Judge — November 30, 1901 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

PUBLISHED WEEKLY Terms to Subscribers. One copy, one year, or 52 numbers Ove copy, six months, oF 26 number One copy, for thirteen weeks = - —Henry Bright, manager, Beyce Butlding, Chicage. AGENTS —/ntermational mews company ECs Landon: Brentane's, avenue de FOpera, Paris; jerwiany. f stamps fo the full amoual rial not fm epted. C!s MAY the great scientist ne'er make a cent™ If he should a plumless plum-pudding invent! THE ‘small boy with the drum-stick Plays solos on his teeth Until “his smile shines sweetly Athwart his gravy wreath. That smile curls round the drum-stick, And all its brownness gilds As swiftly as this tid-bit The small boy’s joy upbuilds. There's gravy on his eye- balls, There's gravy on his grin— Oh, that his fancies could be But tattooed on his THE hollow pumpkin flashes in the cold And gilds the spirit of Thanksgiving day. Its candle-torch emits a dancing spray Through eyes and mouth of witchery untold. It wears a smile that ripples fold on fold— The self-same smile that makes our features gay When the great moon of pie we put away Till we're within a pumpkin cloth-of-gold. Oh, V-shaped wedges—four unto the pie— You constitute the orb that sets aglow And holds us in an ecstasy transfixed Until we sing and dance and fondly sigh, “ You quite outpie all other pies, although You're made of squash, with sweet potatoes mixed.” ove CCRANBERRY-SAUCE, cranberry-sauce, Cranberry-sauce, heigh-ho! That's the jam of jams That wins our salaains When it sets the damask aglow. Cranberry-sauce, cranberry-sauce, Cranberry-sauce, ha, ha! Paints the banquet red, And we stand on our head, While we toot joy’s tra-la-la-la! AT THE JUDGE KUILDING, 110 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. UNITED STATES AND CANADA IN ADVANCE. Jncluding the Cunistmas Juoce. FOREIGN SUBSCRIPTIONS—To all foreign countries in the postal union, $6.09,a year. tage is also required, THE first joint and the second joint To-day are Fancy’s team Of fairy steeds whose noses point Unto a land of dream, And all our faculties anoint With juiciness supreme. And when on them our eyes we cast Our rhapsodies outburst Till we forget the bitter past, In gravy seas immerst, And shout, “ The first miyzht be the last And eke the last the first.” Bream’s building, Chancery lane, eee jarbach's mews exchange, Mains, THE wing that used to waft the bird right in both the United States and Great Britals, Now wafts our spirits high, } porously prosecuted. Where melodies of mirth are heard sell-addressed envelope with all manuscripts, ip us as We Ai otherwise retu vailable cannol_be guaranteed. To help y | DRAWINGS and all contributions seat fo the Art Department should bave the seader’s full ous | | wame and address written plainly on each and every separate sketch. The acc: Joke or Oh, juicy bit! too short and swift * al You make that happy flight, For when. you're gobbled back we drift Unto this vale of night. And then our yearning song is heard, For then our spirit sings, Give us the bird, give us the bird, That's wings and wings and wings !”” eee [JPON the waving birk The turk Js dreaming of his ‘loom; His wattles to and fro, vas Aglow, Incarnadine the gloom. a Assecond joints and wings Wns Are things For which he knows we long, He with his drum-sticks drums And hums— He is a songless song; eid _A songless song to fill sal ‘and thril They'd be the unctuous Qur souls with verve pictures : and vim, To tell the seer just " Gus-Dinns-%B Until we see him puffed how And stuffed Pro-dig-i-ous-ly happy BAKING-DAY IN BUGVILLE. With chestnuts to the “That small boy is just Rolling the crust for the Thanksgiving mince-ple. brim. now. a THE turkey-neck so scrawny Within our vision veers To test the jaw that’s brawny Before it disappears. It’s far behind the giblets, Though beautiful to see, And so we smite our riblets In gustatory glee. Though but a neck, most prankful It makes our fork and dik, And for it we are thankful That’s of the turkey turk. THE optimist smiles a smile That glides all over his features, And shows that he is the while The happiest of all creatures. Cold hash fills him not with grief-— He thinks it’s the bass that’s stri-ped. He fancies his canned corned beef Is Thanksgiving’s only biped. So while he is hardly glum, He smiles like a brand-new dollar, Or the gold chrysanthemum That almost touches his coller. comicbooks.com