Judge — August 21, 1920 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

Iks in these United ¢ with this cunning Tish States Mama that mn not un- reminding e expresses an ¢ ¢ days t the appeal of this ted covers that have The Happy Me JUDGE ART PRINT DEPARTMENT 225 Filth Avenue New York City Origin of the Daisy By Doris Bemorr sun skone on the bare brown earth, And frowned in deep distress; “If [ should die no child have I My memory to bless!” Thus quoth he, and his rumbling voice Beneath the brown earth went; ad little trolls, and mice and moles, Heard Father Sun’s lament. So when the summer months drew near, They had a pattern made— A center gold—big, round and bold, Just like the sun in shade A fringe of white surrounded it Like beams from sunny ski * A very child of mine,” he smiled, When they showed great surprise. “ Her face is like a golden glow, Her petals are like water I'll give a name, of world-wide fame Unto my pretty daughter.” “ For she shall bloom as far as ey: Can see till things grow hazy And as she’s such a bonny thing, I think I'll call her Daisy.” HUDSON RIVER NIGHT LINES N.R.. at Desbrosses St Sanday and Tot Daily from Fier 4 P.M weekdays 6 M.and 9 9 PRESS CLIPPING puncau| ROMEIKE sz rahi may appear about you orany sub- you may want to be “up-te or periodical of, importance in the oa Europe is searched. Terms $7.50 for | HENRY ROMEIKE, "106-110 Seventh Aves New York Every news. aper = States and Eggs Ain’t By Josern Mlustrated by HE Reverend Samuel Davidson was the most dignified man in the New Hamp- stire town where he breathed forth fire and brimstone from the pulpit of the Methodist Church. More than that, his wife kept the finest. White Leg- horn chickens in Rockingham County, or at least the Reverend Samuel so claimed. And when he was packing his bag, preparing to depart for the Methodist Conference in New York, Mrs. David son insisted on his taking with him two dozen Leghorn eggs for Aunt Mar- tha; poor Aunt Martha who lived in get fresh eggs. Several things, however, came between the Reverend Samuel and his train. It whistled at the crossing while he was still buttoning his re- fractory collar. When he arrived at the station he was still in a state of disarray, his hat a anted over one eye he Pruxcen His the city, and couldn't A snicker f from the loungers in- formed him they appreciated the picture to the full. But the train— It was gently start- ing—in fact, even more so; the last car had just rolled by. The Reverend Samuel sprinted, in his hand his satchel, in the satchel two dozen eggs. He held the bag gingerly, and rushed for the last car. He made it, drawing himself up on the ner. “Hew,” ‘In Amy Lowell’s ArTeR THE Always Eggs Lamont Gavir Avsert Leverinc steps. But just at that morent his silk hat struck the corner of the vestibule, rolled off, and bounded along the ties in the wake of the train in a manner entirely unbefitting a clergyman’s headgear. The Reverend Samuel, ‘ ae his dignity un a” Y TI ruffled, gently set { down his bag on the platform and dropped off tke car. Back by the station be could hear the raucous laughter ef one Dade Kimball, against. whom he had preached eternal damnation on the previous Sabbath. He snatched his hat from between the rails and plunged after the train, still rot forgettinghis dignity But one cannot look truly dignified, even with white whiskers, if one has a silk hat clenched in one’s hand and is pursuing a rapidly departing choo-ckoo. After a breath- taking leap, the Reverend Samuel found himself on the steps in. Pant- ing, he settled his hat and came up onto the platform. A trainman, who had had his back turned, looked round, and his jaw dropped in amaze- ment. F’r th’ love 0° exclaimed he."* Are you here?” “Certainly!” said the Reverend Samuel Davidson coldly. ‘Where is my bag?” “Your bag! Hell!” said the trainman floridly, “I didn’t think you were going to catch us, so I chucked it off!” Tratx, Not Forcertins Dicniry SAID THE TRAINMAN FLORIDLY Footsteps By L. Burtox Crane, Jr. HE was man of Faughty mien With two large eyes—a_ nose between— And acrobatic cars. He used to vent his cursed bile By penning “ Which drove his wif He used to write great reams of guff But somehow never got the stuff Accepted! pomes” in free verse style, to tears. With typewriter and ink and pen He sought to raise unhappy men To heights that were sublime, But though he wrote by night and day u And gave his knock-kneed Muse full sway He never got a dime. Though he was strictly of the school He never got his drastic drool Accepted! O ye who woo the woeful Muse Who causes Amy to enthuse, Incline a heeding ear. Yea, heed this fatherly advice And then, perhaps, you'll have the price For E. I. Edwards’ beer. Go, hail the wight, ragman yclept, And then you'll have your manuscript Accepted!