Life — November 7, 1901 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

He Won the Day. «¢7 HOPE,” said Mrs. Stonehurst to her husband, ‘that you will not be home until late this afternoon. My literary club meets here, and it may not be until half-past six before we disband, You wouldn't be inter- ested, you know.” “I presume,” said Stonehurst," that you think I wouldn’t be up to this sort of thing.” “Well, hardly,” replied his wife. “The subject is Metaphysics, which I imagine is too deep for you.”” An idea occurred to Stonehurst. * Under ordinary circumstances, my dear,’’ he said, ‘‘ you would be right, but it happens that Metaphysics is my stronghold. I tell you what I'll do. To add to the interest of the occasion and help you to make your afternoon @ success, I'll come home early and read a little paper of my own.” His wife regarded him doubtfally. “It will bea very critical audience,’” Lire Cherchez la Femme. L® yields in all its varied round, Of mysteries not a few, Nor can a spot on earth be found That knows not one or two ; This fact is true of New York town, And doubtless of Siam, But everywhere the wise declare, Cherchez la femme, Does some pale youth, whose merry laugh Juce cheered the listener's heart, Begin to mope, like moon-struck calf, And play a Hamlet's part ; Or does a man of ancient mien Sport like a playful lamb, * And lose his sense and compe- tence ? Cherchez ta femme. The secrets of the Cabinet Appear, we'll say, in print ; Some scandal of the upper set Is told by smile and hint; Our enemies have learned, we find, The strength of Uncle Sam, The proper way to win the fray— Cherchez la femme. And 80, my son, cherchez la femme Whenever you're in doubt, Le not content with saying “ Damn!” But find the culprit out ; With steady brain, untroubled eye, Dissect each show and sham, But waste no time on simple man— Cherehez la femme. Witiam Wallace Whitelock, she said. ‘‘ Mrs. Hartstone, Mrs. Grayfull, Mrs. Cor- texe——" “Yes,” retorted Stonehurst, ‘I know ‘em all, That’s what makes me feel sare I can interest them. Don't be afraid, my dear, I won't disgrace you.” And the matter was settled. Stoneburst went down to his office, lit a large cigar, called his typewriter, and began as follows: THE ULTIMATE OF THE ABSOLUTE, Ontologically sped mine as the absolute isto be considered king, what we deter- in its morphological aspe differentiated from the epistomological centres of determined ultimates and wholly within the range of the trans- cendental wstheticism. Thus we have intuitive properties, rel tively displaced by irregular con- cepts in which antinomies are present, and should be judged by their assemblage in proportion to the predetermination of spatial phenomena. Stonehurst kept this up for twenty minutes, occasionally administering restoratives to the typewriter,and wound up as follows: Thus we have the Ultimate of the Absolute, so placed as to be unalterable, and the cosmological reality synthetically determined snot to be y apriori generalities udinous ult sphere, of datur or other get this grand and glorious result. At seven o'clock that evening, amid the débris of dishes and the flutter of countless pieces of torn note paper, Mrs. Stonehurst threw her arms around her husband's neck. “It was wonderful !"’ she exclaimed, “The ladies all agree with me that you must be elected president of the club at ouce !"” Tom Masson, conti uum fore marun, a dependent upon “11's aoon 1? comicbooks.com