Judge — September 10, 1921 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

ln ata y me Fo | went ALG —e J “OH, LET NO SMILER COME TO ME, WITH WORDS OF For HE optimist in sunshine goes all round and round the busy town, and when he hears of others’ woes he doesn’t seem a bit cast down. One day I sat beneath some trees to write a rondeau rich and rare, and fifty-seven foolish bees came up and stung me here and there. And when I teetered to my shack to find some ointment good and strong, to heal the bee stings on my back, the smiling geezer came along. There for an hour he talked to me, impressed on me the vital fact that it was vain to cuss the bee, or read the well-known riot act. Far better smile away my pain, and let the thought of vengeance pass; for shedding brine was all in vain, and howling put up little grass. He left me in a chastened mood, and I reflected, in my chair: “That gent would wipe out any feud, and soothe the anger of a bear. He makes this world a better place, he makes our weary lives sublime; those sunny smiles upon his face fetch home the bacon every time.” TUDE AND CHEER, WHEN St THE EAR!" E BIG, F By Warr Mason Illustration by RALPH BARTON. Then came a thought that gave a shock, as I sat there, a ghastly wreck: “’Twas easy for that guy to talk—no bees had soaked him in the neck.” The gush of consolation flows whenever we sit round and groan; but guys who come to soothe our woes have seldom sorrows of their own. It’s easy for the active scout, who on athletic feet can spring, to come to me when I have gout, and tell me how to smile and sing. And for a moment he may ease, by means of glad and flaunting grins, the rheu- matiz that racks my knees, and sends pink fantods down my shins. But always when he goes away I see how hollow is his spiel, and bitter, caustic things I say, as I reach down to rub my heel. The man who’d make my spirit shine should have the gout in seven toes, should have a fiercer dose than mine—then I could shake off all my woes, When my old car has jumped the road and strewn my person in a ditch, the smiler comes to my abode 1% AT, BESOTTED BEE WAS STUNG ME JUST BEHIND The Smiler and talks to me in language rich. He chirps and chatters by my bed, and says to me, in juicy tones, “Be thank- ful that you are not dead, and have but thirty broken bones. Be thank- ful that you’re here to-day, to hear the little birdlets sing! Cheer up, be jubilant and gay, let laughter make the welkin ring!” And for a moment—but no more— I feel as cheerful as a hen; and then I bid him leave my door and never darken it again. The happiness will not stay put that’s faked up by that jay benign; the smiler always goes on foot—what does he know of griefs like mine? The victim of an auto wreck might cheer me if he sought my door, his steeringwheel around his neck, and all his system bruised and sore. I’d mingle my sad tears with his; and he would mingle his with mine; together we would cry, “Gee Whiz,” and hand out cussword: xty-nine. Oh, let no smiler come to me, with words of fortitude and cheer, when some big, fat, besotted bee has stung me just behind the ear! comicbooks.com