Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 January 1885 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

Campaign nptes—greenbacks. A good four-in-hand—four aces. Too thim —the average ballet girl. Lost arts—the missing picnic pies. When a man labors ten . hours a day for eight hours’ pay, he labors under a mistake.— Carl Pretzel’s Weekly, A cobbespondent wants to know why some women are called amazons. Perhaps it is because they are uncommonly wide at the mouth. “Why am I like a lemon?” she asked, and then she expected him to say: “Because you are being squeezed.” But he didn’t. He said “Because you are sour.” It is wrong to strike a friend. Even if you strike him for two dollars. He is certain to think that the strike is two dolorous for him to fully appreciate. Carl PretzeVs Weekly. When Fogg came into the room unexpectedly Mrs. F. gave a scream and exclaimed: “You frightened me half to death!” “Did I?” was the unfeeling reply. “Suppose I try it over again.” At a West Point hop the band crashed out a few final bars and suddenstopped, when the voice of a lovely little lady in pink was heard yawning at the top of her lungs: “Don’t my new bustle hang like a daisy!” A negro died recently in Richmond, Va., aged 109, who never had been George Washington’s body servant, and did not remember ever having seen him. The grandson of the prodigy has received flattering offers to lecture. A witness in court, questioned by a lawyer as to the general reputation of another witness, was asked whether the individual was not a notorious liar. “Why,” said he, “not exactly that; he is what I call an intermittent liar.” That was very p-q-liar.

ONE THING. She had such pretty, bright blue eyeo r And waving hair or golden sheen; A saucy nose and cherry lips, And stately manners of a queen. But oh, these was one little fault. One blemish all these charms among; This lovely rosebud had one thoin. She had —alas! she had a tongue. It is said that the Queen of Spain does not care much for her husband, who is in very poor health. One day Alfonso asked her what he should get for her on her birthday, and she said she wanted a nice shawl. “What color would you prefer?” “Black and white, dear. You know your health is so precarious.”—Texas Siftings. At a fancy dress party a young lady was dressed in a marvelous dress of gTeen and red, in which imaginative eyes were supposed to discover some more or less resemblance to lettuce and lobster. “What do you represent, Miss M. ?” a gentleman inquired, as they took their places in a set. “Don’t you see?” she returned laughing; “I’m a salad.” “O I” was her partner’s retort, while he flashed a quick eye over the very liberal exposure of her person; “but haven’t you forgotten to put on the dressing ?”— Boston Courier.

A poet’s thought. I saw them last night leaning over the gate— Two thistle-down bangs side by side— You might know by the little round cap on his pate That he would a bicycle ride. And you might have known, too, by the gum in her cheek, And her tiyaway hat, and the red Little head underneath, that her mind she could speak In case there w s aught to be said Well, there still she stood, with her mouth full* of gum, And a yummy-yum look in her eyes. With a tongue that went on with a planingmill’s hum Or a phonograph in for a prize; But I thought, as 1 heard them exchanging their vows. And indulging in love’s happy dream, I would sooner hire out to keep of the cows Then provide that same girl with ice-cream. “Yes, Biddy- Muldoon, Moike is roisin’ in circumsthances. Lasht Thursday Moike kem home wid a tin hat and glimmer pants an’ wint out to shoot of Roman pinwheels fer Jimmy Blaine, an’ the nixt he was a howlin fer Cleveland, an’ thin he goes out and whoops her up fer Butthlar, an’ nixt night he wallops Nick Cleary fer not gettin’ dhrunk wid him fer the glory of St. John. Bechune the four av thim Moike is doin’ glorious, an’ whin the poles are runnin’ Moike will cast four votes in sivin warruds, be the token, at $7 each. The counthry is in danger, Biddy, but for downright, arnest soulsarchin’ warrud worruk, give me moi Moike an’ four candidates.