Judge — December 24, 1898 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

NO NEED FOR SANTA CLAUS. Bugjuice Brt—* Line up, all yer scrubby cowpunchers, an’ drink on me! We'll all git full ernuff ter fi'l our own stockin’s !' A HORRIBLE ORDEAL. ‘THE traveling man shuddered—and yet the sleeper was warm and comfortable; he turned nervously frem side to side—and yet the berth was most commodious and soft. “I would sooner,” he muttered savagely, as he slipped a certain article out from under the pillow and unscrewed the nozzle, “I would sooner blow a Spaniard off to two ten-cent drinks without selling him anything than go through next week's ordeal. But I suppose every man has his Gethseminy—whatever that may mean—Dutch for getting it up the back, I believe—and this is mine. Bah! I know just what to expect. From Jane I shall get a necktie; from Kate I shall get a necktie ; {rom Bessie I shall get a neck- tie; from Mary, Eliza, Hepsibah, Gladys, Bridget and Heliotrope I shall get neckties. There will be a necktie from Hannah and a necktie from Daisy. Louise will send her undying love and a necktie ; Flossie a necktie and a thousand kisses; Ethel will express a necktie; Edith wi'l send one by freight; Penelope's will come by registered mail" — Exhausted nature could bear no fore—the traveling man slept. Alas for the poor fel- jow! It was the week before Christmas and he was a bigamist, with a fond wife in each _ of seventeen counties and four school-districts. THE CAROL OF THE WIRES. WOULD yor listen to music entrancing, And played by invisible hands ? To a strain that sets snow-birds a-dancing, ‘As round it they circle in bands ? Linger here, by the wayside forsaken, When day in red sunset cxpires ; ‘When the keen winds of winter awaken, And list to the song of the wires. "Tis the tclegraplr harp, stretched to tuning On posts that the tall forest gave ; ‘ ‘And these answer, when wild winds are crooning, Their brothers whose branches still wave, But of nature the tree-tops are singing, : : ‘The sccrets of forest and fen ; TOO COLD FOR REMOVAL. While the wires, their swift messages winging, MAme (on Christmas eve)—" Are yer goin’ ter hang up yer stockin’s ter-night, Liz?” Chant the will and good wishes cf men, Liz (hattering)—"* Wot! Sech wedder as dis ?” WRNRY TYRRELL. comicbooks.com