there Before he thought lie had, I guess — I saw him ek-p and then shoot out in cpa.ee And eke I neard him landing on his face. Chicago Record-Herald. OPPORTUNITIES NOT EMBRACED. Sometimes they call her Florence, But she's better known as Flossy — Just like wavy torrents Of her fair hair, long and glossy. She is piquant, she is pretty, And she's winsome, wise and witty; But another fellow^ kissed her— She's his sister. Now, is it not provoking That some men are born so gifted? For it you or I — no joking — Were so lucky we'd be lifted 1 To a heavenly condition ; But I have _ a grave suspicion That he'd rather kiss another Girl — her brother! LITERATURE OF THE RUSHED. How do the journalists grind their grist? Learn, sir, from the lay of an optimist. Scuttoring in on the train, Crowded and vulgar and hot, Jostled at elbow and back, vVriting "society" rot. Scratching a pad on your knee, • With pencillings jagged and rough ; Interrupted by telegrams three ; "Why the blank don't you rush in your stuff?" Or, perhaps, you sit down at the side Of the crude rustic telegraph plug Who wires off your screed while you scrawl And by his fool questions are dug : "That word 'cut'? Why, I thought it was ' cat.' That ' Johnson ' ? Looke like it was 'Jones.' Guess you never learned how to write." And -so on, in spite of your groans. Or crushed in a- stale, stuffy hall Where you write down the speech of a I dunce ' While flanked by an hundred old hens, Eighteen of them cackling at once ; And even if all take the floor, While the chairwoman screams like, a hawk, \ Still, still you must follow the trend, Though the trend be a tangle of talk. And when you sit down at your desk To write up a long interview, On one side the typewriter clicks And your poor head is dictated through By the great star who never can write But bawls in a regular flow, And you grind while they click and they clack, Whether you love it or no. Or grabbing each sheet while you write, A boy takes it up to the room Of the night man, whose job is to feed The great typographical loom. | As you scrawl, thunders break up above ; Their roarings your tired ears rend, And clenching your fingers you cry, " How the deuce did that last sentence end?" Wise men read the paper and say, "He split his infinitive there, And tho wrong tense he used in this place. Such ihetoric — isn't it queer?" It ought to be perfect, of course. And never by any chance mushed — Smooth ol phrnse, clear of thought and well-turned, This literature of the rushed. — From " Songs of the Press," by Bailey Millard.

OWNS NOT HIS OWN. Caruthers has a library surpassing all in town, In works of fiction, science, natural history, et cetera, Embracing works in every field by authors of renown, His is of man's progressive thought the greate&t treasury. His house is hardly large enough to hold his reservoir That overflows his study and invades adjoining nooks, And visitors gaze wonderingly upon his volume's store, And envy him his menu of supremely luscious books. - But he, poor man ! Alas ! This store is locked from his survey. If he should live the limit of man's designated span He'd have no time to read ; he must slave fourteen hours a day To meet the need ; his books were bought on the instalment plan. — Boston Courier. FAST COLOURS. In one of the middle cities of the United States there lived a local wit and his favourite butt. Both were prominent club men and enlivened the same social set. One was named Black and the other Brown. Black was immaculate in his dress, while Brown was careless, often wearing his finger-nails in mourning and an ecruite collar with a full-dress suit; but family connections excused his shortcomings. One evening the pair ai rived at a reception and met the hostess simultaneously. The two names mentionedtogether suggested a bon-mot to Brown, but the opening was disastrous. "The colours are very much in evidence to-night," said Brown. To which their hostess replied: "Yes, I see they are, and if rumour is to be credited, they are fast colours." "No, no," broke in Black, "Brown won't wash." AN UP-TO-DATE VILLAGE. "Do you have a good lecture course here during the winter?" was asked of the manager of the Higginsville Lyceum. "Indeed we do," he answered ; "and next season we expect to outdo all previous records. So for we have booked one ransomed missionary, one reformed gambler, one troupe of trained animals, or.c converted heathen, one moving picture machine, and one professional personator. We may take on a college