WIT AND HUMOUR

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4295, 2 March 1901, Page 8 (Supplement)

WIT AND HUMOUR

SUBURBAN AVOES

Airs Suburb (joyously ): My clear. I'vo auccccdod in getting a servant girl at I last. Go to the kitchen and kiss her. — Mr Suburb: Kiss her? — Airs Suburb: Certainly. I had to promise that she would bo treated as one of the family.— “Illustrated Bits." NOBLE. Siie: 1. made that mince-pio all myself. dearie.—He : Come to my arms, my noble girl! I would rather cat a hundred mince pies like that than have you tell an untruth."—“Cigarette,” Christinas Number. “THOUGH LOST TO SIGHT TO MEMORY HEAR." ’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 orscs out there, guv’nor,— “Punch.” 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.—“ Judy.” HE ATE THE CHECK. A story of an absent minded man is told. He wont into a restaurant, read hLs paper, and at last, roused by a waiter, ordered coffeo and a ham sandwich. The waiter executed the order, and deposited with the homely faro a largo pasteboard! check. The absentminded one went on reading his paper. Somo quarter of an hour after the waiter returned. “Anything more, sirr ’ he said. “Y'es!” snapped the man; get r-e a fresh sandwich ; the one you brought was dry as a bone.” The waiter looked down, and gasped, Lor!” ho 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 whoso 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 ho referred to it oulogistically. “I like it,” he drawled, “for it reminds mo 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. T’m told I must introduce this yer man t’ ye boys/ ho said, ‘but I can only say two things in his favour. Ono is that he’s never been in gaol, and the oilier 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 inciden t 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 —Sit down. I will pub 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, apd ho 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, sir. UNCONSCIOUS HUMOUR. A drill instructor, who was the terror of every recruit 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 rho lane formed by the two ranks, saying as he 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 fcr 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 ought 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. I was a little afraid lost the lecture might have been just a little too scientific. —Agricultural Parishioner: No, bless you, sir; net a bit of it. Why, we in these parts be just like young ducks. We do gobble up anything!—“Punch.”