Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 February 1889 — SOME FUNNY FANCIES. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

SOME FUNNY FANCIES.

Rich relatives are like wine. They grow dearer with age. The “Maiden’s Prayer” usually has something to do with a him. “My dear wife,” murmured paterfamilias as he looked at the dressmaker’s bill. The borrowest man to this date is the one in Manhattanville who wanted to borrow a friend’s tombstone. Patient —Doctor, I can’t sleep nights. Wit at shall I do? Gat a position somewhere as night-watchman. When a bald-headed man removes his hat to salute a lady it does not remind one of a leafless branch, although it's a naked bow. There is said to be a veterinary surgeon in Albany who has grown so expert that he can tell tho age of a rak*. by looking at its teeth. “Consistency, thou art a jewel,” sure enough; but thou standeth an exco edj ingly poor show when tho other fellow can afford a diamond ring. Miss Parextalstem (age 35) —So you are going to get married at last, Pauline? Pauline —Yes, dear, I should think it was about time; you know I’m 24.

Young wife (at a ball) —You are improving wonderfully as a dancer. Don’t you remember how you used to tear mv dresses? Young husband Yoi; I wasn’t buying 'em then. Madam (to applicant)—Where was your last place j( Applicant—At the hospital, mem. Madam—Were you a nurse there? Applicant—No, mem; I was a small-pox patient. Smith —You say the speculation has proved a failure? Jones—A total failure. Smith —I thought you said there was a fortune in it. (with a groan)—So there is. Mine is in it. Mine eyes have seen the gobbler lose his cranium in the dark, a prehistoric turkey that came over in the ark, the hoarders break their molars as they eliew the patriarch, but their bills go marching on. Mrs. Hopeful —ls my boy improving any? Professor of penmansliip— He is getting worse. His writing is now so bad no living soul can read it. “How lovely! The darling! He’ll be a great author some day.” Mrs. Brown (who has hoarders) — And how is Mr. Smith getting along ? Mrs. Smith —I fear he is past recovery. For the last twi> weeks he has eaten scarcely enough to keep a robin alive. Mrs. Brown (unconsciously)—-Isn’t that lovely! Their brand of breath: Representative Martin, of Texas, recently walloped a reporter because the latter said that he blew out the gas in his room. He should have gloried in the assertion. It isn’t every politician who dares to monkey with the gas with his breath. Woman (looking at a house to rent) —I don’t fancy these windows on this side. The people in the next house can look in here.and see anything that’s going on. Landlord—ls you waut the house, madam, I'll have the windows boarded up. “How on earth could I see into their windows then?” BACK NUMBERS. Tlte bald-headed mart in his family pew Leaned back on the cushion and slumbered, And he dreamed that the preacher these words had proclaimed: “The hairs of your head are all numbered.” Tho bald-headed man awok9 with a start irom his weeklv. devotional slumbars; Then he sank on his knees aud fervently prayed: “OLori! send me down the back numbers.” — Judge. “I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Fogg, as she vainly endeavored to dissect the turks y, “if yo a are not the poorest man to do marketing. This turkey’s as old as Methuselah. ” “Possibly,” replied Fogg, unabashed; “but, my dear, it is a female bird, and courtesy to the sex prevented me from inquiring about her age.” * Millionaire (to old and poor chum) —You ought to drop your bad habits, Smith. If you’d s:op taking that glass of beer every day you'd have $18.25 in a year. Go on that way for a hundred years and there’ll be $l.B-32 in bank if nothing happens. Then put that in some good stock, and if all goes right you’ll make money. That’s the way people get rich.

Borrowit—lt seems to me, Moses, that this coat is entirely to short. Moses —Ah, my clear sir, dot vas made for my finest trade—the shentlemans who nefer wear any patches!— Texas Siftings. ~

FASHIONED FOR THE WEALTHY.