Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 May 1887 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

The fishery question: Who’ll tafc® the eel off? The language the telephone speaks is broken English. The moat popular “tenner” is th > ten-dollar gold piece. Although very fashionable as an article of dress, the bustle is really a back number. Lion tamer—Hello, here comes my wife; let me get into a place of safety (jumps into the cage).— Humori»tiche Blatter. We hear a good deal said about the quickness of Irish wit, but after all is it at all strange that an Irishmah should say Pat things ? “Give me a dude egg, please,” said > the boarder to the table girl. “A dude egg ? What is that ?” *A fresh one. ” —Boston Courier. “Anarchy,” said an orator to the socialists whom he was endeavoring to placate, “is all well enough in itself, but it must not be carried to excess." We have no objection to the man who rides a hobby—not even if he rides it to death. We only protest when he takes up the whole road with it— Philadelphia Call. Husband—“l see by the papers that Mrs. R.’s reception was a very brilliant affair.” Wife—“Oh, very likely; there are none of her acquaintances can afford to wear real diamonds.”— Boston Beacon. City man—“ What the blazes is the matter with that hen ?” Farmer—- “ Nothing; she has just laid an egg.” City man—“ Great Scott! One would suppose she had laid the foundation of a brick block.”— Bos ton Courier. Said a school examiner at South Abington, Mass.: “When the Pilgrims landed, what did they have that was more precious than home and friends ?** A bright-eyed little boy answered so promptly as to bring down the house, “Popcorn!” “Can you conceive,” asked the professor, of an eternal vacuum, a portion of space unoccupied, an empty void into which nothing ever enters, from which nothing can ever come, which maintains inviolate and forever its own eternal emptiness?” “I can,” replied the student; “I have a stylographic pen.” Doctor—“ Your heart is in a normal condition.” Nervous Old Maid—- “ Goodness! And is it fatal?” Doctor —“lt’s beat is iambic. ” Old Lady—“lt’s just dreadful!” Doctor—“ Were it trochiac, or even spondiac ” Old Lady—“ Doctor, don’t keep me in this horrible suspense. Give me some medicine at once. ” Doctor—“My dear, there’s nothing the matter with your heart.” Old Lady—“Oh! there isn’t? Why didn’t you say so, then?”—Harper's Bazar. THE DYSPEPTIC’S DESIRE. He stood, before a candy shop, And viewed the goodies sweet, But owing to dysjiepsia’s rule He dare no candy eat. Then wished he long and wished he loud That some good-natured wizard Would kindly place beneath his vest A full-grown ostrich gizzavd. —Danville Breeze.