Judge, 1919-12-06 · page 9 of 36
Judge — December 6, 1919 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Human Faces" by Walt Mason This is a satirical essay with caricature illustrations exploring the false premise that a person's character can be read from their facial features—a popular pseudoscience of the era. Mason argues this theory is nonsense through examples: a benign-faced gentleman who is actually a mining shark that swindles people; Colonel Pace, who appears wise but is intellectually empty and only discusses beer; and a millionaire with an unfortunate face who nonetheless succeeds through cunning. The satire's point: **you cannot judge a person's morality, intelligence, or true nature from appearance.** Dishonest or shallow people can look respectable, while the virtuous may appear unremarkable. The illustrations by Ralph Barton caricature these types to emphasize the disconnect between external presentation and internal character—a critique of physiognomy and surface-level social judgment common in early 20th-century American satire.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Caxnnov View x Piz ann Say st Wit His Natu: Human Faces By Watt n by ut life is fine, from wicked thir afar, the face you wear will glow and shine, as brilliant as a star. But if you do not live aright, and are with sin in touch, your map will be a dismal sight, a caution to the Dutch If this were true, how we would read the souls of mortal jays, and size them up with lightning speed, and spot their sinful ways! Alas, alas, the human face is not an index true; man’s wickedness or worth or grace hangs out no ZY say that if yc sign in view I meet a gent with face benign, which gives no hint of his every feature is the sign of virtues high within. The imprint of a noble life his frontispiece appears; a course remote from sordid strife, from all that scars and sears. ) him I gladly walk abroad, and listen to his talk; and he’s gone he’s got my wad, and I have worthless He is the prince of mining sharks, he as slick as : he bilks a thousand easy marks, while looking like And as T mourn my vanished roll, T say, “This is a slap to that old theory that the soul leaves traces on one’s map.” Next door to me lives Colonel P: deep wisdom seems to line his face. v his eyes ought profound, intense fraught with all there is of sense . who looks extremely and smoulder His head seems always bowed in thought, in and you would guess that dome He puts his little graft Rater Mason Barton nd people think him wise: and yet he is a total I've tried to talk with him of hooks and art and other things: of bumble bees and bab: bling brooks, and cows and cats and kings. His mind is but an aching void, an empty thing and drear; the only talk he e’er enje ncerned a stein of beer. T know a mu illionaire, who's won in every fray; he is a man to do and dare, and make things come his way He's gathered in a hundred goats that other men have lost: and yet he looks like eighteen groats, a lemon and a frost He has a small and withered face, his forechead’s sloping back; his nose is slightly out of place, his teeth don’t rightly track. If you should see him on the street, and didn't know his name, you'd think 'twould be a snap to beat that little fellow’s game. But if he paused an hour to flirt in some Il deal with you, he off your Sunday shirt, your toothbrush and your shoe. ; : You view a mortal’s phiz, however keen eyes, and say just what his nature is—straight, crooked, dippy, wise If you could see the face I wear you'd say my only dream is of a sirloin steak broiled rare, and dumplings slopped in cream. But, ah! my soul for higher things beats ever at the bars; I dream of Saturn and his rings, and walk the distant stars ross, loss, the shallowest of guys. ed c cannot your comichooks.coiu)