A Woman-Hater.

Spiteful Old Party (who is tarring the Stays of the Flagstaff). "Striped Gownds seem all the 'Go' with 'em, eh? (Chuckles.) I'll Stripe 'em! Put a extra Streak o' Ile in, o' Purpose—won't Dry for a Month! Come Lollopin' about here with their Crin'lynes an' Tr'ines, they must take the Consekenses!!"

When You are About it.

Magister Familias (parting with his Butler). "Here is the Letter, Flanagan. I can conscientiously say you are Honest and Attentive, but I should have to stretch a Point if I were to say you are Sober."
Mr. Flanagan. "Thank you, Sor. But when you are afther sthritchin' a Point, Sor, wouldn't you, plase, sthritch it a little further, and say I'm aften Sober!!"

Sympathy.

Epicurus. "Pah! O, good gracious, Mivins, that last Oyster was—ugh!"
Butler (with feeling). "T-t-t-t—dear me! Corked, Sir?!!"

The Run of the House.

First Flunkey. "Won't you come in, John, and take Something?"
Second Ditto. "Thanks, no; I'll look you up next Week. 'Be on Board-Wages then, you know!"

"What Next?"

Mistress (to New Housemaid). "Jane, I'm quite Surprised to hear you can't Read or Write! I'm sure one of my Daughters would gladly undertake to Teach you——"
Maid. "O, Lor', Mum, if the Young Ladies would be so Kind as to Learn me anything, I should so like to Play the Pianner."!!

"The Servants."

Cook. "Yes, Susan, I'm a Writin' to Mary Hann Miggs. She've applied to me for the Charicter of my last Missus, which she's Thinkin' of takin' the Sitiwation——"
Susan. "Will you Give her One?"
Cook. "Well, I've Said this. (Reads.) 'Mrs. Perksits presents her Compliminks to Miss Miggs, and begs to Inform her that I consider Mrs. Brown a respek'able young Person, and one as Knows her Dooties; but she can't conshesaly Recommend her Temper, which I had to Part with her on that Account.' It's allus best to be Candied, you know, Susan!"

Quite Superfluous.

Stout Passenger (obstreperously). "Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!!"
Bus-Driver. "All Right, Sir, we can See yer, Sir; we can See yer vith the Naked Eye, Sir!"

"Noblesse Oblige."

Stodge (in answer to the reproachful look of his Cabman). "Well, it's your Right Fare; you know that as well as I do!"
Cabby. "Oh! which I'm well aware o' that, Sir! But——"more in sorrow than in anger"—An' you a Artis', Sir!!"
Gets another Shilling!

The Beard Movement.

Policeman (invidiously). "It's puffectly Hoptional vith us, you know!"
"The Hairs them P'licemen give theirselves," John remarked afterwards, in the Servants' Hall.

Too Late.

Departing Guest. "But my Hat was a bran-new one!"
Greengrocer (Footman for the nonce). "Oh, Sir! The second-best 'Ats a' been gone 'alf-an-hour ago, Sir!"

Music in the Midlands.

Intelligent Youth of Country Town. "Ah say, Bill, ull that be t' Elijah goin' oop i' that Big Box?!"

A Perfect Excuse.

Rector (to his Keeper). "'Morning, Woodgate. Didn't I See you at Church yesterday?"
Keeper (apologetically). "Yes, Sir. But—I felt I was a doin' Wrong all the Time, Sir!"

"Fahrenheit."

Rector. "Ah, we shall be comfortable this morning, Gruffles, I see you've got the Temperature up nicely. Sixty, I declare!"
Clerk. "Yes, Sir, I allus hev a trouble to get that thing up. I took and Warmed it jest this minute!"

Pleasuring!

Vicar (to Old Lady, who is returning from a Funeral). "Well, Martha, I'm afraid you've had a sad Afternoon. It has been a long Walk, too, for you——"
Martha. "Sure-ly, 'tis, Sir! Ah, Sir, 'tain't much Pleasure now for me to go to Funerals; I be too Old and full o' Rheumatiz. It was very different when we was Young—that 'twer!!"

Awkward!

