HE—­“There’s nothing like cheerfulness.  I admire anyone who sings at his work.”

SHE—­“How you must love a mosquito!”

CHICKEN STEALING

An old negro was charged with chicken-stealing, and the judge said: 

“Where’s your lawyer, uncle?”

“Ain’t got none, jedge.”

“But you ought to have one,” returned the Court.  “I’ll assign one to defend you.”

“No, sah, no, sah, please don’t do dat,” begged the defendant.

“Why not?” persisted the judge.  “It won’t cost you anything.  Why don’t you want a lawyer?”

“Well, Ah’ll tell yo’, jedge,” said the old man confidentially.  “Ah wants ter enj’y dem chickens mahself.”

“Is your husband a good provider, Dinah?”

“Yessum, he’s a good providah all right, but I’se allus skeered dat niggah’s gwine er git caught at it.”

“Is dem you-all’s chickens?”

“Cohse dey’s my-all’s chickens.  Who’s chickens did you ’spose dey was?”

“I wasn’ s’posen’ nuffin about ’em.  But I will say dat it’s mighty lucky dat a chicken won’ come a runnin’ an’ a waggin’ its tail when its regular owner whistles, same as a dog.”

Rastus had caught Sambo red-handed.

“Ah’m gwine hab yo’ arrested foh stealin’ mah chickens, yo’ Sambo Washin’ton-dat’s jess what ah’m gwine to do,” said Rastus.

“Go ahead, nigguh,” retorted Sambo.  “Go ahead and hab me arrested.  Ah’ll mek yo’ prove whar yo’ got dem chickens yo’seff!”

JUDGE-"I’m going to fine you five dollars for the chickens you stole the last two weeks.”

RASTUS-"How’ll it be if Ah pays seben-fifty, Jedge?  Dat’ll pay fob up to an’ includin’ next Saturday night.”—­Life.

A negro soldier was brought up before his superior officer, who said:  “Sam, you are charged with stealing a chicken from this Frenchwoman’s farm.  Now, how about it?  Have you any witnesses to stand for you?”

“Witnesses?” echoed Sam in surprise.  “No, suh, I ain’t hab no witnesses.  When I goes chicken stealing I never hab no witnesses aroun’.”

An old colored uncle was found by the preacher prowling in his barnyard late one night.

“Uncle Calhoun,” said the preacher sternly, “it can’t be good for your rheumatism to be prowling round here in the rain and cold.”

“Doctor’s orders, sah,” the old man answered.

“Doctor’s orders?” asked the preacher.  “Did he tell you to go prowling round all night?”

“No, sah, not exactly, sah,” said Uncle Cal; “but he done ordered me chicken broth.”

In times of peace Smith might have been an author who had drifted into some useful occupation, such as that of a blacksmith, but just now he is cook to the Blankshire officers’ mess.  Smith sent Murphy into the village to bring home some chickens ordered for the mess.

“Murphy,” said Smith, the next day, “when you fetch me chickens again, see that they are fastened up properly.  That lot you fetched yesterday all got loose, and tho I scoured the village I only managed to secure ten of them.”