The Graphic's Funny Leaf

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VI, Issue 22, 31 May 1890, Page 20

The Graphic's Funny Leaf

‘A Rose by Any Other Name. First the teacher called the roll ; Clos’t to the beginnin’ * Addeliney Bowersox !' Set the school a-grinnin'. Winter time, and stingin'eold When the session took up Cold as we all looked at Zier, Though couldn't look up ! Total stranger to us, too — Country-folks ain't alius Nigh so shameful impolite As some people call us ; But the honest fact is, then Addeliney Bower Sox's feelin’s was so hurt She cried half an hour ! My dest was acrost from her'n ; Set and watched her tryin’ To p’tend she didn’t keer, And a-kind o' dryin’ Up her tears with smiles—tel I Thought : ‘ Well, ‘ e Addeliue>/ Boteersox ” is plain, but she's Purity as a piney !’ It’s be’n many of a year Seuee that most uncommon Cur’ous name o’ Bowersox Struck me so abominNubble and outlandish-like ; I changed it to AddeLiney Daubenspeck—and thnf Nearly killed her daddy

In The Russian Grip. The scientific doctors have at last found their match. His Limit. ‘ Friend,' said a clerical looking gentleman to a man who was about to drain off a glass in a saloon, ‘dost thou not know that one glass will lead to another?’ ‘No it won't, stranger.' was the calm reply ; ‘I can only get trusted for one glass.' Mrs Wiekwire was an Exception. Yahsley Wickwire, we have just been discussing the question whether married women really do go through their husband's pockets. Does yours? Wickwire -Of course, I can only give you my own experience, ami that is she don't. W hen she gets to the bottom of them she stops. Easy Enough. ‘lt must l>e difficult for two mutes to understand each other ?’ *Oh, no; simply a mutual understanding.’

The Count and the Collector. Collector—l have called to present your bill. Count—Bill? Yhat eez zat ? Collector—Your account. Count—Oui, monsieur ; I am von Count, as you zay. Collector—Yes, I know ; but I want you to pay ; pony up, see ? Count—Pay ? Pony up ! Collector—-Yes ; your account, you know. Count—Oui, monsieur; lam von Count, as you zay. Collector—Well, here's your bill. Count—Bill? Chat eez zat ? Collector—Your account. Count—Oui, monsieur ; I am von hen the account was sued for the Count hail a counterclaim against the collector for assault anil battery.]

Objected to Foreign Influence. Young Mr O'Donovan (native born, to his father, <f foreign extraction) —‘ Don’t yer go deceivin’ yerself by thinkin’ I’m a cryin’ ’cause yer lieked me, for I ain’t. I'm all upset at bein’ struck by a furriner, an’ not bein’ able to strike back !’ Evolut on of an Idea. A couple of old salts met after a long absence and the following animated conversation ensued : — ‘ Well, old man, how are you getting on ?’ ‘ First rate ; I have taken a wife.’ ‘ A very sensible idea.’ ‘ Not a bit of it; she’s a regular Tartar.' ‘ Then I'm sorry for you, mate.’ ‘ There’s no need ; she brought me a large vessel as her marriage portion.’ ‘ Then you made a good bargain after all ?' ‘ Nothing to boast of, I can tell you ; the ship turned out a worthless old tinder-box.’ ‘ Then I'm sorry I spoke. ’ ‘Bah! You can speak as much as you like ! The old tub was well insured and went down on her first voyage.’ ‘ So you got the pull there, anyhow ?’ ‘ Not so much, mate ; I only got 5,000 thalers out of the job as my share.’ ‘ That was too bad.’ ‘ Too bad ? Nothing of the sort ! Wife was on board and went down with the rest.’

A Plate Which was Never Developed. Lonesome Akers (coming through the hedge just as the camera was snapped)—‘ By ginger ! but that’s a purty sight.' Logic of the Bun. Judge—You here again ? How many times have you been sent to the Island in the past year? Prisoner —Ten times, your Honor, but it wasn’t my fault. Judge—Whose fault was it, pray? Prisoner —Yours, your Honor. Had you given me longer sentences I could not have gone so many times.

Was His Shoes. De Tipsy's Friend—Ain't your shoes a little tight ? De Tipsy—How con—hie—siderate you are, old fel. Some jieople would have said it was—hie—me.

An Unpardonable Offence. First Messenger Boy—‘ I hear Cully is goin’ to be expelled from the Messenger Boy’s Labour Union. ’ Second M.B.—‘ What's he done?' F.M.B.— ‘ He was caught runnin’.'

Courtship in Petertown. ‘ Now, you, Bob Simpson !’ ‘ What’m I doing ? ‘ Oh, you know.’ ‘ I don’t either. ’ ‘ Oh, you big story-teller— stop !’ ‘ Stop what ?’ ‘ You know, very well !’ ‘ No, I don't.’ ‘ Oh, Bob Simpson, ain't you ’fraid you'll go to the bad place for telling such awful stories ? Stop now !’ ‘ I ain't doing anything.' ‘ Aw—w—w !’ ‘ I ain't !’ ‘ Where you got your arm ?' ‘ Where I want it.’ ‘ You ought to be so tislia—a— a —med !’ ‘ Pooh ! What of ?’ ‘ Oh, you know—now, you take your arm right away.’ ‘I shan’t.’ J ‘ What if I call Paw and Maw ?’ ‘ Huh ! No danger of that.’ ‘ I will, too !’ ‘ Let’s hear you ’ ‘ Aw ! what if somebody should see you with your arm there ?’ J J ‘Pooh! I wouldn’t care. ’ ‘ I’d be so ash—a—a-amed !’ ‘ Humph ! \V hat’s the matter of me putting my arm ound you it 1 want to ';’ ‘ It ain't nice ; and you just shan't, so there !’ ‘ Can’t help yourself.’ ‘ I’ll call Paw.’ ‘ You said that once.’ ‘Go way, you dreadful thing ! Quit that, now ’’ ‘ Quit what ?’ ‘ Aw, you know. ’ ‘ No, 1 don’t.’ ‘ Trying to kiss me !’ ‘ I wasn't either, but I will now.’ ‘ No ; you shan’t !’ ‘ We’ll see—here goes !’ ‘ Aw—oh—go ’way .'—stop ! —quit that—aw !—tee hee— ' —quit ! —aw, you.!' ‘ Ah, ah—kissed you nine times. ’ You dreadful, horrid, thing! Now, I’ll never speak to you again ! Full of Discouragements. M e don t wonder that some people who try to waltz get discouraged. They are constantly having reverses. Shreds and Patches. The young Emperor of Germany declares his intention to ‘ dash to pieces’ all those who oppose him. He is likely to find that he is not such a dashing young fellow as he thinks he is.

The Hot-Water Cure. Old Mr Cumso—‘The doctor certainly told me to drink hot water one hour before meals, and here I have only been drinking for twenty minutes, and I'll be eternally etceteraed if I can swallow another drop.’