Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 June 1887 — HUMOR. [ARTICLE]

HUMOR.

Dairy ma'd—Nice butter. Fashion is the pattern saint. Game to the last—Cobblers playing base-ball. The real-estate dealer doesn't want the earth; he is always trying to sell it There is always room at the top of an evening costume for more costume. —Puck. Letter carriers are by no means a modern institution. The Phoenicians, who invented letters, carried them into Greece. There is an instance where disease may become diseased. Pursuit and possession: In one we are sick with desire and in the other desire is sick. We notice per advertisement “Patent fire escapes.'’ Good old ordinary fire does the same thing, and it is just as difficult to head off.— Texas Siftings. The palaee of the Mikado has been lighted for some time by electricity, and the Edison Company has closed a contract to illuminate the citv of Tokio. An interesting series of articles is appearing in the Bazar, entitled, “How to Live on Five Hundred a Year.” This series should be supplemented by another to be called, “How to Get the Five Hundred to Live On.” “I see that some newspaper men have formed a club, and called it the Homeless Club,” remarked Robinson. “Does that mean that they have no homes?” “No,” replied Lighthead; “it only means that they will be home less than ever now. ” “It is our duty to keep ourselves unspotted from the world,” said the preacher. “I shall be mighty glad if I keep myself unspotted from the detectives,” murmured a burglar who had just dropped into the church to escape pursuit.— Boston Courier. “I received a lot of rejected manuscript to-day,” said Titmarsh to a friend. “Did you? I had no idea you had an ambition to shine as an author.” “Not exactly that. You see, my girl and I quarreled, and she returned all my letters.” New York Sun, A young man thrusts his head out of the window of a cab and cries to the driver: “Why don’t you drive faster? I am going to be married this morning, and at this rate I will arrive too late for the wedding.” Driver (sympathetically)—“Well, what of it? lam giving you plenty of time to reflect.”— Figaro. “Got any invisible ink?” she asked in a whisper. “We have.” “One bottle, please.” “You know how to use it?” he queried. “Oh, it isn’t for me, but for the nice young man who writes tome. Mamma has got in the habit of opening my letters, and we propose that she shall draw blanks after this.” —Detroit Free Pi ess. A prominent Kentucky lawyer is noted for the size of his feet. He is not at all sensitive about them, however. He has himself named his shoes after after two Ohio River steamboats, and when he gets up in the morning calls over to the boy who does his boot-black-ing, “Jim, bring me the Indianola, and then go back and bring me the Pride of the West.” “I notice,” said a clergyman’s wife to her husband, “that it is no longer fashionable for the minister to kiss the bride at the wedding ceremony.” “Yes,” sadly responded the good man, “many of the pleasant features connected with the wedding ceremony have been discarded, and ” “What’s that?” demanded his wife, ominously. “I mean—l mean,” he stammered, “that the senseless custom of kissing the bride should have been abolished long ago.”— All the Year Bound. Enery little while we read of some fabulous number of pairs of pantaloons that the American Missionary Society sends to the heathen. Of course pantaloons are necessary to fully change a heathen into a Christian and gentleman, but sometimes we can’t help wondering a little abou) the rest of the wardrobe. It seems as if the worst heathen in the lot would like a change from pantaloons all the time—say an occasional pair of red suspenders.— Dakota Bell.