ASS YOU LIKE IT
“Ass in præsenti.”—Eton Latin Grammar.
The forthcoming show of donkeys promises to be a great success. The only difficulty that seems to us likely to embarrass the manager is the selection of a locality large enough for the exhibition. If but a tenth part of the asses in the metropolis make an exhibition of themselves on this, as they are apt to do on ordinary occasions, nothing smaller than the grounds of the Crystal Palace or the Alexandra Park could possibly accommodate them.
The following, we believe, are already entered:—
An egregious ass, that believes in the speedy subjugation of the Confederates by the Federals in America.
An awful donkey, who prefers Tupper to Tennyson.
An old ass, who, by means of false teeth, tight waist, a wig, and rouge, imagines himself a lady-killer.
A young ass, who, by smoking strong cigars until he is sick, imagines himself manly.
Several thundering donkeys, who are always sending money anonymously to the Chancellor of the Exchequer for unpaid income-tax.
A still larger number of even more hopeless asses, who patronize quack-doctors, cheap, puffing tailors, delineators of character by handwriting, and other advertising swindles.
An irreclaimable ass (supposed to be the only one living), who does not see any merit in Fun. The greatest ass alive.
There are several others we could mention, but the astounding asinine qualities of the last-named donkey have quite taken away our breath. In the forthcoming “competitive examination, of donkeys,” let him by all means bear away the prize! Fun, 1863.
[PLAYGOERS AND THEIR ECCENTRICITIES.]
Chief eccentricity is the amazing mania for rushing out of the theatre before anybody else, in order that you may stand firmly at the door, preventing everybody from getting away.
At a theatrical first night there were loud cries on the part of the audience for the scene painter, whose splendid work had contributed largely to the success of the piece. Now certain other functionaries in theatres think they should be called out also.
A “CIVIL” RETORT.
Captain de Plunger. I say! aw—you tha-ar—are you, aw—the boxkeepar?
Civilian Fellow. No, my boy; I’m not. Are you?