Flithers spends his Christmas at a Country House, and the first day, on the Ladies leaving the Table after Dinner, he jumps up, and Opens the Wrong Door!!

He Thought He was Safe

Irascible Old Gentleman. "Buy a Comb! What the Devil should I buy a Comb for! You don't see any Hair on my Head, do you?"
Unlicensed Hawker. "Lor' bless yer, Sir!—yer don't want no 'Air on yer 'Ead for a Tooth-Comb!!"

Hygiene.

Hearty Old Gentleman (to dyspeptic Friend). "Doesn't Agree with you?! Oh, I never let Anything of that sort Bother me! I always Eat what I like, and Drink what I like, and Finish off with a good stiff Glass o' Grog at Bed-Time, and go fast Asleep, an' let 'm Fight 't out 'mong 'mselves!!!"

Considerate Criticism.

Rustic (to his friend). "Wa—at, tha's Better than doin' o' Nawth'n'. I s'poos', Gearge!!"

"The Finishing Touch!"

Farmer (who has been most Obliging, and taken great Interest in the Picture). "Good Morn'n', Sir! But—(aghast)—I say, what are you a doin' of, Mister?! A P'intin' all them beastly Poppies in my Corn!—'A bit o' Colour?'—What 'ould my Landlord say, d'you Think?—and after I'd put off Cuttin' cause you hadn't Finished, to oblige yer, I didn't Think you'd a Done it! You don't Come a P'intin' on my Land any more!" Exit, in great dudgeon.

Á Fortiori.

Ticket Collector. "Now, then, make Haste! Where's your Ticket?"
Bandsman (refreshed). "Au've Lost it!"
Ticket Collector. "Nonsense! Feel in your Pockets. Ye cannot hev Lost it!"
Bandsman. "Aw cannot?! Why, Man, au've Lost the Big Drum!"

"Nae That Fou!"

Country Gentlemen (who thought he'd got such a treasure of a new Gardener). "Tut, Tut, Tut! Bless my Soul, Saunders! How—what's all this? Disgracefully Intoxicated at this Hour of the Morning! Ain't you Ashamed of Yourself?!"
Saunders. "'Sh-hamed? (Hic.) Na, na, 'm nae sae Drunk as that comes t'! Ah ken varra weel what a'm aboot!!"

Hibernian Veracity.

Paterfamilias (with his Family in Ireland). "Have you any West India Pickles, Waiter?"
Paddy. "We've not, Sor."
Paterfamilias. "No Hot Pickles of any Description?"
Paddy. "No; shure they're all Could, Sor."

Quite Another Thing.

Paddy (the loser). "Abram, g'along! I said I'd lay you Foive to Wan, but I wasn't goin' to Bet my Ha'f-Crown agin your tath'rin little Sixpence!"
Exeunt fighting.

A Fair Offer.

Athletic Barman. "Now, if you don't take yourself Off, I'll precious soon Turn you Out!"
Pat (with a yell). "Tur-r-rn me Out? Is it Tur-r-rn me Out? Thin, Bedad! come Outside, an' Tur-r-rn me Out!!"

"The Way We Live Now."

Swell Coachman (with his eye on the Brougham's cockade). "Your Guv'ner in the Army?"
Brougham (artlessly). "Not 'zactly in the Harmy. But Missis say as they Sold Milingtary Cur'osities when they kep' a Shop in 'Olborn!!"

Re-Assuring.

Nervous Old Lady (Band in the Distance). "Oh, there are those dreadful Volunteers, Joseph! I know the Horse will take Fright! Hadn't you better Turn him Round?!"
Coachman (who will have his own way). "Oh, let 'im alone, 'M; he'll Turn 'isself Round, and pretty quick, too, if he's Frightened!!"

Well Meant.

Shoeblack (to daily Customer). "Such a Treat we've got to-night, Sir! Tea an' Buns, an' Speeches at Exeter 'All! Wouldn't you like to go, Sir?"
City Magnate. "Oh, they wouldn't let me in, my Boy."
Shoeblack. "Um!" (Ponders.) "Well—look 'ere. I think I could Smug yer in as my Father!!"

