Judge — December 27, 1902 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

PUBLISHED WEEKLY AT THE JUDGE BUILDING, 110 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. Terms to Subscribers. UNITED STATES AND CANADA IN ADVANCE. yy. lor thirteen weeks == Including the Curistatas Juoce. FOREIGN SUBSCRIPTIONS—To all foreign countries in the postal union, $6.00 a year. Wasraxx Urvice—S28-829 Marguctte Building, Ocago. International neves company, Bream's building, Chancery lane, catvane de COpera, Paris; Suarbach's news exchange, 3 7¢ with all manuscripts, otherwise return of the latter when found unavailable cannot be guaranteed. DRAWINGS and all contributions sent to the Art De; ‘on each and every separate sketch. Th very instance be written upon its indivi loclosure of stamps to the full a ‘of mate-‘al not accepted. ‘ANTA CLAUS may put green apples and rubricated pop- corn balls into the stocking of the just and the unjust alike. but he never makes the mistake of giving a diamond-stud- ded coupon-cutter to the poet or a copy of Omar Khayyam's quatrains to Russell Sage, whose favorite song begins, “Sing a song of six per cent., pocket full of bonds.’” MB: BRYAN, having been practically cast out and ma- rooned by his party, is now gnashing his teeth and fuming in a manner that suggests to a picturesque thinker the unique combination of Tillman in a convulsion and an automobile going at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Hts recent remarks concerning Mr. Cannon are, therefore, lack- ing in the spontaneity and general effect which give to such articles a lasting charm. His philosophy and wit belong in the ancient almanac cla: dust of the circus-ring. The fiery Nebraskan is h with the bludgeon than with the pen. It is the opinion of many neurologists and plumbers that he is suffering from an impediment in his peace of mind, and that his voice is sadly in need of awasher. Be this as it may, we most earnestly trust that Santa Claus may bring him a set of political ethics, up to which he may live without any considerable wear and tear on his automatic conscience. WHEN SANTA CLAUS reaches the Democratic roof-top he will sud- denly come face to face with the most interesting chimney study of his career, for he will then see the first chimaey constructed in such a way as to make it impossible for him to lower and deposit his presents that are popularly Lelieved to be made to fit any chimney. He has many things in his pack, which is of the proverbial aldermanic proportions, that would im- prove the general health of the Democratic party, and, on the assumption that there is room for improvement in this fantastic body of festive freaks, it seems a shame that its would-be benefactor should thus be thwarted in his purpose, which is quite as noble as unselfish. Being a chimneyscape artist himself, he may drop a verbal pearl in the form of a suggestion, which, if acted upon, will put a broad-gauge chimney on the Democratic household before another Christmas comes around. The Dems may even improve on the great gift-giver’s suggestion by putting hinges on the peak of the roof, that he may open it at will, like a Noah’s ark or a grand piano. coe THE BURDEN of old uncledavehill at the present writing see “ Ain't dat a shame!”” as he stands at the door of the Democratic house and weeps and wails in vain for admittance. Like a banner of gravied joy the serpentine fumes of the frizzling pork-chop establish friend- ly yet tantalizing relations with his nasal organ, which is at present like that of a bloodhound as he scents from afar the nomination which is not likely to seek him. He hears the sounds of Democratic harmony, so called, from within, and learns from the exhalations of the porous pancake that the buckwheat crop has not been a failure this year. But for old uncle- david there does not appear to be any pork-chop in the concrete, and the buckwheat cake of the Democratic kitchen is nothing more substantial than a pin-wheel of gossamer in his troubled dreams. Judging by his rain- soaked and storm-battered appearance, he doesn’t seem to be worried over the much-mooted question of the revision of the tariff; nor does he look as if anxious to know whether or not the peanut crop will be sufficiently large next year to keep his system of politics alive and in motion. He hears the crooning lullaby of the old Democratic mother and the prattling syllables of his ancient playmates, Olney, Cleveland and Gorman, who, while capering with their lead soldiers and Noah's arks, keep their eyes riveted on the coveted pork-chop, in the bottom of which the figures 1904 are distinctly blown. That he is as sick to the core as he is soaked to the skin should go without saying, for the storm, in which there is no presidential light- ning, beats fierce and hard and will not let up. He is a candidate for a life- preserver, as well as for the sympathy of the shanghai rooster that is, like himself—the Wolfert Rooster—a dripping symphony. And yet the pr dential bee buzzes in his battered bonnet and constitutes the accompani- ment to which he lifts his voice in lamentation and fills the air to overflow- ing with his heartfelt grief which vents itself in the portentous refrain, “Ain't dat a shame!” OUT OF THE QUESTION. Gtavs—"‘ Are you going to the opera to-night?" Prnevore— No; I couldn't enjoy ita bit. The fact is, | have such a cold | cannot speak above a whisper. comicbooks.com