Judge — November 29, 1884 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

ined able lan. d to poor his ng of 8 be- nice rich 1 his r the on he away now 1 the f it, ouse, alism rich said ntro- n my great THE JUDGE. in another path from the one I now travel, Tereated many queer when we consider that old, und yon, to all app hundr and twenty, mewhat mistuke ef to the brandy on the sic ttling in the plumber’s o, to-night You we ten dollars per week, with ‘0 opera tickets weekly, You worked -headed sinner up your copy so that the ader had but little to on the Scratch the privile and the free hard, but the stairs cut and alte compositor and pr spoil, r ae , Ifold!”” exc ible you ar Motherinlaw, tered, ain't 1? Altered! Ieavens, man; you—are you one of the Greely party? You look as if you had spent seven’ hundred vears feedin: Where have you of the elevator, id of. ned the plumber, “is it sir, that’s me. nots. r the ery T have not been searching , but L have traveled over in the Union, and parts of y tried to introduce me in England, but I was too much for them, Ob! T've had a glorious time of it. Just listen! The Funny Man of acountry papermetme when out walk= ing one day ro, and carried me olf hon ya year he passed me off a3 he n the editor of a pictorial weekly claimed me, and for nearly two years | fairly rolled in luxury, being recognized son of the great GX. At the expiration of this time, two country dai- lies laid claim to me, both at about th time, and for many long weary months not know who [ was, or where | belonged. vant appeared in four hun- ht hundred weeklies, ninety monthlies, one hundred and two fifty-four almanacs, and twe religious papers, and imed me their own. ‘Thus, for y a years have I been vand horded around, until now weary and fovt-sore, with scarcely a vestage of my former self left to tell the sad tale of 1 and misfortunes, | have come come back to ask that you ive me, Your own child, the rest and shelter my declining years dem: sd * You have done well,” replied the plum. ber tearfully, and grasping his -headed poker, he ‘smote the old Joke a mighty smote, and brained him on the spot. s the Morat:—It is a wise editor that knows his own joke after the world has had it a few years, Tre milk business must be exceedingly remunerative. Milkmenare frequent visi at watering place “Dip yon foot the bill?” was asked of a treasurer of a Democratic ward and city committee. -the landlord did all the footing himself. A Mr. Jagcrs Aspernry, who has served an apprenticeship at the trade of proverb making, sends us the following specimens of The devil 1s not an ass The inside his workmanship. though he has a cloven foot. depends not on the outsid ) short ears cannot prevent him from having a long head. THE FINANCIAL THE VAGABOND HAND OF FRIENDSHIP. “URIAH HEEP.” Washington's Fiddle. WasntnGton’s litde fid-violin has been offered for sale to the government which was established by the music he mad We he it will be purchased and hung upon the walls of our countr with his little hatchet and hissword. Age lends luster and worth to a fiddle, for time improves its tone, but a re- vered relic like this should ne common dollars or cents. It is old. When a boy, he traded a barlow knife without bl nd a sled, with one runner, for this nd took it to the garret that nigh nohis first lesson on it. His father, wakened by the noise, stumbled up stairs, and wanted to know of G. W. what made that pig squeal up there. Washington was an honest lad, and said manfally: 4 I did it with my tleman was so pleased with his honesty, that he said he could play as much as he wanted to—a thing he after- wards regretted to his heart’s content. though it was from this instrament ho evolved the strains which fired his heart to deeds of high emprize. Nero fiddled, but ashington’s music was wrought in a nobler caus Washington’s bow should be as im- mortal as Achilles’, We can fancy him as a young man, seated at the second story window, on a quiet Virginia evening, tuning the strings with the hero’ racterized his later y E string do you catch the subdued remark he makes with Revolutionary vim? Notice the look on his face as the bridge goes down with ull | on board, making him jump as if he heard a war-whoop. We hear the plunk, plink, plunk, aud notice that it is tuned about ood and | Bloc i} | fellow over the way to night. half right. We see him grease the bow with achunk of rosin, and begin to use it like a handsaw on the strings, while he gives us left of ¢ Hornpipe,” a farme » Last Rows of A flower Grave,” Speak,” “Only to * Oreide Threads from My We De but You Neve see her Face no more among the Gold,” ‘Babies on ovr meat “The Last Rise in Winter,’ iunnah’s at the Winder without Shoes,” he Arkansaw trian,” along with ations from ** IL, M. 8. Pinafore,” his t foot keeps time, and the people under him und those over the way come out to see What it is that makes the night so red with music, But) Was zton ne was the man to let up on anything earthly or un- earthly. ‘The music continues to shed its soul, and coat, and as the tunes last, it continues to she Growlsdo not disturb him, Washington was a man who never was disturbe: When he went to do any- thing he did it with his whole heart, and if he wanted music he had it, if it took all the rosin in town, or took the town, like the We wish Con- gress would buy his fiddle and hang it up, or him. When G. W. grasped the fiddle by the neck it would look hke he would choke all the music off, but he did not, and when he put his finger down on a note it was (here, or some where in the vicitfity, and when he brought his foot down to keep time the people below could hear it, and he was a man of determination whose life wa grand harmony unless somebody gre: bow. He never bid his music under —so the neighbors s: We can well imagine that George had a comicbooks.com