THE PROBLEM.
Samuel. "Muvver, does a hen lay an egg when it likes or must it?"
A Grand-Daughter of Eve.—Mamma (to Molly, who has scratched and bitten her French nurse, and who won't be sorry for her behaviour). "Oh, Molly, don't you know who it is puts such wicked thoughts into your head?" Molly. "Ah, yes, the scratching! But to bite Félicie was quite my own idea!"
Rogues Falling Out.—Mamma. What is baby crying for, Maggie?
Maggie. I don't know.
Mamma. And what are you looking so 'ndignant about?
Maggie. That nasty, greedy dog's been and took and eaten my 'punge-take!
Mamma. Why, I saw you eating a sponge-cake a minute ago!
Maggie. O—that was baby's!
A Scientific Nursery Definition.—Little Algy Muffin. What's the meaning of bric-à-brac, that mamma was talking about to Colonel Crumpet?
Little Chris Crumpet. Those things we mustn't play bricks with, a-fear we'll break them.
Poetry for Schoolboys.—Little Tommy Tender, who received a flogging the week before his holidays, says his feelings were the contrary of those felt by the poet, when he penned the touching line—
"My grief lies onward, and my joy behind."
Logical.—Little Bobby (whose mamma is very particular, and is always telling him to wash his face and hands). "Mummy dear! I do wish I was a little black boy." Mamma. "My dear Bobby, you generally are." Little Bobby. "Oh, I mean really black. Then you wouldn't see when I was dirty."
