Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 March 1883 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

Who is the most finished orator? asks a correspondent. Well, Demoathens has been finished about as long as any of them. Cossagnao, the French editor, has fought one hundred and ten duels. He has, therefore, run about as much risk as a man who has played three games of base-ball. A Chattanooga darkey, who was one of a jury which failed to oonvict for want of evidence, explained to his brethren that the culprit was on s’picion.” The moralist says: "Every man is* occasionally what he ought to be perpetually. Then, again, some men are .perpetually what they ought to be only occasionally." “In choosing a wife,” says an exchange, “be governed by her chin.” The worst of it is that after choosing a wife one is apt to keep on being governed in the same way. Two little girls were comparing progress in catechism study: “I have got to original sin," said one. “How far have you got?” “Oh, I'm beyond redemption,” said the other. A Chinaman never swears when he gets mad, because there are no “cuss words” in his dictionary. He simply upsets his washtub, butts the bottom out, kicks a dog, and feels better. “No, sir,” said the man, “you needn’t tell me a woman ever had her dress pocket picked. I know I’ve tried for two hours to find the pocket of one of my wife’s dresses and had to give it up.” “Can any of you children tell me why Adam fell?” asked an Austin Sundayschool teacher. Only one raised his hand. “Well, now, Johnny, what was the cause of Adam’s fall?” “A banana peel,” guessed Johnny.— Texas Siftings. A poem at this office beginning, “The evening dew is falling fast,” is subject to the order of the author. We are aware that the “evening dew is falling fast”—there are about ninety-five days due on a note we have in bank.—Middletown Transcript. Swinebubne sings: “ I hid my head in a nest of roses.” Did you, Algernon, did you ? That was wise in you to hide it among the roses. Now, if you had covered it up in a nest of cabbages, when you come to pick it out again you could not have told for the life of you which head was yours. Stick to the roses, old boy, every time. A. hollow mockery. Spillkins brought home some some Swiss cheese, from an Austin grocer, which is full of holes. He partook of it very liberally, but when he complained, a few days afterwards, of a feeling of emptiness, little Johnny, who is one of the smartest boys in Austin, spoke up and said: “I know what makes you feel empty, pa. Its them big holes in the cheese you ate the other day.”

A young society man, Busset Gilham by name, is under the mistaken impression that he is an actor, and he has been recitiitg Shakespeare to a few chosen friends, with a view to perfecting himself for the stage. Wishing to obtain the candid opinion of a perfectly unprejudiced person, he recited, with wonderful facial contortions, that speech in which Macduff is advised to keep on laying, to Gilhooly. After he had got through raving, he asked Gilhoolly if he did not think he was almost ready for the stage. Gilhooly thought over the matter, and finally said: “Yes, I think you might drive a stage, but you will never do for a barber, you cut too many faces.”— Texas Siftings. To woman there is a lurid fascination in shopping that no man’s imagination can comprehend. Take the concentrated essence of- enjoyment a man gets out of smoking, chewing, base-ball, pool, poker and churdh socials, and you don’t begin to size up the unction of a healthy young wife turned loose on State street with a fifty-dollar note in her pocket. She’s in for a regular bender—a wild dissipation of ruffles, lace and things—-and she flutters around from counter to counter in a thrilling ecstacy of pricing cottons and matching colors. The blissful dream is over some time. Then, with a sigh, she releases her last nickel which she has tied up in the corner of her pocket handkerchief to pay for her car fare, and she hurries home, her head aching fit to split, her swollen feet bursting the narrow bounds of her number, four Balbrigans, and her heart cold with a racking fear that Jones’ young man will change those checked hose for some of inferior quality, or that the sweet thing in fall prints won’t wash after all.— Check.