Four gentlemen went out to dine. They were Arthur Balfour, Joseph Chamberlain, Lord Charles Beresford, and the Japanese Minister. Mr. Arthur Balfour was standing treat and said to Joey, “What will you take?” “Oh, thanks, I’ll take Scotch, Arthur.” “And what will you take, Lord Charles?” “Oh, thanks, I’ll take Irish, Arthur.” “And now, what will you take?” addressing the Japanese Minister. “I’ll take Port Arthur, thanks.”
Not long after the great Chelsea fire some children in Newton, Massachusetts, held a Charity Fair by which eighteen dollars were realized. This they forwarded to the rector of a certain Boston church who had taken a prominent part in the relief work, with a letter which read somewhat as follows:
“We have had a fair and made eighteen dollars. We are sending it to you. Please give it to the Chelsea sufferers.
“Yours truly, etc.
“P. S. We hope the suffering is not all over.”
A story is told of a certain committee meeting in which the proceedings commenced with noise and gradually became uproarious. At last one of the disputants, losing all control over his emotions, exclaimed to his opponent: “Sir, you are, I think, the biggest ass that I ever had the misfortune to set eyes upon!” “Order! order!” said the chairman, gravely; “you seem to forget that I am in the room.”
An Irish priest had labored hard with one of his flock to induce him to give up whisky. “I tell you, Michael,” said the priest, “whisky is your worst enemy, and you should keep as far away from it as you can.” “The enemy is it, father?” responded Michael, “and it was your riverence’s self that was telling us in the pulpit last Sunday to love our enemies.” “So I was, Michael,” rejoined the priest, “but I didn’t tell you to swallow them.”