Judge — November 28, 1896 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

THE PREMIER'S SMILE. CLARENCR—"Ah, Mademoiselle Shakalegge smiled upon me most divinely to-night, you know.” Jack Bowrrowsx—" Quite likely. She has children of her own,” THE WIDOW O’TROUT. orp t'go t’ Ellis’s oisland, come Chewsda’ ‘Il be a wake, a- chasin’ av a granehorn as had come over from th’ nixt county t’ mesilf; t'rough her payple not knowin’ but she cud shtep aff th’ boat inty th’ shtrates av New Yark city, wid not acint in her pocket an’ her box follyin’ hersilf on a whale-barry, same as she'd walked inty Londonderry from Bownton Bay. ‘Tis an ill wind thot blows nobody any gud at all, at all; an’ Misther Raines’s bill havin’ incrased me thrade so ava Sunda’ thot Oi've been foorced t’ take on one young man wid one leg t’ attind t’ th’ cigars whoile mesilf an’ Cornaylia dales out th’ oice-crame an’ sody-wather, an’ two shmall boys thot is worse than none at all sells papers. Wid Cornaylia away t’ her work durin’ th’ wake (an’ give it up she will not) ‘tis hard for me t’ lave an’ go huntin’ other folks’s chilther, as niver Oi had t’ hunt me own—barrin’ oncet in a whoile whin her feyther wud sind her for his tibaccy, an’ mesilf bein’ druv crazy wid his ristlissniss wud foind her half an hour afther, playin’ moomlety-pig wid th’ b'ys av th’ alley, an’ dhrag her scramin’ home. Oi‘d th’ divil’s own toime t’ git me pass for th’ oisland— shure ‘tis asier t’ rache Blackwell's through shtalin'—an’ at th’ Batthery they towld me th’ ship had bushted her biler two days an’ one noight out. Shure ‘tis t' th’ bottom av th’ say they are thin,” says Oi, sittin’ down in great consthernation on nothin’ at all. MORAL—READ “JUDG! * Oi don’t know phwat Oi'm goin’ t' do, Norah, Oi can't get no wurk ut all, ut all.” hin ye musht driss oop loike a thramp. INSEPARABLE. Satwt PeTeR—" Come in if you want to.” Cyciist—" Can I bring my wheel with me?” Ivirybody is ferivir offerin’ thim hoboes wurk. “ Yer wrong there, owld lady!" says a dacint young gintleman, assistin’ me t’ me fate an’ passin’ me along t’ another man, who sint me back t’ another one, an’ th’ lasht man Oj rached was a Dutchman, an’ ivery word he said was shorter than th’ other. Foinally Oi'd me permit an’ was aboord th’ ferry-boat; an’ whin we arroived at th’ oisland Ord t’ go trough four or foive more min, till Oi found me collyane bedrinched wid tears. "Twas a lucky day for her that the boat was late an’ Daylia Corrigan’s letther mintionin’ her comin’ on toime, which same she brought over for me Cornaylia t’ rade—bein’ eddicated loike mesilf in a hedge-school an’ her oye-soight not good, though not aisy t’ fool on figgers. The ship was not one hour in, an’ she'd been lift be th’ other girls, who'd promised to come back an’ fetch her; an’ th’ poor crayther was moightily plazed t’ come wid me; an’ here she stays till she gits some av th’ bog aff her fate. MADELINE ORVIS, DREADFUL. THERE was a long line of men at the ticket-seller’s window. He was cross, but she Was not. “Just look at that hero,” said she, ‘ “Where?” s “1 don’t see any. “There,” said she, pointing to the long line of men, “If that isn’t a he-row I never saw one.” THANKSGIVING. THs festive season makes it clear There's sense in Nature's ways : We have this holiday to cheer ‘These melancholy days. id he grufity. HE WAS A VACANCY. Caller —" Is there a vacancy on the staff of this paper?” Able editor — Ves; the chap who presides over our society department.” Oi rid thot comicbooks.com , j