Judge — October 18, 1902 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

A PERFECTLY PROPER PROTEST. HE editor of the Hottown Zimes-Tommy- hawk finds himself in receipt of the fol- lowing communication : “Sir—The inane, idiotic, driveling imbecility of your miserable three-cent tenderfoot attitude on the proposed code of laws for the restriction of dueling on the public streets to the hours after curfew and before breakfast is exactly what might be expected from a sheet whose whole his- tory has been a tyrannic attempt to curtail the liberties of our citizens and to throttle the personal freedom of the gentlemen of this town. “The chivalric manhood of our proud and lovely territory would be threatened, with ultimate fatal degeneracy were the stinking and temporizing conduct of life advocated by you to become fashionable, ry assertion you make in your editorial columns stamps you as a chump and a renegade. * Anyhow, you are a triacontahedral liar. AUTUMN COLOR. “The dool-wash slobbering pretense of decency and Witue Workwit—"* Say, Clarericé, yer de biggest fool on record. Why don't yer come tair treatment (o,all which you make exery time your pu- " om eeantace Ancrwaces—" Back up! _ I'm a-gittin’a good color, so me fren's'Il t'ink I've sillanimous paper is published deceives nobody. spent de summer wid de swell guys at Newport.” You are a mean-spirited, groveling, rancid ruin of a newspaper. You are a poor, perked-up, low-lown, liquor-soaked wreck. Your family lingerie hasn't got a particle of real lace in it, 64 NOPE! an your front porch will be shot off next Tuesday morning. J. Didd (Signed) FORMER SUBSCRIBER.” ‘THE PASSING OF HORACE. id_ honest Farmer Shellbacker; “my nephew, Horace in’t with us any more. He saw a balloon-ascension at the county fair, an’ it sort o' struck in on him. He came back an’ went to tinkerin’ with a home- made parachute, which operated first-rate as long as he kept it in the barn an’ worked on it; but when he tested it by jumpin’ off'n the top of the shot-tower, aimin’ to sail slanch-ways over the village an’ land on the front porch of the tavern, he demonstrated the fact that he wasn’t born to be hung.” IT DIDN'T MATTER. 66] HAVE called, sir,” said the young man to the editor, “to request you to make a correction. Isent in an item referring to my recital, in-which I described my- self as ‘the amateur bugler,’ and : WARMING THEM UP. your paper printed it the amateur Fooreatt cartain— Would you mind giving us fellows a little practice with your auto?" bungler."” Cuaurreur—" How could | assist you?” “Oh, well,” said the editor, Fooreatt carrain—' Why, get a good flying start and smash into our line a few times. I'll instruct the boys not Cabell ae a to injure the machine."* + why not let well enough alone ? The editor of the Hottown Times -Tommyhawk has “no comment to make regarding the justice of each and every clear and forceful statement contained in the above master- ly and spirited communication. Out of courtesy to our legions of admirers, however, we will explain that the communication must have reached this office entirely by mistake. It is cer- tain that it was intended for the dilettante cuss who has been trying'to run the Hottown Gazette, wo blocks down the lane. We add one word for the benefit of the gentleman who wrote the communication. The Gazette editor is a rotten ree shot. Our record is death on THE WAY SHE TOOK IT. sight. We are no triaconta. i Magy Barnyaro—"' Out here we always go to bed with the chickens.”” hedral liar. We await, nu Miss Worsit—"' Mercy me! it must be awfully unhealthy.”” comicbooks.com