Judge — March 31, 1883 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUDGE. MIGNONETTE. On, Mignonette! Pride of my early days, L eee thee yet Thy dark-brown eye, And tender sigh, Tl ne'er forget, My Mignonett Ob, Mignonette? Tam not now 80 green, On that you bet. Nicer girls I've seen Since you forsook And I got shook By that sweet pet My Mignonotte. i EMMA ARBOTT. The Comical Man on the Road. I wer a pleasant traveling acquaintance on the way from Sinclairville to Fredonia. He said he went to hear me lecture last night; but he couldn't get a seat, so he only remained a few minutes. Hesaid to me: “Toma comical man myself; used tobe right in the business all the time until I lost my voice. Ton- sils give out, or something. Oh, yes. Why, I'm on the road now, traveling, and I'm known all over the country as the comical man of the road. Everybody kuows me. I stopped yesterday morning where there were a lot of Irishmen at work, and began talking to them. Brogue business, you know. Hope to die if they didn’t all quit work to shake hands with me. Thouglit I was just over, you know. This is the way I paralyzed them, you know.” Ani then be gave mea specimen of Irish dialect : “In faith and be Jabbers, boys, an’ sare an’ what are yez goin’ todo mit all of dot mortar undt brick- bat?" I say to them.” And that paralyzed the Irishmen f" I asked. “You bet it did,” replied the comical man of the road. T said L ehould think it would paralyze almost any live man. bit numb myself. + Oh, yes,” he went to be my strongest hold. Tbetieved it would In fact Tfelt a little . “but dialect singing used | dette, he cleared his throat and the passengers be to leave the car, But without perpetrating the threat- ened outrage, the comical man of the road went o + Now the trouble with your comical basiness is that It is too monotonous. see, you talk right along an hour and a half, don’t you I meekly admitted my guilt “Well, now,” said the comical man of the road “you ought to rest once in a while and have some fel- low come out and sing a little, of do some of this dia- lect business. That would give some variety to you lecture. You can't do any dialect, can yout” I said after hearing, him I would be ashamed to try. “Oh, well,” the comical man of the road said, with airy encouragement, “you could pick it up with a lit- tle practice. Do you sing?” I sald that [ knew several songs by sight, but that T fishly refrained from singing them “you ought to bring a song or two in your lecture, and if you could dance a little it woulda’t burt. And right now I'll put you into a rat- Uing good piece of business—the telephone business. IT saw a commercial traveler do it down here at Dunkirk. He took a hat and talked to it like a telephone—an- swered himself, you know—telephone basiness—ven- triloquista. Are you a ventriloqnist 2° T blushed and had to admit, with an overwhel ig and mortifying sense of my deficiencies, that, I was not even a ventriloquist. “Too bad,” he said. “Well, you ought to practice up on that, and bring in that hat business, That would bring down the house better than anything in your lecture last night. I could do It myself. I used to be one of the beat ventriloquists in the country until my tonsils collapsed. You know me, I guess. Why, you must have heanl of me! My name is Whitby; I'm called the comical man of the road.” “Good Heavens!” I exclaimed, rising to my feet and taking off my bat, * is this Whitby f” Yea,” be said, “I'm Whitby, I'm known as the comical man of the road. I thought you'd know me! What is your name I meekly cowered down into my corner of the seat, and tearfally admitted that my name was only “bur- in nonpariel, with a little *b.” “Burdette,” he said, ‘where are you from 2” I said, proudly, * Burlington,” In great big letters, “Burlington!” the comical man of the road replied, Ob, yes; down bere in Vermont. here. you can make that lecture of yours go. And the “comical man of the road” was gone. I may forget that telephone hat business, but I will never forget ** Whitby, the comical man of the road.”"— Tue Hawxeve May. Well, I get off Don’t forget that telephone hat business and How to Cook a ’Coon. A CORRESPONDENT asks: * How are ‘coons cooked in the South? When 1 was in the army I ate with pleas- ture ‘coons that were cooked in a very palatable way by the natives. 1 am now living in a thickly wooded country, where ‘coons abound, hence the advice 1 seek.” There is only one way to properly cook a’coon, but, in fact, there is more in the way the corpse is pre- pared than in the actual process of cooking. mal should The ani- horoughly killed and relieved of his skin ive organs, After this throw him away. again and throw bim on the roof of the shed a heavy frost must fall on him, By this time be will emit the smell ” of a dog, for if there is anything that smells more like a dog than a ‘coon it is another dog of the same breed. The next step is to wash the corpse and throw it away again, Next morning it will smell like a dog. Then rub ft with ashes among its vital parts. Throw it on the house top, where it should receive another frost. By this time it will smell exactly like a dog. The late ‘coon should then be taken and scalded in lye, thea, with all due respect for the deceased, he should be thrown away again, When you again associate witb him he will smell likea dog. By this time the defanet is ready to be parboiled, Then be asserts bis right to smell like a wet dog. This privilege is strict- ly adhered to until he ts buried. Some time after the funeral dig him up and you will find that besmells like adog. After the finai resurrection bake him over a deliberate fire. When he is thoroughly cooked, use a strong perfame to keep him from smelling like a dog; then put bim ina disinfected platter and deposit bim on the table. Then you will discover that be smells like a dog.—Arkansawe Trareler. Resectixe a suitor on a postal card, is good evidence that a girl dou't care a cent for that fellow, Tue Montreal ice p: ntly bailt,on fire- proof principles. Tue most graceful walker, says an English fashion critic, is a woman with ber hands and arms free. But the woman with her heart free is the worst masher. AN incendiary attempted to fire an undertaker’ establishment at Nevada City recently. If the under- taker catches him, he'll lay him out. Fer seals are reported to be very plenty tn the strait of Fuca, Brown told his. wife to go there, the other day, when she was bombarding him for a seal- skin sncque. Ir is found impossible to raise the Cimbria, and the wreck will be blown up. That will raise a commotion at least. “ Nearer the bone, the sxecter the meat” is what the dog remarks when he meets the Lone. A CORRESPONDENT waft the ensuing query to us: “What does the word * maniac’ meant” What does it mean, eb? Well, just come down and see our foreman when he arrives at our editorial rooms a couple of hours before the paper has positively got to go to press and sees upon the door leading to sald editorial rooms a card reading, * Will not be back till to-mor- row.” (N. B.—All the copy in hand with our foreman is two sticks full of Long Primer.)—Buck. Tur hod-carrier, on the scaffolding of a lofty bulld- ing, {s at once a man of low estate and high standing. Mencnasts who wear full-bowed nose-glasses are continually talking of their Little “specs.” comicbooks.com