Judge — December 18, 1920 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

\ } JUDGE THE COLLEGE WITS In My Cellarette N my cellarette, old wines Wait the time my thirst inclines; Sherry, Riesling, and old port, Claret of the older sort Would my palate’s fancy court, In my cellarette. In my cellarette, vermouth Promises eternal youth; Cognac and Bacardi’s here Madeira of forgotten year Would a clouded memory clear, In my cellarette. In my cellarette, dry gin Would my thirsty favor win; Bourbon, Scotch, or Irish Dew— Drinks that seem “just made for you"— Tempt a tired taste anew— In my cellarette. ee ewe In my cellarette, the law Fastened its destructive claw; All my wines of years gone by— All my port and all my rye— All have gone and left me dry, In my cellarette. —California Pelican. Behind the Scenes Juliet—Jackson says he’s drawing full houses. Romeo—Only on his own deal, m’c Carnegie Puppet. Design—Wuy vo you work so HaRn? Science—I'M TOO NERVOUS TO STEAL Syracuse Orange Perl. oS Ve INAS) & A ricurer or wito Watta Watts Wore simply 4 CELLULOID CoLLA— His uot Tesrer xoTues AND IGNITED WIS CLOTHES; On, soy, How THAT FELLA pip HoLLA! Harcard Lampoon The Dairyman I feed my cow on hops. I give her raisins too. O boy! Down with the cops! She makes me my home brew! Yale Record. ge a Tailor “T see you are not dating with Ruth any more. What's the matter?” “My tailor bill got too high. Everytime I left her I had to have my clothes pressed!” — Towa Frizrol. Another Great Treat JUDGE'S first College Wits number, pub- lished last March, was an amazing success. As it has now become sn annual institution with His Honor, the second number, to be published again in March, may be expected even to surpass the first in interest |E now asks its undergraduate friends to begin sending in poems, little essays, jokes and other suitable matter, including drawings, for the number Each contribution accepted must bear the name, class and college of the contributor, and will be paid for. The college making the best showing in the number wins the large silver cup which Cornell won in the first contest, that cup being subject to three winnings by a college before it becomes the permanent property of the college. Two individual silver cups are offered in addi- tion, one to go to the artist whose drawing is con- sidered the best submitted (including a possible cover in colors). Charles Baskerville, Jr.. of Cor- nell, won this last March. The other goes to the author of the best bit of text published in the number. Albert R. Stewart. of Dartmouth, won this in the first contest. All contributions must be original and exclusive. The contest is conducted on the principle of a track meet. on points. All material submitted must be at the JUDGE office by February 1, except color designs (in all mediums), which must be in hand two weeks earlier. ‘Address COLLEGE WITS CONTEST. and inclose postage for return in case of rejection. Go to it, boys and girls! Impressionism As the glorious creature approached the foot- lights the breathless, satin-soft silence of the be witched audience was broken. They devoured the peaches and cream of her complexion; they bathed in the cascading streams of her golden hair; they drank the luminous, limpic pools of her azure eyes—and they sighed. Sibilantly, longingly sighed. A blare of drum-beaten, eymbal-shattered, violin-sobbed, piano-tickled Ja A smile as of a new sun burst into flame; and then the Shimmy Quaking shoulders, shivering limbs, beckon- ing arms... . The Shimmy! Bobbing hair; sparkling, rolling ecstatic eyes; leaping, glittering, spangled veil-stuff. . The Shimmy!—Pennsylounia Punch Bowl. Perhaps The autumn moon was beaming softly through the leafy arbor where they sat—he and she. He kissed her silently. She slapped him soundly. “Oh, forgive me,” he cried. | “It was the moonshine. I should never have done it had I been myself.” Again she slapped him. Perhaps the night air was intoxicating.—Perhaps.—Cornell Widow, “Say, Rastus, I poe see DE FUNNIEST tuixc Pay?” “How come, xiccan?” “[ SEED AN OTTERMOBILE WITH ITS REAM cerns. B—4.” SAY, 0, DOAN HAND ME NO TRUCK LAK "—Harcard Lampoor Dece