Anecdotes and Sketches.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 13, 27 March 1912, Page 71

Anecdotes and Sketches.

GRAVE, GAY, EPIGRAMMATIC AND OTHERWISE.

Dickens and Irish. Humour. THERE is no man who loves a good story better than C anon Teignmouth-Shore, the King’s Chaplain, and in “Some Recollections” he tells one or two good stories of the Emerald Isle. Here, for instance, is a typical Irish bull. A landlord had been shot at, and the magistrate sent for the surgeon who had examined the patient. "Well, doctor, can you tell us how many wounds the unfortunate gentleman has received?” inquired the magistrate. ‘‘Three, your worship.” “Any of them fatal?” “Well, your worship, one of them is fatal, but he may recover of the other two if lie remains quiet for a fortnight.” . The Canon mentions the fact that Dickens once remarked that he could not in the least appreciate, nor sometimes even understand Irish humour. This was illustrate? when someone told the following anecdote when Dickens was present. - ■ > There was a countryman near Belfast who desired to learn the violin, and, hearing of a good teacher in that city, he called to see him. The professor. explained that his terms were 5/ an hour for the first month and 2/6 an hour for the secqnd month, on which the inquirer said:— . , , “Well, then. I'll come to you for the second month.” A ; ■ - > “Those present laughed,” says the Canon, “but Dickens took it quite seriously, and proceeded to argue that tire professor must surely have meant that the two months should be taken con■eeutively! “Another story told the same evening, which did no! appeal to the sense of

liumonr of the very distinguished guest, was this: — “An Irishman desired to have a new barrel made of the same size as one which had been worn out, and he told his servant to cut the bung-hole out of the old eask and take it to the cooper and order him 'to make a barrel to fit that bung-hole exactly’!” <g» <S> <£> Looking Backward. Nobody ever mentions it since they have come into money, but at one time there were scoffing spirits in the neighbourhood who had been known to aver that at one time old Wellerby had driven a bus. If that had been so young Wellerby had managed very’ successfully to banish the memory of those dreadful days from his mind. There was a reception at Wellerby House one day recently, and the young heir to the broad domains was observed to be ostentatiously showing off the family seal. It represented St. George and the Dragon. “One of my ancestors, you know,” he observed pompously, “is said to have killed the Dragon.” “Good gracious! ’’ said a guest near by. “How did he manage it? I suppose he didn’t — er—-run over it, did he?” Can't Be Too Careful. 71 want,” explained the advertising man—“l want a picture that has the idea of speed in -it —real speed. I want it to go at a regular marathon. But it’s got to he new.” “Yes, I see,” said the artist* picking up a pencil. “How about Me&ury? Something like this.” He sketched rapidly the figure of the messenger of Olympus, winged sandals, winged cap, symbol! ie staff and all. Ibo

advertising man looked it over approvingly. “Seems ' all right,” he commented “But what does it mean? Who’s Mercury ?” “Oh, Mercury? He was the speediest thing that ever lived,” the artist declared. “Mercury was the god of speed you know.” But the advertising manager gave one long regretful look at the sketch and shook his head. “Too bad,” he murmured sadly. “Too bad; I like its looks, but it won’t-do. It- won’t do, young man. We can’t get mixed up will: any one’s religion like that.” —Philadelphia Ledger. <•> •> The Gentler Sex. Here is a little scheme which a wife tried on a good—but rather tight—husband when she wanted a particular something for Christmas. One night, when he was comfortably seated after dinner smoking his pipe, she brought out a bundle of papers and said she had hesitated for a long time whether or not

to read some letters she had received. He pricked up his ears, seemed interested, and she took the rubber band from the package, telling him he must promise not to ask who the writer was until she had finished, and then not to go gunning for her correspondent. He promised and she began to read: “My own darling,” she began, “I think of you all day and dream of you at night. Wherever I go you are with me, and I live for you alone. The other night when I discovered that you loved me At this point her husband’s pipe went out and he sat up very straight. “What?” he said, rising with a red face, “who the ——” “Now.’’ said his wife, “yon promised to wait until the end—to be quiet until I had finished.” “But ” said her husband. She continued to read, “Your eyes are my sun, your mouth is the mouth of dreams, your lips ’’ “Well I’ll be ” said her husbanc furiously. • I dream of a day when you’ll be mine ami mine alone.” read on bls wife calmly. "and 1 long for the day when 1 can call you —• —’ “Stop that!” shrieked the irate husband. "Who wrote that rot? Just let me get my hands on hin !” "You’ve got your hand? on him now. dear,” said his wife, swectl •; “you wrote these letters when we were engaged.” He sat down and light d his ppe. “What did you say you wanted for (lirrstmas?” he asked. —St Paul Dispatch. «, < » Loved Venice. A young lady who had returned from a tour through Italy with her father informed a friend that he liked all the Italian cities, but most of all ho loved Venice. “Ah, Venice, to he sure!” said 'the friend. “F can readily understand that your father would like Venice, with its gondolas, and St. Mark*, and Michelangelos.” “Oh, no,” the young lady inlerru|U.ed, “it wasn’t that. He liked it because he could sit in the hotel and fieh from the window.”