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It flooded the crimson canvas
With the gush of a broken dam
And It lay In sticky masses
Like upset gooseberry jam.
It rioted blazing color,
Like love ballyrj iglng strife
It seemed the loquacious echo
Of our discordant wife.
It linked all Futurist meanings
Into one perfect cube,
Ar.d broke itself up rnto facets
Like a wreck In a Hudson Tube.
I seek, but I seek It vainly,
That vast, symbolic line,
That came from the head of the staircase
And entered into mine.
It may be that Pab Picasso
Has painted the thing before;
And it may be that only in Bedlan
I shall paint that Nude some more.
IIEAKST’R .SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, JUNE 1, 1013.
Wild Flowers
I Have Mel
By MIKE CHESTERFIELD
The Violet.
Copyright, 1815, by the Star Company.
Great Britain Hiftht* Reserved
The violet Is a modest little
flower that grows In bunches
down by the babbling brook.
But there are other Violets.
They do not always grow In
bunches of other violets, but they j
go In buDches of Roses, Lllys,
etc., and as for babbling—they've
got any brook that ever babbled
sounding like the silent tomb.
And there was one particular
Violet—If you ever happened to
know a Violet you will remember
6he was particular—but there was
one particular Violet that pleased
me Immensely.
I used to call her my "modest
little Violet.”
That was a number of years
ago. As 1 said before, she was
particular. That's why she mar
ried someone else. But at the
time I picked her—I had been
going with a wild Daisy before I
met her—she was certainly a
MODEST LITTLE Violet.
But that was some years ago.
1 thought my modest little Violet
would accept me, but when T pro
posed, she shook her head, gig
gled, laughed and said, “NO."
Now, I won’t marry any girl
who giggles and laughs and shakes
her head and sayB "NO’’ when I
propose. 1 told her she wasn’t
the only flower In the human bou
quet, that I knew a Lily and pre
ferred Lilys to Violets any day.
Then my modest little Violet
sure became a wild flower. .
But not half as wild as she was
when I met her the other day.
She was down at the beach with
her four children. The oldest one
is three years. The youngest one
Is twins.
My MODEST little Violet wore
Tier hair In a bathing cap, and she
also had on a single-piece bathing
suit. People rushed for miles to
get a look at her. They then
rushed madly away. #
For my modest LITTLE Violet
now weighs 207 pounds!
And when she saw me laughing
she was the wildest wild Violet
that ever grew. And this Violet
grew some.
How Great Foets Would Deal with the Cubist Art
By CAROLYN WELLS
T HE Re-Echo Club having just held
its quarterly meeting, we are glad
to be able to present to the public
the result of its most recent efforts.
As the members were all exceedingly in
terested in the Cubist and Futurist move
ment, they concentrated their attention on
the famous painting, so aptly named, "7 he
Nude Descending Staircase." The mem
bers unanimously agreed that, done into
immortal verse, this noble work of art could
be rendered intelligible and acceptable to
the public.
We append such of their poems as have
been received to date.
Mr. Wordsworth treated the subject
boldly, thus:
S HE was a phantom of a fright
When first she buret upon my sight;
A Cubist apparition meant
To symbolize a nude's deecent.
Her eyes like soft shell crab* aflare,
Like loada of brick her duaky hair;
And all things else about her drawn
As by one coming home at dawn.
A fearsome shape, an image fierce,
To haunt, to startle, and to pierce.
I saw her upon nearer view,
Like a aymbolic oyster stew;
A countenance In which did meet
The paving block* from some old street;
The staircase, floating fancy-free,
With steps of Cubic liberty.
A perfect lady, nobly built,
Constructed like a crazy quilt
Or a volcano on a spree,
Or herd of elephants at tea.
The staircase, by a bombshell wrecked,
With aomething of a burst effect.
What do you (hink of A. Dob
son’s triolet:
O H, see the Nude
Descend the Stair!
Fear not, oh, prude
To see the Nude;
For by the rood,
She isn’t therel
Oh, see the Nude
Descend the Stair!
t.uiMuKU, i‘JU. b> the Sl«r Cumjauj. Grrst Britain Itlahu ittntrreS
Why My Hobby Isn’t a Horse
By AL JOLSON
Now Appearing in “The Honeymoon Express.”
Copyright. IS!.**, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Keserved.
