Judge — March 25, 1922 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

EDITORIAL By Wituram ALLEN WHITE REAL NEWS CCASIONALLY real news does appear in the papers. The other day our esteemed contemporary, the World, which has become a sort of daily edition of the New Republic, printed an item of much importance. described the optophone, a practical working instrument by which the blind SS\_ may see through their ears. The letters on a printed page transformed into sound register a different combination of sounds for each letter, and the resultant flowing harmonies coming to the trained ear of the blind take forms of words and sentences, and through their ears the blind may see. What a marvel it is! Our modern miracles are so much more unbelievable than the wonders of old. Radio concerts cover thousands of square miles, the human voice carrying around the world, and one after another of the plagues of men falling before serums. A great French scientist declares that discarnate spirits are physically ponderable. Possibly he 1s wrong. But, why not? With the air about us filled with sounds, we cannot hear until science opens our ears; with a printed page radiating music that gives forth words, and from the succession of words, thoughts, and from the thoughts full fellowship with all aspiring minds, what is not impossible? If the air is full of things unheard, why may not space be filled with things unseen, and why may not “the forms of the departed” “enter through the open door” when science has pried it open? What a show it is, the phantasmagoria that the curious mind of man has made out of a rather simple old world that our grand- fathers knew. When we can call old Ben Franklin up on the phone, how we shall jolly the old man for sending that key up on the kite to bring down the light- ning from the clouds! He surely un- locked Pandora’s box of grief and trouble and amazement with that old key! The item - “Franklin surely unlocked Pandora’s box of grief, trouble and amazement with that old key.” IS GEORGE HARVEY SCABBING ON THE JOB? F THE lion's tailtwisters’ union ever had a_ loyal member it was George Harvey, our genial and lan- guageous minister to the Court of St. James. Time was when he and Jim Reed and Hiram Johnson would sail out of a bright, crisp morning with their lunch bucket full of doughnuts, pie, coffee and cold turkey, and twist enough kinks in the lion’s tail to use it for pulling corks a week. When Wilson was hobnobbing with royalty and mak- ing the world safe for Lansing, George Harvey would get his eight-hour tailtwisting job done in twenty delicious minutes and then go on, crimping the old thing, and wrapping it in kid curlers for the other seven hours and a half, with time and a half for overtime. When he was done, the lion’s tail was so full of salients that Lloyd George was often weeks ironing the crimps out. But now—look at George! My word! And, by Jove, observe the Colonel! Feeding the lion soft soap and glucose. The tail that once through Harvey's Weekly the soul of music shed is now adorned by pretty pink baby ribbon twined about it by Colonel Harvey's own fair hands. The tailtwisters’ union will take away George's card. The entertainment committee of the Ancient Order of Hibernians has been molding bricks for six weeks to fit his alabaster brow, and when George comes home there will be a gorgeous exhibition of the truth that blood is thicker than water. Moreover, our ambassador will furnish the blood. And, as the atmosphere grows gray and hazy around our hero’s head with dornicks, vegetation and unchartered real estate, we fancy we can hear the dry, thin, unemotional little voice of our cloistered states- man, late of Princeton, giggling a gentle, unpleasant little giggle. And what of the hand which ordinary humanity might lift in merciful protest at the punishment which Colonel Harvey is getting from the fire-eating Irish? Ah! But that hand of mercy for once is restrained. It is other- wise engaged; possibly thumbing a long nose at the Colonel in his trouble.