Judge — July 1, 1882 — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A SATIRE ON LOCAL LAW. x Rov.—Say, fellers, les go'n hare a game of | WHAT IS A KNICKERBOCKER. + Waar does this mean, de The morning papers all do + Another Knickerbocker de: What is a Knickerbocker, pray’ back two hundred years my son; See, sitting on yon I A Datehman, with his pipe and And dogs and brats around him sprawl tone wall, To last the house thro: Her wooden shoes look oddly Her legs are browned below the kne Her hands are horny from the plow— He doesn't rive her time to sneeze, “Woe! woe! to Indian or bear, Or any beast that roams the vale, That wanders near this Datebman’s lair— They a backward trail! Those horny hands have gone to The pipe and gun are laid away; thelr descendants now are bk They are not made of common c et tal 1. DONAIICE, Tuere isa rumor abroad that summer is upon us, and we guess it is true. We met our old friend Billbore the other day, and he was mopping his face with a red silk handker- chief and both hands. We sugg summer was here, but instead of replying in his usual amiable mode, he let fall: his hands and gave vent to a string of nanghtiness that was perfectly amazing. Billbore is fat, and the explanation of his strange that he had ran two blocks to overtake a car, and had stopped just as we met him, not hay- ing succeeded in attracting the attention of the conductor. xp Box.— Yaas, 'n get ‘rested for playin’ ball on Sunday, ested that | conduct was | base bal No, let's go'n play pot for rinks, hey? Maxy an old hen is now going to potas a spring chicken for city boarders, and man; allon of milk is taken from New York to country boarding-houses, so that city people may have “pure country milk ” in abundance. | Iv is rumored that they are about to spoil | Central Park by placing electric lights where | they will shine upon the most cozy seats. But, really, the Park ought to pay something into the city exchequer. It will be rough on blackmailing Park policemen if lights are | established there, just at this season of the year, too. | Irhas been said that Truth could not live in New York, but it not only lives and thrives, | but its Sunday edition has grown to eight pages and is worth reading, which is more than can be said of all our Sunday papers. | Trey don't do things by halves out West, and if they have a tornado or a waterspout | that does not destroy a whole town, they don’t take notice enough of it to telegraph us | the facts. | IN Spain they have bull fights on Sunday. In New York we have excursions. Wauat a farce this pool-selling business is. The State should either be a man or a mouse in the matter. Faxxy Mansu, who formerly managed the Portland Theater, is about to return to the stage. ‘‘ Fan,” you were always a favorite, but you will be especially welcome in these sweltering days. say the newspa- ishness and wickedness. New York is coming to be the home of mys- terious murders. And yet ‘The Finest" bas a reputation so extended thata play has been founded upon it, and Gus Williams has be- come its stage champion, Tur Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children has all it can attend to in preser | ing from torture, neglect, and starvation, the poor children in the different ‘ Institutions of Mercy,” and Unsectarian Homes for little friendless ones in New York. Let us hope that there will not arise a necessity for forin- ing another society to protect those whom it assumes to protect. INGRATITU! ALL the winter he bought her bananas, And oranges juicy and mellow, But, alas! for all that, his Rosanna’s Gone back on him for a “new” fellow, We are continually hearing of accidents on account of people sleeping on or otherw using fire-escapes. If they will persist in such reckless coolness, let them make sure that the capes are reliable, such, for instance, asthe one erected by Mr. Benner, which ornaments the front of THe Jupcr building. ise He Felt Frisky. He came waltzing into our sanctum the other day, nodded familiarly, and asked how ‘Tue Jupce was, while fishing down in his breast pocket. Tuer JupcE happened to be writing at the moment and barely looked up, without going into particulars as to the state of his health. ‘The visitor finally produced a somewhat soiled piece of paper, and after glancing at it, said: “Jupce, I was feeling a little frisky last night, and took it into my head to write you a little funny poem, which I think you will like. Just glance at it,” he added, handing it tous. “T have had many a good laugh over it since,” and he took possession of an uninhab- ited chair, carefully lifting his seedy coat- tails as he did 5 The reader shall have the first verse of that do you strike and maal sot) The world is going to the dogs, (And bens are striking also.) From this time forth they do refase, (Rooster, hen and cousin,) In futare y mp themselves (Les'n fifty cents a dozen.)” Tue Jupce glanced at the frisky man, who was just shaking himself with suppressed laughter, and then writing the adress of Jim Lyon, the old paper-stock dealer, he sent that frisky poet to him, assuring him that he, as managing editor, would most undoubtedly pay him the full market value for his poem. And yet some poets think we are stuck up and not inclined to deal liberally with them. comicbooks.com