Judge — August 1, 1925 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

UV 1 1 by printing a list of the living. HE human race looks its lousiest I in the Monday morning news- papers. Blue Monday is a logical result of reading about Silly Sunday. Sunday is notably a dull day in newspaper offices so that such space that Monday morning papers do not give to poor saps who have spent their holiday getting drowned, run over, smashed up, or poisoned with picnic ptomaine, is devoted to the palaver of pop-eyed parsons. In last Monday’s Morning Mon- oxide, there was a pastoral demand for a return of whipping posts, a report of the resolution of the Sanctity of Marriage League (of which Bishop Manning is a promi- nent member) against the remarriage of innocent parties in divorce cases, and a suggestion by Rev. Andreas Bard that the pagan goddess of Liberty be removed from the harbor of New York and replaced by a statue of Jesus Christ. (Or why not of Bryan? He would probably ac- cept the nomination; he regards himself as a good man, too.) We seem to be entering another age of cruelty At no time in my memory have so many cranks been out to crush other people in the name of righteousness. We got all keyed up toa violent and vigilant righteous- aay Hm—I’d think the Monday morning newspapers would save space HUMANITY’S ZERO HOUR by Don Herold ness during the war and it is hard to subside, it is hard to quit setting vicious standards of virtue for other folks. In war time we were holier than our neighbors who were not doing quite so much for the war as we were. And we were in the war (Continued on page 32) Little Travels Let Us Pick You Up on One Scotzanp—where the Scotch comes from. If Italy is the shape of a boot then Scotland must be the shape of a bottle. Hoot mon, we're off. Don- ning our Scots Mist (Rogers Peet) overcoats, we go on deck as the boat enters the Firth of Forth. After absorbing Edinburgh and watching Glasgow, our party splits, some going on a highland fling and others going through the rye. “We shall meet by the river!” sing some. The river where? The River Ayr! Putting on a Harry Lauder record, we tune our bagpipes (if such a thing be possible), tighten our belts and purse strings and set. out for the butterscotch country. We go via the Firth of Clyde. In fact, we visit all the firths, firth one and then another. After rolling our r’s through the countryside, we pause at Dundee where we are stuck for a time in the marmalade jam. Roamin’ in the gloamin’ we stumble near the spot where Robert Bruce fell. Some one had evidently left their swords, on the ground after doing a dance. At Perth we inquire for Amboy. And so, after the coffee, to bed. Next week: Fighting our way through Ireland. R. C. O’Brien The art museum finally manages to interest the public in its paintings and sculpture. comicbooks.com