Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 April 1887 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

The home-stretch—trying to make both ends meet. A cry for quarter—That raised by the sleeping-ear porter. “Miss Jay’s cake is a poem,” remarked an enthusiastic admirer of that lady. “Yes,” replied her companion, “but you know some poems are awful heavy.” “Why do the heathen rage?” asks a religious paper. We don’t know, remarks an exchange, unless it is because they are sent red flannel shirts in summer time. “Convicts wear striped clothes, don’t they?” asked Mrs. Tangle, “l'es, my dear,’* replied her husband. “Don’t you think knavy blue would be more Appropriate?” Spriggs —How much older is your sister than you, Johnny? Johnny—l duuno. Maud uster be twenty-five y&ars, then she was twonty, and now she ain’t only eighteen. I guess we’ll soon be twins. “\Y hat is a hero?” asks an exchange. A hero is a man who can pass a crowd of boys engaged in making snowballs without turning his head to make sure that they have no design on him.— New Haven News. In central Africa a wife costs sls. Pretty high on the start, but then they never c ost a cent after that, particularly for clothing. No sealskin saeques in that country, nor Faster bonnets. -- Dansvillc Breeze. A petrified Indian has been exhumed in Arizona. The savage is supposed to have been petrified witli astonishment on discovering an honest Indian agent, but the statement lacks confirmation.— Newman Independent. Captious Deacon—“ Our people desire extempore sermons, and yet you persist in using notes.” Famishing Pastor—“My dear brother, as I never have any notes in my pocket-book to use, you should not object to my using notes in the pulpit.” Merchant (to applicant for a job)— Do you know anything about figures, Uncle Rastus? Uncle sah. Merchant—Well, if I were to lend you $5, and you promised to pay me $1 each month, how much would you owe me at the expiration of three months ? Uncle Rastus—Fi’ dollars, sail. Merchant—l’m afraid you don’t know much about figures. Uncle Rastus—No, sah; but I specs I know all ’bout Uncle Rastus.

He— “ Yes, I think men are more considerate than women.” She—“ What makes you think so?” “Well, you see that young lady in front of us ? She wears a high-crowned hat and the man behind her can’t see over it. ” “I see. ” “Now see the man in front of her, who is so earnestly watching the pretty girls in tights.” “Well?” He is so considerate of those behind he does not even wear his hair, let alone his hat.”—Boston Courier. This story originated in another lor cality, but they localize it in Georgia now: A fair and buxom widow, who had buried three husbands, recently went with a gentleman who in his younger years had paid her marked attention, to inspect the graves of her dear departed. After contemplating them in mournful silence she murmured to her companion: “Ah, James, you might have been in that row now if you had only had a little more courage. ” SUCH A DUCK. Once Venus, deeming Love too tut, Stopped all his rich ambrosial dishes, Dooming the boy to live on chat— To sup on songs and dine on wishes. Love, lean and lank, flew off to prowl— The starveling now to beauty boasted—lie uiild iiave munched Minerva’s owl, U'J uno’s peacock, boiled or roasted. At half famished, almost dead, He shot his mother’s doves for dinner; Young Lilia, passing, shook her head. Cried Love, "A shot at you, young sinner!” “O, not at me!” she urged her flight—“l’m neither dove, nor lark, nor starling!" “No,” fainting Cupid cried, “not quite ; But then—you're such q duck, my darling!” — Anonymous, ■/