The Wonders of Science.—The Principal (from the City, through the telephone, to the foreman at the "Works"). "How do you get on, Pat?" Irish Foreman (in great awe of the instrument). "Very well, sir. The goods is sent off." The Principal (knowing Pat's failing). "What have you got to drink there?" Pat (startled). "Och! look at that now! It's me breath that done it!"
"Age cannot wither—nor custom stale
His infinite variety"!
Paddy (to fellow-passenger). "Oi'm siventy years of age, and ivery wan o' my teeth as perfect as the day I was born, sor!"