Judge — August 29, 1896 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

HOW IT HAPPENED. Being the revelation of a royal caprice by a Rontgen ray. NIGHT, patron goddess of gas and electric light companies, tripping along in the footsteps of day, falls over the royal castle. She does not mind it, nor is the majestic abode damaged. By the aid of an X-ray lantern the queen may be observed behind the frowning walls. Excitedly she paces the costly carpet. Removing her royal locks, she tosses them carelessly toward the open safe. Her royal majesty is not a sharp-shooter. Weighted by the seven-pound diadem, the glitter- ing missile flies wild, fracturing a superb mirror and rolling beneath the royal couch. She does not grope for the bauble. Her peace is sorely disturbed; but, though the statute permits, she forbears from sum- moning the police. Seventy-six times she paces the length of her boudoir. She sits. Seizing the court journal—ten cents a week, delivered at the throne—she spitefully tears it into bits. Is this explosive hysteria due to the affront of some brainless courtier, some insolent lord? Hard- ly. She is about to do up small portions of her hir- sute halo in tiny packages. Suddenly her eyes dilate and fix upon an object at her feet. A bomb—a dagger? Nay; ‘tis a mere scrap of paper—a bit of the woman's page. She clutches it feverishly. With difficulty she deciphers it, for it bears the smear of the princess's special brand of choco- late-creams. She leaps to the door and halloes down the hall. There is immediate confusion among the lone bell-boy ab- sorbed in a Venezuelan diatribe. “Summon the lord high chan- cellor of the royal caprice!” she com- mands, He arrives, pale and disheveled. “ Thave found the man!" she ejac- ulates. “Read, read!" and she sobs convulsively. “But,” the trembling functionary stammers, “ your gracious majesty, this is soap poetry—the veriest dog "—— “ But me no buts, sirrah! This is the man,” And on the morrow a laureate was named at seven dollars and nine- ty-nine cents per week and found. His motto is,“ While there's life there's LA MONTE WALDRON, __OLD PARTY (very warm)—"' Ha, ha! See how the leaves on that tree are stirring! Guess there's pl:nty of air on the other side of the fence. I'll go over.” DIDN'T GET A PENSION, SAW-MILL VETERAN (to pension-agent)—"* Whar did I lose my leg? Wa-al, stranger, it happened durin’ th’ siege of—of—why, you know, when what’s-his-name was in command °— Wire (interrupting)—"* Why, Silas! what ails yer mem'ry? Jonathan Pettingill was th’ boss an’ ‘owner o' th’ saw-mill them times.” ALWAYS THE SAME. No more we'll hug the ladybug ; ‘The reason is quite clear. They love,-you know, the soldier so— ‘The army-worm is here. MISTAKEN, THE (IN)VARIABLE SUMMER GIRL. | REMEMBER that night by the ocean, That night in the moon-lighted June, When the music and measure of heart- beats Fell into a rhythm and rune That seemed to be destined forever To float and to dream in attune, I remember that night by the ocean, ‘That rapturous ending of day, When the sunlight had gone into moon- light And the sea shone in silver and gray— I remember her yes in the sunlight, In the moonlight was changed into nay. W. Je LAMBTON, NO ESCAPE, Frate vacationer (suflering from the sting of a wasp)—"'I came to this quiet resort to escape all business worry, only to be interviewed by an intrusive creature evidently having a business end.” But unfortunately wind was not the motive power that stirred the leaves. comicbooks.com