Judge — March 16, 1895 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

ISTORIANS largely tic. increase his prestige. Be that as it may, the fact remains that the emperor was found one day by Talleyrand and Murat, lying prone upon the floor of his study, face upward, apparently para- lyzed and unconscious. “Ah, sad, sad!" said Talleyrand, stepping lightly to the side- board and helping himself. “* Our noble emperor has fallen upon his back and cannot roll over.” “Talleyrand,” cried Napoleon faintly and slightly opening one eye; “ Talleyrand, you are a fool! This is an attack of epi- lepsy, but for heaven's sake keep it quiet. Carry me to my chamber and send up a bottle of seltzer and some cracked ice; that alone will relieve me, I have been taken this way before.” And again, just before the battle of Aboukir, Napoleon was found by an orderly, seated beside a table in his tent, frothing at the mouth and gesticulating violently. “Pardon me, general; are you il?" cried the orderly, highly alarmed. *Confound it, man! I'm shaving myself,” roared Napoleon. “ Hand me the bay-rum and a towel, you rascal! that's a good fellow. It was upon such slight incidents as these that his enemies based their claims of epilepsy and other gold-cur- able diseases. (To be continued.) TRIPE. rgie— Mamma, cook's frying something very funny for lunch.” Mamma—* What is it, dear?” Jonne—" Georgie—" Bath-towels. ‘im er statty fer?” Buy—""" disagree as whether or no Napoleon was an epilep- His enemies claimed that he was; his adherents claimed that he was merely follow- ing the fashion set by Julius C2rsar, so as to to HOW HE UNDERSTOOD IT. ““Phwere are yez goin’ wid yer pick, Maguire, this foine Sunday avenin’ ” 6> ee NEAR ENOUGH. So dat's George Washington, is it? ‘Cos he was de only boy wot eber tol’ de trut’.”” “Don't shtop me, Moike. Me darter Joolia wint t'th' Mandolin Club this noight, an’ she jist sint a b'y home fer th’ pick. P'r'apsit's an iligant shcrap they're havin’ an’ she nades it.”” END-OF-THE-CENTURY LITERATURE. HE CLOSED the door and the windows and built a roaring fire which soon made the atmosphere of his room suffocating. ‘Then, when the perspiration poured from his body, he removed his shoes and stockings. stripped himself, donned a linen duster, rushed into the street and seated himself on a great pile of snow. Here, while the pale, cold moon shone down, while the sleigh-bells jangled, while lovers sought warmth in hasty embraces, he sat and froze for just one hour and twenty minutes. ‘Then, with a paintul effort, he got down on his knees and crawled into his house and into bed, crying out for a doctor. Was this man insane? He was not, He was an author who had observed with surprise and envy the phenomenal success of the pulmonary novel, the dyspeptic novel, the paretic novel and the appendicitis novel, and who had determined to get himself into proper condition for writing a pneumoniac novel, THE BUNCH OF SHAMROCK. WELL Mike enjoys St. Patrick's day, And sighs when it is over ; For, having then his own sweet way, con Wot did dey gib Of course he lives in clover. TOO SWIFT Mr. THompson—t' Gentlemuns, yo" hab no objections, I's hope, toe mah fren’ jinin’ in de game?" 5 LeMUNS—** S: Mr. THromrson— er— rtinly not ; sartinly not.”* Mah fren’ heah do like his little game eben ef he am FOR THEM. —deacon.” comicbooks.com