Judge — March 17, 1917 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

HE three-ring circus comes to town, with wildly mirth- provoking clown, and tall giraffe and warthog rare, and crocodile and polar bear. There are some acrobatic chaps and families of juggling Japs, and ladies with elastic knees, who swing upon the high trape The bands will play. the steeds parade, and girls will drink pink lemonade. But not a thrill runs up my back; I sit around my humble shack, and hum some half forgotten lays, and think of other, better days. For when one’s life more wintry grows, he does not care for three-ring shows. The Boston Blondes are here tonight. They say these females are a sight. They are entrancing, plump and fair and oh, the clothes they do not wear! The house, so say the village bores, will sure be crowded to the doors; the tickets sell to beat the band, and all the boys will be on hand. But L shall sit beside my fire, and play sad music on my lyre, and dig old visions from the past, sweet dreams that were too fine to last. For when a man is old and sere, his thoughts are all of yesteryear; he soon must break these fleshly bonds, and cares no hoot for Boston Blondes. The baseball season’s drawing near, the gladdest time of all the year, the time that surely hits the spot, with those whose blood is running hot. But I won't go to sce the play, for Lam palsied, bent and gray; for me the lonely inglenook. and sermons done into a book. Some helpful rede my spirit hunts; I do not care for baseball stunts. I do not care to talk of war; I care not what they're fighting for; and politics is old and stale, 1am too old to thole the tale No sympathy the old can feel for things that to the young appeal. My book, my fire. my easy chair—these are my only thought and care. There is a dogfight down the street? And I've no shoes upon my feet! Well, [ must in my slippers run—I wouldn't miss that kind of fun! The Brute M illy—I would only marry a man who has lived and suffered. Billy—I suppose what you want is a widower Always Knicker—What happens when poverty comes in the door? Bocker—The instalment piano goes out of the window. TO AN UNSEASONABLE ORGAN GRINDER ON of soft Lydian airs and summer skies. What evanescent warmth hath lured thee forth Deluded, with thy vagrant melodie: dare the frigid menace of the North, Think not in this chill air that thou shalt find The fierce canescence known and loved of yore; Though specious mildness veils a world unkind Old Boreas is thundering at the door. Long since the chirping'cricket’s song was stilled, The prescient bear in some dark cave is curled, But still thou wanderest the streets unkilled, \ summer protent in a chilly world Misguided one, why multiply offence? Why vex the air with thy untimely note? ‘The ordered course of nature bids thee hence; Flee, lest grim Winter grip thee by the throat! In some deep cavern hide thee from our sight And when the bright ethereal tires of spring, Quicken the sleeping world with ardent light. Pop out once more and make the welkin rin) —D. B. Van Buren. No Trouble Knicker—Have any trouble with your daughter's beaux? Bocker—No, 1 have a “Stop—Go” signal in the parlor. Yes, Indeed * Knicker—An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Bocker—But what is the matter with a pound of pre- vention? SUGGESTION TO MANAGERS Why not give box-seat occupants a chance to see the performance by providing periscopes ? comicbooks.com