Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 37, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 October 1885 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

Murmur not at thy lot when another man’B house stands on it!— Barbers’ Gazette. Donkeys have powerful reaches with their ears and at their rears.—Whitehall Times. When an astronomer sweeps the heavens does it raise star dust?— St. Paul Herald. The many beauteous lays called forth By sunset’s eolaen charms Remind us that, in turn, the lays Cans a hen-sets on the farms. —Merchant Traveler. A subscriber wants to know why so many editors are bow-legged. That’s an easy question. It’s because they are overloaded with brains. —Newman Independent. “Why do we fire cannon and express our joy over Washington’s birthday and not over mine?” asked an Austin school-teacher. “Because Washington is dead and you aint,” was the irreverent reply.— Texas Siftings. It is said that 1,250,000 cat-skins are tanned annnally. Forty years ago nearly that many boys’ skins wen “tanned” annually; but since the rod has been banished from the public schools there has been a falling off in the tanning statistics.— Norris to ion Herald. “I have too much respect for myself to enter a saloon, sir,” loftily replied a Hewes street man when asked to step in and have something. “Oh, all right, there’s a drug store on the next co ner. Come along,” replied his knowing friend.— Brooklyn Times. When a man gets so low down as to write the drafts of his love letter upon his old paper collars, he brings economy down to a point where it would be well for him to calculate if liis intended should not be asked to pay for the license provided he buys the ring. — Fall River Advance. "I do not like these pains,” said Gas, As on a lounge he rested, ‘ They i .uite inspire me to cuss, My thews are so invested.” Hereat his cruel partner, Ben, Remarked, in waggish spasm, “Pains shall enthuse the victim when It is in-thewß-he-’as-’em.” —Yonkers Uaiette. “Here is a clever little article that I am sure will meet with the approbation of your readers,” he said, as lie tiptoed into the editcAial-room. “I am afraid,” replied the editor, as he looked it over, “that it will not meet with the approbation of my readers.” “No? Why not?” “Because it will never'liave a chance.”— New York Times. A steady-working mechanic of Stockton, Cal., was seized with the humble ambition of becoming a policeman. He got the place, took to drink, and died in a few days as the result of dissipation. The difference between a Calitornia and a New York policeman seems to be that the one gets drunk and dies and the other gets drunk and some one else dies. Philadelphia Times. Upon one occasion when Artemus Ward was in London a children’s party was arranged by the great humorist, and to which one of the sons of John Bright was invited.. The boy returned home aglow with delight “Well,” said the English statesman to his son, “did you enjoy yourself, my boy?” “Ob, indeed I did,” exclaimed the little Bright, “and Mr. Ward gave me such a nice name for you, papa.” “What was that?” inquired the father. “Why, he asked me how that gay and festive cuss, the governor, was!” replied the>ehild. —Brooklyn Magazine. “Clara Belle” wants to know what a young man won’t do when he’s in love. Well, he won’t eat onions, he won’t give his attention to his business, he won’t wear a poorly laundried shirt, he won’t go to see his girl until he has oiled his hair and scented his pocket handkerchief, he wori| leave his girl at night until hq hears the step of her exasperated father on the stairs, he won’t believe his girl is anything but an angel, for he never saw her hanging out the washing with six clothes pins in her mouth at one time. He won’t take no for an answer when he is parting with lier on the stoop and asks for “just one,” he won’t—but what’s the use of going further? Give us a harder one, Clara. ■—Boston Courier. NOT ON THE MASH. Down the avenue one day I was strolling, when a fai-Ry-footed little sylph I chanced to see; And, as she came tripping by. Though I merely caught her eye, I swear I really thought she winked at me. So I turned, and, with a smile. Artless, trank, and free from guile. Doffed my hat, as to the dainty dear I said; “Are you goint rar this evening? ’Tis a very lonesome evening; Are you sure you’re not a littie bit afraid?” Then she looke 1 up In my face, With a witching, rogu sh grace. But her answer showed me I had been too rash; “No, I thank yon, s r,” she said, “I am not a bit Itfraid; I am married and I’m not upon the mash.” —Exchange.