FROM THE MORGUE
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Copyright 2007 by William A. Mays, Proprietor
December 30, 1882
| OSCAR WILDE'S LEGS. |
| ____ He Makes a Sensation by Displaying Them Unwittingly in a Sleeping Car in Jersey City. |
The religious editor of the POLICE GAZETTE, returning on the 12th inst. from a brief visit to brother Arthur Chambers' resort of the faithful in Philadelphia, took the midnight train and secured a berth in the sleeping car in order that he might arrive in town refreshed and invigorated for his arduous editorial duties. Sleeping the sleep of the truly good, with nothing on his conscience, not even the reflection that he had a dead head pass in his pocket (which he didn't, having paid his fair like a truly good man of the POLICE GAZETTE species), he did not arouse until the Jersey City depot had been reached and the passengers with more troublesome consciences had begun to bestir themselves.
The religious editor arose and peered out. There was a movement in the opposite berth. The curtains were agitated for a moment and then there was thrust out a neat leg encased in a long black silk stocking. The limb was provokingly agitated and developed until a further exposure of a jeweled garter was made. The religious editor felt his curiosity aroused. He watched closely for further developments that would come next. What really did come was another leg equally shapely, also encased in a black silk stocking, also encircled by a jewelled garter.
And there the two limbs fluttered and swung carelessly from the upper berth. The religious editor was by this time thoroughly aroused. What was attached to those legs? What was he going to see next? Some piquant beauty of the ballet, perhaps, or some tragic queen, a Mary Anderson or a Modjeska or a Mrs. Langtry. He called on all his reserve forces to keep himself within bounds while the plot unfolded itself, and watched eagerly.
The climax came and it was enough to knock over any religious editor. The legs elongated, the curtains parted and a long, lank, lean and ghastly young man stood in the aisle yawning and stretching himself in uncouth attitudes. It was Oscar Wilde and the legs were the great æsthete's legs. The religious editor tells us he never had such a sickening sensation come over him in his life. The revulsion of feeling he says was awful, and suggests that we know how it is ourself, which soft impeachment we blushingly deny, since we are thoroughly had and make no pretence of experiencing the emotions of the truly good. We suspect the truth is that our religious editor got pretty badly sold on Oscar's legs and his talk about revulsion of feeling and all that moral guff is in the nature of what we tough worldlings in the other departments of this great journal would call a "dead give away."
The religious editor arose and peered out. There was a movement in the opposite berth. The curtains were agitated for a moment and then there was thrust out a neat leg encased in a long black silk stocking. The limb was provokingly agitated and developed until a further exposure of a jeweled garter was made. The religious editor felt his curiosity aroused. He watched closely for further developments that would come next. What really did come was another leg equally shapely, also encased in a black silk stocking, also encircled by a jewelled garter.
And there the two limbs fluttered and swung carelessly from the upper berth. The religious editor was by this time thoroughly aroused. What was attached to those legs? What was he going to see next? Some piquant beauty of the ballet, perhaps, or some tragic queen, a Mary Anderson or a Modjeska or a Mrs. Langtry. He called on all his reserve forces to keep himself within bounds while the plot unfolded itself, and watched eagerly.
The climax came and it was enough to knock over any religious editor. The legs elongated, the curtains parted and a long, lank, lean and ghastly young man stood in the aisle yawning and stretching himself in uncouth attitudes. It was Oscar Wilde and the legs were the great æsthete's legs. The religious editor tells us he never had such a sickening sensation come over him in his life. The revulsion of feeling he says was awful, and suggests that we know how it is ourself, which soft impeachment we blushingly deny, since we are thoroughly had and make no pretence of experiencing the emotions of the truly good. We suspect the truth is that our religious editor got pretty badly sold on Oscar's legs and his talk about revulsion of feeling and all that moral guff is in the nature of what we tough worldlings in the other departments of this great journal would call a "dead give away."
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