Judge — October 19, 1889 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE HIS JOKE AND HIS LITERATOOR. WO large men with very large voices. One is extremely garrulous because he is in- toxicated, and the other (with blue glasses) is delighted to find himself half sober in comparison with the other, “I tell you, sir,” says Jones, the man well over the bay, “it’s the finest poem in the language.” “Wot poem?" says Blue Glasses with great dignity and some disgust. “That poem by Campbell, sir. Campbell, the greatest of English poets—or was he Scotch, or Irish?—I'm not up in my memory—but Campbell, Thomas Campbell. But never mind. The poem begins, ‘On Linden when the lun was so," or rather *On Sundan when the lind was low, ‘And darkened was the untrodden snow’ — Jones pauses, astonished at the purity of his enunciation in the last line; and Blue Glasses ONE OF THE FINEST. A PREMIUM ON IMPOLITENESS. Carraix Buupso (breaking a fifteen minutes’ silence) —"" Rude to whisper in company, isn't it?” Miss Rova 11 —""T'll pardon you if you'// only be rude a little while. remarks in a kindly tone,“ My friend, you had better go home and go to bed. “But she here!” says Jones, in a great burst of collection, “you recited it in y'r school-days, m’ boy, an’ know-all-about-it, o’ course; but how r'freshing — how ref-reshing — to re-revive those mem’ries 0” them them times! It does m’ soul good to g* back —to *g back to the little red school-house with a bel —a bel- fry on the hill.” “Oh, well, ays Blue Glasses, with some resig- nation mixed with his disgust, “pass that and give us. .the. poem. ee EMAN. CaskY—''Sure! the rounds- y THE TRAMP (fifteen minutes later) “The poem begi ys Jones, collecting him- man won't be ‘round for a couple of hours. what luck! a good square night's ew! self after a pause—"the first verse is this— Till take a nap.” sleep at last.” - “The curfew tolls the knelling part of day." “Get out!” says Blue Glasses with intense scorn, “You were giving us ‘Hohenlinden’ when you began this conversation. Wot's the matter with you? Don't. you know a battle-field from a a2” don't be so blank scared!" says Jones, putting on Ais dignity, “1 bain’t done anything t’ make y' fire up like that. But it’s the finest po-poem in English literatoor.” iterafoor /" roars Blue Glasses. “ Wot's the matter with your pronunciation? Yow talk about the English language! Here, Barkeep! give this man a drink to limber his tongue and set his brain going. I'll take one too “Think of that for a line,” says Jones, wiping his lips after imbibation—" jest think o° that for a limpid, livin’ descriptive line— * Th’ furcew knolls the tell of darting pay." you givin’ me?” says Blue Glasses with great wrath. vent wild over * Ex ” or"—a long pause for reflection—“or the * Marseillaise,’ or ‘Watch on the Rhine,’ or some blank thing of that kind, and now you're quoting Gray's Slegy' as the best thing in literafoor,. Blank it, my” friend! you're too tedious." “Who Zs your friend, Blue Glasses?” softly says an acquaint- : You're the coal-stealing ance, entering the bar-room for refreshment in the height of the weeks, Come along now or I club!" discussion “Damfino, sie!" with a roar and a snort,“ Damfiwantéknow, y’ know! Introduced himself, th’ blank Iscariot. Said he was Drunk, an’ I said I never knew anybody o° that ame.” “Bebut y" must admit,” says Jones, with a voice somewhat limited in comparison with its pre- vious assertiveness, and a brief look of inquiry, as if he shspects a misunderstanding, “that *Cur- few shall not ring’ is fine—ver’ fin'—bes’ thing in literatoor.” “To Kalamazoo with y’r graveyards an’ y’r battle-pieces an’ y’r belfries !" exclaims Blue Glasses ; adding immediately dy’ infernal literafoor /” V-but she here!” exclaims Jones with haste, button-holing Blue Glasses and the friend, * hain’t got the joke. Don't y" be in no hu “Wot joke?” says Blue Glasses with mingled astonishment, curiosity and disgust. “Joke "bout ‘Curfew’—Campbell an’ the boys—she? Feller rollin’ down stairs. _ College- pr'fessor * Who's * “Feller says, says ‘e"—punching Blue Glasses’s ribs with some violence: says ‘e "Tis I, sir, a-rollin’ rapi'ly.’ She?” awd !" exclaims ses with the most intense disgust he has yet shown; “that ain't Mh literafoor, you blazing fool! That ain't ancient history, you miserable inebriate! That's worse than Rounnsman —** Casey, yer one of the finest : on Nand most clever officers on the force. I'll spake the catacombs and the Egyptian mummies. That's pre-historic. That's pre-chaos and pre-vacuum.” a good word for yer for promotion,” comicbooks.com |