Judge — May 26, 1888 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE JUDGE'S PHOTOGRAPHS. CANDY MINNIE, SHE is pretty and her figure is of interesting size, and she ownsa most uncommon pair of fascinating eyes. Her lips are rather fragil but her nose is in the way when r morse or angry feclings put her gushingness in play, while her ear is small and rosy, and her throat as lily-white as the dew that shyly nes- tles on the roses in the night. During hours at the counter she entices silly swells in the shop to order half-a-pound of chocolate car- amels, and the smile she gives in answer to a question on their part gives the hesitating dudelets palp tation of the heart. But in cold or rainy weather, when the customers are few, she spends her leisure mi ments readin and when she nears the chapter where the hero lies in bed with some gruel in his stomach and a towel on his head, you can hear the rapid patter of the pulse within her wrist and can see her hair retreating from a natty twist. At a theatre she flushes as the wicked villain tells his schemes for throwing innocent young parties into cells, and she hazards the opinion * that the angels ought to shake their ballet-clothes and music and come down and fix the fake.” In her boarding-house she occupies an attic near the sky, where the view between the chimney-pots is pleasant to the eye, In the parlor she will criticise a ribbon and its tint, or will take a hand at poker, betting stacks of peppermint; while the only little riddle that can devastate her mind is the universal riddle of a monetary kind. It's impossible to prophesy how she will end her days, though she has a pretty figure and some fascinating ways; for her notions of a husband gain in compound interest by those novels where the heroes are in silk and velvet drest. But it’s stated she has given up a mortgage on her heart to a chap who sprinkles Croton from a water-barrel cart. Dewitt sreay THE DIAMOND ITION DREADFUL WRITES AN ESSAY. E said 1 had to do it or git kept after school. I couldn't git kept after school for our nine, The Blue Sky Scrapers, woz goin’ to whack the seven keerd 0” spots out o’ The Daisy Cutters after school that day. I hate to fool with pens an’ ink an’ sich, for [allers make a muss 0” it an’ dirty my ma’s writin’ desk. Well as I sed before, I had to do it an’ I did. I give you RIPPLES. done gorn undah, Buster! "Spec’ I'se gutter cat- be ruthlessly washed away “Hit ‘sa bery cole day whain 'r can’t pervide fer mah fambly !" CONCUSSIVE. Cetanir—" Rosy old waisteoat you've wrapped "round you, Jack. Don't it d Jack" Why, no. I thought it was very pretty stuff.” Crtnner—" It's pretty enough, but if 1 were dead and wanted to stay dead I shoul hate to have you come by. It is certainly loud enough to wake me." y essay verb bate ‘em ‘cording to the decayed an’ perfunked dacd lar My essay waz about the Voice o' The Night. I waz a sittin’ by my desk thinkin’ deeply “bout what's to come an’ what hadn't To-morrer waz the day 0° toil an’ worry, an’ my leery mind was in aquandrary, All to oncet I herd a sweet voice cooin’ in a gentill tone," Will you come into the garden, Willyur I allers make ita pint to anser the o' night. I went into the garden an’ helped Jimmy Cohen pull up ma’s arsperigrass an’ sling things ‘round in general. Then I went to bed. but ma saw me sneak in, She laid low an’ got onto the dark racket, an now—now I can’t sit down when I eat, That's awl. I hain't never goin’ to write any more essays, for I hadter stay after school for awl. m AFTER THE ACCIDENT. ins (in the course of his narration\—" So young—so fair—and to y the iron hand of the cold scythe of death ! Jaggs (aside) —"What the deuce did Wiggins take to settle his nerves, anyway 2" Bobley—" Pousse cafe, 1 believe. Saggs—" Um — A CHEERFUL TEM- PERAMENT. Jones was sadly an- nouncing to some friends the death of his wife. to myself, * Jonsey, my boy: all good fellows have to put up with these little disap- pointments now and then.” He's more than my friend—he's my other self! He not only says so, but mae terly shows Into his pocket he 1 And not e'en a I he knows it. comicbooks.com