Life — January 1, 1886 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

- LIFE - LIFE’S WAR PAPERS. BUMBUM’S RIDE, (Descriptive of Gen. Furioso Bumbum’s famous ride at the cavalry action at Crab Apple Springs.) aE enemy charged with a whoop and a yell, And on our heroes they savagely fell ; But we hacked and we hewed them with might and with main, And we piled up the valley with cords of the slain; But hard was the fight and uncertain the day, With Bumbum a quarter of a mile away. But we fought with the might of the heroes of yore Till our boots overflowed with the swift-running gore, And the grass was all red with the cardinal dye, While the bullet-torn banner stili fluttered on high; Yet we scarce could repress a slight touch of dismay, With Bumbum seventeen miles away. Still we cut and we slashed, and we swore and we fired, And we carved up the foe tili our fingers were tired ; While on the red plain every moment increased Vast piles of the foemen abruptly deceased ; But we flew to the rear at the close of the day, With Bumbum forty-seven miles away. J. A. Macon. ie “no news is good news,” how happy must be the sub- scriber to a Philadelphia paper ! A “STAR CHAMBER ”—The Green Room. eu. THANKS TO DR. PASTEUR. SICK HIM ON ME, Jimmy, I WANT TER GO TO Paris ! MR. TIME. A NEW YEAR'S STORY. R. TIME sat buried in thought in a huge arm- chair in his cosy little office on the top floor of nowhere. His brow was knit- ted, so was the little red sku!l cap he wore on the bald part of his head, and he was engaged in absently twisting and untwist- ing the little gray forelock which pro- truded therefrom— wearing the while a preoccupied look and a faded red dress- ing-gown, which buttoned behind for the convenience of his wings, which projected over the back of the chair. His supper—frugal enough—a half-pint hour glass and a plate of dates lay untasted upon the table, and from a con- venient peg near by hung his scythe. Mr. Time was alone. He had just finished winding up the affairs of the Old Year, who was off superintending the disposal of his small remaining stock of Days, which were being rapidly closed out at a ruinous rate—together with the rest of his “effects,” mostly of the “snow” and cheap “sunset” order ; for to- night was the last—positively the last appearance of the Old Year on this world (or any other stage), and to celebrate the last of arun of 365 consecutive performances, appropriate souvenirs were afterwards to be presented to all who could afford to pay the admission fee. Mr. Time might well seem worried—the Old Year had given him a day’s notice, and no one had been engaged so far to take his place; he was completely out of ‘ seasons,” ‘not to mention months, days, minutes, etc., and so far he had received no answer-to his ad. in the World for “ sealed proposals.” “Without these,” groaned Mr. Time, “how am I to arrange the prospectus for the New Year ? or how in——” A knock at the door saved him from further reflection, if not something worse, and to his rather gruff response of “Come in,” there entered to him a queer little being, clad in nothing to speak of beyond a large sample case, suspended from a strap which was fastened behind his wings. “Don’t want any matches to-day!” roared Mr. Time, catching sight of the garment in question. «Excuse me, but I came to——” “Don't want to be interviewed either! and, if you ’re not a reporter, what are you anyhow ?” “TT saw your advertisement in the World to-day—I am a ‘drummer,’ and this is the firm I represent,” continued the Queer Being, handing Mr. Timea card. “We carry a very full line of seasons, months, etc. Allow me to show youa few samples.” comicbooks.com