Judge — July 3, 1897 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

THE SUMMER GIRL. YOUR heart's not in your mouth, for then Your words would be less cruel ; ‘You cannot wear it on your sleeve— ‘That's small by fashion’s rule. ‘We know it isn’t in your boots, For they would be too small ; And so you force us to conclude You haven't one at all. MCLANDBUKGH WILSON, SHAKESPEARE IM- PROVED. ++ SGHE never told her love,’ read Father Wayback from the inimortal poet.“ Well,” he went on as he laid his book down, “ef Violee had lived in this neighborhood there wouldn’t ‘a’ been any call fer her to tell it. You wimmen-folks would ‘a’ had her married a dozen times; an’ as fer fallin’ in love, you'd ‘a’ run up so many beaux that the population would give out.” And having utilized the interim in the gossip, Mr. Way- back escaped violent action on the part of the sewing-circle by creeping off to bed. : IT MADE A DIFFERENCE. THE LESSON OF THE FOURTH. Aunt JaNe—"' That isa very decorous and modest bathing-suit, Louise, and I quite HOUGH cranks may prate about the boom and fizz approve of Ol qnckers, would they have the anali boy mie? Lovtse—"*1 am glad you think it so proper, aunty; but it is my bicycle-suit, you “f \e tet know.” If you should ask me I would say it is To teach the young idea how to shoot. ON SUNDAY. AS WITH a reverential grace Sweet Alice lifts her pleading face I wonder through her soulful prayer For what she prays while kneeling there. For pardon? Ne’er a maid ‘neath heaven Has fewer sins to be forgiven, For beauty? 'Twere an idle plea For one e’en half so fair as she. For friends? She counts them by the score ; To see her is but to adore. Power, homage, title? One and all Are e’er within her lightest call, And, watching still her downcast eyes, Sometimes the daring thought will rise— Poor, wretched sinner that I be, Perhaps sweet Alice prays for me. pixie wotcorr, NOTHING IN A NAME, 2 Cumso—" Who was that meek, depressed-looking AT OUR SUMMER RESORT. man I saw you talking to?” on ua Cawker—" His name is Oliver Cromwell Well- Everybody said, ‘* What a graceful : ra couple and what superb dignity !” — until they saw them at a hop, ington. HIS UNHAPPY YOUTH. ** MANY the time, children,” said Papa Jimpkins, relating an old story of the privations of his early life; “many the time have I been compelled to strap myself up very tight about the waist in order to expe- . rience even the remot- est symptom of be x ing too full for utter- acs i ~— ance, CASTING RE- FLECTIONS., ‘sTHERE’S one thing I wish,” > z said the chairman of mes ( : a the committee of are + “ts. “FRG ie rangements for the Yay! re ARG ayty Hayville celebration, cose S “and that is that we HIS PREFERENCE. could hire the Greco- Carrain (Blackville Biues)—'* 1 fo't yo' said yo' liked a dropped ball. Dat ‘Turkish war to repeat pitcher didn’ pitch yo" nuffin’ else 4u¢ dropped balls, an’ yo’ fanned de air ebery itself on our public “™) “ ” a New pLaver (naively) —*' Oh, but de kinds ob dro) ped balls / likes is JOINING THEIR CAWS. square. whar de ketchah drops dem aftah de third strike. comicbooks.com