A MASSACHUSETTS

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con

temporary alludes to the present chief executive as our pie-eating President from Indianapolis." Apparently this is intended for a contemptuous epithet. LIFE claims that this is unfair. Suppose we should speak of Emerson as "the late pie-eating philosopher of Concord;" or of Governor Russell as "the bean-eating governor from Boston;" or of that eminent philanthropist, George W. Childs, as "the scrapple-eating obituary poet from Philadelphia." It would be unfair, because all of these gentlemen are noted for other qualities, just as President Harrison is. There is a saying that a man becomes what he eats," and it may follow that President Harrison will be a perfect pie for his political opponents next year, but this does not justify the use of the epithet. Speak of him, dear contemporary, rather as "our Raum-protecting President," or "our Russell-afflicted President," or "our Wanamaker-retaining President," but do not twit him with coming from Indianapolis, and being unable to restrain his mad passion for pie.

She: THE BRIDE'S FATHER GIVES HER AWAY, I SUPPOSE ? He: No. HE SOLD HER PRIVATELY.

A SMALL AND EARLY."

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Is

S there anything the matter with
Grover?

No! Grover is all right. But so far as concerns the State of New York, his trolley's off; that's all.

Grover was never a distinct success at managing his trolley. In his palmiest days he was not only an indifferent poli

tician himself, but was rather a difficult person for politicians to work for. He is a wilful man. There is no doubt of that. His

greatest value lies in it. It is a good quality in the right sort of a president, but not so useful in a presidential candidate. Daniel Manning managed Grover's trolley better than anyone else, but Daniel Manning is dead. Now-a-days, whatever popular current is sent down the wire, the Hill trolley is ready for, and the current runs down into the Hill machine and makes the wheels thereof revolve. It is probable that more voters in the State of New York want Cleveland than want Hill, but Hill's trolley is on, and Grover's isn't.

*

THE

HERE is one thing in favor of Mr. Cleveland, or of any other good man who may be Mr. Hill's rival at Chicago, and that is a little peculiarity about the presidential office. It seems to have the masculine trait of being a wooer. A candidate may set his cap for it, as most candidates do, but it isn't quite safe for him to come openly a-courting. The office really likes to seek the man, or at any rate it likes to make believe it is seeking the man and go through the forms of a quest. It usually takes at least two men to make a President-one to sit around demurely at home, and wait to be courted; the other to go out with a sharp stick and persuasive ways to stir the office up to the point of seeking the can

didate. Mr. Hill is trying to be both of these men himself, and that is where he will slip up. He might get the presidency for Mr. Cleveland, if he tried real hard; he may possibly get it still for someone else; but he can't get it for Mr. Hill. Experience teaches that to be a boss and to be a candidate are two different jobs, and that, though in state politics a clever man sometimes makes them work together for good, in national politics they become too big for any one man to handle.

could be sure of owning his President after he had made him, boss-ship would be indefinitely more desirable than the presidency. The trouble is that the presidency is so great an office that it is liable to swell its incumbent's head so that his boss can no longer manage him. This has often happened : indeed it usually happens, and is the main reason why the bosses maintain that there is but one virtue that is indispensable to political success, and that is gratitude. The boss's idea of gratitude is that the creature in office shall work for his boss and do good to him and his. The boss's notion of ingratitude is realized when a mistaken notion of duty to the people, or a mere whim of selfish ambition induces the officeholding creature to neglect his boss's desires. No one but a disappointed boss can realize how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have set up an ungrateful creature.

IT

T is slow work acquiring a fondness for electrical executions. The popular taste in judicial killing is chaste, simple, and impatient of scientific frills. The rope, the meat axe, or the bludgeon, may still supplant the steam engine and the wire in the punishment of crime. If the Keeley cure is as fatal as is alleged, why not use that? Which suggests that in the natural development of knowledge the future may be expected to provide a germicide which will destroy the criminal tendencies, and lie in wait to kill the patient at the first symptom of a purpose to raise a new crop.

Ο

AFTER THE BALL.

'ER the snow-laid ways we noiseless rolled Home from a ball on that winter's night; 'Twas a happy chance that had put me thereA chaperon's sudden, fainting plight. And now we two were all that shared

The cozy ease of her father's broughamWith what sweet abandon she nestled back, All down and fur, in its friendly gloom!

The streets flew by, our talk had stopped,

Should I grasp the chance which fate had thrown?
Her speaking silence gave me hope-

I tenderly whispered, "Madge, my own!"
She answered not; I touched her hand,
Her soft breath made my pulses leap ;
Then a light shown in from a passing lamp ;
It fell on Madge-she was sound asleep!
Margaret H. Welch.

A

HEALTH.

FEW remarks about the care of the health are quite in order at this season of the year.

