Life — August 30, 1888 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

- LIFE: BAR HARBOR NOTES. AUGUST 27, 1888. VERVTHING is in full blast here at last; hops and germans and wakes and dinners and moonlight rides, with fog for a moon, and goodness knows what not! I am sorry to be obliged to say that I have been unable to participate in all this gayety, owing to the fact that the new patent fly-powder which I sprinkled on my bald cranium raised a most tremendous blister, which has confined me to my room for the past week, and it has been pretty slow work sitting at my window and gazing at the building opposite, which has been painted a delightful shade of liver-green, a color that is calculated to take one’s appetite away for all time, and is enough to give the Angel Gabriel the jaundice, and so I hope he will be sure to keep away from here. We've just had a great fancy ball at —'s; the most successful costume was that of a Miss Jenkins, who wore a tin crown, and led a female sheep by a rope, thus representing the Queen of Sheba (She- baa! Hope you get onto the point). 1 was greatly puzzled as to what character I should go as: at first I thought I would go as the dying gladiator, so that I could keep quiet and escape dancing, but, on second thought, I concluded that it would be too much like the awfully fat man in the story, who wore only a rope around his foot, and went as a balloon, And so at last I decided, from motives of economy, to Zo as Autumn, wore my oldest clothes, carried some faded flowers and a singed Theodore Thomas cat, and looked as gloomy as I could, and, if you'll believe it, everybody thought I was an Anarchist! Confound their stupidity ! Speaking of costumes reminds me of the lovely white flannel suit that I had last year, and which shrunk so the first time it was washed that there wasn't enough of it left to make a humming-bird’s ulster. Well, this year I was bound to get ahead of fate, and so had a new suit made with large pleats or reefs all over it, so that I could let her out as fast as she shrunk; but, do you know, that blessed suit has been washed three times, and hasn't shrunk an atom; the pleats are all there, and when the wind fills them out, I look like the fat clown at a circus. There is something wrong somewhere, and I am about tired of fighting against the stars and a relentless } Providence. H, yes, the yachts- men have all left us, too, In fact, they seemed in a great hurry to get away, and said that, for prohibition- ists, we went ahead of any- thing they \ had ever seen ‘* or heard of, and that the new acque- duct wasn't a circumstance compared to = us, and so they went sailing away. Ah, me, what a pathetic ring those words have! The first time I get good and bilious and poetical, I must write some verses on the subject. I'll have a nice young man a-sail- ing away over the ocean's blue chest, and his best girl on the shore a-watching him through a glass, and him a-holding down of his sea- sickness for all that he's worth, so that her last thoughts of him may be pleasant ones, But, deary me, I can’t keep it any longer! I must tell you that she's come—came last Chewsday—and says that she is going to stay just as long as Ido! Of course, I know she don't mean it, and only says it to be nice to me and make up for not being able to remember my name. And how I wish I could describe her to you! She looks so lovely in her soft, white dress, with no ornaments whatever, except around her neck a small Maltese kitten—I mean, a Maltese cross, which I gave her when she caught me ona philopena. And, oh, do you know, she has taken to calling me ‘* Arcadia,” because my initials are, Yours truly, RK. FATHER AND SON. RS. LAMBREQUIN: Did you hear, Jack, that Mr. Craesus across the has a young son? MR. LAMBREQUIN: I had not heard of it. Mrs, LAMBREQUIN: Yes, and if ever a child was born with a silver spoon in his mouth that child was. MR. LAMBREQUIN: If he resembles his father at all he might easily have been born with a silver soup-ladle in his mouth. NOT A FAVORITE OF FORTUNE. OUNG man,” he said solemnly, “do you ever con- template the time when you will occupy a mansion in the skies?” “A mansion? No, sir; I'll be luckier than I've ever been in this world if I get a three-room flat on the outskirts.” “cc A SCORE. Hard-up Gent: Sav, Boss, CAN'T YER GIVE A FELLER A FEW CENTS TO HELP HIM ALONG ? Mr, Delawney: Wy von’t you OUN Living? You MONEY. Hard-up. Gent: Weit, Boss, THOUGHT YER HAD THE MOST OF, DO SOMETHING FAW YAW HAD BETTAH ASK FOR BWAINS INSTEAD OF I ASKED YER FOR WHat I comicbooks.com