Judge — May 18, 1889 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

A CHORUS-GIRL. IGHT after night the foottights shine upon her twinkling feet, She's just.a pretty chorustrl,a creature fresh and sweet, ‘One of those Rowers that sometimes blossom in acity street. Night after night T sit and watch her posing in her place: Of all the beauties on the stage her form alone trace— The rounded limbs, the childish hair, the dreamy, fair young face. Sometimes T catch a fying smile, sometimes a frown L see, Sometimes she'quite ignores my gaze; but, howso’er it be, T know that, cloaked and veiled, at last she'll hurry out to me. We eat our quiet supper, then we talk and laugh and jest She drinks but half her glass of beer, and makes me take the rest. She chatters of the play neat week, and how it will be dressed. She tells me of her father, and her mother, and the boys, ind of the baby’s graces, and his skill in breaking toys. ‘And how the family downstairs complain about th And then —and then — she frankly yawns. Alas, for “ lovers’ pride!” She's sleepy — she must hurry home — she wants her veil-enis tied ‘And no! f mustn't calla cab, She can't endure to ride. So, as we walk she lectures me on coming every night, ‘And always bringing bon-bons. And it isn't proper, quite, Tosend her flowers daily. Poor child! God knows she’s right ! She shows me where her brother works, and points me out (alas!) The big chureh on the corner where she always goes to mass, And I Know her little heart i kneeling mutely as we pass Good-night, and one sweet kist — just one ; no use to plead or pray! Bu bless you, dear.” before she turns away we jou, Kitty! feis'all that ean say. But when the fellows chaff me, in the club and everywhere, About my pretty chorus, LUhiak how they would stare If they stw us, €ach night, parting on her doorstep, with a prayer. Ah, God bless you and God love you! In the tinseled glare and whirl aie men mayjmock your beauty as seu! pose and twit But heavehs not far above you, my hile chorus CAUSE OF THE RIS FASHION'S MARTYR. “What is at the bottom of this great rise in bread ?" asked Wiccwss (osietagy What aieath's theleiatied, ‘Ale Benson of M. Ne Ranoony Ay y. I've just a new pa “T don't know fed the latte going to get ‘em on if I have to wun everwy dwop of blood out of my feet. wa, PRCIFIO ARTE READ IN AN ALBUM. StEmaswie co, : , i “People tatk about the bonds of friendship, but too often these indissoluble affairs turn out to be formed of the flimsiest of thread. “To sound the depths of the human heart is to imitate the divers who go down to the bottom of the sea and find more finny monsters and strange abnormal growths than they do pearls.” A NEW REFORMER. Wiggins —" Now's this, Alyy? I never expected to see you pg a turn-down collar.” Baboony—"Aw ! Factis, Tom, three or four of us have decided that the high collar is being wun into the gwound by clerks and shop-boys, and we've started a wefawm,” DON’T CHARGE ANYTHING, “Js this battery charged?" asked a young man, AN EXPOSE. touching an electrical apparatus in one of the downtown SAN FRANCISCO IMAHGRATION INSPRCTOR —"* Say, my friend, there’s been a good deal of SOTES: . . i y. | What have you pot in those barrels?” “No, sir; we do a strictly cash business here. Se RUNNER" S Ixsrector —"* Oh, rats ! OLD CHOCOLATE’S JOCOSERIOUS CHAT. WEN LUCK plays de fiddle, w’o w'u'dn’ d Hit de nail hahd —ef yo" vumb a’n’t i . Hit er po’ comfort toe a one-legged man dat he gits shoe-leathah fo" half price. A man down in ‘is luck am laik a dead cat in de road. Many a wheel runs ovah ‘im. Many a man dat smiles at de chile specs to smile from de chile’s mudder, De pedlah’s prize am de woman dat doan’ know de mahkit price. ben darnsin’ am los’ fo" want ob practice. No use fo’ de pickaninny toe say, “1 duno wha’ de berry-patch is.” w’en he er got de stain on ‘is fa Dar er offen a po’ head undah a good hat. De mo’ smoke outen de chimbly, de po'ah fire on de hath De man dat er is own boss sometimes sees no pay- day. J. As WALDRON, ‘Tne FREIGHT —" Who said Lats?” comicbooks.com