Judge — November 26, 1881 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUDGE. TERTINENT. Laxpronn—Let me see: If I could get another brace tn there, I could get a fore more hundreds Out of tt. FIRST ANNUAL MEETING ov rue Authors of “ Beautiful Snow.” REPORTED BY W. I’ Watt Wuaitsay, on taking the chair, said that if there was any Long-Hair present, whe had not written ‘* Beautiful Snow,” he would please leave the assemblage; and requested the sergeant-at-arms to attend to the matter. Brother Longfellow rose and walked out, every one else remaining. ‘The roll was then called, showing 409 members present. The chair then read the following telegram : “Would like to join the club. Wrote * Beaatiful Snow * when joiuing the street cleaning brigade. Carr, Wrnutaws.* On putting this application to vote, the chairman reminded the society that Captain Williams had to leave one clu} for disorderly conduct, and might repeat himself if made a member ofthis, Vote showed 439 black balls. aptain W 3 not admitted. ‘The following cable was then read : “ Hail) bjrotherat I wrote + Be: had} stjolen a pjair of ru’ tifal Snow,” after I per Hoots. + BORNSTERSE, BUORNSON.” A vote of thanks was tendered the Swed poet for his kind remembrance of this mevt- ing. At this point of the proceedings a mes- senger entered, bearing a large parcel, fully done up, and handed same, with a card, to the chairman. Dp tion: ‘The card bore this inse: “Will the beloved authors of cept the accompanying gift, from + AssoctaTe: Eprrors.” Beautiful Snow,’ ac- Mid a profound silence the package husked, and its contents stood disclosed—A Waste Basket. Meeting adjourned ten minutes to discuss on editors in general. Seven fights squelehed by sergeant-at-arms, On again calling the meeting to order, Chairman Whitman alluded, officially, to editors in these words : Who are these men—these eilitors? They are the scoria on the body politic. These jail These—bah ! Blacker than their ink, are thelr scoriferous souls, Pestiferous to madness! You bet !” hinds of journalism ! | and a potato-masher in her hand | of another victim, He then dismissed the subject a the attention of such an assembl unworthy Martin Farquhar Tupper was called on for | rage. his experiences én re “ Beautiful Snow.” Mr. Tupper said he wrote it on St. Pat- ick’s day. The poem had given him bi ent fame, Previous to writing it he had xperienced the truth of Whittier’s lines: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these— returned with thanks.” Mr. Tupper sat down. The chairman then rose to state that cach | poet present should have a chance to tell the assemblage how, when and where he wrote “ Beautiful Snow,” and that r of stenog- raphers had been booked ahead to take down all the testimony; but that first he must beg the attention of the meeting for Mr. Joaquin Miller—without Joaquin, one of our best pocts—who would read a companion epic, entitled, ‘The Bei Mr. Miller rose, So did the building. ter the ruins had been cleared away, it w: found that the Associate Editors had laid a mine to the cellar of the building where the meeting was held, and during the session—as is seen—blew up the whole concern, As there were no survivors, ‘ Beautiful Snow " is now an orphan epic. Af. An Unfinished Finale. Mr. Lucius Periwic was a bachelor, with all that the term implies, who lived ina pretty villa on the outskirts of W—. He had been living in single blessedness for upwards of tity years, and during that time had be- come so confirmed a woman-hater that the ht of a comely young girl would almost throw him into convulsions. Mr. Periwig's property adjoins and overlooks a beautiful little cottage which was formerly occupied by an illassorted couple, whose quarrels and bickering furnished him the material for many a tirade against matrimony and the fair sex. To sce the next door neighbor's wife pursuing the fleeting form of her iiege about the house with an uncarthly gleam in her eye Ss a spee- le that filled our hero with unutterable joy. But there came a change. The hen-pecked husband, kindly aided by the family physician, departea from a world of trials, his beli- cose relict gathered together her houschold goods and went away, presumably in search ‘and the house which was once the scene of so much conjugal infelicity became the theater for the perform. ance of the drama of love's young dream. It san unfortunate day for Mr. Periwig’ .c of mind when the empty residence was purchased by young Romeo Silverton, who a fow weeks later brought his blushing Juliet with the wedding vow still fresh upon her lips, w and the priestly benediction still ringing in | her ears, to make the house a temple and a | shrine of love, It was in the gladsome sum- mer season, and the wedded lovers would wander arm-in-arm along the garden paths in the balmy evenings, mingling the silvery treble and the manly tenor of their voices with the perfume of the flowers, and their | bachelor _ nei | Mr. Mayor, we on ighbor would observe them from his window and grind his tecth with A few weeks’ experience of this kind so inflamed the absurdly prejudiced mind of Mr. Periwig, that he become melan- choly; his digestive organs refused to perform their proper functions, and this beautiful world, with all its charm of hill and valley, of birds and flowers, and trees and mur- muring brooks, of happy children and smiling faces, and warm friendships, took on a sickly hue, and the one great absorbing passion of | his life became how to rid himself of his ob- noxious neighbors. We leave the story with the reader at this point. Itis written to fill a long felt want. Nobody is satistied with the conclusion of a story—could have wound it up much better himself. The reader will please do so. Make the old curmudgeon’s cunningly devised plot to blow up the loving couple with dynamite recoil and blow him (the curmudgeon) into | 6,325,387 pieces. Tue man who has a family of about six blooming daughters is often looked upon as a happy man. What a delusion! Consider six new bonnets and new silk dresses every week or two, bills for same coming in with clock-like regularity. ‘Think of coming home from the lodge, or somewhere, and finding six | cigar stumps adorning the front stoop; twelve muddy footprints frescoing the hallways; six infinitesimal skimming-dishes and six pug- headed canes ornamenting the hat-rack. Imagine six hugging-matches in full blast, | and a terrible six-ply quarrel in the morning, as to whose turn it was to have the parlor. Think of encountering lovers in the parlor, | in the hall, on the stairs, in the dining-room, in the kitchen, even; until you begin to find yourself an alien and aa outcast in your own home, that you are scratching your head to find the wherewithal to. pay fifty dollars per month rent for. here, Mr. Mayor, if you will kindly ex- empt us from arrest for a day, we will prom ise to be ever so good; We'll never break a law of any kind again; we'll be the most exempla- ry party in all the city. We want totake one of the too too utterly utter Oscar Wilde young men and kick him all the way from Central | Park to the Battery and into che Bay. Please, want one; there will be lots lef unfortunately, but we would like to have a chance alone, Oh, just to think of it! Oh, please do, Mr. Mayor! Tue poct his muse to amuse, On the spring his views re He grinds out his verse perverse, And the editors curso a curse, ws. Tue trains on the N. Y., N. HW. & IR. R. are evidently run with a view to impress- ing on the minds of the travelers the uncer- tainty of human affa Tax up the political sledge, All the cam- paign lies have been firmly nailed until next year. comicbooks.com