S INCE the days of Adam, the world’s greatest gardener, it has been
decreed that every man should have a hobby, even as every woman
should have a hubby. The hobby of Solomon and Brigham Young
was wive.-, but nowadays that rare species of genus womanus. the mar
ried suffragette, makes a hobby of her hubby.
But not being a race track guy, or the owner of a merry-go-round,
I can’t make my hobby, horses. 1 am a motorist, a gasoline fiend. In
.u-t, the high cost of gasoline made me take to acting in order that I
might continue to run about in my runabout.
Well, what do you think suggested acting as a means of buying shoes
lor the auto? It's a secret, because I've never told anybody but my
wife However, as the thunder-storm said to old Bon Franklin, "I'll en
lighten you, if you can stand the shock." It was this way. 1 was
chugging up Fifth Avenue one bright day some years ago. penniless and
hungry, not knowing where my next drop of gasoline was coming from.
Latest Styles in Summer Girls
Copyright. 1913. by the Star Company
T HE Summer girl in greatest
demand will be one of attrac
tive form and features, who
detests ice cream and bon-bons,
Ut loves moonlight strolls and sen
timental conversation on every-
l'.ng except sane topics.
The dashing, riotous, boisterous
girls who do not know a skillet
from a pachyderm, will be prime
favorites at all Summer resorts;
Jtut the domestic girl with lower-
lg eyelids and dainty blushes sl
ays gets firs, choice of husbands.
The ntyrow skirts and silk
! tip carefully watched
this season, as usual, while no glr!
.’ill consider the Summer a sue-
ess or herself quite in style unless
he lias a choice of at least five
jlltslrvs during the vacation.
^Tennis girls spring into popu-
arity by leaps and bounds, but
yachting girls sail serenely into
he hearts of many millionaire
yachtsmen. For yachting banquets,
'vine-colored gowns are best as
:!lcy do not show the wear and
•car of the occasion.
Chaperones who fail asleep after
ach meal and also after the fl-st
glass of champagne, will be the
glassiest sort this season and in
'treat Britain Kiuhta Reserved,
great demand. There is still a
difference of opinion concerning
the desirability of brunettes and
blondes. In fact, both of them are
desired, but the proprieties ■ must
be observed, hence it constitutes a
faux pas to acquire both shades at
once. One must appear to be satis
fied with either a blonde or bru
nette, unless a red-headed girl has
the larger checks.
Girls who are up-to-the-minute
in modes will not take to natural
flesh tints at evening parties and
hops this Summer. Two of the
most popular shades are poudre-de-
riz and rouge.
However, at the beaches during
bathing, natural flesh tints will be
very much in view . Those who ac
tually swim will wear watered silk.
The mountain resort girls will
come high, as usual, while dust-
colored garments will be worn by
the motor girls. But young men
will do well not to allow the motor
girls to steer them.
Taken altogether—and that's the
way (hey have to be taken—the 1913
Summer girl will prove a marvelous
creation for all events and on all
occasions. Taken apart, cite is
fearfully and wonderfully made
-up. - * > • •
Suddenly, just as I was rounding the corner In my modest little one- I
lung car, one of those big, burly Fifth Avenue busses bore down upon |
me. mercilessly. I was hit right between the tonneau and the carburetor. I
Anil from that moment 1 can truthfully say that I have been stage-struck. |
Ever since then 1 have motored until I am black in the face I j
have a spirited little 120 horse power buzz vehicle, and since the Mayor
kindly cleared Broadway for us motorers at 1 o’clock I can get an early
start and burn up the asphalt at one horse per mile.
When It comes to steering an auto. I'm from Texas. Now’ you know
I don t want to brag about my past life, about my boyhood training or
anything like that, you understand, but 1 will say that my ability as &n
auto steerer is due to that alone—my boyhood training. Father got me
a job as brakeman on a freight car at the tender age of ten, and I learned |
how to handle the wheel most fluently. Father was a firm believer in
the old song. "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is
an old guy he will not depart from it ". So 1 was trained by freight
Then after I had been working on the railroad all the livelong day
1 would come home and work around town as the village grasscutter. So
you see between the lawnmower and the freight car brake an auto was
never steered by more intimate hands than mine.
The main difference now is that instead of mowing down grass I mow
down chickens (1 mean regular egg chickens), and other animalia that
are wont to clog the country lanes. 1 always have a cowcatcher on the
prow of my machine, so that any delinquents we meet may not be
ground ’neath the wheels of progress.
