Life — November 6, 1884 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

BY THE WAY. HE gentleman who wrote the article on the Devastating Power of Locusts is said to have received most of his ideas from | Capt. Williams. . . * WRITER in an English paper attempts at great length to prove that there is | Fashion in Names as in all other things. His labor is all gone for nothing. He had | only to show the pages of the New York directory devoted to Smith to convince the | most doubting skeptic. . . . | HE Tribune waxeth sarcastic over the | fact that Mr. Cleveland “stood in the | glare of the electric light,” and speaks of the necessity for artificial appliances to make him shine. True indeed! But Mr. Cleveland has n’t been smeared all over with luminous white- wash as has his opponent. . . . T certainly was a great shame that Gov- ernor Cleveland should insist upon the parade of the National Guard last Tuesday, as it rained real hard and the pretty little Seventh got its pretty trousers wet while that too lovely Twenty-second caught a bad little cold in its sweet little head. Furthermore Whitelaw Reid and Charles | A, Dana were averse to it. 5 . | Grover Cleveland should hesitate to ignore | the wishes of these gentlemen. When they N ABOU BEN BUTLER. BOU BEN BUTLER (of the tribe that fleece) Awoke one night from dreaming of great fees And saw with some concern, and eke with dread, A fellow figuring beside his bed. His eyes’ joint evidence constrained to trust, Ben Butler said, “ Young man, what's that thou dost ?” The lad replied, “ A list I have prepared Of who conspicuously love the Lord ; And here I have another list, again Of such as dote upon their fellow-men ; And still a third I have just now begun Of those whose chief concern is No. 1.” “And where am 1?” said Ben. The young man said, “ Upon each scroll I've got you at the head.” Ben Butler said, * T will be as well, 1 guess, To give these papers to the daily press, That all may know ‘t is better to be right Than to be president : Thanks, much! good night!" get angry they are real bad ! umpty-five Fifth Avenue. Just as his hand touched the bell, he bethought himself and ran lightly down again and rang at the side entrance. Fifteen minutes afterwards Mr. G. de Forest Braune was consigned to his quarters as plain George Brown, coach- man. The next morning when the carriage was ordered, George was delighted to see Theodosia trip lightly down the steps. He fancied then that she looked at the new coachman with something more than a glance of mere curiosity. An early fondness for athletics had given him a muscular pair of well shaped legs and a well developed figure, and before they re- turned home George flattered himself that she had even given furtive glances of admiration. That evening George climbed on top of the stable and look- ed down at his beloved one through the window of the drawing-room! At that moment Theodosia was exclaim- ing: “O mamma, the new coachman is real splendid. You don't know how much handsomer he is than the Burton’s new man—and oh! mamma, he speaks French, too! When | | I told him to drive home, he answered, ‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ | with a real Parisian accent.” | The mother smiled, and later when she laughingly told her husband of the new coachman’s accomplishments, she won- | dered why his face suddenly grew grave. She had not read the morning papers. Smoothly the time went on. Spring came, and with her hand-maidens trooped through Central Park, spreading there- on a soft mantle of green.. The atmosphere shook off the winter's chill, and Theodosia took horse-back rides in the balmy morning air, accompanied by George as groom. One morning after they had gone out as usual, a note came to the father addressed in Theodosia’s hand-writing. It read : “We have gone to get married,—George and I]. We sold the horses. Forgive us.” “If she comes back, I will receive her,” said the bereaved man to a reporter who had just entered, “but not A#m. You notice I shudder with.disgust. comicbooks.com