Judge — November 4, 1882 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUDGE. He Was a Poetical Dog-Catcher by Profession. Tue other day a man rushed into the office and looked keenly around the room, as though seeking some one, until the clerk at the desk inquired his business. He was a tall man, with long, artistic hair hanging over his forehead and shoulders, He had a restless, piercing eye and a thick, stubby beard. He wore a long, heavy overcoat, buttoned up to the throat, and a big slouch hat was firmly planted on his head. The clerk repeated the question, and the man, bringing down the nob of his heavy walking- stick on the desk, said ina loud, husky voice : “T want to see the editor.” “The editor—which onc? We have a whole roomful of editors—there’s the man- aging editor, the sub-cditor, the scientfic editor, and about nineteen others. Which one do you want to sce 2” “T don't care which. Show me one of them—any of them—all ofthem! I have a complaint to make, and demand immediate satisfaction.” y are all busy now,” argued the 3; “besides, this is not our reception Come in again on Friday, and we will rectify any misunderstand——” “Don't want any misunderstandings recti- fied. You can't put me off in that smooth manner, I want to see him now, and what's more, Iam going to! Move away, young man, and let an injured gentleman pass through, or you might get hurt. You've got too glib a tongue for me; you had better tic a tag to it and catalogue it in a collection of anatomical curiosities.” So ing, he elbowed his way: to the editors’ room and let fly. “*Are you the managing editor of this paper?” “Tam; what can I do for you? Perhaps you want to buy a copy of THe JupGE? ht down the hall—third door on the right. for Mr.——" I don’t want to buy anything! I want to know why you didn’t publish that poem I sent you, entitled ‘An Autumn Siroces?"” “ An autumn si—what?” Never received any such lay as you speak | of. “Never did, hey! bulldog of yours gna your mail-bag when you weren't looking, and got at it before you could tell him he was up the wrong article. Now, didn't I suppose that Chince ‘"No! he doesn’t open the mail in the morning; we keep him ticd up behind the door, and only Iet him loose when poets and tramps come in to irritate us, and——" “Yes, yes, I know—and you have an clec- tric wire attached to his chain, which com- municates with your desk, and the moment you touch the button, a little bell on his col- lar gives the alarm, and the chain drops off at the same time; then the other dog does all the rest. Ofcourse you were going to add that, owing to the large dimensions of the animal's mouth, it only suffices for him to walk, wed his way through | or rather saunter up to an intruder and gape at him for about a minute; then the intruder gets so frightened that he falls in, and is lost forever. Now, isn’t that about the idea? Oh, youcan't fool me! Just tell me about the poem, and I won't be too hard on you.” “Pm busy now,” said the editor, turning pale and tattooing on the desk with his fin- ger-nails. ‘Come in some other time.” “I'd rather have it out now, thanking you for your kindness.” “Then I'll have you put out.” “No, you won't. Ican fight just as well as I can write poetry, and I'll pulverize any in- dividual who comes within my reach, Just drop that poker—you shriveled up, blow-you- away-with-a-breath young man; you might strain your wrist wielding it. Now, to re- sume, Mr, Ed——" ‘Will you go out ?” yelled the exasperated editor, “Not yet! The truth is you found my poem too good for publication. It's being superior to any you could compile yourself, you naturally had no inclination to Iet the public compare your verbose doggerel with my brilliant hits. Ah! I can see through your little game. Ha! ha!" ‘Just let that dog loose, there !” roared the editor. The dog was let loose, and made a jump for the poct’s throat, but the poct was pre- pared and met the dog halfw They closed—they clinched and wrestled, and gave each other another one back, until the poct got rather the better of the dog, and slid his hand round the animal's yellow throat, then felt in his pocket for a produced one— slipped the animal in, slung it over his shoul- der with a dull thud, and was making for the open doorway when the editor shouted : “Who the devil are you? I thought your vocation was that of a poct, but I sce you | want to steal my dog.” | “Tear me out,” broke in the man, “I make my living by the sweat of iny brow. I'm what they call a Poetical Dog-catcber by profession, and don’t you forget it.” The young man with the poker let drive at | him and knocked a hole in the wall, The ink- | stand was driven through the panel of the door, and the red ink gently sprinkled the editor's frilled shirt; but all that was of no account—he had lost his favorite Chinee ter- ror, and the poctical dog-catcher was never seen again, | School-ma'am.—You observe, my little dears, if I puncture the rubber ball, it will collapse. Do you understand? Smart Child.—Oh, yes, 1 understand. you prick it, it will go squash. If ANEW book has just appeared under the title of Who's Who ?” Blessed if we know. But if anybody is anxious to find out “ What's What,” let him read Tne: Jove. ‘THe man who wishes to ‘‘ weed ” his friends should only select those who have the best cigars. A COMPREHENSIVE measure : One that will take everybody in. SAMMY MAVOURNEEN. Sawwy Mavovexrey, the bright Sun is shinin; Oh! hast thou forgotten that day, When thee and thy barr'l were “left” qu It may be from years—it can’t be defection— Ob! why art thou silent, thou Sage of Gr It may be from years—it can’t be defection, Then why art thou silent, thou Sage of G Sammy Mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers; Obio responds to the Democrats’ wail; New York only counts on majority’s numbers Arise thee—thy barr'l this time shall prevail ! Oh! Sammy Mavourneen, there's sad fears appall The hearts of thy followers, aching and lon Itmay be from years—it can’t be dejection, Then why art thou silent, thou Sage of G It may be from years—it can't be de} ‘Then why art thou silent, thou Sage of Greystone? =P. W, POTTER Doy’t use tobacco in any form, yet never- theless smokes and pufls—a locomotive. Mey who make money but seldom get rich —counterfeiters. A birD that can't fly far—the jail-bird. SrRaNGE how evil communications corrupt good manners. A fellow who has too much to do with tumblers, usually tumbles before he gets home. SumMersreeze’s daughter had a call the other evening from her beau, and after talk- ing about pa’s chickens and various other things, she exclaimed: ‘Charley, you ought to shave off your eyebrows.” Charley had always thought hie eyebrows were no damage to his good looks, so he asked, “ What's the matter with ‘em? Don't they suit you?” “Oh, nothing,” she said, sweetly; “but if you cut them off it would give your mustache much more prominence, you know. Charley vows he'll raise an imperial on his car, 80 Darwh a tale.” \’s favorite remark: ‘Thereby hangs SUMMERBREEZE received a curtain lecture from his wife, and when it-was over he re- marked; ‘‘1 knew there'd be a thundering old storm pretty soon. I saw a big ring round the moon last night.” “Way docs the wavelet’ murmur?"’ writes a gushing maiden from the Erie Canal, We don't precisely know, Mary, but suppose it’ because if it was a great, big, he-Atlantic- Hatteras billow it would roar like a Comanche Indian. AND now we read that paint is being made from mummies which are ground up and pre- pared, All .of which goes to show that the ancients must have used more paint than the girls of today. Licntt artillery : Church canons. PLeasanter by far: To pay your addresses than your debts. Resectep article: A man throwing his wife out of doors. comicbooks.com |