Life — August 30, 1900 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

«LIFE : Zoological Politics. Tue Octopus aNp THE Horse LEECH. HE Octopus sat in his shirt sleeves, fanning his im- perial brow and benevolently assimilating checks from patriotic concessionaires, when the fat and oozy Horse © Leech wriggled in and remarked, “How is business, Mark?” “ Business?" snorted the perspiring Octopus. ‘‘ Business is not up to the mark, this Mark, This business of saving the country for our business is blamed expensive, and Gratitude, the handmaiden of imperial commerce, has gone into insolvency.” “ Are the Business Interests slow in responding to their Country's call?” the Horse Leech asked, cautiously. “Slow?” yelled the Octopus. “Slow? Why, molasses at the Poles is quicker. They don’t appreciate the crisis. With industry flooded with water and prosperity they don’t realize the virtue of contributing a mackerel to catch a whale. Our native land—Ohio—is in danger.” The Horse Leech hesitated. “ The Holy Terror of Bronco- ville scares them,” he said. ‘America’s necessity is our opportunity; but the Garrulous. Sombrero scares the open hand of Wall Street. He has taxed franchises, denounced peace and property, and flung bricks at the High Priests of the Golden Calf, and now he is the official attachment to the Imperial Jelly Fish, the nightmare of the Easy Boss.” “Tut! tut!’ growled the Octopus. ‘Don't let a frisky thing like the Boisterous Bronco worry you; he is only our decoy, mere bait to catch suckers. We need him in our business this fall. You patriotic patrons of pillage have the Jelly Fish solid—as solid as a quivering proposition can be. For the ordinary American who loves a gold brick we need the Bucking Bronco, the strenuous, staccato shouter, who yells for the flag, demands gore, expands in hot weather, and warms the heart of Oklahoma and other placvs without delegates. Don't take him seriously ; we'll attend to the concessions, contracts and franchises. When the campaign closes we will maroon him in the Senate and mark him down to thirty cents. The question now is, What will the fat and industrious Horse Leech do for his native land?” ‘Times have been bad,"’ the Horse Leech ssid, slowly. “ Sugar is only paying five hundred per cent.; Standard Oil talks of liquidating ; Tobacco is burning up ; Coal is turning to ashes, and Prosperity is limping. Times are hard.” “Yes! The self-denying Horse Le is suffering,” the Octopus replied, with a wink. ‘ But consider your native land. If the Jelly Fish is to arrive, we must have ten millions for printing and—well, paper. My boy, your widow's mite ought to be about three of them. With that in sight, I can promise you a fat and juicy republic, with varicose veins anxious for your ardor and enthusiasm. Smoke up.” “Under the circumstances,” murmured the sighing H. L., ‘I must be with the old flag. Let the empire and its civilization be judiciously distributed, and every Horse Leech will be for the Constitution and Honest Money—your money and mine. Here’s a trifle for printing ; but please tie up that Bronco, or we'll get cold feet.” ‘ Joseph Smith, A Good Man, Too! It is always more or less of a blow when a malodorous cause gets a good man upon its side. President Eliot, of Harvard, in supporting vivisection, gives reasons for taking this surprising step. The reasons are not 80 bad as the cause itself; that would be impossible. But they are very old and threadbare and very weak, having been knocked in the head a great many times. The doctors have evidently been talking to President Eliot, and he has accepted with a touching simplicity whatever they have chosen to administer. Here is one of his arguments, a fair sample of them all: “How many cats or guinea pigs would you or I sacrifice to save the life of our child or to win'a chance of saving the life of our child?” And if a mother would not sacrifice college presidents to save the life of her child, what sort cf a mother would she be? Is this an argument for the cutting up alive of college presidents? And from President Eliot—our own Prex—the head of a university where the principles of logic—and of ethics—are imparted ! Realism. CENE: Critpren’s Party (Punch and Judy show going): Tom discovered by his hostess’s papa in tears. Hostess's Papa: Afraid, Tom? Cheer up, old man, they're only dolls. Poor FRIGHTENED Tommy : They won’t be dolls when I dream about them to-night. On the Links. eeyou ought to be ashamed to swear so dreadfuliy at the caddy. He is the minister's little boy.’’ “It's all right. His father believes in infant damnation.” PLAYING TAG. “No PAIR GOING IN THR WaTER.”