Judge — December 3, 1904 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

Ar THE Panxxx Bortpinc. Fourtm AvEN Wastes Apyrerisin UNITED STATES AND CANADA IN ADVANCE, Ove copy, one year, or $2 numbers - = $300 One copy, six months, or 6 numbers - fee One copy, for thirteen weeks ae 1s FOREIGN SUPSCRIPTIONS—To all foreign countries in the postil PUBLISHE! D TERMS TO SUBSCRIDERS: Tncluding the Cunisratas Ju nion, $6.00.8 year. Eunorman satne-acnnts—International News Company, Bream's building, Chancery Lane, F.C. London > Brentano's, Avenue del’ Opera, Paris: Saariack's News Exchange, Mains, Germany. The contents of FUDGE are protected by copyright in both the United States and Great Britain. Infringement of this covyrigit will be promptly and bigorousiy rrosecuted. CONTRIBUTORS must inciose a stamped and self-addressed ertoeione with all manuscrtots, otherwise return of the latter when found unavailable cannot be guaranteed. DRAWINGS and ail contributions sent to the Art Department should have the sender's full name ani adiress Written oli (on each and every senarate sketch. The accompanying joke or descrivtive letter-oress shoald in ébery instance be writen upon its indtoidaal oicture, and NOT upon a separate stip of paper. Inciosure of stamos 10 the full amount of postage is also required, to insure safe and promot return of material not acceoted. T IS SAID that since the returns of the recent earthquake came in Ben Tillman has lost his voice. Let us trust that, for his own sake and his party’s, it will stay lost. tae THE PECULIARITY of the madness of William Jennings Bryan lies in the fact that it is not offset by anything that may be consistent- ly and truthfully called method. It is just plain, unadulterated mad- ness, 2% THE CHRISTMAS-TOY window will very soon hossom forth in all its rosy splendor, and the small boy will gaze with open mouth and bulging eyes upon the marvels within and go Ham- let one better by remarking, “The plaything is the thing.” we H, THE football and the racket And the harp all seem to be Wildly banging While they're hanging On the weeping willow- tree. But the olden, golden pan- cake And the country sausage ripe At the casement In the basement For admittance gayly pipe. cee N THE STILL SEAS of ashen gray that flood the landscape with a sentiment of sadness, even the color of last spring’s circus-poster seems glum as its deckle edges flap and ripple on the coal- yard fence. Over the count- less leagues of gray gloom and gloomy gray the pirate crow drifts and cir- cles and breaks the dreary silence with his strident note. And the poet is filled with a chaste yearning, for against these cold, gray draperies of in- finite glumness he notes—and his soul is filled with a golden prescience—a four-hundred pound hog swinging in the silence by his hinder members, with a corn-cob to keep his now songless jaws ajar. 'HAT MR. ROOSEVELT now has the whip-hand and is quite likely to use all the power vested in him to uphold the morals of good gov- ernment is a fact that is now pretty widely understood, not only by Mr. Roosevelt’s adherents, but by that horde of scallywags and money-tinkers which includes ballot-box stuffers, postal grafters, political shams, and trust magnates. This pack of wolves is shivering in the cold and snarling hungrily around the white-house. The said wolves will not, however, be Permitted to linger long about the white-house door, for good and obvi- ous reasons. They know that hard work is staring them in the face, so far as the patronage of the president is concerned. And it is quite natural that they should wear long, sad faces and vent their impotent fury on the empty air. Their slats rattle in the frosty wind, which also discourses weird, ghostly melodies in the fastnesses of their zolian whiskers. They are a sad, sorry crowd, and their chorus of defeat and dismay is music only LOWERING THE DEATH-RATE. AwaTeur srortsuax—"'I say, did I hit anything that time?" Game-xeerer—'* | think not, sir. ‘There warn't nothing in sight but the birds, sir."* base his in the sense that it is Democratic harmony. Mr. Roosevelt is to be con- gratulated on the fact that his acts are such as to antagonize all men of the stamp of these marauders, for every howl of disapproval that they utter is a feather of decent achievement in the presidential cap. RESIDENT ROOSEVELT is many things that the Democrats do not like, and he is many things which the Republicans do like, and like very much and to the timit of their ability appreciate. And it is also true that all those things peculiar to the president which the Demo- crats do not like are included in the list which the Repub- licans do like, and like so well that to think of them is to turn the somersaults of joy which indicates their patriotism and love of order and good government. Un- cle Sam mirrors the good old Republican sentiment in his broad-gauge smile while he sweeps the slabs of Remo- cratic mud and gratuitous abuse off the white-house steps. While his broom is loading the breeze with records of empty and explod- ed libels embroidered with the mud that savors of the spirit of old Dr. Hill, who is now the most lonesome and down- cast man in the country, he is full of the laughter beneath whose gentle influence every- thing, from lobster to wire nails, digests with rosy swift- ness. Uncle Sam has good reason to laugh the laugh of gilt-edged hilarity. He has many facts upon which to lee, not the least of which is that the country saw in the gold Democrat of Esopus a first-class gold-brick. Uncle Sam is particularly proud of his latest president, who belongs to the Lincoln school of statesmen. He is a man of precision and decision, and his dec- laration, in the very flush of an unprecedented victory, that he would not again be a candidate under any circumstances, shows his bigness and broadness in a manner that should be a lasting lesson to the paste-and-putty statesmen, so called, who regard office as the means to an end, which is grab and graft. It is no wonder that Uncle Sam is kicking up his heels in an outburst of happiness that thrills him to the core. THE gold-hearted lily ’s been ripped from the rill, The wind through the bare boughs blows weirdly and shrill; And sad is each woodland In this great and good land. But all this grim sadness that drifts round to fill That thing which is everywhere known as the bill Is quite the wild madness Of rollicking gladness Compared to the sadness that camps with a will Upon the blue spirits of old Dr. Hill. comicbooks.com |