Judge — May 15, 1886 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUDGE Briefs Submitted. sy a. wonoax, Longfellow incidentally remarks that art is long; and he might have added with equal truth that the artist is generally short. The old saying that there is nothing like leather is probably true; but the material of which sale shoes GOOD TIME! are made comes pretty near to it. Making wagons is far from being a poetical or romantic business, yet the wheelwright more than any man isapt to “ find tongues in trees.” At a commencement in | Milwankee the sweet girl graduatcs gave an exhibi- tion of bread-baking on the stage. Where will this commencement flour craze end? Great oaks from little acorns grow. Our early historians make mention of but one small hatchet; and to-day we lead the world in the manufacture of axes, Speaking of the gener- ally wretched condition of teeth, a dentist prophesies that in afew more gener- | ations our posterity will be born without these useful members. A New Jersey clergyman declares that henceforth he will not marry a man whom he knows to be _intemper- ate. Now if all the other girls follow his example it will go hard with inebri- | ates. GOOD HEAVEN! [Fliegende Blaetter THE FEATHER BUSTLE. A LEADVILLE LYRIC. She wore feather bustle. Now by the sex renounced, But her rich silk’s loud rustle Was of the vogue pronounced. And, my! her shining seal-skin Told how the ducats rolled Into her lengthening “ eelskin,” From “ground” her lord controlled The weather, rather polar, Had made the streets a glare Of ico—but something solar Was somewhere in the air. So she from her high portal, To sce and to be seen, Swept forth a stately mortal— ‘A modern Sheba queen. On—on she tripped the pavement Until she lost her feet, Upon which bereavement She sat down in the street! ‘Ab, yes; and what was sadder And made the matter worse, Like a collapsing bladder The pillow burst, of course! And in atrice up jumping— Pity she was not blind!— She saw her bustle dumping A feathery trail behind! It chanced a wretched sinner, Secing the lady's plight, Forthwith became a grinner At all the wondrous sight. And so with scathing candor Thus her vehemence ran: “You're grinning like a gander, You vile, ungentle man! The man, so sore berated, His ready tongue let loose— fadame, well are we mated, You're molting like a goose!" ASIT, SPALDING, Tue Drecatst’s Journal reports a case of poisoning from postage stamps. We've often known postage stamps to convey some- thing that made people sick. Sometimes it moved a man with an insane desire to lick the man that licked the stamp. Curiosities of the Canvas, A few of many: The president refusing to say a word for Hill; and traveling a thousand miles to vote for him. New Yorkers in Washington departments afraid to go home to vote for fear of being railroaded out as offensive partisans; the president and his staff from this state called patriots for going. The Tribune berating Mugwump journals and “cottoning to” Mugwump voters. The Prohibitionists getting violent attacks of nausea because of Davenport’s Pleasant Valley Wine and bracing up on Jones’s punch and Democratic free whiskey. (‘They are now carefully nursing celebrated cases of political cerebral expansion, in consequence.) The World calling on the faithful to vote the Democratic ticket in order to encourage Cleveland; knifing Democratic candidates right and left and slurring the President every day. The Sun sticking tu IT'!) to the end. comicbooks.com