Why is a leaky barrel like a coward? Because it runs.
Why are good resolutions like fainting ladies? Because they want carrying out.
Take away my first letter, I remain unchanged; take away my second letter, there is no apparent alteration in me; take away all my letters and I still continue unchanged. The postman.
Why is love always represented as a child? Because he never reaches the age of discretion.
Why is love like a canal-boat? Because it's an internal transport.
Why is a new-born baby like a storm? Because it begins with a squall.
O'Donoghue came to the hermit's cell; He climbed the ladder, he pulled the bell; "I have ridden," said he, "with the saint to dine On his richest meal and his reddest wine."
The hermit hastened my _first_ to fill With water from the limpid rill; And "drink," quoth he, of the "juice, brave knight, Which breeds no fever, and prompts no fight."
The hermit hastened my _second_ to spread With stalks of lettuce and crusts of bread; And "taste," quoth he, "of the cates, fair guest, Which bring no surfeit, and break no rest."
Hasty and hungry the chief explored My _whole_ with the point of his ready sword, And found, as yielded the latch and lock, A pasty of game and a flagon of hock.
When is a school-master like a man with one eye? When he has a vacancy for a pupil.
Why are dogs and cats like school-masters and their pupils? Because one is of the canine (canin'), the other of the feline (feelin') species.
Why will seeing a school-boy being thoroughly well switched bring to your lips the same exclamation as seeing a man lifting down half a pig, hanging from a hook? Because he's a pork-reacher (poor creature).
Apropos of pork hanging, what should a man about to be hung have for breakfast? A hearty-choke (artichoke) and a _h_oister (oyster).
Why is a wainscoted room like a reprieve? Because it saves hanging.
Why is the hangman's noose like a box with nothing in it? Because it's hemp-tie (empty).
Why is a man hung better than a vagabond? Because he has visible means of support.
My _first_ is a thing, though not very bewitchin', Is of infinite use when placed in the kitchen; My _second's_ a song, which, though a strange thing, No one person living could ever yet sing; My _whole_ is a man, who's a place in the City, But the last of his race you'd apply to for pity?