Judge, 1895-12-07 · page 32 of 48
Judge — December 7, 1895 — page 32: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Judge, 1895-12-07. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LARGeS We Gre =. ALONG FILLER, IMPORTED (W)RAPPER CONNECTICUT ** SEED." TOBACCO NOTES The season's ** crop" now on the market, “SECONDS * A COMPARATIVE PICNIC. s+ AH. ME.” sighed the crusty old bachelor as he sat in his sumptuous hotel-room, lazily blowing the fragrant smoke-wreaths from his Henry Clay cigar; “ah, me, what strange fancies are these! Here 1am almost wishing that I was a married man, Next week is Christmas—a week of general rejoicing and good cheer; but who has an old bachelor like me got to make presents to? Whom have'l to live for? Whose heart will I gladden, or whose eye grow bright with affection toward me, on the holy Christmas morn? Le’s see; le's see. I've got to remember the chambermaid—one; and three bell-boys—four; and two porters—six; and the elevator, and the head waiter, and the individual waiter, and the night-clerk, and the bar-tender, and the cigar-stand, and the scrub-woman, and the detective, and the policeman on this beat, and seventeen odd nephews and nieces, and—oh, heavens! | only wish I was a married man with ten small children. What a comparative pie that would be! APPROPRIATE GIFT. s+] WANT to get a book for Uncle Frank's Christmas-present.” she said sweetly to the attentive clerk. “ History, biography, fiction, poetry, an encyclopae aggested the young man “No. Let me see‘ The Democrat of the Breakfast Table.’ Uncle Frank is a Democrat himself, and | should think he'd ike that. Wouldn't you?” A JUSTIFIABLE MAN-TRAP. Factory FoKEsAN—"" I've got the lamp-black in your tire; now how many pounds pressure will you have?" Mr. Jackso: Il shell stan‘. T wants dat jelius ribal_ob marn dat weahs de white-duck suit toe fo'cibly heab frum hit de nex’ taru: he sneaks oun’ an’ cuts hit.” sox (from inside)—"* Vo's stuck on yo" suit, niggah, but mad soot am stuck on yo", yo’ brack away, dar; swar away!" A LIGHTNING CHANGE, comicbooks.com