Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 August 1882 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

HotrsßHOiiD hints—Pokers and broomsticks. Thb modest man gets left, whether the day be odd or hot. A raw recruit has to be often exposed to a hot fire before he becomes a seasoned soldier. As bktwkkn the cheese press and the printing press the former is the strongest, but the latter is the most rapid. A foot- in high station is like a man in a balloon—everybody appears little to him and he appears little to eyerybody. Thb shoe worn by ahorse is a wrought iron shoe, but when the horse loses the shoe from its foot it becomes a oast iron shoe.

“ Hkr foot la a poem,” tbe lovar aaid; “ A melodious rhythm la her tread.” “ Yoe,” wild hie friend (a eort of beat), “ Spondaic tho lneeettre, two long feet.” — JjoninviU e Courier-Journal. An office-holder soon tires of publio life when ho suspeots that his constitu- * ents have privately resolved not to reelect him. Many a self-made man would have done better by himself had he contract out to somebody else.— Boston lransoript, A company of settlers, in naming their new town, called it Dictionary, because, as they said, “ that’s the only place where peaoe, prosperity and happiness are always found,” Matbria medica : American physician (to English ditto) —“Now, in Vienna they’re first-rate at diagnosis ; but then, you see, they always make a point of confirming it by a post-mortem.” St. Louis has two pretty female homeopathio physioians. Their first patient was a man who said he had the neuralgia from too muoli kissing, and wanted to be treated on homeopathio principles. As to “what is rarer than a day in June?” the Boston Advertiser replies, “ taking their number into consideration, a day in February." Aud so it is iu other respects, for some of them are positively raw. “ I think,” said a fond parent, “ that little Jimmy is going to be a poet whon he grows up. He doesn’t eat, and Bits all day by the stove, and thinks, aud thinks.” “ You had bettor grease him all over. Ho is going to have the measles. That’s what ails Jimmy.” “ Look here, August, why is it that you bo often come to see mo, and never think of asking me to como to see you ?” August: “Oh, that’s easily explained. You see, if I call on you, and you bore me, I can end the matter by leaving you. But if you were in my house, it wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of you.”

Yon should see our Marshal on Ills.horse I,ike Napoleon Bonaparte ; And «a ho rides along tho Unoa He makes the ladies start. With nn old straw hat On each man’s head. And a lump of dough Just newly made. With the left foot Ural We’ll lightly tread At tho corner-stone parade. — lieu! York Commercial Advertiser. A pastor in this city saw a clericallooking man in his audience, and after the services went up to him, grasped his iiand cordially and said : “ How do you do, brother ; are vou a pastor ?” The young man looked a trifle astonishod, and hesitatingly replied: “Why, no, sir; not hardly ; I’m a bookkeeper in a grocery store.”—<S 'primjfield Republican. Thb Colonel, who lives in the South, was finding fault with Bill, one of his hands, for neglect of work, and saying he would have no more preaching about his place—they had too many protracted meetings to attend. “ Bill ain’t no preacher,” says Sam. “He’s only‘a ’zorter.” “Well, what’s the difference between a preacher and an exhorter ?” “ Why, you know, a preacher he takes a tex’, and den ho done got to stick to it. But a ’zorter—he kin branch.” At a German church a now organist had been engaged, who was fond of adding some improvisations to every piece ho played. On the first Sunday, when he had finished tho “ Gloria,” ho wished to add a few bars of his own, but tho blower suddenly ceased to work. “Go on," the organist cried, angrily; “don’t you see I am still playing ?” “ Playing, indeed,” said the blower, “I have been in this business for the last thirty years, and I know just exactly how much wiud is required for a Gloria. I don’t see why you should have any more than your predecessor.” “What will your wife wear at tho ball, Governor ?’ r said the millinery man of a “society” paper to one of our exGovernors at a fashionable wateringplace. “My wife is not going to tho ball, sir.” “Impossible, Governor. I have telegraphed her name to my paper as among the guests. Now (appealingly) what would your wife wear if she was going ?” “ Sir,” replied the ex-Gov-ernor in his austerest manner as he turned on his heel, “since you have sent my wife to the ball, dress her yourself.” And sure enough there was an elaborate «toilet” described next morning.