Life — March 8, 1894 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

154 THE CHASE OF THE LAUREL WREATH. A Minor Poet chased a Laurel Wreath ; His hopes were high, his verses light and airy. He longed for nuts while yet , he had his teeth ; _ He'd pens and ink and Rhyming Dictionary. The Public said, with careless, pitying jeers, + He'd everything in life— but the IDEAS! The Minor Poet, having no IDEAS, In vain pursuit of Laurels sighed and sorrowed ; Forgetting quite that, strange as it appears, IDEAS can always easily be borrowed From some Past Poet—silent, lost and dead— Provided he’s forgotten and unread, Not knowing this, the Poet chased the Wreath Till Age came on, and Minor still he chased it ; He gained no nuts, although he'd lost his teeth, While Men snatch'd Fame who'd earned no right to taste it. He knew the trick, when far too late to know it, So lost the Wreath and died a Minor Poet. Jessie M. Wood. WHERE SHALL WE FIND HIM? HE man who committed suicide because he } gottired of button- » ing and unbutton- ing, died too soon. Col. Charles A. Dana's bread-win- ner, the New York Sw, has taken the matter of men’s dress in charge, and if our departed friend had only postponed his rash act he might have been used as an interesting issue in the present campaign. The trouble with the Suv's crusade is that it is slanted the wrong way. Instead of simplifying this important matter, it seeks to establish a King of Costume, whose edict shall be absolute in the matter of men’s apparel. It haseven gone so far as to mention the names of several persons who might be suitable for this enviable position. We say enviable because the gentleman could wear what he pleased, and the enterprising tailors would doubtless see that he got his clothes free. But here's the rub, This gentleman might become eccentric and make things worse than they are. Goodness knows, the present situation is bad enough, but if our new -LIFE- tuler should decree that we should have the backs of our shirts starched as well as the bosoms, or that no real gentle- man would wear anything but pink satin trousers, our last condition would be worse than our first. What we really need is a practical reformer who will bear well in mind the unhappy gentleman whom we first men- tioned. He will devise a costume which will be distinctively American, and be recognized as our national garb. It will command admiration on account of its grace and beauty, and will be loved by its wearers because it is simple, com- fortable, and especially because it eliminates the present annoyances of dressing. There will be no buttons to come off at inconvenient moments, and no trousers to get baggy atthe knees. There will be no starched collars to wilt in hot weather, nor silk hats to go rolling down the street before a favoring gale. There will be no stiff leather foot- gear to breed corns, nor confining waist-bands to discomfort stout persons. The wearer will be able to dress himself in two minutes and disrobe in less. Under the new régime the dude will be an impossibility, and Mr. Ward McAllister even more of an anachronism than at present. With the worry incident to buttons and bootlaces removed, even Col. Dana himself may be spared to us longer to violate the infinitive and to tell Mr. Cleveland and the rest’of us how to be good and happy. What we need, Colonel, is not another King of the Dudes, but a com- bination of artist and inventor who shall successfully solve this question and cause all men to rise up and call him blessed, Metcalfe, SS H OW I pity the poor fellows whose business requires them to be out on a night like this,” said the policeman, looking out from the side door. Mrs, Sheenstein; OW, YOU VAS AWFULLY sicK, Isaac! Sheenstein: Yes, RePecca, BUT DERE 18 VON GOOT TINGS ABOUT IT—I AM GETTING THE VORT OF MY MONEY OUT OF THE pocTor. comicbooks.com