“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the chairman of the evening, “in a few minutes I shall introduce the gentleman who is to address you.  It is not my function to deliver a speech at this time, but I shall just use up five or ten minutes so that you may know how good a speech you would have had to listen to were I the speaker and he the chairman.”

“Have you ever taken a tail-spin in an airplane?”

“No, but I’ve been called upon unexpectedly to make a speech, and I guess the sensation is about the same.”

“It must break the theme of your lecture to be interrupted by your audience.”

“The secret of success for a lecturer, my boy,” replied the foreign visitor, “is not to have a theme.”

“That speaker certainly made a hit.”

“What did he talk about?”

“About ten minutes.”

EMPLOYER (coming upon colored porter looking through the dictionary)—­“What are you doing, Sam; looking up some more big words for another speech?”

“No, sah.  ‘Tain’t that.  Ah’s jes’ translatin’ the speech ah made las’ night.”

CHAIRMAN (of public banquet)—­“Gentlemen, before I introduce the next speaker, there will be a short recess, giving you all a chance to go out and stretch your legs.”

GUEST—­“Who is the next speaker?”

CHAIRMAN—­“Before telling you who he is, I would rather wait until you come back.”—­Life.

William Lyon Phelps, professor of English Literature at Yale, declares he gets credit for only 25 per cent of the after-dinner speeches he actually makes.  “Every time I accept an invitation to speak, I really make four addresses.  First, is the speech I prepare in advance.  That is pretty good.  Second, is the speech I really make.  Third, is the speech I make on the way home, which is the best of all; and fourth, is the speech the newspapers next morning say I made, which bears no relation to any of the others.”

“What would be a good way to raise revenue and still benefit the people?”

“Tax every speech made in this country.”

“Many’s de speech I has listened to,” said Uncle Eben, “dat left me wonderin’ whether I was gettin’ infohmation or entertainment.”

A noted Frenchman, on visiting England was asked to speak at a banquet.  Being interested in his subject he spoke at great length.  Suddenly realizing another speaker was to follow him he closed his remarks with an apology, saying “I am very sorry but there is another speaker and I am afraid I have cockroached on his time.”

A burst of laughter greeted this remark and in much confusion he turned to the Englishman next to him and asked what break he had made.

The Englishman, in a reassuring manner, said “It wasn’t exactly a break only here in England we don’t say cockroach, we say ‘h—­encroach.’”

A political meeting was on in a certain Iowa town and Thomas R. Marshall, Vice-President of the United States, was to speak.  The hall was packed and the air was stifling.  For some reason, it was impossible to open the windows, and one had to be broken.