Part 2
Benares is called the “Holy City” on the principle, I suppose, that “in religion, what damned error, but some sober brow will bless it and approve it with a text.” As well call ice hot, vinegar sweet, vice virtue or hell heaven. One morning we pious pilgrims left the ladies, who were not permitted to accompany us, and climbed to the secluded spot where stands the Nepalese temple ornamented with gymnastic and obscene carvings that would make the red pictures of Pompeii blush with shame. These filthy figures of men and women, carved to please and pacify the gods, are not mentioned in the guide-books or referred to above a whisper in polite society. If this sex perversion marks the high tide of Buddhist faith, I am ashamed, though I have photos of the carvings which I keep in my strong-box packed in chloride of lime. Kali Hinduism may be bloody, but Buddhism here is beastly.
Almost as bad are the stone images and inscriptions in the caves of Elephanta out from Bombay. The temple columns, aisles and figures are hewn from the living rock. I looked at the three-faced Siva, and noticed the stylish headdress; saw another figure with cap ornament of human skulls; Virag, half-male and female, and the Siva shrine with the “lingam” altar before which millions of barren wives and hopeless girls had prostrated and prostituted themselves in Sivaite festivals. The temple keeper beckoned me to one side and gave me a private lecture on these “lingam,” phallus or Priapus symbols of sex organ worship which I had found in other lands. While he proceeded, my blush illuminated the dark cave, and as I left the “altar” a lady of our party approached and asked me what I had been looking at and what the guide said. I replied, “Forget it!” She wouldn’t, I couldn’t, and since she was past middle age and married, I looked her square in the eye and reeled it off as if it were an Edison record. “Thank you,” she said. “It is always well to know about religion from a priest.” I told her I was no priest and this was no religion. There was a pool of clear water here and the frogs, big as turtles, were standing on their hind legs, with folded arms and eyes wide open with amazement, as if they were more shocked at what I had said than at the suggestive statues and symbols round about. If I had been alone I would have divested myself of all baggage but my trunks and plunged in to keep them company.
The blasé or bored can always find something new at a Hindu wedding or Nautch dance. I saw Nautch girls--dressed in scarlet skirts trimmed with gold, caris or scarfs of brightest colors, trousers tight-fitting and gilt-embroidered, bracelets or anklets of gold, and silver bells--dancing for hours, illustrating pictures of thought, passion and emotion, to love-throbs, tune and time. Once I heard a story of the origin of the Nautch dance: A Rajah’s daughter was stolen and raped; the ravisher was caught by the father, strung up, slashed like ribbons on a Maypole, then whirled around, and anyone on whom the blood spattered was privileged to assault any woman he met.
India has no old maids or bachelors. Cradles are robbed of their babies for marriage, and some suitors are promised before born if sexed right. The proverb reads, “Every girl at 14 must be either a wife or a widow.” Many men in India are slaves--all women are. Woman is not to be trusted, and is held the cause of man’s sin whether she be sage or fool. She is object and subject as a child to her father, as wife to her husband, and as widow to her son’s or husband’s relatives. To obey her hubby is supposed to be the only God she needs or wants. To obey and worship him is to worship the gods (though he be a devil). Caste injures them more than men, and she is old before 25 and looks it. Child-marriage is the style and prevails in places, though the British government made a law that a girl might be married yet not live with her husband till she was 12 years old. Imagine a 10 year old girl marrying a 30 year old man. Any negligent father, who does not find a husband before his daughter is 12, is held to be a public monster and criminal. Of course, boys and girls mature earlier in the tropics and have families when people North haven’t gone so far as to be even sweethearts.
In the comparative study of other religions I could always find some sweetness and light, but Hinduism is darkness and dirt. Its votaries are vile, their gods are deified beasts, and their devotees are beastly depraved. Caste, child-marriage, obscene worship, Nautch girls, ignorance, superstition, poverty and plague prove Hinduism to be a hell on earth and a disease that dwarfs and damns man’s body, mind and soul.
