WILLIAM COX BENNETT Blow, wind, blow, Sing through yard and shroud; Pipe it shrilly and loud, Aloft as well as below; Sing in my sailor's ear The song I sing to you, Come home, my sailor true, F... Read more of A Christmas Song at Christmas Story.caInformational Site Network Informational
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A tourist was chatting with the proprietor of the village inn.

"This place boasts of a choral society, doesn't it?" he asked.

The innkeeper looked pained.

"We don't boast about it," he replied, in low, sad tones. "We endure it
with all the calm resignation we can!"

* * *

The swain and his swainess had just encountered a bulldog that looked as
if his bite might be quite as bad as his bark. "Why, Percy," she
exclaimed as he started a strategic retreat, "you always swore you would
face death for me." "I would," he flung back over his shoulder, "but
that darn dog ain't dead."

* * *

_Wife_ (_enthusiastically_): I saw the most gorgeous chiffonier to-day,
dear. But, of course, I know we can not afford----

_Hubby_ (_resignedly_): When have they promised to deliver it?

* * *





Next: Realised

Previous: A Good Actor



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