Judge — November 28, 1896 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

Midge THE SOP TO CERBERUS. 0G oF fall ty mouths, have you not grown A set of teeth that's equal to a bone? On festal days has Pluto never thrown A loscious chop to you, at his own fire Done to the proper turn, in way of hire? Or does your master live by bread alone? Let me be trebly sworn; / have been flung To you too often by the awful horde Of these daft mortals, though your ev'ry tongue You may go to the devil, Cer, hereafter. A LAND O'’ERFLOWING, ETC. so much milk that we dilute the well-water with it.” > ~ {hy i [ li wht | \ |i iat amit © Photo. by Bath, JUDGE'S FAVORITE! BERTHA WALTZINGER AS IN “THE MANDARIN, You allee same singee like pletty Chinee, Make muchee sweet music, whatever it be. Me xo velly often see * Mandarin ” show, See muchee nice gals, me best likee /esso. No savee? if you be in China a wile, Sure Ckinaman husband make stay allee life. A SAD PROSPECT. Madge—"They say he proposed to her while out boating, and the poor fellow had to row her back four miles after she had declined him.” Marjorie—" That's facing the enemy with a vengeance.” A TURKISH LEGEND. THERE once was a Turk of high degree, Away up inG! And a score or more of wives had he, ‘Quite a harem, you see. Like the veriest cock of the barn-yard wall Fie made his family toe the chalk, And the little Turks didn’t dare utter a squawie When their old progenitor wanted to talk, Such a pompous old duffer was be. TEMPORARY FITTING. Boutrowx —"* That right optic you wear don't exactly seem to sparkle like a diamond this morning ?” This Turie had a brother, as some Turks do, (Alas, how true!) ‘That he wasn't proud of. He didn’t do ‘As he ought to do. He made bad rhymes that the young Turks sung. And he stayed out nights and careened and swung In the tree-tops tail, where he recklessly clung Till his brother said he was born to be hung, He and his rascally crew. But the other Turk had a proper pride, ‘Which can't be denied. And the swath he cut was long and wide, ‘And high, beside ; ‘And he made his boasts of a coming feast, With cranberry-sauce to give it zest And pumpkin-pie till you couldn't rest, ‘Where he was to be the principal guest While his brother moped outside. ‘The autumn came with its blighting chill, ‘As autumn will, And the scapegrace Turk was a scapegrace still, Too poor to kill ; Rat his pompous brother was sleek and fat, With an alderman’s paunch and a cardinal’s hat, An appetite quite to be wondered at And a little touch of gout, at that— ‘Asa gourmand he filled the bill. He graced the board of the house of Jones ‘nd they picked his bones! Nor heeded his twenty widows' groans ‘Or his orphans’ moans, With cranberry-sauce to give him zest In pumpkin-pie he sank (o rest, Admired by all and beloved the best Thrice honored he. the Thanksgiving guest Of the plebeian tribe of Jones. ‘And the scapegrace Turk in the tree-top high, wills a Bien dies ile the wind made his own quills rattle and fly. How it screeched! Oh. yt otic wasn’t a dirge thatthe wind:harp played, Nor a funeral-march, but a gay roulade, A regular wild fantaronade In praise of that rollicking, roistering blade, he turkey that roosted high. MYLES TYLER PetswiR, In all the years since Orpheus twanged his lyre Of dulcet strings and strains t'. appease your ire, Of scribbling hacks. I cannot stand the laughter Joined in one howl of hunger. For your board EDWARD W, DARNARD. * Do your cows give a great deal of milk?” “Do they? Say! It's a fact, stranger, we get Daster —"* No! 1 got a paste in it last nigh THE SIMPLE “CHINKS” AND THE MISCHIEVOUS BOYS, A LETTER FROM JOIIN. DEAR MOTHER: With regard to my position, it is somewhat con- fining, but then all my expenses are paid and I have a good steady job, sure to last ten years ‘our son Joun. A YOUNG WIFE’S TRIUMPH. + +D)ID you make the biscuits we had for sup- per last evening, my dear?” “T did, love.” “ They were excellent; they gave me a night- mare such as I haven't had since I ate those my mother used to make.” ONE AUTHOR'S SCHEME. Hojack —“ Have you heard Trenchant Penn's plan for getting that weird spelling he uses in his dialect stories ?” Tomdik —" No; what is it?” Hojack —" He dictates his stories to his nine-year-old daughter, who ticks them off on the typewriter.” . i, comicbooks.com i