Judge — February 2, 1895 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

uage A TURNOVER. Before and after Briggs combs his hair in the morning. THE GREAT MODERN REMEDY. $¢POOR Thompson! I'm dread- fully sorry for him.” “What ails Thompson?” “Why, he’s laid up with rheu- matism. Can't find a doctor who can help him.” “Why doesn’t he try shooting ducks in South Carolina?” THE QUITTINGEST QUIT. WITH this new year a new resolve I've made which seems quite fitting, And that is, after much hard thought I've decided to quit quitting. A TITLE WITH A MEANING. Charley Cumso—“ Why are girls called misses Freddy Fangle— Did you ever c Mose—" Ob course, niggah ! see ‘em try to hit anything ?” ez small ez dey does ?” FIRST AID TO THE INJURED. 6 OV HAT was that explosion I heard a few moments ago?" asked the head of the house. “One of Miss Charlotte's pneumatic sleeves was blown up too tight and burst, sir,” replied the servant. “I've just telephoned for two surgeons, the ambulance, and seven reporters.”” ANOTHER DANGER. ou heard about the mistake of one of the women voters out remarked the voice at the foot of the breakfast-table. “No, I did not. What was it?” “When they gave her the different ballots she tucked them away and walked out.” “Where in the world did she think she was?” “Out shopping. She thought the ballots were samples.” sy supr y The advertising procession was moving along very smoothly — DOUBLING UP. ABLE—"* Whad yo’ doin’, Mose—puttin’ two skates on one foot?” Whad else kin I do when dey maiks skaits —when Deacon Jones's horse took fright— THE AFTER-DINNER-SPEECH SEASON. ‘THE RACONTEUR'S HEREAFTER, FP BEYiLe bury him under a chest- nut-tree When the withered leaves are flying, ‘And nobody ‘Il say **Alackaday !” For what is the use of lying? There'll be general mirth when he en- ters the earth, Decked in her autumn glories, ‘And his friends will say “Ta-ta Good-day! There's the end of you and your stories.” For him they'll engage a white-hot stage In that place where he’s bound for certain ; Where the red glow lights up the noons and nights And the real asbestos curtain, ‘They'll grin as they sit in a bottomless pit, His auditors in the hereafter, ‘As at each climax the foul fiend cracks His fleshless jaws in laughter. Oh, then he will smoke for each hoary joke Like a dry Havana filler, And lament right well that he learned to spell ‘Through the pages of Joe Miller. Then when he's suffering tit for tat His victims can be forgiving And drink to his memory—for just that Was his stock-in-trade while living. JONN PALL nococK. THE DIFFERENCE. Miss de Butant—"Do you know, Mr. von Bibber, that I never drank anything but ccld water until I was eighteen?” Von Bibber—“And I, Miss de Butant, have never drank it since.” A THEORIST. Eprror’s wirE—"* Who wrote this beautiful article on ‘ How to manage awife’?” Epttor—‘* Young Jones.” Epitor's wire—* Why, I didn’t know he was married.” Eptror—"* He isn't.” —and dashed through the midst of the procession, with the above result. comicbooks.com