 | Saratoga in 1901 |  |
FUN BETWEEN THE HOUSES.
Congress Hall, July 22.
It is too amusing to witness the rivalry between Congress Hall
and the Grand Union. Each hotel to the other is like “the
rival editor across the way.” When the big New York afternoon
train comes in, you will always see the ruddy face of Mr. William
Leland on the Grand Union steps in a state of terrible expectancy,
while just across the street will be the Chesterfieldian
Hathorn noting the exact number in the rival omnibus.
“One—two—three—four,” begins Hathorn, when Southgate
interrupts him by saying—
“Pshaw! only twenty-five in all—all men for the races too.”
On the other side all the clerks run to the front, while Warren
and Bill Leland commence to count the Hathorn passengers.
“Two—four—six—eight, twenty-eight, and half women, by
gum!” exclaims Bill, the drops of cold perspiration rolling
down his cheeks.
“No, you're wrong, Bill,” says Warren, “only twenty-six!”
“I'll bet a million there is twenty-seven.”
“Why, Bill, you—you don't count those girls in short dresses,
do you?” expostulates Warren.
“You're right, War, by gum!”
and then Bill took his first guest by
the arm and led him behind a pillar,
and commenced on the subject of
Congress Hall.
“See that mean-looking brick
house over there?”
“Yes.”
“That's Congress Hall—a regular
penitentiary of a house.”
“You don't say so!” exclaims the
guest, opening his eyes.
“Fact, sir,—ask Warren. Why,
they starve people over there. For
two weeks they hadn't a pound of
flour in the house—the guests ate
beefsteak three times a day. Then
the steak gave out, and d—d if I
believe they had anything. It is an
absolute fact, sir, that Hathorn made three crackers and eleven
gallons of water supply twelve guests a week.”
“Musquitoes?”
“Lord! don't ask. Why, sit on that Hathorn balcony and
you can't hear the brass band in the parlors, the musquitoes
make such a buzzing.”
“Flies?”
“Yes, by gum! You can't see the sun from the back of the
house, without punching a hole through the swarms of flies with
your umbrella to look through. Ask Hall, or Slocum, the newsmen,
they know it.”
“But Commodore Vanderbilt stays th—”
“Commodore thunder! Why, when he came last year he
weighed just 486 pounds. He stayed there three weeks and
became a living skeleton—weighing 87 pounds! The poor emaciated
man was seen by his wife eating crackers and hard boiled
eggs behind the card-stand to keep from starving.”
“Where does he board?” said the guest, pointing to Judge
John Fitch.
“Well, he's just come—he's lean now,” said Bill. “Just you
see him two weeks from now—a pair of hay scales won't weigh
was Judge Connolly. Look at the giants now—look at them!”
YANKEE JEWS.
The Hutchinson family of Jacobs, Isaacs, and Rebeccas—
those Puritans with Jewish names, long hair, and Plymouth-Rock
shirt collars turned over their coats—whitened the town up with
handbills yesterday. Somebody asked Artemus Ward what
nation he belonged to. “I think my ancestors came from Jerusalem,”
said the humorist, “for we had an Isaac and a Jacob in
our family, but my uncle's name was Cyrus—so I think I've got
some Persian blood in me.”
INDIGNATION.
Yesterday, “young
man from the country”
sauntered in and took
a seat at the breakfast
table. He sat fifteen
minutes without speaking—the
waiter standing
deferentially behind
him.
“When is the table
to be set?” he asked.
“What will you
have?” said the waiter,
handing him a bill of
fare.
“Take that paper
away—I want something to eat—I didn't come here to read,”
exclaimed the indignant countryman.
DAINTY DISHES.
Yesterday a wag asked for “baked potatoes with monograms
on them.”
Dainty, delicate red raspberries, reed birds, woodcock, soft
shell crabs and brook trout! that's what we had for dinner yesterday.
They's got them down stairs and I'll tell you privately
how to get them. When you came in to the dining-room you
must shake hands with Robert Jackson the head-waiter (no
money); advancing to your seat you must look at your waiter
with a nice smile—then handing him a dollar ask him to
confer with Le Compt, the cook, on “the state of the nation.”
When you come to dinner the next day, if it be ever so late,
snugly hid away under a cover in front of you! Ignorantia legis
don't excuse any body.
Moon (on the lake) lets you shoot a domestic bird—hook out a
tame trout and attend its funeral service in Duncan Hall. When
he's a full moon he won't charge you a cent, but when he's on the
last quarter—well it is an expensive luxury.
EXTREME OF VICE.
Paymaster Cunningham astonished every body to-day by
boldly reading the following six lines from a copy of Pope's
Essay on Man:—
That to be hated needs but to be seen:—
But seen too oft—familiar with its face
We first endure, then pity—then embrace:—
But where's the extreme of vice? 'twas ne'er agreed.
Ask where's the North—in York 'tis on the Tweed.”
GAMBLING.
More like Baden-Baden, every year, becomes Saratoga. John
Morrissey has added still another building to his old establishment,
making it a fair rival to the Kursaal at the Badens. The
rooms now include a beautiful club salon, and Belmont and
Travers, and two hundred conspicuous members of the Jockey
Club are stockholders and members. Gorgeously furnished
toilet-rooms, faro parlors, and dining-rooms, carpeted with soft
carpets and decorated with rich carvings and bronzes, hold the
blasé and allure the naïve. Last summer, twenty-five thousand
ladies visited these rooms, and this summer several receptions
will be held. The Honorable John is liked in Saratoga, because
he divides the profits of his sinning with the good people of the
village with a generous hand. A few days ago he subscribed
five hundred dollars toward sprinkling Lake Avenue. It is
dreadful to think that the descendants of Miles Standish are
some day to follow in the footsteps of the gambling Badeners,
but year by year the gilded curtain is lifted higher and higher,
until now we begin to see the beautiful figure of vice without
shrinking
| Saratoga in 1901 | |