Life — March 8, 1883 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

Xz SERENADE—TO NORA. ‘The moonlight is failin’— ‘The sad stars are palin’— The black wings of night are a droopin’ and trailin’ ; The wind’s miserere Sounds lonesome and dreary ; The katydid’s dumb and the nightingale’s weary. O Nora! I’m wadin’ The grass, and paradin’ ‘The dews at your door, wid my swate serenadin’ ; Alone and forsaken, Whilst you're never wakin’ To tell me you're wid me, and I am mistaken ! Don’t think that my singin’ Its wrong to be flingin’ Forninst of the dreams that the angels are bringin’; For if your pure spirit Might waken and hear it, You'd never be dreamin’ the Saints could come near it! Then lave off your slapin’ !— The pulse of me's lapin’ To have the two eyes of yez down on me papin’. Ah, Nora! Its hopin’ Your windy ye'll open And light up the night where the heart of me's gropin’. J. W. Rivey. -* LIFE: THE PRIMA DONNA AND THE COM- POSER. I" was rumored recently that a distinguished Ger- man composer contemplated coming to this coun- try; and a celebrated prima donna now here, was asked one night between the acts what she thought of him. “He's a very nice little man,” she answered. “‘ He is very retired and doesn’t like to meet people ; but he always received me most cordially.” “Was he peculiar in any way ?” “Yes; he often wanted me to sing a certain aria from an opera written by one of his rivals. But per- haps that was because I had created the part to which the aria belonged, and so, of course, could sing it bet- ter than any else.” “ How long is it since you last saw him ?”” “When I was in Italy singing in ‘ Persiflage,’ an- other role I created. He was so pleased with my sing- ing that he sent me acomplimentary letter ; and after- wards journeyed several miles for the express purpose of calling upon me.” “ How is he regarded asa composer ?” “He is said to be one ef the greatest geniuses living. He wanted to write an opera for me, for he said I was the only prima donna in the world who could interpret his music.” “Which do you consider the finest of his works ?”” “Der Schreckliche Maus.’ I appeared in that opera in Germany ; and it was my rendition of the part that so captivated him with my style of singing that he wanted to write an opera for me. But there’s the bell. I must go.” The visitor departed with a profound knowledge of the merits of the great composer. JUDKINS’ BOY ON SPIDERS. PIDERS is awful fat—all but their head, and that's level you can bet your hi muck. Flies haint got no business with a spider. If a spider ever reaches for a fly, he’shis meat! The spider likes to work till he gets his web done, and then he likes to loaf and wait for bugs and things to get caught in it. He lays back in his hole till he hears ‘em buzzin’, and then he walks out and fixes em so’s they can't buzz ; and he’s got the truck to do it with! I bet if you’d unwind all the web stuff of just one little spider it would be longer’n akite-string. Orfct a spider hung out his sign in our wood house, and crawled back in his web and hid, and laid awake and waited. And one of these here Color- ado potater-bugs come a-emigratin’ along and got cought too slick. The spider worked a week on that bug ‘fore he got him so’s he couldn’t move hand or foot. Then he couldn’t eat him neither, ‘cause them kind o’ bugs has got shells on ‘em, you know, and spiders don’t know how to hull ’em. And I used to lay around and watch the spider monkeyin’ with his con- trdct. And every time I'd go around, there'd be old Mr. Spider wrappin’ more stuff around the bug, and comicbooks.com