Judge — March 28, 1914 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

Literary Sensations VERY GENTLEMAN whose soul is exalted by contemplation of the good, the beautiful and the true must soar to heights of simply suffocating happi- ness upon reading this spring’s publishers’ an- nouncements. It is clear that numerous authors have at last done the little trick of writing rings around Shakespeare and making Dickens and Thackeray look pitiful. There be those who will regret the last item, yet who shall say nay to these new and radi- ant lights of literature? Algernon de Piffle has written a master- piece. Percival Prod has shaken the world of letters. A new and grander Hugo has risen in the person of Saffron de Fylth. Lotta May Fal Lal has performed in her just-out novel the hitherto impossible. We know, on no less an authority than that of the gentleman’s publisher, that Francklyn Van Ta Ta has crowned our day with a riot of passionate perfection in his immortal work of fiction, ‘‘The Gangrened Tango.”” “The Unmoral Maiden of Mars’’ is a pleasing little felonious fantasy, written by a great but anonymous writer, whose identity the populace is now going mad about. The newest fashion of all is the wonderful idea embodied in the publica- tion of a perfectly clean book of four pages. This is brought out by an anony- mous publisher. (We dare him!) —Fred. Ladd. NOT TO HIS LIKING Broun—Do you like pate de foies gras ? Grene—No. I hate those racy French plays ! In Our Town WE CUM mighty nigh havin’ sum real news to-day. Alf. Pitkins wan- dered into th’ New York Emporium about seven-fifty-five p. m. last evening and bought fifteen cents’ wuth of brown caramels. Then he went around a block carelessly, so’st’ throw everybody offn th’ scent, and then hipered off fer Ann Sutherd’s as fast as his legs could hike. She cum t’ th’ door in one 0’ them creepy, clingin’ gowns that is calki- lated to git a man goin’ in about ten minutes, and took Alf intew th’ back parlor, which wuz lit low with orange-colored lights made out of yaller tissue paper. By accident, there was a book in one of th’ chairs and a work basket in t’other, so Alf had to sit down on th’ sofy with Ann—and then fer three mortal hours he gist talked about hisself and his fine prospects and never proposed ner nothin’—becus of which I am writin’ this conclusion: “What doth it profit a pretty girl to listen to a non-popping young man with hair oil on his hair talk about how much money he is a-makin’ when he hain’t makin’ none of it fer her?’” —Byron Williams, The Junkville Moralist “*Well,’"’ remarked the proprietor of the Junkville general store, as he closed the cash drawer and resumed his place behind the stove, ‘‘the women want to vote at the polls to-morrow.” The moralist twisted a plug of black tobacco between his molars and proceeded to chew himself into a logical frame of mind before replying. “Cain’t say I approve. 'Tain’t re- spectable. Whut's the world comin’ to, anyway? Women at the polls! ’Twon’t be no fitten place for a woman.’’ “Why ?"’ “Because I'm goin’ to get drunker’n a b’iled owl and raise all manner 0’ trou- ble!” Smiles That Slip Insan—I do wish Marcella would wear the smile that won't come off. Oudts—Is she unhappy? Insan—No; but when I kissed her last evening, I got rouge on my lips. NO’ ROOM Boy—I th-think you m-might have told me we were go-goin’ to have pie! N-now it's too late! An Idle Wish WISH I were a millionaire, Engaged in coupon clippin I wish my prospects all were fair— Ah, wouldn’t that be ripping! I wish I might be wealthy and Could hold some high position; But somewhere in this favored land A boy, with worms all safely canned, Is blithely ‘‘goin’ fishin’.”” I wish I might be rich and great, Without a care to fret me; I'd like to guide the ship of state, If other men would let me. But at my desk I toil away, Urged by a hard condition; And somewhere in this land to-day A boy, with worms lured from the clay, Is blithely ‘goin’ fishin’."" How futile are the wishes which Within my mind are lurking! Iam not great, I am not rich, I have to keep on working. I long for wealth and fame; but, ob! I cannot keep from wishin’ I were the boy who gets the hoe And digs the worms he needs to go “Down to the crick a-fishi Would Have Been Embarrassing “But why did you let him kiss you?” “He threatened to scream if I didn’t.” A Human Churn Brunetta—Mr. Beanbrough seems to be sitting out a good many dances this even- ing. ; Blondine—Yes; he just told me he is drinking cream for his health, and he is afraid of tangoing it into butter. Give credit where credit is due, but do - not let it become overdue. comicbooks.com