_Questions and Answers_
=Dear Captain Billy=--My two sisters and myself have been gratified this week by the arrival in each family of a set of twins. Kindly suggest names for these six darlings.--=Patriotic Patricia.=
My moss-covered suggestion: “Pete and Repeat, Kate and Duplicate, and Max and Climax.”
* * * * *
=Dear Capt. Billy=--I am a sweet eighteen year old girl and last night I met a nice man with a limousine that wants to take me for a ride. Will it be alright to go?--=Alice.=
Let your conscience be your guide.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--Do you think it would be alright if I took a tramp in the woods.--=Sweet Sixteen.=
Yes, it’s excellent exercise.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billious=--I have been married a few months and my hubby is always saying our baby is a much abused creature. What do you think he means?--=Mrs. Guey.=
He probably means that your darling baby gets a bust in the mouth every hour or so.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bull=--Do you like cocktails?--=Ana Monyous.=
Yes, I should say so. You finish the answer.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--I’ve often heard the toast: “To George Washington, first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen.” Do you think he was always first?--=Willie, age 12.=
Yes, with the exception that he married a widow.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--What kind of a woman should I marry?--=Sandy Henna.=
Venus would be fine. She would be perfectly safe, as both her arms are missing and she couldn’t throw things.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--What is a definition for man and woman?--=Pinkie Cherry.=
Man, Pinkie, is the Lord of Creation, and Woman is the lady of Recreation.
* * * * *
=Dear Banger=--I want to be married secretly. What shall I do?--=Pussy Foot.=
Go to a justice of the peace.
* * * * *
=Dear Phiz=--Is strychnine effective in stopping heart ailments.--=Co-ed.=
Yes, if taken in sufficient quantities, strychnine will stop anything.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bill=--You’ve been in the army, Cap, so will you kindly tell us the difference between an engagement and a battle?--=Ida Clare.=
Yes, Ida, and I’m married, too. The engagement, you realize, takes place before the marriage.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Bull=--What are wedding bells?--=Katinka Stinka.=
Lemon peals.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--What is the solution of the liquor problem?--=A. Boozem Friend.=
A solution of malt and hops containing about 5 per cent of water.
* * * * *
=Dear Farmer Bill=--How’s your corn crop this year? What did it go to the acre?--=Acorn Farmer.=
Wa’al, I reckon it’ll go about 350 gallons to the acre, by gum.
* * * * *
=Dear Doctor Billy=--Will you kindly inform as to the bacterial proteins for cutaneous tests?--=Sheesa Whopper.=
She sure is a whopper for a farmer to answer. In fact, I found it necessary to call in the professional advice of old Doc Yak, who gives this reply: The bacterial proteins are staphylococcus aureus, micrococcus tetragenus, diphtheroid, streptococcus viridans, non-haemolyticus and pneumococcus. (Thank you, doctor.)
* * * * *
=Dear Captain Billy=--What is the proper definition of an oyster?--=G. Howie Snortz.=
An oyster, Mr. Snortz, is a peculiar fish better known as a bivalve and looks like a nut.
* * * * *
=Dear Bilious Billy=--Does cider really get hard enough to cause intoxication? I have a few gallons at home and do not care to indulge in strong drink?--=Molly Coddle.=
Hard? I should say it does, Molly. I drank three glasses one night last week while in Minneapolis and before long I thought I was crushed rock. Friends tell me I laid down on Nicollet Avenue and tried to pull the asphalt over me.
* * * * *
=Dear Captain=--Is it quite proper for a lady to let her husband look at her Whiz Bang?--=Lotta Ginger.=
Quite right, we would say--providing, of course, that it’s Captain Billy’s.
* * * * *
=Dear Bill=--I have been troubled with the seven-year itch. What shall I do?--=Ticklish Tillie.=
Scratch yourself.
* * * * *
The First Hundred Years
Discouraged prohibition enforcers should remember that the first hundred years are the wettest.
* * * * *
When my shoes wear out I’ll be on my feet again.
