Judge — April 25, 1885 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

SPRING PLOWING. What Would Raise Him. Grapyss Ricipame the establishment. was ¢ 1 ins fanciful feminine work which well t her dainty taper fingers. (Darning the old man.) ate gracefully upon ont piatza of her sire’s palatial rural me She Her shimmering golden hair fell in heavy folds around her sateen shoulders, and sct off to advantage her plump, lissome form and She formed against the walls of the domicile a mainter, round, oval f. dark white picture worthy any sighin’- The sun cast his la fair brow, and the moon’ over her ms toyed with her Her long straight black hair t, and as Gilderoy Plowboy rode gallantly up the path which led to the before door his heart longed with a yearnsome longing for a wisp or two of it. Gilderoy was traly a brave. ‘Timid as a girl, he would ha aked his life for his adored Gladyss, and would have faced an en- raged and raffled hen had his charmer chosen to fondle oue of the spring chicklings. As he rode up through the mixed rays of the sin and moon he presented a weird and grand spectacle. ‘The sun had lit up one side of his face with a glorious brassy, grandel oquence, while on the other played the soft smiles of the tender and melancholy moon. Ife alit at the piatza steps and escortec himself to her feet—number sevens—where he knelt in awe. She placed her slender plump haud upon his bowed head and uttered: Arise, me Gilderoy! Stay with me, but flee from this place of murder. For if me father saw thee here—I would not for the world he saw thee here [she had read Shak- speare,] he would nplift thee higher than the buoyant kite, thy bounteous namesake!” « Speak “No, no, my own,” he sobbed. not of that, I pray thee. weary life the only brightsome hope that e | Cast not from me gives me courage to still live on! Bid me | rather——’ ” she interupted in low ele F peak no more! I am thine to | What?” | © Bitter end!” | And they embraced. “Ah, my sweet!” could’st only realize m could raise n He still knelt. said Gil, ‘if thou loration! Nothing | of night fell around them slowly and rapidly, and enveloped their dim forms in a misty clondiness, ‘The old man passed slowly by smoking his evening pipe, and he murmured to himself: **T wonder now if that darned calf broke down them fencins that Gilderoy Plowbov put up the other day fur fifty cents and found?” DUVVA, Is James Russel Lowell? SAVING sinners in this country seems to be anything but a jolly business. ‘The greatest of our revivalists is always Moody. Where did J. Fennimore Cooper? abode. cartmen ud steal the Lord’s y could, and more I ain’t goin’ to let the | turs, we did two y Moving Pictures. Ir nu will invent a way by which | family portraits and other choice pictures can be safely and quitely moved from one house to another, it will do more to affiliate him with the masses than all that he has yet done, and he will be solid for a monument bigger than G. W's, inside of the first decade after his death, Those who know me best (and trust me ast), Know that such a statement as that in urd to anything, always is a reference to been let down at became tl a and wealthy man of letters that I now 4 ding in . a little town -West-by- les Lake. As ‘star not yet in fashion, [was working at my trade—shoveling snow and helping the villa, they from time F couches es, and drop leaf s, and hie them to other quarters, ges were not very much on the high in | those days, but to niy story: It was April first, and) Mrs. Simpkins was ** going down in cratic Angelica that old house of the ‘Thompsonses, down by the — | erick.” While the wagon went around by | the road with the stoves, etc., I was to take a chromo of Beatrice de Cenci 1 an oil portrait of Mr. Simpkins’ father (a revolu- tionary colonel) up over the hill tothe new | “For,” said Mrs. Simpkins, them Supper, if they Beazleys see me a-makin’ a show 0” my pic- they did w’en they moved into our | house acrost the crick, and wat’s more still, tl Tain’t goin to have no picturs broke, like ES ” » wen we cum here \| With this instruction and a light heart I started off much like the hare in the fable, | | comicbooks.com