“Goodness is the only investment that never fails.”—­Thoreau.

“Time is money,” said Uncle Eben; “but jes’ the same, de man dat finds himself wif a lot o’ time on his hands has made a poor investment.”

“Sir, this is a golden opportunity!  Small investment, no risk, and enormous returns absolutely sure.”

“Then I wouldn’t have the heart to deprive you of it.”—­Life.

THE SUITOR—­“I hope, sir, that you will consider me in the nature of an investment, even if I may not pay regular dividends.”

THE GIRL’S FATHER—­“My dear boy, don’t talk of dividends.  I shall be glad if you don’t levy regular assessments on me.”—­Life.

TOMMY—­“Father, what’s the future of the verb ’invest’?”

FATHER (a Congressman)—­“Investigation.”

IRELAND

We have all heard of the “far flung” British Empire.  The only trouble with it is that Ireland was not flung far enough.

“Did you go to the fight last night?”

“No, I went to hear the lecture on Ireland.”

“Oh—­who won?”

IRISH BULLS

PAT—­“After all, it’s a great pleasure to be missed by someone.”

MIKE—­“Shure it is, Pat; if yez can be there t’ enjy it.”

At Camp Grant there is an Irish sergeant who is quick tempered.  One day when he was trying to drill a squad of raw recruits he suddenly became angry and exclaimed:  “Halt!  Just come over here, all of ye, and look at yourselves!  It’s a fine line ye’re keeping, isn’t it?”

“Pat, what’s that piece of blank paper you have in your hand?” asked one Irishman of another.

“Oh, that’s a letter from my wife.”

“How do you mean a letter from your wife?  Sure, there’s no writing on it.”

“Of course not.  The missus and myself are not on speaking terms.”

O’HOULIHAN—­“Pwhut’s a pessimist, Mike?”

MULDOON—­“He’s a feller pwhat burns his bridges behind him an’ thin crosses thim before he comes to thim.”

“Mrs. Flanagan,” said the Landlord, “I’ve decided to raise your rent.”

“Ah, now,” beamed Mrs. Flanagan.  “It’s the darlint ye certinly are.  I wor wonderin’ how I cud raise it meself, sur.”

BLONDINE—­“Isn’t Bennie Beanbrough the thick one?”

BRUNETTA—­“He is all of that.”

“I said to him ‘every time I open my mouth I put my foot in it—­’”

“Uh huh!”

“And right away the poor fish looked down at my feet.”

An Irishman who is noted for his wit went into a public-house the other day and called for a glass of beer.  The tumbler was not full enough for Pat’s satisfaction, so he quietly asked the publican how many barrels of beer he sold in a week.

“Ten,” replied the publican.

“I think,” replied Pat, “if yer stand me a pint I could put yez on a plan to sell eleven barrels a week.”