Life, 1884-03-06 · page 3 of 16
Life — March 6, 1884 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Anxious to Please" — Life Magazine, Page 129 The cartoon depicts a social comedy about literary pretension. Mr. Dudley Villiers, identified as a poet who writes "just for relaxation," shows his verses to Mrs. Green. She claims to know them by heart and reads them to her children at bedtime—flattery clearly designed to please the amateur poet. The satire targets both parties: Villiers' vanity in seeking validation for his casual verse-writing, and Mrs. Green's transparent social maneuvering through exaggerated praise. The humor lies in the mutual performance—neither party is genuine. The accompanying poem "At the Confessional" by John Moran provides thematic reinforcement about hidden truths beneath polite social interaction, suggesting that such drawing-room conversations mask deeper, more complicated realities.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ANXIOUS TO PLEASE. Mr. Dudley Villiers (who writes poetry “just for relaxation, you know”); 1 SEE YOU HAVE MY VERSES, Mrs. GREEN ; HAVE YOU READ THEM? Mrs. G.: Ou! Yes, I ALMost KNOW THEM BY HEART. Mr. D. V. (with a little thrill): Reariy! Mrs. G.: + Yes, INDEED! I READ THE CHILDREN TO SLEEP WITH THEM EVERY NIGHT. AT THE CONFESSIONAL. (RONDEAUX). I. N priestly guise he sat to hear Confession, he whose lips austere Once laughed below a long mustache, What time he swung a sabretache And swaggered as a cavalier ! He donned this garb once when his ear Heard, at a masked ball, troth-plight clear. ’T was one who marked the soldier’s sash In priestly guise. Later his sword upon love's bier He laid; left all life held most dear, Curbing his froward blood’s hot dash, Till, mortified by fast and lash, What carnal onslaughts need he fear In priestly guise? There, to the stall, one eve she came, A lady free of outward blame ; Heart-heavy, heart-sore, none the less, For all her rustling, silken dress And diamonds in the dusk aflame ! He heard that voice absolvement claim, Whose tones of old—dear Lord, the same !— Made, at the opera, gallants press There to the stall, He heard her whisper but one name— He, whose strong love years failed to tame. Vain had been all his strife and stress ! He strangled as he strove to bless, Feeling how sure was fate’s last aim There to the stall! JouN Moran,