Life — September 16, 1897 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

The Newest Journalist. HE Newest Journalist went to bed, To sleep and dream, and dreamed he was dead. The thing that passed for his soul went straight And gave his name at the heavenly gate; The porter told him he ‘ need not wait.” The Newest Journalist took his cue-- That was no place for an “ interview.” Heaven, he reckoned, was slow and dull, Where all was decent and beautiful, With never a fake, or scoop, or pull. The Newest Journalist went below As deep as the elevators go. He boldly strode to the door and rang; A brazen wicket oped with a clang. Old Satan looked at the stranger's card; His face grew dark and his voice grew hard ; He ordered the gates to be doubly barred. “Go back,” he said, ‘to your proper sphere; You serve me better on carth than here, Moreover—perhaps we cut it fine— Bat since the days of those Gadarene swine, We devils have had to draw the line.” A Literary Klondike. HE literary paragraphers report that Mr. Hall Caine’s latest novel will bring him more money than any contemporary writer has received fora story. Mr. Caineshould publish his publishers’ checks. They would be read with in- terest by multitudes, and might help to restrain the rush tothe Klondike. Nothing that a man can put into a book seems to interest this muck-raking generation quite so intensely as what he gets out of it. Mr. Kipling, it seems, gets more per word than Mr. Caine, but Mr. Caine can put more marketable words into a story than Mr. Kipling can, so Mr. Caine is ahead. HERE isa growing recog- nition of the fact that public spirit in a proprietor is a mighty good advertise- ment for a business, “WHAT OTHER GIRL IS THERE?" A DESOLATE WORLD. ““OH, YES, GEORGE! YOU'LL GET OVER IT AND MARRY SOME OTHER GIRL.”