Life — September 6, 1883 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

Podge Saincth an eminence xin the nick of time +++. \ Wall, J snvm whe beyer nyheow, thot meybe you nyheow, thol'meybe ) os ed San 7 Nen-no ny lad ,Im not Sar, “PP-Podge. MISTER Pose } hats SAL over these by my Clothes ,- Came and sof down NO REST FOR THE WEARY. T HERE came at the door of the sanctum of a pop- ular and influential joyrnal a despairing rap that presaged a poet. “Come in!" cried the able and scholarly editor, stifling an untranslatable idiom, “Oh, do come in!” And the tramp came in. There was a remote air of faded respectability about him that appealed with touching pathos to the heart of the journalist. Time had set his mark upon the furrowed brow, and his raiment hung upon his shrunken frame in many a patched and threadbare fold. There was dust of Pennsylvania upon his coat and mud of Texas on his way-worn shoes. Pine needles from Maine forests clustered in his thin hair, and straw from Iowa stack- yards lingered on his back. He glanced about the sanctum with the air of a man who had been there be- fore, and he drew his chair up to the table and looked about for a handy pencil and a lap tablet for all the world like an old timer. He sighed; a mouldy odor seemed to pervade the atmosphere about him. He looked generally decayed. “What do you want?” the editor asked kindly; but inwardly he was a ravening wolf, for time was precious, and the foreman waits for no man. “ Rest,” said the visitor, with an intonation of inde- scribable weariness, “Rest; eternal rest; dreamless sleep; voiceless oblivion, annihilation, the Nirvana of naughtfulnesss. ‘LIFE: 119 Te retvrneth -minvs the garments. us Theyee went — fides luk vem ovt Capn « The old woman vp youdersMiss folts,’n shes deefer ne Sten ee DE PROFUNDIS. Podge returneth Aome clad in Farmer Stebbins best Suhday-go-lo-meetin foiment he resol veth in fulvre to fake his holiday wash 1° bis own Calmly the editor pulled a revolver of that pattern and said: “ Just stand over there on on that pile of exchanges so you won’t spoil the carpet, and I will translate you to the summum bonum beyond the Sansara before you can say your prayers.” The visitor sighed more dejectedly than before, and shook his head. “°T aint no tse,” he said. 1 ’ve tried it and I can’t stay dead. That’s the trouble. We must have re- form. I want to be let alone. I'm afraid you don't recognize me. I ama joke. I am the Joke about the young Maine, Georgia, man, Ohio, lady, in Florida, servant girl, Nevada, boy, New Jersey, Texas, ( Ete., who went into a drug store to get a dose of castor oil for sister, brother, his mistress, é aaa wee her father, and the druggist disguised it in cousin, aunt, comicbooks.com °