His Test of Faith
By RUDOLPH KUEFFNER
A couple, on their wedding trip, met a gypsy whose prophecies so greatly amused them that they gave her an extra dollar for good luck. In appreciation of the gift, the grateful gypsy presented her benefactors with a little white, glass phial containing a clear liquid. She admonished them to hold this phial as a sacred treasure, because the liquid would retain its crystalline clearness only so long as the loving couple were faithful to each other. But, warned the gypsy, unfaithfulness on the part of either will cause this liquid to turn a grayish hue.
The couple laughingly accepted the small bottle, took it home and, although disbelieving the gypsical dope-sheet, placed it carefully in an unused linen closet. They soon forgot the incident and lived in happiness for some time.
One summer, a few years later, the wife journeyed afar to visit relatives. Letters of love were exchanged and the hubby gave all his time to business cares, with the exception of Sundays, when he would entertain a few friends at his home. At one of these Sunday parties he amused the guests with the gypsy story of honeymoon days.
At the finish of the host’s recital, one of the men with an eye to a practical joke suggested pouring a bit of ink in the phial so as to make the liquid turn to gray. “On her return you can have a lot of fun at her jealousness,” he said, “and then call us in to prove your faithfulness.” The trick was done and in a few days Friend Wife came home.
While house-cleaning next day, she thought of the phial. Great horrors! Its contents had turned from pure white to a grayish tint. “My God, is it really so?” But after a few moments of hesitation she quickly poured out the gray substance and refilled the phial with clear water, placing it back in its former location.
Needless to say, it was not necessary for hubby’s friends to call to testify in his behalf.
* * * * *
The Difference
The two school friends accidentally met in the whirl of the city, and, of course, began a rapid fire of questions.
“What am I doing?” said Gladys, in reply to a query. “Oh, I’m a stenographer.” “What’s the boss like?” “Well, he’s quite young, and is awfully kind to me. See, he gave me this bangle and this brooch, and nearly every week he takes me to dinner and the theatre. And the salary’s quite good--$25 a week. And you, Ethel--what are you doing, dear?”
“Same as you,” snapped Ethel, “only there’s no shorthand-typing mixed up with it.”
* * * * *
For Men Only
Some of us poor, down-trodden he-men, and farmers, chuckle with glee when our sturdy wives drag us to church on Sunday to listen to such passages of Scripture regarding the weaker (?) sex as follow. In view of granting the ladies equal rights at the ballot, these few lines appear to be particularly timely, so follow closely, boys, and chuckle again:
“Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection; suffer not woman to think or usurp authority over man, for Adam was formed first, not Eve.
“For a man indeed ought not to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and glory of God; but the woman is the glory of man. For the man is not of the woman but woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman, but the woman for the man. Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands as unto the Lord, for the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church.
“When thou goest forth to war against thine enemies, and the Lord Thy God hast delivered into thine hands, and thou hast taken them captive, and hast seen among the captives a beautiful woman and hast a desire unto her that thou wouldst have her for thy wife, then thou shalt bring her home to thy house, and she shall shave her head, and pare her nails.”
* * * * *
Fast Workers
They were introduced at 7:15.
By 8:10 they were talking cozily in a movie.
At 9:30 they were regarding each other intimately over the remains of a chicken sandwich.
At 9:44 they stood wistfully near on the front porch.
Promptly at 9:45 he kissed her.
By 9:50 she kissed him.
At 10:00 with a touch of sadness they parted.
He walked down the steps dejectedly, but upon hearing the door close, he snapped out and walked briskly home and cut another notch in his military brushes.
“How they fall,” he murmured, “probably I am a handsome devil.”
She, sitting before her dressing-table, yawned.
“How they fall,” she sighed; “perhaps I am a sweet and delightful girl.”
And she put his name in a thick little book she had been keeping since she was sixteen!
* * * * *
Shortcomings
A negro woman went into a department store and said to the clerk:
“Mister, can I exchange these stockings?”
“Why, certainly, madam; don’t they come up to your expectations?”
“Lawdy, no; dey hardly come up to ma knees.”
