ALLEGED HUMOUR.

Evening Post, Volume LXXI, Issue 148, 23 June 1906, Page 11

ALLEGED HUMOUR.

MY LADY'S LACE. My lady steps across the street, A vision fair to see — ■ Her modest skirts are held discreet Above her dainty little feet, Revealing hose and ankle neat, And foamy lingerie. The road of rain or drifting snows Is clear as clear can be ; Yet who would venture to suppose That fascinating glimpse she snows Because of ankle or of Kose, Or snowy lingerie? THE ELECTROBTTS. Hurrah for the jar of the rattling car, j And the groan of the grinding gear ; The noisy clutch and the greasy touch And the gases in the rear ! The blatant scorn of the mighty horn, And the sleepy carman's cuss, As every morn new oaths are born On the trail of the motor bus. Hurrah for the jolt of the "Thunderbolt," And the crunch of breaking teeth, The sudden pause of the iron claws As the driver dives beneath ; 0, who would be in a storm at sea, Who might for a penny thus Enjoy the pitch of the monster which We christened the motor bus? But, 10, as soon as the gracious boon Has grappled the public taste, A silent box, sans jars or shocks, On the City streets is placed ; As quick and light as a ballet sprite, In size a Diplodocus ; And O, the squash of the great golosh Of the grim electrobus ! Alas, alas for the crowds that pass Through the City's restless sea, With oil and steam on the weather beam, And lightning close a-lee! Away with the "grey" that blocks the way, And away with all of us, Both man and brute electrocute, Kido on, electrobus ! — A.W., in the Daily Chronicle. "NOT MUCH." One of the best-known R.A.s has a favourite anecdote— one often told but always good— of which he claims to be the original narrator. Moreover, it is a true one. An old country couple (so he relates) had strayed into the Manchester Art Gallery, catalogue in hand, and were' wandering from room to room looking at the pictures, which were numbered anew— one, two, three, and so on— in each division, instead of continuously throughout the whole' exhibition. The two old people stopped in awe and admiration before Madox Brown's heroic picture, "The Death of King Lear." "Wha's this 'Un, Jinny?" asked the old man. "All see, Jarge— All see, ef yell give me a minute." rhe old lady hastily turned to the catalogue division of another room, and read off the number corresponding to that of the picture before them. It chanced to be that of Landseer's famous picture 01 a collie fallen over a clifi, and just reached by the anxious shepherd, who announces the result of his examination of the poor beast's injuries to his comrades on tho rocks above. She read off the title of the picture to her husband— 'There's Life in the Old Dog Yet.' " Looking compassionately on the pictured form of the aged and forsaken King, Jarge" failed to perceive anything wrong in the name. -So there is, gal!" he exclaimed, in a burst of pity; adding with dropped voice and a shake of the head at Lear, "But not much, not much !" WHERE SHORTHAND FAILS. It was an hour or more after midnight. There was a furious ringing at the door-bell. A few minutes elapsed, and then a head was thrust out of a second-story window. "What do you want?" "This is where Mr. Speecher lives, isn't it?" "Yes ; I am Mr. Speecher." "You delivered a particularly interesting address before the Advancement of Mankind Club this evening on 'The Dead of 1905'?" 'ldid." „"Y? n spoke of a noted man named Alcibiades M'Gibbenv?" ' ',7 es " "I want you to tell me whether he was a Protestant or a Roman Catholic." ' t He was a Protestant. What " "That's all I want to know. I'm the shorthand roporter that took down the speech, and I couldn't tell from my notes whether you said that at the age of 27 he entered the ministry or a monastery. Ever so much obliged to you. Good-night !" THE "DRUMMERS." She was a young woman about twenty years old, rather fair to look upon, and she had a seat all to herself in the parlour car. By-and-by the Lardware drummer decided to btrikc up an acquaintance. As he approached her, she raised her eyes, smiled sweetly, and motioned for him to sit down beside her. "I — I didn't know but what you wanted the window opened," he stammered. "No, not to-day, but I expected tou long ago." * J "You— you did?" "Yes, and if you had not come T s h ou l<l have sent for you. I liked your face from the firat moment I saw it." The drummer turned red and whit*, and could not say a word, and the calm and collected young lady continued : "You have a serious and intellectual look, and I do not think I made a mistake in sizing you up. You are a student of theology." "Yes— yes'm, I am," he stammered. 'You love and reverence the Bible, of course?" "Of course." "I am glad to hear it. Have you much ot a library of religious works?" "Well— er— no, but hope to have some day." "Have you the Oxford edition of the 'Life of Noah' among your volumes?" — "Well— er— you know, I am going to get it in Chicago." "How nice that I can save you the troublu! Here is the book, and I -will take your name "and address. The price is seven^ dollars, and I will lend you this copy to read for a couple of hours. What name, please?" "But, you see " "It will be delivered in thirty days. You have your choice of two bindings." He tried to say something, but words failed him, and he handed her his card and made for the smoking compartment. Two other drummers were there, and they looked up and smiled. "What's the matter?" asked the hardware man. "She struck both of us before you tried it on. Keep quiet. The fruit tree man from New Jersey will be number four. Oxford edition — two bindings — large type — projuaely illustrated — knows her business !" — Rochester Democrat and Chronicle. Customer: Is this a pork or a mut ton chop? Waitress: Can't you tell by the taste? Customer: No, I can't. Waitress : Then ib doesn't matter to you which it is. Host (nt a reception) : My goodness, just listen to that prima donna. Sho has pretty cool impudence. I had to pay her to come hero to-night, and now she's singing, "I Kn6w Not Why I , Sing,"-