If you’re an auto hobbyist, it’s a cinch you're not indefatigable. I’ll
have to translate that I mean to say that in this respect you're like
the car. always tired. It’s hard to discuss the tire question—just like
arguing in a circle. Some tires are like Kolemaien, the Finn athlete—
best in the long run. Then others are like the Pittsburg baseball team
best in the short stop. Personally, I’m looking for a tire like the electric
light—the kind that don't blow out.
Until 1 had the self-starter put on, my car was very cranky. It used
to be so bad sometimes that I had to hire a moving-picture operator to
turn the handle. Even he would play out after about a thousand turns. If
It hadn't been for the coming of the self-starter I would have had to get
a ferryboat deckhand.
Every morning I exercise by running about ten miles before break
fast -in the car. By that time my.poor old tires are winded and 1 stop
at the old town pump for some fresh air. That’s where the exercise
begins—the exercise that puts dumb-bells to shame. It's so hard on one's
constitution to have tubercular tires. I’ll just have to get some of that
new serum for them, I can see that.
An auto needs a doctor every day. It's either water in the car
buretor, or magneto meningitis, or cirrhosis of the cylinder, or poor
circulation of the radiator, or the springs leak, or a wheezy exhaust, or
1 tonneau what all.
Anyhow, he who is addicted to automoblliug is the king of out door
sports, because he can always have a queen sitting beside him. To say-
nothing of three or four ladies in waiting behind the throne in the rear
seat. Pick up two and carry live is the system. Cars built for five will !
always hold seven. Why not he accommodating, even if you have to
sell standing room.
The only thing I hate about it is when a joy ride ends in a gloom
walk Forty-five miles (not minutes) from Broadway in a balky auto is
a consummation devoutly to be dished, or ditched, if it happens that way.
One of the most enjoyable features we motor-bugs enjoy is racing ■
with the motor-cycle cops. You know those pests are as persistent as
mosquitoes; but now that we have bullet-proof tires they can't take I
unfair advantage of us. 1 never saw a bike-cop yet that didn’t want to
bet ten dollars he could beat us. Then as soon as we took him up he'd
start to “hoot.
There are over a million autos in these United States. That means,
you know, one out ot every ninety houses is mortgaged. But are we
dowubearted? Not as long a* ive Keep up oar interest.
Of course, no one is a sweeter
poetess than Miss A. A. Proctor:
S EATED one day at my eaael,
I was hungry and somewhat faint.
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the tubes of paint.
I know not what I was drawing
Or what I was painting there,
But I eplotched a Cubic Symbol
Like a Nude Descending a Stair!
And how the admirers of Mr.
Poe wiii enjoy this: ^
i n
I T was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom made of squares,
That a lady lived whom you may know
As the Nude Descending the Stairs.
And the lady lived with no other home,
But those racketty-packetty stairs!
And tne moon never Beams
Without jarring the seams
Of those cubic triangular stairs;
And the earth never quakes
Without bring! ig the shakes
To those wigglety-wagglety stairs.
And neither the artists In circles above,
Or the critics who view the debris,
Can ever dissever the Nude from the Stairs,
For both are so hobble-de-gee,
So hobble-de-wobble-de-gee!
Mr. A. Tennyson is quite frank
in his opinions, and it would seem
that he does not altogether admire
the lady:
ADY CLARA STAIR DE STAIR,
Of me you shall not win renown.
You thought to charm the country's heart
As you the staircase tumbled down.
At me you splashed, but unabashed,
I saw you in your paint attired;
You daughter of a hundred cubes,
You are not one to be desired.
Lady Clara Stair de Stair,
I care not for these wild etudes;
A simple Titian in a frame
Is worth a hundred Staircase Nudes.
Howe'er It be, It seems to me
It isn’t noble to be fools;
Fine arts are more than Futurists,
And simple lines than Cubist Schools.
Mr. Kipling, of course, goes
right to the heart of things:
A FOOL there was and he drew a stair
(Even as you and 1)1
And he painted a Nude Descending there,
(We called it a Hurricane on a Tear)!
But the foot he called it a lady square,
(Even as you and 1)1
Oh, the time we waste and the paint we waste,
And the terrible things we scrawl;
Depicting the lady who isn't there
(And now we know that she isn't there)
And never was there at all!
JUST FOR FUN
Copyright, 1913, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
Hard to Locate.
