Life — December 15, 1892 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

MORE PASTELS IN PROSE, BY MISS SWILKINS. FTER THE JAG: He had been out all night, but got home early in the morning. The way from the club to his home was long and tortuous; the steaming pavements rose and fell rythmically in the pale light of dawn, Down the avenue the electric lights marched in platoons of fours, while he stood at the corner of the square and reviewed the procession, When the last platoon had vanished through the Washington Arch he made a profound salute and resumed his weary search for the lost number, As the clock in old nity solemnly pealed out the hour of six he found it. He had been out all night, but got home early in the morning. Through an embrasured window the wife of his heart looked out upon the gleaming street. Long had she waited for the coming of his feet. The memory of his vows of temperance was ever with her, like the perfume of roses. Out on the Avenut she recognized his martial figure, review- ing the procession of lights, and a great joy filled her soul when she remembered that she was a soldier's daughter, and not afraid of anything. He had been out all night, but got home early in the morning. The wife of his heart, with fire in her eye, greeted him at the head of the stairs. “Dum vrvimus, vivamus,” he murmured ina forgotten tongue, “ but oh what a difference in the morning I \ MARSHMALLOW LAND: Far up the Broadway lies Marshmallow land. The shining windows are filled with the rich products of that sweet country, and their perfume floats out upon the sidewalk. Through the open doorway can be heard the playing of the fountains, and the soft voice of the siren as she asks the mystic question, “ Strawberry, Vanilla or Lemon?” No school-girl ever heard the playing of that fountain and voice of the siren without turning aside and disappearing in the glittering vortex. And the door is always open and the fountains always playing in Marshmallow land ! There is no man in Marshmallow land—for the wise men pass by on the other side, But now and then a dudelet who is new to the ways of the world pauses for a moment at the glittering windows, and is lost. Oh fair, persuasive, false Marshmallow land—the heaven of a young maid’s hopes, and the Valhalla of her allowance ! L! There is silence everywhere in the great house. In the vaulted library the hearth-fire flickers on the backs of books, and lights up the old arm-chair, and the face of the Master. ‘The unseen wind dashes at the windows vehemently, but retires, moaning in defeat because they are protected with Hawkins’ Bevelled Weather Strips (see adver- tising pages) * . . Ripinc MINSTREL SHOW,” “You pon'r say!" “YES; AND A FIFTH AVENUE THE BONES.” ACADEMY IS GOING TO GIVE AN EQUINE STAGE HOKSE 1S GOING TO RE I pray you, friend, who dwells in the great house, and sits in the vaulted room ? An Anglomaniac, What holds he in his hand ? A copy of Punch. Reads he it? He thinks he does. But his eyelids droop, and the firelight flickers on the ghost of asmile that came to be amused, but died of misplace confidence. Does the Master sleep ? He sleeps. His servant, in gorgeous livery, enters with a silver salver. and on it the evening mail. He places it on the oaken table at his master’s elbow. The firelight continues to flicker and the foiled wind returns to its assault on the weather strips— but still the Master stirs not. Is he dead ? Perhaps. Will nothing save him ? If he has a sense of humor he may be saved. ‘The persistent wind finds one window which was overlooked by Mr. Hawkins and rattles it vigorously. The Master rouses a little and his eye falls on a paper in the evening's mail. He grasps it eagerly as a drowning man catches at a straw. He opens its pages, and immediately the smile returns from ghost- land. Ina few moments the vaulted library echoes with the Master's laughter, Is he saved ? He is saved. What holds he in his hand ? Lire. [Our advertisers will please notice that we are not to be beaten by the great magazines in adopting this new literary form, and we are prepared to produce, at short notice, a Pastel, fully up to the French originals, which will skillfully advertise any article of commerce from a grand piano toa fine comb. Rates on application, Eps, ] comicbooks.com