Editor’s Scrap Book
Editor’s Scrap Book
THEboy who was “kept in” after school hours for bad orthography, and thus prevented from taking his place in the afternoon baseball match, explained to his captain that he was spell-bound.
EXCITEDFARMER(to man with fishing tools): Look here, you can’t catch fish in this stream!
PISCATORIOUS: That’s all right. I won’t catch anything. I belong to the Washington Baseball Club.—Puck.
WOMAN(to tramp): If I give you a nice dinner will you help me put up some patent self-rolling window curtains?
TRAMP: No, ma’am. I’ll saw wood, carry in coal, or dig post holes, but I wouldn’t help a woman on window curtains if she gave me a Delmonico spread.—New York Sun.
Oceangives up the following as fun when it states that a vessel resembles a prisoner when she is put in the dock, a witness when she is bound to a-pier, and a judge when she makes a trial trip. This little joke from theOceancomes to us with the antique flavor of a chestnut.
LARRY: Your governor said last night, Jack, that he was not at all satisfied with the result of your last year at college.
“Well, by George! I got on the eleven, and pitched for the nine, and won first in the singles. What on earth does he want?” Such isLife.
“YOUshould be a baseball player,” said the beetle to the spider.
“Why so?” inquired the latter.
“You’re so good at catching flies.”
“True, but I’d fall a victim to the fowls.”
And he went behind the bat.—Exchange.
HARVARDLampooninforms its readers that “one of the girls, who pays part of her tuition by chasing the hens out of the Annex Garden, is thinking of entering the sprint races of Mott Haven next year, because she is such an adept in the ‘running shoes.’”
THEshades of night were falling fast,As from the tennis grounds there passedA youth who bore his head with pride,Because, there, walking by his side,Was Imogene.His step was light, his eye was bright,His heart was thumping at the sightThat lit his soul with love’s bright beams,And fired his brain with glorious dreamsOf Imogene.In cottage homes they saw the lightOf household fires gleam warm and bright;But while the silvery moonlight shone,He much preferred it out aloneWith Imogene.“Beware the pass,” the old man said,“’Tis dark within the woods ahead.”He answered boldly, “Never fear,For dark is light when she is near—My Imogene!”“Oh, stay,” the maiden said; “inside,The parlor door is open wide.”He spoke no word; his eyes aglowWere to his comrade whispering low,“Dear Imogene.”He sat him down beside his love,And spooned until papa aboveGrew weary, and a step o’erheadGave rise to sudden, anxious dreadIn Imogene.“Beware the baseball bat of pine—Beware my papa’s number nine!”This was the maiden’s last good-night;He answered as he shot from sight,“Dear Imogene!”—Life.
THEshades of night were falling fast,As from the tennis grounds there passedA youth who bore his head with pride,Because, there, walking by his side,Was Imogene.His step was light, his eye was bright,His heart was thumping at the sightThat lit his soul with love’s bright beams,And fired his brain with glorious dreamsOf Imogene.In cottage homes they saw the lightOf household fires gleam warm and bright;But while the silvery moonlight shone,He much preferred it out aloneWith Imogene.“Beware the pass,” the old man said,“’Tis dark within the woods ahead.”He answered boldly, “Never fear,For dark is light when she is near—My Imogene!”“Oh, stay,” the maiden said; “inside,The parlor door is open wide.”He spoke no word; his eyes aglowWere to his comrade whispering low,“Dear Imogene.”He sat him down beside his love,And spooned until papa aboveGrew weary, and a step o’erheadGave rise to sudden, anxious dreadIn Imogene.“Beware the baseball bat of pine—Beware my papa’s number nine!”This was the maiden’s last good-night;He answered as he shot from sight,“Dear Imogene!”—Life.
THEshades of night were falling fast,As from the tennis grounds there passedA youth who bore his head with pride,Because, there, walking by his side,Was Imogene.
THEshades of night were falling fast,
As from the tennis grounds there passed
A youth who bore his head with pride,
Because, there, walking by his side,
Was Imogene.
His step was light, his eye was bright,His heart was thumping at the sightThat lit his soul with love’s bright beams,And fired his brain with glorious dreamsOf Imogene.
His step was light, his eye was bright,
His heart was thumping at the sight
That lit his soul with love’s bright beams,
And fired his brain with glorious dreams
Of Imogene.
In cottage homes they saw the lightOf household fires gleam warm and bright;But while the silvery moonlight shone,He much preferred it out aloneWith Imogene.
In cottage homes they saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
But while the silvery moonlight shone,
He much preferred it out alone
With Imogene.
“Beware the pass,” the old man said,“’Tis dark within the woods ahead.”He answered boldly, “Never fear,For dark is light when she is near—My Imogene!”
“Beware the pass,” the old man said,
“’Tis dark within the woods ahead.”
He answered boldly, “Never fear,
For dark is light when she is near—
My Imogene!”
“Oh, stay,” the maiden said; “inside,The parlor door is open wide.”He spoke no word; his eyes aglowWere to his comrade whispering low,“Dear Imogene.”
“Oh, stay,” the maiden said; “inside,
The parlor door is open wide.”
He spoke no word; his eyes aglow
Were to his comrade whispering low,
“Dear Imogene.”
He sat him down beside his love,And spooned until papa aboveGrew weary, and a step o’erheadGave rise to sudden, anxious dreadIn Imogene.
He sat him down beside his love,
And spooned until papa above
Grew weary, and a step o’erhead
Gave rise to sudden, anxious dread
In Imogene.
“Beware the baseball bat of pine—Beware my papa’s number nine!”This was the maiden’s last good-night;He answered as he shot from sight,“Dear Imogene!”
“Beware the baseball bat of pine—
Beware my papa’s number nine!”
This was the maiden’s last good-night;
He answered as he shot from sight,
“Dear Imogene!”
—Life.
—Life.