11 rpilERE ain’t no ham in this here sandwich,” a customer growled,
seated on a high stool before the marble bar of a railway restau
rant. *
“Oh, you ain’t come to the ham yet,” the attendant answered easily.
The man ate on a while longer. Then he growled again: “Still no
ham.”
“Oh,” said the attendant, “you’ve bit over it now.’ 1
Couldn’t Take a Chance.
mHEY met at a dinner for the first time since their meeting in Paris
the previous week.
“And did you have a pleasant crossing?” asked the hostess.
"We did—very,” was the answer.
’’You were not 111, I hope?" asked the hostess, turning to the wife.
"No-o," said the young wife, “I was not. But I couldn't have yawned
often.”
"Bill certainly was a good sweeper," said one.
“Ye-e-s,” conceded the other, thoughtfully. “But—don’t you think
he was a little weak around the lamp-posts?”
JT is easier to forgive a hot temper than a cold dinner.
Universal Brotherhood.
TATHEN I train my lamps on a slant-eyed Jap.
' * I may see he’s a man and a brother.
But to live and eat, and sleep with the yap,
I don’t wanter, somehow ’ruther.
important Point.
QtPEAKING of common-sense, a famous physician tells the following
^ story:
A mysterious building had been erected on the outskirts of a small
town. It was
Strong Feature.
The Vacation Question.
jjJMPLOYEE—Why, sir, even the Creator took a vacation. Doesn’t the
good book tell us that God made man and rested?
EMPLOYER—Yes, and after he’d rested he made woman. Doesn’t
that confirm my contention that vacations are pernicious?
Proof Positive.
ryyAY down in Florida two darkies were discussing the color of cer-
"* tain Biblical personages. One of them asserted that, as Palestine
was about in a line with Africa, the people must all have been colored.
“Lor’ bress you’ heart!” said the speaker, “St. Peter an’ St. Paul
an’ the rest of the apostles was as white as that North’n gen’l man ober
dere.”
"No, sah!” said the man in opposition. "Paul may ha’ been, but St.
Peter—no. sah! St. Peter was a culler d genl'man.”
“You’re wrong; for if St. Peter'd been color’d, dat cock wouldn’t ha’
crowed more n once’L”
The Ruling Passion.
A RTIST, to automobile salesman—I wish to look at your latest model.
SALESMAN—Fully equipped, sir?
ARTIST—No. In the nude.
Who Could Resist?
A I.FRED was having one of his “bad" days, and upon coming to the
• Q - table began to cry. He was sent to the kitchen to wait until the
family had finished.
Several minutes afterward, when the incident was forgotten by all
but small Alfred, the kitchen door opened softly and a small red head
and a pair of dancing eyes, but a very serious little face was thrust Into
the dining-rooin, while a very pathetic little voice said:
"Anybody here call Alfred?”
shrouded in mys
tery. All that was
known about it
Was that it was a
chemical labora
tory. An old far
mer, driving past
the place after
work had been
started, and see
ing a man in the
doorway, called to
film:
“What be ye
doin’ in this here
place?”
"We are search
ing for a universal
solvent — some
thing that will
dissolve all
things,” said the
chemist.
“What good will
thet be?”
‘‘Imagine, sir—
it will dissolve all
things? If we want
a solution of
iron, glass, gold, anything,
solution.”
“Fine,” said the farmer,
HerTtT
Pffoir*..
He—The facial features plainly indicate char,
acter and disposition.
She—In selecting me for a wife were you gov
erned by any of my features?
He—No; but I have been ever since.
She—Which one?
He—Your chin?
all that we have to do is to drop it in this
"fine! What be ye goln’ to keep it in?-'
The January or Judas Kiss.
URL papers often lead to divorce papers.
Not Real Thorough
SENATOR HEYBURN, discussing a political betrayal, said:
^ “The thing was as bad as the Judas kiss, or, rather, the Janu
ary kiss, as it's more timely to say now.”
"The January kiss?” stammered the puzzled reporter.
’Why, yes, the January kiss,” said Senator Heyburn. "It s the kiss
a wife gives her husband in January, you know, to see whether .h«’s
broken his New Year resolution yet.”
A STOR^ was recently told to exemplify the pride which every man
should take in the work by which he makes a living.
Two street-sweepers, seated on a curbstone, were discussing a com
rade who had died the day before,
t
It Was Ever Thus.
UIZZER—Did that ointment cure your rheumatism?
SIZZER—No. It was a disappointment.