Judge — August 5, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

The Good Old Things FE TALK about the good old things with d r tful sighs: the good old vows and weddi old hon old custard pies. t Trish stew, the ay hat: the good old gir to woo, the good old this and that. Tread the books by modern jays and find them mostly rot. and murmur for the good old days when novels hit’ the spot. Loften say to growing youths who ask for my advice, “The stuff in yonder hookmen's booths is punk and cuts no ice. Best) sellers come and flood the earth and promptly disappear; — they havent got the sterling worth to make them last a year. It surely makes me stand aghast, the Hest sellers fly; but good old authors of the past wrote books that did not die. Go read — the works of Dickens, boys, or tackle “Adam your joys way Bede. and you will multiply and thank me for my rede.” Last week [ took my own advice and toa Dickens book, and merrily i the price, and cried aloud, “Gadzook! This volume cheered me », when I a springald was, and it the woe that modern writers now relieve auuse.”” [ SA 8 me down and read and read of David Copperfield, and yawned the the while the long top clear off my head hours wheeled. — The drawn chapters made ~ hot worth the paper's d David seem L re, and Barkis was a frost. I threw the volume at the cow, because Thad no BY Watt Mason ILLUSTRATION BY HENRY J. Peck brick, and cried, “LIL get a novel now that has some sort of kic And to the book rT went.and purchased, fora dime, lle he Bogus Cent, Or, b's Crime.” rs sd to read are our intellects are gone to seed before we reach the end. We boost the Dickens line of tosh when with the ancient: bunch; but kickless stories will not wash—they have to have a punch, The books our fath much too slow, my f Tue good old songs we used to sing are often talked of now, for modern music is a thi ed to che acow. A fierce renown it surely he thing to murder spr and when we ance to. mention “jazz,” we wring our beards and My this modern and omy nieces sort of slush; on Friday evening of last week, Tcried, “Oh, hush! That music sets my teeth and turns my sideboards gray; far weep. nephews shrick better soak me with a sledge than kill me with your bray. Pd rather hark to brazen gongs —Lll tell you what Pll do; Tl get a book of old time songs, the kind our fathers knew. Thave it hidden in my trunk, and when you look it ou ll say the jazzy stuff is junk, a nuisance and a bore.” I DUG the volume from the place where it had rested long, and sternly tried to find a trace of some wholesome But all the ditties were of graves, Is who died in’ June, and of the ass that waves beneath the ayard midnight mi Oh, there were songs of Hazel Del vd lovely Belle, Mahones, but all we 1arrow cells, reduced nd bone The old time songs of death, and lovers in despair; I chewed a clove to brace my breath, and sank down in a chair, “The good old songs, like good old books, on the blink,” T said; “IT wish Ehad some good old brooks in which to soak my head.” to dust “I threw the volume at the cow, because I had no brick” comicbooks.com