Village Doctor. "And what do you intend to make of this little man, Mrs. Brisket?"
Proud Mother. "Butcher, sir. 'E's bound to be a butcher. Why, 'e 's that fond o' animals, we can 'ardly keep 'im out o' the slaughter-'ouse!"
Heaven helps those who help themselves.—
Doctor. "Well, John, how are you to-day?"
John. "Verra bad, verra bad. I wish Providence 'ud 'ave mussy on me an' take me!"
Wife. "'Ow can you expect it to if you won't take the doctor's physic?"