The So-called Human Race Part 14

"The lake is partially frozen over and well filled with skaters."--Janesville Gazette.

Three children sliding on the ice, Upon a summer's day, As it fell out, they all fell in, The rest they ran away.

Ma Goose.

There is plenty of snap to the department of mathematics in the Shortridge high school in Indianapolis. The head of the department is Walter G. Gingery.

Wedded, in Chicago, Otho Neer and Lucille Dimond. Fas.h.i.+on your own setting.

Oh, dear! Rollin Pease, the singer, is around again, reminding sundry readers of the difficulty of keeping them on a knife.

"THOSE FLAPJACKS OF BROWN'S."

(_Postscriptum._)

I'll write no more verses--plague take 'em!-- Court neither your smiles nor your frowns, If you'll only please tell how to make 'em, Those flapjacks of Brown's.

D. W. A.

Three cupfuls of flour will do nicely, And toss in a teaspoon of salt; Next add baking powder, precisely Two teaspoons, the stuff to exalt; Of sugar two tablespoons, heaping-- (All spoons should be heaping, says Neal); Then mix it with strokes that are sweeping, And stir like the Deil.

Three eggs. (Tho' the missus may sputter, You'll pay to her protest no heed.) A size-of-an-egg piece of b.u.t.ter, And milk as you happen to need.

Now mix the whole mess with a beater; Don't get it too thick or too thin.

(And I pause to remark that this meter Is awkward as sin.)

Of course there are touches that only A genius like Brown can impart; And genius is everywhere lonely, And no one but Brown has the art.

I picture him stirring--a gentle Exponent of modern Romance, With his s.h.i.+rttails, in style Oriental, Outside of his pants.

THE DICTATERS.

Sir: I have lost a year's growth since I went into business in answering questions about the letters that appear after my communications--HAM/AND.

H. A. M.

Letters from the vice-president of the Badger Talking Machine Company of Milwaukee are signed JAS/AK. What do you make of that, Watsonius?

The following was typed at the end of a letter received t'other day: "HEE/HA."

Recurring to the dictaters, letters from the O'Meara Paper company of New York are tagged JEW/EM.

Irene, she works for David Meyer, Likes her job, not peeved a bit.

But when she ends a letter she Marks it with this sign, DAM/IT.

Ferro.

Hint to students in the School of journalism: Always begin the description of a tumultuous scene by saying that it is indescribable, and then proceed to describe it until the telegraph editor chokes you off.

To our young friend who expects to operate a column: Lay off the item about Miss Hicks entertaining Carrie Dedbeete and Ima Proone; it is phony. But the wheeze about the "eternal revenue collector" is still good, and timely.

"I am a cub reporter," writes W. H. D., "and am going to conduct a column in a few weeks, I think." Zazzo? Well, you can't do better than to start with the announcement that Puls & Puls are dentists in Sheboygan. And you might add that if the second Puls is a son the firm should be Puls & Fils.

Our cub reporter friend, W. H. D., who expects to run a column presently, should not overlook the sure-fire wheeze, "Shoes s.h.i.+ned on the inside."

Still undiscouraged by the failure of his "shoes s.h.i.+ned on the inside"

wheeze to get by, the new contrib hopefully sends us the laundry slogan: "Don't kill your wife. Let us do the dirty work."

When all the world is safe for democracy, only the aristocracy of taste will remain, and this will cover the world. There is hardly a town so small that it does not contain at least one member. All races belong to it, and its pa.s.swords are accepted in every capital. Its mysteries are Rosicrucian to persons without taste. And no other aristocracy was ever, or ever will be, so closely and sympathetically knit together.

Whether Europe and Latin America like it or not, the Monroe Doctrine must and shall be preserved. You may remember the case of the man who was accused of being a traitor. It was charged that he had spoken as disrespectfully of the Monroe Doctrine as Jeffrey once spoke of the Equator. This the man denied vigorously. He avowed that he loved the Monroe Doctrine, that he was willing to fight for it, and, if necessary, to die for it. All he had said was that he didn't know what it was about.

"There will be no speeches. The entire evening will be given over to entertainment."--Duluth News-Tribune.

At least prohibition is a check on oratory.

We have just been talking to an optimist, whose nerves have been getting shaky. We fancy that a straw vote of the rocking-chair fleet on a sanitarium porch would show a preponderance of optimists. What brought them there? Worry, which is brother to optimism. We attribute our good health and reasonable amount of hair to the fact that we never flirted with optimism, except for a period of about five years, during which time we lost more hair than in all the years since.