* * * * *
Marjorie Was So Obliging
Little 5-year-old Marjorie was the sunshine of her mother’s heart and on all possible occasions her brightness was paraded before “company.”
It was at a meeting of the Loyal Ladies’ Card club that Marjorie’s mother contrived to “show up” her darling daughter. First she asked the little tot to get Mrs. Jones a drink of water. Marjorie got the water and was thanked for it. She was then asked to get Mrs. Smith a drink. She complied and again was thanked. She went through the same procedure for four more ladies. After the last one had drank, the mother proudly asked little Marjorie to bring in a drink for her before going out to play.
In a few moments Marjorie returned, but without water for mother.
“Muvver, I tant det any more water,” she childishly lisped.
“Why not, my child, surely you’ll get your mother a drink?”
“I tant, muvver, the water’s all don and I tant weach the chain.”
* * * * *
Fits Most Lunch Foundries
A Holyoke, Mass., lunch room displays over the counter a large sign which reads as follows:
Don’t make fun of our coffee. You may be old and weak yourself some day. Use one helping of sugar and stir like hell. We don’t mind the noise.
* * * * *
They Both Walked
The other evening a swell appearing young couple asked if they might leave an automobile cushion at the Whiz Bang farm while they hiked to Robbinsdale to report the theft of their motor car. I said “Sure,” and I still have the cushion.
* * * * *
Before July First
The policeman watched the man creep slowly out of the saloon. Hastily he approached the unfortunate culprit:
“I just saw you come out of that saloon!”
“Sh’ever see me before?”
“No!”
“Then how ’djou know it was me?”
* * * * *
Page Mr. Croton
Are you acquainted with Olive Oil?
Very well, indeed.
Well, I’m her brother, Castor.
* * * * *
Something to Worry About
The famous race horse, Man o’ War, receives more personal attention than any being, human or otherwise, since Cleopatra. He has a retinue of servants and is housed more expensively than the Gaekwar of Baroda or the Jhilwar of Jhock.
* * * * *
Love isn’t blind--just near-sighted.
_Whiz Bang Editorials_
“_The Bull is Mightier Than the Bullet_”
Did you ever feel embarrassed? We did, the other day when the boss cow, Ethelbert, kicked over our bucket at milking time and ripped our trousers in front of the chickens. Write to us about your embarrassed moments and let’s console each other. For instance, Gus, our hired man, was in Minneapolis the other day getting his usual supply of moonshine and was riding on the street car to the depot.
“I noticed a girl sitting across the aisle that I had met while in swimming at Lake Minnetonka last summer,” said Gus when he got home, “I had not seen her since until then. I tipped my cap and said ‘Hello! How are you?’” and for a minute she looked at me blankly and then burst out: “Oh, why, hello! I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.’ Of course this attracted the attention of the passengers and I found it more comfortable by getting off the car at the next stop for another little drink.”
Now, of course, that may have been only Gus’s alibi for coming home intoxicated.
* * * * *
I had a similar experience myself last time I was in the city. A girl was telling me how embarrassed she was. “Do you know,” she confided, “I was standing in a doorway fixing my garter when a gust of wind came along and blew the hair from off my right ear. I was so embarrassed, don’t you know.”
* * * * *
Newspapers tell of a woman who, in order to become a mother, obtained a divorce and married another man for a year, after which she and her child went back to her first husband. This is an exception. Some women, it seems, now are inclined not to trouble with the divorce proposition at all.
* * * * *
Diogenes grabbed his trusty lantern and hiked from the Presidio of Frisco to the Bronx of Manhattan searching for an honest man. Old Diog was a wise bird; he never even looked for an honest woman.
* * * * *
He seeks relief in vain who will not follow advice.
We always remember those who have done us a favor when we want another favor done.
Running down other people’s reputation won’t run up your own.
The trouble with the average man is that he seldom increases his average.
Many a “good fellow” is so stingy with his family that he’ll stand between his wife and a show window.
When holding a straight flush it is better to stay in and raise and win than not to have raised at all.
