Judge — March 23, 1889 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

THE ROSE-JAR. a boudoir sweet and dainty, On a table soft with plush, Where no sound of labor troubles ‘The serene, luxurious hush, Stands a rose:jar whose pot-pourri ds a fragrance faint and fine, For ‘tis filled with love's own roses— Once those roses had been mine! Or I thought so when she told me, With a soft, bewitching air, Of the gold and ruby letters Making the old silver fair; Rut today T heard a secret From a girlfriend, straight as straight— iS all her dewy rose-teaves Where mine own have met their fate; pasted but last evening, he jar she now had saved es of seventeen fellows’ tributes Who had pined and sighed and raved— Mine among them! hen his birthday she said, “1 mean he never Gave me one—he's not so green.” FORGOT WHERE HE WAS. A New York state minister supplied a pulpit in a Canadian town recently. He was somewhat absent- minded, and often did the most erratic thi ‘A PROPOSITION: When the collection plates were brought to the front Jack THE FeRRET—" Say, pard, don’t yer think it would be more kinder ‘propriate like without a penny on them he looked wonderingly at one if wese swapped purps of the wardens, aid the latter, “if you only hadn't announced that no Cana- A DREADFUL SHOCK. dian money would be taken we'd have had a big collection this morning.” Baboony—" Aw—stop a minute, please, Tom. 1 feel faint.” r Wiggins—* V told you, Algy, that sooner or later those cigarettes” METROPOLITAN PRIDE. Baboony—" It isn't the cigawettes, old boy, but (feebly) there goes Farmer Oatcake—* Nin't you ashamed 0° yourself to be goin’ ‘round 4 woman in wubber boots " > You're better dressed than half the men up to my ICICLES. ramp—* Mebbe, boss; but den yer know a gents got ter be A bright thaw-t of the sun will melt the thickest ice, cful of his looks when he lives in der city. In Greenland two feet of ice is not regarded as much of a feat. WITHIN ONE OF DETECTION. Mr. Fawnes (at the cake-zwalt)—"" it’s bery s’prizin’, but dey mus’ be Miss Mosstew (on her arrival home)—"'Twarn't no slow kindy time, “c dem ventriloquizzers in dis yer hall. I keeps hearin’ a bird a- mommer, an’ | tuk d’ cake; but, fo' d’ Lawd, 1 thought dat Mistah Fawkes he'd kotched me one spell!” comicbooks.com