Nature and Art.

Pedestrian. "That's an Extraordinary Looking Dog, my Boy. What do you Call him?"
Boy. "Fust of all he wer' a Grey'ound, Sir, an' 'is Name was 'Fly,' as' then they cut 'is Ears an' Tail off, an' made a Masti' Dog on 'im, an' now 'is Name's 'Lion'!"

Natural Advantages.

Teacher. "What Bird did Noah send out of the Ark?"
Smallest Boy In the Class (after a Pause). "A Dove, Sir."
Teacher. "Very Well. But I should have thought some of you Big Boys would have Known that!"
Tall Pupil. "Please, Sir, that Boy ought to Know, Sir, 'cause his Father's a Bird-Ketcher, Sir!!!"

The Restraints of Society.

Juvenile Bohemian. "Hate goin' out to Tea! 'Have to be Good such a Precious Long Time!!"

Simple Addition.

New Governess. "Why are you Staring so Intently, Blanche, dear?"
Blanche. "I was trying to Count the Freckles on your Face, Miss Sandypole, but I can't!"

Secrets.

Intelligent Housemaid. "Oh, please, Miss, there was a young Gentleman called when you was out. He didn't leave no Card, Miss; but I can show you who he is, 'cause there's Three of his Photygraphs in your Album."

"A Parthian Shaft."

Cook. "Now, I'm a Leavin' of yer, M'um, I may as well Tell yer as the Key o' the Kitching-Door fits your Store-Room!"

Sweet Simplicity.

Visitor. "Jane, has your Mistress got a Boot-Jack?"
Maid-of-all-Work. "No, Sir; please, Sir, I clean all the Boots, Sir!"

Master of the Situation?!

Scene—Mr. Tethershort's Sanctum. Enter Mrs. T. and her Cook. Cook (with her usual promptitude—SHE never kept anybody waiting). "Oh, if you please, Sir, I wish to Complain of Missis! which she come a Dictaterin' and a Hinterferin' in your Kitching in a way as I'm sure you wouldn't approve on," &c., &c., &c.!!
T. confesses he felt (for the first and last time) a delicious sensation of being apparently master in his own house. She was an admirable Cook, and altogether a most excell——But however she had to go!

Manners!

Young Mistress. "Jane, I'm surprised that none of you Stood up when I went into the Kitchen just now!"
Jane. "Indeed, Mum! which we was su'prised ourselves at your a comin' into the Kitching while we was a 'avin' our Luncheons!!"

A Regular Turk!

Adjutant. "Well, Sergeant, how's your Prisoner getting on?"
Sergeant of the Guard. "Bedad, Sor, he's the vi'lentest Blaggyard I iver had to do wid! We're all in Tirror iv our Loives! Shure we're obliged to Feed him wid Fixed Bay'nits!"

"Incidit in Scyllam," &c.

Ensign Muffles (alluding to his Moustache). "You see, some say, 'Wear it,' you know; and some say, 'cut it off,' you know; but if I took everybody's advice I should be like the Old Man and his Donkey."
Sergeant O'Rourke. "Your'r Hon'rr would—(but not wishing to be personal about his Officer's age) that is—laste-ways,—barrin the Ould Man, Your Hon-r-r-r!!!"

What H. M. Civil Servants have to Endure.

(BESIDES THE RIDICULOUSLY LOW SALARIES.)
Mr. Registrar. "What's the Number of your Deed, Sir?"
Attorney's Clerk. "H-eight, H-ought H-eight, H-ought, Sevin, Sir!"
Mr. Registrar (faintly). "Oh dear! Oh dear!—(notes down the number)—that will do."
And is so upset that he takes a month's holiday on the spot.

Curious.

English Tourist (in Ireland). "Tell me, Waiter, at what Hour does the First Train leave for Clonmel?"
Waiter. "Is it the Furrst Thrain, Sor? I'm not rightly shure. The Noine Thrain up used to lave at Ha'f-past Noine—but faix it goes at Tin now, and there's no Furrst Thrain now at all at all. But I'll ax at the Bar, Sorr!!"

Anything for a Change.

