IN LIGHTER VEIN.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1523, 28 February 1901, Page 11

IN LIGHTER VEIN.

A little nonsense now and then I 3 relished by the wisest men. —Hudibras. SUBURBAN WOES. Mrs Suburb (joyously) : My dear. Uvo succeeded in getting a servant girl ’at last. Go to the kitchen and kiss her.— Mr Suburb : Kiss her ? Mrs Suburb : Certainly. I had to promise that she would be treated as one of the family.“Illustrated Bits.’’’ NOBLE. She: I made that mince-pie all myself. dearie. —He : Come to my arms, my noble girl! X would rather eat a hundred mince pies like that than have you tell an untruth.” —“'Cigarette,” Christmas Number. “THOUGH LOST TO SIGHT TO MEMORY DEAR/’ ’Bus Driver: Wounded, sir, I see!——Gentleman in khaki: Yes. —’Bus Driver: Bin out in South Africa? —Gentleman in Khaki: Yes. —’Bus Driver: See any of our orses out there, guv’nor, — “Punch/ 5 A PHOTO BIT. Photographer: Now, madam, if you please! Now! Look pleasant, if you can.—Old Lady (indignantly): Impertinence! Look pleasant, indeed! I should think I do.—I(fJudy.” 1 (f Judy.” HE ATE THE CHECK. A story of an absent minded man is told. He went into a restaurant, read Ms paper, and at last, roused by a waiter, ordered coffee and a ham sandwich. The waiter executed the order, and deposited with the homely fare a large pasteboard check. The absentminded one went on reading his paper. Some quarter of an hour after the waiter returned. “Anything more, sirr ’ he said. “Yes!” snapped the man; get me a fresh, sandwich; the one yon brought was dry as a Lone.’' The waiter looked down, and gasped, "Lor!” he exclaimed, “here’s the sandwich I brought! You’ve eaten the check!”' HE SAT DOWN. Mark Twain, says the “King,” was dining lately with a literary dining club in London, one of whose rules is that each member should introduce his guests formally and in set phrase to the company. The unusual custom appealed to Twain, and when it came to his turn to return thanks he referred to it eulogistically. f ‘l like it/’ he drawled, “for it reminds me of the time I lectured in a little town in the Rockies. My chairman was a well-to-do “cow-puncher,” who found the situation evidently irksome. ‘l’m told I must introduce this yer man t’ ye boys.’ he said, ‘but I can only say two things in his favour. One is that he’s never been in gaol, and the other- is that I don’t know why; ’ and then he sat down,”- as Twain did. REAL IRISH. At a recent meeting of an Irish Board of Guardians the following characteristic incident took place : Mr Oswald said Mr Despard was an old workhouse master, and should not be allowed to take the committee all to himself. Mr Despard warmly retorted—Sitdown. I will put my foot on you, you little— — Mr Oswald—-Sit down, you old workhouse master. Mr Despard—Shut up, you d little monkey. (Laughter.) Mr Oswald said he came there to look after the interests of the ratepayers, and he would not be bribed by officials or contractors. Mr Ritchie—- You are ‘able to blow your horn, at any rate. (Laughter.) Mr Oswald —You have no horns to blow. I ask you to withdraw, 3ir. UNCONSCIOUS HUMOUR. A drill instructor, who was the terror of every reoruii and the remorseless tyant -of the awkward squad, was putting a firing party through, the funeral exercise. Having opened the ranks so as to admit the passage of the supposed cortege between them, the instructor ordered them to rest on their arms reversed. Then, by way of personal explanation, he walked slowly down the lane formed by the two ranks, saying as ho did so, “Now, I am the corpse. Pay attention/ having reached the end of the party, he turned round, regarded them steadily with scrutinising eye fir a moment or two, and then remarked, in a somewhat solemn tone of voice. “Your hands are right, and your heads are right, but you haven’t got that look of regret that you to have.” Agricultural Parishioner (wishing to ingratiate himself with the new curate, who" had given a lecture on the previous evening) : Thank ye, sir, for your reading to us last night.—New Curate: Glad you liked it, John. nttle

just a little too. scientific. —Agricultural Parishioner: No, bless you, sir; tu t a bit of it. Why, we in these parts be just like young ducks. We do gobble up anything! —‘ ‘Pun ch. ’ ’