The Cartoons in this collection were originally published in “The Chicago Tribune” and the “Chicago Record-Herald” and are reprinted in this form by permission of the publishers.

These cartoons have been reprinted in the hope that they may have a permanent interest because of the great historical importance of the period they encompass. In the last two or three years the world has moved with more than its usual alacrity. It has been a history-making epoch. There has been a war that WAS a war. There have been disasters almost without parallel; and we have weathered as pleasant a presidential campaign as the oldest inhabitant can remember. Mr. Roosevelt has been insured to us for another four years and his activities in peace and in war and in sports have been a source of unending inspiration to the cartoonist. In addition, the nation has achieved merited glory because of the great exposition held in St. Louis, and last, but not least, Missouri has taken it into her head to go Republican.

The importance of these affairs is our excuse for hoping that the cartoons appearing in this collection may have more than an ephemeral interest, and with respectful humility, we hereby dedicate them to that grand old man—sometimes so foolish but always so well-meaning—our Uncle Sam.

October 18, 1905

He Arrives in “San Antone” to Attend a Reunion of the Rough Riders.

A Quiet Day

“Hurry up, boys! I’ve got ’em treed.”

“I wish the boys’d get up. Here I’ve had breakfast ready an hour.”

“The President has been on the trail of a grizzly for four days.”
—News Item.

“Come on, boys! I’ve got ’em cornered.”

“Every time I think of her, I have the queerest feeling, kind o’ like a painless stomach ache, only not so much. I wonder why?”

“No, honest, cross my heart, you’re the first girl I ever said it to.”

“For the land’s sake, child, what ails you, anyway. How many times must I call you to come to your supper?”

“Some day she’ll be sorry she treated me this away. I’ll go ’way and make lots o’ money and come back here riding in a carriage with four white horses, and when she tries to ketch my eye I’ll pertend I never seen her before.”

“That ought to be ‘El Colonel’ instead of ‘El Capitan.’ Oughtn’t it?”

“Magnificent! It looks like the tented field of a Titan Host! It’s the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen—Not an office seeker in sight!”

“I remind myself of Napoleon before the Sphinx. I wonder if it can tell me who will be the next President of the U.S.A.?”

“No wonder the Japs make good soldiers. They’ve certainly solved the transportation problem all right.”

“Just look how much I saved for the Fourth. Ma give me a dime ’n I sold a copper boiler to Johnson Bros. for twelve cents. I got sixteen cents for picking cherries for Mrs. Oliver, ’n a nickel for carrying a note for Mr. Hornbeck, ’n fi’ cents I got for picking potato bugs for Mrs. Oliver, ’n ten cents for finding Mr. Griswold’s cow. And I’m gunna spend it all for shootin’ crackers and fire ’em all off just for you.”

“I bet they’re jealous because they ain’t boys, too.”

“Gee! I wish the circus ’d hurry up and come. I’m terrible hungry. We’ve been waiting nearly three hours and it’ll be sure to come if we go home for breakfast.”

“Gee! I don’t see how anybody can be sad in summer-time, ’specially if he’s a boy an’ likes to go swimmin’!”

“You just step over that line and I’ll learn you that you can’t call my little sister a cry-baby.”

The Chief of the Indian Fighters—“Don’t cry, they’re not real Indians—they’re only cornstalks. We’re just pertending they’re Indians. Come on, you’ll never make an Indian fighter if you act this away.”

“You bet this is the last time I’m gunna visit Aunt Mary, not even if she invites me.”

“Dog gone it! This kind o’ life ain’t the kind o’ life for me. I’m gunna run away ’nd be a soldier, ’nd get killed, ’nd then you bet ma ’ll be sorry she treated me this away.”

“It’s funny how much easier it is to work the ice-cream freezer than it is to churn.”

“Here is a check for little Theodore.”

“You’re wanted below, sir.”
“This is no time to rout a man out. Tell him to wait.”
“It isn’t a ‘him,’ sir; it’s a ‘them.’”

“Good morning, Mr. President.”

“I see by the newspaper that President Roosevelt likes to see large families. Now, I take it, that’s an invitation to visit him, don’t you?”

So Uncle Alexander and His Family, Cousin Silas and His Family and the Hired Man and His Family went down to the Depot and got on the Cars for Washington—

Where the President Said That He Was “Delighted” to See Them.

WHAT THE FARMER SAYS:

“Staid in bed till nearly 5 this morning because we don’t have to get up so early in the winter time.”

“Great guns! are all the windows open? It’s as cold as Greenland in this flat. The man that called this a steam-heated flat was a poor describer.”

“Scraped the frost off the window so’s I could get a squint at the weather. Looked purty winterish.”

“Well, I hate to get up, but I suppose I must. Not an ounce of steam in the place. And just listen to the crunch of those wheels out there. I’ll bet it’s a hundred below zero.”

“Boots froze stiff. Guess I forgot to grease ’em last night. They slipped on about as easy as a section of stovepipe.”

“Cook is sore. Says she isn’t used to living in an ice-house. I never saw such haughtiness.”

“Woodpile covered with snow so I had difficulty getting kitchen fire started. Finally got enough hot water to thaw out pump.”

“Have a horrible cold. That’s the trouble with these steam-heated flats. About the time you get acclimated the furnace goes on a strike.”

“Carried in some fodder for the stock. Latch on barn door so dad gasted cold it pulled the skin off my nigh hand. Curried horses, etc.”

“And you are left with your tubes filled with bronchitis microbes, and your heart filled with homicidal tendencies. Natural gas low. No hot breakfast.”

“Then had nothing to do but wait for daylight and breakfast. Had hot fried mush, hot ham, some good coffee, and a couple dozen buckwheat cakes. Seemed to agree with me.”

“Cable broke and had to stroll downtown. Got to office late and was called down. Many are called down, but few deserve it.”

“Shucked corn all morning. In afternoon repaired rail fence on the east eighty till dark. Then took some nourishment in the shape of boiled ham and cabbage.”

“Boss says that it mustn’t happen again. I hope it won’t.”

“Sat around awhile. Hated to tackle the cold sheets, but finally it got so late that I had to turn in, though I couldn’t get to sleep till after 10.”

“I Wish I Lived in Town Where I Had Some of the Comforts of Life.”

“This city life ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. How I envy the farmer. He’s his own boss and doesn’t care how often the cable breaks.”

“I Wish I Lived Out on Some Pleasant Farm These Fine, Crisp Winter Days.”

“Will you be mine, Felicia?” “For how long, Albert?” “For fifteen years, dearest.” “No, but I will for ten years.” “Can’t you make it twelve?” “No; ten is the limit.” “All right. Here’s the ring. Take good care of it for I may need it again.”

“Do you promise to take this woman for better or for worse for ten years?” “Yes, subject, of course, to renewal of contract.” “Do you promise to love, honor and obey?” “Yes, up to September 14, 1914.” “I pronounce you man and wife. Let no man put asunder in the meantime.”

“Well, Albert, your ten years are up to-day. Do you want an extension of the contract?” “No, thanks, dearest. I’m booked for the next ten years with Fanny Bishop. Her contract with Charley Bishop expires soon, you know.” “Why, of course. How stupid of me to forget. In that case I’ll accept Arthur Bridgeport for five years. His contract with Adelaide is up next Friday at noon.”

