TONY DUFFY’S ORATION.
“Fellers! De gang has lost its pup! He scrapped wid a bull tarrier, an’ got it in de neck. He wuz a torrowbred, a chim dandy; a t’ree-times winner way up to de limit. He had a head on to him wot wuz almost hooman. I ain’t a-talkin’ troo me hat; I ain’t a-givin’ guff; I’m a-givin’ it to yer straight—he wuz a corker. Der Wanderbilts or Asters didn’t have de plunks ter buy dat pup—dat’s straight. He wuz way up in G—are yous wid me? His deat’ has broke me up; don’t jolly me—not on yer life. Yous wot has lungs chip in wid a song, sunthin’ sollum,—‘Ole Dog Tray,’ or ‘Sweet Maree,’—an’ den we’ll plant him. Fellers, I’se lost me grip; me name is Dennis—I’m all broke up. I’ll go chase myself an’ have a game o’ craps. S’ long!”
“I tell yer Sandow isn’t in it wid him. He takes de kid an’ chucks him in de air, den he turns a han’spring an’ drinks a can o’ cold tomatter soup afore de kid reaches de groun’.”
A PRIVATE EXHIBITION.
Master of Ceremonies: “De nex’ shot which me brudder de infant phenomenal will preform is to carrum wid de ball on de bottle an’ de lamp, an’ take de chimney off de lamp widout breakin’ of it, or puttin’ de light out. De shot is not on’y differcult, but marvelyous!”
A SAD STATE OF AFFAIRS.