Judge — July 24, 1897 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

A SALT AND BATTERY. uv John Perkin: ‘nglishman, likes ther pecoolyar institooshuns uv thet kentry, an’ ‘pon ‘splainin’ thet pot write things ter celybrate great we figgered ez how it happeni Suage THEIR IDOL. HEY loved him so, his parents did, ‘Throughout his baby days, ‘They never sought to regulate His naughty baby ‘ways ; They loved him so, his parents did— For he was all they had— He got no spanks for wayward pranks, What time he was a lad. And grown at last a selfish youth, Till youth itself had fled He followed still his own sweet will Whichever way it led ; ‘And when he came to be a man "Twas quite too late to fret— He was his parents’ idol, and He is their idle yet tks, GRONGE ARCHIBALD. BILLVILLES POET LAUREATE. ILLVILLE grocery-store circle was agitated by a debate—a hot, angry debate—and Uncle Ezry Huggins, who by virtue of having the longest beard in the county was accorded czarship and a seat upon the prune-box with pickings therefrom, bawled in vain for order and attention. The entrance of the cigar-drummer was hailed with much joy by him, and he shouted, * Yer jest in time, sir; jest in time.” There came an instant lull. and the tobacco-stained beards veered around to the new-comer. “ What's up?" he cheer- fully asked. “Tl lucy- date ther ar- gyment fer ye in a minnit. answered Un- cle Ezry. Tak- ing a fresh chew of to- bacco, he be- gan, “It's all ‘on account 0° a po't larryat fer Billville, the same be- in’ a notion who, bei Weary Witt oaken bucket dat hung in de weil.’ larryats suppose?" I've drank in me life.” would be nice fer Billville ter hev one ter reel off odes, satires and epistles whenever donation-parties an’ ‘og-killin’s come ‘roun’. Now, here's the diffyculty. \ A BOSTON PUNISHMENT, ** Now, Emerson, if you don't get your lessons you sha'n't have a TOO MUCH FOR HIM. an Frowery Fretns—"' W'ot yer cryin’ fer, Weary ?” 'y, Slobsy Slocum hez jes’ bin singin’ about ‘de old There's two cannydates, an’ we can't make ch'ice atween ‘em. There's Bill Jones, who's writ single bean for a week !" Flowery Fietps—"'Ah, dat song brings back painful memories to yer, T Weany Wittin—** It does, Fields, it does ; it reminds me uv all de water USELESS GIFTS. “sPATHER was a sea- captain, you “know, and after his death a friend gave mother two parrots.” “ Do they swear “Not the least “How lonesome your mother must be in her old age.” OUT OF STYLE. Mrs. Cumso —“ Mrs. has a new baby.” Mrs. Cawker — “So 1 hear. Boy, isn’t it >" Mrs, Cumso — Mrs. Cawker —“ That's just like Mrs, Gazzam, She's never up- to-date. She ought to know that girl babies are the style this year. Look at the Harrison baby, the Carnegie baby and the Schofield baby.” azzam es. TOO SUGGESTIVE, Fraven Francis (anxiously) — WAsHLnss WILL (shuddering) sponge-cake. * Wotcher tremblin’ ‘bout ?° Der loidy offered me some ral po'ms, which, though they hain’t never been printed, is po'ms jest ther same, an’ Eph Sanders, who's contributed three patent- medicine testymonials to city papers, an’ had his picter with one. Yes, sirree! Now, what in Sam Hill air we goin" ter do?” * Dear me!” said the drummer ; “ why not have two poets laureate ?”” And they did. DREAM’S ILLUSION. A POET'S dream?— There's one 1 know Dreams and cannot forego it , But dreams still by contraries go— He dreams he is a poet. THEIR FIRST BREAKFAST. Mr. Youngwed — Darling, this egg seems to be pretty well cooked.” Mrs. Voungwed (delighted) —"1 thought so. Why, dearest, I boiled it for over half an hour.” COMPLIMENTARY CHEVALIERS. (after the mixup) — ' y Kitory Oi wor gougin’ out yez oye wid me fut me heart wint out t' yez for th’ nate way ye wor makin’ bites at th’ calf ov me lig. Putt her ther.” (Embraces.) “Giv' me yure ‘Shure, Oi wor overpowered be th’ yez bit'me in th’ nick whin Oi wor “Same t’ ye, Killeen! Shure, whin comicbooks.com