Artist (to Old Fellow-Student). "And what have you been doing all these years,—what are you Painting?"
Swell. "Oh, I gave up Painting, my Dear Fellow—then I took to Teaching! But you can't find Pupils in Genius, you know, so now I go in for Art Criticism! I know I'm Strong in that! Did you see my Article in this week's 'Now a Days?'"

Appearances.

Plushington. "I say, Stodge, Singular thing—your Landlady addressed me 'My Lord' when I asked if you were within!"
Artist. "Not at all, my dear Fellow. It's your Hat and Personal Appearance! If you don't mind, we'll encourage the Idea. It will give her Confidence in me, and——Eh?"
Plushington will be delighted.

From One Point of View.

Scene—British Jury Room. All agreed on their Verdict except——
Irish Juryman (who holds out). "Ah, thin, Iliv'n more obstinit' Men I nivir met in all me loife!!"

Our Art-School Conversazione

AT WHICH (IN CONSEQUENCE OF THE INCREASED SPACE ANTICIPATED AT THE R. A. EXHIBITION) THERE IS A GREATER CROWD THAN USUAL.
Model (who has charge of the Hats and Coats). "No. 97? Yessir. There now! If I didn't see that 'at—ah—not a Quarter of an Hour Ago!!"
Not a very satisfactory look-out for Bouncefield, who has barely time to catch his last train!

Between Two Shoeblacks We Fall to, &c.

First Shoeblack. "I cotched 'old on 'im Fust!"
Second Ditto. "You're a——!"
Old Gentleman is flung heavily.

Im-pertinent.

Stout Gent. (naturally suspicious of the Street Boy). "Ge' out o' my Way, you Young Rascal!"
Street Boy. "Vich vay Round, Gov'nour?"

Register! Register!!

Aunt Sophy. "Now suppose, George, as a Single Woman I should have my Name put on the Register, what should I get by it?"
Pet Nephew. "Oh, a good deal. You'd be allowed to Serve on Coroner Juries, Common Juries, Annoyance Juries, pay Powder Tax and Armorial Bearings, act as Parish Beadle and Night Constable of the Casual Ward, and Inspector of nuisances, report on Fever Districts, and all Jolly Things of that sort."

"Not Proven."

Presbyterian Minister. "Don't you know it's Wicked to catch Fish on the Sawbath!?"
Small Boy (not having had a rise all the Morning). "Wha's catchin' Fesh?!"

An Evening's Fishing (Behind the Distillery at Sligo).

First Factory Lad. "Dom'nick, did you get e'er a Bite at all?"
Second Ditto. "Sorra wan, Pat. Only wan small wan!"
First Ditto. "Yerrad! Lave it there, an' come Home. Shure you'll get more than that in Bed!"

"The Harp in the Air."

Irish Gentleman (who has vainly endeavoured to execute a Jig to the fitful Music of the Telegraph Wires). "Shure! whoiver y'are ye can't Play a bit! How can a Jintleman Dance—(hic!)—iv ye don't kape Thime?"!!

Irish Ideal of Themis.

Biddy (to Pat in charge about a difficulty). "Never fear, Pat! Shure y'ave got an upright Jidge to Thry ye!"
Pat. "Ah, Biddy Darlin', the Divel an Upright Jidge I want! 'Tis wone that'll lane a little!!"

"Canny."

First North Briton. "'T's a Fine Day, this?"
Second Ditto. "No ill, ava."
First North Briton. "Ye'll be Travellin'?"
Second Ditto. "Weel, maybe I'm no."
First North Briton. "Gaun t'Aberdeen, maybe?"
Second Ditto. "Ye're no faur aff't!!"
Mutually satisfied, each goes his respective way.

Irish Architecture.

Angler (in Ireland). "Hullo, Pat, what are you about now?"
Pat. "Shure, I'm Raisin' me Roof a bit, yer Honour-r!!"

Thrift.

Peebles Body (to Townsman who was supposed to be in London on a visit). "E—eh, Mac! ye're sune Hame again!"
Mac. "E—eh, it's just a ruinous Place, that! Mun, a had na' been the-erre abune Twa Hoours when—Bang—went Saxpence!!!"

