Judge — October 11, 1884 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUDGE. w Fanwitanp (who has been treed for four hours by the farmer's largest bull) — “ Begorra, an’ if its hoigh livin’ causes gout, its mesilf ’U be loosin’ the use af both me le: before that baste yoes from * ferninst” me.” up the dried roe of a red herring. My poor little joke of course was a failure. Mr. Pumpkin received them gravely, thanked me very politely, and brought them home. After about three weeks he called and begged me to come next day and see my seedlings, as he said they were coming up so very nicely. I was not a little surprised to hear it, and [ went next day to see. He brought me to a back window, where he had a large box with a bell glass over it. There, sure enough, were the noses of twenty little red_herrings poked ap about an inch over ground. I was too much astonished at first to take in the joke, or to understand how neatly Mr. Pumpkin had turned the laugh against me. All the neighbors, of course, made them- selves very merry at my expense, though I really could not see any funny about it. But Ido not try to play practical jokes any more; I do not think have any talent for them. Mr. Pumpkin sent a rose to a flower show once, and another time he sent six radishes, but he never gota prize, so he thought he would start a Horticultural Society himself, and he came and asked me to join. At first I said, ‘No, Mr. Pampkin, I do not go in for being a society woman. Yet, within the nything so wonderfully | last four years I have been persnaded to join a musical society, though I know almost nothing about music; a Dorcas society, though I hate needlework; a Mutnal Im- provement Society, which I do not think im- proves me, or any one else, and I don’t know how many other societies besides. I must draw the line somewhere, and it shall be at horticultural shows and window boxes. Give me a fragrant bouquet, fresh from the flor- ist’s, with no suspicion of damp clay about it. Let me buy my flowers, but spare me the horrid details of the way they are grown,” This I said, because, although I love flowe: IT hate the mess they make when you nt and transplant them, and them, and sulphur them. And I perfectly detest clay, but Mr. Pumpkin would not mind me, he only laughed and_ insisted on dragging me into that odious Horticultural Society, with all its hideous associations. He made us all subscribe first, I always find that an inevitable consequence of joining a society. Ihad to pay as much as would have kept my room sweet with fresh flowers fora whole month. Then he got a lecturer to lecture us. I went to hear him, and my | worst fears were realized. The first subject ‘he began upon was the “soil” and he brought in a number of most obnoxious looking little samples. I heard and saw and more than enough that day, I attend the ones that followed, but Mr. Pumpkins got a piece of ground some distance f rom the city, and had gardens there for the society. ~ Each member was supposed to have a plot to keep and eculti- vate as they like nd there was to be a prize for the t plot. I did honestly do my best with mine, but nothing would grow in it. I spent a small fortune on seeds, and shook them all about my plot, but they never came up. Some people told me my ground wanted sand, sol bought sand and pre Jit all over it. It made the bed look cleaner, but still nothing would grow, Then others said, ‘* Give It!” So I did, but it was no use. At last I e it up in despair, after. working at it whole mon Mr. Pumpkin said I do more with a window box, but I would not have sucha thing forthe world. I think it is very mean of him not to let me alone. m beginning positively to hate flowers, at least natural flowers that have to be grown in clay and watered. Mr. Pumpkin is very because I told him I hac bonnet that was finer than any could grow. Iam half hoping I may have offended him, and that he will let me out of the so- ciety, but Iam afraid there is no chance of that, as my subscription is nearly due again, Mr. Pumpkin edits am led The City Garden. Of rse, I have to take it in and pretend I read it. | He has actually asked me to contribute. I sent him a lively little artic ntitled ‘Plush rsus Blush Ros: rly i the v of that silly old proverb ‘Ther e without a thorn,” but I suppose the man won't publish it. He came in to-day to discuss it with me, and left me so confused by his arguments, that my brain has not recovered J I really could not half attend to him, for he had just come in from the society gardens, and his roots—no I mean his boots— and my poor car- n’s door-mat gry with me now, plush rose in my pre its balance pet looked like after he went out, that carpet again. Between ourselves, dear readera, he has left a vague impression on my mind that he would like to make me Mrs. Pampkin, and that he was willing to endow: me with all his worldly window-boxcs. Oh! dear me. The man has confused me s I don’t know what I am writing, or 1 don’t know what [ said—but I remember there was something about transplanting me—and that I never will submit to, and I think I told him so pretty plain] I must sit down and think it all out. Pray for those at sea, in- cluding poor, puzzled Tanita Tompxins. Waiting for a Sufficient ‘* Shortage.” KS ) will you really be married in Sep- temb r, Louisa, dear?” r y, sweet, it is not definitely nged yet. You know Alfred bas been in the position of cashier with the present firm only two years,” “So you are telling me, you think you will have lo “T cannot say definitely, Lily is very energetic, and he says tl continues to improve he hope: next three months to accumulate a shortag upon which we can live comfortable. Pittsburg Telegraph-Chronicle. darling, but do to wait?” but Alfred t if business within the comicbooks.com