Judge — January 3, 1891 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE A NEW-YEAR GHOST. Pee AHE old year had died and the new year was being dyed by the snow which ‘ YSIEGA|| ‘ll fluttering through the air. The cold wind from the cave of Boreas tore Ney through the city streets in madly shrieking tones, like an overture to a Wagne- rian opera in the Metropolitan opera-house in German in c flat. The mercury within the, thermometer evinced a most wonderful modesty and tried to hide z itself in the glass bulb and nearly succeeded, only stopping at thirty-seven and one-half degrees below zero. Taken altogether the night of December 31, 1890, which’ had merged into the early morning of January 1, 1891, resembled Coeur de Lion in his disguise of Le Noir Faineant, or the black night. It was a terror! Reginald de Courcey Harfwhit came down the steps of a Fifth avenue mansion at twenty- five minutes past one o'clock. His mackintosh was buttoned tightly about his manly form and heavy arctic overshoes were pulled over his well-shaped patent-leather dancing-pumps. He turned to the right, and, pausing for a moment to throw a kiss at a perfect profile in shadow against the window curtain, plunged into the night. He thought of his own Leonora, and as he did so he clapped his arms against his breast as though to embrace some shadowy being—but the action was only to warm himself as he had seen coachmen do. As he unfolded his arms he stopped short in his walk. As if conjured up by his action before him rose a shapeless, nebu- lous something—a horrible, nameless outline. It was not a shadow—no; forhe could see the electric light through it half a block away, and the something caught the rays in all the prismatic colors—now purple and green, then yellow and blue. He stretched forth his hands. Horrors! A PROTECTION, Mr. Horker (zuko runs to ears a trifle) —"' What are you kids a crowdin’ up agin me like that for?” Gasuns (in chorus)—'"* So's ter keep dry, boss !” THE PAPER called the United Irishman ought to be known hereafter as the Dissected Hibernian, Ss° MANY distinguished men have died during the past year that one feels as if you had had @ narrow escape. H WATTERSON likes reciprocity so well that * he is half inclined to call it the star-eyed goddess of deform. THIS YEAR is one principally for rest in order to attain the strength necessary to elect the Republican ticket in ‘92. QE QUESTION of the new year is, “Shall the world’s fair close on Sunday?” Another question is, “Shall it ever be opened ?” WHEN THE INDIANS fight among them- selves they act as if they were a great foreign party struggling against English oppression. E TRUST Mr. Sitting Bull didn’t meet his Messiah on the way over; if he did the Mes- siah will make his appearance with all his hair gone. 8 SUING Mr. Riley for twenty thousand dol- lars Mr. Nye inadvertently admits that Mr. Riley is more of a capitalist than any unassisted inebriate can possibly be. IN SELF-DEFENSE. , (The girls are making advances toward getting some Christmas pin-moncy.) Mr. GAstocks—" Will you read something for me, Elvira?” SAsTOCKS (coming in)—" Certainly, Philbert; what shall it be?” ASTOCKS (ferventl)—"' The riot act!” His hands could be seen through this spirit of the new year, distorted and vague, and he only grasped at the falling snow which melted at his touch. He moved on a step, but he came no nearer to the shape; it was just ahead and with no apparent movement maintained the same regular distance. He felt his knees grow weak, his hand trembled and he realized his inability to utter a sound. The wind shrieked about him in mournful cadence and seemed to penetrate to nis inmost soul, Suddenly he burst into a laugh like the unseemly mirth of a disordered mind, and grasping at his eye-glasses wiped from. the surface of the glass the ghost—a frozen snow-flake. HUM OF THE COURT. THE FAVORITE SON is "Ninety-one. WHEN YOU tum the leaf fasten it down with cement. THE DEADLY MULE. THEY TELL of a place that is paved with good intentions - but, mark you! ; Poteet been cahe e a obl good intentions are better than no pavement at all. é comicbooks.com