Judge — May 10, 1884 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

with his improved “ritin an’ spellin’,” adorns our letter press pages now, and no mistake about it. We hope ‘ Aldherman Jeremiah McGeoghe; will recognize his ‘ por- thrait,” thus faithfully drawn by himself. Argent and I. Mn, Axtuoxy Ancest has houses and Is Dollars in silver and gold; Half the proceeds of a “ring” on his hands, ‘Two or three railroads unsold. Whatever Ae touches is certain to pay, T scarcely from debt can keep clear; He reckons his income by thousands a da Tine by some hundreds a year. He's projecting a water scheme—owning the ponds; He only keeps dividend stocks; He has several stacks of United States bonds In a safe with most intricate locks; And an office—a beautiful office of course— In the very best part of the street; He drives down at noon with a 2:40 horse, T come down at eight on my feet. A wife, too—a Whose di And some ies who call, all the same, Much less often on her than on him. He takes them to drive in the country at times; Five hundred then goes very soc While [ and my wee wife are counti To compass an odd afternoon. and delicate dame— e sunshine seem dim, he dimes But whence is this failure? The story is brief— At least if the papers speak true: They have no hesitation to call him a thief, And the ring that he manages, too. What matter? He failed once or twice I am told; Milked two or three creditors dry; But he gilded his failures with ill-gotten gold And is much more respected than I Mr. Anthony Argent ma} Of men like himself hal And, had Tt 1 The diffe As many an instance has told, ‘That honesty silvered is cold to the eye Compared to dishonesty’s gold. meet A Score. day to go out of my way, If, fifty thousand or more. ¢ is between Argent and me 0. M aeasor How they Drifted Apart. ‘Tuy were leaning up against the front ate, breathing’ in the sublime, delicious fhagtor of the carl sammor night. Sho with soft, melting-nocturne-in-blue eyes, and dewy, rose-bud lips, and he with broad, noble brow, and pearl-gray pants, so tight that a vivacious grasshopper, which for the last half hour had been patiently struggling to clamber up the interior of the left turned away sick at heart, and filled with a nameless pain and vain regret. “1 do so love the month of June,” mur- mured she, her gaze dreamily wandering across the moonlit road, over to where the next neighbor’s turkeys were resting in a P tree, and thereby forming a tender symphony in bronze and green. “Do you?” queried he, vacantly. indeed. I think it is my favorite month. Ar’n’t you fond of June?” «Ob, Idon’t know,” said he, hesitatingly, a can’t-agree-on-a-verdict-without-further- instruction sort of expression drifting across his face: “June is a nice cnough month, generally speaking; but it strikes me there are other periods in the year that can give June the pole and then come in under the string ten lengths ahead, every heat, One cannot, with any degree of pleas- THE JUDGE. A COLORED COWARD. Roven Tramp—/ say, me friend, have yer lost ennything?” Con. Party—shaking—‘ Nothing but my courage, boss.” ure or certainty, go sleigh-riding in June; neither can one wear a seal-skin cap with: out running the risk of being considered very eccentric or equally drunk; you cannot go to the opera or make New Years calls: neither does an election occur in June to afford one an effulgent opportunity to exhi- bit his patriotism by voting in every ward in the city. Altogether, I consider June as an ordinary, nothing-extra, Samuel J, 'Til- den kind of a month. “Ah, but think of the pretty poetry of the month,” she mused. ‘Think of the perfume of mossy banks of wildwood flow ers, and the far-away, musical thrill of the robin as it gives food unto its eager y “And think of the holy joy that agitates the pellucid bosom of the aged Thomas cat, with the slitted ears, as he locates the nest and masticates three or four of the e young on the half-shell,” he broke in. Did ever see a young robin? Well, you ought to. They | good deal like an old-fashioned patchwork bedquilt, the same blotched and startling appearance, only the bed-quilt generally has more feathers ‘lying around loose upon it than the robin has, There was a dreary-discouraging pause after this, and then she made an heroic effort to steer back to the original line of thought. “One reason why [ think I care so muen for June is because of the pleasant memorie: it recalls,” she almost whispered, looking up into his with innocent witchery. ‘* Don’t you remember whut lovely rides we had last June, and how we drifted down the river togetherand gathered water-llies, and what long, long wa ip the mour ver rustic bridges and across rippling brooklets, along hidden paths, imbedded in violets and fra- grant honey-suckle? Surely, surely the mere mention of the month of June must recall to you haunting memories of the past.” “Tt does,” said he decidedly. ** It re to me the haunting memory that ice-c ets ripe in June, and last year that cost me more than it did to keep David Da’ in plug tobacco. Tam also recalled to the fact that, if | keep up appearances, I shall soon be obliged to ta 18 per week vaca- tion on a #40 per month salary. Likewise does it recall that I shall most likely be deluded into joining a boat-club, three chery clubs, two base-ball clubs, one polo, nd the ‘ Society for Discou Irphans by Forwarding them to the Cyclone Regions of the Far West.” Fifth am’ I alled by haunting memory to the uni ble truth that I shall have to pay for my new summer suitin June. And that is the rudest blow ofall. Did you ever pay thirty-seven dol- lars for asummer suit, and then find that the tailor had got your measure mixed up with that of six or seven other men, and that the pant so long you could button them to your diamond collar button and the coat so short that it doesn’t reach down to the crossing of your suspenders? Well, that’s the kind of a month June is, and But there was a hasty Oh!” a sudden flutter of airy fabrics, and the young man awoke to the fact that he stood there alone in the checkered, mellow moonlight, with naught to break the bl silence save the tender sonatos of a pair of masculine cats on the garden fence. Ix Armenia girls are married at twelve years of age. ‘This enables them to procure three or four divorces before they are old enough to go on the stage, and thus prepares them to come to America witha star engage- ment the first year.—/awkeye. comicbooks.com ; gi al ' Vy