Judge — March 16, 1918 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

oH ey, Tom! D° you remember when Tom Sawyer went swimming and had everything hidden socarefully sothat Aunt Polly couldn’t find out? Aunt Polly had sewed up his shirt that morning But Tom had carefully resewed it, so he thought he was safe. But alack and alas, he used black thread instead of whit Once more you will laugh with Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn — but you will want to cry as you laugh. For behind the joy of youth is the sadness of life — the philosophy you did not see when you were a boy. MARK TWAIN 25 volumes—Novels—Boys’ Stories—Humor—Essays—Travel—History While he lived we loved him. He made Us laugh, so that we had not time to see that his style was sublime, that he was biblical in simplicity, that he was to America another Lincoln in spirit. We watched for his great white head in the crowds—we hung on his every word, we smiled, ready to laugh at his least word. But now he is gone—we love him— he’s still the familiar friend—but he has joined the immortals. More than Whitman—than Longfellow—than Poe or Hawthorne or Irving—he stands for America—with the great of the earth—the Homer of this new land—a prince of men—a king among dreamers— a child among children. The Great American He was American. He had the idealism of America — the humor, the kindliness, the reaching toward a bigger thing, the simplicity. In his work we find all things, from the ridiculous in “Huckleberry Finn” to the sublime of “Joan of Arc” — the most spiritual book that was ever written in the English language, of serene and lovely*beauty, as lofty as Joan herself. A man who could write two such books as “Huckleberry Finn” and “Joan of Arc” was sublime in power. His youth and his laughter are cternal; his genius will never dice. Low Price Sale Must Stop Mark Twain wanted everyone in America to own a set of his books. So one of the last things he asked, was that we make a set at so low a price that everyone might own one. He said “Don’t make fine editions. Don't make editions to sell for $200 and $390 and $1,000. Make good books, books good to look at and easy to read, and make their price low.” So we have made this set. And up to now we have been able to sell it at this low price. Rising costs make it impossible to continue the sale of Mark Twain at so low a price. New editions will cost very much more than this Author's National Edition. A few months ago we had to raise the price a little. ‘That raise in price was a very small one. wisbie a It docs not matter much if you missed it. But now the price must go BROTHERS \ up in. You must act at once. You must sign and mail the ¢ Vrankile Square, 8. pon now. If you want a set at a popular price, do not delay. ‘T Cres at ot N ion will soon be withdrawn, and then you will pay considerably Frwat’s Works i for your Mark Twain. trated, tn hand ¢ last of the edition is in sight. ‘There will never again be a set of Mark Twain at the present price. Now is your oppor- tunity to save money. Now — not tomorrow — is the time to send the coupon to get your Mark Twain. within Ove days and Remember that it is be ¢ Mark Twain sacrificed some Month for montha Nc Gf hie weoaliics ‘that ecu cea hate'e mite ‘Judge 3-16-18 his royalties that you can have a set at t rice \. Take advantage of that kindness so characteristic Name Sof him. \ Send Coupon— Address ‘\ No Money—Today y Get your set “before these go. Remember, Occupation .. never again will a set of Mark Twain be For our beautiful red half-leather edition, ehan offered at such a price ast When these \ are gone there will be no more at this price. 199 JUDGE The Older I Grow THe older I grow the more patient I am, And fonder of people I seem to become; I find much that’s real hidden deep in the sham, I know that life's j are under the scum, ‘The cares that once fretted as trifles appear, And the faults that loomed large in the friends that I know Seem to fade in a background of kindness and cheer, The older I grow. Time was that I questioned the purpose of life, In the mad way of youth I was quick with my hate, But I knew not the depth nor the breadth of the strife And I knew nothing then of the workings of fate. I judged from the surface and not from the deep, I was wasteful with pleasure and fearless of woe, But I find that my joys I'm more eager to keep The older I grow. I chose all my friends with particular care And heedlessly wounded the truest and best; To many a false god I sent up a prayer, Then the real things of life seemed a subject for jest. And the bad seemed the good and the good seemed the bad, I scorned in my haste what was splendid below; But I find myself longing to have what I had, The older I grow. Thave learned that men’s follies are not printed deep, That things youth mocks at are splendid and fine, And young people scatter the joys they should keep, In the very same way that T once wasted mine. I'm more tolerant now, I am slower to sneer, For I've suffered my griefs and I've winced at a blow; And money I find matters less and less here The older I grow —Epcar A. Guest in Detroit Free Press. Ballade of Rosemary BR back the days of yesteryear When Maggie Cline was all the go, When Thomas Scabrooke drank his beer, And sandwich men walked to and fro; When one could drop into a show To see some now deleted sights, Including ul girls named Flo, And Nina Farrington in tights. How Time erased with hand austere The klatschfests that we used to know, And likewise made to disappear The red suspenders’ pristine glow! How one would peck on knee and toe To watch the maid when doused her lights! Recall those ear-muffs worn in snow, And Nina Farrington in tights. Ah, those were happy days and dear! Let radicals regard them slow, Reactionary, dark and drear, But Sam T. Jack for min To sit up in a leading row At Miner’s watching dancing wights In nasal key sing “I’m her Jo,” And Nina Farrington in tights. ENVOY Prince, lend me but a willing ear, And I will paint you former nights Of “Pinafore” and “Gondolier” And Nina Farrington in tights.—Freckles in N.Y, Evening Sun. comicbooks.com