Judge — December 16, 1905 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

YULETIDE POETRY. READERS of Christmas poetry in the magazines are sometimes at a loss to account for a fleeting something which seems out of place in this gladsome season of winter. Young writers of Christmas poetry are also greatly surprised because their joyful little carols come back so spontaneously from the editors. These unsophisticated souls do not understand that Christmas poetry has to be written along about the time of the summer sol stice in order to get into the Christmas” issues of the big monthlies. That is th reason that the reader detects a breath” of new-mown hay in the deft littie songs that charm us at this season. The beau- tiful Queen Anne three-story-and-base- ment dream of a Santa Claus poem I wrote for one of these was sent back to me at the last moment because a careful editor discovered that I had inadvertently left a mosquito bite or two in it. There was a distinct reminiscent flavor of a mad mid- summer-night’s dream of mosquito-slap- ping that had to be removed before the magazine could go to press. The poet who knows his business is not writing Christmas poetry now. He is polishing off odes to butterflies and bathing girls. HIS DECISION. UR sup'intendent says that we Ain't goin’ to get a thing this year— Just give stuff to the poor folks. Gee! Now wouldn't that git you? Look ‘a here, U been a-comin’ right along Since their old picnic last July." An’ reg'lar since Thanksgiving day, An’ now for him to spring - well, I— Jest seems 's if I won't never ler, I always was the blamedest fool. Them Baptis’ kids ‘Il get stuff to burn, *N’ I went an’ left the Baptis’ school. Why? Why, I told you why. You see, These Cong'egationals they had That picnic and I'd gotta be In that. An’ gee! but we was glad ‘That day.” But what's a picnic when ‘You come to think o' Christmas trees, An’ Santa Claus, an’ reindeer’-—n’ then ‘The truck you git? I tell you these Here Cong’egationals it’s queer ‘The way they're soakin’ us ; but you'll Jes’ see. You bet your life next year I'm goin’ to join the Baptis’ school. rarpenic WALL. ithe mi ight her purple plume, shot Through with silvery radiance and the Blinking light of stars. uplifts Above my humble roof; | dream That wierdly sweet and strange, Insistent voices fill the cold ‘Spaces of the upper world— But I must be mistaken. It's just a dream, and nothing more. DISAPPOINTMENT. AERE Christmas came I craved so many things— I wanted a new fishing-pole and reel, A pair of boxing gloves, a chainless wheel, A nice new golf-set always pleasure brings © And,makes a man forget life’s sufferings, With a neat smoking-jacket I would feel “ A sort of rapture I could ne’er conceal— ‘Ah, me, to what vain hopes a fellow clings! + My wants were very modest, I am sure ; My yearnings could be greater, vaster far, But I for richer presents hungered not— A thousand things poor mortal man allure, ‘And what if I had craved a motor-car, Or pined and hankered for a house and lot ! yule was past—behold the strange array ! Red neckties that I was afraid to wear, (Were I to wear them. heavens! wouldn't you stare!) figars that I was forced to throw away, fA fountain-pen that did not last a day, An album (I've got four or five, I swear,) A book of verse—Ob, tell me, have I e’er DA love fur poets striven to display ? ‘And yet I bore no grudges, large or small, — ‘Twas ever thus, and I'd have been cuntent If I had not been used more cruelly, For, as the greatest Christmas gifts of all, My landlord, void of feeling, raised my rent, And she I called my *best” went back on me! MATWAN M. LRVY, GIVE HER A DIARY. A S00D Christmas present for a young wife is a nice diary. She will write in it every day for two weeks. Then such things as these will begin to crop out on its fair white pages: Recipe for waffles. Must get two yards ruching. Paid twelve cents to have teakettle mended. Don't forget lining for kimono. Sold old pair John’s pants to rag- man for twenty-two cents. By and by the diary will switch off and become an account. book, and it will end its career as a scrap- book for cake recipes. A DILEMMA. Dyer—« I'm in a deuce of a fix.” Ryer— What's the matter 2” Dyer—* Miss Dix has invited me to take Christmas dinner with them. If I buy her a present I will have to pawn my dress-suit, and I can’t go to the dinner without it.” HOW HE AFFORDS IT. 44 OW can he afford to give such expensive presents ?” “ He has them charged.” Mrs, Flatte—»\ wonder what makes the janitor so pleasant 2” Flatte— Christmas is approaching, my dear.” ‘Sache b Widbelns Lite & Pig (o.NewYors comicbooks.com