Judge — September 19, 1914 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

BY [WALT MASON HINGS forevermore remind us that this world’s a world of grief, and no optimist can blind us to the fact that joy is brief. We are to the future looking for a glad and joyous day, and the future's busy cooking all the joy that comes that way. Man goes forth and weds a maiden, and he thinks he's cor- nered bliss; all the world becomes an Aiden, and this life just one big kiss. When the honeymoon is ended, and his appetite returns, life to him seems much less splendid—for his boarding house he yearns. For his bride, with all her talents, never learned to broil a steak, which destroys his mental balance— and the coffee she can make! He who always loved good feed- ing now must gnaw the concrete bread, and the gallant heart is bleeding that was.glad when he was wed. And the young bride has a sorrow gnawing at her has run its course, and we find them, sick, disgusted, playing for a quick divorce. It is sinful to depress you, confident and hopeful youth; may all happiness possess you—but we still must tell the truth! Egg View Notes VERY time Bill Waite, our grocer, gets half through greasing his wagon, somebody comes along after a postage stamp. Ote Gimber carries his head high these days, as there is a new baby at his place and a large boil on his neck. Shaves at Erny Neff's barber shop advance Saturday to fifteen cents each. He looks for a big rush until then. Some bicycle concern in the East must have taken a liking to Witt Larcom, by mail, as he has received from them a list of special strictly confidential prices for him only. It is being reported all over here lately that Milt Shirks has learned, through Nell, his wife, and Cretia Quidd, that Cy- lindra Berger would paint the hitching post in front of her place to match the color of Corny Paine’s horse, if she could make a regular caller out of him. —Leslie Van Every. Peace Hath Its Victories 'OR INSTANCE, when your neighbor’s seed-devouring chick- ens are laid up with the pip; when the suit you have just brought meets with wife’s approval; when the boss is pinched for speeding in his ninety-candlepower machine; when the commuting bookkeeper’s garden he’s bragged so much about is totally annihilated by a friendly hailstorm; when the piratical plumber burns his fingers; when the tyrannical cook is caught in a rainstorm on her afternoon out; when the umpire is hit on the shins by a foul tip and dances an agonized can-can around the home plate; when the beezer who stands on your feet in the car has his hat knocked off by a sudden lurch and the conductor steps on it; when the big tomcat who enlivens your evenings with his vocal concert intercepts with his tender pink nose the potato you have just hurled from the bedroom window—ah me! they come not often in a man’s natural span! Astronomy vs. Art Professor—Has anything ever been discovered on Venus? Student —No, sir, there has not, if the pictures are correct. inmost heart; yesterday, to-day, to-morrow she can feel its endless smart. For her husband, when he misses stew or steak or poultry fruit, doesn’t seem to care for kisses as a proper substitute. She has even seen him frowning as he ate the glacial pie, and her soul in woe is drowning, and she heaves a gasping sigh. Ah, this scene, so grim and tragic, may be seen each passing day; for the wedding morning’s magic soon, full soon is passed away, if the bride can’t make a salad of two prunes and seven pears, and the husband has a valid reason for the face he wears. And the bride, on that bright morning when her orange wreath is new, sees of storm no hint or warning; all the skies are fair and blue. No forecast of clouds or thunder to her loving heart can reach, for her hus- band is a wonder, just as sure as she’s a peach. But she finds, when she’s been married for six weeks or maybe less, and her bridal wreath she’s carried to the attic in distress, that the man who was a spender in the courting days so fine and who blew himself in splen- dor, just as though he owned a mine, is as tight as any miser, and he grumbles every time she, his beauteous Ann Elizer, asks him for a measly dime. Thus their golden dreams are busted, soon their love Ethel—Gladys Smith's face always reminds me of a delicately tinted china cup. Brother Tom—Yes ; it’s a beautiful mug. comicbooks.com