Life — October 7, 1886 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

Years have passed away since then ; In the world with other men I’ve made my way. And I think of times agone As I drive up town —alone— In my coupé. James Dale Rivers. FROM LIFE’S SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT IN ALASKA. N the invitation of Mr. Geojones, the distinguished editor of the Daily Crimes, your correspondent joined Lieutenant Squatka at Icy Bay, Alaska, on Sunday last. The climate in the neighborhood is quite salubrious, but the Icy Bay | Rum is very bad, being a mixture of whale oil and alcohol, that would ruin the digestion of a steam drill. Mr. Squatka and Mr. Geojones, who, in lieu of having all the newly discovered capes, rivers and inland seas named after him, pays the ex- penses of the picnic, started off on a tour of discovery just after church | on Sunday morning. A large map was spread on the tent floor, and | the editor lying flat on his stomach—this is one of the many styles of lying New York editors affect— followed up the inlet of Icy Bay with his lead pencil until he reached something that puzzled him. “Squatka,” he said, “‘ I've made a discovery.” “Ah,” replied the Lieutenant, ‘ what is it ?” “Why, there's a group of parenthesises here piled up on top of each other and the blamed thing hasn't any name.” “They're mountains, Mr. We.” Squatka has a playful way of allud- ing to editors by their noms de plume. “They were discovered years ago. There’s no advertisement mine there. ’ “Dear me, dear me,” replied Mr. Geojones. ‘Been known for years | and never been christened. What recklessness on the part of the | Christening Board ! Suppose they got lost, how could they ever adver- | tise for them ?” “They can't get lost, my dear sir,” said the Lieut.—Loot Mr. Geo- jones calls him—‘ They're tied down !" | “« Well, they'd oughter be, with so many thieving Indians around,” | said Mr. Geojones, as he adjusted the cramp in his left knee and pen- | etrated still further into the Alaskan wilds. | All was silent for the next five minutes, and naught broke the still- ness save the labored breathing of Mr. Geojones, as he got further and | further into the inextricable labyrinth of the voyage of discovery. ‘Then there came an unearthly yell, such as one never hears at other times than those following a Mugwump victory. én HEN a boy I used to ride, Sweetheart Polly by my side, In country lanes ; Gazing in her face demure, While o’er the farm horse sure I held the reins. tl Je “ Glory hallelujah !” exclaimed the explorer, jumping to his feet and waving the map high in the air. Give me a glass of ink and a pen and brandy.” , “What's the matter, We 2” asked Squatka, in a voice that betok- ened considerable alarm. “Wait till ['ve sent off the details of my find to the Crimes, and I'll tell you,” excitedly returned the editor. He then sat down and wrote: XTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY BY THE GEOJONES EXPEDITION TO ALASKA. Mr. Geojones, editor of the New York Cyvmes, accompanied by Lieut. Squatka, of Arctic fame, and Mr. Carlyle Smith, scientific e tor of LIFE, who recently left New York at Mr. Geojones’ expense to explore the ‘hitherto impenetrable fastnesses of Alaska, have met with an extraordinary, and to the Crimes, gratifying succ Shortly after midday on Sunday Mr. Geojones pierced through deep, dark, dank ravines, over lofty hills to the extreme southwesterly line of the Alaskan territory, and there discovered that which the Crimes has always felt certain existed —the remains of a deserted volcano. Mr. Geojones penetrated to the deepest depths of the crater, and there, amid the roar of the elements, the popping of the soda-water bottles and the cheers of the populace, did raise the American Flag. Lieutenant Squatka, much against Mr. Geojones’ will, has named the volcano after the Editor of the Crimes. “There,” said Mr, Geojones, “send that to the sheet, and let us rest on our Balsams.” Mr. Geojones is always witty when he is excited. ‘The message was sent, and after lunch Mr. Squatka remarked : “By the way, We, show me that volcano, will you ?” “Certainly,” replied the happy explorer, pointing to a little black | spot on the map, “there you are !” “Well, I'll be condemned,” said Squatka. “What's the matter now ?” anxiously asked We. “Why, you poor thing, that’s not a volcano, it’s a fly-spec * * * * * * * When last seen Mr. Geojones was lying in ambush armed to the teeth, in the hope that the fly that put up that sell on him would pass that way and get shot. Carlyle Smith. comicbooks.com