Clippings.

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume III, Issue 127, 12 November 1901, Page 3

Clippings.

The latest thing in dress goods is the girl who lies in bed the longest. He: “ But what possessed her to get married in a balloon.” She: “ She always swore that she would marry no man on earth.”

“He gays that le loves me.” she confided to her friend, “ yet he has known me only two days.” ” Well, perhaps that’s the reason, dear.” the friend replied, and they don’t even nod now.

“ Doesn't football interfere with work?” asked the old gentleman. 'Certainly not,” ana we ed the young enthusiast. “ Work interferes with football.”

Husband: “I am just in the mood for reading something sensational and st irtling—-something that will make my hair stand on end.” Wife: ‘‘Here is ray last milliner’s b ll.”

" Great men,” remarked the thoughtful youth, "are frequently misunderstood by the public.” "That,” replied old Wiseacre, gravely, “is very true. And very lucky it is for s ne ot them.” S-ie : “ It’s strange that the littlest things in life offer the gredest diffioulties.” He: “ That’s so. Last night, fit instance, I cohld find the h'use alright, but for r.he I fo of me I couldn’t find the key-hole.”

H‘d you a good passage !” was asked of a recent favcller. “Fair,” was the reply } " but I couldn’t sleep. The first three nights I o -nlln’t tell whether to shut tne porthole and go to bed, or to close the bod and go to the porthole. And the last three I spent in studying the Customs' laws.”

A policeman, whose evidence wft* being taken on commission, deposed: ‘ Tbs prisoner sat upon me, calling raa an as*, a precious dolt, a scarecrow, a ragamuffin, and an idiot.” And, thi( being the conclusion of his depositions, his signature was preceded by the formal ending——" All of wh'*ch I swear 19 true.” m Did you see Mr Thompson when you delive-ed the note ? "\ es sir, And how was h«?” •“Why he looked pretty well, but he’s goiog blind.” “ Blind! what do you mean?” “Why, while i wur in the room he asked me where ray hat war, and I'm bleat if it wurn.ton my head all the time.’.

Barry Sullivan, the Irish tragedian, was once playing Richsrd 111 in a provincial town. Whan he came to the lines, “a horse - a horse ! my kingdom for a horse !’ someone In the gallery called oat, “Wouldn’t a donkey do as well, Mr Sullivan 1’ “Yes,’ responded the actor, turning quickly on the interrupter, “pWse come round to the s v age door.” “Put, how is it that you don’t cut your hair? It looks for all the yocld' like a bewitched barley stalk.” Patt “ Well* there’s one thing sartin* an’ that ia that you don’t wan’t yours ont, for you’ie aa bald as a bat." “Oh, but there's an old haying that you can’t have both braina and hair.” Pat: “Yes, . and there’s another (told saying, that an empty barn requires no thatch.” He was describing a, bold up in which be had played the star part. Yes,” be said, “ the biggest ruffian held me so lightly against the brick wall that 1 could feel the mortar scratching my backbone. ‘ Gimme your watch,’ he growled, I gave it to him immediately.. There wae a pause. i> Gave It right up,. eh ?V and a breathless listener. it -yes,” said the victim, “I did.” Then be dreamily added. “ Ton see, I waa preiied for thaw.,