“Whose little boy are you?” “I’m Uncle Sam’s little boy.” “Where are your parents, my lad?” “Papa’s doing ten years with the late Mrs. Bishop and mamma, I understand, is married at present to Mr. Bridgeport. Her contract expires some time next month, though, she having failed to get a renewal. Mamma’s getting old, you know.”

The Czar and the Mikado go to War

Since the war in the Far East began, there has been more or less interest evinced by our townsmen in the great struggle. Consequently, when some of our prominent citizens suggested that a talk be given by Captain Fry on the subject, everybody enthusiastically seconded the proposition. The gallant captain, himself a keen student of military strategy, as well as a hero of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and a thousand other equally noted battles, promised to give the talk and, in fact, did give it at the Opera House last Friday evening. Mr. Smiley Green, the popular undertaker, introduced the speaker with a few timely and well-chosen remarks, after which Captain Fry launched vigorously into his subject.

“First, I want to explain what has led up to the present aggravated condition of affairs in the Far East. For many years Russia has slowly but surely been expanding to the eastward, until she is now in possession of all northern Asia. But she has no outlook to the sea for her commerce, except the ice-bound port of Vladivostok way up yonder [pointing to the map]. She is like a great wheat field full of grain with no gate to get the grain out. So what does she do? She decides to get a port farther south. When Japan licked the Chinese in ’94, and captured Port Arthur and a good part of Manchuria, Russia gets France and Germany to protest against Japan’s retaining Port Arthur. They protest and Japan is cheated out of the spoils of war. Then Russia quietly leases Port Arthur from the Chinese for twenty-five years and moves in. She doesn’t think England will stand for her action, but England had a weak Prime Minister, and no protest was made. Of all the nations of the earth, Russia was the most surprised to find that she was to be allowed to keep Port Arthur. So she proceeded to fortify and prepared to stay a good deal longer than her lease called for. Japan is sore, but all the powers were against her. Russia then decides that she must have all the land between Port Arthur and Siberia, so she proceeds to occupy Manchuria. When anybody protested she said she was going to get out day after to-morrow, but she didn’t calculate to. She had worked a bluff at Port Arthur, so why not work another for Manchuria? Japan was foxy and saw how it would come out if she didn’t step in and register a kick. So she demands that Russia move out and Russia says ‘Certainly,’ but when moving day came, Russia couldn’t find the moving man. Instead of that, she moved a few thousand soldiers in and hung up a sign, ‘We are here to stay.’ Then Japan began to oil up her musket. ‘If Russia is allowed to do as she pleases out here, she will soon have Japan in the corner pocket,’ she says, ‘and Japan wants at least a little room to roll around in. We don’t propose to have a big man with a gun leaning up against us on the starboard side, so here’s where we get busy.’ So Japan prepares for fight, but Russia doesn’t think she is in earnest. She calls Japan a little pigmy and delays rolling up her sleeve. At that moment Japan inaugurated what Mr. Gus Figgey would call ‘Rough House’ and lands on Russia at Port Arthur with the result that Russia wakes up to find her solar plexus dislocated.”

At this point in Captain Fry’s speech there were loud shouts of approval, in the midst of which could be heard the voice of Gus Figgey ringing out in strident tones, “Hot stuff, Cap.”

“And now what is a-goin’ to happen?” resumed Captain Fry. “I will tell you. Japan is a-goin’ to land a couple regiments on this what’s-its-name peninsula, destroy the railway, and cut the line of communication to Port Arthur. Then she can plant her siege guns on the hills back of the town and throw in a few hundred ton of grape and canister until the garrison capitulates. Then the Japs can march up through Manchoory, capture the Siberian railway and in six weeks capture St. Petersburg. The Japs already have Sayool down yonder in Corea, and can bombard the Yayloo River when they’re a mind to.”

Many of the audience congratulated Captain Fry on his address, and assured him that they now could intelligently follow the news from the war.

The Battle and the War Correspondent

The War Correspondent and the Story of the Battle

The Press Censor and the Story of the Battle

The Editor and the Story of the Battle

Wabash, Ind., July 27—(Special)—Chris Newbower and Gus Nelson, two prominent citizens of this city, report having sighted the Vladivostok squadron last evening, steaming slowly down the Wabash River. Both men are citizens of considerable veracity, one having formerly been the circulation manager of the Wabash Palladium and the other a prominent politician. People here are inclined to credit the report. Mr. Newbower states positively that he saw three large ships steaming so near that he could distinctly see the masts. Mr. Nelson saw six ships, having probably looked twice. Intense excitement prevails here as there is a neutral river flatboat nine weeks overdue. It is feared the Russian ships may have overtaken it.

Henderson, Ky., July 27—(Special)—Col. Bunker H. Breckenridge, who is spending the summer at his home in this city, reports having seen the Vladivostok squadron lying off the Kentucky shore of the Ohio yesterday afternoon. The colonel doesn’t remember the number of ships but says the number corresponded with that of the Russian fleet. The report can be easily verified, says the colonel, by his grandson who also witnessed the squadron. Great excitement prevails and the matter is the topic of general conversation. The sheriff is organizing a posse of colonels to guard the city in case local shipping is threatened.

St. Joseph, Mich., July 27—(Special)—Mr. H. Close of Chicago, who has been Sundaying in this city, reports seeing the Vladivostok squadron last evening three miles east of this city. Mr. Close was sitting on the shore thinking about the political situation, when some one near by called his attention to the squadron. He says that he saw it distinctly, but didn’t notice how many ships there were, or what direction they were going. Mr. Close states that he is going down again to-night to watch for the squadron. Intense excitement prevails. Little knots of bridal couples may be seen earnestly discussing the sensation.

Joilet, Ill., July 27—(Special)—Mr. Herbert X. Bughaus of this city came running into the city early this morning crying out that he had been pursued by the Vladivostok Squadron. He first saw it near the rolling mills and stopped for some minutes to count the ships. He counted six the first time, but a recount showed nine. A Russian admiral commanded him to surrender, but Mr. Bughaus retreated quickly followed by the entire squadron. Fortunately he reached the city safely, although terribly frightened. In an interview Mr. B. stated that he saw the ships while on his way home or to work, he is not sure which. Great excitement prevails.

Punta Arenas, Argentine Republic, July 27—(Special)—Izaak Walton Jones, a citizen of this city, reports having sighted the Vladivostok squadron three miles and a quarter off Cape Horn, about noon to-day. He first saw the fleet come down the east coast of South America, turn abruptly around the Horn and disappear rapidly up the west coast. There were three large ships and they were traveling thirty knots an hour. When last seen they were turning the corner two miles north of Valparaiso. Mr. Jones at once brought the news to this city, and, after renewing his supplies, will return to the cape where he is fishing.

Dundee, Scotland, July 27—(Special)—Mr. Jem Wethersby, first officer of the Peruvian bark Calisaya, arrived here this afternoon with the report that he found evidences of the Vladivostok squadron. At seven bells night before last, while doing his trick at the watch, he passed a large piece of wreckage which, he swears, was probably part of a vessel sunk by the what’s-its-name squadron. Mr. Wethersby has had much experience in swearing, having been a mate on a tramp steamer for twelve years. Late this evening we endeavored to get a complete story from Mr. W., but he was not to be found.

