"Those picture cards I brought back from Boston," remarked Mrs. Partington, in a pensive mood. "They are momentums of the Art Loan Imposition."
Don't give up in despair, girls. Naomi didn't marry until she was five hundred and eighty years old—and then she was sorry she hadn't waited a century longer.
"Is you gwine to get an overcoat this winter?" asked a darkey of a companion. "Well I dunno how dat's gwine to be," was the reply. "I'se done got my eye on a coat, but de fellah dat owns it keeps his eye on it too."
Her nephew had just come home from his day school. "What have you been learning this morning?" asked Mrs. Ramsbottom. "Mythology, aunt," answered the little man, "all about the heathen gods and goddesses." "Then I must brush up my memory," said Mrs. Ramsbottom, "and ask you a question or two. Now, first, who was Juniper?"
"What is a limited monarchy, Johnny?" "Well, my idea of a limited monarchy is, where the ruler don't have much to rule." "Give an example?" "An example! Lemme see! Well, if you was bossin' yourself, for instance."
It was at the close of the wedding breakfast. One of the guests arose, and, glass in hand, said: "I drink to the health of the bridegroom. May he see many days like this." The intention was good, but the bride looked as though something had displeased her.