Life — November 5, 1903 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

THE SONG OF THE CAMPFOLLOWERS. Eight thousand miles of a tumbling sea From a land where the good God rules, We are here on the edge of the farthest East, A brigade of disgusted fools. Wo have left behind what makes life seem good For this land of the prickly heat, Of cholera, plague, and of Chinese cooks, Who spoil what we have to eat ave “brothers brown” And some beautiful tropic scenes ot damned unhealthy, Turbulent Itby, Beautiful Philippines. But, to compensate, we Wo thought when at home we were honest men. But we learn out here that we're not: Campfollowers, grafters, and thieves, and rogues. Is tho e that we now have got We have fought for our flags on a hundred Isles, And this | thanks they But we're here (God help us), and give our thanks To the “Powers” we're allowed to live Woe may add that our living is rather scant, Mere bacon, and pork and beans— In these restless, bloody, Wet and muddy, Beautiful Philippin We have learned some things, and have learned them wel But the they teach won't down— For instanc ught that a white-skinned man Is not It is true we e got the price), For that’s © sald, This land where we've suffered, and fought, and tarved. This land where we've left our dead. Folks at home may talk of the “strenuous life, But they'll never know what it me; Till they've lived fat busted And sore disgusted In these beautiful Philippines. —Robert F. Morrison, in Manila Sunday Sun. a brown, can leave (if we what the “Power WHEN Bishop Doane, of Albany, was the rector a Episcopal church in Hartford, Mark Twain the end of the sermon, the humorist said: “Dr. Doane, I enjoyed your sermon this morning. I welcomed it like an old friend. I have, you know, @ book at home containing every word of it.” You have not,” said Dr. Doane. I have so." said the ‘humorist. send that book to me. I'd like to see i “I'M send it," Twain replied. And be sent the next morning an unabridged dictionary to the rec- tor.—Argonaut. Ix the “Memoir’ of Robert Chambers, by bis brother Wiiliam, is a delightful allusion to Peebles, their birthplace, and a spot ever warm in the loving memory of Scotch residents. One of th in who had lived there all his life, was enabled by some uplift of fortune to visit Paris. When he came back, bis townsmen gravely gathered about him. Noo." said one, while the others listened, “tefl us aboot it.” “Parts,” be began, “a’ things considered, ts a wondertu’ place. But still, Peebles for pleasure!" Youth's Companion xan” James, the giant from Kentucky, who , Was making a political 1s now a member of C 8 speec I want to’ask you a question,” shouted a map in the rear of all. “Well, my friend,” asked Mr. James, blandly, “what ts It?” “I want you to tell this gathering what is the difference between Grover Cleveland and Theodore Roosevelt?" “Nothing simpler.” replied Mr. James. “Mr. Cleveland is too sedate to hunt, and Mr. Roosevelt ts too restless to fish.""—Saturday Evening Post. A USEFUL ATTACHE, “Why should I 5 the Sultan of Turkey “Because he may be very useful in an emer- gency.” answered the grand vizier; “he knows bow to say ‘We apologize’ in every modern language.""— Washington Star. this man a position?” said CIVILIZED HIM. “L used to roam in Ignorance, The former savage said. did a wildly heathen dance, With feathers on my head. I used to fight in heathen style, Unless my foe would run— But now I pot him at a mile, For I possess a gua, “Oh, it was terrible to see Me in my former state, But destiny looked after me And led the band of fate, Until where once we sat and sang Our prayers to the moon The white man built a big shebang That he calls a saloon, lightenment came here; she bore In one week's time I smoothly swore And played at seven up ‘The kindly nfen who tock my land Came from across the sea, And said they'd take me by the hand And make a man of me. “So now I'm not a savage man.” He said, and wisely smiled; “With pagan eyes I do not scan The desert and the wild. I do not ramble any more The wicked paths despised— I blow the foam upon the floor, And I've been civilized. —Chicago Tribune. A WRLL-KNoWN landscape painter was busy “dasbing in” the colors of a sunset In the country The tints were hurriedly conveyed from tube to palette, and from palette to canvas, for the artist was anxious to catch the effect. A rustic standing by observed the operation for a little while, and then remarked: “Ah, you be a-painting two pi tures at once. That's clever.” He paused a ment, and blurted out: “I like that picture best— the one you've got your thumb through !"—Argy: naut onally attended the services. One Sunday, at Live is for sale by all Newsdealers in Great Britain, The International News Company, Bream's Bullding, Chancery Lane, London, E.¢., England, Acrxts, IF GENUINE mean een Always the Same! _ Esterbrook WHISKEY, sh A stub pen. That’s All! No. 442- Increasingly WT ry it. varieties of to suit — ——— THE NAME CARL M. 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