SCIENTIFIC ACCURACY
Ada. "What horrid things black-beetles are, Miss Grimm! The kitchen is full of them!"
The Governess. "I agree with you, Ada! But as they are not beetles, and not black, perhaps you will call them cock-roaches for the future!"
Ada. "Certainly, Miss Grimm; although they are not roaches, and not cocks!"
A Conscientious Child.—"Is your cold better this morning, darling?"
"I don't know. I forgot to ask nursey!"
Tommy. I can strike a match on my trousers, like Uncle Bob. Can you, auntie?
Mother. "You must put your dolls away to-day. It's Sunday."
Little Girl. "Oh, but, mother, that's all right. We're playing at Sunday school!"
Confused Associations.—"And where did these Druids live, Tommy?"
"They lived in groves of oak."
"And in what particular ceremony were they engaged once a year?"
"Er—let me see—Oh! in kissing under the mistletoe!"
Grandmamma. "And how did it happen, dear?"
Master Tom. "It didn't happen. Ma did it on purpose!"
Master Tommy's Receipts.—(To cure a smoky chimney.) Get out on to the roof of the house with a good-sized feather bolster and eighteen-pennyworth of putty. Insert the bolster longways into the chimney, taking care to plaster it all round tightly with the putty. Now sit on it. The chimney will no longer smoke.
And it was only yesterday that grandpapa was complaining to his little grandsons that he never got real winters like he used to have, with plenty of skating and sliding. (N.B.—Butter-slides are very effective.)
The Evidence of the Senses.—Mamma. How dare you slap your sister, George?
George. She kicked me when my back was turned, and hurted me very much, I can tell you!
Mamma. Where did she hurt you?
George. Well, I can't azactly say where, because—because my back was turned, and I was looking another way!
Pursuit of Knowledge.—Son and heir (whose inquiring turn of mind is occasionally a nuisance). Say, 'pa, what's a v'cab'lary?
Father. A vocabulary, my boy—what d'you want to know that for?
Son. 'Cause I heard 'ma say she'd no idea what a tremenjous v'cab'lary you'd got, till you missed the train on Saturday!
At the Sunday School—Teacher. Now, Mary Brown, you understand what is meant by baptism?
Mary Brown. Oh, I know, teacher! It's what Dr. Franklin did on baby's arm last Toosday!
A little Christmas Dream.—Mr. L. Figuier, in the thesis which precedes his interesting work on the world before the flood, condemns the practice of awakening the youthful mind to admiration by means of fables and fairy tales, and recommends, in lieu thereof, the study of the natural history of the world in which we live. Fired by this advice, we have tried the experiment on our eldest, an imaginative boy of six. We have cut off his "Cinderella" and his "Puss in Boots," and introduced him to some of the more peaceful fauna of the preadamite world, as they appear restored in Mr. Figuier's book. The poor boy has not had a decent night's rest ever since!
Young, but Practical.—"What! Harry! not in bed yet, and it's nine o'clock! What will papa say when he comes home?"
"Oh, papa! He'll say, 'Supper! supper! What's for supper?'"
A Realist in Fiction.—"I saw a rabbit run through that hedge!"
"No, dear. It was imagination!"
"Are 'maginations white behind?"
Improving the Shining Hour.—The new Governess. What are the comparative and superlative of bad, Berty?
Berty (the Doctor's son). Bad—worse—dead.
A Capital Choice.—Cousin Amy. So you haven't made up your mind yet what profession you're going to be when you grow up, Bobby.
Bobby. Well, yes! I don't exactly know what it's called, you know, but it's living in the country, and keeping lots of horses and dogs, and all that!
[Bobby's papa is a curate, with £200 a year.
