The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1885-10-22
HUMoR.


A MANICURE--a doctor.
A TAKING fellows thief.
IT is the hardship that sails on the
sea of trouble. Whitehall Times.
DoN'r go to Hot Springs; you are
liable to get yourself into hot water
Carl Pretzeps Weekly.
THE chronic fisherman is forever
dropping q line, but he never drops o
lyin' habit. Yonkers Gazette.
SoME of our militiamen may not be
experts in grammar, but they all know
something about tents.-St Paul
Herald.
The editor of o sensational paper
says that divorce cases, elopements,
murderers, and so on are the sin-news
of war.-Washingto,a Ratchet.
"YoUR room is better than your COM
pany," said the assignee of the bank
rupt insurance corporation to its presi-
dent, as they sat in the latters elegant
Office. -Barbers' Gazette.
sLIvE and learn" remarked Balky
to his wife during little scrap" they
were having. al know it, Balky, and
death right now would find you need
ing repairs badly. "-Merchan Trav-
eler.
A CORRESPONDENT, who witnessed
marriage ceremony performed by the
Cheyenne Indians, says that the bride
was dressed in six-inch grin and
three streaks of red paint.-Ne,Cmaf
Independent.
FIRST Boy-@They say you are cow
ard, liar, a-a-a@ Second Boy
-"Do you know what they call your"
First Boy-~What ?" Second Boy
"They don't call; they just WHISTLE
Teras Siftings.
IT always makes man feel as If he
was meeting with an old friend when
he happens in at railroad refreshment
counter and Identifies his own last sea-
sons teeth marks upon the sandwich
that is handed over to him.-FdH
Riper Aduance.
"PA, do the waters pout?" queried a
youngster of his father. "Why, John
ME, don't talk SO foolish. What do you
mean?" well, I heard you telling
mother how the sailors, when you were
at sea, used to fire cannon to break the
waterspout. Stockton Maverick.
THERE is satisfac tion in knowing
that if you ever get to heaven there
won't be any lace curtains for you to
spoil with your horrid old tobacco
SMOKE" sputtered Brooklyn wife
whose husband would smoke, curtains
or no curtains. Brooklyn Times.
SAM JONES, the revivalist, doesn't
tackle kindly to the new name the re-
visers have substituted for Satan's do
minions. "Why," he S US, you couldn't
brighten cat with sheol" Probably
not. Nor could you scare cat with
the old word-unless you had brick
attached to it when you hurled it at
the animal. Words are very unsatis-
factory missiles to throw at CATS
Norristoaon Herald.
"How DO you like my new suit,
mother?" inquired Mrs. b. as she dis
played herself in q bewi dering,
beautiful combination of cloth, ribbons,
and tucks Every much indeed, my
DEAR" replied the old lady. Its very
becoming and tits pc fectly." And
then she added pleasantly, "I hope
you'll live to wear the suit out, and
CALCULATED her loving husband, who had
just read the bilI.-Peck's Sun.
EPITAPHs.
On Poet.
Put away his pens an parer,
Ink aud blotter. everything;
! Now extingushed Is life's taper
No more lays on gentle spring.
| There are no more threats to shoot him:
He Is done with earthly cares
| Editors no more will boot him
Down the editorial stairs.
On an Editor.
Here his remains his friends have placed,
To poets he's no longer crusty,
The festive cockroach eats his paste,
His faithful shears are dull and rusty;
No more with the knife of his wit doth he fay
Our loathsome contemporary. over the way"
On Reporter.
| With gentle hands we laid him here to rest
For he was genial and esteemed by all:
We heard the clods they hesped upon h 9 breast
| With dull thud" upon his coffin ia
And here he sleeps, all pc ceful. safe from harm,
No more assigned TO base ball. trots or other
sport,
No more to hasten at the fire alarm:
He's gone where there are no fires to report.
On the Devil
He came for copy" with demeanor civil
And waited for 1t wi n pnru led brow:
On earth he did his duty as a devil.
In heaven we trust he is an angel now.
On Selfish Man.
Few people ever tasted of his cheer,
Few were the tears of grief that for him fell.
His health was never drank while he was here,
But now. undoubtedly. he's toasted we'll
boston Courier.