Judge — June 21, 1884 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

yw THIS SS aw! 4S A WIND POLICE Man THE JUDGE. PURSUING A RUFFIAN WRO HAG STOLEN A DAISY. ind thoug gh his ton as dsome as that of band, she slightly varied the wi inscription, She stated thi loss was almost irreparable, und that she was left to mourn the loss of one of the best and kindest, ete. grandmother did not care for any new- notions or ideas. P| stheticism w alike dist She actually cut one of her dearest friends for the crime of indw her daughter in these pernicious tas! Tt happened thus: You see ar Wilde had just been over, and among other converts und followers the Beamish family we e, h he was equally lly as 3 Beamish were favorite We went there to call a, Aunt Prissy and myself. The footman, who opened the door, had a large sunflower in his button-ho ‘This clicited a defiant snort from grandma, but she made no further remark till we ched the reception room, where the four young ladies were seated, all busily engaged in sketching the outlines of their maid, a tall, handsome girl, whom they had draped and posed as a Greek slave. Grandma’s face was a study, but she restrained herself, and only said, with a grim smile, as the girl vanced to grect her with a very ** Beamish” air: Pray, young ladies, what docs this exhi- bition mean? Ts it for your amusement, or for TAS WKY iS THIS ¢@ 1S A GENTLEMANLY CON — DVCTOR HELPING A LADVONA CAR. 1, that you nave dr stich a very—ahem —peeuliar way? ; Miss Beamish (better known as Sunbeam) replied, with a sweet smi Jear me, we are only sketching her. think the drapery quite too too, don’t yo I think to un artistic e vutiful raped. ; 1 long to be draped. “I'd choose to be a draper If Thad but the power,” It went very well to the air of “I'd choose to be a daisy,” but grandma boxed my ears and put me out of the door, and wh in admitted Mrs, Beamish had a and the Greek Slave had departed, things seemed to have settled into their usual routine. Grandma and Mrs. Beamish were talking in one corner, Aunt Prissy and the Second Miss Beamish ‘ Moonbeam” were whis} ftly in the window, the poetical Miss Beamish stood, with her hands clasped and her eyes turned to heaven, evi- dently auffering from an attack of inspira- tion, and the painter Miss Beamish stood transfixed, gazing at a bunch of faded flowers she held in her hand, I thought I might ess her, so I opened proceed- rving, with more truth than don’t you throw away those flowers, Miss Beamish? ‘They are no use—withered noon tea, which ndmother to rise in t, saving, as she left: “Good-bye, Jane Beamish, you don’t see me here ‘again till you come back to your ring your girls to their’s. © For nk they would be better em- . e likely to marry well, if y dropped all this hambug, sketching their maids and rolling their eyes like young ducks in’ a thunderstorm, ‘Sanbean ‘Moonbeam.’ Pshaw! Moonshine, . And so we departed; but I think Aunt y ulways paid surreptitious visits to the Beamishes, who had been her childhood’s friends, and I often saw her (when grandma was not looking) with a sunflower pinned on I know she had a ar Wilde when his hair but that treasure was carefully hidden in the innermost ri 's of her davenport. I think that famous. professor of wsthetics was as truly the father of Aunt Prissy’s faith as he was of that of the M sis Beamish, but, poor soul, she never owned it during grandma’s life; what she will do now I know not. As regards her dutiful and affectionate nephew, provided he sees her happy, he will always help her in any of her little harmless ** fade.” As long as she likes i th comicbooks.com