Life — June 25, 1914 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

Eugenics THousH younger science thunders out An awful warning as to wedding, And Hymen's torch is screened about To keep the tricksy fire from spread- ing, While warnings of the wise Are far displayed, Dear, look me in the eyes! Are you afraid? By medic bugbears grim and raw ‘And story-tellers’ soiled sophistics, By snarling lions of new law ‘And grinning skulls of old statistics, Doubt, in Protean guise, Frights man and maid, Yet—look me in the eyes! Are you afraid? Ay, render unto Czsar’s clan The hearing human owes to human, Yet, after them, man will be man And woman probably be woman. Birds will be in the skies, Nests in the shade— Love, look me in the eyes! Are you afraid? Baccalaureate Sermons can hardly blame college presidents for playing safe in bac- O calaureate sermons. After all,a college president is only a college president, and he must do nothing calculated to disturb those timid capitalists from whom, and only from whom, can en- dowments be expected. It is for us who read these sermons as they are reported in the newspapers to make proper allowances and to remember that, while the college graduates for whom they are intended are by no means highly educated, they are un- doubtedly educated to a greater alti- tude than these final puerile homilies would indicate. Indeed, if the average college graduate were not superior to the meaningless mental meanderings of the average baccalaureate sermon, then the future of the race would be more than Stygian. It is too late to do anything about it this year, but perhaps the hint will be of value in years to come. “Say, MISTER! I WANT TO INSURE M E INFIELD FER ABOUT FORTY CENTS. IT WOULD RE PRACTICALLY IMPOSSIBLE 7 2 DOOPLICATE "EM Paris HE other day the ex-President of Hayti, who had retired from making revolutions, passed through New York on his way to Paris, Every ex-president, no matter whether he be president of a republic or a corporation, usually finds his way to Paris at the end of his career. Paris, indeed, has come to be a Mecea for ex-rulers. After a man has spent years in the process of embezzling funds and ordering armies about, Paris seems to be the only place that does him any good. Apparently twinges of conscience, assuming that there be such in these days, are not felt so much in Paris as elsewhere. But entirely aside from this, Paris offers a kind of atmosphere—a mingling of the sensuous and the artistic—which appears to be a solace to all those gentlemen who have enough accumulated ill-gotten gain with which to enjoy themselves. “GETTING AWAY FROM HIS SUBJECT” comichooks,