Judge — October 5, 1895 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

THE SURGEON ( why I'm thinkin’ they'll need yer services. POSTSCRIPT TO LAST SUMMER. GIDDY mermaid drifted in On Coney istand’s shore And found a pair of Trilby boots, ‘A summer maiden wore ; But just as she was diving back, Delighted with her prize, A land shark nabbed her luc And chuckled, ** Not your size." And when old Neptune heard her wail Ife soon a storm did raise, To think that e’en a footless maid Should have the Trilby craze. THE FORCE OF HABIT. ++ OW did O'Mahony get along after he was dropped from the foorce ?* “Badly. He set up a peanut and fruit stand and ate up all his stock.” MISS is as good as a mile—of old maids, HE'D RATHER BE DEAF. SuoppiEMAN—"‘Ain't that boy's fiddlin’ elegant, professor? Strikes you dumb, don’t Proressor Gerzunpei deaf it vould be perfect happines it ees putiful! If it vould only strike me BEFORE THE DOCTOR'S STICKING-PLASTER WAS CALLED INTO REQUISITION, ised for the affair of honor in Podunk)—"* Them fellows will never hit each other. Tie, PROMOTER (before giving the word )—* T'll allow they won't hit each other, doc, but thet ain't it. Kim over back o' this tree with me while I give th’ word.” L don’t see where you need my services.” ‘Them pistils ain't been fired off fer forty year; thet’s BREAKFAST CEREALS. AT THE summer boarding-house the rural waiter bends confi- dentially over the shoulder of the breakfaster. “Apples or berries ?" he insin uates, “ Berries, please.” Then he solicitously murmurs the formula for the course of cere- als, having been carefully taught in the kitchen, “ Oatmeal, harmony, or serious food 2" PEDAL EXTREMITIES. DOROTHY, aged five, looked with awe and pity at the long, needle-pointed shoes of a young- lady visitor, and then asked of her compassionately, “Miss Ethel, ain't you got only one toe ?” , Algernon; readers of the Sut do not use smoked glasses. A SCARE. ELRVATOR-MAN (in loud and vibrating as he gives the door a vicious slam)—" Going down?” Mr. Roonzy—"' Hivins, mon’ fer th’ shpace av a minnit yez made me tink Oi wuz caught in wan ay thim buildin’ daysasthurs.”” Mr. Rooney, deep in his newspaper.