Life, 1883-08-16 · page 5 of 16
Life — August 16, 1883 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Life Magazine Page 75 **Visual Content:** A wood-engraved illustration shows two people in a rowboat on a river, with trees and marshland visible in the background. **Text Content:** The section titled "SAFE!" presents dialogue between "La Fiancée" (The Fiancée) characters. One expresses dread about a two-year separation; the other sarcastically responds that she shouldn't be bored given his promises. Below this appears a poem titled "Only a Sister to Him" by Robert J. Burdette, describing a man's nighttime emotional turmoil—he appears tormented, with imagery of darkness and self-recrimination, ending with the line "Kicked by jings!" **Interpretation:** The page likely satirizes romantic relationships and broken promises, juxtaposing the couple's banter with the poem's darker exploration of male emotional distress. The specific historical context and whether these reference particular social anxieties of the era remains unclear without additional publication date context.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
La Fiancée: On vEAR! FULLY AFRAID, I HAVE TO GO AND I SHALL BE AWAY TWO WHOLE YEARS AND I AM DREAD- Le Fiancé: Now, HOW SILLY YOU ARE, WHEN I HAVE PROMISED TO BE UTTERLY BORED UNTIL YOU COME BACK, “ONLY A SISTER TO HIM.” H E lifted his face in the starlight dim, And all that he saw was a round, dull sky ; And the stars that twinkled, looked to him Like the phosphor gleams of the fire-fly. ‘The new moon hung in an awkward shape And was crooked and bent like the horn of a ram; The sombre maples seemed hung with crape And the garden gate banged to with a slam. The brook oozed over the slimy stones From stagnant pools in the meadow marsh ; Or it crooned along with plaintive moans, And the song of the whip-poor-will was harsh. He jabbed his ribs on the clumsy stile, For dark as pitch was the dusty lane ; And his thin lips curved in a bitter smile, As he smote the weeds with a spiteful cane. Rough and ugly and long was the way, The skies were dull and the earth was cold ; He hated the night and he dreaded the day, And his heart seemed a hundred centuries old. With the dirge of his sighs he timed his tread, As one who pondereth bitter things ; But he only whispered, with drooping head, And a heart that wondered—'* Kicked, by jings !” Rosert J. Burpetre,