Judge — July 13, 1895 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

A BAD CASE. “ My husband never knows the difference, grammatically, between the first and third person.” “Oh, that's nothing. Mine never knows the difference between me and the servant-girl.” MARJORIE KNEW. ++ JACK was dreadfully stupid in Sunday-school to-day, mamma,” said Marjorie, rushing in like a junior hurricane. “Teacher asked who John the Baptist was and Jack said he was a forerunner. Then teacher asked what tha: was, and Jack just got red and looked at his feet ‘cause he couldn't tell her—and she didn’t ask me.” “Could you have answered, sweetheart?” asked her mother. “Course I could. John was a man to do Jesus's errands.” COUNTRY SARCASM. SMALL BoY—"* Where yer goin’ wid yer horse, deacon ?” Dxacon Vhat business is that o° yourn?" SMALL Boy—"* Nothin’; only I thought if yer was goin’ ter enter him fer th’ Derby I knowed ‘a crazy man wot would like ter bet on him.” flight. BEHIND THE AGE, MAMMA —"‘Are the boys nice here in the country Tommy?" Tommy (of New York)—"* Nice? Not much, Why, they can't even swear.” STRAY BREEZES. [A THORNLESS rose makes no deep impression. Every one seconds the motion of the summer fan. The Trilby craze has undergone a timely ampu tation, Immersion is a popular summer doctrine of heated humanity. i The weather-prophet always discovers a tear in the robin's song. It’s an ultra good conscience that hasn't an elastic spot in it somewhere. Even the righteous must have golden wings in this world to prove their upward tendencies. Modern architects should design a cheap cottage whose windows would not admit of Cupid’s proverbial ANNIK-M. TOOMRY, TOO MODEST. Charlie —" So you don't like my new straw hat?” Mamie— No, 1 don't. The ribbon around it has only five colors.” AND THEY MADE IT HOTTER FOR HIM. MR. DEXTER (sith a great-toe movement)—"* It beats me how yo’ kin play pokah wid yo" shoes on dis wa'm night, Mr. Marks. I kain't stan’ de heat nohow— eb, Mr. Whackup?” Mr. WHAcKuP (gripping the ace)—"* De humidity am presperatin’, Mr. Dextah. I raises yo’ a dollah, Mr. Marks.”