Judge — June 14, 1884 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUDGE. ‘TIS SAD, YET ‘TIS TRUE. This This is not a tragedy passed themselves off as heir: true state of affairs, we sce the wor: above tableau. sleep is strong and sweet. I think I would make an excellent. farmer. ‘Then what could be more delightful than the rainy days on the farm! The industrious farmer c ays find something todo about the barn, for there is the hay-mow, and where's there a spring-mattress half so soft to lie slumber on, and your conscience all clear? And how would [ like to make my hands nd callous by energetically hunting for hen’s eg ating them at dinner. No doubt, corn, wheat, etc., are good produce of the farm, and all right in their way, but I rather think the chicken crop is the best, and m satisfying in some respects, h, you farmers ought to be the most cheerful people in existence, for you can grasp the whetted the in the morning, und while the dew is yet on the grass, hang the scythe on the fence and talk to your friendly neighbor about politics and high taxes till noon, and feel so invigorated for your hard earned dinner. Or in the spring- time you can snatch the early hoe with a firm grasp and determined purpose, and go out and hand it to your hired man, and di- rect him how to it; though when they get a hoe that one can ride on, farming, I think, will be more popular in our distric As the sun ascends, and the early birds call to labor, I think it would be delicious to put ona wide-brimmed straw hat, tie a handkerchief around my neck, stick my pants into my boots, and then go into the spring-house and begin todrink milk. Milk, someway, always was connected with my in due time they were mar oung lady a man went to Saratoga, n they discovered the ideas about farming. Really, the kind of work that I always thought suited my com- plexion best is eating apples in the shady orchard. I find that it doesn’t seem to ex- haust my nervous system so, nor make me tired as other labor does, or would. And I rather like the style of gates which open and close of their own Pore nd I do wish they would invent some kind of a machine with which a horse could curry itself while you could sit on the feed-box and rest. I am glad they have plows you can ride on. Before, you had to hire a man to walk be hind and hold the plow, and it used to ma you sweat so to look at him. Now you can it on the spring seat of a plow and look at the girls driving along the road, and have more time tosmoke your pipe and adjust your necktie. One of the ple: think, is drivin rapid ‘ant features of farming, I to town behind a span of ing everybody on tl nd a truly invig pe y about farming is cider; all farmers have it who have trees to tap. It is excellent to push ginger-cakes down with, and it flies to your stomach; that is to say, unless it is good and old. Yes, with a few more labor-saving ma- chines, I think I would enjoy being a farmer, hugely. “AN Anxious Fatuen” writes to ask what he shall do with his daughter, as she is full of electricity. Marry her to a good conductor, we should advise. A French Masterpiece. My brother is a fat Judge; ly obese, not by reason of big judicial perquisites, Judges in country towns are not much troubled in the latter way. Well, with a view to enhancing his p . among the French constituents of our neigh- borhood, my fat relative went to spend few hours and dollars at a church fair under the auspices of that nationality, one evening last w nd returned from the same elated over his having becn unanimously docked five dollars for—no, I mean voted— eau ure that was painted in Montreal,” id, furthermore requesting me to hang eon the parlor wall when it arrived. wrning, sous to make room for the coming Canadian ar mn, which y had pictured to be an exquisite poem in ‘oil, or, mayhap, a lovely transcript of the Sistine Madonna, I removed from the all a pretty chromo, not by any of the old ters, for, now only newspaper re- porters and railroad ‘kings ‘can afford such luxuries in this country. At length, the French masterpiece arrived. ‘The picture was largely made up of a bronze-hued tin frame, between whose squares was a glass on which w 1 thin orange-col- 1 turkey an peacock—with its k apparently half wrung like an inflated feather tick hanging diag- onally over one palm-leaf fan-shaped foot, the latter restir pump handle sur- mounted by two big pumpkins with tooth- picks stuck promiscuously in them, which er was presumably and wsthetically de- signed for a sun-flower bush. Surrounding I mean physi- s prod all this effective design was th of red, white and blue toy balloons, designed, no doubt, to represent flowe [ft seems “mixed” to me that our Ame colors should be used by a Canac The name of this gorgeous French master- piece is **A Bird of Paradise.” Ciel! Pm hot surprised now at the scared look of all the an I've ever seen, in pictures, of course. Where else could a newspaper scribe behold a celestial vision? Well, to tinish, I secretly rejoice t Guido, Raphael, not to omit Pat Hay who, prior to his recent lamented demis gratuitously painted a lager bier sign for “mien hall never contaminate their on my fat brother's French | nd if ever the Canuck artist thereof has necessarily to flee from Canada [for, in my opinion, the man who perpetrated such a cher doeucre is, pictorially speaking, capa- ble of any crime], I shall be the first to peti- tion our government to extradite him foute suite, in flag’s an artist. | The Usual Thing. And now, beloved one, the season of the year hieth hither, wherem the fragrant, perfume-laden breeze cometh up from the southland, and kisseth the dewy lips of the wild rose as tenderly as though it were one of the kind of roses that hang over the front gate these summer nights, instead of grow- ing ina nice, malaria-burdened swamp; also the yellow sunbeam danceth merrily down- checkered maze through leaves of and pauseth for an idle wanton moment to caress the snowy bosom a wild turnip blossom; likewise the meek and lowly bumble-bee girdeth about himself his new’ seal-brown traveling duster and skippeth forth to commune with nature and the man who gocth to picnics; ditto the pro- fessional humorist doth now bury his stale comicbooks.com