Judge — April 21, 1917 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

SIGNS OF SPRING BY ¢€ ANE LUCINDA has the fever which attacks her every spring; she is busy as a weaver, cleaning house like everything. She is busy in the garret, making floors as white as snow, and my dinner is a carrot that was cooked two wecks ago. Chairs are hanging on the fences, there are carpets on the trees, and I fear I'll lose my senses when I view such scenes as these. Oh, it makes my reason totter when I try to find my duds, and the floors are wet with water, and the parlor smells of suds. Jane Lucinda’s more than humming, with her scrubbing brush in hand, and I know that spring is coming, to refresh the jaded land. Now the gents who deal in autos cause us many jolts and jars, boring sad and weary voters with their tales of wondrous ' cars. How can any moral printer who has bumped like every- thing, buying coal throughout the winter, buy an auto in the spring? How can poets, mystics, sages save enough of good long green, from their slim and paltry wages to invest in gaso- ' line? But the auto men are spieling, and they chortle and they sing, and impart to us the feeling that we're pretty close to spring. Now I toddle to my cabin, when the day of work is through, and, the evening paper grabbin’, think I'll read an hour or two. - For I’ve labored like the dickens, as my stern employer knows, and, while dusk around me thickens, I would have some sweet repose. Jane Lucinda sees me seated in my good | old rocking chair, and, in language superheated, bids me i hustle out of there. ‘‘Idleness I cannot pardon,” in a raucous voice she cries; “we must haste to make our garden ere the vernal season fli See the neighbors, how they hustle, while you do not toil or spin! a hoe and rake, and rustle, for the night is closing in!” I’m exhausted by my labors, bent and weary is my frame. and I cuss the bonchead neighbors who have brought me thus to shame. And this is the happy season that the batty poets sing—bards who have more rhyme than reason —this, my countrymen, is sprin, Spring its benison has carried to the young in every age; but when we are old and married—well, it puts us in ar. For our wives are always finding forty ‘million things to do, forty million labors grinding, weary tasks we must pursue One good way not to make marriage more popular would to make divorce less so. GEOCULAR GEOGRAPHY (A Nonsense Song) By EDMUND VANCE COOKE BABE from Babylonia who was born in Borneo Met some little boys from Boise hoeing with an Idaho; hey were on their way to Kankakee to catch a kangaroo, So they stopped at Allegeny for an alligator, too, was closely penned in Penn Yan, just inside the Kalama-zoo, + from the Tigris and a rhino from the Rhine ¢ met at Table Mountain where they all sat down to dine. They sent a Montenegro, who could loop the Guadaloup, But all the hens were counted in the Henry County coop, So they made the cock from Cochran into Chickahominy soup. They baked their bread at Bakersfield with flour from Posey Co., And they served it up with cocoa which was fresh from Kokomo. Then the tiger from the Tigris tried to eat the Lambeth lamb, But found he had a horn too much upon the Rambo ram, And so he passed his plate and took a slice of Birmingham: ‘The Rambo ram, he went to Sheepshead Bay and lost his tleece, And so the deer from Deering ran and called the Gallipolis. They got locked up with Florida Keys behind the Labrador, Where they danced a little Dantzig at the ball of Baltimore, To a tune on the Altoona, from the song of Singapore. ‘They all took ship at Shippensburg and sailed the Waterloo, Where they all fell in the ocean as they tipped the Tippecanoe, So I wrote this with a pencil, from a Pennsylvania chap, Sitting in the Scilly Islands, in the middle of the m: And if it makes you feel like me, I think you Water Heiry Persiflage He—1 am heir of all the ages! She—Well, you wouldn't inflate so many tires, at that. Sorrow of Science Jennie—Gee, we've got company, and we're goin’ to have swell eats. What you goin’ to 2 Jamie—Oh, I guess ma'll gi calories! us some more o” her blame “Look! Papa puts in little sticks with the names on to remind the not to grow up into the wrong thing!” comicbooks.com