Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 May 1893 — OUR BUDGET OF FUN. [ARTICLE]

OUR BUDGET OF FUN.

HUMOROUS SAYINGS AND DOINCS HERE AND THERE. Jokes and Jokeleta that Are Supposed to Have Been Recently Born—Saying, and Doing, that Are Odd, Carton, and Laughable. Let l’s L'tugh. A blanket trust is intimated—at least a Boston sheet so states. —Lowell Courier. The military prisoner is forced to be guarded in ail he says and does.— Troy Press. The undergraduate is one who is trampled to jelly in a foot-ball rush. —Picayune. It is doubtful whether a blind man can possess the prophetic gift; he U no seer.—Lowell Courier. “That air is very familiaT,” said the musician, as a gust of wind took his hat away.—Lampoon. Scatters— “ls Miss Dofid up to the times?” Luinsy—“Oh, yes. She wears French heels. ” —Nast's Weekly. It’s an open question which is the more objectionable, a boisterous girl or a girlstrous boy.—Dansville Breeze. “I’m onto your game,” as the fly remarked when he settled on the checkerboard. —Philadelphia ’ Record. Mex who never take a stand anywhere else frequently have to take one. in a street car.—Detroit Free Press.

Every poor poet knows that writer's cramp is never so hard to cure as when it’s in tlie stomach.—Somerville Journal Teacher —“ What is arithmetic?” Ike—“ Arithmetic vas the science yich teaches us how to compute interest on money.”—Life. Enpec (sighing)—“Things are not what they used to be in this house.” Mrs. Enpec—“No; even you have greatly changed.”—Truth. Fangle —“A man is not necessarily a floor-walked because he walks the floor.” Gunso —“That’s so. He may be a parent.”—Vogue. A man should not imagine because a girl of 16 laughs at his jokes that he is a great wit; a girl of e l 6 laughs because she is 16.—Atchison Globe. Mrs. Wabash —“ How dil you come to marry your divorced husband, Helen?” Mrs. Lakeside—“lt was the only way I could get my alimony.”— Truth. Ella —“What mattes you think he loves you? Did he say so?” Ida — “No; but he hugged me. That is a round-about way of letting me know it.”—Life. St. Peter —Good morning; won’t you come in? Shade of Boston Girl —How dare you speak to me without having been introduced?—Arkansaw Traveler.

“Are you tired?” asked the poet, as he stopped in* one of his effusions. “Tell me truly.” “Oh, no,” she answered, “I have just been asleep.”— Exchange. “Wasn’t that a moving sermon on domestic charities by Dr. Monthly?” “Yej, indeed; old Skyuflynt actually dropped a tear in the plate.”—Harvard Lampoon. Maud —“There are no flies on Minerva Backbay.” Mab—“ Certainly not Those insects are not food of having their toes frost-bitten.” — Texas Siftings. “I never had so long a dry spell in my life,” said the Kentucky gentleman, who had been shut up for a week in a temperance town by the floods.—Exchange. She —“Do behave!” He—“ Just one little kiss! Your father has gone in!” She (gazing sky ward) —“Yes, but don’t you know that Mars’unusually near?” —Pittsburg Bulletin. “The difference,” said fche man with a weary look in his eye, “between my poem and my umbrella is that the poem is always returned with thanks:’’—Exchange. She —“ Why do you suppose Mr. Tompkins al.ways wears such an amused smile?” He—“ Well, he ought to. He has a keen sense of the ridiculous and is very self-conscious.” —-Life.

There is no need of the whole nation getting off about a consular agent being shot in the foot, but' it wouldn’t be surprising if it made him hopping mad. Philadelphia Times. Mamma —“And how did my little pet get to sleep last nigbt without mamma?” Little Pet—“ Papa tried to sing me to sleep like you do, an’ I hurried up and went to sleep so’s not to hear it.” —Exchange. H«e Kmew Her Failing. —Mrs. Dresswell (to her daughter-in-law)— Wait a minute! you haven’t seen, my duck of a new bonnet. Daughter-in-law’s husband (interposing)—Hasn’t she? Then you didn’t-buy it anywhere in this neigborhood.— I Fun. Sunday Morning. —Barker,(goi ng to his club) Good-morning, Miss Smithers. On your way, to St. Peter’s? Miss you are, too, I suppose? Barker (embarrassed) —Oh, of course. Miss Smithers— Queer we should be traveling in opposite directions.—Harper’s Bazar. “What is going to be played at the opera house to-morrow evening,’ Mr. McGinnis?” asked Mr. Lopgcoffln. “It isn’t decided yet,” replied McGinnis. “How is that?" “1 don’t know how it comes,” said Mr. McGinnis, “but I read in the paper this morning that they were going to play ‘Othello, or the Moor of Venice.’ but it did not say which.” —Texas Siftings.