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

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

What is : the particles that go to make up and how do they become “Ego” 4 JupGe is modest, and has ilways had his doubts upon this question of personal identity. He is convinced, how- ever, that sundry spring pocts who have recently had the temerity to enter his sane- tum in propria persona, have become ¢ “l, by their exit, that The Jonge ind palpable entity ; that short, But we the manner of a very real he has an exist- and that, in ically 1s. However will- ratify laudable publi its beyond which we ippear egotistical. Be- ind when modesty and tow ' 1 demand upon us we gracefully yield. Whoever wants to know more of Tk Jcner had better study him. | They will find him a very pleasant and genial companion, and eminently courteous di considerate toward all who do not b out into more or less seasonable poetry. » very actually and. emp here we must pause. may be to sity, there a will not go, | | “My Thomas." Wo I fell, Ani secing that my clothes were swell Brushed off the nasty mud so well? My Thomas help me wh Who gave me in the jewel store All that [asked and something more? T never met his like before— My Thomas, Who takes me little trips away, And shows me every good new play, And treats me somewhere every day? My Thonnas. Who never dares to smile or sigh At other girl In fact, Pd 1 when Tam by? to see him try— My Thomas. Who came to leap-year ball with me, And waited there so patiently? I brought him home at half-past three— My Thom Who every evening, dry or wet Comes Abt you bet He never ventures to forget— My Thomas. Who, when he comes in, always brings nd flowers, sometimes rings, er pretty little things? My Thomas. Candy And Abt if you chance to have a beau, And how to tr know, Come in, my dear, and let me show him wish t My Thomas, THE SUN DIAL. Of the Hall's parterre deserte Its shape Inst ‘as hid by the ivy’s stalk, se sprang ont of three centu Its face was mossy with good old Its single hand was be Th And the walks wer ‘Then ‘twas a dial Ei like cast strange shadows upon a page blotted by time for man to read. re had it stood since the Hall w cut thro” the trim parterre H bright with gilt, ts pol ach hour on hed face shone fair Then the sway of the climbing rose Flecked wi Then th its shadow the face below jasmine at summer's close Bathed it in blossoms as white as snow Love t By lovers disdaining ¢ nt s then were told at its side ¢ hours it told: re the maid blushed into a bri Many a time in those days of old. Oft was it brushed by the petticoat Of Paritan maiden, demurely dear; Oft was its pillar of granite smote By the rapier's sheath of the Cavalier. he days in those olden times, Stirring the hours that the dial sped; Days of pleasures and wars and crimes, eal. cast the changeless sun, Hours of peril and death and d But still the shadow was changele By the daily beams of 1 then Win the shadows paled and the day was done Jed and weak, from Worcester's Came hither the gilded dial to seek In the deathly hush of the ollowed out at the dial’s base Mt breeze came whisp'ring past Once a cavalier, woun Scareely eseapir ght, wesome night He A little erypt, like a baby’s grave, He hid his wealth in that lonely place, Then fled the country he could not save. Years rolled on and a ki Ruled the land to the ocean's rim, once more Knights who had fought in his father's war Sought the homes they had lost for him The honored offspring of sires outlawed, Revelled as free as their fathers tthe Cavalier had perished » And the old sun dial its secret hid. Years rolled on and each sire and son Followed each other and revelled free Intercepted Letters. FROM PAT MCCLAL PARENTS, REY, NEW YORK, TO IS COUNTY CORK, My perk Motier anp Faturn:—I write these few lines, hopin’ they will find you will as they leaves me at this prisint. I write to till von we had grate doins on Saint Path- rick’s day, good luck to him and long life to him. Meself tuk a prominent part in all the proceedins, havin’ hauld of an iligant green flag with an orange harp stamped on it. It was made of the stuff mother calls turkey red, any more than it We all wint first and foremost to St. Pathrick’ Cathedral, and there was bishops and priests enough to sind us all to heven, and sogers enough to sind us all to hell; and what with the high mass and the cinsors, and the howly wather and the whiskey, that we took before we kem in, we all felt that devout and pi that Saint Pathrick up in glory must have danced an auld Irish jig for joy: Will thin, afther that we marched, prs and all, through the whole city, and all the town was green 18 The good broad acres fell one by Under the ban of ‘Till the latest heir of the grand old Hall Stood forth to face his ruin alone— Tottered the ancient line to its fall And the homestead shook to its corner stone, Bat the old sun dial was standi Hid by a century's growth fre Bowered in ivy fro g still, the sun, base to sill, Kissed of the roses and sec “But 'tis a relie; it shall not stand To see our fall,” “Ithath marked our ruin with changeless hand — Now let it perish in our des of none said the ruined heir, sir.” The train was lai The g pillar was hurled in air, The base riven, and under it Behold a casket of iron there An oblong box of jewels and gold and the match was lit, In a little crypt likea baby’s grave; Andt Enough to pay and wealth was found, when its sum was told, to save, A new sun dial is standing now In a walk of the trimly kept parterre, And the sun looks down on its polished brow And all the landscape fs pure and fair. "Tis but a monument raised to g Ao or the rose boughs droop o'er the lonely place Where th lookin’ at us all in gineral and your own Pat rticklar, and the dhrivers dhriving with green ribbons and flags, one sayin’ ** God save Ireland. t thinkin’ it which was full bands playin’ ** Garry Owen hrick’s Day” at wan and the id the drams beatin’and the women pratin’ and the min shoutin’ and the childher squallin, and all the whiskey we wanted we tuk; and ivery one gave it up to us that a more quite and dacent and ordherly pricission niver walked the sthreets of any city. But when the walkin’ was over, meself felt mighty quare entirely, so much ‘so that Tcndn’t write you wan word of it all before. Me mother will be 1 mad now, I know she will, and will say it was what I was dhrownin’ the but she’s out in- tirely, for divil a taste of shamrogue I had todhrown. God help me, I had to do the dhrownin’ without the shamrogue, Ah, this is a fine counthry, no doubt of it, but its aisy seein’ St. Pathrick niver kem round | this way. Not a taste of the raal potheen nd ivery and all the good, and nd ame time, comicbooks.com