Judge — August 26, 1882 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

LONG ISLAND CITY. Poor Hunter's Point Is all out of joint OM Nick himself couldn't n Her credit looks 0 And there Jew The tenth of a cent would lend her. To mix up the crash A lot of her * brash” Officials their posts have forsaken; And what with her smells And her gambling bells, By ber doom she'll soon be o’ertaken. She's infested with L Uprooted by box, And the result is very foal air; And the clanging of bells Her quick doom forvtells, Unless something's done by her mayor. 's the great entrépot For those who wonld go. To Rockaway Beach or elsewhere; But no one there sticks Bat gamblers, and “sich” As work in the stench factories there, Her roads are the worst They look like the first — Ever built to kill and to maim; And her ferries are had As a place ever had— If“ ferry” is the properest name, She is doomed to decay, ‘s had her last day 1 to be sportive and rac We'll damp her re In one of her draing, And write=-* Requiescat in pace.” BLIFSON’S ROOSTER. DY JEREMIAM L, MeARTHY, A sitort time prior to the first of May of the present year, I made up my mind to leave the crowded metropolis, where I was thea resid- ing, and remove to a more congenial location, in the shape of some quiet, lonely street situ- ated in some correspondingly quict, lonely suburb, Being a humorist—that is, as much of a one as I possibly can—of course Tam somewhat melancholy, and love quict. ‘The daily shrick- ing and whizzing of the clevated railroad trains, and the continuous roar and rattle of | The thro loafers— lille capital and idle labor. THE JUDGE. the horse-cars and other surface vehicles past my door, was neither in harmony with my sadness nor conducive to my—humor: nor was the melody of the thousand hand-organs, German bands, street-hawkers, ete., as well as the million other sounds and noises of a large city. Accordingly I determined to seek an abode more in hy with myself, and, with this object in v utentively scanned the ‘To Lets" of the Herald, Sun, Tribune, and the rest of them, for some time, in hopes of coming across a desirable place. But f could find nothing suitable; there were plenty of houses such as I wanted, but the rents were too high in every case for my slender purse, while there were also numerou others such as I didn’t want with low rents However, one day I met young Finchley— junior member of the firm of A. Finchley & Son, real estate agents, No. — Bowery—who informed me, after being made acquainted ‘ith my wants, that he had just the place for me. “Over in Harlem, old fellow; the exact thing; pleasant house. fine garden, nice, quiet neighborhood, and only $30 a month; owner wants his rent monthly.” I knew young Finehley—we were old chums—and, knowing that he was giving me the “straight tip,” and none of his profes. sional ‘shenanigan,” I resolved to take the house, I did so. Having examined the place in company with young Finchley, 1 found it in ol repair, and as he had described it, On May-day I procured the services of two brawny teamsters, with a pair of sorry-look- ing horses and a dilapidated van, and com. menced moving. It took us nearly all day, but at last ever: thing was conveyed, and I was settled in my new domicile. It was a nice place, just what I desi The house was small, but pleasant, and quite large enough for me, while its surroundings, half country, half city, were quite in keeping with it, I had yet to discover, however, that my jden was not devoid of its serpent. Very svon [found out that my nextdoor neighbor kept poultry, But it wasn't the poultry [ objected to; that is, all of them, though the Lord knows they gave me trouble enough. It was the leade one solid man of the tlock—a great, hulking, fierce rooster, who had the worst voice of any of his tribe I ever heard. The noise produced by the rasping of a file over a saw wasn't anything compared with the discord that issued from the demoniacal throat of that abominable bird. Oh! the days and weeks of torment I suf- fered from that monster. Every morning about daybreak, when, after tossing on my restless couch through the long hot night, T | would sink at last into a delicious slumber, he would open with his horrible voice, wak- ing me up like a galvanic battery, and never ceasing until it was broad daylight. After st nding the nuisance for a week or s0, I determined to see the owner of the bird abont it. \ SSS 5 SS Y “Mrs, Blexdale,” I remarked one morning to my honse-keeper, “do you know the name of the gentleman that lives nextdoor? mean the one that owns the poultry.” “Oh! him, sir,” answered the house keeper, “his name is Blifson—Mr, Paul son, Sating my breakfast, F went at once in quest of Mr. Blifson, waom Twas lucky enough to meet near his stoop. He was a jolly-looking old party, with a capacions stomach and rubicund visage. He listened very quictly to my complaint, laughing as he did so, and when Thad finished, sai¢ “ Well, Mr. Jawsie, I'm sorry indeed that the rooster annoys you, but really I can see, as far as I am concerned, no remedy for the case, The bird is of value to me, and you surely do not expect me to kill him. Besides, you know, it is only natural for him to make a little noi: I saw at once that it was useless to con- tinue the conversation, and quietly withdrew, but my resentment for the rooster was as fierce as ever. Days passed and my wrath increased. Not content with his horrible squawking, Blifson's rooster soon began to make little excursions into my garden, which I had commenced planting with choice flowers. He was usually accompanied in his raids by his whole family, and you can fancy how nice comicbooks.com ek i sat