Judge — January 13, 1923 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

aN Afterthought by William Sanford I po not get any thrill from Christmas time now, but I get a thrill from just that word “Christmas.” In memory I see a wondrous Christ- mas tree, gay with sparkling bits of tinsel, and candles of divers colors, burning merrily, and fastened to the limbs with little shiny holders. And there are long, long strings of pop-corn hung from hough to bough, and winding in and out among the greenness. And then there presents—oh, wondrous — presents! : uckages of mysterious apes, all tied with bits of colored string, and hung here and there some partly hidden by the branches. . . . And we sit big-eyed and excited, each wondering which ones are ours. And some one is Santa Claus, and takes off each present, oh, so slowly! And while we sit breathless he reads the name and we march up and receive the wonder- ful package. And everyone must crowd around while we open it, and then an- other name is called; and so on until all of the presents are distributed... And each of us got just what we wanted, only far more wonderful than we ever dreamed it could be. And we each have a little bag made of netting with a gay cord at the top, and the bag is filled with old- fashioned candy. And we trade with cach other—piece for piece—each of us getting as much as we can of the kind we like the best And by and by we all gather in front of the fireplace, where big logs are blazing, and we crack nuts on the hearth, and we are all very, very happy, and there is a father and mother happier even than we, because of the knowledge of our happi- ness. And after awhile the sandman gets in our eyes and we go slowly up the stairs, each with a big orange to eat to-mor- row. ... And outside it is very, very cold, and there is a little snow on the ground. ... And when we walk on it in the morning it will go crunch, crunch, under our feet. And maybe it will melt a little at noon, and we will be able to make snowballs—but, any + we will have our orange. I do not get any thrill from Christmas time now, but I get a thrill from just that word “Christmas.” sae Th’ Coal King by C.W. Myers TT coal_king sat oopon his throne, A merry soul was he. His hoose was built 0° brick an’ stone— As warm as it cad be. His vaults were fu’ 0” han’-picked coal, Aneuch tae last a’ year. Tae nane he gave 0” his bank roll Tae bring fuel, food or cheer. alth grew fast an’ he waxed fat, vot a care was he Complacent, snoog An’ mair, too, * * o’ that An’ sae he went awa’ ane day, Tae stay a lang, lang spell. Here’s what I heard a cauld mon say: “T think he’s gang tae hell.” Edwin and Emmen- linde look into the future and realize with horror— That if you are very happily married you simply sit around and smile and grow fatter and fatter. Nag and wrangle and lead a cat-and- dog life and remain slim, and keep your figures. How to Be Happy Though Married—by Fish