Judge — August 9, 1884 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

12 THE JUDGE. them pretty sober, and constraining them to Do you mean thum!| inquired w mam- | inch foot-prints of my old friend Bill preserve a prudent and decorous behavior lish, twelve fect apart, and heading for th until they were out of the house; Mr. S. fommy (indigna : : I don’t] bars! That's when he turned tail and shouting after them that never would he | mean thumbs—I c Two ¢vms | skinned the gravel at the sight of Arthur's — In the words of their noble leader (hic), | two are four, three tums two are six, four vhiske O, my Indiana! but w raise a hand for (hic) Clever Groveland.” — | tums t e eight—now do you know what | at the other end of the field? — Point Tur. | Tmean | glass there—your cyes are younger than = Mamma concluded she does know, but up | mine. What do you see? Blaine in his tent, Found in the Streets. counts she has not been able to | writing; cool as November—don't seem to — ave *rench for the word. | know you're in the field. He's your man; New Yous, July ISS4. ) ° 'Pommy, on another occasion, was so late | watch “his moves. And there is my man— My Osce Dear Jetta: in returning from school that the household | that terrible Black Jack, with his awful "Tis Sunday morn. The matin chimes | became alarmed at his absence. | mustache. How he shakes his long mane! are sending their sweet-throated sounds | —** What was the matter?” asks mamma,as | Rather twenty Wheelers than one Logan! through the immensity of space, and echo- | the boy appears, tired and hungry. And outside there is your Tammany John, ing their reverberations through my sad | “+ Kep’ in,” Tommy replies. grinning encouragement through the fence— auricularappen telling meof joyswhich | ‘What were you kept in for?” inquired | T mislike the shape of his grin. | And such I've 1 but now are no longer mine. mamma, handing him a huge piece of bread | backing!—where be all the commissaries and I am disappointed, sad, weary of life— | and butter. sutlers? Such dry work this and never a disconsolate. A yearning for the grave ‘Tommy takes a huge bite, and answers ol in sight—wire your uncle. Now, where hoyden voice and vulgar laugh can | with his mouth fall, *’Cause I couldn't | Grover, you are stout; fight, if fight we never again jar upon my proud but exceed- | spole my spellin’ right, isp must, and I'll take care of the rear—and, if ingly sensitive spirit, possesses me. In the | Littlé Tommy is a wonderful prodigy run we must, I'll show you the way, I've sof the immortal poct, whose name is | least Aunt Fanny thinks so, and requests | been there before; but your feet are swift so familiar to all—but which I have now | her ardent admirer, Mr. Fitzmorr and your back is strong. Remember the forgotten—‘ no greater grief than to re- | hear how nicely the little 1 a fs story of the mule—was it of ‘T'roy—or Buf- days of joy when misery is at | A primer is produced, and 3 falo, that did the old Anichises’ bear, and hand till Tommy comes to the word abandon not your uncle’s ancient, trusty Do you ask the cause of my repining? | This staggers him, and he g it help- | crony one who weeps and tells 1, Tommy, surely you On a Tombstone. A maiden fair, of sylph-like fairy form, ruby lips and teeth of pearl, the fragrance | ‘Tommy o, Edon’t, Aunt of whose breath is like unto the sigh of the Aunt “Try and think, crushed rose or bruised heliotrope upon the |“ whut has Aunty on her (orined a eat tile eenticcirele iit the villa altar of hallowed love—has passed me by. | Tommy (exultingly): ceinslere Deceiver! You noted not the sands of time After. had almost run their course last eve—the hour spake eight—the low descending sun had almost crossed the line where twilight deepens into dark—when, with swe grace all your own, you m your dear person by our trysti delicacy of your movements enth A WoMAN ina certain town in Vermont buried five husbands and their tomb-stones number five had departed, the Summer Board. ow, thinking she had had cnough of a matrimony, concluded it would be well to “Summer Board. What’s tha have a monument, sacred to her own mem- asks little Jimmy Jenkins, spellin; ory, erected in the midst of the