No. 1.

No. 2.

No. 3.

No. 4.

No. 5.

No. 6.

Cossack Aide—“I regret to report that Port Arthur has fallen.”
The Czar—“Hush! Don’t wake the baby!”

Margate, England, Oct. 24—(Special)—The Eddystone light-house was attacked last night by the Baltic fleet and totally annihilated. It is thought the Russian admiral mistook it for a fleet of Japanese airships.

Dover, England, Oct. 24—(Special)—Late last night a man standing on the English coast sou-sou’west of this place lighted a match to see what time it was. He was instantly attacked by the Baltic fleet, the admiral of which mistook the light for a Japanese signal. Three twelve-inch shells grazed the astonished gentleman, but fortunately none struck him. An ultimatum is probable.

Cherbourg, France, Oct. 24—(Special)—Heavy cannonading was heard several miles off this coast last night. A French cruiser at once put out to the scene of the noise and found the Baltic fleet attacking the north star. It is thought the vigilant admiral mistook the light for a fleet of Japanese battleships. An ultimatum is expected hourly.

Finisterre, France, Oct. 25, 3:30
a.m.—(Special)—At an early hour this morning the Baltic fleet was seen steaming swiftly past this point. Soon afterwards a furious bombardment occurred and continued until the body of an electric eel was washed ashore much mangled by the deadly cannonading. It is thought the admiral of the fleet mistook the eel for a Japanese submarine boat. At the present writing the fleet is bombarding a drug store down near the beach. The druggist is issuing an ultimatum.

Admiral Rojestvensky stood musingly on his flagship—“One load more,” he muttered sadly, “and then our fleet will be coaled and I must leave this pleasant coast.” For a moment a tear stood in his eye as he peered off toward the French China shore. The thought of leaving the dear old scenes, to which he had become so greatly attached, made even the stern old sailor weep. Dashing aside the tear, he turned to direct the busy crew who were bringing the coal to the ships.

“Come, my hearties,” he cried, “step lively. We must get away.”

With these few words, so pregnant of meaning, our hero turned his eyes toward the great leviathans of the deep. Smoke rolled in mighty volumes from their funnels and went whirling off in the howling gale. A thousand cannon strained their cyclopean eyes to the northward; 10,000 Russian tars crouched defiantly at the breech blocks.

For a few moments the Admiral stood there in deep contemplation, listening to the shouting seas and the screaming of the winds. Then, turning slowly, he made his way to the bridge—“Anything in sight?” he inquired of a bystander.

“Forty ships off the port bow, sir. All steamers, sir, but I can’t make out their colors.”

“Humph,” said the admiral, in Russian. “Fishing boats, probably,” and dismissed the matter from his thoughts.

Again he turned his eyes shoreward and another tear appeared—“Ah,” he mused, “I have been so happy here. If my weekly paper had not come so irregularly of late I should be perfectly happy here. Heigh ho, I must not yield to sentiment in this manner.”

A thought then struck him and he turned to give an order to a handsome bystander wearing spurs—“I’ll pipe all hands below and give my men a night’s rest.”

In the twinkling of an eye the wireless telegraph was sending forth the glad news, and a moment later 10,000 Russians tars were peacefully sleeping in their hammocks. A great silence lay over the mighty battleships.

“We must surely do something to preserve our neutrality.”

“There is no doubt about it. We must surely do something to preserve neutrality.”

“As we were saying, we must beyond doubt do something to preserve neutrality.”

“Yes, sir! We will notify the Russians that they must leave French waters.”

Her First Pair of Jumpers—“Am I a little boy now, mama?”

Her First Fishing Trip—“I wonder if the fish know I am here.”

“Oh, mamma! Look at the watermelon tree!”

“Did you really think I was a strange little boy, papa?”

Between Two Deadly Perils

The Doctor—“What you need, Mrs. Scadsworth, is lots of outdoor exercise—horseback riding, walking, mountain air.”

Mrs. Scadsworth arrives at the mountain resort and takes some exercise between the breakfast room and the card room.

Where she and her friends start a game of Bridge.

Which continues without interruption during her stay in the mountains.

Professor—“Is there any solitude in the world greater than that of a stranger in a great city?”

“Well, surely, a man need not be lonely with an institution like that close at hand.”

Professor—“I like intellectual ladies, but I’m afraid she’s too intellectual for me. I’ll hire No. 20.”

The Professor and his guide, No. 20, see the sights.

The Popular Novelist—“Now I’m going to write a great novel on American farm life and I think I’ll go out and find the real type—the kind with chin whiskers who says: ‘B’ gosh, I’ll jest swan to Guiney.’”

“Say, Bub, I’m looking for a typical farmer like this. Do you know of any farmers around here?”

“My Pa’s a farmer, but he’s gone over to town to get a new tire for his auto. You might ask Ma, over there. She’s reading about the yacht races.”

“Great Scott! is this the farmer of to-day? I haven’t heard any of them say ‘B’ gosh, I’ll jest swan to Guiney,’ and none of them looks like the jay pictures.”

“Won’t you stay for supper and drive over to the Chautauqua meeting afterward?”

“No, thank you; I’m going back to town.”

Farmers (inspecting corn crop)—“Well, boys, things look mighty blue for a good corn crop unless we get some good, sweltering hot weather pretty soon. The corn looks mighty skimpy. Just look at them ears—they ought to lop over instead of standin’ straight up.”

“Hooray! That’s the stuff, Mr. Sun. You can’t make it too hot for us. Just listen to the corn grow.”

The Sewing-Machine Agent—“Morning, gents. Hain’t this sun fierce? I wish it would blow up a frost or a good heavy rain and cool off things a bit.”

“My Dear Husband—I arrived here last evening, and O, I’m having the loveliest time. It is perfectly grand here—all so quiet and restful, too. This morning I intended to take a long walk before breakfast, but the maid was so slow in hooking me up that breakfast was all over when I got down.”

“After taking a bite or two I put on my riding habit, but by that time it was so near the luncheon hour that I decided to wait until after I had eaten. And besides, I found that I could get no horse. I wore my embroidered grenadine at luncheon. It was really the prettiest gown on the veranda. I’m just having a perfectly lovely time here!”

“We all intended to walk over to the golf links after luncheon, but when I had put on my walking suit it was time to dress for dinner. So we walked a little way and then returned.”

“The big dining-room was perfectly gorgeous. It was all lit up, and so were all the women. I wore my new lace net robe trimmed with Russian applique, and I really was very easy to look at, although the men all strained their eyes. This has been a heavenly day, and I do so wish you were here, but, poor boy, I suppose you must stay at home and work. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy this unconventional life after my long winter of endless dinners and receptions. It is such a relief to be able to do as one pleases. Please have Hester send me the new gowns as soon as they come from the dressmaker’s, as I positively have nothing to wear.”—Your Devoted Wife.

“What is father striking for, mother? Higher wages?”
“No, dear. The wages are satisfactory.”
“Is he striking for shorter hours?”
“No, dear. The hours are satisfactory. It’s a sympathetic strike.”
“Sympathy for us, mother?”
“No, dear.”

Is it This—“Well, Bill, you won’t have to hang to-morrow. The governor has signed your reprieve.”

Or is it This—“There! your last tooth is filled and you won’t have to come again for years.”

