Judge — February 16, 1895 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

THE NAPOLEONIC | REVIVAL ¢ THE evening of the tenth of April, 1815, N O preceding the day of his formal abdication, the emperor was found by Talleyrand pacing the garden at Fontainebleau and apparently wrapped in thought. So absorbed was he that thrice he passed his minister without recognition. The fourth time he glanced hastily upward and cried, “Do you know, Talleyrand, I think it's just good enough for me! “Oh, sire, don't say that!" said Talleyrand, in- serting his thumb-nail into his left optic and producing a tear. “To what then, think you, I refer?” said Napoleon shortly. “To your forced abdication, sire,” responded the prime minister. “Wrong again, I meant the earth—ha, ha! If you get anything for that joke mail me half, at Elb But he never got it, as Talleyrand claimed afterward that the joke was returned to him marked * Chestnut.’ (To be continued.) ‘i DIPLOMATIC, THE OLD BEAU’S VALENTINE, WILD-AND-WOOLLY TERROR—"‘I say, what's yer politics, . ower ! sending valentines?” you ask, anyway?” And eye me with surprise, Mr. TeNDERFooT—" What's yours ?” As though that were a pleasant task I should not solemnize. THE CHOSEN VALENTINE, FAIR BELLA had a string of beaux, And when I add that young and fair ‘Too many for her loving ; She is you need not start ; For though the frost is in my hair ‘There's sunshine in my heart. When once you've felt love's tender glow You find it hard to smother ; Though strange, yet many years ago I sent one to her mother. JAMES Jay O'CONNREL. A CASE IN POINT. Teacher —" Give me an example of hu- io Bright boy— It is to send a comic val- entine by stealth and have it found out by accident.” mili: THE POOR POET’S EXCUSE FOR NOT SENDING HERE'S reason why I send you none (Oh, think it no rebuff); I cannot find a single one That praises you enough. MER A VALENTINE. ANOTHER FROM THE BOSTON BABY, Browninc Bean, jx.—'* Governess, you may have no intention of trying to bore me, but this tedious iteration of these pedestrian rambles is, to put it mildly, a trifle monot- onous; and if you would continue in my esteem your most sagacious movement would be in conducting me to a place of amusement and revelry—as, per example, the * vertigo- inducer.’ commonly termed the merry-go-round. Do my sentiments impress your better judgment ?” AN EXCUSE, Huncry Raccies—" Dere be times when even de fren'ship uv er dog is not ter be despised, yer bet !” So like a canny maiden chose ‘Their homage to be proving. Said she, * The man who sends to me ‘The valentine most pleasing, My chosen lover he shall be: So there's an end of teasing.” The beaux began their eager quest, ‘Each powdered head excited, To serve fair Bella's gay behest ‘When such a prize requited, To east, to west, they ride, they run, Tn circles growing larger, Each willing to give. could that be done, jis head upon a charger. Upon the morn of valentines Came letters pining, burning, And offering jewels of the mines For love of her returning ; And offering ruffled hands, and hearts ‘That waited on her pleasures, And talked of Cupid's fiery darts In all poetic measures, Amid the pleading, pining sheets ‘One struck a stronger keynote. "I do not talk to you of sweets, love—you are the queen o't. * But now or never must you choose “Twixt me and swains a-sighing. To-night I'll wait you ‘neath the yews. Will you with me be flying?” ‘The moonlight shone through oak and yew Where, cloaked and spurred, he waited ; And far across the snow it threw ‘Their shadows, black, serrated. ‘The moonlight shone through oak and yer ‘And in the snowy garden, Where swift and light a little shoe pbore a merry burden. To right, to left, down snowy ways Her watehtul eyes were glancing, And spite of lace, brocade and stays Her girlish heart was dancing. A kiss, a hurried word or so, ‘And steeds and coach weat flying Across the night, across the snow, ‘And left the swains a-sighing. This to the swains—" Well may you rue ‘My flight; no doubt you chid it. But while you dreamed of what you'd do, Like & bold man he did it!” FLORENCE H. PRATT. HE most merciless of all masters is the unrelenting past. comicbooks.com