Judge — June 18, 1921 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

“Tie SAGES SAY THAT ROSES FADE THAT BEAUTY Is A THING SKIN DEEP.” The Sages Say— OLD is but dross, the sages say, the root of evil and of crii we ought to give our rolls and have a highly moral I’ve known some sages now and then, and here and there, as you have, too; they were a thrifty bunch of men, who wanted every kopeck due. I never knew a blooming sage who'd say, when drawing payday roll, “I'm gettin, too big a wage—just cut it down and save my soul. Gold is but dross, but when you're broke it’s pretty hard to wear a smile and look on hunger as a joke, though sages talk i while. I've looked on Sterling and never envied him his lot; I'd rather be Old Moneybags, and with my car keep highway’ hot. When one has reached the busted stage, and all his assets taken wings, it doesn’t help to have a sage come up and whisper soulful things. But sages do not walk along and comfort you when you are broke; they chase the giddy, well-fixed throng, and if you watch, you'll see their smoke. By Warr Mason Illustration by Rateu Barton The sages say that honest toil will smooth our w however rough; they stand up strong for midnight oil, and all that ancient sort of stuff. They write wise saws for copybooks, beseeching youth to strain and strive; and then they sit around in nooks and play draw poker or high five. The sages are a gaudy crew, and gaudy maxims do they spring; they tell us fell what to do, and then they do the other thing. The sages know that honest work is but a lemon and a frost; the only wise man is the shirk who cannot pay his fine Go mark the toiler as he groans in winter snow or summer heat, and his re- ward is aching bones and throbbing thews and weary feet. And when he’s worked for forty years and saved a bundle thick and broad, some blue sky profiteer appears and bears away his hard-earned wad. The sages say that roses fade, and beauty is a thing skin deep; they look with pity on the maid so fair she haunts us in our sleep. and cost. The lovely flapper should not flap, and show her shining hair and teeth; far better ¢ a homely map, with stacks of virtue underneath. And bunk like this will do to fill the pages of a helpful tract, but was there ever home- ly Jill who thought such argument a fact? Perhaps the spinster with a face that frightens horses on the street will say that beauty’s a disgrace, and frown on peaches she may meet. But when she’s in her se cret lair, she coats her face with kalsomine, and curls and fusses with her hair, and tries to make her horse teeth shine. The beautifiers of all sorts, the dope for eye: and teeth and hair, are bought in gallons, pints and quarts, by homely girls who would be fair. The beauties of the heart nd mind they’re boosting in the market- place, but they would give them all to find one newborn beauty of the face. And thus we find, from day to day, that wisdom is but sounding brass, and all the things the sages say are in the rank flap- doodle class.