WIT AND HUMOR.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2014, 25 February 1907, Page 4

WIT AND HUMOR.

There was a little Scotch boy who had tho quality of astuteness highly developed. The boy’s grandmother was packing his launch for him to take to school one morning. Suddenly looking up into the old lady’s face, he s aid: “Grandmother, does your specs magnify?”

“A little, my child,” she answered. “Aweed, then,” said the boy. “I wad just like it if ve wad tak’ them aff when ye’ro packin’ my loonch.” The Stone family were in dire distress. Times were harder even than the family patronymic, and little Bobby was getting tired of it. Principally, ho suffered from a surfeit cf bread and- dripping. A slice of this dainty comestible formed his break-

fast, and very often, alas 1 his dinner and supper. One day he rebelled openly “I don’t want dripping!” he sobbed. “I want butter!” “Be thankful for what you can get 1” cried his mother. “Dripping will do you more good.” “It won’t. It’s killin’ me! I’ve been feeling bad lately, and now I’ve found out from a book tliat it’s dripping that’s doing me all the harm!’’ “Why, what rubbish has the bov got hold of?” “’Taint rubbish! It’s the truth 1 It said constant dripping wears away a stone; and it’s right!”

Some visitors who were being shown over a pauper asylum inquired of their guide what method was employed when the inmates were sufficiently recovered to leave. “Well,” replied he, “you see it’s this way. AVe have a big trough of water, and we turns on the tap. AVo leave it running, and toll ’em to bail out the water with pails until they’ve emptied the trough.” “How does that prove it?” asked one of the visitors. ‘“AYell,” said the guide; “them as ain’t idiots turns off the tap.”

Not Very Complimentary.—lt was doubtless well-meant, but it might have been expressed differently. It was the day of the funeral of an honored parishioner, and the vicar’s daughter, by special request of the relatives, had played “The Dead March.” “Eh, miss, said one of tho mourners, after listening to the moving strains, “it’s very good of you to do it. Auy of us would be glad to.do the same any day.” A Good Ruse. —A bricklayer, working on tho second storey of a building, had sent his little son to tho grocer’s at the corner for three eggs, and then instructed tho boy to boil them for lunch. Half an hour later he suddenly remembered the eggs. “Tommy,” he called, “are those eggs still boiling?” “Yes, father; they’ve boon boiling half an hour.” “Look here, Tommy,” said tho dismayed parent, after thinking awhile, “just you dip those eggs in cold water, dry them, and go back to the grocer and sav your father wanted duck eggs.” “I say, Jackson,” said Simpson, “I met a man yesterday that told me I looked very like you.” “Indeed,” replied Jackson, indignantly; “give me his name, and I’ll go ancl knock him down.” “You needn’t trouble,” replied Simpson; “I did that myself.” ‘He said he would lay the earth at my feet',’ said the sentimental girl. ‘Yes,’ answered Miss Cayenne, ‘it sounds good, but it is not practical. You already have tho earth at your feet. What you want is a three or four storey house over your head.’ ‘lt’s so hard to say ‘Good-night’!’ remarked an infatuated young man at the front door. ‘I can’t find it

in my heart to say ‘Good-night’! I simply ’ ‘Look here, young man, interrupted the' girl’s father—‘if you wait a little longer you’ll be able to say ‘Good morning’ 1’ He Was Obliged.—A man arrested for murder bribed an Irishman on the .jury with £2O tb hang out for a verdict of manslaughter. The man rushel up to the Irish juror, and said, ‘I am obliged to you, my friend. Did you have a hard time?’ ‘Yes,’ said the Irishman, ‘an awful toime. The other eleven wanted to acquit yezl’ ‘Papa,’ said small Freddy, ‘l’ll be six years old to-morrow. Don’t you think I ought to have a gun for a birthday present?’ ‘No, I don’t,’ replied his father, ‘You might shoot some of the neighbors.’ ‘Oh, well,’ replied Freddy, ‘they can get their lives insured.’

The Peeress Knew.—A well known peeress, following her pleasant custom, was entertaining a party of little orphan girls from a charitable institution at her own residence, and after luncheon was showing them some of her art treasures. ‘This,’ she said .pointing to a fine Italian bust, ‘is a beautiful statue of Minerva.’ ‘Was—was she married ?’ ventured a little guest. ‘Oh 1 no, my child,’ said the peeress smiling. ‘She was the goddess of wisdom, you know.’ A Reasonable Explanation —A lino of ragged little boys was ranged down the centre of the school for exercise. ‘Toe the line!’ ordered the master. A shuffling indicated obedience. The master inspected the line approvingly, until his eye rested on an urchin so far behind the others as to bo almost out of sight. ‘Smith,’ ho cried, ‘why don’t you toe the line?’ ‘Pleath, thir, I am toeing it,’ lisped the boy; ‘but I’ve got dad’th booth on.’ The boots were toeing the line, but the wearer stood a good six inches back.