Life — March 26, 1885 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

De Bile. DE BILT, Vanelius, Duke of Hudson, Viscount Psificmail, | Knight Commander of the Order of the Rail. This is a very old patrician family, dating back to a late period of the nine- teenth century, and remarkable for unostentatious manners and great benevolence toward the poor—especially unfortunate speculators. Its recent social alliance with the Mandibles of Great Britain illustrates its democratic tendency. Arms: Sable, a chevron between three $ signs of the second. Crest: A locomotive running over a prostrate man, Motto: ‘God bless the public.” Seats: Steamer-chair and town house at Forty-second street and Fourth avenue. Clubs: Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Authors’ Club, BLUuJAy, Sir John, Baronet. The origin of the Blujays is obscure and plebeian, but by dint of talent they have pushed their way to high position. An ancestor is believed to have been found guilty of signing the Declaration of Independence. In spite of this blemish on the escutcheon and several public speeches by the present head of the house, the family still holds its own. Arms: Tin, guttée du sang, argent. Crest: A peacock in his pride. Motto (from Whittier): ‘* The foolish screaming of the jay.” THE LATEST RINKLE. HEN some years ago a well-known author gave to the world a book called “ The Little Tin God on Wheels,” people were struck with the novelty of the pedestal upon which the diminutive zinc deity was placed. To-day the title would seem commonplace, as the devotees of fashion—the gods and goddesses of society—are now passing through an epidemic of roller skating. The young maiden, whose health requires a well-equipped brougham to take her to school, four blocks away, every morn- ing, may be seen gliding around a skating rink for hours, covering in an afternoon some ten or fifteen miles without an effort. The melancholy dude, whose chief labors have heretofore consisted in the intellectual work of sucking the top of his cane, and gazing from a hotel or club window at the young ladies on the avenue, so far unbends as to glide peace- fully upon his “ wollers” every afternoon. Old pater-familias, who has been wearied by the labor attendant upon supplying a family of ten children with bread and butter, finds rest enough at the dinner table to take all the children around to the rink in the evening, and amuse them by letting them watch “ Pa makin’ a circus of himself.” Every one, young or old, no matter which, seems to have | | been attacked by the malignant disease, and our doctors and ministers find it difficult indeed to draw up any medicinal or moral prescription which can head it off. Our preachers have our heartfelt sympathy in their vigor- ous warfare upon this our rolling curse to humanity. When churches are turned into skating rinks and Lenten services are decimated by the rival attractions of these rinks the clergy has need of all the moral support it can secure. As the fight now stands the rinks are a few laps ahead. TWO SIDES TO THE QUESTION. (IN THE PARQUET.) RY-GOODS CLERK.—Aw, Fweddie, see me wave my pwogwamme at that pwetty gurl in the box. FweppIE.—Yaas, but she isn’t looking at you me buoy ! D. C.—No, but every one in the theatre will think she is, don't you know? (IN THE BOX.) EMILY (to Pretty Girl.)\—Look at that impudent fellow waving his programme at you, Sophie. He thinks you are looking at him, Pretty GIRL.—Yes, my dear, but nobody else in the theatre thinks so! MORAL.—Where ignorance is bliss ‘tis folly to be other- wise,