Judge — June 29, 1889 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE A VACATION FAIRY. Ry [OW GAY ‘tis to lie ‘neath the trees on a day She thinks more of giving old women quilt skirts, ‘When breezes are ladened with flowery spray, Or keeping stout hucksters in red-lannel shirts, ‘And let the pipe-smoke wing your fancies away ‘Than sparing a thought on the fellow who flirts Through maple-boughs waving above you! ‘Amid the pink tassels of clover. Beside you a fairy in petticoats sits And yet the fond glances from lovely brown eyes And reads from the papers the raciest bits; Invade every dream and your heart paralyze, While Cupid is scarring your heart with his hits Till thoughts of your income’s ridiculous size, You know the dear gitl doesn't love you. Make prudence throw sentiment over. You're away {rom petitioning lawyers and duns, © Faccus! had you journeyed out of this town— From callow young brokers with elderly puns, A vast monochrome of monotonous brown — From old apple-women and men who sell buns, ‘The glories of Zeus would have been jotted down, ‘And posters old fences adorning. For boys to construe and vote airy ; A sense of contentment, a feeling of ease, But had you met Her in a festival throng, Creeps over your mind, lying there ‘neath the trees; You'd have wielded your stylus and reveled in song, ‘You ask the dear girl will she try a kiss, please— And wooed with your lyries, the whole summer long, *They're fresh,” you confess, " ‘This dear little vacation fairy! be WITT srmeey, INSEPARABLE, Mr. Younghusband — "Vue cille, the papers say the bustle must go.” Mrs. Younghusband —"Nes, Octavius; but when the bustle goes the women will go with the bustle.”” “TWO-FORS.” “Did you get that box of cigars I sent you?” inquired his fiancée, “Yes, dear.” “And how did you like them The box was very nice in deed,” he said, softly. * Marriage is the cure for love.” ‘There, now, your joking cease ; For well you know the remedy Is worse than the disease. MULHAGEN'S DOG. Mrs. Rocuerre—"' What is that peculiar noise ?" R. MULHAGEN has a Miss Datssier —* It must be that. Mr. Auchmunter of Philadelphia playing tennis again, Me Newfoundland dog that is always yells in that way when he gets excited.” fond of tramping about the vi- cinity of his home in the suburbs. The other evening as Mr. Mulhagen was wending his way home across-lots from the grocery, his mind occupied with some new phase of speculative philosophy, he saw what he took to be Jack, standing about twenty feet from the path. “Come on, Jack,” he said to the canine, and the latter took a few steps toward him and then stopped. “Aren't you coming home, sir?” he demanded as the dog sat down on his haunches, No, the dog wasn't. He wagged his tail a few times in a sort of limited way, and then stopped it as if to see what was coming next. Mulhagen had brought the animal up to mind when he was spoken to, and this insubordination was too much. He took a few steps toward the Newfound- land, cane uplifted, as if to chastise the brute for failing to obey. The dog walked calmly before the man, and had no difficulty in keeping a respect- able distance ahead of him. Muthagen was determined to possess the dog and quickened his pace, ‘The canine also put more animation into his g: Now, the suburbs is not a good place to chase a dog. ‘The chances are all in favor of the brute, and this was the conclusion Mulhagen arrived at after a brisk run over about sixty acres of land, where the dandelion grows in the pure state and the horse-weed bends its yellow head to the breezes. Shaking his fist at the dog that sat about forty fect away, panting from the extra exertions he had been put to, the enraged Mulhagen hissed between his teeth, “I'll have you if it takes all night!” and then he dragged himself home, footsore and weary from numerous falls, and began preparations for a grand coup. “Where are you going?” asked Mrs. Mulhagen, as her husband appeared with the clothes-line in his arms, at one end of which was a slip-kne « After Jack,” he replied. “That beastly dog is over in Hendricks’s lot and won't come home. I've been chasing him about for the last half-hour, but I'll get him now if it takes all night,” and there was a look of fierce determination in his off eye. juess you must be mistaken,” said Mrs. Mulhagen; and then she added, quietly, “Jack's been sleeping in the cellar for the last hour. I forgot to tell you that Hendricks got a Newfoundland dog from Philadelphia to-day.” After a few expletives Mr. Mulhagen went down in the cellar, patted Jack, laughed a little to himself, took an oath never again to chase a neighbor's dog, ‘ngazed to Miss Dottie Ker- and then resumed the consideration of that new phase of speculative philosophy. Mr. K. Proser Long — What's de mattah wid yo! chist? Has yo" gut de lungbago?” Le Gran INKiIORN—" No, sah; T 's sava, an’ hit’s one ob her little slippahs I's wearin’ next mah h'art.” Gs comicbooks.com