Judge — March 1, 1884 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

Sa SR a = So SS Tom Crimmins. Tom Crimmins was a darling Tom, (Excuse all vulgar pu A type of New York City’s bright, Rising and setting sons. His father was an austere man, ‘An oyster man was he, Who opened life by opening, The shell-fish of the sea. And hearing of a richer clime, He took his only son, And came where golden minds are lost While golden mines are won. They boped to fill their pockets From rich pockets in the ground; And midst the boulders of New York None bolder could be found. For, tho’ a mining minor, Tom Was never known to shirk; Abd while with zeal he worked his claim, His father claimed his work. Time's record on his brow now showed A fair and spotless page; And, as his age became him well, He soon became of age. ‘Thinking that be was up to all The New York City tricks, He now resolved to pick his way Without the ald of picks. In less than twenty circling moons ‘Two fortunes he had made, One by good luck at trade in stock, ‘And one by stock in trade. With health and wealth he now could live Upon the easy plan, While everybody said, of course, He was # nice young man, But Thomas fell, and sadly too— Who of his friends had thought itt He ran for Alderman—alas For him and his! he caught it Mixing no more with sober mea, He found his morals fleeing, And being of a jovial turn, He turned a jovial being. And with the Central Union boys His cash he freely spends; Since he’s been Park Commissioner He's made a host of friends. In state affairs, his eloquence Like thunder rattles far, He's peerless in his prominence Presiding at the bar. But the saddest blow of all to Tom, It grieves me much to tell, He fell in love with a flower girl, Her name—they say ‘tis Nell. They sent for doctors far and wide, “Twas found of no avail; They all agreed, what ailed poor Tom Was politics—and ale. waemur, Music at home: He—*Er—'m awfully fond of music—ain’t you? Not this sort of thing, you know. Can’t stand the drawing room amateur—nevah could. Sorry to say’ve not been to heah Mme. Schumacker this year. Nevah had time. Told she’s in splendid form. Like her playin’ awfully—should know her touch a mile off. Dyin’ to heah her—” She—‘ So am I—and if you would only be so kind as just to hold your tongue, I dare eay we might both manage to hear her 1? ; 4 (Mme. S. has been Playing for the now! last ten minutes.)—Zondon Punch, THE JUDGE. “HE STOLE A Specimen Irish-American Epistle. THE DISCURSIVE IRISHMAN ON NEW YORK POLITICS. My pear Jupoe: It is none of your busi- ness—and I say it to your face—how the original of the following came into my po! session. Suffice that, as in a former ca never reached its intended destination. Yours, interceptingly, THE O’CALLAGHAN, New York, Janooary, 1884. Deak Suamus: Since me last letther rit- ten“eort ‘lecshun toime last yere, this win- ther, which yees haven’t reployed to iver since, an’ which I’m thinkin’ far that ray- son, wint asthray in th’ post offis ayther here or there, or mebbe fell into th’ hands 0’ th’ inimy over there, fur they luk wid suspishun on ivery little schrap o’ writin’ thinkin’ p’rhaps that it may contane dannymite or pathriotism or sum other dangerus cumbus- table; an’ small blame to ’em fur that same, seein’ that Donovan O’Rossa an’ his other hayroes here are sworn to blow ivery man of ’em up sky high sumtime bethune now an’ th’ day of judgment. But, as I was goin’ to say above, a grate lot of things, big an’ little, cum and wint since me last letther, an’ about which you haven’t heerd mebbe out there in th’ mountins, an’ which may pruve interestin’ readin’ to yerself an’ Maureen an’ th’ childher in these cowld winther noights. _In me last I spoke a good dale ‘bout poli- tix which wor goin’ on here thin quite loive- ly, fur, as I minshuned above, it was in th’ verry hate o’ ‘lecshun toime, an’ talk o” th’ ould Carravats ap’ Shannavasts an’ three yere oulds an’ four yere oulds, an all th’ other faxshuns of ould days at home, wid’ there foightin’ an’ murdherin’ an’ other MY TART.” funny thricks and capers—they cudn’t hould a farthin’ candle be way of comparison to the faxshuns here at ‘lecshun toime whin their blud issturred up, all luckin’ an’ scramb- lin’ fur th’ fat offises which th’ people give vem. But, as I wos goin’ to say above whin I interrupthed meself, th’ ‘lecshun has tuk place since me last letther, an’ divil such scratchin’ of tickets ivir I saw in me loife as happened thin. Me bould Jimmy O’Brine, who I minshuned in me last, wos defated for registher afther all his palavorin’ an’ | promises, an’ wid all his ‘‘indipindince,” an’ won 0’ his frinds, be name of Illinger, I lave, who happens to be an ix corriner as luk wud have it, has since sat on th’ corpus o’ me frind the bould Jimmy, an’ more’s th’ pity for he sed to me that iv he wos ‘lected he wud make me his private secrithary or janithor, or sumthin’ else o’ that koind, pre- voided I larned to read, rite an’ sifer in th’ manetime. I’m thinkin’ I’ve plinty toime to larn ‘em all now fur that purpose, but me ambishun has ris hire nor that since thin, But, be me conshince, tho’ bad me frind O’Brine—who thay say is laynial discindent o’ ould Brine Boru himself—was left, Tam- miny Hall got th’ sevarest batin’ o’ all th’ faxshuns, an’ th’ Tamminy candidate who saved his loife in th’ foight, considhered | himself as lucky as anny loive Frinch or Inglish soger afther th’ grate battle of Wa- therloo of ould where, as yees know, me an’father fought wid th’ dare-divils of Connaught Rangers. I belave I tould yees in me last that I cum near bein’ nominated for aldherman an’ wos but purwinted from it by me money givin’ out of a suddint at a meetin’ o’ the’ campane club, which at last gev the nominashun to Tim’ Shaughnessy, son of owld Conn of the cross roads near the borheen, as ye'll remimber. Tim’s nomina- shun cum so soon-afore ’lecshun that his comicbooks.com