The So-called Human Race Part 2

TO A WELL-KNOWN GLOBE.

I would not seem to slam our valued planet,-- s.p.a.ce, being infinite, may hold a worse; Nor would I intimate that if I ran it Its vapors might disperse.

Within our solar system, or without it, May be a world less rationally run; There may be such a geoid, but I doubt it-- I can't conceive of one.

If from the time our sphere began revolving Until the present writing there had been A glimmer of a promise of resolving The muddle we are in:

If we could answer "Whither are we drifting?"

Or hope to wallow out of the mora.s.s-- I might continue boosting and uplifting; But as it is, I pa.s.s.

So on your way, old globe, wherever aiming, Go blundering down the endless slopes of s.p.a.ce: As far away the prospect of reclaiming The so-called human race.

Gyrate, old Top, and let who will be clever; The mess we're in is much too deep to solve.

Me for a quiet life while you, as ever, Continue to revolve.

"Our editorials," announces the Tampa Tribune, "are written by members of the staff, and do not necessarily reflect the policy of the paper."

Similarly, the contents of this column are written by its conductor and the straphangers, and have nothing whatever to do with its policy.

"What, indeed?" as Romeo replied to Juliet's query. And yet Ralph Dilley and Irene Pickle were married in Decatur last week.

He was heard to observe, coming from the theater into the thick of the wind and snow: "G.o.d help the rich; the poor can sleep with their windows shut."

We have received a copy of the first issue of The Fabulist, printed in Hingham Centre, Ma.s.s., and although we haven't had time to read it, we like one of its ideas. "Contributions," it announces, "must be paid for in advance at s.p.a.ce rates."

The viewpoint of Dr. Jacques Duval (interestingly set forth by Mr.

Arliss) is that knowledge is more important than the life of individual members of the so-called human race. But even Duval is a sentimentalist.

He believes that knowledge is important.

Among reasonable requests must be included that of the Hotel Fleming in Petersburg, Ind.: "Gentlemen, please walk light at night. The guests are paying 75 cents to sleep and do not want to be disturbed."

We have recorded the opinion that the Lum Tum Lumber Co. of Walla Walla, Wash., would make a good college yell; but the Wishkah Boom Co. of Wishkah, Wash., would do even better.

Some one was commiserating Impresario Dippel on his picturesque a.s.sortment of griefs. "Yes," he said, "an impresario is a man who has trouble. If he hasn't any he makes it."

What is the use of expositions of other men's philosophic systems unless the exposition is made lucid and interesting? Philosophers are much like certain musical critics: they write for one another, in a jargon which only themselves can understand.

O shade of Claude Debussy, for whom the bells of h.e.l.l or heaven go tingalingaling (for wherever you are it is certain there are many bells--great bells, little bells, bells in high air, and bells beneath the sea), how we should rejoice that the beautiful things which you dreamed are as a book that is sealed to most of those who put them upon programmes; for these do not merely play them badly, they do not play them at all. Thus they cannot be spoiled for us, nor can our ear be dulled; and when the few play them that understand, they are as fresh and beautiful as on the day when first you set them down.

"The increase in the use of tobacco by women," declares the Methodist Board, "is appalling." Is it not? But so many things are appalling that it would be a relief to everybody if a board, or commission, or other volunteer organization were to act as a shock-absorber. Whenever an appalling situation arose, this group could be appalled for the rest of us. And we, knowing that the board would be properly appalled, should not have to worry.

Ad of a Des Moines baggage transfer company: "Don't lie awake fearing you'll miss your train--we'll attend to that." You bet they do.

The president of the Printing Press and Feeders' (sic) union estimates that a family in New York requires $2,362 a year to get by. Which sets us musing on the days of our youth in Manchester, N. H., when we were envied by the others of the newspaper staff because we got $18 a week.

We lived high, dressed expensively (for Manchester), and always had money for Wine and Song. How did we manage it? Blessed if we can remember.

The soi-disant human race appears to its best advantage, perhaps its only advantage, in work. The race is not ornamental, nor is it over-bright, having only enough wit to sc.r.a.pe along with. Work is the best thing it does, and when it seeks to avoid this, its reason for existence disappears.

"Where," asks G. N., "can I find the remainder of that beautiful Highland ballad beginning--

'I canna drook th' stourie tow, Nor ither soak my hoggie: Hae cluttered up the muckle doon, An' wow but I was voggie.'"

Women regard hair as pianists regard technic: one can't have too much of it.

The demand for regulation of the sale of wood alcohol reminds Uncle Henry of Horace Greeley's remark when he was asked to subscribe to a missionary fund "to save his fellow-man from going to h.e.l.l." Said Hod, "Not enough of them go there now."

A few lines on the literary page relate that Edith Alice Maitland, who recently died in London, was the original of "Alice In Wonderland."

Lewis Carroll wrote the book for her, and perhaps read chapters to her as he went along. Happy author, happy reader! If the ordering of our labors were entirely within our control we should write exclusively for children. They are more intelligent than adults, have a quicker apprehension, and are without prejudices. In addressing children, one may write quite frankly and sincerely. In addressing grown-ups the only safe medium of expression is irony.

Gleaned by R. J. S. from a Topeka church calendar: "Preaching at 8 p.m., subject 'A Voice from h.e.l.l.' Miss Holman will sing."