A MINISTER was one Sabbath examining a Sunday school in catechism before the congregation. The usual question was put to the first girl, a strapper, who usually assisted her father, who was a publican, in waiting upon customers.
"What is your name?"
No reply.
"What is your name?" he repeated,
"None of your fun, Mr. Minister," said the girl; "you know my name well enough. Don't you say when you come to our house on a night, 'Bet, bring me some more ale?'"
The congregation, forgetting the sacredness of the place, were in a broad grin, and the parson looked daggers.
NATURAL HISTORY.
"PAPA, can't I go to the zoologerical rooms to see the camomile fight the rhy-no-sir-ee-hoss?" "Sartin, my son, but don't get your trowsers torn. Strange, my dear, what a taste that boy has for nat'ral history.
No longer ago than yesterday he had a pair of Thomas-cats hanging by their tails to the clothes line."