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tiges of Roman culture should be destroyed lest they should aid Rome to rise again. Cortes had the same sort of quaint notion in Mexico, with the result that a New World culture in many respects superior to that of Spain vanished forever.
All who view the group are impressed by the central figure of the great priest. In it the German Winchelmann saw "a great and self-collected soul." Lessing wrote: "Suffering shows in the face, pains discovers itself in every muscle and sinew of the body ... his misery pierces the very soul but inspires us with a wish we could endure misery hke that great man."
In this, Lessing can include me out. I have no ambition to be able to endure misery like that great man or
November, 1945
any other person, big or little. As a matter of fact, I have no burning desire to endure or embrace misery in any manner, shape or form. If I have | to endure or embrace anything in ; any shape or form even remotely connected with the legend of Troy let it be in the shape and form of a modern counterpart of the beauteous Helen of easy conscience.* After nine years with such a luscious creature I'd be perfectly willing for them to burn my Troy, too, in order to form an object lesson of what producers of "Dillinger" contend is the , whole theme of that gold-mine gang i ster glorification film : "Crime Doesn't | Pay!" 1
Note: If Sweetie Face reads this your Boo-Boo is only kidding.
A boy whose load of hay overturned in the road was advised by a good-hearted farmer to forget his trouble and come in and have dinner with his family; after the meal, he'd help him get the hay back on the wagon. The boy kept refusing, saying he didn't think his father would like it. But the farmer finally persuaded the boy to come into his house. The boy Seemed cheered up during the meal but continued to remark, "My father's going to be mad — I just know it." "Rubbish," the farmer said. "He won't mind at all. By the way, where is your father?" The boy burst out crying. "He's under the hay."
A swanky young fellow appeared at the recruiting office to enlist. "I suppose you expect a commission," the recruiting officer said candidly. "No, thanks," was the reply. "I'm such a bad shot, I'd rather work on a straight salary." — B W R News
A grave digger, so absorbed in his thoughts, dug the grave so deep he couldn't get out. Came nightfall and the evening chill, his predicament became more and more uncomfortable. He shouted for help and at last attracted attention of a drunk. "Get me out of here," he shouted. "I'm cold." The drunk looked into the grave and finally distinguished the form of the uncomfortable grave digger. "No wonder you're cold," he said. "You haven't any dirt on you."