Life, 1886-09-23 · page 3 of 16
Life — September 23, 1886 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis This page from *Life* magazine contains three satirical pieces about courtship and marriage customs: **"The Modern Lover"** (main poem): A prospective mother-in-law addresses young women, warning them that modern suitors are financially motivated rather than romantically genuine. She advises women to remain cautious about marriage prospects, noting that "the modern lover's bought and sold" and marriages often fail ("For woe or weal?"). The satire mocks both mercenary dating practices and the commercialization of romance. **"A Matter of Custom"** and **"Getting Even"**: Brief pieces humorously comparing how different European nationalities respond to sneezing in public, and a domestic joke about a wife snubbing another woman. **"Tragedy"**: A mock-dramatic poem about romantic misfortune. The overall theme satirizes courtship anxieties and gender dynamics of the era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
> LIFE: THE MODERN LOVER. (BY A PROSPECTIVE MOTHER-IN-LAW.) Y little maids, would you be wed? And gaily Hymen’s measure tread? Base not your hope on Love divine, Love is a dream of auld lang syne, And milk-white arms, and cheeks like roses, Old-fashioned as the farm-yard posies. Nor seek to bear the prize away At ‘‘ College,” on Commencement Day. Beauty and wit are charming things, But still weigh light with wedding rings. From early morn, my little maids, Till night has drawn her purple shades, Urge on papa with artless guile, To spare no labor, pains or wile ; To cheat the rich and grind the poor, To lavish every cunning lure, Till Fortune stays her flying wheel, A MATTER OF CUSTOM. COMPARISON of the manners and customs of various European nations discloses many interesting facts, among which the following is by no means the least : When a person afflicted with the influenza so far loses con- trol of himself as to sneeze in society, the Italian will bow gracefully, wave his hand politely in front of him, and ejacu- late, Salute. Under similar circumstances the Spaniard will appear | slightly pained, doff his sombrero, and exclaim, Con dios. The Frenchman, that politest of beings, will cry, 4 vos sou- hatte, Monsteur ! with an air of great concern. The Turk will salaam as gracefully as his rather cumbrous | dress will permit. The Teuton will invoke the blessing of God upon you, and the Englishman will shout, Bless me, what a d——n bad cold | you've got! £ x f EPORTS from Turkey state that the Sultan is in-an unprecedented condition of amiability, and is pardon- ing a large number of offenders. It was a missionary work on the part of our Government to send Mr. Cox to the Sublime Porte. And stamps him with her golden seal. ‘« Where honey is, there swarm the bees.” My little maids, now take your ease, What matter though your hair be tow? Your golden ducats gleam and glow. And though your structure may be lean, With plenty all your coffers teem. My little maids, be calm and bold, The modern lover ’s bought and sold. At your sweet will, for woe or weal, Shall sound the joyous wedding peal. For woe or weal? For weal or woe? My little maids, ’tis sometimes so. And, if the secret I must tell, That ringing, swinging, golden bell ‘Too often sounds a wedding knell. WM. Py GETTING EVEN. IFE: What do you think, my dear? That young Mrs. De Hobson actually snubbed me at the party last night. HusBaND: Is it possible! What did you do? WIFE: I snubbed old Mrs. Jenkins. TRAGEDY! E was wrapped in slumber. And flew to where he lay. And when upon his cheek her burning lips Were pressed in ecstacy, with one fell blow He swept her from his couch, and at his side, A helpless, quivering, mangled bleeding thing, He saw her die. Hic jacet mosquito ! Arthur Penfield. She saw him there B RIDGET (who has been sent to crack some nuts in prep- aration for Mrs. Blank's little dinner party to be | held during the evening, enters with a few badly cracked upon a plate): An’ indade, Missus Blank, Oi’ll lose me place | befor’ Oi break me tathe a-crackin’ any more of thim nuts. | Me jaw’s all lame now, as it is, so it is. comicbooks.com