Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 November 1901 — THE TIME TO LAUGH. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE TIME TO LAUGH.

SOME GOOD JOKES. ORIGINAL AND SELECTED. rh#i Suburbanite and the Burglar — Definition of Indian Summer —When Women Gather—Sou. e Juvenile Jokelota. BURGLARS AGAIN. The wife of a respected citizen of Evanston woke up the other night, and pinching her husband’s arm, whispered : “William! William! Get up quick! There are burglars downstairs. Listen!” William sat up and listened. There was a racket as of somebody falling aver a chair in the dining-room. William’s mind, by this time, was slear as to the presence of burglars, but he was not sure that it would be censible for him to go down among them. Burglars are unreasonable people. and the gentleman knew it. He bad heard of burglars who had killed men for merely asking awkward ques lions, and he didn’t see how he could go downstairs then without giving offense. As a compromise he got his revolver, held it out of a window and fired. This brought a neighbor hurrying up to find out what was the matter. “Burglars!” said the man with the gun. “Run for the police.” The neighbor ran with all his might to the nearest telephone, and in less than an hour several policemen arrived, ready to sell their lives as dearly as possible. After they had broken into the house —the gentleman upstairs considering it his duty to remain there and protect his wife—it was found that about a dozen square feet of plaster had fallen from the ceiling of one of the lower rooms. There is to-day a Respected citizen of Evanston who wishes to have it distinctly understood that he would have been willing to go downstairs and look before firing his revolver if his wife had not been afraid to remain alone while he took his life in his hands. —Chicago Record-Herald. SHE NEEDED HIM BADLY. An old mammy, who had known Governor Taylor of Tennessee from his childhood came into his ofllce and began at once to plead for the pardon of her husband, who was then in prison. “Laws bress yo’ life, Marse Bob,” she began, “I wisht you’d pahdon dat po’ ole niggah Jim. He ain’t no good for nuffin’ nowhar. He jest dat useless an’ triflin’, even at home, dat he aahn do no mo’ den sorter scrape aroun’ an’ git a little sompen for we’all to eat, an’ he sholy ain’ no good down dar in dat pen.” “I can’t do it, aunty,” the governor said. "I am being abused every day What's Jim in there for?” he askfed, seeing the little light that was left dying out of tne old woman’s eyes. "W’y, Marse Bob, dey jes’ put him in dar for nuflin’ ’pon earth ’cept takln’ one po’ little ham outen Mr. Smith’s smokehouse. We was outen meat, an de ole niggah didn’t do nuffin’ ’cep' tek de ham fur ter keep we’all sum starvin'.” “Well, now suppose I should pardon Jim, what good would that do you? He is so onery and trifling,” the governor was saying, when the old woman broke in with the reply: ’’W’y, bress you, Marse Bob, we is outen meat agin, an’ we jes’ got to have anothah ham!" THttEE TIMES AND OUT. Mrs. Fosdick was sure she beard the crash of breaking china in the kitchen, but she felt she must be mistaken when she entered and saw the joyous face of hqr cook. “I’m so glad Oi’vp broke it, mum,” Bridget said, brimming with delight. Why, its one of my best cups,” said Mrs. Fosdick, surveying the remains. “Yes’m„” added Bridget, cheerfully, “but Oi’m so glad it’s done. Ye see, I broke two of'’em before, an’ I knew Oi’d have to break another before Oi quit, an’ it’s a great comfort to have it all done;’’ “Well, see that you don't begin on another three,” said Mrs. Fosdick. sternly.—From the Detroit Free Press. nothing serious.

She—What is that harsh, rattling vi>ration next door? He—Oh, that's only a family jar. “rNJUir SUMMER." Here is a Georgia boy’s composition on “Indian summer”: “Injun summer is the best season of the year, ’cept switnmin’ time. The days are so still you kin hear dad swearin’ two miles off, as well as every lick ma hits him with the broomstick. The reason it is called

Injun summer Is because they ain’t no Injuns in it, ’cept them dad sees when he comes home from the store with two gallons of apple brandy an’ says he reckons he knows who la boss of the household, an* no woman on earth can rule him. Let us all be thankful for Injun summer and be good till after Christmus.”—From the Atlanta Constitution. WAS HE THE RIGHT PARTY? A letter was received at the postoffice in Washington directed to the biggest fool in that city. The postmaster was absent, and on his return one of the younger clerks informed him of the receipt of the letter. “And what became of it?” inquired the postmaster. “Why,” replied the clerk, "I didn’t know who the biggest fool in Washington was, so I opened it myself.” “And what did you find in it?” inquired the postmaster. “Find?” replied the clerk. “Why. nothing but the words, ‘Thou art the man.’ ’’ ELUSIVE FAME.

Mildred —They say that great poet never rises before noon. Madge—lsn’t that strange! Do you remember which of his poems made him famous? Mildred—His “Lines on Seeing the Sun Rise.” HER INDIGNATION. Where two or three women are gath ered together there is sure to be some conversation about servants. The following is the substance of one housekeeper’s recent experience, as detailed in one of these conversations: An East End hostess had invitations out for a small luncheon, but on the morning of the eventful day her “help” departed, heartlessly and unanimously. There was nothing to do but to impress into service the wife of the janitor of the flat and induce her to act as waitress. It was her first experience, in this sort of household duties, and the effect was to surprise her and render her somewhat indignant at tne doings 01 society. “D’ye moind what Oi had to do, Pat?” she was overheard saying to her husband. “Sure, an’ Oi didn’t moind waitin’ at all, if they’d let me do it roight.” “Wouldn’t they let you do it roight, Norah?” he asked, with concerned interest. “Sure, an’ they Wouldn’t. They wouldn’t let me fetch the things to ate all at once an’ set ’em on the table. Oi had to bring ’em in one at a time! An’ after Oi brought ’em in they wouldn’t reach for the things! 01 had to pass around to every leddy at the table. Och, but the way they wasted time. They might have got through an hour sooner. The ways of these sassiety folks is beyant me!” But Pat sympathized with her and agreed that there had been a great waste of time.—From the Pittsburg Commercial Gazette. HER DOLLS HAD MEASLES. An amusing story is told of Queen Wilhelmina when she was quite a little child. Her majesty was not allowed to share dinner with the elder members of lae royal household, but was permitted to make her appearance at dessert and place herself beside some particular favorite. One day she sat by a courtly old general, and after eating some fruit the little girl turned and gazed up at him. Presently she exclaimed: “I wonder you’re not afraid to sit next to me.” * Everybody in the room turned at the sound of the childish treble. “On the contrary, I am but too pleased and honored to sit next to my future queen,” replied the old general. “But why should I be afraid?” Assuming a woebegone expression the little queen replied: “Because all my dolls have the measles—they’re all of them down with it!” JOKELETB. New Disease. Employer—Well, Mike, I hear that your brother is dead. What caused his death ? Mike —I am not that sure, sor, but I believe it’s called autopsy of the brain. A Puzzler for Patsy. Little Patsy—Oh, ma, here's a big knothole in the floor. Come and look at it. Mother—Whist, now, Patsy, darlln', I’m that busy I can’t come. Bring it over to me, Patsy, an’ I’ll look at it. Patting; IwiJ Temptation. Minister—Why, Herbert, I’m surprised! You are not going fishing on Sunday, are you? Herbert No, I ain’t; I’m only takln' this pole away to hide it, so’s my brother won’t be tempted. A hypocrite is like the letter p— 4h« first in pity and the last in help.