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

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

THE JUDGE. ce reading public with one continuous ovation of substantial Sppresiation George Peck, Bill Nye, Bob Burdette, and Opie Read will turn blue in the face with mortal jealousy, when they sce the salvos of applause, and salvers of diamonds, green- backs ete., that will be lavished upon Newspaper proprictors and Editors wi not wait for you to find your way up to their oflice to ask for a situation, but will come down stairs and meet you on the sidewalk with uncovered heads, and on bended knees reverently beg of you to take entire charge of the sanctum-sanctorum, Can you get more than $10, per month, and your board? Well, Pa-tairciok, T should rather grin! You can clear from $11 to $13 50, twelve times a year, just like a flash, over and above all expenses. “'Throe upp” your “ jobb” by all means! Throw up everything (i.e. except your dinner or your boot: ; Younty, and come to the ‘ Sitty two wunct! And, Banksey, old boy, if you can “wright” poetry,—oh, if you only can knock the stuffing out of the giddy Muse, why you y become Chief Magistrate—or valet to M.—of this great Nation one of these ‘The “ jernal” that I would advise you to tackle Pa-tair-ick, would be either the 7ry- Yearly Graveyard Gazette, or the Semi-Cen- fennial Antediluvian Mummy. When you have attained a repution on one of those witty sheets, it will be an easy matter for you to secure the appointment of Head ‘* Yumor- ist” on the Post Office Directory, or get to be the Jolly Joker of the Census Oflice Reports. After that, youcan lecture my son, lecture You can paralyze your audience with an “ oridgeinal” pun, on opening your remarks, ‘Tama humorist, and have never had humor hissed!” They need not know this squib appeared ina ‘ patent inside” daily, in Noah’s time, and you'll also be sure to make your mark on the rostrum, Pa-tair- ick, as well as a mirthful writer for the press. Looking for your brainy *‘ joaks” to burst in dazzling splendor from the pages of some humorous publication upon our fun-loving American people at no distant date, (like the brilliant dash of a glowing meteor across the starry heavens), and predicting for P. Hennery” Bank prious career in the field of *‘commeck wurk,” Iam, admiringly thine, “Jer, JOSLYN.” Preparing for the School-Year. “This isa peculiar adverti to it: ‘* Wanted—One thou old over-shoes, rubbe prices paid. G. M.'T. V. C “Yea, he’s beginning early this year.” “Ho!” who?” “Why, the gum maker to Vassar College.” ment. Listen and bushels of ete. Fan A Struggle for Life. “Tr was a desperate struggle for life,” said Boggs to a few friends the other day. But then I knew what an awful fate awaited me if I didn’t pull through.” ‘The strangest part of the whole matter is that you recovered after the doctors had given you up,” said one of theandience. “I lon’t exactly understand you, though, when you say an awful fate awaited you?” You're not superstitions, are you?” “No, gentlemen; but my wife said, just as I was about to breathe my last, that shod meet me ‘over there.” ASK. zen, bleez look right at me and don't laugh.” 7 RATHER DistinGIsHeD Foreign Amateur— Ah! zat ts ver beautiful, Miss Evilina. TOO MUCH. Now My Neighbors. | MY GARDENIN EIGHBOR, T'sta gardener betrayed, and I don’t know what todo, rose, und a fickle one, too; a fickle wild rose Iam never a person that objects to my little hobbies on the contrary, [ a ys very tolerant of them, but what bores me is the fact that these hobby riders always want some one to admire them and their hobbie A wants you to notice how he sits on his, B points outto you how vigor- ously his one , C begs you to observe the graceful way his tosses his ‘head, and so on. Now, my neighbor Mr. Pumpkin rides a harmless litle hobby enough, but he makes it obnoxious by riding it at all times, at all places, and before all people. Gardening is his hubb Ie has no garden, but that don’t seem to matter, he gets on just as well as if he had. He grows, or rather he sows flowers on his front window stools, and vegetables on his back one.s And then, in- doors his house is a regular hospital for dead and dying plants, and he can talk or think of nothing but his patients. | I was paying a visit there one day, offered to show me a large new syringe he had for the purpose of syringing his window boxes. He charged it to the neck with su phur and water, and discharged just as Mrs. MacPherson, our Scotch neighbor, rang the door-bell. She received the entire deluge on top of her head, and came in in such a fury, that no amount of apology or explanation | would induce her to smooth her ruffled plumage. Mr. Pumpkin made matters worse by saying that he found sulphur *0/ useful in destroying insects of all kind. “And do ye think,” cried the indignant | | loon, that I hae insects in’ my head, Mrs. MacPherson, ‘‘do ye think, ye daft r that Istand in ony need 0° yere soolphur. Git awa wi ye! git awa!” “Oh! no!” said Mr. Pumpkin. ‘1 did not mean that. I meant to say it is good for the crown, and nourishes the head of—” “Hauld yer tongue, ye ould fule,” screamed Mrs, MacPherson. ‘*Hauld yer tongue. It was nae gude for the croon o* my new bon- net, I can certify that. And as to nourish- ing the head, all the soolphur in the brim- stone lake would na put one grain o’ wit or sense into that fule’s head 0’ yours.” But Mrs. MacPherson hada very hot tem- per, and, when fairly roused, was not at all choice in her expressions. Mr. Pumpkin always bored me greatly about his gardening, and botanizing, and all that, but I could have freely forgiven him if he had not set his little wits to work to play a practical joke on me. I think I mentioned once before that lam fond of pets. I have parrots, and love birds, and canaries, and I am really very successful in rearing young birds. Mr. Pumpkin once informed me that he had got the promise of some eggs from a very rare African bird, and as he did not care for such things he kindly was very mes- offered to bring them to me. I grateful, and about a week afterwards senger boy brought me the eggs, ve fully packed in cotton wool. How pleas was, and what pains I did take with the hatching, ete. I had quite a deal of trouble with them before I found out that they were serpent’s eggs. How mad I was, but I said nothing, only nursed the vials of my wrath, and racked my brains to think of a suitable revenge. I hiton one at last. I gave the serpent story time to die out a little, and then I told Mr. Pumpkin I had got the seeds of a very rare plant which grew on the sea const of the British Isles. I called it the “ Piscatorium Rubium,” and carefully sealed comicbooks.com