Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 December 1889 — STUFF AND NONSENSE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

STUFF AND NONSENSE.

SETin her ways—a brooding hen. A swallow-tail —the story of Jonah and the whale. First mattress—How do you feel? Second mattress—-Full as a tick. The monhey goes to the sunny side of the tree when he wants a warmer climb. Prayers may go begging for an answer, but “What’ll you have?” never does. Puttin’ a patched dime in the collection box is like buy in’ a scalper’s ticket to heaven. Soup a la Jay Gould—take a little stock, six times as much water, and then put in the lamb. Teacher ‘without a name.’ Give an example, Miss Griggs.” Miss Griggs—“My baby sister is anonymous. ” — How are you? Just thought I’d drop in. a while to kill time. Busy Man—Well, we don’t want any of our time killed. Brown —How time flies. Jenkins—l am not aware of its speedy passage. B.—Then you have not a note to pay. J.—No; I hold yours. Bloodgood—Silby always reminds me of a breeze that comes before a summer’s rainstorm. Travis—Why ? “Because,” answered Bloodgood, “he is so fresh. ” “This is a little late for you to be out, isn’t it, Peck? Aren’t you afraid your wife will miss you?” Mr. N. Peck—l hope she will. She can fling things pretty straight, though. Mrs. Hinton (recently married) — Did you know my husband was very ill ? Miss Carrington—l suppose he must be, my dear. Before he married you he told me I bad broken his heart. Visitor—(to bereaved widow)—Your husband, I understand, was killed in a factory? Widoxv—Alas, yes; poor dear William was reckoned a smart man, but he didn’t know much about flywheels.

Station-master—Come, come, my good man, yon mustn’t walk oh the track. Tramp (disgustedly)—The conductor says I can’t ride, and you say I can’t walk. What’s your blamed old road here for, anyway ? Willie— l wonder why I can’t make my kite fly? Elder sister —Perhaps the caudal appendage is disproportionate to the superficial area. Willie —I don’t think that’s it. I believe there isn’t weight enough on the tail. Mrs. Statesman—Do you know, sir, that you came home last night in an utterly disgraceful condition? Mr. Statesman (swallowing about a quart of water) —“Woman, do you know that the time of year has arrived when the country”has to be saved again? Mrs. Skinnphlint Josiah, don’t you think Johnny’s hair needs cutting? Mr. Skinnflint (looking up from his paper)—How long is it till Christmas? A little over five weeks. (Resumiug his paper)—All right, I’ll give him a hair-cut for a Christmas present.

A COMPLICATED FUNERAL. O bury iny arms in dear Mexico. And bury my heart in the South. O bury my let’s in too State of New York, . In Georgia please bury my mouth. For I hrve been married at least four times. To spouses who’ve laid down their lives, And now that I’m dead I wish to he placed At the side of my various wives.

Brown—And so you have got a firstr ite cook ? What paper did you adve > rise in V Eogg—Ditto’t advertise in any. My wife told Mrs. Gray we wanted a girl, but made her promise not to tell anybody. “Well?” “Well, we had the- door-bell ringing for a fortnight from morning till night. No less than a hundred applications for the place.”

“Ah, Mrs. Blackstreet, it’s very lucky I did not meet you at the time that picture was taken.” “Ah, Doctor, I’m afraid you are a flatterer. Do you mean lucky for me?” “Ahem, no, not exactly. Lucky for me.”