Judge — October 20, 1923 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

(and often your two arms), and wrestle with its up-ended granite. Anybody who cannot climb a mountain this way has no business on a mountain at all. To build a road up a peak is an insult to the Red Gods. It is a kind) of blasphemy. Ktaadn has never been blasphemed. ‘Thoreau didn’t get to the top of Ktaadn. He was stopped by cloud. The only way [can think of at the moment in which Loam superior to ‘Thoreau lies in the fact that I did. My wife didn’t, however. We hauled the ladies—not always God blessing them up Abol Slide to the tableland, and tl abandoned them to the blueberries while we lords of creationpressed on tothe naked granite knife blade of a summit, from which we gazed over mile upon mile of zreen wilderness and quicksilver lakes. “AIL this wilderness,” said we, “over which Ktaadn is monarch, should be a national park.” And the ghost of Thoreau Whispered, “Amen.” “But it never will be,” we added, “be- cause it is a wildernesss of spruce and balsaam, and spruce and balsaam make print paper, and print paper makes our Sunday newspapers.” ‘Then the ghost of Thoreau spok far as L can judge from what L have seen of your Sunday papers, not to mention the daily ones,” said he, “I should fancy that the people would be rather off enjoying themselves in the ¥ woods than in reading what you quaintly call the public prints. TI is more to be learned from the wilderness than a Tribune editorial, and a west branch boat- man is a better philosopher than either Mutt or Jeff.” “Quite so,” we answered. “But the question of taxes—” At the word taxes, however, Thoreau’s ghost vanished in a shred of mist. DAY oR Two later, on the west branch, some of our party landed to inspect the camp of a certain millionaire who is willing te be poled up the rapids and shave his sacred face over a wash basin, for the sake of three-pound square- tails and a w of Ktaadn. An old guide, who can remember the caribou days, and T remained in the canoe. He had pale blue eyes and a faded green mackinaw shirt. “Some folks,” he remarked, “would rather see a tree down than up. They'd rather see somethin’ a man’s made, and the more it costs the better, than some- thin’ growin’, like a tree, green and straight. I guess I'm funny, but I'd rather sce the tree.” Thoreau. was “funny,” too. rather see the tree. He preferred the solitude of Walden woods, even to the excellent architecture and quite impec- cable society of Concord, Mass. Nat- urally Coneord couldn't understand such a preference. We think now that we do—but we don’t ne hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand visitors to the Maine woods pity the guides; not enough to lighten their packs, of course, but because the guides have to live up here in this “desolate” country. ‘They couldn't. possibly understand that the guides like it, and find the west brancli more beautiful and exciting thoroughfare than Broadway. We carried around Big Pockwockamus He'd | The head waiter, be it sorrowfully admitted, judges by clothes, not by faces; and his glance always starts with one’s collar. For those who tremble before head waiters—and what self-respecting person does not? —satety lies in the VAN HEUSEN. VAN HEUSEN the Worlds Smartest COLLAR PHILLIPS-JONES CORPORATION Q 1225 BROADWAY, NEW YORK Falls, and I, too, pitied the guides. I carried my own canoe! If my shoulders and the back of my neck are sufficiently healed, I shall be out of the woods in a week, and celebrate my return to vastly ated ‘ivilization by reading Charlie Norris's “Bread.” But [can tell you now that it isn’t as good a book as “The Maine Woods,” by Henry David Thoreau. our ove Vy {a | <hnke tt Neghas “How's that for luck, Master Ike? Ran out o’ bait, an’ along comes a nice, fat bookworm.” 23 The Reason Why by Raymond Barrett iy this gloom amid the lockers, Where the sad-eyed players sit, Clad in hopelessness profound, and Porousknit? Why this melancholy silence At the tee box, where should rise Teering laughs and cracks to greet the Alibis? Why this apathetic meekness In the showers, where of old Blist’ring words announced the water Had run cold? Why have dubs and near-par players All the joys of golf forgot? -h! ‘The last shot in the lockers Has been shot! sae She—Before we were married you used to beg me to sing. He—Well, you were making a fool out of me too, BIS Friend—Does your wife drive the car? Mr. Meck—Yes, but I steer it. Ss “T suppose your newly acquired riches will do your family a lot of good?” said the friend. “Yes,” replied the cynical newlyrich. “Now our daughter can marry some one who amounts to nothing comicbooks.com