Or is it This—“Hooray, Charley! your ticket has won the capital prize in the lottery!”

No, it is this.

Is it that which is experienced by the poor North Pole seeker whose ship is wrecked, leaving him stranded on an iceberg with nothing to eat but candles, and nothing to drink but dew, and no dew at that?

Or is it the shipwrecked mariner who has drifted for many days on the face of the deep with no place to land but on the shores of an island inhabited by anti-vegetarians?

Or is it the poor Christian who is on the eve of playing an important part in a Turkish massacre?

No! The only real misery is that felt by the small boy who has to go to school this fine circus weather.

“Well, which story shall I tell you—the one about the time I was wounded, or the time I swam the river after the chickens?”

Nice Old Gentleman—“Well, my young friend, I suppose you know what this glorious holiday means?”
Young Gentleman, Celebrating—“Sure, but I don’t care. My pa’s a doctor.”

“I s’pose they’re just sitting down to dinner now.”

“We’re gunna have ice-cream for supper.”

“Me brudder said to give ut to youse.”

“Ah, this is very sad. What caused your poor
grandmother’s untimely end?”

“Sir?”

“What did she die of?”

“Don’t it say in de letter?”

“No, Jimmy has not mentioned the disease. Was
it pneumonia?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was she sick long?”

“Sir?”

“How long was she sick? A couple of years?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So Jimmy’s home with his grandmother now?”

“No, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s waitin’ outside.”

“You bet I’m goin’ to be a soldier, too, like my Uncle David, when I grow up.”

“Gee! I wonder how soon recess is?”

“Ma says mebbe if we’re good we can eat at the first table to-morrow.”

Mamma—“Don’t come in here, children! Run out and play like a good little girl and boy.”

Papa—“Don’t come in here! Run out and play, kids. Run along now.”

“I wonder why everybody always wants us to run out and play. I wonder why.”

“I s’pose that R.S.V.P. means ‘Remember to Send Valuable Presents.’”

“We want to go to the Sunday-school. Where is it at?”

“And now is it Christmas, mamma?”
“Yes, dear, this is Christmas morning at last.”
“Why it looks just like any other day. I thought it was gunna be bigger. It looks bigger on the calendar.”

Extract from “London Times,” August 18, 1911—In the war maneuvres yesterday, Honorary Colonel Roosevelt, of the Brixton Rough Riders, led his regiment in an extraordinarily fine charge up Ludgate Hill, arriving at the top some hours before his regiment. The king witnessed the charge from a safe position on the obelisk. There was quite a panic in Lombard Street, many of the leading financiers hastily retiring to Hyde Park upon hearing that the gallant colonel was to make the charge. Some of them are still missing, but doubtless will soon be found. One hundred and sixty women fainted, nineteen horses ran away, and one unfortunate man had his leg broken while trying to climb Trafalgar Monument. The dome of St. Paul’s will be repaired within the next fortnight.

The President Receives a few Delegations of Visitors in the State Dining-Room at the White House.

Mr. Cleveland’s Picture of Himself and Miss Democracy.

President Roosevelt, by Vox Populi

On the Eve of the Republican Convention

The Delegate—“They say the night of June 21 is the shortest of the year, but, by geminy, it seems the longest to me.”

The editor of the “Anaconda Avalanche” finds that they have not made provision for his staff.

The Lay of the Delegate—“I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls.”

News From the Firing Line

“Gentlemen of the convention, I rise to nominate for Vice-President that peerless statesman, that grand old Jeffersonian Democrat, that wealthy patriot, Mr.—Mr.—ahem—Mr.—”

“—that wealthy patriot, Mr. Davis, whose name is a household word in Elkins, West Virginia. It is moved and seconded that the nomination be made unanimous.”

“He is therefore nominated and the convention is adjourned.”

Late Wednesday night a dark figure was seen to emerge from the neighboring gloom and deposit a mysterious bundle in the middle of a vast and lonely prairie. Plaintive cries were heard to issue from the bundle.

The figure then stealthily departed, leaving the bundle in the midst of the prairie.

No important clues were left by which the identity of the dark figure could be traced. A close search developed several slight clues, which, though slight, may lead to detection. A copy of the Kansas City platform was found nearby; also a copy of “The Commoner”; also a card marked “W.J.B.”; also a well-thumbed photograph of Grover Cleveland; and also several bound volumes of speeches, entitled “Free Silver Speeches, by W. J. Bryan.” The child that was deserted had its name artistically worked on a bib and was very weak from long exposure.

To Patrick Mc Graw, President Amalgamated Order of Honest Workmen.

Sir:—

Your letter received. Personally, I consider the request that you make should more appropriately be presented to the mayor or your city. At the same time I cannot miss this opportunity to say a few things about labor organizations in general. I think organized labor is a serious menace to the welfare of our institutions; and I further think that any man who belongs to a Union should be treated as a criminal. There is no good in Unions. Every man who belongs to one is worse than an anarchist. If I am elected my first official act shall be to have every man who belongs to a labor union expelled from the country or de-naturalized. Furthermore, I think that men who work for a living have no license to live anyway.

Yours respectfully, Theodore Rosefelt [** signature]

Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan, 952 Wall Street, New York City.

Dear Friend:—

Thanks for your very friendly letter. I am much encouraged by the news you send and am very glad to hear that the sentiment is so favorable to me. John D. called on me yesterday and left a substantial check, which, of course, will not be recorded in his name. It is needless to say that if I am elected my gratitude will assure a very substantial form and my friends in Wall Street need never fear that their prosperity will be jeopardized by any official act of mine. I shall be in New York Saturday and should like to see you privately at the Metropolitan Club. Mr. Baer, of the Reading Road, will also join us there.

Yours gratefully, Alton P. Barker [** signature]

George K. Jamison, Chairman Hancock County Republican Control Com. Dear Sir:—

I regret very much that I cannot manage to speak before the Farmers’ Institute next Thursday afternoon. I have a luncheon engagement with the President of the Michigan Northern Road and cannot break it. Please express my regrets and say that I hope the farmers, who are the bone and sinew of this great nation, will come forward and do their duty on election day.

Yours respectfully, [** signature illegible]

To Stephen Elkins, Washington.

Dear Son-in-Law:—

I shall be home Thursday. Am very tired and worn out. I do not believe that I can keep up this pace for six months more. My back aches, I fainted from over-exhaustion yesterday, and the only food I can eat is pre-digested milk. Please have Murphy, the foreman of the mine, discharge the laborers who are agitating for higher wages. We are now paying them 80 cents a day and what can these ignorant German and Irish laborers expect? They never earned that much at home and yet they dare to come over here and make these preposterous demands. I never could tolerate the Germans and Irish anyway. However, do not mention this fact before election day.

Yours affectionately, Henry G Davids [** signature]

Mayor Harrison to Judge Parker—“Judge Parker, I promise you the electoral vote of Illinois. And more than that—”

“I promise you the electoral vote of Wisconsin! And that is not all—”

“I promise you the electoral vote of Indiana! And while I’m at it—”

“I might as well promise you the electoral vote of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Iowa, Michigan, etc.”

Mr. Bryan—“You’re a bad lot and you’re all in cahoots with the wicked Wall Streeters.”

