Life — February 16, 1888 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

“Tsay, MISTER PosTMAN, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO CARRY A VALENTI THIS ALL DAY LONG? AN’ I NEVER GETS PAID NO POSTAGE ON IT NEITHER!” OBITUARY. UR old friend Mr. Crowley seems, as we go to press, to be on the brink of eternity. Almost human, Mr. Crowley had done much to ingra- tiate himself in the hearts of the American public. Had he died as he lived he would have gone down to posterity as an exponent incarnate of the Darwinian theory. It is a great pity that, having lived a life the exact counterpart of manhood in its human sense, he should at the last moment destroy the fabric he had lived to build up by refusing a glass of whiskey. We regret it deeply, but Mr. Crowley will not be handed down to posterity as a man but as a prohibitionist. P.S.—If by some fortuitous chance Mr. Crowley has survived until this obituary greets the public eye, let him ponder deeply our well-meant warn- ing, and reform. NONE OF HIS FUNERAL. “cc HAT ton of coal looks to me about two hundred pounds short,” said a family man, “and by thunder I'll have it weighed. The way some of these coal dealers cheat is wicked.” After he had had it weighed, he said to his wife : “It's all right; weighs about a hundred pounds over.” “How much will you have to pay for the extra weight, John?” . “Nothing. That’s their mistake, not mine.” THREE VALENTINES. NE sent her fervent verses To serve as a valentine, Glowing with tender longings, With “love” and ‘‘ joy divine.” One sent a bunch of roses That speak for the hearts of men, And a card, and the name upon it Was a name of the upmost ten. She breathed a sigh to the verses, She saw the flowers with pride, But another missive claims her, And these are cast aside. No rhymes have graced the paper, Here lingers no roses’ scent, But here are sums and ciphers, And a marriage settlement. She smiles at her mother’s approval, And, ere the stars are bright, She’s gone with the writer of verses, And Cupid has won a fight. Francis Sterne Palmer. HE motto of the Protectionist seems to be, “In G. O. P. we trust.” CONSOLATION. ONDEMNED MAN (Co his lawyer): It’s a long sen- tence, sir; to be sent to state’s prison for life. LAWYER (¢uclined to a more hopeful view): Yes, it does seem long, but perhaps you won't live a great while. THE LAWNCERS. O you dawnce the lawncers, Dr. Brown?” “No, I do not dawnce the lawncers, But when the dawncer’s health breaks down I sometimes lawnce the dawncers. TROON Chicago Boy: ROLLER SKATIN’ MAY BE OUT OF STYLE, BUT SISTER SUE’S OLD SKATE COMES IN GOOD ABOUT THIS TIME. comicbooks.com