Judge — August 26, 1882 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

U7 we wish to escape betng ctubhed by our police protectors why not hare their clube arranged afer the manner of the ind. Or, after they have ezerted ‘some citizen who haa the andacity to nest” can my roses and verbenas looked when these playful birds got through with them. In vain did I patch holes in the fence, and take other means to prevent the invasions; every contrivance failed, and the ruin went on, I grew desperate, and determined to have | the fiendish rooster'slife. I took young Finch- ley into my confidence—he lived on the same | street—and over some prime lager and two fiNeen cent cigars we matured a plan, The next evening, just about dusk, in ac- cordance with the plan mapped ont, we con cealed ourselves in an unused basementin the rear of the house. There was a window to the cellar, the sill of it being on a level with the ground of the back garden, and leaving it wide open to attract the roostor, we pat awaited developments. We did not have to wait long; very soonthe monster, who was out all hours of the night, and up all hours of the morning, came cl ing along, and as we had sprinkled some corn ar the window-sill, he was at once attracted it. After gorging himself to repletion, he squinted down into the cellar, and seeing no- body in the dark, at once flew down, Now was our opportunity. Tat once seized it and a bag 1 had provided inyself with, and giving the word to Finch, we gave that rooster a lively chase. It was rather dark in the | cellar, for I had taken the precaution to shut | the window, leaving only a small space open to admit light, but led by the rooster'’s squawking, as he scuttled around in fear, we were soon tracking him. After a brief but exciting pursuit, we cor- nered him, and young Finchley grabbed him securel, I then held the bag open to re- ceive him, and Finch stooped to place him in at. In the darkness, however, I mistook young Finchley’s head for the rooster, the latter— who was, no doubt, halfchoked—being silent, and in my eagerness jammed the bag over it, nearly smothering poor Finch before I found out my mistaki Releasing him, he gasped again and again for breath, and relaxing his hold on the rooster, the latter took advantage of the op- portunity, and flew up to the window, where nea THE JUDGE. he pulled himself through the small space, and disappeared with a squawk of joy. Nor was this all. In trying tocapture him I stumbled over something and fell, spraining my wrist severe! Of course we did not continue our campaign against the rooster | any more that night, Young Finchley, who was surly, and who, I think, halfsuspected me of throwing the bag over his head on pur- pose, went home at once, while I repaired to the nearest doctor. I was fully two weeks getting over that in- jury, my peace and garden meanwhile being open to the ravages of that monster. Afterward when I met young Finchley in the street he never noticed me, and at the present time we don't speak, while Iam up with a fresh hurt, received through cb sing rooster. A Poet's Perplenities. BY DEMOCEITUS DINWID x. Tue other day, when the thermometer was at 99 3-4 in the shade, I received the follow- ing notice from my editor-in-chief: “Me. Dewocrires Diswippy “Dean Sin: You will pl xt issue a poem, | readiness for oF eisght our four-tin e&. Make th , sentimental and idyllic; above all, it must be truly rural. You know the style we want, something seasonable, and hadi pITOR Yours, ete., Tne SesTorEsTAL Gesu. Your poem must be ready to set up to- ase t that will p! I felt very grateful for that note, more grateful | for the prospective pecuniary acknowledg- ment it would bring. Here I going to seed since my last poetic effusion, You may remetber it; it was entitled ‘Hail, Incip Spring!” Here was another opportunity for earning ¢ B,—Usual discount to the trade.) So, throwing off my coat and vest, and unloosening my remaining suspender, I borrowed a sheet of paper from my landlady, and started to work. My ideas didn't flow very fast at first—there were several th to retard them, I don't | they are so troublesome, be: | sv often, and they are continual falling. If [had one Iam sure it would have registered over 125 degr it was 100 in the shade, and what must it have been in my room? which ling, 6 feet high, and being on the top floor of a six-story tenement house, my condition can better be imagined than described. It was near twelve M. when I commenced my poem; the sun was pouring | its relentless rays upon my roof; the room was 80 hot thatthe landlady begged of me to allow her to leave a kettle of water on my floor, that it might boil, and thereby save her the | trouble of lighting a fire. I allowed her. 1| tried my utmost to think of something rural and sentimental; but how could I, when there were two rival peddlers yelling in oppo- sition, ‘ Turnips-cabbages-timaters - pitaties- codfish-mackerel - ten-cents-a-quart!” Then there was the landlady walloping her little boy for falling down-stairs. How could I be poetic amidst the yelling on the street and the howling and scolding ontside of my door? ness pa therinome ing and that feathered imp of Beelzebub—Blifson’s | | the key-hole of my door. Now the twelve o'clock whistles blow; the commingled odors of fried steak and onions, corned beef and cabbage, saur-kraut and limburger, ooze temptingly in through Now I hear the tramp of heavy boots ascending the stairs, and the scurrying slip-slap of female slippers descending the stairs, the females carrying tin pails and pitchers, with which they soon return filled with a frothy beverage. What would I not give for an inspiration —or a drink of the frothy beverage? ‘There is a fierce conflict going on within me; the contlict created by the vacuum in my abdomen is more painful than my mental conflict. I still heroically battle for an idea, while the large tirops of sweat chase each other down the spine of my back, and an occasional drop falls from my brow to the paper forming a black rivulet. I give up in despair. "Tis useless to try to compose while your brains are being fried in their encasement. The factory whistles again blow at one P. M.; awhile there is a rattle of cleansing «ish gradually subsides, and that universal still- ness pervades which always succeeds ) dinner anda well-filled stomach, ‘The chil- dren are too full to scream, so they listlessly lie in the corridors and on the stairs, whi their mothers take their afternoon siesta, or quietly gossip in their neighbors’ apartments. Whilst this quietness pervades I renew iy pocticattempts, wrapping a wet towel around my throbbing temples, and after two hours’ brain-cudgeling [ produce the following: pinmence to Down in a shai Listening to: Far from tho Freel from its nook, sling brook ity's ame yoke I finish the first stanza in the greatest agony. Instead of listening to a “ babbling brook,” I was listeniag to a deafening pane monium throughout the house. had recommenced with redoubled v children are The nois r. The I squalling and fighting. Th is an exci debate between Mrs. Mulligan nd Mrs, afferty on whose turn it is to serub the stairs, Mrs, Mulligan taking the negative by declaring it wasn’t her turn, ‘The argument is hot, and the lan, very age is comicbooks.com