Take your health to some safe place and hide it. People are on the lookout for health all the time and they might steal yours. If you haven't any health, of course you need not worry about it, and in fact need not read this article.

Do not run after a cold. A cold does not run so fast but that, slow as you are, you might catch it. Having caught it, however, try to give it to the rest of your family so they will not bother you with their sympathy.

Be careful what you eat. People who live in boarding-houses should pay especial attention to this.

Be careful what you wear. Wear good warm clothes if you have them. Otherwise wear what you have and tell people that they are warm.

Be cheerful. All you have to do to be cheerful is to try. It is so easy.

Be careful what you breathe. If possible have the air you breathe analyzed before you breathe it. At any rate breathe as little as possible.

Do not sleep more than eight hours a day. You will have plenty of time to sleep after you are dead. It is therefore a waste of time.

Be careful what you drink. It is your duty to drink something, however, as the government must have a revenue. If you are invited to drink by a friend, drink a more expensive drink than you would under other circumstances. This will help you to be cheerful.

In case you should die you need not send the editor of this paper your change of address, so that is one thing less to worry about. Much as the inhabitants want it, LIFE is not received at either place.

He: OH, IT'S JUST HIS MONEY! I DON'T SEE HOW

YOU CAN STAND A MAN WITH A NOSE AS RED AS A DANGER SIGNAL.

She: IT'S NOT. BESIDES IT WOULD BE DIFFERENT IF I WERE A blonde; BUT ANY SHADE OF RED GOES VERY NICELY WITH MY COMPLEXION.

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66

SOME REMARKS ON "LIGHT" WOMEN, AND THE
TALES OF A GENIAL.

CORRESPONDENT is moved, by the recent remarks in this column on " cold-blooded villains," to ask whether there are not equal possibilities of good in the so-called " light" woman. When people hurl the epithet "light" at a woman, says the correspondent, they apparently feel that they have finished her, and that she has almost no excuse for being. They grant, condescendingly, that she is lovely in her home relations, a judicious mother, a sweet wife; that her kindness warms the hearts of all who come in contact with her-the poor seamstress, the struggling florist. But they look condemnation, and solemnly say: 'She's so fond of society; so light.""

And then the correspondent asks several questions of LIFE, which have been referred to the Sphinx for a final answer: "Who is responsible for this morbid anxiety to be subtle and deep? Browning? Why

is it so dreadful to be simple, easily understood?"

As it may be months or years until the answer is received from the Sphinx, LIFE has also consulted a private Oracle who lives in Boston. The answer of the Oracle is written in sublimated English on a parchment scroll. So far as a lay reader can interpret the inspired writer, the drift of his answer is as follows:

The present generation of young matrons were brought up on Boston novels. They have gone out of style now, but they flourished vigorously in a decade which closed not many years ago. As young girls they were taught by every book they read to be introspective and critical of their neighbors; always to have on hand several "soul-problems" to solve, and one or two men whose mental life was "to be raised to a higher level."

So long as the girl was young and pretty this was fairly good fun for the man (for a change from simpler methods of flirtation). But woe to the men of those days who married the women! They have been led to cry out, in the words of Stevenson, "The man who marries domesticates the Recording Angel!"

It is these wives who now spend most of their leisure at afternoon teas in hurling epithets at the new type of girl whom we all worship. She is tall and straight-" a man and woman for brains, legged like a deer, breasted like a swan, with a sheaf of arrows in her eyes," to quote George Meredith. She is so full of health, of the joy of living, that she has no time for "soul-problems," and would rather race a man across country on a good mount, than "elevate his ideals."

WH

HEN Complacency and the East Wind were married they built a village on Massachusetts Bay and christened it the Hub of the Universe. Their descendants are countless, all possessing, in varying degrees, the characteristics of their ancestors. But, of them all, none inherited their peculiar qualities in richer fulness than Priggie, the heroine of this tale. She was the perfect type; the development in full flower.

One day, many years ago, as she was strolling along the Beverly shore, reflecting sadly upon the unconventionality of the ocean, and the general abandon and impropriety of Nature, she was observed by two fairies, who, disguised as sand peeps, were strolling about the beach.

"No mistaking where she's from," remarked one of the sand peeps.

"Could anybody want to marry her?" said the other. "Possibly."

"I don't believe it."

"Well, let's try. Here's a man coming. We'll hypnotize him and have some fun!"

He was a Young Man from the West. When they cast their spell upon him, which was a very strong one, it worked with astonishing quickness. He gazed rapturously upon the maiden; then, after a moment's indecision, he approached her hastily, yet timidly, and with quaking knees. Removing his hat he bowed, blushed and stammered, but could find no words to express his love.

Priggie was shocked beyond expression at being addressed by a stranger. Her thin lips grew thinner, and her eyes shot