Judge — June 1, 1907 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE'S FAVORITES. BEATRICE MORGAN, PLAYING AT THE HARLEM OPERA HOUSE. Say, ain't it gay The way the people pay To come and see you play? And ain't you glad—ain't you, though?— That all who go to see your show— Ain't you just glad They've got the dough? WHAT TOOK HIM ABROAD. HE Catholic priest in a small town an- nounced that he would sail for Ireland for a vacation of three months. He had gone two years before, and his going so soon again created some comment in the congregation, The day before he sailed two Irish women happened in front of the church, and one said to the other, “Phat takes Father Ryan to Oireland this toime, d'ye think, Mrs. Monohan 2" + Yure tin cints an‘ my tin cints,” was. the quick reply. A HOARSE PAINTER. A PAINTER of portraits named Morse Made stump speeches until he was hoarse. His tubes and his palate, Working hard for the ballot, Made an excellent canvas, of course. “Ye see, the pup ‘s powerful lively, an’ the trolley syste: DISCOURAGING. THOUGH not all that’s written is rotten, Though not all is rotten that’s written, ‘This axiom must not be forgotten : No sign show the writers of quittin’. So all is not written that's rotten— That is, all the rotten 's not written. Much yet will be written that’s rotten— Much rotten is yet to be written. s w.c. THE PRACTICAL POET. 66] DON'T quite know,” said the Practical Poet thoughtfully, running his hand along where his hair used to be; **I don't quite know, but it seems very strange to me that I never see a vol- ume of poetry mentioned among the six best- selling books. It is positively discouraging, for poetry is always good to the eye, if not to the ear, and those who read it are generally of the softer gender. This lack of popularity, by the way, was one of the reasons why I turned my Muse to commercial purposes. A good many young men, just from college, start on careers with all the freshness of youth and imagine them- selves full-fledged literary artists—in the delight- ful business of making verse. A camel who lived near the Nile Met a friend, who asked him to ‘‘ smile.” Two casks of wine red He drank; then he said, “ Lonly drink once in a while.”” Far be it from me to discourage these youths, but let me give a sam- ple of the verse that's always sure to bring in the ‘long green‘: THAT SIX-DAY THROB. Miss Ataru Crocx—"I have such a buzzing and ringing in my head week-day mornings, doctor. It never bothers me Sundays.” “ The world to her grew sad and wan, Till Nature whispered, + Ah, transgressor! Would you be lovely as the swan? Use Madame Creamer’s Wrinkle Presser." In this way we consciously worship at the altar of beauty, and as fervently in our own fashion as the disciples of Shelley and Keats. Then, when the pickle-man comes along, and he who sells the superior brand of frankfurters, I suppose genius must adapt itself to conditions and blossom in these directions. This school of poetry is here to stay, and in due time it will receive the halo of classicism. “This is, of course, retrospective on my part. [am now in the more profitable line of running a literary emporium, where manuscripts are read, advice given, genius encouraged, and shekels enough taken over the counter to warrant my continuing the réle of step-father of American literature.” EUGENE GEARY. HER CHOICE. AID he, “Do you like short men best— Prefer the bold or shy men?" She dropped her eyes and sofily said, “I'm sure I favor Hymen.” THE TROLLEY SYSTEM APPLIED TO A PUP. “lows him to romp, an’ yet keeps him from botherin’ the chickens."* comicbooks.com