Judge — June 8, 1889 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE 141 AN EVENING PASTORAL, r y *TWAS in the gloaming, and the gloaming was putting in its best work as a soother and a o beautitier of field, copse, and meadow. One kind man, Armand McGuire, was driving the %, cows to the scene of their nightly lacteal robbery, and had paused at an angle of the old stone wall to watch a belated bird which was trying to reach its nest in a crevice of a gnarled apple-tree. Armand had led a purely municipal and urban life in Dublin up to within three weeks of this special evening, and the sights and sounds of the country were new and strange to him. At last the little bird, tired by its efforts to find a lodgment, alighted on top of the wall, and Armand approached to get a nearer view of it. Nearer and nearer he came, and as the tame little thing looked up at him in a trusting and confident way he finally put out his hand to caress it. Armand would not have injured a worm, but a bumble-bce would injure him and that one did, by plung- ing its boardirig-pike into his thumb clear up to where the soft, yellow fur began. As Armand unleashed his feet and loitered toward the house at the rate of the best record a second he was heard to whistle, " Dom a counthry phere th’ birruds wear their beaks on their tails.” He's afraid of a robin now, and a high-flying crow will cause him to bury himself in the barn cellar for hours at a time. PULLING THROUGH. HE DID business in a small way in a western New York city. He ran a store where he sold hats when any one by accident got into the place, and he made fur garments during the very short season when such work is in demand. I met him in December, and asked him about business.“ Poor, very poor,” he said, There hasn't been any decent weather for furs. I haven't earned my salt all winter.” “Perhaps business will improve,” I suggested, hopefully. “Well, if it doesn’t in the next three months I’m a goner,” he said. “In summer my business will be good.” I met him again in August. “Well,” I said, “I see you still keep in business,” “Yes,” he answered, with a downcast air, “but prospects are very poor. There hasn't been any decent weather for hats this summer, If I can only pull through three months longer, until the fur business be- gins, I'm all right.” ry December and every August for seven years I have gone through those same conversations with that man. What intense satis- faction it would be to me to wake some morning and find that he had actually made an assignment no one can ever know. A DIFFICULT FEAT. ‘Two smokers are conversing, “Don't you find it awfully difficult, old boy, to tumble on to a good pipe?" “Yes —without breaking A BRILLIANT PUPIL. Mr. Twittey (being initiated) —"*1 think 1 understand now how to bet, but what do you say when you want to stop?" Mr. FRENc “Teal * What yer got?” LEY (triumphantly, and reaching for the stakes) —" Vig casino 1" SUBURBAN ADVERTISEMENTS, (as TI SHOULD BE.) The-Manor-on-the-Hudson.— Beautitul view from the neighboring hills, only three miles away, Boating good, but no boats, Very stylish and ultra English in all respects. ‘Three leaders of society already here, and others be welcome. The more the merrier. Bottom-land, Virginia.—A charming place, shut out from all cares of the world and civilization, Nothing but negroes and fleas, ‘Three mails a week and a weekly paper. N. B.— Space in the paper for sale to visitors at a low rate. Hobville, near Hob, N. H.—A village of one hundred inhabitants, all of them genuine down-cast folk. A good place for a novelist to study character —if he can find it. Three churches, closed all summer owing to the pastors having gone to the Paris exposition. Da-dum, Long Island.— Long, dreary stretches of sand and marshes on all sides. Fifty miles from Coney Island. No malaria, no mosquitoes, no inhabitants — nothing. People wanted to inhabit the village not yet built. No references required, Way-up, Catskill mountains.—A genuine place abounding in primeval THOSE NEW SPRING HATS. forests and relics of a lost race of Indians. Fine trout-streams in near vicinity. Mr. Sowers (from Jehokeyville, N. J.)—"' That air dame don't seem Large shooting-grounds one mile away ter keep it off wuth a cent.” N.B,—The trout-streams and shooting-grounds are private preserves, comicbooks.com