Judge — April 5, 1884 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

The Judge. ‘Tue outside public would be much inte; ested if it only knew how much the ou public is interested in u Which is seem- 1 paradox, but, in reality, it is nothing of the sort. ef e letters from this one or that one, wanting to kno this thing or that thing about ourselve Th letters come from the public, and we are of opinion that the public would be interested to know how many of them we get. Wedo not know how many ours but at Christmas time the postman assures us that our mail has been an extr ordinarily form the n i uncompounded mass it is possible to con- ceive. About sixty-two per cent. of them contain spring poetry—or summer or au- tumn or winter, as the case may be. THe JupGe will do his contributors the credit of assuring them and the world at large that they have always a very clearly defined idea of what season it is, or ought to be, during any particular month. ‘The vast majority of communications of this nature we to our office goat, and use the enclosed stumps to repair broken and debilitated cigarettes. Occasionally, we print a good selection from one of the amateur poets, but not often, for we are not vindictive, and the hopeless misery of the after life of the a cepted one appals us. From our experience we should say that the writer of a poem (we mean from the crowd of amateur versifiers) which ii pted must spend every moment of b serjuent existence in grinding out rhyming lines and forwarding them to us. His life must thenceforth become a hell upon earth, No sleep, no rest, no food for him thenceforward. Nothing but pen (or pencil), paper and ink for breakfast, with the same diet at subsequent meals—and as for bed, that is out of the question. He can as Homer nodded, in verse. only nod But we have lately then the stamps ! stained from rousing this fatal fever in the breasts of our comparatively innocent con- tributors. _ It is too severe a penalty for the trifling offence of mailing us onable poetry. Sometimes we and inquiring tone. Such a one our paper, and often wonders, wants to know what the office For information we would refer such querists to the illustration at the head of this column, which conveys a graphic and life- like representation of the palatial headquar- ters of Tue Jupce. We are unusually favored as to locality. Pearl Street, as every one knows, or ought to know, lies between the Swamp and the East River— between the emporiums of leather on one hand and York's protection on the other. the pleasant rippl Railroad, and our oflice ly gamble on the chances offered bj the number on the cars which pass the second-floor windows, risking their money on the odd or the e i exciting a pursuit as faro, and not nearly so illegal. Besides, in this game there is no ‘entage—not even splits. Up to our windows 18 occasionally wafted the strain of a hand-organ, or the melodious pipe of a but we simply smile on them, along. People in Pearl Street hey don’t know how to, and we wouldn’t allow them to, if they did. Occasionally we see a strect car, but there never is anyone in it, and it be in a hurry—circumstances which induce us to believe that a better breed of street cars pusses our office than is to be found else- where in the city. In our artists’ depart ment—the united abilities of the whole office have been laid under contribution to give you an idea of it— et a letter of a friendly | be | which speaks volumes in their fa This is quite as | we have a large force t They all wear velvet waistcoats and heavy gold wateh-chains, and none of then far as we have been able to observe t. They can all draw more or less, if nothing but their salary, and some o them can paint, though their efforts at illu r to be confined to the y are very industrious during but will never work on Sunday They contribute largely infer this from th: nerally observed that 1 Monday. to the collectic faet that we into the colorist’s pa (the colorist) grabs the pail at the end of the week and slings th or the Hence our cartoons, Per like to sce our colorist at contents 0 various pages pu would haps work. Here he is. He isa very wonderful man, all brittle. He stands a g use from the artists, but | gnanimous and knows he is their s received a letter which cau is hair to stand erect upon his head, and whieh hi him many a sleepless night. It inquiring into his own ide wanted to kne " person, or on re fi eal JupGr urehead, as it were, invented to gra per with perennial wuty. ‘To J anyone who has read the thoughts of the philosophers of former ¢ tered into the misgivings of Lock Consin, of Descart question w crucial one. It opened the whole complex doubt as to personal identity w has puzzled so many great minds. difficult of demonstration as the a comicbooks.com