"You gits no chance mit me," he answered. "I don't want you; I haf got me a girl alreaty."
A clergyman was spending the afternoon at a house in the English village where he had preached. After tea he was sitting in the garden with his hostess. Out rushed her little boy holding a rat above his head. "Don't be afraid, mother," he cried; "he's dead. We beat him and bashed him and thumped him until"--catching sight of the clergyman, he added, in a lowered voice--"until God called him home."
Two Irish women in the market place of Cork were talking of the new curate.
"Arrah, Biddy," said one, "did ye hear him last Sunday when he preached on 'Hell'?"
"Faith an' I did that same, and shure he might have been born and reared there, so well did he know all about it."
An Episcopal rector and a Roman Catholic priest had neighboring churches and didn't get along very well. After some time, however, they got together and decided to bury the hatchet.
"For, after all," said he of the Episcopal faith, "we are both doing the Lord's work."
"That is true," said the priest. "Let us therefore do his work to the best of our ability: you in your way," concluded the priest, and then added with a twinkle, "and I in his!"
"I simply can't understand the combination of my wife's clothes."
"Well, when she wants to hide anything, she pokes it down her neck, but when she wants to get it again it's always in her stocking."
Father--Because he never can tell when he might be detained at the office on business.
Brother Bill--Because he has got to look his best in case he meets (a) a certain young lady, (b) her father, (c) her mother, (d) any other near relative of (a).
Sister May--Because everybody would know it if she put on one of last year's dresses.
Angela, aged five--Because she has outgrown everything she ever wore.
Tommy, aged seven--Because he has outworn everything he hasn't outgrown.
The Richest Man in Town--Because he can't afford to look shabby.
His Chief Rival--Because he hopes to become mayor.
The President of the Ladies' Federation--Because the newspapers are forever sending photographers after her.
Mother--Because there's no fun playing the game alone.
Where are the clothes of yesteryear-- And of the year before? Bare is the cupboard--shelf and hook; Barren, the garret's cobwebbed nook; Empty, the darksome drawer! Why should they strangely disappear-- All the old clothes of yesteryear?