Judge — February 18, 1899 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

wt ‘SJVDCE'S_ WORLD'S FAIR? € GIVE HIM A CHANCE. Motuer (singing in rasping voice)—* * Sleep, baby, sleep.” Babe—" Oh, for heaven's sake! shut up and I will go to sleep.” A SLIGHT MISTAKE. +s] SMELL beer on your breath,” said Mrs, Fosdick to her 5. ROMA AMC Ancient of days is Rome— husband after kissing him as he came in. iter ruins f recall “Woman,” said Mr. Fosdick impressively, “ your kiss was Vagoelys pot (hres pialoly sees not the kiss of affection, but the kiss of suspicion, Alas! that I “Tap breesyerippien tect should live to see the day when my wife kisses me to see what | ‘On dust of empires tread : ot ‘Thou ‘rt worth a score—yes, many more= have drunk while away from her. imperial ladies dead, “Pooh!” retorted Mrs. Fosdick. “To think that I should live to see the day when my husband comes home smelling like “Thave kept my word, my dear.” a brewery. What have you to say for yourself, Mr. Fosdick, “Nonsense! Do you think I can’t smell? That is beer on your breath.” after promising me that if 1 would marry you you would never “Upon my word, my dear, it is not beer. I have not taken a drink of beer.” touch beer again.” 4 “Oh, I'm so glad that you have kept your word !” said she as she snuggled into his necktie. “Of course I believe you when you declare that you have not touched beer; but what is it I smell on your breath ?~-for I am cer- tain that I smell somethin, “That, my dear,” replied Mr. Fosdick as he fondly patted his wife's glossy tresses; “that, my dear, is nothing but whisky.” WILLIAM sueNRy sivETER, HER VALENTINE. DREAM of one old merry- making grows And blossoms in the gloom, Till music like a phantom perfume blows Athwart my dark’ning room; And dancers dance far in the paling gleam Till'grief has left no sign ; ‘Then like the rarest flower of my dream She comes—my valentine ! Gone, gone! The soundless music plays its last, The viewless dancers flee, And lo! this crumbling flotsam of the past— ‘The rose she gave to me. Oh, heart, wherefore this transient fantasy, Haunting the even’s close A VICTIM. As if its wandering spirit fain Mrs. Jones—*' I see the papers are full about ‘the decline of the drama,’ ” would be Mrs, Satrru—‘* Yes; and it’s about time, My daughter Mary has written at least forty perfectly lovely dramas since 3 Embodied in her rose ? she graduated from the high-school last spring, and every one of them has been declined.” JOMM DAML wittTe. comicbooks.com