Judge — August 10, 1895 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

Photo, by Fath. JUDGE'S FAVORITES. KATHERINE. GREY. Nag, Katherine! you need not gaze on me. Nor on the world, with such deep, serious eyes: Rather of joyousness your look should be, ‘Since on your youthful path the sunlight lies, Are you in study o'er some tangled text ?— Orwondering what Mansfield will do nest? ANOTHER WOMAN. oe H‘*s my wife been in here?” he asked. “ Medium-sized woman in bloomers?” suggested the clerk. Yeu,” “Very determined air?” “Yes.” “ Well, a woman of that description was in here a lit- tle while ago. She seemed to know just what she wanted, and she bought it without bothering the clerks and went right out.” “No; that wasn't Maria.” A LEADING QUESTION, He—* How many summers have you passed?" She (too frankly)—* Twenty-six.” He—"And how many winters?” Sage GOING TOO FAR. _ s6 AND so you are married ?” said Mrs. Keedick to her niece from the west. “ Yes, auntie.” “Joined for life, ch?" “Oh, it’s hardly that bad. I'm a Chi- cago girl, you know.” TOMMY’S SUC- CESS. Mrs. Cawker—"\ am so glad that my little boy went to the head of his class this morning. How did you come to do it, Tommy?” == Tommy—" The SOCIAL NUISANC rest of the fellows had THE FRIENDLY ** ROOTER. guessed all the other It's poker, You've had bad luck all night. ways of spelling the this time, MUST GET HIS MONEY'S WORTH. Jacon (chattering}—"* Fader, I'm so coldt I guess I vas go oudt.” At last you get four aces, and a look of disgust overspreads your countenance ; but the friendly “‘rooter’s” joy. is so evident that every one “guesses” he is not in it FATHER" Go oudt? Mine cracious! vas you grazy? I vas pay me one halluf-tollar fur your suid und you hafen’t pen in der vater two hours.” LS BRNISITION gpraaddonsdanl FIDE Senn? Gace p* iy g BOX-OFFICE RECEIPTS. Mr. JACKSON Jinco (the referee, commandingly)—" Sed down. sed down, gemmen ! Owin’ toe de tameness ob de precedin’ scrappin’-bouts I has bin called fon by de ‘managemunt toe do sumpin’, which I is gwine toe do. (alf-kearted applause.) Dis battle is fo’ mo’ dan blood—a watahmillon ! an’ as de losah doan’ git no millon (Aoarsely superstitions) dey'll ‘sassinate each udder toe win.” (Wild cheers and scramble for front seats.) Dey's droolin’ now,