Wit and Humour.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2161, 17 August 1907, Page 2 (Supplement)

Wit and Humour.

“Have you hoard about little Jimmy Dix?” “No, do tell me.” “Why tlio poor child swallowed a teaspoon this morning, and now he can’t stir.” The Broker’s Moan ; “Buying violets will bankrupt me.” “Cheer tip. She’s worth it.” “Maybe so. But why did I fall in love on a bull market j ' “Did you notice how she jabbered away when she sat there between those two men?” “Goodness, yes! It made mo think of a tongue sandwich.”

“You got a rise in pay, didn’t you ?” “Yes, hut it didn’t do me any good.” “Why not?” “I talk in my sleep, and my wife found out about it.” He: How do you know he is used to receiving letters from that girl? She: Because he knew immediately where to look for the second page.

“You told me your husband had large, fine eyes. I didn’t notice it.” “Wait a minute or two till the milli-, ner comes along with my new hat and the bill I” He: It’s absolutely useless to arguo further. . You ought to know that. My will is of iron. She: Yes, I know —pig-iron. Doseleigli: Why do you insist upon the new paster being a fat man? Deacon Broadaisle: Because fat men are generally short-winded. “Williams has sent his wife to the Continent for his health.” “His health?” “Yes; he said it was the only way he could get rid of his (s)coldl”

A tricky Irishman was leaning against a post when a funeral procession passed. “Who’s dead?” someone asked. ”‘I don’t know,” answered the Irishman, “but I presume it’s the gentleman in the coffin.” QUAKER WIT. A Quaker riding in a carriage with a fashionable woman decked with a profusian of jewellry, as a substitute, perhaps for her scantiness of clothes, heard her complaining of tho cold. Shivering in her lace bonnet and shawl, she exclaimed, “What shall I do to get warm?”

“I really don’t know,” replied the Quaker solemnly, “unless thou put on another breast-pin.”

TOPSY’S LAST NAME

The story is told of how a- little girl had beoii listening intently to her mother reading “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” aloud, and finally I'aised her blue eyes quesfcioningly and said: “Why is it, mother, that the book r.ever mentions Topsy’s last name.” “My child,” replied the mother, “I guess she had no other name.” “Oh yes, sho had, and I know it,” returned the little girl. “Well, what was it?” “ Why, ‘Turvy’—‘Topsy Turvy.’ ’• Never marry for money, but always for love. If a girl has money, though, try to love her I LAPSE OF MEMORY.

Father: You are very backward in your arithmetic. When I was your age I was doing cube root. Boy: What’s that?

Father: What? You don’t even know what it is? Dear me, that’s terrible. Here, give me your pencil. Now, we’ll take, say, 1,2, 3,4, and find the cube root. First you divide —no ; you—let me see —um —yes —no —•well, never mind—after all, perhaps you’re too young to understand it. POOR BUT HONEST.

The other noon in a down-town bystreet where a crowd of men gather along the sunny walk after their trips to near-by “quick lunches,” there was a little scene enacted which illustrates vividly the attitude of “live and let live” which is* the mark current of the ordinary New Yorker. A young, smooth-faced sharp-eyed chap climbed upon an empty box Where the crowd of idlers from tlie shops and offices was thickest, aiid began in a perfectly calm way to harangue those who would stop" to "listen to him. He gathered a .number to him with his first few sentences:

“My friends, I ask you to pause for a. moment and listen to my narrative. lam a poor but honest man. My motto is ‘Excelsior’—with accent on the second syllable. My parents are dead, and I am a lone orphan. “These personal foots are not related here to arouso your charitable instincts. I do not ask for charity. All I desire is a fair show to make my way in life, and, having walked these pavements for several days in search of work, I have come to this desperate pass. “I propose to try to do something never yet done since Adam first wore trousers. I am going to pass among you with my hat and ask you to chip in a nickel apiece; and then, my friends, I shall attempt this wonderful feat. I shall, try to turn a quadruple somersault'in'the air.” He jumped down from the box. gravely passed liis hat around, paying no attention to the chaff addressed liiim, and actually collected a score or more of nickels. IVhen he was confident that no more were to be obtained, he returned to the box, put it aside, carefully buttoned his coat, spat on his hands, and turned a pretty fair somersault. He turned another and another, and then remounted the box and again addressed the crowd:

“Kind friends, I have tried to turn a quadruple somersault, as I said; but I cannot do it. Thanking you one and all, I remain yours truly.”

And not a man in tile crowd uttered a complaint as he faded away from their midst.