Scruples.

English Tourist (having arrived at Greenock on Sunday morning). "My Man, what's your Charge for Rowing me across the Frith?"
Boatman. "Weel, Sir, I was jist Thinkin' I canna Break the Sawbath-Day for no less than F'fteen Shull'n's!!"

A Bad Season.

Sportsman. "I can assure you, what with the Rent of the Moor, and my Expenses, and 'what not,' the Birds have cost me—ah—a Sovereign apiece!!"
Keeper. "A' weel, Sir! 'Deed it's a Maircy ye didna Kill na mair o' 'em!!"

"Familiarity breeds Contempt."

Keeper (who wants to drive the Pheasants to the Squire's corner). "Hooo-o-o-sh! HERE, Bill, come here! They 'on't get up for me! They know me too well!"

Intelligent!

Artist (who thinks he has found a good Model for his Touchstone.) "Have you any Sense of Humour, Mr. Bingles?"
Model. "Thank y' Sir, No, Sir, Thank y'. I enj'ys pretty good 'Ealth, Sir, Thank y' Sir!"

The "Nimble Ninepence."

City Gent (after a critical Inspection). "What do you want for that Moonlight?"
Picture-Dealer. "I'll Shell yer the Two a Bargain, Shir! Cheap ash Dirt, Shir! Sheventy-Five Guineash apeicshe, Shir! I'll Warrant 'em undoubted Smethers's. Sheventy-five——"
City Gent. "O, come, I don't mind Giving you—thirty Shillings for the Pair."
Picture-Dealer (closing with alacrity). "Done! With you, Shir!!"
City Gent is in for 'em!

Menace.

Little Angler (to her refractory Bait). "Keep Still, you tiresome little Thing! If you don't leave off Skriggling, I'll Throw you away, and take another!"

"A Thing of Beauty."

Visitor. "Well, George, and what do you Mean to be, when you have Grown Up?"
George (promptly). "An Artist!"
Visitor. "Well, then, you shall Paint my Portrait."
George. "Ah! but I mean to Paint Pretty Things!!"

Mixed Pickles.

Domestic (in terrified accents). "O, Mum, here's Master Plantag'n't, 'M, has been and Broke his Gran'pa's Ink-Bottle in the Lib'ary, and Cut his Finger dreadful, 'M!!"
Grandmamma's Darling (gleefully alluding to his Nasal Organ). "And got a Marble up by Doze, Gra'dba'!!"

The Trials of a District Visitor.

The Honourable Miss Fuzbuz (loq.). "Is Mrs. Higgins Within?"
Mrs. Tomkins. "I'll Call 'er, M'um." (At the top of her Voice.) "Mrs. 'Ig——gins! Ere's the Person with the Trac's!" (To the Honourable Miss.) "The lady will be down presently, M'um!!"

Legitimate Criticism.

Aged Village Matron (to Sympathising Visitor). "It's a 'Cookery Book,' as Mrs. Penewise, our 'District Lady,' give me this Christmas, Miss. I'd a deal sooner a' had the Ingriddiments, Miss!!"

"The Servants."

Old Lady. "They're all Alike, my Dear. There's our Susan (it's true she's a Dissenter), but I've allowed her to go to Chapel Three Times every Sunday since she has Lived with me, and I assure you she doesn't Cook a bit Better than she did the First Day!!"

Pleasant for Simpkins!

Photographer (to Mr. Simpkins). "Keep your Head steady, please, Sir, and Look in the Direction of those young Ladies. Steady now, Sir! Don't Wink, Sir!"
Mrs. S. (by a look that Mr. S. quite understood). "Just let me See him Wink!!"

A Misnomer.

Country Valetudinarian. "Ah yes, Mu'm, I've had the 'Lumbager turr'ble bad, Mu'm! 'Ketches me in the Small o' the Back 'ere, Mu'm!!"

"Winkles!"

Philanthropic Coster' (who has been crying "Perry-wink—wink—wink!" till he's hoarse—and no buyers). "I wonder what the p'or unfort'nate Creeters in these 'ere Low Neighb'r'oods do Live on!!"