piofessor who wants to speak about the tendency of modern literary thought, bub I don't know. It's pretty hard to keep the course on the snme high plane of thought throughout. " — Judge. WOE BE TO HIM. George — "I have been invited to a 'flower party' at the Pinkies's. What does it mean?" Jack — "That's one of the newest ideas this season. It is a new form of birthday-party. Each guest must send Miss Pinkie a bouquet containing as' many flowers as she is years old, and the flowers must have a meaning. Study the language of flowers before ordering." Florist's boy (a few hours later)— "A gentleman left an order for twenty of these flowers to bo sent to Miss Pinkie, | with his card." Florist— "He's one, of my best customers. Add eight or ten more for good measure." — Ex. NO MATTER. A New Jersey clergyman <in a small town recently electrified his congregation by introducing into hiq sermon a dramatic account of Kudyard Kipling's deathbed scene. One of . his parishioners hurried up to remonstrate with him at the close of the service. "Kipling 'isn't dead?" echoed the preacher, tranquilly ; ''well, that's odd. I surely read about the thing somewhere. Well, never mind. It must have been some one else who died, but the point remains the same." — Argonaut. ANYTHING TO OBLIGE. Mr. Greatman — "I wish you'd slop printing my portrait every time any little 1 thing happens to irie, or else get a new one. You've had that old plate in seventeen times." Editor— -"All right, my dear sir. Anything to oblige." . Assistant Foreman (a week later) — "I can't' find that picture of Sam, the , sneak-thief, anywhere." Foreman — "Well, dump in that old picture of Mr. Greatman. It ain't foing to be used for him any more."— few York Weekly. IN DEMAND.' He was cutting an item from a newspaper. "It tells how a house was robbed, and I want to show it to my wife," he explained. "What good will that do?" a friend enquired. "A whole lot," was the reply; "you see, this house was robbed while the man was at church with his wife." "Say!" exclaimed the friend, excitedly, "you haven't got a duplicate copy of that paper, have you?" — Chicago Post. DAZED. A woman in pursuit of a late summer gown stood in front of a counter heaped with foulard? in a big store. A blue ground with i white polka dot seemed to please hei best, but she paused irresolutely. "It '. .oks just like the old indigo blue calicoe they used to wear when I was a lit *c girl in the country," she said, discontentedly. "Madame," said the portly salesman, "long after you and I are dead and gone women will be wearing blue and' white polka dots. They have worn them since the race emerged from barbarism. They will wear them until it sinks into it again." After that portentous gravity and heavy philosophy the woman bought the dress in a dazed silence. — Tacoma Ledger. An officer, not remarkable for courage, came one day to Quin, the actor, and asked him what he should do after having his nose pulled. "Why, sir," said Quin, "soap your nose for the. future, and then they'll &lip their hold." Miss Mainchantz : "I you've heard of my engagement to Mr. Jenks." Miss Ascott: "Yes, and I confess I was surprised. You told me once that you wouldn't marry him for a million dollars." Misp. Mainchantz : "I know, dear, but I discovered, later that he had two millions." • Showed what she could do. — Phoxy : "I got a good square meal last night, the first in several weeks, and I have you to thank for^t." Friend: "Me^to thank? Well, that's news to me." Phoxy: "Yes,, I know, I telephoned to my wife that you were coming to dinner with me." " She seems to have lost her head over that young man." "Yes, I saw it on his shoulder." Fractional : " Where the wife is the better half, what is the husband?" " Perhaps he is what is meant hj the submersed tenth!" iLbgic, male andi female — She : " I know that il is not so, but I can't help feeling that ifc is. ' He : " I don't care whether it's so or not — I don't believe it." "What is, the .diffeience between a monologue arid ' a dialogue, pa?" '"A monologue, my son, is a man's wife talking to him, and a dialogue is his wife and her mother talking to him." What doughnut is : "A doughnut, children," said the practical teacher of digestive. economics, "is a round' hole in the centre of a compound mixture of dyspepsia." Buff : " Have you no memento of your mother-in-law, who came to so sudden an end in Africa?/" ' Duff : " No, worse luck. We, only succeeded in getting ■ a photograph of' t^e pannibal that ate her.".' -