Judge — December 1888 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

- BRIDGET. T WAS Christmas eve. Outside, a soft feathery snow was falling, pretty to look at through the window pane but most uncomfort- able to be abroad in and highly uncertain as to its future intentions—it being about equally probable that its dampness would become actual rain or by sudden congealing turn into a biting sleet. Within—well, there was not much of a within, particularly for Christmas eve—just a “top floor, back, small” as I had heard the porter directed with my luggage on the day upon which I became an inmate of Mrs. Featherstone’s semi-fashionable boarding- house—still, it was not a wholly comfortless interior, and I, nursing at the moment a most unholiday-like influenza, was only too glad to avail myself of its modest dimensions and moderate attractions. I do not know that the convenient season for a cold in the head has ever been stated with authority, but I do know that in my case this particular attack of the malady had seized upon about the most inconvenient moment of the year for its appearance. I was down for a Christmas dinner with my employer, who was also a distant kinsman. He had, of course, a daughter whom, equally of course, it was most undesirable to face with swollen eyelids, red- dened nostrils and the ludicrous dialect which, willy-nilly, a man with my affliction must drop into. So I was diligently endeavoring to mitigate these symptoms by the various remedies pre- scribed for me during the day by sympathiz- CHRISTMAS JUDGE THAR won't be any Chris'mus fun Eround our house thi Fer Sandy Claws in passin’ by “UM jest lean down his car, An’ w'en he fecls the chimbley’s cold, He'll grunt “I'll put right on; No need 0 sto in to Clay's, P The chillern’s all gone.” An’ yit I've seed the time w'en he ‘Ud hev to hump hisse’f To fill the stockin's hangin’ up Erlon’ our chimbley she'f. An’ me an’ maw ‘d be up till twelve Er one, a-poppin' co’ No use 0’ sech-like doin's now; The chillern’s all gone. Luster feel plump, like a b To sce them young uns sit, An’ talk o' Chris'mus being nigh, An’ wonder whut the'd git, An’ fix their se'ves to stay awake Till Sandy kem alon’! Thar's noun watches fer him now, The chillern’s all gone. Mrs. De Trent—“'I had a dispute with cousin Alice to-day. Which is correct, ‘I promise you all you select,’ or, ‘I allow you all you select." " Mr. De TreNt—" Wh Ms. De Trest—" Thanks, awfully. the morning.” They're all growed up an’ married off Exceptin’ little Joe; They spoke fer him up yander ‘An’ we hed to leave him go. “Twuz porful rough to lose him, But now we're glad thar's one Thet's still a little shaver, though The chillern’s all gone. An’ settin’ yere this Chris'mus night. I sez to maw, it seemed Ez if I sensed his rosy face Right whar the fire-light gleamed. An’ maw she ‘lowed thet mebby He Hed lent us back our own, Cuz Chris'mus ain't a smeller w'en The chillern’s all gone. It kinder makes my bones thaw out To jedge thet w'en we dic We'll find our little tad agin, Not growed a smitch more high; I want him like he uster be, Jest big enough to run; I wont stay up thar—ef I find The chillerns ai! gone! BVA WILDER MTGLASSON. , ‘1 promise you all you select.” : I'm going in to Biffany's to look at those diamonds in