Judge — June 27, 1896 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

435 A PUZZLED DARKEY. [7 WAS during the late war that a negro was discov- ered, by a squad of union cavalry, on his knees in the corner of the field. He was in the attitude for prayer, but he was not praying “ What's the matter, old man?" inquired one of the men. “Well, yo" see, boss, I's moughty puzzlicated. I swar toe goodness I dunno whether toe pray toe de Lawd or toe Gin’ Sherman, ITH bated breath we SEASIDE OPPORTUNITIES GALORE. wait to learn what the (chuckling)—" Anybody who gives up money new man will say when a ional models at this season of the year is a ‘good line full of wet clothes falls in the dirt. A DEPRAVED QUARTETTE. A CERTAIN old darkey woman living in a remote suburb of New York, the chief source of whose livelihood is raising chickens and selling alleged " fresh aigs "to the" gen- tel white folks” in the neighborhood, came to one of her patrons recently with a basket full of these delicacies. “How much, Chloe?" asked the patron. “Five fo’ quartah, Mis’ Boswell.” “Only five? That's dear for this season.” “ Carn'd help it, Mis’ Boswell. De hens dey don’t lay as fas’ as dey ought. Dey's no money in raisin’ fresh aigs now days.” Being unable to withstand the various arguments brought by Chloe to effect a sale, Mrs. Boswell finally bought “a quarter's worth.” ‘They were cooked next morning for breakfast, when four of them proved beyond contradiction a good deal less than fresh and more than stale. A few days later Chloe again arrived at Mrs. Boswell’s QUITE RIGHT. Etnet—"* Louise, what's right and wrong ?” Lovise—"* Why, ma and pa, of course.” with an invoice of what she was pleased to term “dem delicacies of fresh aigs, and was sternly reproached for her perfidy. Lor’ bless us, Mis’ Boswell, dey aigs not fresh? Well, I ‘clar fo't, dem fo" hens ‘ll drive me mad.” “You are to blame for selling me bad eggs ; not the hens, Chloe.” "No, no, Mis’ Boswell,” rolling her eyes reproachful- ly; “yo' don’t understan’. 1 ‘clar‘tain’t my fault—it’s dem fo’ hens, I carn‘d do nothin’ wid ‘em—though de Lor’ knows I's tried—t's losin’ my customers t'ro’ dey actions. Why, dem fo" hens, dey don’t know what it is to lay a fresh aig—ain’t done it sence de day dey's born—an’ some- times I makes a mistake an’ gits dar layin’s mixed in wid de oders.” YRANCES A. SCHNEIDER, A BELLAMY DUEL. Oldest inhabitant —\ suppose it was the same old story—not a drop of blood ’ shed on either side.” APPROPRIATE TO HIS FANCY. Constant} reader Ob) Hock nen (with his first jag on, rapturously)—" Holy Moshes! eS there was. The crowd dot moosd be heffen up dere in dot shky. lynched them both.” “A CONFIRMED OLD MAID,” comicbooks.com