Life — December 1, 1887 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

MUSICAL. AFTER LONGFELLOW, 66 T HEAR the wind among the trees Playing celestial symphonies,” And out upon the moonlit bay ‘The breezes sound the “* Boulanger ;" I hear the cyclone on the sea Wafting ‘' Sweet Violets" to me, And I always drop a silent tear To note that AZolus plays by ear. . * . PROPOS of the Tymes's great journalistic feat, we wish to say that Swinburne cabled that poem to us for our ‘Thanksgiving number, but as it was rather too short and gossipy for our purposes, we concluded not to accept it, and promptly cabled the whole thing back to the Poet. In justice to Mr. Swinburne we will add that this was at his expense, not ours. . . . A CORRESPONDENT who is connected with the Pound, writes to say that Mr. Comstock endeavored to have him drown a dog last August, because the poor beast had been seen on the street without pants. oo . OU may say what you please, but the fact remains, that this Com- posite photography is a good deal of an imposition. . . . HE rumor that Mr. Cleveland has demanded his own resignation on the ground of offensive partisan- ship in the late elections, lacks con- firmation. . . . HE old proverb says, is love, ‘tis love that makes the world go round,” and ardent prohibitionists at- tribute the same accomplishment to whiskey. . . OLONEL INGERSOLL will always be in the minority. The trouble with Agnosticism is that there are too few men in the world who are willing to admit that they do not “ know it all.” . . * OHN L. SULLIVAN is the great- est Slugwump this country has ever produced. AND GET OUT. THE MASHER AT HOME, Chelly (on the bed): Say, Bop, HURRY UP. 1 OUGHT TO BE DRESSING, I F all the Heathen of past ages have gone to perdition, as the true Christian fondly believes, Satan must have almost as much use for the Standing-Room-Only sign as has our modern “ Mephistopheles ” at the Star. * . . T has been demonstrated that cannon-balls cannot travel faster than 1,500 miles an hour. This is comforting, as it is estimated that a real brave man can travel two thousand miles an hour if he happens to be roused to a state of abject terror. Bring on your grim-visaged war! powder and shot ? What do we care for N OW the Adanta is declared to be unseaworthy. She cannot live in a head-sea, and when her guns are fired off it is believed the mortality among her own crew will be terrific Pleasant news, indeed, for us Americans, when we reflect that Mr, Sullivan is abroad and our coasts are left defense- less. Suppose the false rumors of a rupture between the Prince of Wales and Mrs. Mackay were to plunge this country into a bloody strife with England. Where would we be? Suppose an Irish-American cab-driver should, in a venge- ful spirit, run over Mr. Joseph Cham- berlain and the British Empire should demand satisfaction, what could we do? In case His Holiness were to send a ship across the sea to kidnap the treas- urer of our Anti-Poverty Society, what humiliation would we suffer ? This will not do, Our navy must brace up. Secretary Whitney should call upon the Secretary of the Treasury and after relieving him of the surplus, should send it on to Burgess, and give him an order for a navy that can float and shoot off fire-crackers without going to the bottom. HE 7ribune need no longer sneer at the President for not following in the line of Jeffersonian simplicity. Its own Evarts has just purchased a new hat. . . . I N the interests of public decency we call Mr. Comstock’s attention to a policeman who stands on the cor- ner of Twenty-third Street and views passers-by with the naked eye. comicbooks.com