Life — February 11, 1897 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

as I stood over her, but Polly is a perfect gorgon as far as eyes go, and besides, little Van Twiller was not so far off, and I resisted the inclination. ‘What a jolly idea, Mrs. Van Twiller,” I said. “How on earth did you think she replied, laugh- ing. ‘Sort of aresurrection, you know.” “Tt will give usa chance to look into * closets, ch?” ques- tioned I, falling into her mood, which was one of suppressed gaiety. “Ugh!” she answered, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. ‘I hope we'll have no skeletons here to-night.” ” said I," but we can hardly help hearing the rattle of the bones occa- sionally.” “What an unkind remark,” she said, in a lowered voice. I looked around to see what she meant, and caught a glimpse of the Misses Allisons’ shoulder blades, literally cutting their way through the throng. Why will those girls insist on wearing decolleté gowns, particularly when they have so good an excuse for covering themselv “They have an idea that they are mixed up in some way with Mary, Queen of Scots,” she went on, following my glance. “How shocking!” answered I. “1 suppose those |__ Pieces of black court - plaster represent the bars sinister, Don't you think?” “Perhap Whocan tell laughed Mrs. Van T., and she turned away to greet pompous old Mr.and Mrs. Hatha- way, who had very evidently been tal a course at the Her- ald’s College during their summer's trip abroad, for they nevey would other- wise have had the temerity to appear in the guise of a Georgian Duke and The ATHING OF THE Past. his Duchess. > LIFE: absurdity of it sent me roaring into the smoking-room, remem- bering, between gasps, that the old gentleman's grandfather had been an imported gardener of Tim Appleton’s great-uncle. My, what a mix-up it was! Van Twil- ler's whiskey, however, was of undeni- able pedigree, anda glass or two of it, with half-a- dozen puffs at a church warden, set me up won- derfully, and I went off in search of my wandering Puritan maid. The drawing-room was in great commotion over the beginning of a Virginia Reel. And, shades} of Cotton Mather! There was Mistress Polly, getting ready to dance with no less a person than Curtis Randolph, whose par- ticular prideis his des from the valiers broke down all my prejudices, and, looking around, I grasped little Tillie Robinson (she’s Carey's sister) around the waist, and swung into line to the time of The Lass of Richmond Hill.” It was a jolly rout, with John Thom- son leading the Duchess Hatha- way, and little Van Twiller bringing up the rear with Fanny Ashe, whose great-great-something or other was a cousin of the Cid—‘'truly,” as Fangy would add naively. And we all got away home and to bed before six o'clock, quite satisfied that we were none of us our own ancestors, at least Polly and I were. Louis Evan Shipman. WHEN we say that wisdom is better than rubies, we gen- erally mean our own wisdom and other people's rubies. THAT’S ALL, & I | E'S a poet, isn’t he?” “Oh, no. He merely writes verses for a valentine publisher.” HE wise man would rather fall among thieves than fools, CUPIDS OF ALL NATIONS.— ITALY. HAT clever periodical, “ Lirr,” is un- funny in its ignorance of the fact that Elizabeth Stuart Phelps has, upon occasion, displayed a very keen and delightful sense of humor—notably in a certain book called ‘*An Old Maid’s Para- dise.” If Lire’s reviewer has never seen that attractive sketch of existence in New England he should become acquainted with it at once. Puelvir, by-the-way, is much truer to life than is that other handmaiden of fiction, Pomona.—The Tribune. Lire is always glad to be “funny,” even unconsciously, and would rather be accused of “ignorance” than be compelled to read “An Old Maid’'s Paradise” as an exercise in humor. Wisdom is sometimes purchased at too great a price. comicbooks.com