Judge — August 2, 1913 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

‘This is the way Mr. Bugys thinks he appears ia his newly purchased runabout, Thoughts of IF SOME stories, like some automobils, had self-starters, there'd be more good-natured editors, I'll warrant. Big things come into the life of alot of perducers of literature. Them there rejection slips have bin known to meas- ure six inches long an’ be square. All folks like sympathy, but mighty few writers welcome it overly much when it comes from an editor. A hull bunch of poetry wrote these days don’t move anybody ’ceptin’ Shakes- peare an’ other dead folks. More than a han’ful of people that wield the pen git nuthin’ fur their stories but material. Ambrose PROUD OF Crosslots The minds of some poets would make awful light readin’. Women lick the men to death writin’ descriptions of beautiful people. ’Spe- cially women that send descriptions of theirselves to the matrimonial bureaus. The writin’ bizness has bin known to be quit in a hurry. One time a feller tried to write his 'nitials on the left hind ham of a mule, with a brandin’ iron. He went out of the writin’ bizness an’ the world, all to once.—Lestie Van Every. Rumor, because when once started there is no stopping it until it is run down, She is called Dame THE PICTURE THEY TRIED TO SUPPRESS HIS CAR but to his friends he looks like this At Forty | beriege thy brow in thy beauty’s field, small worth held. —Shakespeare, HAT! Forty winters mar her lovely brow And leave her with no reason to aspire? Once forty may have been old age, but now At forty woman still has youthful fire. The beauty who at twenty-five may please Declines at thirty to be grim and stout, While at the hopeful age of forty she’s But fully blown and fairly rounded out. She dances and she flirts, she charms the eye; Her careless laughter causes hearts to leap. The beauty doctors all their arts apply To keep her furrows from becoming deep. When forty winters have pursued their course, She muy not even have her first divorce. —S. E Kiser. When forty winters And dig deep trench; Thy youth's proud livery, so Will be a tattered weed, of The Lump’s Identity The whizzing motor car struck a stump, and one of the occupants of the back seat, a lady possessed of considerable embon- point, executed a neat but not gaudy parabola in the atmosphere and alighted by the roadside lke a polypus falling from a shot tower. “I don't believe I have broken any bones,’’ she stated, in reply to the in- quiry of the omnipresent bystander; *‘but there is a lump on this bank that’’— “Lump—nuthin’!”’ snarled a smothered voice. ‘*I’m the constable that’s goin’ to arrest you gosh-durned joy-riders, if L live!” A Little Shy Purchaser—And will he scare at any- thing? Farmer—M’ friend, this hoss is jist afraid o' two things: That he won't get enough to eat, an’ that he won't hear when I say, ‘‘Whoa!”” comicbooks.com