Judge — December 4, 1909 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

SMadge MEDITATIONS OF THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY. By R. W. Sneddon. =) MUST sey that I am an important per- } sonage. Whether due to my kingly | bearing, my long line of ancestors or |) to a certain facility for diplomatic ~' gobbling, I have been unable to ascer- tain; but I know that my banquets are of the finest and served ty servile, yet loving, hands. There is nothing too good for me, and though I accept their offerings with that air of dignity which my cousin, the Bubbly Jock of Scotland, has never attained to, yet I cannot but please the poor creatures by my appreciation of their food. In a conversation which I had with one of my chamberlains, Lord Cock, I so far unbent as to question him as to the explanation of the existence of these Featherless who worship us. He said he was wholly unaware, save that they treasured up the produce of his harem, removing them zealously every morning, to what end he failed to see. He said he had noted one feature—trivial, perhaps, but still of some little moment—that his wives had a knack of being removed from his conjugal care with more or less violence by the Featherless, and while this was convenient in the case of a nagging wife, he resented their unceremonious departure; that, while pur- suing some antiquarian researches in a rubbish heap, he had been horrified to find some bones, which his knowledge of anatomy had DOWN THE CHIMNEY. amma, haven't I been a good little boy?" Yes. Why?'” “ Because here comes Santy Claus."* THE BAS-BLEU UP TO DATE. By Edward W. Barnard. ‘OR my Christmas, if you love me, Get a book, but look and hark you, Not some treatise miles above me; No anthologies, and mark you, Not a screed on Woman's mission (I'll work mine out if I'm able!); Not a dear de Iuze edition Built to grace a center-table; Not a tedious tale of travel Duller than a railway folder; No romances to unravel— Bear in mind I'm getting older! Plays ?_ Why, don’t you know, my Vaudeville’s ousted sock and busk Sermons? Don’t I go to meeting? No, I beg you, no more Ruskin! Do not give me any fiction, You know that’s my daily diet! History is an affliction, With its base intrigue and riot. None of that, by this old mass-took ! Give me—wait, dear, till I've said it— Just an ordinary pass-book With a balance to my credit. led him to surmise were those of our race; and that, while this had disquieted him, since he was provided with an ever-changing vari- ety of wives, he had not thought it his duty to complain, and that, beyond reading a paper at the club, on the remains, he had dropped the subject. T have been thinking things over, and when one of my subjects was summarily removed, I folowed at a discreet distance. 1 ex- perienced a shock in seeing her neck foully wrung and her feathers removed. Her poor corpse was placed in a pan after embalming and thrust into a hole, from which I perceived a delicious odor to issue. Secure in my post of observation, I watched long and saw her borne out and carried to another coop, where a Featherless dis- sected her, and, monstrous thing! an orgy of cannibalism was in- dulged in. I could bear it no longer and fled. 1 am filled with a strange disquietment. I heard some one say, “To-morrow is Christmas. He must go."” Who is ‘he? Can it be— Yes. I see the executioners come. Be calm, beating heart! I will die as befits a king. Come, ’tis a sharp medicine! Do your work quickly— Gobble, gobble, gobble, gluck ! CAME HOME TO ROOST. Crabshaw— I've preached and preached to that boy about being deceitful, but he merely laughs at me.”” Mrs. Crabshaw—" No wonder. You put all the best presents in the top of his Christmas stocking.’* We RRO DEH ER OUT OF SEASON. Her pretty lips, in scorn they curl, No more she finds me dear. Ab, me! She was my summer girl, ‘And Christmas now is here comicbooks.com