JUDGE—­“You are charged with profanity.”

PRISONER—­“How can that be, your honor, when I was arrested for getting rid of it?”

JUDGE—­“Ten days for swearing.  Thirty days for that joke.”

POST—­“Scribbler says if you can judge of the future by the past, his work will live for thousands of years.”

PARKER—­“Let’s see.  Just what does Scribbler write?”

POST—­“Jokes.”

MRS. LESSNER—­“Do you think it’s true that poor Lydia hasn’t smiled since her marriage?”

MRS. SHORTWELL—­“I think it’s very likely.  You know her husband is a professional humorist.”

The good die young was never said of a joke.

Why are jokes preceded by the so-called title, which is virtually the conclusion, or what Twain termed the “nub”?  The understanding of it implies the reading of the joke first, and yet it is hung at the very beginning in heavy type, demanding immediate attention.  The reader learns rapidly, however, and will not be fooled.  Nine times out of ten he will skip the title, complete the article, and then, from habit, unconsciously glance back for the grin in the title, Where the Point Lies.

It was a portly but very polite person who sat next to Jones in a railway station.  “Pardon me,” said he to Jones, “but what would you say if I sat on your hat?” “Suppose you sit on it and then ask me,” sarcastically suggested Jones.  “I did,” said the portly person, imperturbably.—­Judge.

“It must be gratifying to see your jokes copied everywhere.”

“What gratifies me most,” said the professional humorist, “is that somebody is willing to buy ’em in the first place.”

William George Jordan, the educator and writer, uses a crutch.  One day, after he had negotiated several blocks, he paused to mop his brow.  While mopping with one hand he held his hat in the other and a kindhearted but near-sighted passerby dropped a coin in the hat.  “Hey!” said Jordan, “it’s legs I want—­not alms.”

Old Fashioned Fun

When that old joke was new,
It was not hard to joke,
And puns we now pooh-pooh,
Great laughter would provoke.

True wit was seldom heard,
And humor shown by few,
When reign’d King George the Third,
And that old joke was new.

  It passed indeed for wit,
    Did this achievement rare,
  When down your friend would sit,
    To steal away his chair.

  You brought him to the floor,
    You bruised him black and blue,
  And this would cause a roar,
    When your old joke was new.

  —­W.M.  Thackeray.

JOURNALISM

“I represent The Daily Scoop, At what time did his lordship die?”

“His Lordship is not yet dead.”

“Oh, isn’t he?  Well, then I’ll wait.”

FIRST WAR-CORRESPONDENT—­“Did your dispatch get past the censor?”