Life — November 30, 1916 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

952 Temperament A MOUNTAIN and a thunder storm were one day lying close to each other trying to pass the time of day. The thunder storm was mumbling and growling to itself when the mountain said: “Why is it, my friend, that you are always complaining about something? You appear to me never to be satis- fied. If I were not inclined to take things as calmly as I do, your mutterings would annoy me. “It's a matter of temperament,’ storm. “Everyone to his own impulses.” “T used to be something like that,” mused the mountain, “when I was volcanic. I was a constant terror to every- one and frightened some of the best people away, but I have long since settled down. Your amateurish restless- ness would annoy me if my experience had not rendered me immune to the faults of others.” At this the thunder storm flashed fire and became so thoroughly angry that it burst into torrents of tears. It flooded the mountain, and then rushed off in the distance venting its displeasure on everyone it met. But when it had gone, and things had settled down, the forest, which had hitherto only been waving to itself, ob- served to the mountain: “My friend, how do you like me?” “I'm tremendously fond of you,” said the mountain, “in fact, to be candid, life without you would be bare and barren. You keep me warm in winter, and in summer the birds and iairies nestling in your ample growth refresh me greatly with their songs.” , “And yet,” sighed the forest, “if it were not for that raging thunder storm, you wouldn't have me. I should simply die. If the thunder storm didn’t come around and tear things up, and lose its temper, and throw aside all order and reason, and burst into hysterical tears, where would I be? And what would you do? The mountain, silent for some time, at last’said: “I've been thinking, my friend. Do you know I haven't spoken to that thunder storm before for over a hundred thousand years?” “And what were you thinking?” asked the forest. “T was thinking,” replied the mountain, “after what you said, that I must mend my ways. I talk too much.” snapped the thunder Club Rates wife and myself are trying to get up a list of club magazines. By t: ig three you get a discount.” “How are you making out?” “Well, we can get one that I don’t want, and one that she doesn’t want, and one that neither of us wants, for $2.25." “Para. what is a man who is a mixer?” “Anyone, my son, who prefers the society of every- body else to himself.” Epitaphs on the Kaiser (Note to contributors: No more contributions for this department received after noon, November 16, 1916.) ERE lies the German Emperor. Oh, sing a joyful song! The Pearly Gates won't let him in, And Hell won't stand him long. “Me and God could not get along, For I was right and He was wrong.” Here lies Kaiser Wilhelm in his last, long sleep. Tears cannot call him back. Therefore we weep. Here lies Great Wilhelm—friend of God. It grieves one’s heart To think of friends now forced to dwell So far apart! His days of “Me und Gott” are past. Bill's on the firing line at last. Here lies Bill, the ser. Leaves his people sadder “ Budweiser.” Here lies the Kaiser. Since he died The Lord can't tell which way to side. Mother: FOR SCHOOL. “WELL, \OU KNOW, MOTHER, THEY GOT A LOT 0’ NEW AD= VANCED IDEAS SINCE YOU WENT TO SCHOOL.” LITTLE BOYS MUST ALWAYS BE NICE AND CLEAN