“You got your nomination by crooked and indefensible means. Your platform is straddling and meaningless BUT”

“I think I’ll get aboard and four years from now I can organize a relief expedition for my forsaken comrade.”

“De-light-ed”

On the Plaza. St. Louis—The President: “That sign reminds me of the way the people in New York voted at the polls on election day.”

At the Streets of Cairo—The President: “This reminds me of election day.”

On the Pike—The President: “Let’s go over and see if we can find a Democrat.”

At the Boer War—The President: “This reminds me of the Battle of San Juan Hill.”

After the President left St. Louis

The Poor Country Boy of To-day May Be the Powerful Magnate of To-morrow, So Be Careful Whom You Turn Down.

“No, young man, I can’t give you a position. You have no experience, and I won’t be bothered teaching beginners. Good-day, sir.”

“Well, the firm is going to put me in charge of their western business next week. That’s pretty good for my first five years.”

Twenty Years Later—“Hello! I wonder what Hornbeck wants. Perhaps he’s returning the call I paid him twenty-five years ago.”

Mr. Hornbeck—“Mr. Worthy, I’m in hard straits, and unless you help me I’ll have to go to the wall. Just put yourself in my place and you will realize how much your assistance will be appreciated and how much it will mean to me.”

“Remember, my young friends, that the three essentials to a successful and honorable life are industry, frugality and unswerving honesty.”

The Next Day—“Send this schedule of my personal property over to the assessors to-day, then telegraph our Louisville branch to undersell that new competitor until we bust him, and then have my automobile at the club at three. If anybody calls, tell them I’ve gone out to the races.”

At Fifteen Years of Age—“No, Willie, the man I shall marry must be tall and handsome, with beautiful soft eyes and a soulful temperament.”

At Twenty—“No, Alfred, the man I shall marry must have great influence and a high position in the world.”

At Thirty—To Mr. Scadsworth, President of the bank: “No, the man I shall marry must be big and powerful—a man born to command—a man of imposing appearance.”

At Forty—“Man wanted,—must be white.”

Sam Alexander—“By jing, if I was fixed as well as Curt Hawkins, I’d be just about satisfied; 240 acres of good land, all tiled and unencumbered, a hundred head of cattle, a likely bunch of shoats, money in the bank, to say nothing of as nice a wife as ever put on a wedding-ring.”

Curt Hawkins—“Now, that’s the way I hope to be fixed some day. Colonel Porter’s worth at least a million, goes abroad every summer, has a couple fine residences, and the handsomest wife in the county.”

Colonel Porter—“I wish we were as well fixed as Lycurgus Scadsworth. There he goes out to his yacht with a bunch of royalty, and they don’t know we’re on earth. Great Scott! I envy that man.”

Lycurgus Scadsworth (as Sam Alexander sprints at the first note of the dinner bell)—“Ah, that’s the life! Simple, wholesome and natural! I’d give my tired soul and everything I have for an appetite like that man’s.”

The Man Whose Sole Object in Life is Money Making

“Welcome, my dear old friend. Our house is yours, and you must make yourself perfectly at home.”

The Guest—“Now for a quiet time with my good old pipe, just as I do when I’m at home.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of sending Little Rollo over for some beer. When I’m at home I always like a little beer just before going to bed.”

“When I’m at home I always have a few friends drop in occasionally for a friendly game, so I thought I would do the same here.”

1—“I hate this drudgery, working from daylight to dark. I’m going to Chicago where you don’t have to work so blamed hard. I want to see a little gaiety.”

1—“I’m not cut out for farm-life. I believe if I tried Chicago and buckled down to hard work for a few years I’d make a go of it.”

2—“Now, this is better—I can see something of life up here.”

2—“I have to work about as hard here as I did on the farm, but I am determined to win out at it.”

3—“There seems to be a conspiracy against country boys up here—I don’t seem to be able to get any sort of a job that pays well.”

3—“They seem to like country boys here, because they say we have higher ideals and better habits of industry.”

“Gee! I wish I could get a good job.”

“Gee! I wish I could get a good job.”

“Gee! I wish I could get a good job.”

“Gee! I wish I could get a good job.”

“Here am I, slaving along at $15 a week, and there is Baxter, working only half as hard as I do, and getting ten times the salary I get. I wish I had a snap like his.”

How Baxter Got His Snap

“Not a soul in sight. I shall never be detected.”
(✠ Represents scene of prospective crime.)

But at the trial it develops that the murderer dropped his handkerchief, also two cards with name and address; also that a man going for a doctor saw and recognized him; also that the janitor and his wife saw him from the basement window; also that a couple on the steps saw him distinctly; also that a man who couldn’t sleep looked from the window and saw him; also that a tramp sleeping on a bench awoke and saw him; also that a belated cab driver saw him plainly; and also that the driver of a milk wagon saw him approaching the scene of the crime.

Tommy Atkins—“So this is the bloomink sacred city. My word, what jolly fine walls for pill advertisements.”

“I’ve made a careful study of the Traction Question, and if you hold real still I’ll tell you the answer. If you think it over as carefully as I have you’ll soon know just as much as I do. I used to get up at three o’clock and sit in the dark thinking it out. I didn’t dare light a light for fear Mr. Yerkes would find me and sell me some stock. Finally, one morning, about half-past four I got it all thought out except where the stockholders come in, and just then Mr. Yerkes and Mrs. Chadwick rode in on two white giraffes with a trunk full of stocks. So I ran down the street yelling, and some one suggested a nice, quiet upholstered room where I would be safe. So I came here and you mustn’t tell Mr. Yerkes where I am. And now I’ve got it all thought out. You first have to multiply Port Arthur by the new Chicago Post Office and carry two. Then you subtract and let stand in a cool place until you become impatient, and that’s the answer.”

The Scene in Lincoln Park when “Chief Chicag” Arrived

Lurid Red Fire Reproduction of the Great Chicago Fire of ’71

The Band Concert on the Lake Front

The Parade, Visit to the Stock Yards, Rowing Contest, etc.

The Indian Encampment in Lincoln Park

The Grand Banquet of the Visiting Mayors at the Auditorium

Suggestion I—Charter a good, seaworthy steam-yacht, stock it well with seasonable food and drink, and cruise along the New England coast. Frequent stops may be made at the various watering places, thus pleasantly breaking the voyage. After having exhausted these points of interest, you will find it enjoyable to continue the cruise to Sweden and Norway, and, if your time permits, a still further cruise among the beautiful fjords of New Zealand will be found extremely delightful. The weather is now perfect in New Zealand, and if you have a camera you can get some most excellent pictures. For a trip such as this one should secure a steam-yacht of perhaps 2,500 tons, with a crew of thirty men. A white yacht is preferable, white being cooler than black. If you do not mind the additional expense, a cow should be taken, thus insuring fresh milk during the voyage. As for equipment, you should take heavy and light clothes, a pair of deck shoes, a mackintosh, and a pair of smoked glasses to protect your eyes while going through the Suez Canal. The cost of this outing will amply repay you for your pleasure, and we strongly recommend it.

