Judge — July 31, 1920 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

Joc MUNYON USED TO SCARE ME BLIND—-NO OTHER DOC CAN bO IT. Old Landmarks By Waut Mason Illustrated by Ravpu Barton LOOK through all the magazines, and note the advertis i id read of modern soups and beans, of merits most i And there are auto ads galore, of gorgeous cars and dizzy; of one that is a super-four, and one a super-lizzie. But where are all the good old ads I knew in days departed? Oh, where are Alcock’s porous pads, for backs that pained and smarted? I fear me much that Alcock’s dead, or met with some aster, and down my lonely path I tread, without his helpful plaster. And divers pains my system rack, and daily I feel tougher; but who can summon Alcock back, to soothe me when I suffer? And I have many other ills, and for relief I hunger; but Beecham doesn’t spring his pills, as when the world was younger. My aches are of an ancient sort, and modern cures can’t reach ‘em, and so I plead and pant and snort, and cry in for Beecham. Oh, other pills are made, no doubt, pink pills for purple people, but they won't knock old-fashioned gout way higher than a steeple. And where is Mrs. Pinkham’s face, and where her healing chatter, that all the papers used to grace, right next to readin matter? Her Compounds were not made in vain; the girls all used to drink ‘em, and when they had a dark green pain the wrote to Mrs. Pinkham. But her sweet face I sce no more, I fear she’s joined the quitters; and people seck the corer ster and call for other bitters. The facts of life are strange and sad we cannot dodge or blink ’em, and no one, in my native grad, now writes to Mrs. Pinkham. Thus go the landmarks, one by one, and leave behind no traces; and we lament, from sun to sun, the old familiar faces. I think of dear old friends of yore, and with their me linger; and Old Doc Munyon stands no more, with his uplifted finger. Doc Munyon used to make me think J had all known diseases, and when he'd driven me to drink with his alarming wheezes, he'd laugh to scom my deadly ills—he had the goods to mend ’em; one dose of his dogfennel pills would to the bow- wows send ’em. Doc Munyon used to scare me blind—no other doc can do it; and if his picture I could find, through mellow tears I'd view it. O'ertaken by relentless fate, our friends of yore have van- ished; and where is Jones, who paid the freight? is he dead or banished? And where is Hood, who fixed our blood, with his famed Sarsparillow, when it was rolling, thick as mud, in one dark, turgid billow? They all are gone, they were grinning, from every book and public print—they all have had their inning. New advertisers boost their hats, and cars of many splendors, and non-skid drinks, and rough on rats, and salves and silk suspenders. Smith Brothers! They alone are left of all that bright assembly, and soon of them we'll be bereft for they are old and trembly. es ¢ had to spring, whose faces once