Judge — November 12, 1904 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

AT THe PaRgER BUILDIXG Westen Aoverrisixe Orrice: PUBLISHED WEEKLY Fo UR AND NiNwreusTm STREET, Naw Yorx. 513 Hartford Building, Ch TERMS TO SUBSCRIBERS: UNITED STATES AND CANADA IN ADVANCE ‘One copy, one year. or s2 numbers - : ‘One copy, six months, oF 26 number ‘One copy, for thirteen weeks : FOREIC S SUBSCRIPTIONS—To all foreign countries EUROPEAN SALES-AGENTS—/nternational News Company, Bream's building, Chancery Lane, F.C. London ; Brentano's, Avenue de.” Opera, Paris The contents of FUDGE are protected by conyright in both the United States and Great Britain. Including the Cusisraas Jove postal union. $6.00 a year. ach's News Exchange, Mainz, Germany. infringement of this cooyright will be promptly and vigorousiy prosecuted. CONTRIBUTORS must inciose a stamped and self-addressed erfoeiove with all manascricts, otherwise return of the Latter when found unavailatie cannot be guarantees. DRAWINGS and ail contributions sent fo the Art Devartment should have the sender's full name and adiress ‘written platniy on each and every separate sketch. The accompanying foke or descrivtive letter-press should in ébery instance be writlen uton its Indroidual oicture. and NOT upon a secaraie sito of paver. inciosure of stamos to the fall amount of postage is also required, 10 insure safe and prompt return of material not accented. ON WEDNESDAY next Underhill Parker’s running mate will be a few. days older than at the present time; and he will also be about twenty- five years wiser and a century sadder. JF BRYAN could but convince himself that speech is not silver he might become rational by removing the cause of his lunacy. A speechless Bryan would be as queer an anomaly as would be a talking Underhill Parker. wee THE BOTTOM is about to drop out of something, and a large, rever- berating thud will in consequence be heard, like Emerson’s historic shot, around the world. To the patriotic ear the said thud will be the music of good government and prosperity. MAY DEMOCRATIC guns, which to-day are big guns, will next week be the smallest kind of small pop-guns. It may not be superfluous to add, while discussing the subject of political guns, that there will be some tall spiking of the same done in a day or two. GENERAL MILES declares himself in favor of the pulling-and-hauling game known technically as football, at West Point. It has evidently taken the general a long time and cost him much deep study to make up his mind that football is not a too rough and unlady-like game for the inmates of the nation’s sol- dier-factory. e 'HE CHICAGO NEWS, in voicing such a sentiment as “old age may not bring wisdom, but it has a lot of fool experi- ence to its credit,” should be ac- cused of preparing a proper leg- end for Gassaway Davis to paste in each of the hats with which he pays his election-bets. HE WOODS are blazing in glowing ripples of orange and rose, and the frost-curled leaflets are being spun in fan- tastic eddies until they look like a swarm of butterflies perform- ing a corkscrew saraband. The olive and the green have faded out of the landscape, and the dull, rich purple of the deepening twilight shadows finds its only counterpart in the shining violet cabbage of commerce and on the interior of the antique skull of old Dr. Hill, which is full to the brim of dire forebodings which, in point of blueness, make the tone of the aforesaid cabbage look like that of the ashen monkey which, having doffed its summer polo- naise, is now out in its winter blanket, capering up the blinds as industriously for shekels as the aforementioned old Dr. Hill is scurrying about in quest of the votes which, if found, will und diamant insured, BOY WANTED. ““ Vhere is der manager? | vant to get mein shewelry Tue por—" You're in de wrong stall, boss. De plate-glass insurance prove as empty as the bird-nests department {s on de next floor."* of yesteryear. Old Dr. Hill sees the November gloaming shadows, and he hears the frou-frou of the wind, which, coming from the clammy caverns of space, discourses dreary melodiess through his impoverished locks. He sees many flocks of blackbirds gliding down the sky on their southern trip, and he playfully gives his fancy reign and shapes them into all sorts of queer conceits. First they are a man’s face colliding with acamel that is dancing a jig on a fat baker; and then the flocks join and shift, and the old doctor sees a Japanese acrobat dancing on a silver ball, which is kept in the air by the spirtle of a fountain. Finally the Japanese acrobat turns into a duck, which sits on the top of the spirtle and falls into a gentle doze. Old Dr. Hill has a lively fancy and an imagination that bodies forth many weird things; but he cannot, in the flocks of south-bound birds, see the soul-satisfying, heart-comforting picture of the Esopus agri- culturist going in with flying colors. The birds do not fly that way, and the only flying colors that begild the wary old doctor’s vision are the flying colors of the flying leaves, that perform mad fandangoes around the wood- shed and cause him to wring his knuckles in despair, and to look as sad as a hearse in a snowstorm. He looks like an army of Democrats condensed - into one by the telescoping process. Not even the long-faced Democratic donkey, with his chaste adagio bray and his presto hoofs both lifted in lamentation, can match the old doctor in point of all-round depression. The old doctor’s prophetic soul is sad and sore. He knows that his presidential racer is a peculiar combination of gold and silver—so peculiar a combination, in fact, that ‘the student is unable to tell just where the gold begins and the silver ends. He also knows that the said presidential racer should be either gold or sil- ver, or at least be able to con- vince the country that he is one or the other and not both. It may be said that the old doc- tor, in looking out across the landscape that is blazing in light and airy gold, thinks silver, and realizes that the dark cloud which now overhangs the De- mocracy has a gold and silver lining, and that the Esopus farmer is practically wrapped in the said cloud, and is likewise its said lining. On the panes of his political window-sash the old doctor sees many quaint frost-etchings, whose beauty of line and curve would greatly tickle nis artistic soul if the pic- tures were not of so dire sig- nificance. They are pictures that would draw tears from an under- taker or a Rogers group, and words fail utterly to set them forth with anything bearing the remotest resemblance to truth. His thoughts leap from this frost- scape to that which will decorate the Democratic party on Wednes- day; and he is too full for utter- + ance, for he sees in his mind’s eye a. laughing gnome scratch upon the bosom of the sparkling crust the legend: Salt river. comicbooks.com