Life — January 7, 1886 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

VOL. VII. JANUARY 7, 1886, 1155 Broapway, New York. Published every Thursday, $5 a year in advance, postage free. Single copies, to cents. Back numbers can be had by applying to this office. Vol. I., 50 cents per number; Vol. II., 25 cents per number; Vols, IIT., IV. and V. at regular rates, Rejected contributions will be destroyed unless accompanied by a stamped and directed envelope. HE old Globe is off again on her annual trial, and the new pilot will have his hands full to keep the craft bottom side down, The wheel of Good Intentions, with which the youthful Time endeavors to keep his tipping vessel out of the broad wake that leadeth to destruction, will drop its spokes one by one to supply fuel for the motive power, until at last nothing | muzzled until the rabies appear more fully and consistently but the Hub—our apologies to Boston—remaining, the old ship will become top-heavy and down she will go. The Engineer will then gather in the wreckage and beautify his balmy domicile with the floating bric-a-brac. . . . HIS may seem cynical, but the past, from which alone we can judge the future, warrants its assertion as cold fact—and yet there is a way to avert the unpleasant things which the Fates seem to have in store for us. Hell is paved with good intentions, we are told, on what authority we know not, but presumably that of some good old deacon who has been there. As long as we preserve the unfortunate habit of having Good Intentions, just so long do we sign contracts with Satan to keep his streets in condition. Suppose on this New Year we swear off swear- ing off, and make up our minds to go it while we are young, be foolish, wicked and steer straight for the rocks of eternal destruction ! Perhaps when '87 comes around, by the sheer force of the Perverse, we shall find that we have laid up pavements in heaven, where moth and rust do not dig up, and thieves do not break through and steal. Why not try it? . . * HE events of the past few weeks confirm the truth of the old saying that this is a mad world. The hydrophobia scare, which, thanks to the impertinence of one or two dogs and the enterprise of a score of news- paper mis-representatives, has lately played havoc with the world’s love of the canine creation, but goes to prove that an epidemic may be visited upon us at will by those Lords of Creation, the Editors. As long as mortals will live up to little Puck's estimate of them, just so long will these things be possible, but it is a pity, we think, that the most faithful members of the brute creation should be made to suffer for the crimes of others Our observation of mankind leads us to think that the popular belief in the causes of bydrophobia is not infallible, and that if an investigation were to be had, giving the dog an opportunity to be heard, the dumb cteature could show that in a majority of cases, as in Goldsmith’s poem: The man recovered from the bite, The dog it was that died. . . * S a means for a foreign trip, the mad dog has grown more popular than the ministry, and, in Dr. Pasteur's eyes, doubtless more lucrative, but we must protest against this cruel libel upon man’s most faithful friend, and his con- sequent muzzling. It is the so-called gentlemen of the press who should be developed in their system, when they should be taken to the pound, and if not called for within ten days, drowned with other puppies. . . ENATOR BECK has opened the ball and his mouth with a degree of simultaneousness that is appalling. It is evident from the tenor of the Senator's remarks that his ideas of paying one’s debts are very much the same as those of the man who brings his thumb in contact with his nose and twiddles his fingers when his creditors approach, and while we have no fear that twiddling will be adopted as a National measure, it is nevertheless humiliating that such views should be expressed in so dignified a body as the United States Senate. The Treasury should pay Mr. Beck what salary is owed him at fifty cents on the dollar, and send him home in a bal- loon. . . . OMMENTING upon President Cleveland's vigorous letter to our E. colored C., Pucé, treating of the total depravity of the press when dealing with truth, the New York Sun asks : Is that a true charge? Is it a fact that millions of American citi- zens are daily reading with respect journals which not only lie, but lie from mere love of falsehood ? Is it true that this newspaper lying is carried on toa greater extent than ever before, and that it is useless for decent people to try to stop it ? We are surprised that a newspaper of the Sun's intelligence and perception should ask such a question. Has not Mr. Cleveland always been on the side of truth heretofore ? comicbooks.com