SECOND WAR-CORRESPONDENT—­“Only the part that wasn’t true.”

“Well, isn’t that all your paper wants?”—­Life.

“Getting out a daily column is no picnic,” confesses a daily getter-out in the Niles Sun-Star.  “If we print jokes, folks say we are silly—­if we don’t, they say we are too serious.  If we publish original matter, they say we lack variety; if we publish things from other papers, they say we are too lazy to write.  If we stay in the office, we ought to be out rustling news; if we rustle for news, we are not attending to business in the office.  If we wear old clothes, we are insolvents; if we wear new clothes, they are not paid for.  What in thunder is a poor editor to do anyhow?  Like as not someone will say we swiped this from an exchange.  We did.”

See also Newspapers.

JUDGES

Judge Ben B. Lindsey of Denver, was lunching one day—­it was a very hot day—­when a politician paused beside his table “Judge,” said he, “I see you’re drinking coffee.  That’s a heating drink.  In this weather you want to drink iced drinks, Judge—­sharp iced drinks.  Did you ever try gin and ginger ale?”

“No,” said the Judge, smiling, “but I have tried several fellows who have.”

Unfortunately we’ve mislaid the judge’s name, but his courtroom is in New Bedford, Mass.  Before him appeared a defendant who, hoping for leniency, pleaded, “Judge, I’m down and out.”

Whereupon said the wise Judge: 

“You’re down, but you’re not out.  Six months.”

The late Gilman Marston, of New Hampshire, was arguing a complicated case, and looked up authorities back to Julius Caesar.  At the end of an hour and a half, in the most intricate part of his plea, he was pained to see what looked like inattention.  It was as he had feared.  The judge was unable to appreciate the nice points of his argument.

“Your Honor,” he said, “I beg your pardon; but do you follow me?”

“I have so far,” answered the judge, shifting wearily about in his chair, “but I’ll say frankly that if I thought I could find my way back, I’d quit right here.”

See also Lawyers.

JUDGMENT

Two San Francisco negroes were discussing the possibilities of being drafted.

“’Tain’t gwine do ’em any good to pick on me,” said Lemuel, sulkily.  “Ah certainly ain’t gwine do any fightin’.  Ah ain’t lost nothin’ oveh in France.  Ah ain’t got any quarrel with anybody, and Uncle Sam kain’t make me fight.”

Jim pondered over this statement for a moment.

“You’ right,” he said at length.  “Uncle Sam kain’t make you fight.  But he can take you where de fightin’ is, and after that you kin use you’ own judgment.”

  ’Tis with our judgments as our watches; none
  Go just alike, yet each believes his own.

  —­Pope.