The So-called Human Race

THE SECOND POST

[The editor of the Winneconne, Wis., Local to his flock.]

Dear Subscriber: You probably know that the Local editor and his wife have been away from Winneconne most of the time during the last ten months. Every month we expected to get back again. The suspense was somewhat hard. During the meantime Mrs. Flanagan, each week, would worry and talk about the paper as much as ever. The doctor desired to have it off her mind. During the meantime she did not want the plant closed for even a short time. Now it has been decided to take a holiday vacation, during which time Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan will release themselves from all business cares and build up in health. No doubt, you will realize the delicate situation of the affair, and bear with us in the matter until the Local again resumes its regular publication dates, for surely both of us are very much attached to the paper, the town, and its people, and the surrounding country. M. C. Flanagan.

THE DAY OF “DON’TS.”

Thanksgiving was a holiday I welcomed when a boy,
But now it is a solemn feast without a jot of joy.
It used to be a pleasure to attack the toothsome turkey,
But now when I approach the bird I’m anything but perky.

A multitude of dismal “Don’ts” impair my appetite;
A fear of what may happen me accompanies each bite.
There hovers round this holiday a heavy cloud of dread
That never lifts till I am safe, with water-bag, in bed.

I used to drink a glass of wine, but that is bad, I’m told,
So now I ship in water – just as much as I can hold.
To fail to fletcherize my food were fatal, without question;
I never touch the stuffing, as it taxes the digestion.

When the lugubrious feast is done I hasten from my chair
To open all the windows wide, and let in lots of air;
And then I sit around an hour and chew a wad of gum
Until the fullness disappears from my distended tum.

That pleasant, dozy feeling I compel myself to shake,
For should I venture on a nap I’d never, never wake;
And if I sneeze I take alarm and hasten out of doors,
To start a circulation in my poison-clotted pores.

The fact that I am still alive is due, I’m glad to say,
To heeding all the dinner “Don’ts” that went with yesterday.
It was, from soup to raisins, by and large, and all in all,
The solemnest Thanksgiving meal that ever I recall.

A BALANCED TUITION

Sir: The fourth grade teacher in Roland, Ia., is Viola Grindem. Fortunately for the kids the high school principal is Cora Clement. T. B.

“We wish the coöperative factories, a success,” says an esteemed contemporary on our left. So do we, with this prediction, that if success is achieved it will be by the same methods that are employed in the iniquitous capitalistic system.

Although the name topic bores us to distinction, as a young lady of our acquaintance puts it, we should feel we were posing if we neglected to find room for the following:

Sir: Deedonk, can you provide a chaise longue in the Romance language department of the Academy for George E. Ahwee of Colon, Panama?

Rusty.

We knew what was meant, and yet it gave us a slight start to read in a Minnesota paper, “Pickle your own feet while they are cheap and clean.”

OPINION CONCURRED IN

Sir: My heart with pleasure filled when I saw that Riquarius quoted it as I always want to do, “with rapture fills.” While I realized it is the height of presumption to think I could improve on Wordsworth, don’t you agree with me that rapture is more expressive than pleasure? Jay Aye.

“Rapture” might be preferred for another reason: the accent falls on a stronger syllable. Suppose George Meredith had used “pleasure” in his lines —

“Lasting, too,
For souls not lent in usury,
The rapture of the forward view.”

Every good poet has left lines that could be bettered for another ear. Probably Wordsworth leads the list.

TRANSCENDENTAL CALM

Sir: Remember the story about Theodore Parker and Emerson? While they were walking in Concord a Seventh Day Adventist rushed up to them and said, “Gentlemen, the world is coming to an end.” Parker said, “That doesn’t affect me; I live in Boston.” Emerson said, “Very well. I can get along without it.” E. H. R.

So the President has been converted to universal military training – as a war measure. Better late than never, as Noah remarked to the Zebra, which had understood that passengers arrived in alphabetical order.

THIS REFERS, OF COURSE, TO FRANCE

[From Faguet’s “Cult of Incompetence.”]

Democracy has the greatest inducement to elect representatives who are representative, who, in the first place, resemble it as closely as possible, who, in the second place, have no individuality of their own, who, finally, having no fortune of their own, have no sort of independence. We deplore that democracy surrenders itself to politicians, but from its own point of view, a point of view which it cannot avoid taking up, it is absolutely right. What is a politician? He is a man who, in respect of his personal opinions, is a nullity, in respect of education a mediocrity; he shares the general sentiments and passions of the crowds, his sole occupation is politics, and if that career were closed to him he would die of starvation. He is precisely the thing of which democracy has need. He will never be led away by his education to develop ideas of his own; and, having no ideas of his own, he will not allow them to enter into conflict with his prejudices. His prejudices will be, at first, by a feeble sort of conviction, afterward, by reason of his own interest, identical with those of the crowd; and lastly, his poverty and the impossibility of his getting a living outside of politics make it certain that he will never break out of the narrow circle where his political employers have confined him; his imperative mandate is the material necessity which obliges him to obey; his imperative mandate is his inability to quarrel with his bread and butter. Democracy obviously has need of politicians, has need of nothing else but politicians, and has need indeed that there shall be in politics nothing else but politicians.

AN IOWA ROMANCE

[From the Clinton Herald.]

Lost – A large white tom cat with gray tail and two gray spots on body. Return to 1306 So. Third street and receive reward.

Lost – “Topsy” black persian cat. Any one having seen her kindly call 231 5th ave.

WE SHOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED

[From the Idaho Falls Register.]

A lady’s leather handbag left in my car while parked on Park avenue two weeks ago. Owner can have same by calling at my office, proving the property and paying for this ad. If she will explain to my wife that I had nothing to do with its being there, I will pay for the ad. C. G. Keller.

COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD

[From the Tavares, Fla., Herald.]

The home of Mr. and Mrs. H. H. Duncan was the center of attraction Sunday afternoon. All the relatives and a few special friends were there to celebrate two happy occasions, the anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan’s marriage and the marriage of Miss Cora L. Peet, Mrs. Duncan’s sister, to Mr. J. E. Hammond, and the soft winds of March had blown the planet of love over this beautiful home.

The composition of the decorations adhered with striking fidelity to nature. The wide veranda was completely screened in by wild smilax and fragrant honeysuckle vines, which entwisted themselves among the branches of sweet myrtle and native palms, fitly transforming it into a typical Arcadian scene beckoning to

“Come unto the garden, Maud;
I am here at the gate alone;