Life, 1885-05-07 · page 3 of 16
Life — May 7, 1885 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of "A Title Clear" This page contains a literary poem by James Jeffrey Roche rather than political satire. The piece appears to be a humorous afterlife narrative where the narrator dreams of being a shade journeying toward heaven's gate. The two illustrations support the poem's themes: the upper image depicts classical/mythological figures (possibly Charon ferrying souls), while the lower illustration shows what appears to be heavenly bureaucracy—figures at a desk processing admissions with a ledger or registry book. The satire targets institutional red tape and admission requirements, even in paradise. The joke is that heaven operates like an earthly institution requiring paperwork and credentials ("Please register"), poking fun at bureaucratic formality extending beyond death itself.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
> LIFE: A TITLE CLEAR. AYBE it was the Sun- day fare; Maybe the Sunday sermon ; Perhaps ‘t was but a plain night- mare— I never can determine. 1 dreamed I was an errant shade, With other shadows hieing Along a road whose downward grade Was simply terrifying. Before them all, with haughty head, One held the chief position, Whose loftly mien and stately tread Proclaimed his high condition. While in the eyes of all the rest Sat trouble and dejection, His gold-rimmed orbs alone expressed Approving introspection. We reached a river and embarked Upon a galiey gloomy ; The seat the stranger took, I marked, Was elegant and roomy. When Charon came to punch his fare, The awe-inspiring spectre Transfixed him with a stony stare, And seemed to say, “ Director.” We reached at length the heavenly gate— The press had free admissions — The common herd was forced to wait And loaded with conditions. The stranger handed in his card. While ‘round the door we hovered, And to the high celestial guard His shapely head uncovered. I saw St. Peter smile and bow, Urbane and deferential ; The stranger's greeting was somehow, A shade more consequential. “ Angel !” the saintly tyler cried, A page straightway appearing. (I don’t remember that I tried To wholly keep from hearing.) I caught the words “ Orchestra chair— Be sure you get the right one— See the harp-tuner; and take care The halo is a bright one.” “Look lively, too,” St. Peter said, “The gentleman is waiting.” “Please register’ — he bent his head, The great book indi- cating. The stranger wrote. 1 read the scrawl The sacred page en- grossed on ; The name was naught, the place was all— “J. Winthrop Wiggins, “TRANSFIXED HIM WITH A STONY GLARE.” Boston.” James Jeffrey Roche,