The So-called Human Race Part 42

"He decided that life was not worth living after that, so he came to South Bend."--South Bend Tribune.

Stet!

WHY THE DOG LEFT TOWN.

[From the Newton, Ia., News, Dec. 2.]

Warning--A resident of North Newton went home from work Sat.u.r.day night and as he went in the front door a man went out the back door. This party had better leave town, for I know who he is and am after him.

W. H. Miller.

[From the same paper, Dec. 5.]

I have since discovered that it was a neighbor's dog that bounded out of the back door as I came in the front door the other night. My wife had gone to a neighbor's and left the back door ajar, hence a big dog had no trouble getting in.

W. H. Miller.

"'I don't see why we go to England for nincomp.o.o.ps when we have men like Prof. Grummann here at home,' remarked Fred L. Haller."--Omaha Bee.

We trust Mr. Haller called up the Professor and explained what he meant.

_THE Pa.s.sIONATE PURE FOOD EXPERT TO HIS LOVE._

_Come live with me, my own pure love, And we will all the pleasures prove, In pa.s.sion unadulterated And bliss that isn't benzoated._

_Love's purest formula we'll spell: Our joys will never fail to jell.

The honeyed kisses we imprint Will show of glucose not a hint._

_Your Wiley will your food prepare, And cook a meal to curl your hair; And every morning you shall have a Rare cup of genuine Mocha-Java._

_And you shall have a buckwheat cake Better than mother used to make, And sirup from the maple wood-- Not a vile sorghum "just as good."_

_The eggs, the bacon, and the jam Shall he as pure as Mary's lamb; And nothing sans a pure-food label Shall grace your matutinal table._

_Oh, hearken to your Harvey's suit, And 'ware the phony subst.i.tute.

If pure delights your mind may move, Come live with me and be my Love._

Prof. Brown of Carlton College complains that college faculties are concerned with the mental slacker and the laggard, that they have geared their machinery to the sluggard's pace. True enough, but not only true of educational inst.i.tutions. In a democracy everything is geared to the pace of the weak.

"As for authors," sighs Shan Bullock, "their case is fairly hopeless.

But I recognize that in the new democracy even average intellect has no place at present. The new democracy is on trial. Until it has proven definitely whether it sides with cinemas or ideals, there is not even a living for men who once held an honored place in the scheme of things.

That is a dark saying, but I think it is true."

We thought the doubtful honor was possessed by the United States, but M. Cambon declares that there is no other country where people take so little interest in foreign politics as they do in France.

A nervy Frenchman, M. Bourgeois, has translated "The Playboy of the Western World." You can imagine with what success. "G.o.d help me, where'll I hide myself away and my long neck naked to the world?"

becomes "Dieu m'aide, ou vais-je me cacher et mon long cou tout nu?"

The President of the Chicago Chapter of the Wild Flower Preservation Society wrote to the Department of Agriculture for a certain Bulletin on Forestry and another one on Mushrooms for the book table at their Exhibition in the Art Inst.i.tute. In due time arrived 250 copies of "How to make unfermented grape juice" and 250 copies of "Hog Cholera."

Anybody want them?

OH, DON'T YOU REMEMBER SWEET MARY, BEN BOLT?

"What has become of Mary MacLane?" asks a reader. We don't know, at this moment, but we remember--what is more important--a jingle by the late lamented Roz Field:

"She dwelt beside the untrodden ways, Among the hills of b.u.t.te, A maid whom no one cared to love, And no one dared to shoot."

The Montmartre crowd had a ticket in the Paris munic.i.p.al election. The design on the carte d'electeur was a windmill, with the legend below, "Bien vivre et ne rien faire." This would do nicely for our city hall push.

Is there another person in this wicked world quite so virtuous as a chief of police on the day that he takes office?

INDIFFERENCE.

Said B. L. T. to F. P. A., "How shall I end the Line to-day?"

"It's immaterial to me,"

Said F. P. A. to B. L. T.

M. L. H.

Let it, then, go double.

Mr. Dubbe's Program Study Cla.s.s.