Life — November 18, 1897 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

Mey t pee TY THE PRINCE OF WHALES, Well Done, Ancients! T is worth recording that the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company of Boston did not go to Halifax last month, The trip was planned and the staterooms engaged, but only three artillerymen turned up on the wharf, and they felt themselves to be too small a body to represent their or- ganization properly, or to expect from the representatives of the Queen and the other residents of Halifax such formal recog- nition, military attentions and miscellaneous hospitality as they have been used to receive. So they stayed at home. It was the most becoming and suitable thing that has been done in the name of the Ancient and Hon- orable since its organization by Cotton Mather in 1493. It has set itself a great example, Heaven send it sense and forti- tude to go on in the same wise course. Explained. ee HAT is meant by the saying that speech is silver and silence is golden?” “It costs more to make a man keep still than to make him talk.” > LIFE: The Victory. ae a OMERO HE autumn sun peered dim and low From clouds that scurried to and fro Across the sky to hide her ; But brightness shone from Polly’s eyes, And Soldiers’ Field seemed Paradise To me who sat beside her. There rose a mass of crimson hue, And here a bank of waving blue, In numbers somewhat fewer, And, all as though her choice to speak, A ruddy flush dyed Polly's cheek, While I kept getting bluer. Girl: PLEASE 'M GIVE ME AN’ ME BRUDDERS Lady: WHY, YOU'RE NOT ALL ONE FA! Girl (unblushingly) > 419 Two surging lines of tattered men; A silence—cries—an onslaught—-then— While frenzied groans deplore it— From out the struggling, surging mass A single figure swift doth pass, Acclear, straight field before it! Then ‘neath the rug of Scottish plaid A hand upon my hand is laid, My heart almost stops beating ! A squeeze!—and to my heart there goes A wave of joy, from head and toes, Advancing and retreating ! The runner's down! A little sigh From Polly as, with sparkling eye, She turns for my dismay, But meets the gaze of one who holds Her hand in triumph ‘neath the folds Of that dear rug of gray. Who won, you ask? Did Harvard score? Or Yale? I noticed not; no more I heeded aught such folly. I only heard her whispers low And saw her face. In short, I know Naught save that / won Polly / Richard Stillman Powell. O you know how to make a Greek +?” “Just mention Turkey to him.” AN’ SISTERS SUTHIN’? SURELY ? YES'M, WE'S ALL TWINS ! comicbooks.com