Judge — February 23, 1918 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

A Light Sentence Magistrate—I seem to know your face, prisoner! Culprit—Yes, your worship, I used to teach your good lady voice production. Magistrate—Thirty years.—Snark’s An- nual (London). [}OURNALISM| An Announcement—This week's Rulo Times is edited by one Morton Potter, who has as yet had no experience in the business, and who would be pleased if ye editors of other papers would cast no reflections on our inability to cope with your’s, as life is short at best.—Rulo (Ga.) Times. r Thanks!—A_ gentleman, through a free ad. in the Press, made $2.50 on a trade. He gave the editor five cents cash. If it were not for the generosity of our friends we would be compelled to seek some other field of labor.—West Point (Ga.) Free Press. A Teacher's Grave Mistake—Miss Mills, the school-teacher, asked for her salary last Friday night. Of course it created much surprise, but as it was her first offense, the board have decided to give her another trial.—Grafton (N. Dak.) Record. A Narrow Escape—The Herald staff got out of New York just in time. That city’s hotel men have formed a trust and put imported champagne up from $3.50 to $4 per quart bottle. We never kicked at $3.50, but when Giant Monopoly, with his hydraheaded claws, jerks the poor journalist’s modest daily beverage up 50 cents a bottle, we simply quit such a camp and falteringly whisper that Mesa City’s vintage is good enough for us. There will be no change in the Herald’s subscription rates. —Phenix (Ariz.) Herald. Advice—We would say to Sapho, of Burnside, that quality, not quantity, is the thing to be desired in poetry. A man might write a whole barrel of stuff like the sample sent us for publication, and yet never be suspected of being a poet. It would have been better for most of our poets if they had published only a few of their productions. For the sake of your reputation, we would advise you to print very few of your poems, and begin the good work by not printing the first one.— Punxsutawney (Pa.) Spirit. Artist's Pride Anarchist—My latest bomb i would throw it at her feet.— such a work of art that if I had a sweetheart I Satirikon (Petrograd). The Millionaire's Gift Basket je Luxe Un kilo de carbon, dos y medio de patatas, dos botellas de leche, tres panecillos largos y un bidon de gasolina. Five pounds of coal, half a peck of potatoes, two bottles’ of milk, three loaves of bread and a can of gasoline. Blanco y Negro (Madrid). Meeting the Enemy—This morning, as we and the wife of our bosom were eating our humble repast, our office boy came in in great haste with the informa- tion that a man from Indianapolis was at our office waiting to interview us on the financial situation. Pleased at this sup- posed metropolitan recognition of our humble talents, we put on our coat, and putting one of Billy Watson’s justly cele- brated cigars in our pockets to do the honors to the city reporter with, we has- tened to find in our sanctum—what? A man who had come down to see what we could do on our paper bill. We hope sub- scribers in arrears will come nobly to the front in this, our hour of need.—Plunk- ville (Wisc.) Bugle. Waiting in Hope—The wind bloweth, the farmer soweth, and the subscriber oweth, and the Lord knoweth that we are in need of our dues. So come a runnin’, this thing of dunnin’ gives us the blues.— Milledgeville (Ga.) Union and Recorder. Editorial Confession—* Better in- terview this Lady Eglantine,” suggested the managaing editor of the New York Daily Squash. “Why, she’s a hen. anything but cackle.” “Well, we've printed worse interviews. Go ahead.” —Louisville Courier-Journal. A hen can’t do comicbooks.com