VISITOR (comforting Tommy, who has upset a bottle of ink on the new carpet)—"Never mind, my boy; no use to cry over spilled milk."
TOMMY (indignantly)—"Any dunce would know that. If it's milk that's spilled all you have to do is to call the cat an' she'll lick it up cleaner'n anything. But this ain't milk, an' mother'll do the lickin', is what ails me."
"Quite a good epigram, that," said the tramp, who had been convicted for vagrancy.
"What did he say?" asked the tramp's pal.
"Seven days."
"How d'you make that out an epigram?"
"Why," said the tramp, "I once asked a parson what an epigram was, and he said 'It's a short sentence that sounds light, but gives you plenty to think about.'"
PARSON WHITE—"Brudder Lamkins, how did yer son come outen de trial?"