Life — January 7, 1904 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

And Her Famous Winter Resorts Best reached from ST. LOUIS and Mempbis via the IRON MOUNTAIN ROUTE. 4-DAILY TRAINS—4 DINING CARS. MEALS ALA Carte. MEXICO The Italy of America WHEREIN ARE LOCATED The Ruins of Mitla, The Cata- combs of Guanajuato, The Pyramids of Cholula, The Valley and Hills of Monterey BEST REACHED VIA Sherriswte atone: eater Shy SUNSET ROUTE Duration 3-28 (oa Bet for Ulastratin booklets kale 'N CONNECTION WITH A. Hamburg A ric: Wiameyre- American tine, (y MEXICAN INTERNATIONAL R.R. PUILADELPULA. Pa. Gutcaoo. = < 36-33 Bway DAILY SERVICE ork @ Inquire at Boston logs jproeas 109 Sool HESttin sereee " yp eras EO. McCORMICK, P. T. ‘Ran Francisco, Cal, California Congenial persons —éducat- ed, refined and well dressed —are the class you meet on The California Limited Hence the journey is sure to be pleasant socially... point worth considering ... The California Limited runs daily. between Chicago, Los Angel ‘San Diego and San Francisco, on a prac- tically dustless (oil-sprinkled) track. Visit Grand Canyon of Arizona en route. Ove illustrated booklets, mailed free, will help you rightly plan a Cablomia tour. Address General Passenger Office, Atch- ton, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway, Fe All the Way PRESS OF THE J, W. PRATT CO., NEW YORK. Little White Shoon. ITTLE White Shoon, you are dainty and slim As you flit o'er the ballroom floor; Worthy are you for an artist to limn, A poet to hymn—and adore. I gaze in amaze at your frolicsome flight, As a wight by enchantment bewitched: But what do you care as you trip it to-night? You snare that the Pixies have stitched! Little White Shoon, like twin butterflies That circle a garden a-blow, With rapturous sighs and love-laden eyes I follow wherever you go. ‘Neath satin a-shimmer you glimmer as gay As lily buds wet with the dew— If I mix up my similes, pardon me, pray, Each moment I'm wildered anew. Little White Shoon, you have gallants, a score, Around you they sigh and aspire, And into your ear vapid compliments pour Unmeet for the grace they admire; But melody springs from my lyre, for its strings Are a-quiver because you are near, And when you bave vanished, like all lovely things, The world of your beauty shall hear. Little White Shoon—afar from the rout, What fancies are blent with my dreams! As you pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat gleaming about, I catch the sweet ripple of streams; The scent of the wild rose a- y in the wind, The song of the shy forest bird, The glamour of moonlight with shadows en- twined, In my dreaming are felt and are heard. Little White Shoon, the night's ebbing fast, The East’s growing pink with the morn; The fairer the vision the quicker ‘tis past— Alas, must you leave me forlorn! The cellos are breathing a final refrain: May your beauty ne'er wither or blight, ‘And soft be the touches of sorrow and pain; Little White Shoon, good night! Samuel Minturn Peck. ‘THat was a broad and sweeping decision of Judge Colt’s in the Circuit Court of the United States, District of Massachusetts, rendered Nov. 9 last, restraining Adains, Taylor Co., of Boston, Mass., from using the word “Clab” in connection with bottled Cocktails. The complainants, G.F, Heublein & Bro.. have spent much time and money iu Introducing the celebrated Club Cocktatis, which, ike all well-known and staple articles, have been more or less tmattated, This decision means not only protection to the maker of the goods, but affords equal protection to the purchaser, and simp'ifes the matter of getting what yo" want and pay for, That is the kind of protection to Wh.ca | established brands like *C ocktalls” are entitled. T is related that, on one occasion, Boss Tweed, of New York, was standing with a group in the Mayor's office, when a large diamond, as big as a strawberry, rolled upon the floor. Some one of the group picked it up and passed it around to find its owner. “Not mine,” said one after another. Tweed fumbled with his garments for a minute, then reached for the stone. “It must be mine,” he said; “I see I have lost one oi* my suspender buttons.” —Argonaut.