Life — December 17, 1885 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

THE LATEST CRAZE. \ E ‘re not so fond of England, Or her pretty little ways, As once we were, and far behind We've left the British craze. ‘T is not the dainty French we love, Nor yet the dash of Spain, For Italy we never rave, They ‘re all upon the wane. But now we look for fashions to Celestials, and we clap Our hands with joy when e’er we see An 18-carat Jap. * . . TT" latest term for an electric execution is the “ Tele- graphic Dispatch.” . . * UR esteemed colored contemporary, Puck, asserts that | good editors die young. If this be true, what a long life the editor of Puck has | before him. . . . HE war articles in the Cexfury are rapidly bringing that esteemed publication down to the level of a Powder Magazine. . . * HE Aldermen are very anxious for the establishment of an American Westminster Abbey. The Alderman’s corner would be overcrowded very soon if the prayers of a righteous people were granted. . . . UNSET COX is said to have a decided liking for Turkey stuffed with chestnuts. The celebrated diplomat will doubtless get his fill if he at- tempts to amuse the sublime Porte with his samples of im- ported wit. N enterprising agent has revised an ancient motto to read, “ Sweet are the uses of advertising.” CCORDING to an item now going the rounds of the press, King Thebaw is not a full-blooded Burmese his mother being a Scham. We suspected there was something of a delusion and a snare about Thebe. | hearts of the people. ING KALAKAU wants to sell the Sandwich Islands for $4,500,000. That is his price, but it is said that | he will pay any man half that sum to take the place off his hands. * . * HE delightful biography of an eminent ex-editor, which appeared last week in the Sunday issue of a morning contemporary, gave pleasure to a multitude of readers. It is said that many New Yorkers, who have not hitherto been sparing of their vital powers, have begun to take measures to prolong their lives until they shall have read the memoirs, which, the Su says, accumulated during their author's twenty years’ sojourn in University Building. . * . T H are days of great changes in Wall street. Ferdi- nand Ward has gone; Banker Fish has gone; and now it is good-bye, Jay Gould. “It‘is time,” says Mr. Gould, “ that I made way for younger and more active men.” Younger, perhaps, but more active—let us hope not. Good- bye, Mr. Gould. Go into private life, buoyed up by the blessed consciousness that however you may have strayed from the path of perfect rectitude, or perjured. or stolen, or chizzled, or shown any other form of ethical eccentricity— never, though men have maligned you, and newspapers as- sailed you with epithets—never has the Evening Post called you by an abridgment of your front name. Is it to your | virtue, Mr. Gould, or to your sponsors that you owe this + . . omission ? W E see by the precious dailies that the Hon. Ferdinand Ward has been transferred from stove work to bookkeeping, and that “his health is good, and he does not find any fault with his treatment.” This will lift a burden of suspense and anxiety from the It would be a sad reflection on our American civilization if a man cannot become the typical swindler of his age without his personal comfort being in- terfered with. * . » ] R. KEELEY thinks that the saddest words of tongue or of pen the saddest are these: It Mot or been. . * . EVERAL English sportsmen while hunting in New Jer- sey last week, started a covey of aniseed bags, seven of which were shot on the wing. . . . ONTRIBUTORS are informed that all allusions to the World {alling from Grace should be addressed to the Wicker Department. comicbooks.com