* * * * *
The pretty manicurist, Louise, Has very many beaus; She calls these fellows, if you please, Her manicurios.
Holding hands is dangerous business. The hand is the lightning conductor of love and lust. The manicurist, like Othello, would find “occupation gone” if hand-holding were practised by men or old women. It is the sex element that usually attracts and holds.
Many modest and decent manicurists go regularly and professionally to the homes of their patients, or are found in office, parlor or barber annex position. Anywhere and everywhere they are pure and true womanly.
People who won’t work with their hands are known by the manicures they keep. Nails are peeled, pared, polished and painted, while the owner’s rough mind lives in the cellar and garret of mental and moral poverty.
Manicuring is a society luxury for men and women who form the polished horde of bores and bored. The world is still deceived with fuss and feathers and people who hide grossness with fair ornament.
The manicure is a necessity for musicians, doctors--and dudes and darlings in society who, beyond the actual care of their body, in food, dress and drink, think their hands were only made to wear gloves, rings, be manicured, held or united in a “good catch” marriage.
The rich are manicured who have money to burn. The idle are manicured who have time to waste. The idiots are manicured who have no idea of the value of time or money. Libertines are manicured who play guilty Fausts to pure and innocent Margarets. Hotel leechers and loafers are manicured who forget mother, sister, wife or sweetheart.
They have no time or money for church or charity, but sit by the hour holding a girl’s hand, looking into her face, trying to fan a spark of passion into their burnt-out cinder body while with hand, foot, eye and tongue they try to make a date.
The word “hand” means to hold or seize and is to man what the claw is to the bird, fin to fish, and hoof to horse. The hand is marvelously made with 27 bones, 8 of which are in the wrist, 5 form the palms, and 14 the bones or phalanges, or fingers. The hand was made for work, as proved by anatomy and Scripture--“Go to work”; “Work earnestly with both hands”; “Handsome is that handsome does”; and black or white hands are fine which do good work. Angelo carving marble, Raphael painting Madonnas, Shakespeare writing immortal dramas, Beethoven copying heavenly symphonies, Washington drawing his sword for liberty, and Lincoln penning the Emancipation Proclamation, spent little time or money in manicuring parlors.
Beautiful are the hands of wife, sister, man or friend which have directed, lead and lifted us by pitfall, through marsh and despair to mount the height on which we stand--hands perfumed with prayer, baptized with tears, clasped with affection, and generous with charity.
The man ought to be horsewhipped who uses the words “hard,” “homely,” “unmanicured,” of the hands of a father, calloused that they might give daily bread; hands of a mother, blistered and aching for work never done until they are crossed white in the coffin and God gives them rest; baby hands which twine around the trellis of our hearts and are unclasped by Death.
* * * * *
Another “international marriage” has gone the way of many spectacular predecessors--through the divorce mill.
In this it is hardly noteworthy. Experience and commonsense alike indicate that such unions rarely can be successful. The base allurements of a British title on one side and American gold on the other, are not the sources in which wholesome happiness finds its inspiration.
But in quite another way there is something worth noting in the divorce proceedings through which Consuelo Vanderbilt has freed herself, at last, from the disreputable ninth duke of Marlborough. It is the revelation, through her simple letters, of the true nobility of birth which does not rest upon a “Burke’s Peerage” or an “Almanach de Gotha.”
Miss Vanderbilt married this highly decorated fortune hunter in 1895. Two children were born to them. For their sakes the American wife, with womanly reserve, suffered much indignity during many years. Eventually driven to a separation, she still endured in silence, without resort to the unsavory publicity of divorce, reflecting upon her growing sons.
These children came of age last winter. The wife then made a last brave effort toward reconciliation. There was a brief reunion--ending in a disgraceful visit of the 45-year-old duke to Paris with a 25-year-old female companion.
Blood will tell--the plain American kinds and likewise the tainted blue sort that trickles through “noble” veins.
* * * * *
Noah was building the ark. A gang of “drys” hung around criticizing the job.