Judge — November 24, 1917 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

or Troy or Rome, gives me a brindled pain; he wants to swing a tireless jaw, and tell about the things he saw, and tell it twice again. Whene’er a neighbor goes away, to visit some far distant jay, I dread his coming back; for he will have stale yarns to tell about such matters as befell; he'll tell them in my shack. He'll come at quarter after 8, and dreary tidings he'll relate about the things he saw; he'll drool away nine hours or so, until I beg that he will go, so I can hit the straw. : vz The ancient man with snowy hair who camps down in my easy chair, to talk of other days, gives me the fantods, three or four, and when I see him at the door, a loud lament I raise. He spiels ‘and spiels of long ago; he tells of guys he used to know, who now are in the tomb; he says the people now on earth are cheap excuses, scarcely worth the prunes that they consume. He comes along at 9 o'clock and maunders till the crowing cock proclaims the break of day; and then I shake the poor old nut, and shoo him gently from my hut, and send him on his way. To me there come the rising bards, and they are loaded to the guards with sonnets they have writ; they read me madrigals they’ve lyred, and each one thinks he is inspired, and bound to make a hit. They ask me for my candid views about the output of their muse, no flattery desired; of of course they think that I will say they make Bill Shakespeare fade away, that they are all inspired. And when I tell them they are dubs who should be tooling washing-tubs, instead of wasting ink, they act like people secing red, and try to punch my toilworn head, and put me on the blink. But most of all I dread to see the cheap Napoleon come to me, in war and blood to wade; to prove, until he gives me aches, that all the generals are fakes who do not know their trade. Tr MAN who's been away from home, to Hackensack Mrs. Newlywed—Oh Hubert, | feel so ashamed! eggs, and a bushel of potatoes for Christmas and all we sent him was a gold headed cane! If he had only half a chance! If he were running things in France, the Germans would despair! And as he talks, with glowing eye, while leaden-footed hours drag by, I wish that he was there. AVERAGES ONLY CCORDING to Dr. Anna List, whose unforeseen and un- premeditated activity in the field of misunderstood generalities has brought dismay to thousands of self-satisfied individuals, the picty now prevalent in ecclesiastical and psuedo-religious circles is doomed to spectacular disintegration within the near future. In conducting her latest investigation this noted lady psychologist has encountered more irregularities and more embarrassing discrepancies than have occurred in any of the abstractions she has previously reduced. Because of the erratic relativity manifested by the ingredients of piety, Dr. List refuses to vouch for the accuracy of the following figures, though she intimates that they are as nearly correct as the conclusions of popular psychologists are supposed to be. PIETY Righteousness Pietism . Love Cerebral indigestion. Godliness Reverence Fraud 02.139 20.468 04.092 28.003 00.101 11.686 33-511 100°.000, Dr. List is extremely anxious to impress the fact that these figures represent averages and that they are not intended for individual consumption. Most of her tests were made during offertory on Sunday-*mornings when the weather was not con- ducive to motoring or golf. —H. W. Dee. _vRight in Line “What is this camouflage?” “The art of making Nature’ face seem what it is not.” “Um. My wife’s complexion is a rare bit of camouflage.” Surgical Aphorism Once under the knife, always under the knife. is " Uncle Hiram has sent us a dozen comicbooks,com