Life — September 13, 1888 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

REMORSE. Doctor Jack; How's THIS—ON THE SICK List? Algy : YA-as. WEALLY, L CAN'T STAND TINS WILD LIFE L THWEE CIGAWETTES AND A GLASS OF WINE LAWST NIGHT, AND HAD TO GET UP THIS MORNING REFORE NINE. 1 MUST WEFORM. NOT FOR PUBLICATION. if EV. CHARLES POUNDTEXT (who has been writ- ing his sermon, looking up suddenly): Maria, will you take the children out of the room for a few minutes ? Mrs. POUNDTEXT (¢# surprise): Certainly, my dear. But—are they annoying you? Rev. PouNDTEXT: Not at all; but I have just dipped the mucilage brush in the ink-well, and I would like to be at liberty to make a few remarks. SAME THING BOTH WAYS. T ACHER (rhelorée class): Miss Purplebloom, you may express the thought * ity is the mother of invention” in different words. Miss PURPLEBLOOM: “levention is the daughter of necessity.” MAY CAUSE A RELAPSE, I ANDLORD (mountain resort house): Well, sir, 1 trust —~ that inhaling our mountain air will enable you to re- turn to the city with renewed strength and vigor, Guest: Can't tell yet; it all depends on the bill. AY incredible story reaches us of an Anarchist who has discontinued the drinking of beer, because the froth on it looks so much like soap-suds. INTRODUCING LORD CHUMLEY. New York, Friday Evening, 1888. My D-DEAR BWOTHER: This will be handed to you by my nephew, Lord Chumley, if s-some other fellow d-doesn’t find it and hand it to you first. I s-suppose if Chumley is my nephew he must be yours too. D-dam funny coincidence that. I s-suppose if he was my niece it would be the s-same way, or if he was my aunt. It’s j-just the same with a fellow’s father and mother, and his wife and children—n-no it isn't, either. How the d-devil d-does it happen that if you and I are bwothers, my father is your father, and my mother is your mother; b-but my wife isn’t your wife, and my mother-in-law isn’t your mother-in-law. I wish she was. I'll be hanged if I understand it, but I'll ask Lady Mary and let you know next po: Chumley’s a fool, you know, but you'// like him. He goes falling in love, and fighting villains, and taking c-cold baths in the morning, and all that sort of thing ; b-but he isn’t half a b-bad fellow when you come to know him. He has an annoying habit of going about s-singing a s-song he calls “S-some Day,” and I wish you'd break him of it. He c-can’t sing, and he d-doesn’t know the s-song, you know, and it’s vewy twying to a fellow’s nerves to have to hear him. D-don't think he’s altogether a fool, He knows j-just about as much as you do, but is very brave and kind- hearted, and all that rot, and is making love to a pretty young woman. He pwoposed marriage to her, but wher she said she'd send him an answer, he began singing D-day,” and she refused him on the spot. S-some people say he t-talks like me, b-but he d-doesn’t. He st-stutters. B-be good to Chumley. so don’t ask him. S-some I t-told him not to lend you any money, Your affectionate bwother, DUNDREARY. P.S.—You should see the t-twins, Sam. They're jolly little beggars. One of them has the c-colic, and the other cwies. Then the other one has the c-colic, and the other one cwies. They look so much alike that the fellow who ewies thinks that he’s the one with the c-colic, when it’s really the other fellow. It’s vewy jolly to s-sit and watch them, and I spend most of the time in nursery, smoking. Metcalfe. comicbooks.com