Life — January 21, 1886 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

HOME RULE AT WINDSOR. OUR correspondent received the royal command on New Year's Day to walk around to the Imperial Headquarters and make his party call on the Queen. Unfor- tunately for his compliance with her Majesty’s wishes, the representative of LIFE had sworn off royalty among other vices, and had n’t gone into the paving business with his good intentions so early in the year, and Mrs. Coburg had to wait. A sufficiently long time having elapsed to convincé the effete monarchess at Queenville that the American Eagle still continued the profession of screaming at the old stand, and would put up with no commands, however imperious, the correspondent took a run down to the castle with Mr. Gladstone on Tuesday, after the opening of Parliament. It being the Chief Lord of the Hat-Rack and Master of the Front Door’s day off, the portal was opened by H.R. H. Mr. Battenberg, who has been appointed Deputy Earl of Her Majesty’s Front Stoop, with a salary of £10 per annum, which reverts to the Queen in case the incumbent marries into her family. Battenberg looked well, but was evidently suffering from a severe outbreak of buttons, there being enough of these upon his official uniform, as Son-In-Law-In- Waiting to Her Nibbs, to keep a West Point tailor supplied for a century. “Is Y. M. I. L., Mrs. Saxe-Coburg of Guelphtown in, Buttonberg ?” I asked. At the word Buttonberg the Prince flushed and glanced nervously at his costume. He betrayed the fact tfiat he was not an Englishman by observing the facetious bearing of my remark at once. “Y.M. I. L.,” he repeated, slowly, “who’s he?” “He’s not ahe,” I replied. “I referred to Your Mother- In-Law, old H. R. H., the Lordess of the Earth and Grand High Teetotum of Calcutta.” “Oh, yes, indeed, Mais home. She is up-stairs watching Salisbury write her speech for Pollyment.” “You don’t mean to say that she’s going to speak in Par- liament !” ejaculated Mr. Gladstone. “Oh, Ido n't, eh!” rejoined Battenberg. “Well, I’m glad to hear I don’t mean to say that. It’s always a relief for a fellow in my position to know just where he stands.” And he added, sorrowfully: ‘Don’t you ever be a son-in- law to a kingess; it’s bad business.” Just here the whistle on the Imperial speaking tube flew out and struck against the wall opposite. “There she is again,” whispered the Prince. “She never can be taught to blow like an ordinary Queen. Nothing satisfies her when she wants me but to blow out the side of the house. Why, do you know—” POSTPONED. ““ ENTLEMEN,” said a college President at a meeting of the Faculty, “we must take means at once to stop the game of foot-ball. It is bringing our grand old institution into disrepute.” Just then a great. noise was heard outside, and the President demanded the cause of it. “News has just been received,” explained one of the younger profes- sors apologetically, “ that our men have wrested the foot-ball championship from Princeton.” “Good!” shouted the President, flushing with excitement, “I didn’t dare hope it. I think, gentlemen, we had better not be too—er—hasty in this: matter.” Jc FMONSRE may help a man along fairly well, but- it is the “stick” in it that causes him to stumble. HOLE AS THIS? Goop HEAVENS, WASHINGTON, HOW DOES YOUR MASTER LIVE IN SUCH A MOSQUITO-EY WELL, SAH, THE FACT AM, AT NIGHT MARS GEORGE AM SO INTOXIFIED HE DON’T GIVE A CUSS FOR THE SKEETERS, AND IN DE MORNING DE-SKEETERS AM SO INTOXIFIED ‘THEY A HIGH OLD TIME—The town clock. DON’T GIVE A CUSS FOR MARS GEORGE. comicbooks.com