Judge — September 17, 1892 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

184 “ JUDGE HER OWN DOCTRINE. Tommy (appearing in the doorway, rolling up the whites of his eyes) —Here I am, gran’mammy! | ‘clar ‘foh de Lawd, I ain't gwine to lib at dat place. I've comed to stay.” Gran'mammy (black as the ace of spades, but proud as Lucifer because “"foh de wah” she belonged to “de quality ")—" No, you ain't gwine to stay nuther, I've sent you back free times, an’ I'll send you back agin.” Tommy (not in the least disconcerted)—“ I ain't gwine back, gran’- mammy. I daresn’t.” Gran'mammy (getting into a rage, expecting to hear of some dreadful misdemeanor) —‘ You daresn’t! What zs you been a-doin’ dis time? T'll lick you, shore.” Tommy (triumphant) —"I ain't been a-doin’ nuthin’, I can't stan’ dat boss. He ain’t no jintleman—I telt him so dis mawnin’. He nebber owned a nigger in his life—jist a low-down oberseer hisself. I ain't gwine to mix myself up wid no sich classes. You allus telt me to lib wid de quality, now didn’t you, gran’mammy ?” Gran'mammy (beaming and showing her ivories)—“ Sartin shore, Tommy. Here's my hand. You is a chip ob de ole block, Tommy. Hi! I guess you will stay away from dat poor white trash. You ain't gwine back dar no more, not if 1 knows it.” Tommy (going off whistling) —“ 1 knowed dat ‘d fetch her. Gran’- mammy 's as proud as de debbil.” BRIGHT PROSPECTS. Ctartey —" Gosh, Chumley ! you look worried.” Cuumury — "1 am; my sweetheart telegraphs me that her old lover is following her around with a gun, and that she wants me there for protection. ”* ASTRONOMICAL. AN ASTRONOMER in Mars has just discovered the New York Central’s Empire-state express, and is calculating the size of the driving-wheels on number 870. George H. Daniels, general passenger agent, says — “There may be double canals in Mars, but there is no four- track rail The New York Central is the only one in the universe WELL MEANT, FATAL SYMPTOMS, Lapy oF THE 1tovse —"* Poor soul! Your husband's death was very unexpected, wasn't it Tie Wast-woMaN— “Laws bless you, no! Why, free days ‘fore he died I made him some stewed chicken an’ he wouldn't hab it, an’ I knowed when he didn't want no chicken, he was a goner.” AN ECONOMIST'S AVERSION. *¢] HOPE,” said Mr. H-lm-n, “that you will never refer to the Sahara desert again in my presence.” “Why not, sir?" inquired the capitol employé. Because I understand it is a great waste of sand.” Mixe—‘ Ugh!!! T’anks, Pat.” comicbooks.com