Judge, 1921-06-04 · page 11 of 36
Judge — June 4, 1921 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Right and Wrong" by Walt Mason This satirical essay attacks Victorian morality and social hypocrisy. The illustration shows a man relaxing indoors with books and a pipe while rain falls outside—embodying the "vices" he's accused of. Mason's narrator catalogs society's contradictory moral standards: neighbors condemn him for reading detective stories and smoking instead of mowing lawns, yet they themselves waste time at lectures. He questions why leisure is "wrong" while drudgery is "right," why attending movies is sinful but listening to boring speakers is virtuous, why spending money on pleasure is irresponsible while hoarding for heirs is noble. The satire targets puritanical busybodies who judge others' harmless pleasures while ignoring their own hypocrisies. Mason argues these arbitrary moral rules serve only to police enjoyment and enforce conformity—the real "frost" isn't his leisure, but society's joyless demands.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“| SIT AND SMOKE ON RAINY DAYS, AND KEAD MORE BOOKS—MyY FOREMOST VICE.” Right and Wrong By Watt Mason Illustration by "VE always heard the same old song, since first my eyes beheld the light: “The things you wish to do are wrong; the things you hate to do are right.” I often wonder why ‘tis so—if it is so, and that I doubt; the theory's filled the world with woe, and chastened Many a joyous scout T like to sit beneath a tree and read a good detective tale; and if this pastime pleases me, why should it make the neighbors wail? [hear them gossip as I read, I hear them grumble as they pass: “He never stops to pull a weed, he never tries to mow the grass. He just sits there and never sweats; he reads Nick Car- ter and Old Sleuth; an ill example thus he sets to every man and every youth. I'd rather sit in shady nooks than push a mower o'er the lawn; I'd rather read a million books than hoe the spuds, so help me. John. Why is it wrong to take my ease, and loaf away the golden day? Why is it right to harvest peas, or ply a saw, or put up hay? I sit and smoke on rainy days, and read more books—my foremost vice; and through the mud plod weary jays, and all their errands cut no ice. They see me by the window sit, they sce me smoke my pipe and read; and oftentimes they throw a fit. and say, “He is a frost, indeed! We go our way, where duty calls, we'll see our piflling errands through, and though a lake of water falls, we'll do the things we ought to do. And he Raten Barton sits there and smokes cigars, and smokes his pipe and cigarettes; the sight of him our spirit jars, for he a punk example sets.” Why is it wrong to smoke cheroots, and gaze out through the window-pane? Why is it right to wear gum boots, and go cavorting through the rain? At night I seek the movie show, to sce stage robbers rob a stage; my neight to a lecture go, to listen to some dreary sage. Next morning the rebuke is strong; they saw me to the movies trot; and they point out that it is wrong to pass up lec- tures for such rot. Why is it wrong that I have gone to gaze at filmdom’s fairest lowers? Why is it right to gasp and yawn where some bum speaker talks for hours? And so I wonder, oftentimes, why such dilemmas mect my face; the deeds I like are always crimes, the deeds I don’t are acts of grace. I blow my money as it comes, to buy an auto or a shave; and people come, with mufiled drums, and argue that I ought to save. It’s virtuous to pinch and skimp, to salt a dollar down cach day, and any fellow is a simp who has no package put away. Catastrophes you're bound to court, unless you save while saving’s fine; but. oh, it is a dreary sport, this thing putting coin in brine! Why is it wrong to blow your roll for books and gas and trotting mares? Why is it right to starve your soul and leave bundle to your heirs?