group of de- letters of an advertisement in a morning pa- | funct consorts, She chose for the inscription per. thereon the following words: “She is not “Come here my son and look at me,” re- | dead, but sleepeth.” | plied his papa, “7am summer bored, very Soon after th st piece of marble had snnch boged:" been duly engraved, the fair and tickle ‘You, 2 female received and acccpted another offer “Yes, my . If a man, obliged to | of marriage, and took unto herself a sixth sit all day long on the pinzza of » summer | spouse reupon a wag added another line hotel and to listen to a lot of women talking | t the seripture tex:, tribntes which lend ideal charms to lov pas they swap pieces of silk for crazy | One day, by way of entertainment, the These are not idle words—I_ swear it up- | Guiits, isn't summer bored, I should like to | bride took ly wedded husband to on Jove’s altar—on bended knee I poise | {Mow who is, that’s all.” | visit the graves of his five predecessors; cal- my 180 pounds of honest manhoo “But you're not a board, Papa.” ling his attention to her own monument, before high Olympus I take the “No, my child, literally speaking I'm | she was not only horrified but indignant to spurn forever and for aye my once sweet | not, ‘but please God, I shall bo to-morrow | read thereon: Julia, now no longer mine! urd tho first train for New “She is not dead, but sleepeth—with Adion: salt one! ness will det > there for | another man,” Yours no longer (but just long enough). ; =. ton nd your| ‘The last three words wero immedinte ‘ ALBERT. | other that piece of crushed pineapple rib- erase eae shorts was too tokian fort i bon that the wind has blown from her lap, | feeble mind of number six, who soon after Ulttle "Tommy. and tell her what Lay, while I finish real. | departed this life, leaving behind hima very Tivree owice gow Wa sia senvat | ing tay newspaper.” much widowed female, who is now looking where the tongues of the young ideas are —. about for a possible Number Seven, taught to shoot off the multipli¢ Thomas Shows Grover the Field. in a glib chorus, and where probably not as Bouncing a Book Agent. one pupil in ten knows what it’s all a 4 Ifene you be, Grover. my boy, this is the —_ after he’s committed to memory the entire | field. Havn’t seen it for eight years. How A RURAL young man came into Chic twelve tables. familiar *t looks, though I don’t feel at | last week to canvuss the city for a new book Now Tommy has learned a certain amount | home in it. See yonder break in the fence | recently issued in Det f of French from his oune, and being of an | —there’s where Your uncle and I drove | upon a well-known resident of the west side enquiring turn of mind, he wishes to know | Hayes and Wheeler against it. Thought we | and proceeded to explain to him the contents the French for every new English word he | had ‘em sure, but Hayes himself by | of the t entitled. © What a Woman Can happens to hear. holding on to that mountainous old man, | Do.” ‘The west sider listened attentively A few evenings ago he startled his mam- | Davis, whom none of us could budge. ‘This | for half an hour, and when the y ma, who was lying on the sofa deep in the ece torn from the skirts of Seymour's | had concluded and began to grow. conlic mysteries of a new “* Seaside,” by asking her and this isa fragment of poor | of securing a new subscriber, the west side nch for tums. . white hat. Here lies one of | man eyed him curiously and remarked: I don’t know what you mean,” replied | Hancock’s spurs and the broken hilt of his| — ** Well, young man, you have been so kind mamma—* there is no such word. sword—a gallant fighter—but went down | to tell me * What a W “But yon do know,” insists Tommy; | under Gartield’s . Wreeks! wreck now show you what a man ¢: “and there is such a word, and I want to | nothing but wrecks! But, blessmy prophetic | ‘Then he kicked the book agent into the know what it is in French soul! if here aren’t the familiar thirteen- | street.—Carl / your © sweet silvery laugh—now no lon, duleet—echoing in my ears! Then my whole being became possessed of a diabolical ha- tred and « firm intention ne'er again to recognize in your angelic person “ those comicbooks.com