Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 May 1884 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

Dudes are injured by education. Does false pride go before false hair ? A man may not be ate, but he can be drunk. — Carl Pretzel’s Weekly. It is said that the Prince of Wales would like to be an editor. What kind of a man is he, any way ? Isn’t he in debt enough already ?— Texas Siftings. It is claimed that Ireland has not had enongh to eat in seven hundred years. The Irish people must certainly be country newspaper editors.— Paris Beacon. A fiery, untamed poet, singing of a milkmaid, sayg: The lilacs-blow to left, to right. She sets her milk-pail down— She palls her one, all wet and white. And puts it in her gown. A SECRET. A secret's a thing a woman can't keep; Yon read this on page alter page; But tell me, kind friend, did you ever know this— A woman to give 'way her own age? Yonkers Statesman. Paris papers announce the arrival of a dude in that city. That is, they say a young man, whose head both in shape and color resembles that of a calf, has just arrived there.— Norristown Herald. Teacher —“ Now boys, can yon tell me how Jonah was punished for his disobedience?” Small Boy—“ Just like I was yesterday.” Teacher—“ How was that?” Small Boy—“ Please, ma’am, I was whaled.”— New York Journal. There are 193,000 physicians in this country, and about 1,356,000 persons die every year. This shows that the average doctor only kills about seven persons a year, though some of them kill as many as 279 persons without being overworked. Run for the doctor, and take vonr medicine now!— Newman Independent. As an evidence of the healthfulness of mountain climate the people of Denver point to a man who came there in ’77 without flesh enongh to bait a trap, and now he puts sleeves in an ordinary feather-bed and pulls it on over his head for a shirt. People in poor health who wish to communicate with the writer in relation to the facts above staled, are requested to inclose two unlicked postage stamps to insure a reply. —Bill Nye. •TUST TALL ENOUGH. She too'; my coat—l’m rather tall. An t she is not so very; The steps led upward from the hall; She stood, the lictle fairy, Just balanced on the second stair. My great coat’s burden holding. And then her hands—the kindest pair— The co lar down wore folding. There never was an eye so clear, Nor lips so red in moving, “Just tall enough, now, ain’t I, dear?— See how I’ve grown from loving!" Jnst tall enough! From eye to eye Ran horizontal light. “Just tall enough to —let me try?— Yes, tall enough—Good night!” Two young women were talking a few days since, one of whom was married last fall, and the other was going to be married this summer. “One thing I would do, if I was inyour place, before the engagement went any further,” said the married one, “and that is to find out if your intended keeps a shot gun and likes to go shooting.” “What has that got to do with it?” asked the girl. “Well, don’t marry a man that keeps dogs and guns, that is all, or you will never know where anything is. My husband is real good, but if he wants to clean his shotgun he will go right into my bureau ancl take the first white clothes he finds. He tore off one leg of one of my undervests to clean his gun, and the black powder spoiled it, and only the other day I found one of my silk stockings tied around the neck of his setter dog, because the dog had a sore throat, and I wouldn’t be surprised any day to see my husband strap my bustle or hoop skirt on for a gamo bag and go off shooting. O, it is awful. He breaks liis pups to retrieve with my slippers, and he used .my hat with feathers on, out on the lawn, to learn a pup to come to a point. I don’t want to marry any more hunters.” The poor girl who was going to be married has about concluded that there are too many chances in matrimony.— Peck’s Sun.