Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 November 1878 — WIT AND HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

WIT AND HUMOR.

Patter on the roof? No, no, pat her under the chin. Why is a door like a colored woman? Because it is an egress. The fruit of electing dishonest men to Congress—Bri-berries. Most of the wrinkles on merchants’ foreheads are trade marks. A mosquito is like a ship’s hawser; its best hold is in its bight. We read in an exchange of a drunken laborer who cruelly beat his aged father. Such a laborer is not worthy of his sire. Short sleeves are in order, but you cannot make the girl with a mole on her arm admit that she thinks the style is a good one. The coast of Florida has a Mosquito inlet, but the interior of Florida has a mosquito bar for every bedstead. And the villains still pursue them. Would you refer to the religion of a printer’s “devil ”as imp piety? (This is not a conundrum, and a book will not be given for the first answer.) She was a stubborn woman, and when she died her husband planted a willow over her grave, so that even in death she might have a willow 'f her own. In these days the fly is less agile, 1 >ut more persistent. AVe do not consider the change an improvement—from the bald headed point of view.— New Haven Register. AVebb Hayes’ Fremont girl lives two miles out of town, and many a Sunday night lias AVebb-footed it out there tol see liis little duck.— Cincinnati Saturday Night. The grand and awful difference between a tree and a bore is—hurrah, now! —the tree leaves in spring, and the bore, why, he never leaves. — Syracuse Sunday Times. The man who can hum a hymn while joining stove-pipe is good enough to walk right into full membership of any church, without probation.—-Cincin-nati Breakfast Table. This is the season of tlie year when the night air is very dangerous, but the girls face death at front gates with the same heroism which has always been one of the eliiefest adornments of the sex. Mont Blanc has a cold in its head, but Etna fires up if you ever hint that there is an eruption at its mouth. This is a mountainous statement, but it comes from the steep and rugged path of truth. The English language cannot be considered perfect until “ boil ” is spelled in such a manner that the man who has one won’t lie astonished and staggered when he sees it in print . Burlington Hawk-Eye. There are' some scenes almost too pure and sacred to be viewed by the thoughtless world. One of them is a 200-pound woman with a mole on her chin “ talking baby ” to a 11-ounce canary bird in a brass cage.— Rockland Courier. A Dutchman was seated in a shoe store trying his best to get his unfairylike feet into a number nine slipper. Said he to tlie clerk : “ Say, Mr. Clerk, dis varm vedder ish shrinking up der slippers like der tnyfel. Dond it.?” Elmira Gazette. A magazine contains a sonnet “On Returning Consciousness.” There is no foot-note, and the reader is left in the dark as to whether the poet was stepped on by a pile driver, or kicked over the fence by the family mule.— Oil City Derrick. An eccentric individual hangs out a gorgeous signboard, informing pedestrians that he treats the feet—as if feet cared to be treated. Now if lie were to offer to treat liard-up men who like to get “corned,” he would be something like a philanthropist.