Judge — November 12, 1921 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

“Wuy Do WE Die?” HIS is the lo- quacious little brother to “Is life worth living?” and “Is mar- . riage ; a fail- ® ure?” The old queru- lousness was pettish with iow spirits. This addition to the questionnaire indicates high and combative indig- nation at Nature. Hasty pudding scientists are bathing the answer in germs and protoplasms. This is in- conclusive. This overleaping inquisitiveness dissolves too much unfinished busi- ness. It scents the unicorns already chasing lambs through Wall Street. We must first settle why we get cold toes, why we fatten in the middle, why roots grow downward and the fruit upward. And then it is a sol- emn duty to soothe the quavering cry of those who ask why we were born. Evidently some passion flowers want to be in full bloom when Gabriel winds the resurrection blast. This yearning is laudable. But would it not be a deadly blow in these hard times to throw all the post mortem autopsies and life insurance com- panies out of work? “LLOYD GEORGE, GENTLEMEN!” E_ says he will come, if he gets time. We would rather see him than five aces. He is the parliamen- tary Tamerlane the Tartar. Every uplifter would listen to him for a hint. Every politician would hope to catch some of the magic of Merlin from his dripping joviality. For he is the man who took the beetling brows from trouble, and makes toil as sweet as summer. No matter who is out of work, one-quarter of the human race stays awake nights finding work for him. With nerves as firm as a real estate agent he can traffic in a world full of riddles and spin out the answers like an information bureau. He makes more news than all our divorces, and has less rancor than a candidate for dog-catcher. He can make the cloudiest day drop quails and manna to-morrow, and can find bones in Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. We have watched with zest the alac- rity with which he drowns every cat that yowls, and all we are waiting for now is to see if any of them are coming back. NEW AND PLEASANT TAXATION N Germany it is pro- posed to tax every per- son whose waist line exceeds a certain cir- cumfer- ence. Thus every Ger- man must pay for his place in the sun. The value of the fat of the land is reduced to inches or a frac- tion thereof, and the corporeal incre- ment of gluttons becomes a proof of patriotism. It is assumed that the shrinking population will be put in such high good humor that its appe- tite will improve and its exemption disappear. The British Government is selling Jordan water and shells from Galilee to raise funds for Palestine. In Colorado Springs a hearty fine is imposed upon all pedestrians who permit themselves to be struck by automobiles. Every wind that blows 14 brings details of taxes on bald heads, bachelors, boot legs, birthday parties, fish stories, blushes, bladders, blis- ters, on every pie and the finger in it. Political economy begins to smile with chortling geniality. Its gravity is cackling at the discovery that the frailties and foibles of man may be turned into golden thrift. “PLAIN CROOKS” Pp JEN- NINGS, of Bethlehem, e Pa, once lauded the Soviets as statesmen of high moral qual- ities, up- right shep- herds of their flocks, benignant philos- ophers with intellects at once com- prehensive and acute. He accused our State Department of maligning the Bolsheviki, and of being utterly destitute of the power of discerning truth. Six months in Russia sharp- ened his own power of discerning falsehood, and he now vociferously and damnatorily limelights the So- viets as “plain crooks.” Thus the idol worshippers at long distance recoil on close contact. They mistake their taste for fact, and become fanatics through their susceptibilities. The exasperation of these victims of their own credulity is ludicrous. When they are stung, they howl in a paroxysm at the discovery that their pet is a python. Their sweet dream explodes with extraordinary bitterness. The flop from a higher to a lower order of civilization must be a most painful process. What branch of psychology is it that wraps an American in the obsession that there is degeneracy in his own land and enlightenment in the land of social morass? comicbooks.com