ALLEGED HUMOUR.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVIII, Issue 135, 4 December 1909, Page 11

ALLEGED HUMOUR.

HER HERO. [M. Bleriot, who has been a nuisance to his wife for eight years, is now her heio.] Hope eternal springs, As the poet sings; Let despair Chill you ne'er, Ye who fashion wings; Riso majestic O'er domestic Wrath and bickerings i I, aspiring bard, Knowing the way is hard Soaring rhymes ' Wreck at times ; Conjugal regard ; Oft my dearest Flings the nearest Poozns where they're charred. Yet I work and wait, Grudging not tho grato, Seven years Toil and tears I can calculate; With my laurels Turn our quarrels 6 Into joy in eight? Daily Chroniole. — A.W. "WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE." When pa was my age there were few Grown men could do what he could do; Ho didn't waste his time at play, But did a man's work every day ; He'd mußoles that were hard and strong ; He sought the right and shunned the wrong ; His parents never had to scold Or fret when pa was twelve years old. "When I was your age — — " Jimmunneo ! How often pa says that to me ! At evory meal I have to hear The same old thing, or pretty ne.ar; When ho was my ago ho would oat Just wholesome things and pass the sweet ; He wouldn't even taste of cake. And shunned pie for his stummick's sake. When pa was my age he would save Up every cent no got—^and — brave ? If he'd of met a lion, it Could not of frightened him a bit ! The thing he liked to do the be&t Was good hard work;, with little rest; In school ho stood above them all, And ho was nearly six feet tall. "When I was your age — — " Every day Pa hands that out the same old way; His hoad is bald, his stummick's bad ; Ho's lost the muscle that he had; Mil can't afford to keep a maid; Pa's not a great man, I'm afraid — At loast no banners seem to fly 2 And no bands play, when he goes by. Down where he labours, wet and dry, They keep pa in a little cage; I wonder why ho wishes I Would bo like ho was at my ago? Chicago Herald. — S. Vincent. PIED. Mr. Smith keeps pigeons, and Mr. Brown, next door, tries to keep pigeons. Which, as you will see, is quite a different matter. Now, Mr. Brown opcasiqnally loses a bird, and Mr. Smith is occasionally suspected of finding one. Bo the other morning Mr. Brown, with a smile and a sixpence, approached tho youthful son ana hoir of Mr. Smith. "Willie," began blandishing Brown, holding up the coin, "did you daddums find a birdic-birdio yesterday?" Willie nodded. "And was it a blue pigeon, with some white feathors in its wing?" "Dunno !" responded Willie, pocketing tho "tanner." "You can't tell their colour in a pio."