Life — February 28, 1884 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

116 TELEGRAPHIC. OPERATIONS IN TONQUIN. [By Special Cable.) ARIS, 41st inst.—Minister Ferry has just received official advices from Hue, stating that the French forces will not bombard Bac Ninh. The price of fire-crackers, therefore, remains unchanged.” Yesterday the rebels displayed a black flag bearing the words: ‘*No washee. Heap fightee.” From this the Admiral presumes that they will make a determined resistance. The city is in a turmoil of excitement over these tidings and a new constitution has been adopted. NATIONAL CapiTAL Topics. WASHINGTON, Yesterday.—The President dined last night with the Hon. Mr. Freelunchinghuysen. Among the guests were Secretary Chandelier, Mrs. Jacobsile, the Hon, Mr. B. Rooster and Mrs. Dr, Mary Walker. On Thursday next Senator John A, Blowgun will give a dinner to the President. Postmaster General Fresham will entertain a few friends at dinner on Friday evening, in honor of the President, who will sit on his right. To-day being the anniversary of young Allah Norther’s birthday, his father presented him with a beautifully engraved portrait of George Washington, inscribed with the motto: “ United States Postage—T wo (2) cents.” President Arthur will attend a large diplomatic dinner on Sat- urday. He expects to dine with Mr. West on Sunday. It is reported that Congress is in session. Crime oN Lon IsLanp. Another Outrage. At an early hour yesterday morning an aged colored man stealthily entered the police station at Flushing. He frightened nine detectives to death, and two policemen, who escaped over the back fence and were seriously injured. The sergeant courage- ously locked himself in a cell and used his pocket pistol vigorously. The miscreant finding nothing of value beyond an old euchre deck and a case of empty beer bottles went down to the Town Hall to pay his taxes, ‘The entire police force is searching for him. DEFINITIONS. A rIcH joke—the one I played on Brown. A FOOLISH and witless piece of folly—the one that Brown played on me. AN obstinate cuss—the man who will not yield to me. Proper and self-respecting firmness—my refusal to yield to him. A WELL-TRAINED child—the one that belongs to me. An ill-mannered brat—the one that belongs to my neighbor. A cCRANK—the man whose views do not coincide with my own. A very intelligent person—the man who agrees with me in everything. -LIFE- NYMPHS AND SATYRS; OR Tue DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. YGMALION stood in rapture on the statte, A nymph not long exhumed, a pure antique. “« My beauty, I could swear,” he murmured, ‘that you Would almost deign, if wooed aright, to speak To the poor mortal that perforce stares at you, And fain would charm to life your pulseless cheek. To my deft fingers such a task were simple ; It needs but the suggestion of a dimple.” Her wistful lips exhaled a vague faint fragrance, As half reluctant to confess their stone, And yet condoned the artist’s ardent flagrance That pressed their tender curves against his own. Of course he played the part of all such vagrants— He stole the nymph—he called it but a loan, And calmed his conscience by the apt reflection, The catalogue called it a Loan Collection. At length he pegged away in desperation, Until he saw that something was the matter— “ By all the bulls of Ireland or of Bashan ” (Antiquity no doubt affects the latter) Your perfume ’s paint; yourself, a restoration, ‘And my sweet nymph is but a ragged satyr. So when his ravished eyes had failed to see her, He sadly dropped—o’er his poor Gal-a-tear. J. J. Durrierp. In THE BALLROoM.—Mrs. Croesus (to Mr. C.)— “For goodness’ sake, John, go and take off your Arctics !” DR. RECIEVEIER. By GrorGE CAPEL. I HE main road to wealth in New Orleans lies along Common street. Whoever remembers that thoroughfare before Poydras and other streets did not vie with Tehonpitontas in importance will re- call the fact, that number 334, second floor front, was the office of Dr. Recieveier. On the one side was the Charity Hospital, on the other the Delphine Cemetery. On the right his means of livelihood, on the left the receptacle of his patients. “These are our failures,” he would say, with his grim humor. Dr. Recieveier stood upright in his pure, austere integrity. To demolish evil as well as disease was his aim. He was tender and stern in judgment by turns. “Time is money,” said a friend. “ Money is a great deal more—it’s life,” he replied. He de- lighted, as the reader observes, in epigrams. Il. MONG his other patients one morning there came a young man from the North and without a dialect. “Dr. Recieveier ?” he inquired. comicbooks,