Judge — July 11, 1914 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

H, I HAD walked a thousand miles, that day, since break of dawn; had climbed o'er hedges, fences, stiles, and all my strength was gone. At dusk I came upon a jay who sat upon his porch; he calmly shooed the flies away and smoked a ten- cent torch, : “Now, by my halidom,’’ I said, ‘I’m spent and famished, too, and I would crave a slice of bread and hard-boiled eggs a few. My palfrey’s stuck in yon- der mire, and so afoot I walk. I have no servitor or squire upon your door to knock.’"’ “‘Beshrew me!"’ said he, with a frown, ‘‘Forget your stom- ach’s ills, and with me watch the sun go down behind those purple hills, Didst ever see so grand a sight? Observe the evening hush and mark those colors, glowing bright, as from a master's brush. The heaven glows with crimson fires and softer lakes and chromes, and one can trace there noble spires and minarets and domes. Now, by the rood, my soul is glad I've lived to see this day! I would not, for a golden scad, have missed that fine display !"’ “Ods fish!"’ I sighed. ‘‘Man cannot eat a sunset, howe’er fine, and I would swap it all for meat to fill this tank of mine.’’ “Avaunt,”” he cried, ‘base churl and bum, aroint and hit the track, or I shall bid my varlets come and scourge thee from my shack! The gods provide a wondrous sight, that mankind should adore, and still you whine about your plight and say your stomach’s sore.’’ I started forthwith weary sigh and walked five hundred miles, and then I came upon a guy whose face was wreathed in smiles. He tinkered with a hoe and rake about a garden patch, and now he would a clipping make, and then a bug would snatch, “Cogs wounds, fair sir, I starve!’’ I said. ‘‘It’s long since I did eat, and I would beg a cabbage head, a turnip or a beet.” “Gramercy !'’ cried that ancient wight. ‘‘It must be that I dream! These wondrous roses in thy sight, and cabbage is thy theme? Red roses here, pink roses there, white roses by yon sheds, and you contaminate the air with talk of cabbage heads? Begone, I say, before I send the cops upon your trail, or, by St, Bride of Bothwell, friend, you'll spend the night in jail I'm always up against that graft. When I want wiener. wurst, folks say, ‘‘Just watch the lightning’s shaft through yonder cloud bank burst !"’ “Doping It Out” A RACE-TRACKY, baseballish, slangy vagary of English un- Englished, that phrase at the top, Of which a true lover of speech will be wary, nor ever, while talking, let carelessly drop; Yet used in a magner called ‘‘idiomatic,’’ as showing the force of a style picturesque, We find the expression, though weirdly erratic, may beat one laboriously forged at the desk. “Unfolding the thesis’’ is cultured, no doubt, But lacks the rich flavor of ‘Doping it out.'’ Political prophets, reformers and preachers, theatrical critics, reviewers of books, Professors at colleges, fad-bitten teachers, all people with methods for straightening ‘‘crooks,’’ The militant zealot, at brick heaving active; parlor or street-corner type; The worker for making jail cells more attractive, the magazine writer of every stripe— Yes, even the purist this phrase who may flout, They're all of them working at ‘‘ Doping it out.” Frederick Moron. A Wise Woman “‘Didn’t you marry in haste?”’ “Yes; but my wife gives me no leisure to repent in.’’ the socialist, The optimist—Well, anyway, if the raft don't hold together there's one consolation—we both can swim. comicbooks.com