Life, 1884-09-18 · page 11 of 16
Life — September 18, 1884 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Life Magazine Satire Page Analysis This page contains two distinct pieces of turn-of-the-century American humor: **"Hard Luck"** presents Irish-accented working-class dialect comedy. A butcher, having lost his wife, laments not that she died, but that her death delays his butcher business and coincides with market day—prioritizing profit over grief. The satire mocks both the character's callousness and working-class speech patterns common in period humor. **"Anecdote of D—ocles"** references the classical "Sword of Damocles" story, repositioning it as social commentary about anxiety and excess. The larger narrative involves a poker game among characters with names suggesting their types: Mr. Williams (African American, indicated by dialect), Rev. Mr. Smith, and others. When Williams bets a ring as collateral, Smith deliberately tests and scratches it—a humiliating power play. Smith's reference to "three balls" (pawnshop symbol) and "Oppenheimer" suggests ethnic mockery. The satire likely critiques racial dynamics and gambling culture through exaggerated dialect and stereotyped characterization typical of 1890s-era Life magazine.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
HARD LUCK. L S “Johnny,” the village butcher, was going his rounds the other morning, he was accosted by a worthy citizen who is prompt in extending relief and sympathy to the distressed. “Oh, Johnny,” wife is dead.” “Yis, indade, Mr. Cook, an’ coming on at this time it bhreaks me all up.” “ Were you not prepared for the shock ?” “Shure, I knew my woife had to die after the docthers, bad ‘cess to ‘em, had all give her up. But I'd paid a five-dollar note out of my own pocket if they ‘d bhraced her up till the middle o’ next wake.” “Tt would have been just as hard then, Johnny.” he said, “1 hear your “Not quite as hard, Mr. Cook; for it delays me butcherin’, and the funeral comes on market day.” ANECDOTE OF D—OCLES, Dre the Sicilian sybarite, being particularly fond of the pleasures of the table, the tyrant Halicarnassus did not fail to invite him toa ANSWER FOR AN ANXIOUS PROHI- BITION PARTY MAN—No, by St. John! cotton gin is not intoxicating. sumptuous banquet, at the beginning of which he called his priest’s attention to the fact that just above his head was a sword suspended by a single hair. So profoundly possessed was D—ocles with the apprehension that the hair might at any moment fall into his soup, that he was utterly unable to THE BEST HOT SCOTCH—Burns. Mr. WILLIAMS caught another tray, and, being secretly | pleased, led out by betting a chip. The Rev. Mr. SMITH up- roariously slammed down a stack of blue chips and raised him seven dollars. Mr. Gus JOHNSON had captured the nine of hearts and so retired. Mr. WILLIAMS had four chips and a dollar left. “1 sees dat seven,” he said, impressively, an’ I humps it ten mo’.” “Whar's de clateral?” queried the Rev. Mr. SMITH, calmly, but with aggressiveness in his eye. Mr. WILLIAMS sniffed contemptuously, drew off the ring | and deposited it in the pot with such an air as toimpress Mr. | WHIFFLES with the idea that the jewel must have been worth at least four million coll Then Mr. WILLIAMS leaned back in his chair and s1 . “Whadyer goin’ ter do?” asked the Rev. Mr. SMITH, de- liberately ignoring Mr. WILLIAMS'S action, Mr. WILLIAMS pointed to the ring and smiled. ten dollahs.” “On whad « Dat ring.” « Dat ring 2” . “Yezzah.” Mr. WILLIAMS was still cool. “Huh!” The Rev. Mr. SMITH picked the ring up, ex- amined it scientifically with one eye closed, dropped it sev- | eral times as if to test its soundness, and then walked across and rasped it several times heavily on the window pane. "Lif yo enjoy any of the rich viands provided for his delectation. “Whad yo’ doin’ dat for?" excitedly asked Mr. WILL- IAMS. A double rasp with the ring was the Rev. Mr. SMITH'S only reply. “ Gimme dat jule back !" demanded Mr. WILLIAMS, The Rev. Mr. SMITH was now vigorously rubbing the setting of the stone on the sanded floor. “ Leggo dat sparkler,” said Mr. WILLIAMS again. The Rev. Mr. SMITH carefully polished off the scratches by rubbing the ring awhile on the sole of his foot. Then he resumed his seat and put the precious thing back into the pot. Then he looked calmly at Mr. WILLIAMS, and leaned back in his chair as if waiting for something. “Is yo’ satisfied ?” said Mr. WILLIAMS, in the tone used | by men who have sustained a deep injury. “Dis is pokah,” said the Rev. Mr. THANKFUL SMITH. “ rised yo’ ten dollahs,” said Mr. WILLIAMS, pointing to the ring. “Did yer ever saw three balls hangin’ over my do’ ?” | asked the Rev. Mr. SMITH; “doesn’t yo’ know my name hain't Oppenheimer ?” “Whad yo’ mean ?” asked Mr. WILLIAMS, excitedly. “Pokah am pokah, and dar ‘s no ‘casion fer triflin’ wif blue glass 'n junk in dis yar club,” said the Rev. Mr. SMITH. “T liffs yo’ ten dollahs,” said Mr. WILLIAMS, ignoring the insult. “Pud up de c’lateral,” said the Rev. Mr. SMITH.‘ Fo’ comicbooks.com