Judge — March 12, 1910 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE A NEW CROP OF AUTHORS. By Jb. HARBOUR . E FOLLOWING extracts from some of our exchanges afford gratifying proof of the fact that, although the ranks of our standard writers are so steadily being [4-7 thinned, there are newcomers to take their places, and our Amer- Rey ican literature is not likely to suffer for lack of writers. “<~) Miss B. Bessie C. Stubbpen, daughter of our esteemed fel- SCA tow-townsman, yesterday received a prize of one dollar in cash and adozen cakes of Bragg’s soap for a sonnet of nine lines telling why this soap is superior to all others. Miss Bessie’s literary talent has long been recognized here in Peaville, and her friends are rejoiced to have ive this recognition abroad. We understand up her place as forelady in vote herself entirely to literary ¢ plans to g our canning factory and pursuits.-/vaville Banner, Our gifted young friend, Salonicus Cesar Penn, has resigned his posi- tion as clerk in Drugg Brothers’ apothecary shop and will next week go to New York to engage in literary work, having been encouraged to take this step by having received recently a dollar and a half for a three- chapter story sent to the Firefly, a high class literary monthly published in Podunk, Mo. Not long ago Salonicus -eceived a prize of fifty cents for supplying a missing word in a limerick contest, and he has been receiving our paper free of charge for the past six months in return for news items he has supplied to it, With all this evidence of his unusual literary gen- ius, he feels that he is warranted in going to some literary center where his undoubted talent will receive wider recognition.—Stumptown Shield, We publish in another column a poem of fifty stanzas, composed by Miss Sibbie May Skaggs for the golden wedding of our highly esteemed townspeo- ple, Deacon and Mrs. Adoniram Judson Pepperbox. Miss Sibbie May is making such a reputation as a writer that she contemplates leaving us in the fall and devoting her time and talent to literature in Boston. She has re- cently had a poem accepted by the Christian's Friend and has been offered a year's subscription by the Mother's Home Guide for a poem entitled ‘ Ba- by’s First Toofie,”’ a playful little rhyme, the purport of which can be in- ferred from the title. Miss Sibbie has also been requested to write a verse for a calendar to be sold at a fair over in Zionville. By the way, other of our literary young people may like to know that the editor of a magazine to which Miss Sibbie sent a contribution makes the suggestion that she use white paper and black ink instead of pink paper and purple ink. It may be well for others to take note of this literary requirement. Our town is getting to be quite a literary center, our friend, Job Potts, having lately had an article on grub- worms published in the Farmer's Oracle, and Aunt Deb- by Peevy had two recipes for sweet and sour pickles in the same paper, while Jase Simpson's wife won a prize of twenty-five cents and a dozen picture postals for a new pattern in rick-rack work.—Kabhittown Record. THE ONLY STEADY HOUGH all things rise, We must agree We find advice Still offered free. ANYTHING IN A NAME? «6 QAY, pa?” “What is it?” “Can a rear admiral go to the front?” THE DRONE. Mes, “Yor husband doan’ take much interest in baseball, do he, Mrs, Black? Now, my hus band am always talking about de home plate.”” Mra, Black—"* Huh! De only plate mah hus- band talks about am de dinneh plate.”” Brown — zx IF WE WERE TO JUDGE BY SOUND PROMPT DELIVERY. “+ T would like to throw you a kiss."” “Don’t you know that it is impolite to throw things at people ?”" TRUE HARBINGERS OF SPRING. By VICTOR A HERMANN 1S NOT the wild bluebird that trills From budding boughs and fields and hills That tells me of the coming spring: For bluebirds may be wrong, you know, And pipe their lays in ice and snow, Because their feelings overflow To once again be on the wing. But when I hear, some sunny morn, ‘That well-known sound, the fishman’s horn, And then his old, familiar song, “ F-resh shad! F resh shad!"" it charms my ear And echoes far and echoes near. Ah, then I know that spring is here— The humble fishman's never wrong! The violet, with fragrance rare, Peeps out ere other posies dare, And all the poets say pring; But violets are bold, though sweet, And in their eagerness to gree The world again, they'd bloom through sleet And even when icicles cling! But when I hear through sunny noons The organ-grinder’s raspy tunes Down in the little street below, And sve Jocko, in chain and strap, Just risen from his winter's nap, Ext -nd his paw and doff his eap— Ab, then it’s spring, real spring, 1 know. THAT WOULD BE SOMETHING Benham—* You women want the ballot. What would you do with it if you had it?’” Mrs, Benham—-* We'd change fashions once ia a while; we wouldn't go on voting for Bryan forever."” comicbooks.com