Humour.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume X, Issue 1188, 30 October 1882, Page 8 (Supplement)

Humour.

THE CODE. One Sunday at Montgomery we were talking about duels, and when the names of aevera’ parties who had gone out in past years to satisfy their honor were mentioned the judge knocked the ashes off his cigar and said “ Gentlemen, it may be mentioned righ here that I have been there myself.” “ Were you challenged ?” “ I was. It was over in South Carolina, and I called a man a liar. He sent me a challenge, and I selected swords as the weapons. Wc met at 7 o'clock the next morning. It was just such a morning as this—bright, beautiful and full of life.” “ And how did you feel ?” “ Very queer. 1 shall never forget my sensations as I saw my rival, and he seemed to be as visibly affected. We couldn't either one of us say a word.” “ Was it in a grove ?” “ Oh no ; it was at the depot.” “ The depot! Why, you didn’t fight at the depot, did you ?” “ Well, no. The morning express trains passed tliere at 7, and he took one and I the other !”— Detroit Free Press. balancing the account. “No one has a right to find fault with another unless ho credits him with his good qualities, otherwise it would be keeping books of debt without credit,” said Deacon Solum to Dan Pelter, both residents of a lively little town in Maine. “Wall, then, Deacon,” answered Dan, “I’ll give ye credit fur bein’ a good smoker, and I’ll then have er right ter charge ye with borrowin’ too much terbarkcr off from me.”— Exchange. NO WEATHER PROPHET. A Lowicll man, a gentleman, and a scholar, figures the weather problem in this wise : There is a large amount of snow yet on the hills, and in the forests to the windward of us, and we shall not have warm weather until this melts, and it cannot melt until we have some warm weather. Consequently, when it comes to prophesying, he gives it up.— Lowell Citizen. POOR BILL. Ludicrous things will sometimes happen in the most solemn places. I venture to give the following, hoping that it may not displease the most proper: At the funeral of a certain well-known member of the San Francisco bar in 1868, the preacher failed to indulge in the usual harmless diversion of eulogizing the deceased—only reading the regular burial ritual. The omission was noticed and keenly felt by a friend of the departed. “ Poor Bill,” said he, as he took his last look at his old chum, his voice trembling with emotion, “you and I have often wandered over the town together. I supposed I would have been called away first; I wish I had. It has been ordered otherwise.” Then, after looking sternly a moment at the derelict clergyman in the pulpit, he added, “ I had thought on this occasion something good would have been said about you, but it lias not been done. I would like to say something good about you myself, but— l can't. Then, breaking down completely, he was gently removed.— [San Francisco Post. PRAYER AND GLASS BALL SHOOTING. To a reporter who asked for the result of the glass ball shooting of the Leatherstocking Gun Club, of Oswego, a member answered: “ No, sir; we are not going to tell you fellows anything more about those scores. We are going to put .them in the secretary’s hands, and he’ll have instructions what to give you. Here Igoup to church and try to pray every Sunday. I get down on my knees after my name has been in the paper as winning first money, second money, or third money, and the first thing I know, somebody is looking down on me and saying : ‘ There’s that darn cuss down on his knees praying after lie’s been gambling all the week,’ and I don’t like it.”

So the gentleman wouldn’t tell the reporter anything about the shoot, but tbld him about the transactions of their meeting last night. His remark fairly raises the question—ls glass ball shooting sinful, and can it be conscientiously pursued by a Christian sportsman ? We wish our clergy would clear up this question and afford a correct moral guide to conscience of our friend and others like him.— [Oswego Palladium. EPITAPIIY APROPOS of KEROSENE. With oil of coal who lights the fire Will be knocked like a kite, but higher. Against coal oil I oft gave warning, But Bridget's friends are now in mourning. Not to use petroleum I Mary did advise, But alack-a-day her body in the kirk-yard lies. ’Twere better far o’er oil to linger Than with coal oil to burn your finger. Kindle with kerosene, then ride ye Like the Prophet of old—Elijah. The kerosene kitchen help is a peripatetic firebug. Dickery, dickery, dock, The oil set fire to her frock, The flame was red, and she was dead, Dickery, dickery, dock. Put on the kindling, dash on the oil, When the lire burns the kettle will boil, When the can bursts the house is a flame, And, as is usual, there is no one to blame. Ah, indeed, what might have been, Were it not for kerosene. There now. —Philadelphia Times.

THE BRIDAL VEIL. Alice Carey. We’re married, they say, and you think you have won me— Well, take this white veil from my head and look on me! Here’s matter to vex you, and matter to grieve you, Here’s doubt to distrust you, and faith to believe you— I am all, as you see, common earth, common dew; Be wary, and mould me to roses, not rue ! Ah, shake out the filmy thing, fold after fold, And sec if you have me to keep and to hold— Look close on my heart—see worst of its sinning— It is not your’s to-day for the yesterday’s winning— The past is not mine—l am too proud to borrow— You must grow to new heights if I love you to-morrow. We’re married! I’m plighted to hold up your praises, As the turf at your feet docs its handful of daisies; That way lies my honor—my pathway of pride, But, mark you, if greener grass grow cither side, I shall know it, and, keeping the body with you, Shall walk in my spirit with feet on the dew! We’re married! Oh, pray that our love do not fail! I have wings fastened down, and hidden under my veil; They are subtle as light—you can never undo them, And swift in their flight—you can never pursue them, And spite of all clasping, and spite of all bands, I can slip like a shadow, a drcam, from your hands. Nay, call me not cruel, and fear not to take me, I am your’s for my lifetime to be what you make me, To wear my white veil for a sign or a cover, As you shall be proven my lord or my lover; A cover for peace that is dead, or a token, A bliss that can never be written or spoken.

287.