MANY A TRUTH IS SPOKEN IN JEST Srtributtnn —is this, the third volume of the Sphinx, with recollections of the sufferings and per- secutions which have followed our pathway thruout our years here, the incomprehensible and incredulous acts to which we have been subjected, and the ludicrous and irrelevant rules by which we have been forced to govern ourselves, dedicated, with the hope that it provides us with a faculty of dimming these acrimonious remembrances. Page One Hundred Thirty-four
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“MANY A TRUTH IS SPOKEN IN JEST Glancing thru the hies of a small and very erudite town in the northwest section of Utopia, we came upon the record of a very amusing incident. It deals with the speech and action of a certain Henry Jones who owned a large orchard of apple trees. The fruit of one tree was especially prized by Mr. Jones and he had cultivated this tree very assidiously. This tree, however, did not completely come under the hegemony of Mr. Jones, since it was situated upon the national highway through Utopia. Utopia was not completely free of rascals, as this excerpt will show. The fame of this won- derful tree spread, and many tourists visit- ed this country in order to taste the won- derful fruit of it. Among those who visited it, was a group of very learned scholars. Each of these men was renowned for some great achievement of that country. How- ever, this day, in order to escape the eternal publicity which attended their caravan, they had disguised themselves as ordinary farm- ers and village residents. The scholars visited this tree and tasted of the fruit and became enamoured of it, with the result that they lingered some time in that vicinity. Henry Jones became en- raged at the continued visits of these yokels, as he thought, and engaged them one day in a conversation, and, as a result of his anger, delivered a masterful oration. As we have said he did not realize that his audience was composed of the most inde- pendent and clearest thinkers in all Utopia. He launched forth into his peroration and thence into the body and wound up, still under the impression that his listeners were incapable of individual thought. They were more familiar with the statutes of Utopia than he could ever have been. It would not be amiss to quote from his classical speech; it went somewhat as follows: “A certain pedagogic horticulturist in a certain location possessed an orchard of various fruit-bearing trees. Some bore oranges, some lemons, some figs, and some apples. One day one of these trees sent word to the caretaker that it would appre- ciate his aid, for it wanted to develop its fruit to a higher degree than the remaining trees. The time passed and the caretaker attended to the wants of this certain tree and it came time to bear fruit. Now the tree desired that it be white-washed, this request was acceded to and many other min- ute details cared for. The tree in time, burst forth in all of its glory and spread its multitudinous blossoms everywhere. However, the curious part of the phenomenon was that the blossoms dif- fered, for there were fig, apple, peach, orange, and banana blooms all incorporated on this tree. This was a very presumptions, as well as surreptitious, act of the tree, ac- cording to the lights of the horticulturist. Here was a tree which openly and flagrantly flaunted the rules of horticulture in his face and defied all the regulations of the past. He immediately had this mutinous tree grub- bed from his orchard.” Mr. Jones now looked down at his audience expecting to see them staring open- mouthed at this epoch-making speech, but you and I understand that he had been tricked, for his audience was educated and could think for themselves, and naturally were more amused than awed at his master- piece of oratory and allegory. LA BELLE DAME SANS A woman may paint,— May paint her face, knees, or— A woman may powder, May powder herself until she looks like a marshmallow; She may roll her sleeves up And her stockings down; She may wear an inverted question mark on the top side Of herself to hide The nakedness of her forehead; And she may have The emptiness of ages in her face, and on her back, The gazes of the world; Her tongue may be as long as winter, And as sharp as a traitor’s poignard— She may have No hair, No eyebrows, No modesty,— But she can’t hide from me The fact that she’s a woman I Page One Hundred Thirty-six
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