Judge — May 23, 1914 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

A Confession A PRESIDENT — at least in time of peace—may have a little fun on the side with army and navy and newspaper clubs, while seriousfy at work with mat- ters of state and politics. A Secretary of State, foiling the duties of office, may meet and plan still to meet for common joyance—with the usual fees —the same multitudes that make the cir- cus a perennially profitable institution. Even the capita! though he may be worried by the untimely curiosity of in- vestigating committees and exasperated by an income tax which war may make elastic, is not bereft of his truffles and pate de foie gras or his liberty to seek happiness where happiness may be found. As for the multitude of persons of average condition, they may enjoy a mul- titude of amusements in their cases made and provided, and watch sunlight or get in out of the rain as circumstances and the spirit move them. It is only the editor of a humorous magazine whose average of gratification seems to run below par. The confession of a substitute editor of this jocularly judicial periodical last week in this col- umn may be taken as proof of this per- haps astounding assertion. He entered upon his temporary job not only in a spirit of profound friendship, but with notions of his own as to the limitations of the man who had held the job regu- larly, and of all men in like circum. stances. A little experience is some- times a good thing. The regular editor, whose melancholy is apparent in the foregoing, up to a few weeks ago thought that his cup of sad- ness had been filled. He had patiently unwrapped and perused some tens of thousands of contributions from persons —mostly young persons—who could spell like Josh Billings and Artemus Ward, in the hope of finding the successors of those worthies to distinguish the columns of Jupce, only to discover that, while their spelling was all right, Nature had left out of them some desired but elusive in- gredient that the editor never could sup- ply. Perhaps the editor will continue this to him discouraging, but to such contributors encouraging, labor. The regular editor has wept tears in xh, which the proper saline element would be disclosed on analysis while returning to his personal friends things which his personal friends believed to be humor- brhad0. j BRORDNERS ous, thus emphasizing to those personal friends their original notion that he ought to be driving a truck or performing some we other humble labor that would not reflect upon the ability of others. The regular editor has antagonized men of humorous note by rejecting some of their stuff while accepting other speci- mens of their work, being unable, for lack of time, to justify such a high- handed proceeding. But the regular editor, who thought his miseries were more than he could bear, left his chair one afternoon some weeks ago in great pain, and the next evening was rolled into a surgical workshop—if that is what it is called—on a fairly easy- going truck, with nothing on him buta sheet, and had a new experience. The last thing he remembered for quite a while was a bright light overhead, an odor of ether, and the flitting figures of nurses and surgeons. Waking a long time afterward, he studied an absolutely uninteresting ceiling for about three weeks, and he is beginning now by de- grees to sit in his editorial chair. Editorial troubles? Why, he wonders he ever thought such things existed! comicbooks.com