Judge — January 1, 1916 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

N virtue strong, on New Year’s Day I threw my trusty pipe away. And by the great white goat I swore, I'd smoke tobacco never more. Now, when you first have made a vow, and virtue shines upon your brow, you feel swelled up with noble pride, and there’s a cheer- ful glow inside. You feel you're doing something fine; you pity those who won’t resign their briar pipes and kindred things, and rise like you on lustrous wings. For maybe six or seven days I cheered myself with earnest praise I told myself that I was great, to quit a habit out of id to friends, each passing day, “O, throw your evil pipe before your constitution’s wrecked, and gain some honest self-respect.”” This sort of self-deceit will go for six or seven days or so. For six or seven days I talked about my triumph as I walked. I often heard this cry from men: “We wish that he'd swear on again! Of all the sad, and dreary bores infesting nature’s out of doors, the man who tells, week out, week in, how he shook off the bonds of sin, is trotting in a class alone; he is one large incarnate groan.” For six or seven days I glowed like some bright beacon on the road; and then the vain delusion broke, and I just yearned to have asmol Oh, how I envied those who drew the luscious smoke their pipestems through! My pride sustained me ior a time; I thought to yield would be a crime. My nervous system went to seed; I couldn't eat, I couldn’t read; I couldn't sleep, I couldn’t snore, and life became one throbbing sore “James Henry Jones,” exclaimed my frau, “just take \ an ax and bust that vow! Your temper cannot stand the strain, you're driving all of us insane. Go, buy a hundred pipes, my dear, and weed enough to last a year, and wear once more the gorgeous grin that used to show your works within.” I took that vow behind the shed and with a brick Lines AILROADS, poems, plays, drawings, thoughtful brows, palms of hands and geometry are made up of lines. Lines sometimes have a president and a board of directors, and presidents and: boards of directors usually have lines. The care of lines produces lines of care. hes and sentimental young ladies with lines. Poets formerly were much given to inditing certain lines to young ladies, but the modern lady who desires certain lines usually goes to a modiste. A man who gets a line on other people is cither a profligate a detective, or a tattoo artist. are frequently caught son, a Legree Buildings which surround trouble Buildings are contrivance: despair, pleasure, entertainment, business, indolence and plumbing. Buildings are built with brick, mortar, cement. wood, steel and mortgages. It also takes sand to build buildings, but they should not be built on sand Some buildings are public, and some are private. Public build. ings are usually very imposing, and usually the public has been imposed upon to build them. Private buildings are frequently private in name only, especially if occupied by several inquisitive women. Such buildings are made up of a large number of stories, and most of them are without foundation. Rats, mice, fires, earthquakes and rent collectors are buildings’ worst enemies. A Correction Mr. Whaley is a very light sleeper, one who is easily awakened and is a long time getting to sleep. One night, net long ago, while traveling through New York State he was obliged to stop at a suburban hotel and after much tossing about he finally succeeded in getting into a sound sleep. In answer to loud, repeated knocks on his door, he nervously sat bolt upright in bed. “What's wanted?” he grumbled “Package down stairs for you, s Well, let it stay there, it can wait till morning, 1 suppose.”” The boy shuffled down the corridor, and aftera long time the guest fell into a sound sleep again. Then another knock came at the door. “Well, what's up now?” queried Mr. Whale ‘ain't for you, that package!” caved in its head, and once again the world looks fine, and many cordial friends are mine, and life at home, the whole day long, is what you'd call one grand sweet song. Sweet Revenge masculine styles for women are the Rankin — These limit, aren’t they? Phyle—Yes, but they have given me a sweet revenge for which I have long waited. Rankin—Revenge? Phyle—Yes. In the music room, a few moments ago, I just saw Mrs. Giddigad sit down on her own silk hat. Optimist—Oh well, | got this car to get me out in the open air comicbooks.com