Life — June 17, 1897 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

*>LIFE: 509 gies, isms, schemes of reform and plans for the regencration of the world. They meet and talk, perspire and denounce, read papers and pass resolutions, fill up with spring water and virtu- ous indignation, visit Hilton park, sleep four in a room at the Hotel Robert Kidd, and go back to the world, kicked out, worn out, cleaned out. This is the season when we meet the un- chained members of the Poets’ Union of North Americ: refugees from the Authors’ Guild, escaped theosophists, exiles from the literary and spiritual asylums of the land, and Canadian baronets, parading the streets and haunting the springs, drinking in the bon-mots of fat gentlemen adorned with plush waistcoats and golden anchor chains, or listening with rapt attention to haughty hackmen expressing their views of pri- vate coachmen, Hordes of modest, blushing politicians visit Saratoga during the race season; but they make no pretense of ill health, nor do they display an inordinate passion for the waters; cocktails and odds mark the even tenor of their ways. While a spirit of broad democracy pervades Saratoga, its pride lies in the splendid creatures in alcohol and diamonds who adorn hotel parlors, corridors and piazzas, outrivaling the glitter of the clectric lights, serene and beautiful as rare orchids. Saratoga takes a deep interest in the stranger within her cage. Should he have bad blood—good blood is scarce—he is sent to the springs; should his spirits be low, he is directed to the bar and trotting park; has he lost faith in his fellow-men, he is advised to spend an hour in Hilton park communing with nature; is he shy on resources, fraternal men in black-blue mous- taches will lead him gently to a free exhibit of Chip-in-deal furniture; is he looking for an easy thing, tearful citizens escort him to bedlam; has life lost its savor, have the hotel bandit and the track relieved him of care and cash, he is re- minded that the lake, with its broad, deep bosom, still glitters in the sunlight. The season at Saratoga, like the natives, is very short. When you visit Bar Harbor, Newport or Lenox, be reticent of Saratoga, for it has a bad taste in the mouth in those paradises. It recalls too vividly the chaotic or early job lot stages of the aristocrat’s progress; he shuddersat the red plush memories of his fathers. Never speak of Saratoga except at Saratoga; and then, if possible, in the past tense. Saratoga is now merely an inland Coney Island, minus the vivacity, gayety and ginger of the seaside plaisance. Letters of introduction from the garbage de- partment or the New York World are good in ENCOURAGING HIM, Saratoga. Soseph Smith. He: 1 COULD KISS THE VERY GROUND UPON WHICH YOU WALK. “FOOLISH BOY! I'M SURE THE GROUND WOULD NOT APPRECIATE IT.” HE air castles of most girls are covered with orange blossoms. comicbooks.com