A newly made benedict discovers the name of a former lover of his wife’s on her ankle, and makes it the basis of a suit or divorce; Galveston Tex. 

What a Husband Discovered, and How a couple were separated.

The pretext which a man naturally jealous will find to keep the fire of family discord up to a white heat is forcibly illustrated in the case of a man who shortly after his marriage made a discovery in the morning on arising which ruined his domestic peace forever. Previous to her marriage his wife had another suitor, who was ‘the only man on earth” to her. While the tattooing mania was at its height, she testified her love for her lover by having his name pricked on her ankle. Subsequently the engagement was broken off, and they parted forever. She solaced herself, however, a short time after by giving her affections to another, and was rewarded by obtaining a husband. The latter was of a very jealous nature, and construed every act into inconstancy on her part. But the worst of all was when he discovered the name of the former lover where it had been printed. After that noting could prove to him the she was rue. He harped continually on the subject. A divorce is wanted to end the misery.

National Police Gazette, October 30, 1880.

The Young Barber. - But a feller can't talk politics without fear of offendin' some one he don't know.

The Wise Barber. - Don't ever mention names, you know; but growl about "political bossism in New York." Each man'll think you're abusing the other party.

"A Pointer." Puck 4 Nov 1891

Sire of the Year! First actor on the stage,
Whereon Time plays his year-long pantomime,
Thy beard is worthy of most brilliant rhyme,
Thy “frosty pow” is glorious in its age;
For thou, bluff January, hast been sage
In thy libations, when the old town’s chime
Announced thee to the world—stanch war to wage—
Peace against Feud and Charity ‘gainst Crime!
Welcome, brave month, with icicles on beard,
No icicles, I trow, cling to thy heart:
Therefrom the voice of Christian love is heard;
Therefrom the tears of Christian love will start,
Welcome, hoar father of the nascent year,
And joyous be thy brief sojourning here!

Yet to thy blazon one sad stain will cling,
The latest day beheld a harrowing scene,
When this fair land, with Brutus-like demean,
Looked on the scaffold dressed for her lost king.
O! Mercy, hide the memory with thy wing:
Teach us to be like thee—blessed serene;
The “doubly blessed” and may the future bring
Blessings to crown the country and the queen!
Forward! Bluff January! The ball’s begun,
With the fantastic and the mistletoe;
Saint Stephen’s chapel room will see rare fun,
Alas! Comingled with far greater woe.
Joy to thee! Merry month! Time’s hoary pinion
Will waft the speedily form his dominion.

Reprinted from Gleason's Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, January 1, 1853.

Canada—The Winter Carnival at Montreal—Tobogganing on the new hills west of Montreal College.

"Montreal's Winter Carnival." Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper 3 Feb 1883.

A disconsolate widower secures a dummy, and dresses it up in his wife’s clothing, just to humor a “little fancy;” New York City. [more]

A Dummy Made to Fill a Wife’s Place.—The Force of Habit.

The breezy Captain Marryat relates in one of his novels an incident illustrative alike of the wonderful force of habit and the facility of substitution, so to speak, in human nature. Its awful to think that one’s place in the world may be filled by a scrubbing brush, and yet the captain demonstrates the possibility of such a thing. A worthy old salt, so goes the chronicle, has been in the habit of sleeping with his hand on his wife’s head. She wore her hare close cropped, it is narrated, yet to the weather-beaten hand the stubble cushion seemed of downy softness, such is the power of infatuation and perfect sympathy.

The worthy tar all too soon became a widower, and when he stretched out his hand in his bed and found only smooth pillow beside him he could not sleep. Long and deeply was he troubled and the physicians tried in vain. Finally, he one night took the scrubbing brush to bed with him, placed it upside down on the pillow next to him, reposed his hand upon it and nature’s sweet restorer came swift on downy pinions to light upon his tear-sullied lids. Now, another widower, who states that he lives in New York, has written a letter to this office to state that he has had the extreme felicity of burying his wife, and that he misses her well-dressed form in the house he intends, instead of getting an old maid for a companion, to purchase as dress-maker’s dummy and dress it up four or fives times a year in the newest flounces and millinery wrinkles and so replace his loss.

“So long as the bills from the dressmaker come in regularly,” he writes, “I can still feel like a married man.”

From some subsequent allusions in this purported widower’s letter the suspicion grows that he is not what he pretends to be, but is, in fact, a married man who has failed to subscribe for the new fall number now due, and his faithful wife has grown acrimonious.

Reprinted from The National Police Gazette, October 23, 1880.