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■> l IIEARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, OA , SUNDAY. MAY 25, 1913. T n he ! Fir * t * ea ^.® r C Mutt and His Sister Get an Awiui Shock u Printed in the Year 2911 Compiled by LEWIS ALLEN. Copyright, 1913, by the Star Company. Great Britain Itights Reserved. MAN. H ERE we have a man as he ac-tu-al-ly ap peared up on the streets as late as the year 1964. Note his bi-fur-cated ne-ther garment! Is It not ex-treme-Iy fem-l-nine? In those days man was ot con-sid-er-able im-port-ance. He ac-tu-al-ly had the prlv-1-lege of vo-tlng! Not on ly that, but it Is claimed by va-rl-ous his-to-rtans that away back a-bout the year 1913 man did all, or near ly all the vo-tlng! Pre-pos-ter-ous as this may seem to-day, In this en-ltght-ened age, It Is, ne-ver-the-less true that wo-man real-ly al-lowed man to vote for near-ly flf-ty years, or un-tll the year 1963. It Is now near-ly twen-ty years since a man has ex-pressed a de-slre to vote. That man was—of course— prompt-ly e-lec-tro-cu-tea. 5 CL BY BUD” FISHER l>yrlght. 1913, by th* Star Conipuny.# Great Britain Right* K**erv«d. CHURCHES. c EE these ex-treme-lv old bulld-ings with han dles on them. Are they not queer? No, they are not freaks; those tall pick ed things are not hand les, but things called “spires.*' The bulld-ings are what were known a cen-tury a-go as "churches.” A church was a build-ing where peo-ple used to gath-er on days called Sun-days and read a book called the Bl-ble. A man was paid a large sum to do what was called "preach." This was called '‘re li gion.'' In those days the peo-ple used to sit in the churches in-stead of go-ing out ln-to Na-tnre’s pure sun shine. Let us be thank ful we now live In an en-llght-ened age. DOCTOR. \70U do not know what the word "doctor” means. Let us explain to * you. A-way back In the dark days of 1900 to 1950 and per-haps e ven be-fore that, In the pre-hls-tor-ic days, there were men who called them-selves “doc-tors.” They used to try and heal the sick! There was sickness In those days. You do not know, of course, what slck-ness is, since In these days of Eu-gen-ics there is no such thing as sick ness. But this pic-ture is of an an cient doc-tor who gave bit-ter drugs and ac-tu-ally cut off limbs and re-moved ln-ter-nal or gans to en-able peo ple to live. They used to let any one live In those black days, in-stead of sav-lng on-ly the phy-sl-cal-ly and men-tal-ly per-fect as we do to-day. Ah, xny llt-tle readers, those w'ere in-deed days of woe and dls-tress. GRAFTERS. RAFT ERS used to be-long to a sort of or-gan-i-za-tlon called "po-llce,” and by per-mit-ting peo ple to vio-late laws they got paid for It and that was graft-ing. But that was In the dark a ges. A-way back In 1912 graft-ers used to re-sort to ev-ery thing, ln-cludlng mur-der. But as we are per-fect to-day we need no laws, and so there can be no graft-ing. And since all prop-er-ty is com mon and be-longs to all a-like, no one would want to graft, un-less some poor man should seek to dls-guise him-Belf as a wo-man and wear a r/iat and vest and trou sers and trv to vote, which 1b a capl-tal crime. WIT OF THE WEEK Such a Night! De Wolf Hopper’s Big Song Hit in “Iolanthe.” Copyright, 19t3, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved. W HEN you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is tabooed by anxiety. I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in without impropriety; For your brain is on fire—the bedclothes conspire of usual slumber to plunder you: First your counterpane goes and uncqvers your toes, and your sheet slips demurely from under you; Then the blanketing tickles—you feel like mixed pickles, so terribly sharp is the pricking. And you’re hot and you’re cross, and you tumble and toss till there’s nothing ’twixt you and the ticking; Then your bedclolhes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick ’em all up in a tangle; Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its usual angle. Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs and head ever aching, But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you’d very much better be wakmg; For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing like mad in a steamer from Harwich; Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very small second-class carriage; And you’re giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of friends and relations— They’re a ravenous horde, and they all come on board at Sloane Square and South Kensington stations; And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that morning from Devon) ; He’s a bit undersized, and you don’t feel surprised when he tells you he’s only eleven. Well, you’re driving like mad with this singular lad (by-the-bye, the ship’s now a four-wheeler). And you’re playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you tell him that “Ties pay the dealer”; But this you can’t stand, so you throw up your band, and you find you’re as cold as an icicle In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle; And he and the crew are on bicycles too—which they have somehow or other invested in— And he’s telling the tars all the particulars of a company he’s inter ested in: It’s a scheme of devices to get at low prices all goods from cough-mixtures to cables (Which tickles the sailors) by treating retailers as though they were all vegetables. You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off his boots with a boot-tree) And his legs will take root and his fingers will shoot, and they’ll blossom and sprssa rfice a fruit tree. From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green peas, cauliflowers, pine apples and cranberries. While the pastry-cook plant cherry brandy will grant, apple puffs and three corners, and banberries. The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by Rothschild and Baring; And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder despairing. You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck; and no wonder you snore, for your head’s on the floor, and you’re needles and pins from your soles to your shins; and your flesh is a-creep, for your left leg’s asleep, and you've a cramp in your toes, and a fly in your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and a thirst that’s intense, and a general sense that you haven't been sleeping in clover; but the darkness has passed, and it’s daylight at last, and the night has been lon^—ditto, ditto, my song ....d thank goodness they’re both .of them over] Tommy’s Invitation. Little Willie wanted a birthday party, to which his mother consent ed, provided he asked his little friend Tommy. The boys had had trouble, but father than not to have the party, Willie promised his moth er to invite Tommy. On the evening of the party, when all the small guests had arrived ex cept Tommy, the mother became sus picious and sought her son. “Willie,” she said, “did you invite Tommy to your party to-night?” “Yes, mother.” | “And did he say he would not come?” “No,” explained Willie. “I invited him all right, hut I dared him to come.” spectator to the interview, and when the man made this remark she threw her arms around her mother, crying: “Mother, if he takes you, I’ll go, too.” His Toast. At the close of the wedding break fast a gentleman noted for his lack of tact arose, causing keen anxiety to the bridegroom, who knew his failing. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he cried, genially, “1 propose the health of the bridegroom. May he see many days like this.” George’s Telegram. George was famous for being late at his appointments. He was en- , gaged to be married to a youug lady in a neighboring city, and when the day of the ceremony arrived George, as usual, did not appear. The bride was on the verge of nervous prostration when the following tele gram was received from the missing bridegroom: “Dear Helen—Missed early train Will arrive on the 4:31. Don’t get married until 1 get there.—George. ! It Wasn’t Like Sargent, After All. Once when John S. Sargent, the famous painter, was at a banquet a young lady whom he knew very well said to him: Oh, Mr. Sargent, I saw your latest painting and kissed it because it was so much like you.” “And did it kiss you in return?” “Why, no.” “Then,” sftid Mr. Sargent, “it was not like me.” We Don’t Know. Bjones—Don’t you think a talka tive woman is more popular with the men than any other kind? Henpecke—What other kind is there? Not Alone. An old Indian man, selling bas kets, called at Mrs. Allen’s one morning. He was very anxious to make a sale, and after considerable parleying he said: “Make me an offer, madam, and see if I don't take you up.” Little 5-vear-old Bertha was a The Bird and the Hyphen. A teacher in a lower grade was In structing her pupils in the use of a hyphen. Among the examples given by the children was “bird-cage.” “That’s right,” encouragingly re marked the teacher. “Now, I’aul, tell me why we put a hyphen in “bird cage." “It’s for the bird to sit on,” was the startling rejoinder. No Wonder. “Do you play any instrument, Mr. J imp ?” “Yes, I’m a cornetist.” “And your sister?” “She’s a pianist?” “Does your mother play?” “She’s a zitherist.” “And your father?” “He’s ,a pessimist.” Early Rising. “I reckon,” said the first farmer, “that I get up earlier than anybody in this neighborhood. I am always up before 3 o’clock in the morning.” The second farmer said he was al ways up before that and had part of his work done. 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