Judge — December 27, 1884 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

A CHRISTMAS COMPLAINT. ** Great Heavens! Christmas 0 soon after Thanks. giving?” Johnnie's Compositions. ‘THis week teacher tole me to rite a ‘ des- criptive” compozition, and here’s the one I read to the school. My girl says its just too lovely fer anything. Jim says its like baker’s cake, not moren half dun. But Jim’s pre} udist. I couldn’t seem to find any name to fit it good, so Ill jus’ call it “4 MODERN ROMANS.” It was on one of those warm, sultry eve- nings so common to New England during the month of December, when a tall, shadowy looking individual mite have been seen pac- ing up and down beneath a electric lite post in one of the prinsyble streets of a large city. In his rite hand he carried a huge palm- leaf fan, on which was painted in bold an- tique letters, “Compliments of WIGGLES, TROTUM & CO.” As he porzed and looked out into “ the blackness of the near beyond,” (one of Jim’s), a close observer mite have perceived the cold swet of perspirashun standin’ round on his fore-head in little groups, and dis- cussin’ the probabilty of his havin’ his hair cut. All of a sudding he uttered a deep grown, and drawin’ a glittering dagger from his empty watch-pocket, he held it suspended in mid-air. Jus’ at that moment a perliceman who had been saunterin’ along consumin’ peanuts, threw them to the ground and sprang at the spectrl and interestin’ figger, exklaiming “Hold, rash creature, what wouldst thou!” “Pick my teeth; any lor agin’ it?” replied the R. C. (that means Rash Creature). Then the plesman felt mean, coz he thought the man waz goin’ to commit susing- side, and went back mutterin’ ’bout his lost peanuts. The shadowy figger then replaced his dagger, and carefully arrangin’ the “cold litter” in his I, groped his way along the ited avanuze without takin’ any pertickler notice of the fierce street-sweepers, organ grinders, and coachmen what beset his dan- gerous path. A stern duly nerved his arm and propelled him, like folks duz the wheel- barrow sometimes. ‘The gloom of dusky midnite rapped him ‘round, And nought disturbed the silence but a sound. * . . . . While he is taking his course through the | by explaining the thing. THE JUDGE. darkness, let us enter the palatial manshun which was the resduns of the objeck of his | thorts. Seated at a ate hundred dollar peaner | hummin’ ‘“ Mozart’s Mar House,” with daz: Her delicatly chiselled nose harmonized de- litefully with that of a three hundred dollar imported Inglish pug, which blink a little silk crazy-quilt beneath the instru- ment, while she dreamily shoved her wax- taper fingernails over the bunches of ivory key h to the White fer colores ‘A cheerful sandall-wood fire burned in an | open grate, and the thirty-two foot French plate mirror at the farther side of the room seemed to smile as it refletked the image of the butifal girl, whoz snow oulders glistened in the fire-glow like a new china wash-bowl. Her sweet voice sounded like a seven-octave tenor, and was purer as tenor twelve ordnary | (This is a pun. I wasn’t quite sure "bout it, and ast Jim,who said I might parm it off I'm goin’ to leave it there anyway, coz its part of the story). Pretty soon a rapid step was heard at the front door, and the bell began to ring, like « if somebody was pullin’ all the wire out inter the stree! . When the pretiy girl's foot-man, (Jim calls this a Miss Nomer, coz the man was at least siz foot), went to the door, there stood the shadder I tole you "bout He bowed ‘respectively and handed the servent the big fan whot had the description onto it, and ast him to deliver it to his mistress. When the girl, (whose r say, was Gertrude Minerva Whitewash), saw the fan, she uttered a miniature shreek, and come so near faintin’ that the six-footman had to use on her—the fan, not his foot. Necovered herself, she murmured with a A HASTY ANSWER. Boy—‘ Help! Help.” Man—* What you doin’ there anyway?” Bor—“ Hollering for help.” i under | me, I forgot to | , THE LANDLORD'S Netonnon —* Well, you are taking it cool, and your house burning right over your head.” Sarru—* /t ain't my house, its the land- | lord's, and all my furniture is doubly covered by insurance.” Loss. is a quotation from Mr. Dickens). She trembled when he took her hand, and ina ted voice begged him to be seated. His immoshun corzed him to gulp like he had swallowed a tooth-brush, when he sank intoa French roofed chair, to which she moshond him, Then they sat still and looked at each | other in solum silen The little Dutch elock, surmounted with a gold headed monkey bearing the legend; | “three times for five cent,” ticked away on | the veneshun marble mantell peas. “The n sank to his usual evening localty: and throwin’ its raz turned everything to the color of yeast-cake rappers; the owls chimed gingerly into the tree branches, and the cheerful snow-bird his evenin’ hum,—and still tha sat. Jus at this period of the story Freddy Vorashus Fuller rushed into the room and shouted; Johnnie, there’s a peddler’s cart nin’ by, com out an’ hook behind!” |" Of course, I wanted ter finish my compo- | zishun, but that peddler out to be ‘tended to, and I finally conkluded that I mite az leav the heroz sitten th for if nobody disturbs em’ th when I want um again. As enywhere, y'll be there “CLYDE.” An Eng aunt. — Bein, probably. w na Post. ‘Tne line must be drawn somewhere,” murmured the tramp as he hauled in the k's wash nd withdrew to his haunt | in the woods, ~ Journal. shman has lately married his now his own uncle he will his watch pretty regularly. — we A puttosopnen ‘o thoroughly occupied man was ever miserable.” The philosopher will probably make an excep:ion of the man who, at a picnic, suddenly dis- covers that he has been sitting upon an ant- hill. — Boston Courier. Wary re Wh the time?” queried her husband who belong party. helebrate! only waitin’ hi round, thash all. will you celebrate all Tectionate wife of to the successful Who's shclebrating, hic, r the pos” offish to come Hartford Post. comicbooks.com