Judge — May 5, 1923 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

= | | | i $49, i 1 e-- The Old and New Ways by Walt Mason neY have new ways to heal the ick, and make their ills a jest, and svery system has a kick unequaled ion is the latest fad to make nd curl, and when I'm feeling ay bad I give that scheme a whirl. I had the fever known as hay, and muttered, o'er and o'er, “I’m getting better every day,” till I became a bore. When friends dropped in to spend an hour and talk of books and art, they soon departed, feeling sore, with anger in each heart. For when they mentioned Bertha Clay, or Byron, Scott or Pope, I said, “I'm better very day—suggestion is the When to the church I took my way, and joined in psalm and hymn, I sang, “I'm better , In every bone and limb!” And then the sexton, ancient scout, he hauled me from my pew, and rolled me up and threw me out, and biffed me one or two. I must admit my fever went, blew up in course of time; and for that cure I never spent a solitary dime. And so I boost this modern plan for ailments which are mild, for aches which do not rack a man and‘nearly drive him wild. But when I have some grievous ill that rly makes me croak, I want a good old-fashioned pill that leaves a trail of smoke. The worse it tastes the more it helps—I've always found it “Now, you stop crying, Buddy. so; such pills subdue my anguished yelps, alleviate my woe. I HAVE a pimple on my nose, o'er which my spirit groans, and I experiment with those who heal by twisting bones. I seek the healer in his lair, lured by his gilded sign, and with a learned and lofty air he readjusts my spine. He me on an iron bench, that has no spiral springs, and as he plies his monke: wrench he tells me useful things. Wh peoples’ spines are all in shape, there'll be no further woe, there'll be an end to pills and crape, the hearse will have to go. a Wei Rural Critic (to eminent landscapist)—Well, I guess you think that’s as good a way to kill time as any other, an’ __ All pay and no work makes you're not really doin’ any harm! 18 And in a day or maybe three that pimple is no more; my nose again is fair to see as in the days of yore. And so I boost this backbone stuff, along the village street, until my friends cry, “Hold, enough!” and chide me with their feet. And it is well to boost the graft that makes a pimple flee, to adver- tise it fore and aft—it’s seemly, you'll agree. But when I have the duplex gout, with toes that throb and burn, the modern healing plans I flout, and to old things return, Now let the druggist do his worst, and make me pills a few, that smell like fireworks when they burst, and taste like liquid glue. Now let the sawbones rake his chest for plasters that will stick; I've found all modern things a jest when I am really sick, I'd have men think me up to date, no relic of the pa and of all theories, small or at, I cleave unto the last; but when emergencies arise, as such blamed things will do, the neighborhood can hear my cries for things that Noah knew. Park Bench Song by William Sanford Y iss me when the lights are low— ee ae Let me hold you closcly—so True as stars above me, Now you snuggle while I hug My little honey-bumble-bug! Squeeze and hug—hug and squeeze Ah, you also will be true! Hear the breeze sigh in the trees It knows that you're a liar, too! For park love very quickly melts We'll soon be kissing some one else! tat The Choice of a Vocation (What the Average Small Boy Would Be Willing to Be) by Edmund J. Kiefer RCUS clown, Steeple jack. Store proprietor. Dog trainer. Soldier. Prize fighter. Horse doctor. Steamship captain. Magician. Baseball player. Fireman. Locomotive engineer. Zoo attendant, Band leader. Detecti 2 Movie owner. Speed ki Strong man. Hot dog merchant. Millionaire. ray Jack a Government employee.