Judge — December 26, 1903 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

FATE GETS EVEN. T WAS a morbid humorist ; His face was sad to see. He sat and moaned And grieved and groaned Beside the Christmas-tree. “ T shall not write the joyous jests I wrote but yesteryear— The smoking-jack- Et joke, alack! ‘And carpet-slippers queer. I shall not take my’ trenchant pen And tell about the smoke Of the cigar That smelt like tar I shall not write that joke ; “ Nor yet the laugh-provoking thing About the gay cravat My wifey bought Because she thought T should have one like that. « T might have written all of these And sold them all—oh, dear! But wifey scanned With aspect bland The jokes I wrote last year.” It was a morbid humorist, As sad as sad could be, Who thus repined. He could not find ‘Things on his Christmas-tree. CRISMUS CATACLYSM CLASS OF REV. SI SLOPPER. 66YJHO wus de fust man? ‘Lige Jackson, I see yo" holdin’ up dat han’ ob yourn. What yo" know ‘bout it?” “Job was de fust man.” “Dat put yo! ter de foot ob de class, Whar yo' git sech no- shuns? Job wus de fust man dat wudden stay down, but he wusn't de fust man in de lan’ by a long shot. Lissen terme. De fust man wus Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle. Stop dat ‘sturbance in de class. Whar did he cum fum? Co'se yo’ doan’ know dat. How could yo’? Nebber min’ ‘bout dat, no- how. Lissen ter me agin. What it wuz dat Santy Klaws Kris Krin- kle done dat make eb'rybody in de lan’ talk ‘bout ‘im? ‘Rastus Jefferson Davis tink he know. Well, ‘Rastus, speak out what on yo'r min’, Let de congagashun know whar yo’ wus raised.” “He bite de yapple dat a white woman gib ‘im dat she got fum de snake.” “Yo' got yo'r teachin’ mixt up wif ‘Lige Jackson's. tell dis heah story mahself, Lis- sen ter me now. Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle. wus de fust man ter cut a watahmelyun. Stop makin’ dat noise wif yo'r moufs, Den, when he cut dat watahmelyun, he go out huntin’ wif a pack ob coon- dogs, an’ he tree a ‘possum. Hol’ on, dar! Stop dat shinnin'! Den he fotch dat’ possum home, an’ ole Missus Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle, she got de yams all washt an’ peel- ed. Sot down, dar! Den he put de yam an’ de ‘possum in de big soup-kittle in de back yahd an’ I got ter Teelsaiecere A PREHISTORIC STRIKE. “What's the trouble ?”” “Trouble? There's only two snake elevators running. The rest of the serpents are on strike, confound ‘em!"’ staht a fiah outen pine-knots. Den, while Missus Santy Klaws stir de yam an’ de ‘possum, ole Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle put undah moah pine-knots twell de ‘possum an’ de yam cum terged- der. Den dey taik um out an’ dey sot down by de kitchun-table, an’ Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle he carve dat ‘possum ter de bone. Quit dat shoutin’, or de class will be sent home! Dey eat an’ eat an’ eat twell’ dey fall off deir cheers, an’ Missus Santy, she get toted ter bed, Yum, yum! An’ den Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle, he gadder up de hones ob de ‘pos- sum—dar ain't no yam ter gadder —an' he put um in Missus Santy’s stockun’s, Den ole Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle he taik de coon-dogs ‘an’ go out an’ tree moah ‘possums, An’ he doan’ quit huntin’ twell he roun’ up enuff ‘possums ter put a piece ob one in eb'ry pickaninny’s stockun’s in de lan’, Dat, chillun, am de story ob de fust man an‘ de fust man what maik Crismus. An’ his name wus Santy Klaws Kris Krinkle, Dat am de gospil ‘cord- in’ ter de scripter, an’ dat will maik enny niggah good ef he beliebe it wif all he haht an’ min’ an’ doan’ ‘low he appytite ter run ter chick- enon de roost. Dar will be yed- nudder cataclysm class in dis heah swinnygog one yeah f'um ter-nite, cum nex’ Crismus, at cannel-litin’. Amen an’ halleluyah! In de lang- wedge ob de slamist, Selum, Kneeshack an’ Indigo, * Rise f'um. yo'r squatty voo an’ dissipate !' A SIMPLE RULE. SeT HE, Structure of the tooth,” says the lecturer on den- tistry, “is arranged in sections. The outer wall has feeling, but is not so highly sensitive that it will convey the sensation of pain. It is not until we attack the interior layers that we reach the truly sen- sitive portion of the tooth, and even then jt is at times difficult to tell when our instruments have pierced the nerve-centre. How- ever, there is one infallible rule.” “And what is that, profess- or?” asks a close listener. How may we tell when we are inflict- ing pain?" “The patient jumps.” HE FOUND FAULT. “SSEJE CRITICISED me for al- most nothing!” moaned the wife. ‘The friends sought to comfort her, but she was not to be soothed. Between her sobs she told of how her husband had expressed very unfavorable opinions of her new ball-gown. “But you said he criticised you for almost nothing,” argued the sympathizers, “So he did.” Here she gave way to a fresh outburst of sobs, “ He—he said I was wearing it.” comicbooks.com