It was at Christmas, and he had been calling on her twice a week for six months, but had not proposed.
"Ethel," he said, "I—er—am going to ask you an important question."
"Oh, George," she exclaimed, "this is so sudden! Why, I—"
"No, excuse me," he interrupted; "what I want to ask is this: What date have you and your mother decided upon for our wedding?"
A Scotch beadle led the maiden of his choice to a churchyard and, pointing to the various headstones, said:
"My folks are all buried there, Jennie. Wad ye like to be buried there too?"
IMPECUNIOUS LOVER—"Be mine, Amanda, and you will be treated like an angel."
WEALTHY MAIDEN—"Yes, I suppose so. Nothing to eat, and less to wear. No, thank you."