SUSAN'S PARTY CLOTHES.

Evening Post, Volume CXII, Issue 51, 28 August 1926, Page 21

SUSAN'S PARTY CLOTHES.

Woods don't like'party frocks, Frillings or fussy lace. Neither do fields or rocks . Nor any hedgy place. Woodß don't like Sunday hats, Btockings, or gloves; and that!s Why mine: are always torn First time they're ever.worn! Bushes hate ribbon bows Fastened on tidy hair, That's why the briar rose Tangles mine everywhere. Trees don't like proper things, That's why the bramble clings, That's why the hawthorns tear All the best clothes I wear! ■._ ■ • •

"Well, the unexpected happened, didn't it?" ■ . "Yes, but then I expected it would."

There, little stumble, Don't you cry,.. You'll be a dance step By and bye.

A woman entered a" department store and said to the manager, "I want something in oil for the dining-room." "Yes, madam," was the reply; "a landscape or a tin of sardines?"

Son—Can you sign your name with your eyes shut? . ' ■ ' ' Father—Certainly. ■ • ■ Son—Well, shut your, eyes and sign my school report. ■

The naval authorities are:invited to inspect a new ray which.it'is claimed will split anything asunder within a radius of ten miles. No lover-of tinned sardines should be without one. •

Captain—Company, .attention! ■ Not a man in this company will be given liberty to-day. • . ■ ■ • Voice (from rear rank)^-Give-me liberty or give me death.' Captain (sharply)— Who said that? Voice—Patrick Henry. . .

He was a bachelor, full of blatant selfassurance, and always talking of the kind of woman he would marry some day. An older and wiser bachelor approached the irresponsible one and asked: "But aren t you afraid of getting left?" . . "Oh, no!" was the reply. "Why, even if I am left by one, there are plenty more fish in the sea." „. "But isn't there a "danger of the bait getting stale?"

Paddy was standing just outside the church in a very dejected and downcast manner. A man placed his hand.on Paddy's shoulder and ; said in a . sympathetic voice: "Are you one of the, mourners? "Sure, I am, that fellow owed me five bob."

George Booth—Lend me twenty shillings. ■ - ■. * Arthur Dunn—l've only, ten. George Booth—All right,, give me the ten, and you'll owe me ten.

"Here are your letters," said the girl, "and here is your ring." ■ ■ "Give me back my kisses, said the boy. And the quarrel ended.

Father—l hear Jack Thompson is going to be married next week." Little Freddie (who. has. hazy ideas about some things)— The last three days they give him anything to eat he asks for, don't they, daddy ?

No man is a hero to his wallet.

Lady—Love is blind, they say. Bachelor —I see.

Doctor—Don't you suffer from thirst? Patient—Yes, thanks. •.._•.■

Widow's inscription on husband's tombstone :"Rest in peace—until we meet again."

Professor—Do you play golf? StudentNo, I learned to swear when I was in the army. . ' • . :

Nurse—Have you ever run a temperature? Worse—No, but I've driven most every other kind of car.

"How about these co-educational colleges; which sex is really ahead?" "Neither. It seems to be neck and neck.

"Mummy, I can't go to school to-day." "Why not?" "I don't feel well." "Where don't you feel well?" "In school."

Sandy—Hoots! Just ma confounded harrd luck again! Here* a medicine advertised at half-price and I'm in perfect health. <

Donald and Jeanie were putting down a carpet, when Donald slammed .the end of his thumb with the hammer,, and began to pour forth his soul in language befitting the occasion. "Donald, Donald! shrieked Jeanie, horrified. "Dinna swear that way?" "Wummun!" vociferated Donald, gin ye know ony better way, now is the time to let m« know it!"

New York is to have another roof-gar-den theatre; How heartening to see this laudable endeavour to elevate the stage.

An Australian cricketer is also a poultry farmer. The English players hope he will make a fine collection of duck eggs.

"Do you think," asked Lady Cabstanleigh, "do you think, my dear Lady Muk terspoon, that I am too old for a tiara? "My dear creature, replied Lady M.utterspoon, "of course not. They^are fitting.the Pyramids with-eleetric<lignt.

A writer suggests that young ladies aspiring to musical degrees should be compelled to practise-on soundless pianos. It would also be a good.idea, if potential operatic stars confined their efforts to' Mendelssohn's "Song Without Words.'

Some girls blush naturally, with others we are inclined to think it is just put on.

What are you taking for your cold? I have had no offers yet.

He (after a long argument): I wonder what would happen if you and I did agree on anything. She: "I'd be wrong.

She: Is that a popular song he is singing? He: It used to be before he started singing.

Piano Tuner: Madam:.;l have come to tune your piano. I never asked you to do so. No, but your neighbours have.

Wife: This pudding is a sample of the new cook's work. What do~you think of it? . . • .. •■.•• , Husband: I call it mediorte. Wife: No, dear, it's tapioca., / \

Lady: Young man, am I correctly informed that you intend 'to sue for the hand of my daughter? * Lad: I guess I'll have to—it has my ring on it. .'■•'.'

The weather man says, "Be cold," and it's hot; >. '..'■■■ Says he, "Be hot/ and it freezes; He tells the weather ;just'what'to. do, And the weather does as it pleases.

Pastor (in pulpit): We shall all know each other in Heaven; ■ Little Mary (in loud whisper): Mamma, can we make believe we're, not at home when some of them call? r

"Mother," said little Elsie, "Washington certainly never; forgot anything, did he?" ■ '. ' .. "Why, my dear?". .. 'Well, everywhere'l go I see. monuments to his memory." ■

At a recent sale of old armour in London the principal buyers were Americans, and Londoners are more than a little surprised at this. They evidently don't'realise what it means to be a pedestrian in New York.

"High rents are certainly a problem to the working men. Think of what we have to pay for this little apartment!" "Have you spoken to the landlord about it?" ' , ' "Oh, yes, but it was like putting a new piece of cloth in an old garment." "How do you mean?'/ I "It simply made the rent worst."

"Thanks, lady, but if they're as hard as all that, I don't, believe I'll take any," said the ditch digger. '■ ' ' "Hard as what?" asked the kindly woman, who had brought the men a tray of cookies. . . . -• "Why, you said, 'Take your pick.'"