Judge — December 8, 1883 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

I doubt if any one in my house ever knew what a muse meant—but I wander from my theme. I did not mean to write of myself, or to enlarge on my own griefs and wrongs. Tam not, [ never was, a seltish woman—but my husband is—and his whole soul is pos- sessed by one absorbing passion. All that should be poetry in his nature flows towards it. All that is umiable and beautiful in his nature disappears in its absence, and T must minister to this all-unconquerable uced of | his nature. [ will tell you its name—pickled | cabl “But,” E hear you saying, “my | dear Mrs, Pensorosa, in former days you had a wonderful, an uncommon power of | stracting yourself from the common herd, and plin fathoms down into the depths of your imagination, where no tumult from the vulgar herd could intercept the floods of which flowed through your won- il, and, emerging from your fi from thence, through the medium of a hpen, tr 1 crooked and illegible beautiful lines on the enchanted” paper.” And you are right, my friends; it was so. But now—now, alas! things different. Your words seem almost to re-awaken the dead spirit within me, and 1 will—D will— write o1 in, even should my song be my last—the last, last effort of my soul, like the glorious death-music of the. expiring swan. My pen, my pen! I live once more? I breathe Teav you shall see the sult, and judge for yourselves of the merit of my ‘last poem.” NIGHT. , the beauteou: Over the waters risi The long, lo} night rownclear juee deepens beside And in the soft ref (Law! ther te moons lection [see two sepa my busband callin pantaloons!”) * Pant bring my My reverie is broken To make my fickl side. nd vainly have [tried ise resume her station at my My han But when the m gain. As and brain are idle—T see it ises, Ty come a MORNING across the rip} and the litt re tree sparkling on ling waters blows the fresh balmy bre The little bi 2 sure tying high with light and airy The grover's boy, ma’um, wants to know if you requires inions.”) Oh, Christopher Columbus! Ob, ye sods and | My st in pieces by a grocer’s hoy of I can write till evening, when my house: And Lea clear, and proclaim them as my own EVENING. . sweet eventide—the setting sun yet i rs: ‘Tis eventi The pen I love, the poet's pen, once more is in my fingers, The cares of day bave vanished n and (L hear a ery amma, come down, our molass w—faded to dust hes and give us Ah! the day is done, the night i: too late All my shining gifts and talents rare to try to cul tivate. for me it THE JUDGE. A REMINISC Tuy: last turkey of Autumn left steamin ive Kateand Tow and butter— round and rou tter— Ort John, take the tw ne bre My brain is wivee stren, : Thave not Lo utter! s, what do ny wonder? ud in the sand, like nurse, | knew you that, like the ostrich, T could ‘not hidden. Lwish Icould. All my family are calling me now with one voic nd the stuff [have written! Why, any editor in the world would laugh in my face if Lasked him to publ ny of you that like are w is no- thing in f has tumbled into the bath-tub; litt ommy has been sucking the empty pot of rat-paste till he ks all bine; and James has_m y little sailing fleet of nearly all his 3 new cigars. . ei. “T must dry out Kitty 1 Matilda Ann for some fresh cig: Q vantidote. Ths is positively the last composition that shall ever emanate from the pen of PANDORA PENSOROSA, Now, my friends and ou think of that? any wonder [ hiv Postrich? Oh, ves! of Kitt Mf, Tne wife of Mr. Augnst Egg entered a complaint at the Police Court to have him arrested for ill-treatment. When the officers went for he had left the nest and wandered off. Tlis wife, however, found him in Mulberry street in a half-drunken condition, and dragged him to police head- quarters, where he was locked up. When asked “why she married a bad Egg.” replied, “how are you to know an Egg ) bad till you try it?” 6 Is it | le in my | E OF THANKSGIVING. —AIl its lovely companions are eaten and gone, The Unhappy Bride. From far down South, with rapt delight, is blushin, i as beautiful a As Venus at the dawn of day Gus bore She seemec damask check paled, lustre of her dark eyes fled; pice, so rich Her heart music, failed— nce *O Heavens!” c His jealous, doting heart did * What is there—tell me, Julia dea To cause this blighting, dark distress? us, while doubting She softly breathed, ‘I'm sad enough.” Confess! od Gus, wil “You love me not.” She whisperd * g, fora ‘dip.’ OWEN fact that nd is ac r sin the South habit entirely contined to the lower ord but was secretly practiced by ladies (2) of the circles, who It becom fect of b akin to fer when deprived e, by any m deprived of the pleasure nat produced upon the rumdrinke f the liquor or dru, ined to the prove i Iphia there are parti 1 of selling snuff for this purpose. WE noticed some we of trimming ladies’ kittens, and mice. ad, grew cold and dead. JONES, nor was the of women, i the habit by domestics. dl the ef who make a speci. s since, the fashion s with the heads of To that, now, are added pug dogs mmon her host 0.3. comicbooks.com