FOR DULL MOMENTS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1775, 14 March 1906, Page 2

FOR DULL MOMENTS.

A rich harvest of mixed metaphors from the election speeches in England may he gleaned. Here are two samples —At Peterborough, an ardent politician declared that the marrow of the Education Act was founded on a granite foundation, and had spoken, in $ voice not to he drowned in sectarian clamour. Al still more delicious one cornea from Sunderland, where an enthusiastic freetrader announced that “Mr Chamberlain’s red herring is coming home to roost.’’

The daughter of a well-known financier was sitting on her father’s knee one evening when she waa a little girl. She had a new little brother, whom she regarded with wonder. “To-day,” said the father, “a man offered to give me a whole roomful of gold for little brother. Shall I sell him?”

The child shook her head. “But,” said her father, “think how many nice things a roomful of gold would buy! Don’t you think that I had better let the man have him?” “No,” answered the girl thoughtfully. “Let’s keep him till he’s older; he’ll he worth more then.

A young lady was acting temporarily as hostess, and her time was much occupied. One of her admirers, a nervous and absent-minded lover, perceived that this would be the case, .and to facilitate matters lie determined to bring affairs to a point. He didn’t get a chance. “ Afterwards,” said the object of his ill-starred devotion, “I found this memorandum on the floor, where he had dropped it in his. agitation. It read thus: —“Mention rise in salary. Mention loneliness Mention pleasure in hr society. Mention prospects from tJncle Ji lll - Never loved before. Propose.’ ”

Garfield W. Weede, the left end of the Pennsylvania football team, lay with a broken leg in the University Hospital. In the same ward lay two other football victims. William Hollenbaqih and Frank Fuqua, the f ormer with a broken leg, the latter with a fractured skull.

“Yes, am afraid,” said Weede,. with a patient smile, “that football is becoming a pretty ghastly sort of game, but it draws the public. It reminds me of barbering down east. I went into a New York barber’s shop to get my hair cut. As I sat in the chair and the scissors clicked away the barber’s dog lay beside me on the floor, looked up at me all the time most attentively. “Nice dog, that,” said I. “Ho is, sir,” said the barber. “He seems fond,” I said, “of watching you cut hair.” “It ain’t that, sir,” explained the barber, Smiling. “Sometimes I make a mistake and take a little piece off a customer’s ear.”

A story is told of a certain London music hall with the reputation of possessing \ absolutely the worst band in existence. On a benefit night a “star” had promised to do a “turn,” and, in consequence, the hall was filled, to overflowing. When the “start?’ time had arrived, instead of that eagerlyexpected individual, the perspiring manager came before the curtain holdin ga telegram in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I regret to have to inform you that the ‘Great Gasser’ cannot (storm of hisses) possibly arrive for al least another quarter of an hour (great applause). In the meantime the band will play you a selection.” There was a dead silence for a moment, and then a small boy in the gallery shrieked out: “Mr Johnson! Mr Johnson 1 Don't let the band play, sir! we will be quiet, wo will, indeed, sir!”

Ebc-Convict (meeting gaol governor in the stredt): ’Morning, sir. ’Ope you’re well, sir. Thought you’d bo glad to ’ear as ’ow I’d got a job, sir. Governor: Very glad, I’m sure. But ,—er —who are you? I don’t seem to know you.. Ex-Convist: Law bless us, sir, you oughter know mo. I was stoppin’ with you last Christmas!

The Back Streets Swifts were playing Dooley Alley, oqi the former’s “ground,” when the man in blue appeared on the scene. A rush, a general scramble, and Hie constable had captured a small boy, who looked as if he had been in the wars already. “Now,” said the policeman, who wasn’t a bad sort after all, “IVe warned you before about this playing football in the street. Which shall it be' a hiding or a summons?” “Gri’ hie the ’idling, guvnor 1” came the fearful response. “One more won’t make much difference. I was the referee!”

Th© b a t of a certain short-sighted Toaster at Eton blew off one. day, and PS he started in pursuit a ’black! bon dashed cut of the gateway, Salmaster saw the. hen, and thought as his hat, and all Eton was eleosd. by the spectacle oi A hatless and breathless reverend man hunting a, black hen frorh one end or the street to the other.