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Show waiiii wAO-OiS, JAN. 25. (By Wireless, via J. Barleycorn.) Hump'ty Dumpty fell from the cart, His resolutions are torn apart. AH the king's horses and all the king's men Can't drag Humpty back on the wagon agn. Climbing the water wagon is much like climbing a greased pole. The higher high-er you climb, the harder you fall. There is no law against horse racing, although many are led to believe thusly by the public" prints. Horses may race as much as they like and never encroach on the constitution and by-laws of the commonwealth to tho extent of one fraction of an iota. The law is aimed at gambling on horse races. Gambling is a vicious pastjme. It was our favorite favor-ite diversion once, but now we are dead against it. Take heed, kind reader, before be-fore it is too late! You, too, may be dragged into the maelstrom of iniquity! You, too, may draw a king full, even as we did the other night, and try to raise a guy out of his seat when he holds four sixes. Gas in Europe is under control of the military authorities. In case of war in this country we presume that the government gov-ernment would confiscate all fight promoters. pro-moters. After a close study of the new 50-cent piece one finds it hard to determine whether it was designed by a futurist, a cubist or just a plain nut. The lady on the front door of the new half-a-buck piece is depicted doing a hundred yards in ten seconds. The artist evidently wished to portray how fast money goes these days. There is too much freedom in this country. It is possible to call the national na-tional commission "the supreme court of baseball" without being pinched for contempt of court. ED. SHOULD BE FLUSTERED. Ed. Walsh has seen his passing day. No more he dons his duds- to play. He passes out, But not without The wherewithal to smooth his way. Possibly Chick Evans will be able to teach the Cubs to drive, but he never will be able to teach anybody to lay down a bunt. Prank Isbell is as game and gluttonous glutton-ous for punishment as he ever was. In spite of the fact that he owned one Western league club, he deliberately bought another. . SPEAKING OF WEATHER. When the enterprising skater isn't skating (And he seldom has a chance in winter win-ter time) He consumes his time in wan and watchful waiting. For his chauces aren 't worth a phony dime. I The breeze is warm and loving as a brother And the ice grows sloppy underneath the sun. Taking one consideration with another, The skater's lot is not a happy one. COME ON, YOU SPRING. Perchance a baseball meeting has its thrills, And yet it fails to stir my soul a bit. The stunt that fills and thrills me to the gills Is when a roughneck makes a three-base three-base hit., The greatest benefit to be derived from golf, bo Chick Evans tells us, is the exercise in the open air. But why the indoor golf? "Discipline," quotes Fred Mitchell, "is the father of happiness." And yet, we never felt any too happy wThen our father was busy in the act of handing hand-ing us discipline. THE CONVULSIVE FIGHT FAN. A flood of tears rolled down his cheek, convulsions shook his frame, For ho had read a sporting tale, "Jess Willard Quits the Game!" "Cheer up, old man," I said to him, "and dry those bitter tears, For champs have come and champs have gone through all the passing years. ' ' "Lay "off." he said, "lay off that stuff! Y'our kindness gives me pain. I thank you for your sympathy, but it is all in vain. I have a sense of humor that is keen and strong and deep, And when i read a jest like that I laugh until I weep." THE SLAM OF LIFE. (By Professor Junius Highbrow, P. H. D., A. B. C, P. D. Q.) Lives of pugilists remind me Brains aro always in demand. Bill collectors trail behind me, Hunting me to beat the band. I am teaching in a college, And I scarce can pay my rent. I am crammed witli ancient knowledge, But 1 do not own a cent. Whv become a faded highbrow When a youth, in fistic strife, Hits another on the eyebrow And is wealthy then for life. I must now be up and doing, Working early, working lain. While a ronuhncrk iy accruing All the money at the gate. |