Life — December 8, 1887 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

326 have been writing about life from a mistaken point of view. ‘The New England conscience, which Hawthorne knew so well, has made them intensely selfish. They have put the individual \ife above everything else. Health, home and affection must, on their theory, be sacrificed, if necessary, for individual culture. Their hero or heroine is an intellec- tual prig. He is self-conscious, suspicious, pharisaical ; he lives for his own advancement and dies discontented. When we lived and wrote, Thackeray, we never forgot that the Home, not the individual man or woman, was the social unit. In it and through it the very best which is in any man, poor or rich, ignorant or learned, is developed. There is peace, joy, prosperity. And every study of life and character (which men call literature) should centre around the Home. Adieu, my comrades!” Then their winged spheres separated and swept away from the Earth “far in the unapparent,” while the Christ- mas chimes were ringing at midnight. And restless chil- dren, who turned in their beds and looked into the night for glimpses of the good Saint Nicholas and his reindeers, were startled by three brilliant stars which shot across the sky. Droch. AN OPEN LETTER TO THE OPEN-HANDED, M* DEAR CRGESUS: Christmas is coming around again and I feel as if I must write and tell you what is on my mind. You have been very kind to my wife, my children and myself in the past. Last year you gave Mrs. Pauper a handsome peach-blow vase; you gave each of my three boys a velocipede; to the baby you sent a silver- mounted rattle, and the scarf-pin which I now wear came to me from Tiffany's at your instance. Many thanks, my dear Craesus, for your kindness to me and mine. You have been so good that I do not hesitate to ask you to do me one more good turn. Don’t send us anything this year, or if you must let it be something more moderate than your presents were last year. I'll tell you why. Mrs. Pauper is a sensitive woman, and when I stopped on my way home from my office on the 24th of last December, and bought a volume of Herrick’s poems for you at a cost of one dollar, Mrs. Pauper declared I should not send it to you id she : “ My dear George, Mr. Croesus sent you a ring last year that must have cost him seventy- five dollars at the very least; how can you think of sending him a dollar book? Let me get the present for you.” I acceded, and the silver-mounted wallet you now carry cost my oldest boy a pair of shoes, cost me my winter gloves, and deprived Mrs. Pauper of a small anniversary dinner-party she contemplated giving in January. For your two boys Mrs. Pauper purchased an organ and a small printing-press, because you had sent her boys the velocipedes. She was not content to return your generosity either with thanks or with so modest a gift as my income would permit"—our presents to you and yours must be as good as your presents to me and mine, and I assure you, my dear fellow, that while I would willingly give you the most beautiful and costly thing > LIFE: THEIR CHRISTMAS DINNER. “J say, Jimmy OLIVER, YoU'VE BEEN DARE LONG ENOUGH; COME AWAY AND LET ME HAVE ER SMELL.” on the face of this earth, could I afford it, 1 cannot afford this year, any more than I could last, to send you such presents as yours have hitherto required me to make. Please regard this letter as confidential and accede to my request. It is nothing short of ruin—bankruptcy—that impels me to write thus; there is nothing of disloyalty to my wife herein; all women are alike in this respect—and many men. Have pity on me, and believe me ever Your friend, George C. Pauper. A LUCKY DOG. Brown: YOU'RE A LUCKY DOG, ROBINSON. SO YOU MARKIED A GIRL WORTH HALF A MILLION DOLLARS IN HER OWN RIGHT. Robinson (rather more sadly than the circumstances seem lo warrant: Y Brown: YOU OUGHT TO PUT UP THE DRINKS. Robinson: ALL RIGHT, OLD MAN, JUST WAIT WHILE I RUN INTO THE HOUSE AND SKE IF I CAN GET A DOLLAR. comicbooks.com