VARIETIES.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 2192, 29 March 1880, Page 3

VARIETIES.

Rather Neat. —Raw spirits. A stream of Amusement, —A diverted river. Another Filial Commentator —Father who is always trying to teach his son how to act wdiile at the table : “ Well, John, you see thatw'hen I have finished eating, I always leave the table.” “Yes, sir ; and tlmt is all you do leave.” A Nebraska paper devoutly “thanks Heaven ” that at least one paper has been found that has the “ honest, oldfashioned good sense to say ‘ angler,’ instead of ‘ votary of Terpischore.’ ” It sounds old-fashioned, but there’s something wrong about it yet, we think.

How to Get Into a Mess, and How to Get Out of It.—At an art exhibition : “ That picture of P’s is a fearful daub, don’t you think ?” The gentleman addressed : “ I bog your pardon, but I am the artist.” “Oh, I beg ten thousand pardons ! The fact is I don’t know anything about art —I just repeat what I hear everyone saying !” _ Soon Cured Him.—“ Oh, you’re just from Memphis. Got Hie yellow fever, have ye ?” said the stalwart officer as he yanked the tramp into the station-house. “ Wall, we’ll disinfect ye by washing ye an’ then shotting ye up in the ice-chest all night.” And in 10 seconds the tramp had concluded that it was a case of mistaken identity and that he had never seen Memphis.

They Will Sometimes—A gamekeeper, who is an “ original,’’ and often expresses himself very incisively, was recently in a cover with a clergyman who invariably missed everything ho aimed at. A pheasant got up, the parson blazed away, some feather (lew, and he exclaimed in a voice of natural exultation, “ I hit him that time, Cox, and no mistake.” The man’s reply was characteristic. “ Ah, sir, they will fly into it sometimes!”

The Spread of Education and Liberal Ideas. —His Grace the Duke of Poplar and Bermondsey—“ Just look at these bags you last biult me, Snippc ! _ J’cver see such beastly bags in your life ? I shall always be glad to'come and dine with you, old man ; but I’ll be hanged if you shall ever measure me for another pair of bags !” Mr Snippc (of Suippe and Son, St. James’s street)— —“ You’ve always grumbled about your bags, as you call ’em, ever since you were my fag at Eton ; and at Christ Church you were just as bad, even though my poor dear old governor used to come all the way down to measure you himself. It ain’t the fault of the bags, my dear Popsy —it’s the fault of the legs inside ’em. So shut up. old Stick-in-the-mud, and let’s join the ladies the duchess has promised to give us ‘ Little Billee !’ “ Punch.”

Seeing a man home. I picked Simmons up prett} r near dead drunk, and took Mm home. When I got to his house, as I thought, I shook him a bit, and and said, “ Here you arc.” “ Right,” said he, and gave a big bang at the knocker. Up went a window. “Who’s there?” screamed a woman. “ I have brought the old man home,” said I. “ All right,” she cried, and came to the door. She immediately seized hold of Simmons, and gave him such a shaking that his teeth seemed to rattle in his "head. “Who arc you shaking of?” says he. “Goodness gracious,” cries the woman, “ that is not my husband’s voice.” I struck a match, and she found she had been shaking the wrong man. “There,” said the woman furiously, “ I’vc been sitting up here expecting my husband home drunk, and now I’ve wasted ray strength on a stranger.” “Don’tho live hero P ” said I. “ No,” said the woman, “ he don’t.” “ What made you knock?” said Ito Simmons. “ Knock,” said he, "you told me to.” “I thought you lived hero,” said I. “ Glad I clout, said he. I suppose he was thinking of the shaking he’d had. At last I found where lie did live, and got him home. Mrs Simmons was sitting up for him. As soon as ever wc knocked, out she came. “Oh!” says she, “you’re the wretch as makes my poor husband drunk, are you? ” and she caught me a slap across the face. I’ve never seen a drunken man home since.