Judge — October 29, 1898 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

(ROPPED THE SUBJECT. He was on one of the late subur- ban trains, returning home after a day in the city, carrying the usual purchases for each member of the family. He was also carrying a very decent-sized city jag) but had it well down, in an- ticipation of his reception should he allow it to come to the surface. He had applied brakes too soon, however, and couldn't stand the pressure. He Started the monologue in a low voice, ‘but soon warmed up to the subject and sttuck in on a higher and louder key; then settled back in his seat with ex- aggerated solemnity to receive the reply of hts imaginary adversary. His. words were jumbled together with hic- coughs and tangled up with the dilapidated remains of a cigar; but we knew he was on the subject of the relative merits of Schley and Sampson. He stood .up in the heat of debate and, spying his fel- low-passengers across the aisle for the first time, started on a starboard tack for that quarter, He reached his destination safely, carefully removed his cigar, straightened up, and said, “ Well, what you shay to dropping th’ subject ?” They acquiesced by a nod. He retacked to his seat and was soon asleep. wee THE MASQUERADE, STRANGE Piping thrills the eve of Hallowmas With sorrows half unsaid, And down the highways of the darkness pass ‘The masquers of the dead. Sere, wrinkled leaves and bloom of summers gone, And waifs of flowerless weeds, Like disembodied dreams they hurry on Where’er the night-wind leads. And evermore with him they idly flaunt By wild and croft and mere, For they are one with all the ghosts that haunt The wastes of yester-year. youn pant. wire. Goop sov—: Mother says I can't go out on my bicycle this afternoon ; I've got to stay ifi the heuse.” SORKY TO LOSE HIM. Mrs, Haxtroqux—* Our daughter has eloped with the coachman,”. HartBroquk—** That's coo bad. He was the best coachman | ever had.” THIS WAS BEFORE THE WAR. _ . ‘OH. IT was fine!" exclaimed the sefiorita to her American visitor, “1 wish you had: gone with me. It was a magnificent corrida. The matador killed six bulls.”” x “Only six?” replied the American girl. “Why, at my uncle’s abattoirs at Chicago they kill a thousand steers a day.” ROUGH RIDERS, Bap noy—‘‘Aw, shucks! Dat’s de way wid some women, Dey'd sooner have deir kids grow up ter be reconcentrados dan rough riders.” ow comicbooks.com