Suggestion II—Another delightful vacation which we earnestly recommend would be to spend your two weeks’ holiday in Scotland. Here one may rent a beautiful estate, abundantly stocked with game—croquet, golf, bridge, etc.,—and with plenty of good riding-horses, and at least one mail coach for coaching parties, the hours may be most delightfully beguiled. You could give frequent entertainments, such as jolly little tours in the highlands, etc., and it would be well to have the castle the scene of many congenial house parties. Occasionally you should give lawn fêtes to which the peasants and tenants from the neighboring countryside may be invited.

Such an estate may easily be secured by going through the necessary preliminaries. You should insist, however, that your London agents secure a castle with a porch well screened with mosquito bars. The cost of such a place would be either moderate or upwards.

As the highlands are often cool during the evening hours, you should take a heavy overcoat and at least one suit of flannels.

Suggestion III—Our third suggestion would be to make up a jolly little party and spend your July vacation in touring Switzerland and the Petroleum Alps. Excellent motor-cars may be obtained in Paris (No. 19 Arc de Triomphe) and the roads from the gay capital to the Swiss uplands will be found most excellent. Luncheon may be secured at convenient cabarets along the way, and by speaking to the chauffeur stops may be made from time to time to allow you to make photographs of choice bits in the landscape. Arriving in Switzerland, you should retire early in order to be up for the sunrise, which, in those latitudes is much earlier than in America on account of the difference in time.

While in Switzerland you should not fail to visit the tomb of William Tell, who is dead at present. Here a short stop may be made for luncheon, photographs, etc. In this little side trip you will have delightful weather, according to recent unconfirmed rumors from Chefoo.

Having toured Switzerland, it would be pleasant to have a yacht meet you some place nearby and make the homeward journey in this way rather than by the Atlantic liners. There are so many vulgar tourists on the regular steamships during the summer.

To Those Who are in Doubt as to Where They Shall Go for Their Holiday, We Respectfully Submit these Happy Hints

Uncle Gid—“Well, by Jiminy, I reckon the Judge and the Missus are having a fine time out there in Europe. I see an item in this week’s ‘Transcript’ that says they are bein’ showered with attentions by them Frenchies and are right in the swim, by Jiminy. I knowed the Judge’d cut a swath over there. You can bet ye you can’t lose the Judge, by Jiminy.”

The Judge and his wife in Europe.

The Dispatch is said to Have Excited Much Interest in Indiana

The Wedding of Crown Prince Frederick and Duchess Cecilia

When the New Congressman and his Wife First Left for Washington, the Home Town Seemed Quite
a Bustling Metropolis

But After Several Years of Distinguished Service Among the High Hats and Stately Buildings of
the Nation’s Capital—

The Congressman and his Wife Returned and Found that the Town had Shrunken, and even
Saturday Afternoon Seemed Dull and Listless

A Study of Official Society, Where Each Member Fights for the Privileges of His Rank

IT is with pleasure that ye Editor chronicles the announcement that a goodly quota of Bird Center society leaders purpose taking a European tour ere long. Among those who will constitute the pilgrimage are Mrs. Riley Withersby, our beloved leader of local society, Reverend Walpole and wife and children under nine years of age, Captain Roscoe Fry and wife, Mr. J. Milton Brown and wife (née Lucile Ramona Fry, formerly daughter of Captain Fry), and little J. Milton Brown, Jr. Also Mr. Smiley Greene, the popular undertaker, and wife and children, Mr. Riley Peters and Miss Myrtle Prute, of Muncie, Indiana, the Misses Flossye and Mae Niebling, Mr. Ernest Pratt, Mr. Elmer Pratt, Mr. Wilbur Fry, and Mr. Orville Peters. Quite a goodly party, say you not?

It is safe to say without exaggeration that the local social circles are agog with pleasant anticipation. At first it was understood that only Mrs. Withersby contemplated going abroad, and for that reason she gave a small function last evening to announce the fact, but others volunteered to accompany her and the party grew apace quite rapidly.

Late in the evening, just before refreshments were served, Mr. Gus Figgey of Chicago arrived and joined the group.

“I just came in on the hundred-hour limited from Decatur,” he announced buoyantly, “and thought I’d drift up and join the merrymakers. What’s going on?”

Mrs. Withersby explained that some of the party were talking over a trip to Europe.

“Count me in,” said Mr. Figgey. “I haven’t had a vacation for three years and I’m going to have one this year if the country goes plumb to smash. What’s the route?”

“We have planned to go to Scotland and the English Lakes,” said Mrs. Withersby pleasantly.

“I can figure out a better trip than that,” said Mr. Figgey. “First we’ll go to London and show those Britishers a touch of high life, then skip over to Paris, thence to Venice, and circle around to Rome. Them’s the four great show places of Europe, and no tour is complete without ’em.”

“But, Mr. Figgey—”

“Now, I’ll tell what we’ll do,” said the genial Mr. Figgey. “I’ll get some inside rates from a friend of mine in the importing business, and I’ll guarantee that when we get through, Europe will feel that she’s been seen good and proper.”

“Have you ever been abroad, Mr. Figgey?” inquired Mrs. J. Milton Brown.

“No, but I’ve traveled all over this country, making all the important towns, and what I don’t know about traveling could be put in an expurgated French novel.”

“I’d like to stop at Niagara Falls, Mr. Figgey,” said Elmer Pratt.

“Sure, the train slows down there and we can see the Falls just as well as if you spent an hour.”

“And won’t it be beautiful in Venice,” said Miss Myrtle Prute. “I’ve always been crazy to see Venice by moonlight.”

“We’ll see it by moonlight, candlelight and daylight, Miss Prute. Orville and Wilbur can take their mandolins and we’ll have a tune on the dancing waters. Hot stuff, eh?” said Mr. Figgey, slapping Reverend Walpole on the back.

The party adjourned at a late hour, Mr. Figgey promising to arrange all the details, etc. Various members of the party will tell their experiences exclusively in the Bird Center Argosy.

MIDST gay acclaim did the Bird Center personally conducted tour to Europe steam out of Bird Center yesterday morn. The bells cried “Off to Europe,” and the rails clicked the same news as the great steam steed started on the long journey to Niagara Falls. Throngs of people got on and off at every station, and many admiring glances were cast at the Bird Center tourists who, massed together, made quite a noticeable effect. Mr. Gus Figgey, who says he is the chaperon of the party, has made the welkin ring with laughter and gaiety. At the first stop he purchased oranges for the crowd, and later in the day entertained them with personal anecdotes of travel. At the second stop Mr. Figgey addressed the town from the rear platform, and received a rousing round of cheers. Last evening he entertained ye Editor at supper in the dining-car. It has been a beautiful trip.

Niagara Falls was reached without further mishap. These Falls are situated on the Niagara River, between the Canadian side and the United States. They are a hundred and sixty-two feet in height and are considered by competent critics to be one of America’s most famous natural beauties. The train stopped twenty minutes and Mr. Figgey had several fast hacks convey the party to the various points of interest. By way of getting an expression of opinion from the various members of the party, the Editor secured short statements for the readers of the Argosy.

“Great sight,” said Mr. Figgey. “Those Falls have power enough to run all the factories in the U. S. A.”

“A notable sight,” said Mrs. Riley Withersby.

“More impressive than Dante’s ‘Inferno,’” said Mrs. J. Milton Brown.

“A masterpiece of Nature,” said Reverend Walpole.

“Unequalled in history,” said Wilbur Fry.

