Baltimore Evening Sun (30 December 1912): 6.


From a bulletin of the North Carolina State Board of Health:

Liquor is to blame for one out of ten male deaths.

And yet the foolish suffragettes flirt with the Hon. Satan Anderson!

The Concord Club has decided to invite Ambassador Bryce, John D. Rockefeller and Eddie Foy, but will cut out Castro, Charles F. Murphy and Nat Goodwin.–Adv.

From “Analytic Psychology,” by George Frederick Stout, professor of logic and metaphysics at St. Andrews, Vol. I, page 14:

Under the issuance of a large dose of haschisch I found myself totally unable to distinguish between what I actually did and saw and what I merely thought about.

The exact effect of vice crusading, local optioning and suffragetting.

The cold weather, it would seem, is freezing the estimable Towel’s vaseline. But do not fear: it will melt anon!

The Hon. the super-Mahon, in an effort to further his Senatorial boom, is preparing to run his brother Walter for the Legislature in Harford county. The Hon. Satan Anderson, getting wind of this, mounts the battlements in the current issue of his weekly paper and sounds the four threes of warning to the faithful. Connoisseurs prick up their ears and make ready for the fray. Let the band begin by playing “The Ride of the Valkyries.”

From the Evening Sunpaper’s Letter Column:

The Free Lance defines love as the delusion that one woman differs from another. Why women only? Are not men as much alike in masculine traits or qualities as women are in feminine ones?

To sure they are. I apologize and stand corrected. The general sameness of men, in truth, is even more noticeable than the general sameness of women. Give a woman leisure and she usually devolops a certain individuality, but men rarely do so. The tendency of the average man is to move nearer and nearer to an indefinite, indifferent mean. He is a natural joiner. He joins clubs and fraternal orders with thousands of members, and submits readily to their discipline. He belongs to political parties and taken his orders from their bosses. He is obedient, docile, plastic, flabby. The thing he fears most is a reputation of being different.

Women, it must be plain, are vastly less self-effacing. Compare, for example, a men’s club and a women’s club. For the first to be torn by rows is very rare; for the second to be blessed by peace is even rarer. The Sons of the Revolution fall into one another’s arms and sing “Funiculi-Funicula”; the Daughters of the Revolution battle with hat pins and malicious animal magnetism. There are scores of subjects upon which practically all civilized white men agree; there is no subject upon which all civilized white women agree. The misadventures of the suffrage agitators show the belligerent, anti-social spirit of the fair ones. Not only are there thousands of women who oppose the suffrage for the simple reeason that women whom they dislike are in favor of it, but even among the suffragists themselves there are many rival parties and bitter feuds.

It is the stock argument of the advocates of the suffrage in Maryland that the women of the State, if enfranchised, would stand together as a solid phalanx, for moral legislation. As a matter of fact, actual experience indicates that they would do nothing of the sort. The six States in which women now vote--Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Idaho, Washington and California–are all wet, and every effort to make them dry has been defeated. In Washington and California, of course, the women voters have scarcely had time to murder the Rum Demon, but in Wyoming thee have had 22 years, in Colorado 19 years and in Utah and Idaho 16 years. And yet the Demon flourishes.

The truth is that women are so distrustful of one another that such a thing as a compact woman’s party in unimaginable. The average man has an abounding faith in his brother; he is always willing to assume that they are decent and on the level. But the average woman has very little faith in her sisters. She is willing to grant, if the evidence is overwhelming, that a given woman is respectable and perhaps even a lady, but she never assumes it. On the contrary, her primary assumption is always the opposite. That is to say, she is intellectually from Missouri. She has to be shown. And usually she retains a certain doubt with her reluctant conviction, so that it is quite easy to set her backsliding.

But what has all this to do with my original proposition? As a matter of fact, I begin to fear that I am arguing against myself. First I maintained that all women are pretty much alike, and I am maintaining that they hate and maul one another. But after all, that contradiction is greater in appearance than in substance. However women may differ, they are all indubitably alike in this one respect: that they distrust their sisters even more than they distrust their husbands.

The Ven. Wegg, of Havre de Grace, in Friday’s Evening Sunpaper:

Undoubtedly there are * * * more degenerate individuals than [the Hon.] Mr. Mencken.

But has Wegg the courage to name them? If so, I offer him all the space he wants, even if he asks for twenty lines.

Incantation for pains in the stomach, as given by the Hon. William Walker Atkinson, in the current Nautilus magazine, the War Cry of the New Thoughters:

Here, stomach, you’ve got to do better, for you can do better and I expect you to do your best. I believe in you, and in your ability to do Nature’s work properly. I am giving you good nourishing food, in not too great quantities, and you are going to digest it so that I can assimilate it properly and build up my system. You’re all right. I believe in you. I expect great things of you, and I know that you are going to make good. Brace up, get rid of fear. We are going to work together, you and I--and we are going to succeed!

Probable reply of the stomach: “Oh, quit your kidding! Go get the blackberry brandy!”

Come on, Col. Pabst; let us begin the New Year joyfully with a couple of kegs of that Baltimore Muenchener. And if not a couple of kegs, then anyhow one keg. Satan Anderson will got us soon or late. Why not be happy while we have the chance?--Adv.

Only one year more of the Rum Demon! Only 358 days more of Dashing Harry! Only 100 days more of winter underwear!