ALLEGED HUMOUR.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVIII, Issue 129, 27 November 1909, Page 11

ALLEGED HUMOUR.

THE NORTH POLE. There isn't a hole at tho far North Pole That runs clean through tho earth; There's not even a polo at the far-north hole — Oh! what are romances -worth? 'Thore isn't a Innd with a coral strand And a tropical temperature. All cozy and nice and shut off by the ice From civilization's lure ! Ah ! many a bird of a tale we've heard And several more we've read Of the marvellous creatures and wonderful features That roign in the Land of the Dead. There were teriibie shocks from magnetized rocks, Liko tho island in Sinbad's yarn— And now not a line of those talos so fine Amounts to a tinker's darn ! Though Doctor Cook may scribble a book And lecture from coast lo coast, And win decorations from various nations, We privately think him a Roast, Wo thought that the Pole at least was a hole W v ith a whirlpool raging around it — But now that we know it is nothing but snow It's a frost, and we're sorry they've • found it ! Cleveland Leader. — Ted Robinson. MY MACHINE. " ' Rich men arc tooting around to-day In their machines; Sis-cylindered^ demons of red and grey Aro their machines. Mine is smaller and not bo fast, But it always gets me thero at^ last, And perhaps some day it will take me past The big machines. Many's the land I have travelled through On my machine, With many a stalwart man and true On my machine. Lovers a-many, in sorry plight,_ On roughest road and darkest night I've carried safely through storm and fight On my machine. I've speeded on Afric's sandy shore On my machine. I've heard the Arctic breakers roar From my machine. Tho Alps and Andes heights I'vo scaled ; Through every continent I'vo Bailed ; At novcr an obstacle havo I quailed On my 'machine. Tinio and labour are easy to save On my machine. The work is plain (and tho errors grave) On my machino; But just the same I hammer along, Putting the R's whore the E's belong — Please, Mr. Editor, buy the song From my machine. Boston Transcript. SELF APPRECIATION. Teacher— Why, Willie, what are you drawing? Willie : I'm drawing a picture of God. Teacher — But, Willie, you mustn't do that ; nobody knows how God looks. Willie— Well, they will when I gel this done. PREVENTION. Cholly Softhead— Say, Mr. Killtime, 1 — sr — love your daughter and want to marry her. Is thero any insanity in your family ? Mr. Killtime— -No, young man, there's not, an', moreover, there ain't or-goin' to be! NOT TO BE EVADED. An evangelist was exhorting his hearers to flee from tho wrath" to come. "I warn you," he thundored, "that there will be weeping, and vailing and gnashing ol teeth r At this moment an old woman in tho gallery stood up. "Siv," sho shouted, "1 have no teeth." "Madame," returned tha ovungelist, "teeth will bo provided." REVERSING A PLATITUDE. "Have you ever noticed," began the bald gentleman, who liked to entertain the people gathered in his corner of the hotel piazza, '"that little mnu invariably marry large women?" ''It may be so," murmured a mild-eyed follow guest, "but I had always supposed that it was the other way about— that the large women married the small men." COLLEGE REFINEMENT. A well-known business man attended the daughter's commencement exercises at an . Eastern college recently. Ho had been greatly pleased with the beauty and dignity of the exorcises and was discoursing to his wife upon the refining influences of college life. Suddenly his impressive monologue was cut short. A girl, in cap and gown, came dashing down the steps of tho main hall, waving her diploma and shouting, "Educated, by. gosh I" — Ladies' Home Journal. ROOTED * HABIT. - An aged couple, who, through half a century of married life, had wrangled with each other, wore in all probability soon to be separated. The husband was taken sick, and was bolieved to be near his end. Tho old wifo came to his bedside, ji.nd, after carefully examining his condition, oxclaimod : "Why, daddy, your feet aro cold, your hands are cold, and your nose | is cold !" "Wa'al, let 'em bo cold." "W'y, daddy, you're goin' to die." "Wa'al, I guess I know what I'm 'bout." "Daddy, wats to becum of me if you die?" "I dunno, and I don't care. Wat I want to know is, wats to becum of me?" Knicker : Time brings strange changes. Booker : Yea ; the boy whose mother can't make him wash his neck grows up to be a rich man who goes abroad vv f or bathe. "There are somo very interesting articles in the magazines about Holmes this month," we say to our friend. "Holmes?" he sniffs. "I'm tired of Conan Doyle's stuff." Bung : So you have succeeded in tracing back my ancestors? What is your fee ? # Genealogist : Twenty guineas for keeping quiet about them. He: You don't know how nervous I waß when I proposed to you. She: And you don't know how nervous I' was until you did so. s Tommy: "What's your cat's name?" Ethel : "I used to call it Peter, but I changed it to Nellie, 'cos I want it to havo kittens." — Life. In spite of the reputation for latitudinuianism he gained from his eaxly trial for heresy, the lake Professor Jowett, of Oxford, was intolerant of pretentiousness and shallow conceit. One self-sat-tefled undergraduate mot the master one day. "Master," he said, "I have searched everywhere in all philosophies, ancient and modern, and nowhere do I find tho evidence of a God." "Mr. ," replied the master, after a shorter pause than usual, "if you don v t find a God by fivo o'clock this afternoon you muet leave thia oollege." Mr. X. was 'a prominent member of the 8.P.0.E. At the breakfast table he was relating to hie wife an incident thai occurred at the lodge the previous night. The president of the order offered a silk hat to the brother who could stand up and truthfully say that during his married life he had never kissed any woman but his own wife. "And, would you believe it, Mary "f-r-nofc a one stood up." "George, his wife said, "why didn't you stand up?" "Well," he replied, "I was going- to, .but I knew what an obiect I would look in a silk hat." , This little story is told of a Scotch laird at St. Andrew's. The St. Andrew's caddies aro all pld men, and_ one day when this laird was in especially bad form, his caddie, af^er nine holes of missed shots and puttb,' shook his grojr old head, surrendered the laird's bag oT clubs to another caddie, and said : 'Yell no mind, laird? I made but a poor breakfast this mornin', and I'm no in a. condition to stand any mair o't.' "' She: "Whoever started tho habit of calling a boat 'She?'" He: "Probably the first man that tried to steer one."