Life — January 31, 1884 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

“LIFE™ harp across it in the left button-hole. (To be worn by | the Minister to the Court of St. James.) PLATE IV. PLate IV.—TZhe Drummer. Linen duster, fur collar, lavender pants; checked vest. (All to be scented with the odor of bad cigars.) PLATE V. Pirate V.—The Dr. Mary Walker. Description unnecessary and improper. As there are many million American citizens, of all sizes, tastes, colors, and previous conditions of servi- tude, one might give many more plates. It will be a comfort when Congress decides what the costume of an American citizen really should be. | Theodosia Maude, ask this question. IDYLS OF BEACON STREET. No. 2. Fiat justitia, ruat Salem. Cuapter I. “cc HO is he?” Mrs. Vernon Bunkerill smiled as she heard her daughter, It was so purely Boston —so ancestral. She caught her impulsively to her heart, but in- stantly recovering her Salem self-possession, said calmly : “Let us go to luncheon.” Theodosia Maude hesitated a moment. ‘‘ Do we have beans or ber-rd to-day, mummer ?” she inquired, wistfully. “Both, my darling, if you desire them,” said the indulgent mother, for the Bunkerills were able to gratify these simple tastes in their only child. They were wealthy, but although this fact has been well known for years, it had not appreciably injured their social position. Carrer IT. D®YDITCH ST. BOTOLPH had just completed his twenty- fifth year. He had nobly fought his way from Deputy grd Assistant Substitute Full-Back in the Harvard Eleven, in charge of the lemonade pail, to Worthy Grand Magnifico and Custodian of the Black Ball in the Medfac. He had also slightly applied himself to the law—that is, he had a $45 office on Court street, to which he intended going should he ever have a client. By the death of his great-uncle he had inherited the acres in Salem, and that vetroussé nasal expression, of which all the St. Botolophs were justly so proud. He was therefore looked upon as a young man of great talent. Talent tells in Boston. 7 Cuapter IIT. AFTER toying with her third plate of beans, and having fondled her second ber-rd, Theodosia Maude felt re- freshed. She was delicate, and wore No. 34 glassés, hence her diet, ex- clusive of Longfellow and Emerson, was light. “Now, mummer,” she said, pushing back her chair and gazing dreamily at the pyramids of crumbs she had heaped up beside the ruins of the beanpot—“ tell me, zo is he ?” Mrs. Bunkerill was secretly pleased. But she gave no outward sign, "No true Bostonian ever does. “ Do you love him, then ?” she asked, with studied indifference, but watching Theodosia Maude narrowly. = The beautiful girl threw back her head proudly. ‘t How can T tell, mummer, until you have answered my question ?” “ His parents, my dear,” said the gratified mother, “ were born in New York.” ““New York?” exclaimed Theodosia Maud ; ‘‘ New York ? Where is New York, mummer? Is—is it near Salem?” she asked, a faint blush creaming through the alabaster of her cheek, yet with a half tender Back Bay smile. “No, my precious,” said the fond mother. far from Salem.” “That settles it, then,” replied the girl, coldly selecting a toothpick from the repouss¢ porcupine upon the table. “But his mother’s father was a Van Wrestler,” pursued Mrs. Bunkerill, with that triangular smile characteristic of Bostonians when certain of ultimate success. Theodosia Maud arched her brows slightly but spoke not. “A Van Wrestler,” continued the happy mother. “ And, I may add, ot from the wrong side of the river.” The young girl sat with downcast eyes, apparently intent upon her pick. Still with the sharp eyes of maternal love, Mrs. Bunkerill thought she detected a change. She went on placidly : “* His father, my dear, was from ”—here she made one of those skilful pauses for which Boston mothers are so celebrated. “Tt is very, very comicbooks.com