Life — February 23, 1893 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

* LIFE: THE DUKE OF YORK. HERE was once a Duke of York who was a historic charac- ter. Tobe sure his greatest accomplishment was a faculty of marching his men up and down hill; but that cast no especial discredit upon his title, and it was consequently selected as appropriate for an heir prospective to the British throne. George Wettin, the present Duke of York, was born in 1865, of poor but distinguished parents, An opportune grant from the British tax-payers enabled George to be born in the luxury to which he was entitled. He lived his youth out of the direct line of succession to the crown, and many amusing tales are told of his efforts to bunco his royal and penurious grandmother out of spending money. It is even said that he once conducted a class. in the elementary principles of sucking eggs, in which his grand- mother was the sole pupil. As yet he has done nothing to com- mend him especially to public notice. He is something of a sailor, and is hardly ever sick at sea. He does not seem to have inherited any fiddling of baccarat-playing tendencies from the preceding generation, and, if current reports are true, has done the proper thing by his deceased brother's fiancée, who came within an ace of becoming his deceased brother's widow, and con- sequently ineligible under the British law to her present position. It is understood the committee of Publicity and Promotion of the Columbian Exposition have assured the Duke and his pros- pective bride that the gorgeous bridal chamber at the Palmer House will be placed at their disposal if they will hurry up the wedding so as to spend part of their honeymoon in Chicago during the fair, With this in prospect, Brigadier-Gen'l Eugene Field is already at work on an epithalamium, and Mr. Armour is having a royal box constructed in his slaughter-house, from which the Duke and Duchess may witness the daily sport. FIN DE SIECLE. SEE this hoary token of the past, The Valentine of ancient, giddy days, Burdened with cupids bowered in paper lace Where Love with slender maidens slyly plays. Its tenor, something sentimental, sweet, In rhymes that told of never-dying love, Where he, in tremors languished at her feet And where, I fear, ‘* move" often rhymed with ‘* dove.” *Neath some beflowered garland, or perchance Most aptly limned below a phrase of flame, ‘The trembling, and high-corsaged maid could trace In palest ink, the letters of his name. But now, alas! the liv'ried messenger With cocky, flippant air—gamin depraved— Brings Thorley’s roses at two * plunks” the head, Or Huyler’s sweets, tied to a card engraved. Sewall Read. IT MADE HIM SICK. IRST NEW YORKER: Were you ever at sea in a storm ? SECOND NEW YORKER: No, but I rode down town on a Fifth Avenue stage once. MAN never finds how dull he is till he tries to live by his wits. GEORGE, DUKE OF YORK. ISS NAIVE: It must be great fun writing a joke and send- ing it in to a paper. SPACER: Yes, itis. It is only when it is returned to you that you find out it is no joke.