Thursday, June 12, 2008

It Was Lost Too


A young Irishman in want of a £5 note wrote to his uncle as follows:

"DEAR UNCLE—If you see how I blush for shame while I am writing, you would pity me. Do you know why? Because I have to ask you for a few pounds and do not know how to express myself. It is impossible for me to tell you. I prefer to die.

"I send you this by messenger, who will wait for an answer. Believe me, my dearest uncle, your most obedient and affectionate nephew,

"P. S.—Overcome with shame for what I have written, I have been running after the messenger in order to take the letter from him, but I cannot catch him up. Heaven grant that something may happen to stop him or that my letter may get lost."

The uncle was naturally touched, but was equal to the emergency. He replied as follows:

"MY DEAR JACK—Console yourself and blush no longer. Providence has heard your prayers. The messenger lost your letter. Your affectionate uncle, —." Liverpool Mercury.

Looking Under the Bed

"People tell me," said Mr. Glimby, "that folks don't look under the bed for burglars as much as they used to. I haven't seen anybody yet that can account satisfactorily for this. One person says that burglars don't hide under beds so much as they did, but that seems a pretty vague sort of statement. It brings to my mind, however, the idea that perhaps burglars never really made a practice to any extent of hiding under beds, and that, having now in an indefinite sort of way discovered that fact, we are ceasing to look for them there. However that may be, I believe the general statement to be true that we don't look under the bed for burglars so much as we did." — New York Sun.

Playing the Penultimate

Mr. James Payn was instructing some young lady friends in the art of scientific whist, and they told him they played family whist in the evenings. "Do your people play the penultimate?" the novelist inquired of one of his fair pupils.

"Not that I know of," she answered very sweetly, but with some of that amazement which is deprecated in the marriage service. "Sophie plays the piano and Julia the harp, but we none of us play the penultimate." -- Blackwood's Magazine.

Why and Wherefore

Old Boarder—What do you mean, sir, by asking me to loan you money? I don't know you, sir.
New Boarder—That's why I ask you. -- Detroit Free Press.

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