Judge — March 10, 1923 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

People should be careful not to keep the The Wet Blan sar, “T'll write a noble song, of love and siren lures, and it will surely last as long as this old world endures.” And then remarked the grocer, Heck, in pessimistic tones, “I'd rather you would write a check for twenty-seven bones.” And people often wonder why my thymes are second grade; why don’t I take my harp and try to make John Milton fade? But I have tried, time after time; I've often said, “By jing, to- day I'll reach the height sublime, and like a seraph sing. ‘To-day T'll show all human tribes how high a bard may sail, and make all other singing scribes throw down their wreaths and wail.” I For the bearings of my lyre, my dul- cimer I wind, and sit me down to beat the choir, to startle all mankind. And then arrives the auctioneer, who lives three doors southwest; he says, “And still you're sitting here, at your blamed Jinglefest. Why don’t you try to do some good, and tackle honest toil? Why don’t you saw nine ricks of wood, or till the fertile soil? Of what avail is any ode or psalm or roundelay? Far better jog along the road upon a load of hay; far better raise a Hubbard squash, and sell it for a plunk; for poetry is worse than tosh, and tosh is worse than bunk.” by Walt Mason I break my timbrel on his} him with my lyre; my inspiration’s cold and dead, no-more do T aspire. Oh, who can do his noble best when some cheap tinhorn guy regards his effort as a jest, and winks a jecring eye? A few great souls can bear it all, and go their shining way, forgetting all’ the neighbors’ gall, the caustic things they say. Columbus used to haunt the beach of Portugal and Spain, and stare as far as eye could reach across the stormy main, “There is a land,” he used to rave, “out yonder, far away, where starry, spangled banners wave, and eagles scream all day. ‘This theory’s cost me every friend, men shoo me out of sight; but I have stood an egg on end, which proves that I am_ right.” , T smite § HERE is no land beyond the foam,” the savants used to wail, “and you have chipmunks in your dome, and ought to be in jail.”| And everywhere Colum- bus went the horse laugh used to rise, but he never swerved or bent from his great enterprise. A few great men are built that way, as lonely as the moon, for what the locoed neighbors say they care no picayune. But most of us need words of praise when we would do our best; we crumple up if heartless jays look at our work and 9 family skeleton in the same closet with the home-brew. ket jest. Sometimes I see a worthy gent attempting something great; perhaps he’d build a canvas tent, or kalsomine a gate. Perchance he may with fountain pen the pregnant letters trace, or he may strive to set a hen with truly regal grace. How- ever humble be his chore, I see he’d have it done as it was never done before—he hopes to take the bun. And so I pat him on the back, and praise his earnest game, and say I hope to see him stack with those who conquer fame. And this is better far, I wot, than if I joshed the jay, and said, “You'll never hit the spot by doing things that way.” Rated Scientific Diet by Wm, S, Adkins [ 2x my raisins and my Absorb my iron and Three times a day I go to f Along these scientific lines. past, 0 I take my grape juice in between, A good thing, as you must allow. Affairs with me are all serene, I’m boarding at the drug store now. soe Now that longer skirts are returning, the flapper will soon have nothing left to roll but her eyes. comicbooks.com