Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 January 1884 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

A. tailor's goose—The dude. - A frame of mind—The skull. “What does Tux’ mean?” asked Brown. “ ‘Lux’ means light,” replied Smith. “That’s what I thought, said Brown. “But I wasn’t certain. I know my luck’s light, however.” A difference: A friend of mine, when told of the death of a well-known stock dealer, replied: “Why, he’s worse off than I am. I’m dead broke; but he’s a dead broker.” “What are you laughing at, my dear ?” asked Mrs. Jones of her husband, who was chuckling over his morning paper. “Something I saw here,” he replied, “but it’s hardly funny enough for two.” One of the greatest unexplained physiological mysteries is why a plow handle blisters a boy’s hand in such a short time, while a base-ball olub never does. Another is why a boy will walk seventeen miles in the hot sun hunting a few doves, without becoming exhausted in the least, and yet that same boy will groan like a horse with the colic if he is asked to fetch a glass of water from an adjoining room.—Texas Siftings. A Beaufort bachelor so greatly admired the way in which his housekeeper prepared coffee that he proposed and was accepted, only to Und that the coffee was made by the hired girl.— Texas Siftings. There is very little difference between an inmate of a penitentiary and the average husband. The latter is always found out, and the former would like to be. — Carl Pretzel’s Weekly. Did you ever see a woman throw a brick at a chicken ? It is just lots of fun—for the chicken. The woman usually hits herself on the foot, and gets so mad she hardly talk straight, while the chicken holds its head to one side, clucks softly, and looks as though it wondered what under the sun the fuss all meant any how. — Toothpick. Wife —“ What are you doing, dear?” Husband, in a reflective attitude — “Thinking.” Wise —“Are you thinking of your little wife, love?” Husband — “No, I was thinking of something.”— Merchant Traveler. Little Aggie’s sister had invited her best young man to tea. There was a lull in the conversation, which was broken by the inquisitive Aggie; “Papa, is dose fedders ober Mr. Wobinson’s mouf ?” “Have you made your peace with the world ?” asked a minister of a dying man. “There’s only one thing, sir, I’d like to do and I could die happy,” was the faint reply. “What is it, my friend)? Speak quick, for you have but a few moments left on earth." “Well, Pd like to kick the stuffin’ out of Zeke Brown for heatin’ me in the last hoss trade. I—I—” But the spirit went out into the blank unknown, leaving the work of the flesh undone. — Merchant Traveler. “Why don’t you feed that dog?”, was asked of an old negro. ” “W uy doan’" I feed him ?” “Yes, why don’t you feed him?” “Why doan’ I feed myse’f ? I’se as hungry as de dog is, an’, ’sides dat, he’s got de ’vantage ob me. He ken go out an’ pick up a piece ob meat an’ go ’bout his business, an’ de white folks doan’ say nutliin’, but es I picks up suthin’ ter eat da wants ter slap me in jail, sah. A nigger ain’t got de chance ob a dog, nohow.”— Arkansaw Traveler. Jones’ wife was not a very bright woman, but she sometimes said th ngs which were worthy of a wit. One day, after doing or saying something silly, her husband snapped out: “Well, you are a little the worst I ever saw.” “Why, what’s the matter now? Have I done anything wrong?” “I should say so. You don’t know the difference between a horse and a donkey, I don’t believe.” “I didn’t say you were a horse, did I?” she replied, meekly, and Jones said no more.— Merchant Traveler.