Judge — July 10, 1886 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE. BIG HEAD. © y f i | idee. casy for an ugly woman to sneer at the mistake of her pretty sister, for she knows nothing of temptation....It is easy for one to hide his ignorance and pass through life as a wise man, if he Jonly holds his tongue....With our society woman it is neck or nothing. THE TORTURE CHAMBER. I was weary and restless for sleep. So, throwing myself upon my couch, I closed my eyelids and was soon lost in the oblivion of mimic death. Of the lapse of time I knew naught, till sud- denly a glowing blood-red film simul- taneously broke upon the torpidness of my sense and vision. Slowly, aye, wearily slow, the color resolved itself into form and illumination. And then —oh, is it nota terrible spectacle, whose | very remembrance can turn the blood of lusty life to ice and quiver the nerves |of manhood like the strings of the zeolian |harp? Where is my tiny room with its snow white curtains, through which the sunlight greeted me at morn? Now I ‘stand in a massive chamber of stone. | with deep black recesses and one great jopening through which I see the moon- lit heavens ‘and hear the sluggish voice of water beating against the walls jbelow. — Again that horrid crimson gore! Itcomes from the narrow pas- sage, whose arch is girdled with fetters of solid steel. And now a hollow chant 5 Water, rise and engulf me in your dark bosom! Winds of Heaven, waft the burning simoon across my dilating nostrils! But what is that which breaks like a chord of fairy music upon my ear? The cowled tor- turers have caught its accent too. They sul- lenly raise their glowing brands aloft and bow their bodies in homage. May I be saved after all? Oh, I loved friendship and beauty, and my passions were ever intense—but, did I think I could love like this? I writhe and struggle with the impulse of hope! I strain |my muscles with almost superhuman energy. |Then I suddenly start up in bed in my little |room, shivering in every limb with the great | beads of perspiration pouring down my body. That tinkling chime still fills the air, but I [know it is Mrs, Stiggin’s breakfust bell by the manner in which the boarders yell. Oh, jcruel destiny which led me to attend the sec: fond annual picnic and midsummer night's festival of the Rooney Kilwee association, and \in the intervals between the shooting affrays |to partake of a combination supper of corned |beef sandwiches, bock wurst, pigs’ feet and salad de sauerkraut. i WALTER STEPHEN MURPHY. lou CHOCOLATE’S TARGET PRACTICE De man wat kin borry in one naborhood fo’ long mus’ do a heap ob lyin’. Honesty or no, hit am pleasantest toe pass a po' coin dan toe find one in yo’ change. | Use am ob mo’ ‘count dan value sometimes. Yo' might bettah be a o'nary cobble in a po’ piece ob pavement dan a undiskivered di’mon How little Snooks overcame the question of height|and the sound of heavy footsteps beats jn de bowels ob de ‘ath. when he was out with his tall girl the other day, and it! upon my throbbing brain. rained, tor fear of losing their job....The rolling stone gathers no moss. It is the rolling snow- ball that scoops up everything....Life is a race where we all like to go as we please... y s at home. That is probably a woman never scruples to lavish her husband's money....Judging by the kind of men who are dying every da bigger place than heaven. impulse; wo from s looks at the result; a man at the consequences. -Man works to earn money; woman to spend it....We appear most foolis friends when we think ourselves most wise. Pride is stronger than modesty in woman. Ona rainy day she would sooner show her hose than bedraggle her skirts....Man judges with his brain; woman with her eye....We are told it is better to be born lucky than rich. But, after all, if we are rich we can easily | stand a little ill-luck....Man was made to mourn; woman to make him do so....“Go| nd gambol on the green” is a precept Ss never written of the turf....It is the y in the milk-bowl that gets along swim- gly....There is no saying truer than ‘as | kiss—providing, of course, that the girl will let you....Joaquin Miller with his long hair and eccentric ways looks more pocti- cal than he is... .It isn’t the millionaires who keep the money in circulation. The rich man hoards; the poor man spends. . . . It is the terms ofthe midwife that are always c.o. d....It is the artificial fly that takes the rise out of the trout. ... This would be a queer world if every one had his own wa: Wealth may not make one happy, but without it few are happy. | :---Homeliness is a drawback to a man; ina Woman it isacrime....The pinch of poverty | is sharper than that of the pincers....It is | Nearer and nearer the light glows more vividly. -' Who are these sombre cowled demons with the brazen torches clenched in their bony hands whoslowly file out before me? Th halt and all is still as the tomb. Anythin; but this fearful silence—I fling myself upon my knees on the damp granite tloor; Tift up my hands before me in supplication, and ery out for merey—for mercy. One of the cowled figures raises its long, bony finger. “What you ask,” it whispers in a voice vhich sounds like the wail of the graveyard, denied. You have broken our | Education am ob use toe de mos’ ‘umble. W'at ud a han’ organ man do wid a monkey dat cudn’ 'stinguish tween a cent and a but- ton. Hit doan’ satisfy me dat de pusson w'at steals my chickens goes toc de penctenchery ‘less I git de fowls back. Cackle, chickens, wha yo’ please ez long ez yo’ lay at home. | Dar er some men dat ud grum’le ef da cud pick ready-made shirts offen cottonwood | trees. J. A. WALDRON, laws and the penalty is torture. Even while your soul is lingering on the threshold of eternity your body shall experience the pangs of active exist- ence. Seize him and bind him to the rack !” “Why tell of how Iclench my fists and struggle against the clammy limbs that twine themselves around me. A moment later and I lie upon my back onamarble slab while another enor- mous block hangs suspended directly above my chest. Iam powerless. The fiends have conquered. Now I divine their terrible purpose. I hear the click of the machinery they have set in. mo- tion, The marble monster will slowly press itself to my bosom; it will clasp me in the embrace of death. It moves almost imperceptibly, but I can see i motion well: Horror is my magn’ ing glass. Now I can no longer draw my breath—expand my lungs. The pressure grows stronger. If I could only shriek. Help! he—the effort is vain, Tears of agony start from my eyes—my brain is bursting with blood! Oh, skies, have pity and send down a bolt of thunder to speed the end! COSTUME DESIGN. For waiter girls in the beer gardens. comicbooks.com