HUMOUR

Manawatu Times, Volume 63, Issue 48, 26 February 1938, Page 11

HUMOUR

At a christening the baby had been given the names John Homer Browr., which rather surprised the minister, who knew that the parents were simple people and unlikely to be versed in the classics. When he made the usual entries it the baptismal register, he paused as h* came to the second name. “Your favourite poet, Mr Brown?” he asked. “Poet, air?” replied the father, in a surprised tone. “I don’t know nothin’ about poets. I just keeps pigeons.”

Bora had been a bad girl, and her mother decided that a lecture would do good. She called her daughter to her side. “Dora,” she said, severely, “you must stop this abominable flirting. Remember you’ll be punished in the end.’* “But mother,” protested the girl, “I’ve heard that you flirted yourself and you’ve never been punished.” Her mother frowned. “Child,” she said, with great solemnity, “some day I want you to make a close study of your father.”

A farmer was praising his cat as a grand mouser to a friend. The cat lay blinking inside the fender. Suddenly, during a lull in the conversation, a mouse started running about inside the hearth, while the cat merely watched it and yawned.

“Well, did t’ ever see owt like that,” said the astonished visitor. “Ah’ tha calls ’im a mouser!

The farmer looked at the mouse. “Oh, that,” he said casually. “That’s ofie of ours, lad.”

“I’ve asked Mr and Mrs Smith to dinner at seven, Mary, but I think we’ll give them a quarter of an hour's grace,” said Mrs Bigg. “Well, ma’am,” replied the maid, “I’m religious myself, but I think that’s rather overdoin’ it!” <S> «> €> <S> He was at his club, and he had talked politics for an hour and a-half. “That’s the situation in a nutshell,’ he declared at the close. “Heavens!” exclaimed a member to his neighbour; what a nut!”

While crossing a common un old woman noticed oue of those men who go around jabbing a pointed stick into scraps of paper to gather them up. Stopping, she said kindly, * ‘Don’t you find that work very tiring?” “Not very, mum,” replied the man. “You see, I was born to it—my father used to harpoon whales.”