“Fine, but wait till you see Saint Peter’s in Rome,” said Mr. Ernest Pratt, who was in Europe several years ago.

“Too bad I can’t get a good photo of it. The Falls would make a beautiful moving picture,” said Mr. J. Milton Brown.

“Truly a sublime spectacle,” said Mr. Smiley Greene, the popular undertaker.

“Gosh!” said Elmer Pratt.

It was with mingled feelings of sadness that ye Editor saw the gay party steam eastward, as he was obliged for business reasons to return to Bird Center. Other communications from members of the party will be printed from time to time.

THE Editor of the Bird Center Argosy presents the following letter from Mrs. J. Milton Brown, who is en route abroad in the personally conducted Bird Center tour.

“She moves, she throbs, she seems to feel the thrill of life upon her keel.” At last the great Leviathan of the Deep has left the dock amid waving ‘kerchiefs and loud huzzas. Like great mountain ranges, rising tier upon tier, the vast buildings of Gotham looked down upon the gallant ship as she turns her course toward the vast and trackless deep. Beautiful somber tints stretch from horizon upward, blending into the deep blue of Heaven’s own firmament. Dainty white caps assail the towering walls of steel that are to be our home for so many days. Bartholdi’s peerless statue, with hand uplifted, seems to cast its benedictions on us as we start for those distant shores to the eastward, and Nature smiles fondly upon us as America’s shores sink lower and lower, back in the direction of dear Bird Center. What joy it is to breathe this ocean air, unsullied by smoke, undefiled by foreign matter. Eyes are flashing with renewed invigoration, hearts are light as the giant of the sea swings into the easy roll of the long Atlantic billows. Spindrift whips by as a great wave, more saucy than its sisters, assails the reeling bow. The splendid craft trembles but goes onward, ever onward, its propellers singing their endless song of struggle. Mr. Figgey, immaculate and white-flanneled, is quite the dressiest passenger on board, and is constantly the cynosure of all eyes. See how he swings along the deck, perfect sailor that he is. Now the rollers batter more furiously, as Mr. Figgey approaches, cigar in mouth, to tell us to get busy and have a good time. The ship rolls and wallows—”

Editor’s Note—

We regret that only part of this story was mailed to the Argosy in Captain Fry’s handwriting. Evidently the remaining leaves miscarried in the mails. Better luck next time.

THE Editor is pleased to present to the readers of the Bird Center Argosy the following travel-paper from Mr. Gus Figgey, the genial Chicago traveling man who is being accompanied by social leaders of this City in their tour abroad.

I have dated this back to fit the occasion. Of all the slow burgs, this is the slowest. Had to wait three minutes for an elevator at the hotel and ten minutes longer to reach the sixth floor. I told the Britisher at the desk what the trouble with London was, but he didn’t believe me. Merely raised his eye-brows, but I’ll raise something else if things don’t move along a little faster here before long. Took the bunch out for a ride in a herdic to-day. Saw the Strand, not to be mentioned in the same year with State Street in old Chicag. Elmer Pratt said he reckoned there must be a show in town, judging by the crowd in the streets. Took ’em to see the Alhambra, but Reverend Walpole said it wasn’t a bit like what he thought the Alhambra was like, judging from something he read by Henry Irving. Have had a hard time keeping the folks en masse, as the Frenchies say. Mrs. J. Milton wanted to go to a picture gallery to see the Turners, but I told her I’d take her around to the Tivoli and show her some turns that were turns. Reverend Walpole wanted to go to the Westminster Abbey and Saint Paul’s, but from what I heard a man on the steamer say, they are old buildings, out of date and furnished with tombstones. When I want any reading, you’ll have to pass me something livelier than epitaphs. Elmer Pratt wanted to see London Bridge, he heard it was falling down. If there was a Lake Front here, Elmer would be down there looking at the explosion. I took the party down to see Trafalgar’s monument, and pointed it out to them. Have lost Riley Peters and Myrtle Prute, but I suppose they’ll turn up at supper time. We’ve been here two days, and have done the town thoroughly. Leave to-morrow for gay Paris. Can’t hold Smiley Greene. Orville Peters and Wilbur Fry are anxious to get to Venus, where they can play their mandolins on the raging canal. Ernest Pratt is blasé on the trip, having been over here before. Says Europe is an old story to him. Get my name spelled right, Oscar. Be sure to get in the “e.”

THE Editor is pleased to present to the readers of the Bird Center Argosy the following travel-paper from Mr. Smiley Greene, our popular undertaker, who is doing Europe with a party of travelers from this city.

In Paris, France, at last! France, the gay, the light-hearted; France, the country with a history! Every wall has its tale of war and revolution and death. Placards reading “Defense d’Afficher” mark where notable defenses, back in some dark days of the past, have been made by gallant sons of Gaul. Captain Fry says Gaul is divided into three parts, not counting Gus Figgey. Gus says some one ought to consolidate them into a union. We have been having considerable trouble with the language, as they all speak the foreign tongue here, so that even by shouting at the top of your lungs, you can’t make them understand. Lucile Ramona Brown tried her French on them, but they didn’t even understand that. She seems to get her accents on the wrong words.

Paris never was more beautiful, even although we understand that most of the society people have gone away for the summer. You can’t help pitying these Europeans, for they can’t go abroad for the summer, being already there. Went out to visit the Morgue to-day. Busiest place of its kind I’ve ever seen. Visited Napoleon’s tomb this afternoon, and consider it a most imposing place. Mr. Figgey tells us that the departed is a relative of the new United States Secretary of the Navy, a fact which has aroused great interest in our midst. Yesterday we drove out to witness the Arch of Triumph, which was greatly enjoyed by all save Ernest Pratt, to whom Europe is an old story, he having been here before. To-morrow we go out to view Père la Chaise, the famous cemetery of Paris. It is said that many well-known Frenchmen and French women sleep their last sleep out there, so we have cautioned Gus Figgey to put on the soft pedal for a short spell. Ernest Pratt says Abelard and Hèloise lie there, but whether they are two people or a firm I cannot state. Visited the Louvre yesterday and saw the Venus of Milo, which greatly shocked Elmer Pratt. Gus Figgey says her arms were guillotined during the French Revolution, but be it as it may, she certainly is shy on arms. Orville Peters and Wilbur Fry are eager to get to Venice to while away the hours with dulcet strains from their mandolins, but Ernest Pratt says, “Wait till we see Saint Peter’s.” To-morrow we view the Catacombs and the Cemetery of Montmartre.

Everybody is well and happy. More anon.

THE Editor is pleased to present to the readers of the Bird Center Argosy the following travel-paper from Mrs. J. Milton Brown, the wife of J. Milton Brown, the well-known artist of the Bird Center Tintype Studios.

At last we are in the well-known city of Venice, Italy, about which our fancies have from time immemorial woven the most bewitching dreams. It is hard to realize that we are really here. We instantly exclaim, “Can it really be true that we are in Venice, and not merely dreaming.” Mr. Figgey—he’s so funny—says that we’ll not think we’re dreaming when we get our hotel bill. Mr. Figgey is so material in his attitude of thought, but he has been a perfect dear in arranging things. He doesn’t let us rest a moment, and even now, when we have been here only two days, he seems to know all the gondoliers and everybody in town knows him. He calls all the gondoliers “Louey,” and they begin to grin broadly whenever he comes in sight. We had such a good joke on Elmer Pratt to-day. We came across a little church near the hotel and Elmer went into raptures over it. It’s whole façade was one bewildering nightmare of scroll work and curly cues, like frosting on a wedding cake. Elmer said that he considered it the most beautiful thing he had seen in Europe, and at once looked it up in our Baedeker. The description says that it is the most atrociously ugly building in Europe, and since then Elmer has not admired anything until he has looked in the guide book to see whether it is beautiful.

