Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1914-09-22
PASSED BY THE CENSOR

THE wonderfully blue waters of the bay Of
i Funchal, off the coast Of Madeira, gilt
tered translucently In small boats party
Of American tourists landed from the steam
ship. McNab, who had q mania for collect
ing outre things. announced that he would
buy the finest old Madeira wine on the island
and with that, he disappeared on his hunt,
the while the others saw the sights.
And then the unregenerates laid deep
and wicked plot to commander that wine.
So they got back to the steamship well in
advance and awaited events. Just as the
whistle blew it's "al aboard" McNab hove
in sight in a small boat, lovingly caressing
a basket. He tied it to a rope, mounted to
the steamships deck and began to hoist up
his precious burden.
But the wicked ones were prepared and
when the basket. was passing certain port
hole, hand protruded and two bottles, COD
webbed and ancient looking, were lifted
bodily into the inner recesses Of the steam
ship Whereupon the ships surgeon brought
fine cigars and the first mate nuts and bis
cults. Then the purloiner after more or
less neat speech of triumph, pulled the corks
and-poured cut the clearest, incest water
ever seen!
McNab had paid So each for the bottles, but
he never knew-the unregenerates had just
enough self-respect left not to tell him the
awful truth.
TT HAPPENED last week, when the sun
i shone brightly and the poesy of autumn
was in the air. l wandered far afeld into the
lands beyond Collingdae-over the hills ana
far away, until l came to tumble-dowh
stone building, decayed with age and redo
lent with historic memories. There arose
g 40, q
of our wars Memory painted pictures of
love and intrigue and bloodshed and the pur-
suit of peace and then-came the most an
cient inhabitant.
Pretty old buirdng?" ventured the writer,
seeking information.
Pretty old" responded the man.
IT'S probably played an important part in
our country's history?"
Not that know Of" responded the old
man; its been COW barn nigh all It's Ire
Whereupon I beat a mastery retreat.
TTEINRICH HEINE, the German poet, lay
i i desperately i'll in Paris, an exile from his
native land Stunned by members of his race
because of his change of faith, disliked by
those of his religion. But though
paralyzed his mind as clear and acute
as ever and his wit as cutting. Daily he
wrote Tor a trenCn paper, lnClslNt, idplei-
like, cutting and sharp We're his remarks.
And the butt of his daily joke was one of the
Rothschilds. For months this had continued,
and then Rothschild could stand the jibes no
longer. He sent a friend to Heine to offer
him a life of ease if he would forego his
satrical attacks.
Stop" asked Hene. stop the attacks on
Rothschild? What other pleasure have l left
in life? Tell Rothschild that all his millions
could not buy health for me. Tell him that
my lampooning pleases me more than it hurts
him.
So to the day Of Helne's death, Rothschild
had to endure.
TN PARIS, Heine had married French
1 woman of dubious antecedents and utterly
at variance with the spiritual nature of the
poet She was good nurse however, dvid-
ing her time between Heine and her parrot.
One day she disappeared and friend, con-
doing with the sick man, suggested that she
had elopcd.
rs her parrot still here?" asked Heine.
Yes"
Then she'll come back" And come back
she did.
u DOMANCE is a thing of the past. Our
IN childhood dreams and fancies have been
releEated into the Scrapheap of materiallSm.
The thrill of old is replaced by the certainty
of knowledge What is it all about? Oh, yes,
Robinson Crusoes isle has been connected
with the rest of the world by wireless! Can
you conceive it, Robinson signaling to Fri
day to come to his aid? or one far
away punctuating the air with electric flashes
to warn him that the savages were coming?
Gone are the days of the buccaneers, the
rovers of the sea.
Robinson Crusoes isle has been annexed to
the rest of the world!
DENEATH the great st. Stephens Cathe-
ID dral in Vienna, which may yet be taken
by the Russians, is a labyrinth of catacombs,
nearly equal to that of Rome. For miles the
subterranean passages twist and turn in
Cimmerian darkness. When a very small boy
I was taken into the depths by my father,
accompanied by a guide who carried a torch.
Somehow or other, I went astray and wan
dered off The reflected light of the torch
showed skeletons of Capuchn monks, ar
rayed in the hooded vestments of their order,
standing in silent, gruesome rows against
the damp walls; horrors We're multiplied in
my childish brain.
Papa" I yelled, and the echoes sounded
and resounded in quavering tones, dying
away in ghostly whispers. And when l was
safe with my dad, a moment later was the
L,Dpiast ,,oupgs+er In all EurODe,