Life — June 28, 1883 — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

302 HE so-called “ society” column is rapidly becoming as im-~ portant a feature of the modern newspaper as the depart- ment of politics or telegraph news, and items like the following appear daily, “ Miss Israel, of Chatham Square, is paying a brief visit to the Misses Blumenberg of Troy.” “ Mr, Isaac Walpole Smith will summer at Newport.” * “Mrs. S. Titmouse Wiggins has rented Hon. Moses Blunder- buss’ cottage at Long Branch for the season.” ““Ather wedding this evening, Miss Gertrude Silly will wear a pair of magnificent solitaire ear-rings, the gift of the groom,” As.a rule, this drivel is written, not by the reporters of the joarnal, as is popularly supposed, but by the persons mentioned, They- are enabled to earn a little cheap notoriety at the expense of the suffering editor and his infuriated. readers, Of course it is vastly interesting to know that such a person as Miss Israel exists, and that her parents are affluent enough to pay her way to Troy; it is exciting to learn that there is really an Isaac Titmouse Smith in the world, and that he is at present infesting Newport; it is a blessing to Mrs. Wiggins’ patient creditors to know that their bills can safely be addressed to Long Branch, and Miss Silly’s five or six acquaintances will no doubt hail with delight the tremendous news that she has a pair of ear-rings at last—but exactly how all this dry rot meets the approval of editors-in-chief is a mystery. e 8 6 ACCORDING to the statement of the correspondent of the New York Tribune, Colonel Vose of the 71st has some- what peculiar notions of discipline. A sentinel at the camp at Peekskill challenged him in the night with the customary “ Who goes there?” and received the reply : ‘‘ Nobody goes there.’* Instead of holding the ‘* nobody,” the sentry promptly fell down ina fit. Until properly relieved, a sentry on post is entitled to respect for and obedience to his challenge and command. Had “ an old soldier been on post, the valiant Colonel would have been detained at the point of the bayonet. Officers can best instruct their subordinates by example. If the affair was correctly report- ed by the Zritune the sentry’s challenge was right and proper, while the Colonel's reply was unsoldierly and lacking in the respect due a sentinel in the discharge of his duty. In that case the Colonel should be reprimanded from headquarters. GOOD-BYE, SUMMER. (Sue.) OULD it have been that last June was the time of it? Surely it was—or the rst of July— Now that your question has put me in mind of it, Isn't it strange how the time has gone by ? Call on us when we return to the city. I Hope our acquaintance is not to end here * * * (Her Sister.) Come, father’s waiting, Grace. Hurry, and say good- ye. There, now he’s off. Why! You're crying, my dear! E. F, Green, - -LIFE- A SEA‘TURN. URRAH for the Sea—where the chowders be And the sculpin winds his horn ! Where the star-fish shine through the spumy brine, And the mammoth oysters yawn ! For the barnacle blows and the conger crows, As we chase the pickled prawn. Then roll out the Captain’s gig, my lads ! Let the bob-stay harnessed be! With the breeze abaft and fore and aft We'll drive o’er the wind-whipped sea. Hear the Bo's'n shout—"* Let the port-hatch out ! Haul the affidavits taut ! Like snowy clouds spread the white, white shrouds Where the dead-light’s gleam is caught ! Belay the keel till the compass heel And the water-line runs short !"" The main-shcet-fills with the mad monsoon, We have furled the fore-cross-tree, And so tightly laced the vessel’s waist, ‘As we skim o'er the creamy sea. The sea-gulls shrick from the for’ard peak, As the shrimp go prancing by, And the mermaids coy kiss the whistling buoy While the urchin pipes his eye ; The dog-fish bark at the tipsy shark And the halibat join the cry. Then cheer mates, cheer, as the good ship speeds, Till we make the hawser gee ! For the wind in the sail blows a martin-gale, ‘And we plough the furrowed sea. Ho, binnacle, fly from the capstan high ! Make the mizzen-scuppers fast ! By the lanyard’s light through the nasty night We will scud before the mast ; For the breeze is a-lee and the rover is ‘ree And a schooner of beer has passed. Hurrah for the ship! Hurrah for the crew ! Merry, merry boys are we— And our course is pressed for the Nor-sou-west As we rise on the yeasty sea, Epwarp A, CuurcH. “Wuat makes it cry so?” asked the old bachelor, listening to the baby on the next block, waking the midnight stars with its songs without words. “What under the canopy makes it cry so?” “‘ Nothing,” said the experienced father who had his quiver full of ’em, and was never happy unless he was rocking a baby. “Nothing; it just makes that noise ten hours a day, naturally, voluntarily, and without effort, suggestion, assistance or compulsion. Nobody makes a baby cry. And,” he added, after a moment of thoughtful silence during which the baby twice got up to high C, “no- body can make it stop crying, either, until it is cried out.” —— ay yA comicbooks.com