Last night we engaged some gondolas and did the grand canal. The moon was divine, and the whole city was throbbing with music and sentiment. Mr. Figgey directed the excursion and after a while took charge of the oar or paddle (I don’t know what the real name is) and gave the gondolier some lessons in the work. Smiley Greene sang some rollicking hymns, and then we all clamored for Orville Peters and Wilbur Fry to play on their mandolins. They had carried their instruments all the way from Bird Center and had counted the seconds to the present moment. But scarcely had they begun to play before some men came and said it was not permitted for outsiders to play on the canals. Only those belonging to the Gondoliers’ Union could play. Orville and Wilbur were broken-hearted. We had been out for some time before we discovered that Riley Peters and Myrtle Prute were missing, but, Mr. Figgey soon located them in a gondola by themselves. Riley seems to be in earnest this time, but now could any one help being in earnest, and in love, in Venice. Even all of us become a little bit soft here—even us old married people. Flossye Niebling has been spending all her time writing letters home. The stationery at the hotels is so attractive and she doesn’t want to miss a chance to use it.

From here we go to Rome. We are all well and beautifully tanned.

THE Editor is pleased to present to the readers of the Bird Center Argosy the following travel-paper from Mr. Gus Figgey, the genial Chicago traveling gentleman, who is traveling in Europe with society leaders from Bird Center.

This burg isn’t half bad. In some of the new parts of town you’d think you were in Chicago. They have buildings here eight and ten stories high, and the old fogy part of the city is fast disappearing. A good hustling Commissioner of Public Works could soon make Rome look as up-to-date as any of our American cities. Rome is only about a third as big as Chicago, although it was started long before. To-day we did two miles of picture galleries and saw paintings which, if put together, would make one painting a mile square. I priced some of them but didn’t buy. Reverend Walpole has been right in his element here and has visited about ninety-seven churches. Smiley Greene has spent most of his time in the Catacombs and J. Milton Brown and Lucile have reveled in art. The party is all split up. They refused to go out to the Race Track with me, and I have had a hard time entertaining them. Yesterday we all went in a bunch to see St. Peter’s. Say, there’s a building for you. Ernest Pratt says it’s the greatest building in the world, and he’s been in Europe before. I guess he saw it when it was new; for now it is showing signs of age. When I got the crowd in front of the church, I had ’em stand all in a row while I went on in front to give ’em an idea of how big the building really is. You can’t realize its size until you compare it with a man standing at the door. They were much surprised to see how small I looked.

To-morrow we sail from Naples for New York, and before many days you will see us drifting into Bird Center, all sound and well. Riley Peters and Myrtle Prute are engaged. Venice and the moon did it. Riley’s hot stuff, all right.

Being the Adventures of our Governor, Who, While Traveling in Foreign Lands heard of the Remarkable Growth of Deneen’s Boom for Governor. He Resolved at Once to Fly to the Rescue, and, With His Gallant Staff of Colonels, He Boldly Set Forth on the Long and Perilous Ride

In the midst of pleasant sightseeing in Europe a cablegram arrives.

It contains the alarming news of the growth of the Deneen boom for governor.

Whereupon the governor and his gallant staff of colonels begin a thrilling ride, compared to which the ride of General Sheridan resembled a franc and a half.

At frequent intervals the governor cheered his escort onward by words of hope and encouragement.

For many days the way was easy, and no mishaps attended them until they arrived at the foothills of a vast mountain range. An unfortunate mishap then occurred. One of the colonels was overcome and had to be borne along on the back of his steed thereby greatly lessening the speed of the gallant little band. Despite this untoward accident, the governor led bravely onward, ever crying out: “Courage, my comrades! Courage! We shall soon be there!”

Thus inspired they began the ascent. A vast solitude surrounded them! No sign of life met their eye, save where some distant mountain goat disported himself on the dizzy peaks, or where some adventurous eagle clung high in the Alpine crags. The hardships of traveling now became extreme, provisions gave out and for many weeks the little cavalcade were obliged to subsist upon eagles and mountain goats, which, owing to the peculiar formation of the country were difficult to catch, and more difficult to shoot, as the colonels were unaccustomed to the use of firearms. When they reached an altitude of 19,000 feet, another colonel was overcome and had to be carried along with his stricken comrade, for the governor resolved not to abandon his devoted follower in the mountain fastness as a prey to the savage goats.

Upon the nineteenth day of the ascent the last colonel gave out, and the governor carefully placed him upon the horse parallel with the two other exhausted colonels. A few days after this fresh misfortune the little band reached the summit, 42,000 feet above the sea level. A magnificent view of the surrounding continent was obtained, and largely repaid for the hardships of the ascent. Behind lay the peaks that they had crossed, many of them rising to a height of 30,000 feet or more. Down at their feet lay the broad, convex bosom of the Atlantic Ocean. A happy thought struck the governor. “I remind myself of Balboa discovering the Pacific,” he said with a smile, but if his followers heard this merry quip they gave no heed. Then the governor’s face became grave as another thought struck him. “There is no disguising the fact that I have a long swim ahead of me,” he said resolutely.

The governor rested a moment after reaching the summit of the vast mountain peak, and then, drawing a deep breath he put spurs to his horse and shot down the steep declivity, pursued by the savage mountain goats. The three colonels were still in an exhausted state, and their weight greatly retarded the speed of the gallant steed, yet, strange as it may seem, the descent was made in an incredibly short time. In ten minutes the little cavalcade rode safely out on the shelving beach, and the governor urged his horse boldly into the Atlantic Ocean. “Now, for a long swim,” said he.

Fortunately, the weather was fine. The sun shone warmly and the sea was calm. Under these favoring conditions it was only a few days until the headlands of the Azores were sighted off the port beam. Hunger and fatigue racked the governor, but he did not stop. He shouted “Courage, my noble steed. The way is long, but we shall soon be there.” One of the colonels was revived by the cool water, and from his position amidships passed the days pleasantly in watching the wonderful dwellers of the deep as they darted hither and thither alongside. On the thirty-fourth day the governor sighted a low group of islands off to the s’uth’ard. He sniffed a moment. “The Bermudas,” he said. And he was right. They were the Bermudas where the onions come from. From this point he shaped his course nor by nor west, intending to land on American shores about four miles west of Oyster Bay. But he was thrown out of his course by adverse currents and strong head winds, and had to make his landing six miles east of Oyster Bay. Still he was not discouraged.

“Home again!” shouted the governor in joyous exultation, and again putting spurs to his gallant steed he galloped across the Alleghanies, cleared the Ohio at a bound and soon saw the towering dome of his beloved state-house in the distance. Large throngs of office-holders heralded his coming with glad shouts. Ten minutes later he was deep in a consultation regarding his chances of heading off the Deneen boom.

Leo XIII
Born 1810          Died 1903