THE CHESTNUT TREE.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 764, 22 July 1916, Page 3

THE CHESTNUT TREE.

Mrs Maloney: How do yez loike the new kitchen cabinet thofc vure Moike bought yez? Is it helpful?

Mrs Casey: "lis not. 'Tis the most helpless piece av furniture Oi iver owned. Shure, whin yez want to throw something at yure ould man ye/, hov got to look through a dom card-indix an hour before yez foind out where ye kape the rollin'-pin.

There were three or four tawny spots on the little boy's blue "knickers." The two kind old ladies liked his pleasant smile, but. they wondered why his "mother did not patch with a colour to match." Then the little boy in blue "knickers," with the tawny spots, blushed deeply and burst out: "That ain't no patch! That's, me!"

A certain Cabinet Minister who was buttonholed the other day by an overinquisitive journalist administered a verv neat rebuff.

"How long do you think the war will last?" was the final question of a long series asked bv the interviewer.

Very promptly the Minister asked "How long is a piece* of string?"

The interviewer stared at him in as ronishment.

"I—l don't know, " he gasped. "Neither do I," said the Minister, cordially. "I'm glad we've agreed about something. Good morning."

"We need a brave man for the Presidency of the United States " "You needn't be worried about that," interrupted Senator Sorghum. "Any man who undertakes to run for 'he office tftese days has got to be a brave man to start with."

Uncle Ebon: I just had a letter from my English cousin. He was in the trenches. He says one day his company was ordered to charge, and the first thing he knew he ran into a lot of barbed wire, several mines, and a hundred Genuaji batteries.

Aunt Nancy: dust like George —never ooks where he's going.

Willie (to Mrs Bayberry, who lives next door): Where did you get. your '.ongue?

Mrs Bayborry: What do you want to know for? Willie: It was mother who wanted to know.

Irate Farmer: Do you think you own this road?

Motorist: Dear tue, no. There are other motorists!

r.mio, now, I wont to tel! you tlio funniest story you ever heard. I don’t want to hear it. Don't! Why not? Well, it makes me nervous to think that I shan’t he able to !.<!• t;h as hard as y hi expect me to. Recruiting Agent: Have you had any military experience? Randall; No, but I’m a born murderer.

lecturer: The idea of eternity, my friends, is something too vast for the human mind to conceive. Voice from Audience: Did you ever pay for a seven hundred-dollar piano on the instalment; plan?

Hokus: Those two girls used to be booom friends, and now they scarcely speak. S'okur: What's his name?

Old Maid: Please don't shoot me, mis ler man!

Burglar: Lady, I am a burglar, not a philanthropist.

Barber: More soap? Patron: Give me a chance to digest this.

"Who is the favourite son in vour State?"

"We haven't any," replied Senator Sorghum. "-If we like anybody wtf're not going to hurt his chances by making a favourite son of him. We're going to hold him out for a dark horse."

"The dentist told me I had a large cavity that needed filling." "Did he recommend any special course of study?"

Professor Brieger was busily at work in his lab. ..tory surrounded by a formidable ai ay of chemical and bacteriological utensils. A distinguished foreign physician called upon him and watched his absorbing labour with interest.

The professot 's attention seemed to be anxiously, but still hopefully, concentrated on a vessel which was enveloped in smoke and steam. "Guess what I am boiling here in this pot," sail the professor.

The visitor began to enumerate tks entire scales of micro-organisms. "Micrococci?" - - No.'' "Senoroooi?" ' - No.'' '' Snirochoeta?'' '' No.'' "What then?" "Sausages," replied Brjpger. Harold Begbic, in "Lloyd's Weekly," describes how two customers, seated at a table in a restaurant, looked up from a prolonged study of the wine list. "Waiter," said the first, impressively, "listen to me. Pay particular attention. 1 require half a bottle of HautMedoc, nineteen hundred vintage, and lie very careful to see that no other year is sub-itituted." "Bring," ordered flic second, speaking with deliberation, "half a bottle of Vol nay. You hear? Volnay. Arrange for the chill to be taken off, and for heaven's sake, don't let it get shaken." The waiter ambled across to the speaking tube. " 'Erbert," he called, "send up two sum 11 reds!

