Toaster's Handbook Part 97

"I ne'er forget a joke I have Once heard!" Augustus cried.

"And neither do you let your friends Forget it!" Jane replied.

--_Childe Harold_.

A negro bricklayer in Macon, Georgia, was lying down during the noon hour, sleeping in the hot sun. The clock struck one, the time to pick up his hod again. He rose, stretched, and grumbled: "I wish I wuz daid.

'Tain' nothin' but wuk, wuk from mawnin' tell night."

Another negro, a story above, heard the complaint and dropped a brick on the grumbler's head.

Dazed he looked up and said:

"De Lawd can' stan' no jokes. He jes' takes ev'ything in yearnist."

The late H.C. Bunner, when editor of _Puck_, once received a letter accompanying a number of would-be jokes in which the writer asked: "What will you give me for these?"

"Ten yards start," was Bunner's generous offer, written beneath the query.

NEW CONGRESSMAN--"What can I do for you, sir?"

SALESMAN (of Statesmen's Anecdote Manufacturing Company)--"I shall be delighted if you'll place an order for a dozen of real, live, snappy, humorous anecdotes as told by yourself, sir."

Jokes were first imported to this country several hundred years ago from Egypt, Babylon and a.s.syria, and have since then grown and multiplied.

They are in extensive use in all parts of the country and as an antidote for thought are indispensable at all dinner parties.

There were originally twenty-five jokes, but when this country was formed they added a const.i.tution, which increased the number to twenty-six. These jokes have married and inter-married among themselves and their children travel from press to press.

Frequently in one week a joke will travel from New York to San Francisco.

The joke is no respecter of persons. Shameless and unconcerned, he tells the story of his life over and over again. Outside of the ballot-box he is the greatest repeater that we have.

Jokes are of three kinds--plain, ill.u.s.trated and pointless. Frequently they are all three.

No joke is without honor, except in its own country. Jokes form one of our staples and employ an army of workers who toil night and day to turn out the often neatly finished product. The importation of jokes while considerable is not as great as it might be, as the flavor is lost in transit.

Jokes are used in the household as an antiseptic. As scenebreakers they have no equal.--_Life_.

Here's to the joke, the good old joke, The joke that our fathers told; It is ready tonight and is jolly and bright As it was in the days of old.

When Adam was young it was on his tongue, And Noah got in the swim By telling the jest as the brightest and best That ever happened to him.

So here's to the joke, the good old joke-- We'll hear it again tonight.

It's health we will quaff; that will help us to laugh, And to treat it in manner polite.

--_Lew Dockstader_.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.

--_Shakespeare_.

JOURNALISM

A Louisville journalist was excessively proud of his little boy. Turning to the old black nurse, "Aunty," said he, stroking the little pate, "this boy seems to have a journalistic head." "Oh," cried the untutored old aunty, soothingly, "never you mind 'bout dat; dat'll come right in time."

John R. McLean, owner of the Cincinnati _Enquirer_ and the Was.h.i.+ngton _Post_, tells this story of the days when he was actively in charge of the Cincinnati newspaper: An _Enquirer_ reporter was sent to a town in southwestern Ohio to get the story of a woman evangelist who had been greatly talked about. The reporter attended one of her meetings and occupied a front seat. When those who wished to be saved were asked to arise, he kept his seat and used his notebook. The evangelist approached, and, taking him by the hand, said, "Come to Jesus."

"Madam," said the newspaper man, "I'm here solely on business--to report your work."

"Brother," said she, "there is no business so important as G.o.d's."

"Well, may be not," said the reporter; "but you don't know John R.

McLean."

A newspaper man named Fling Could make "copy" from any old thing.

But the copy he wrote Of a five dollar note Was so good he is now in Sing Sing.

--_Columbia Jester_.

"Come in," called the magazine editor.

"Sir, I have called to see about that article of mine that you bought two years ago. My name is Pensnink--Percival Perrhyn Pensnink. My composition was called 'The Behavior of Chipmunks in Thunderstorms,' and I should like to know how much longer I must watch and wait before I shall see it in print."

"I remember," the editor replied. "We are saving your little essay to use at the time of your death. When public attention is drawn to an author we like to have something of his on hand."

Hear, land o' cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's; If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it: A chiel's amang you taking notes, And, faith, he'll prent it.

--_Burns_.

_See also_ Newspapers.

JUDGES