Life — August 1, 1912 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

-LIFE: Ode to Newport ‘AIR NEWPORT, loveliest village of the main,— Or, for that matter, of the low or highland,— Whose palaces regard with high disdain The rest of Mr. Aldrich’s Rhode Island, Be not too proud of Fashion’s vain parade, Of Counts, of Dukes, of marble halls baronial! Your origin, I understand, was Trade— The slave trade, too, they hint, in days colonial. But that’s the Past; I now would dwell upon Your present pageantry and joy supernal. I know about your Awful Goings-on! (I read the Times, Sun, Herald, World and Jour- nal.) I know about your mansions by the sea Where Plutocrats regale the azure-blooded From salvers wrought in golden filigree And casseroles and trenchers, sapphire-studded ! Your residents are Multi-millionaires ; Their talk, I learn from most authentic sources, Is all of coal mines, railroads, banks and shares, Of steam-yachts, motors, chorus girls and horses. By wicked wiles they won their wealth untold; They sit from dusk to sunrise playing poker, And all about them takes the hue of gold— Why, one of them has named his cottage, “‘ Ochre!” Their ladies rise betimes at ten o'clock Or even earlier when all is sunny, And each puts on some lacy kind of frock And breakfasts—say, on caviare and honey. They waste a passing while in airy speech With gilded youths or titled foreign boobies, Then motor down to bathe at Bailey’s Beach In brilliant costumes made of pearls and rubies. A sailing trip comes next, or else, I guess, Some tennis played within the famed Casino; Then luncheon, rest, a change or so of dress, Discussions of the latest news from Reno, The country club and golf, an hour at bridge (A thousand-dollar prize rewards the winner), A breezy drive along the rocky ridge, Then some gay trifle like a Monkey Dinner. What bliss is yours, O jaded Newport, when Upon the briny ocean, blue and wavy, All laden down with eligible men Appears your private fleet, the U. S. Navy! How brightly now your lamps till morning glow! How wild becomes your freakish dissipation! Now don’t be saying that it isn’t so, I tell you I’ve Undoubted Information! Nay, Billionaire, I will not change my mind! I spurn your invitation neat and formal! Supposing I'd accept, and come, and find That Newport life was pretty nearly normal? I know you! cold and selfish, you'd abjure Extravagance and wicked, wasteful leisure And thus defraud the sad, down-trodden Poor Of lurid tales; their sole remain.ng pleasure! So Newport, flourish! Heap your massive shrines f porphyry with Mammon’s choice oblations. Supply the Press and thunderous Divines With scandals, marvels, ever-new sensations. Still emulous to mix your golden meal With dabs of true aristocratic leaven, Be what you are, the goal of social zeal, A gorgeous, restless, futile Bourgeois Heaven! Arthur Guiterman. The Book Game ECENTLY three women in New York were inveigled into paying several thousand dollars for a set of books in fine bindings. Every once in a while a case like this comes to iight and reveals the system of organized plunder of innocent people by reprehensible book agents. The most gullible victim of these villains is usually some elderly lady with plenty of money and an abnormal desire for culture. But there have been numerous in- stances of men who have been caught in the game. Nothing is more uncertain than the market value of books. Every week libraries are being sold at auction at very much less than they cost their owner. Unless you have great discrimination and a quite remarkable knowl- edge of books, the buying of them for the purpose of acquiring a collection is a very ticklish matter. THE GNUVEAUX RICHES AT GNUPORT 2 |