THE INTERNAL CYCLE. J The woi lil was supplied with an original producer —namely, Woman. Woman produced babies. The babies grew up and produced | tradespeople. The tradespeople produced goods with which to supply the woman. The goods, coming into competition with each other, owing to the different I parts of the world wherein they were manufactured, produced trouble. The trouble produced international j jealousies. The international jealousies produced j war. Then the war proceeded to destroy | the woman and babies, because it was through woman in the beginuing that war be>ame possible.—"N.Y. Life."

i ! "William!" she shouted iu a voice : fit to eonnnaiiil a regiment, "take you" I feet off the table this instant!"

"Margaret, I want you to know," ho said in a low* voice that was surcharged with manly determination, "that there is but one person in the world tlKit I will allow to talk to me in that wav."

With an irate mien she arose, and looked into his eves.

"And who is that, sir, may I ask? she (kuiuiore-cl.

"Why you. my dear, "he gently answered as he removed his feet from the table.

Parson: Susie, I am sorry your papa was not at church.

Susie: Please, no, sir; he went out walking in the woods. Parson: I am afraid, Susie, your papn does not fear God. Susie: Oh. yes, sir; I guess he does; he took his guu with him.

Husband: But you must agree that men have better judgment than women. Wife: Oh, yes; you married me, and I vou.

Judge: Anything to say?

Prisoner: Well not meself me LordBut if you'll allow me little daughter here to recite a passage out o' " The Merchant o' Venice"——.

A company of very new soldiers were out on a wide heath, practising the art of taking cover. The officer in charge of them turned to one of the rawest of his men.

"Get down behind that hillock there," he ordered, sternly, "and, mind, not. a move or a sound! " A few minutes later he looked around to see if they were all concealed, and, to his despair, observed something wriggling behind the small mound. Even as he watched the movements became more frantic. "T say, you there!" he shouted, angrily, "do you know you are giving our position away to the enemy?" "Yes, sir." said the recruit, in a voice of coo! desperation, "find do you know that this is an ant-hill?" MODERN MAGAZINES. When you follow the fate of the heroine queen, Through the devious trail of a new magazine. And she's reached a dilemma which leaves you in doubt As to how in the world it is nil coming out. Don't you find it at times quite a bit of n bore To read it's "Continued on page sixtvfour"! Then turning the pages with feverish speed. It'* quite disconcerting T'ni sure you'll j concede, To find that Lord I>uff'er is wedged in between "The Klixir of Beaut v" and " Sweet Son pa lino." And the heroine queen with the long golden hair. Whenever she's tracked to her tortuous j lair. Lies snuglv ensconced amid ptiges of | dope On self stropping razors and new shav-1 ing soap. ... . j And the bold crafty villain is found vis-' a vis, With a cool " I'oros Knit " or a new " 8.V.D." So remember, kind reader, and don't vent, your spleen, It's simply the way of the new magazine. The reason's apparent, it's not hard to state, "Next-to-reading," you see, gets a much higher rate. —"Puck," i

Maude: See Mrs Fashun iu the stage box? They say every cent her husband earns goes on her back. Jack; Poor chap! I thought he was doing well, but if he doesut' earn any more than that !

Creditor: You say you can't pay me that twenty thousand you owe me. Why don't you marry Miss Oldgirl; she's worth twice that amount.

Brokeleigh: Can't do that, old chap. But,l say! you might marry her yourself and pay me the difference.

A young follow who was the crack sprinter of his town —somewhere in the South —was unfortunate enough to have a very dilatory laundress. One evening, when he was out for a'practice run in his rather airy and abbreviated track costume, he chanced to dash past the house of that dusky lady, who at the time was a couple of weeks in arrears with his washing. He had scarcely reached home again when the bell rang furiously and an excited voice was wafted iu from the porch: —

" Poh de Lawd's sake! won't you all tell Marse Bob please not to go out no moh till I kin git his clo'es round to him?"