Life, 1886-10-14 · page 3 of 20
Life — October 14, 1886 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Life Magazine Page 223 The main cartoon depicts a romantic scene between a man and woman, with accompanying dialogue about the nature of love. The woman says she "likes" love but can't understand its meaning; the man dismissively replies it's "nothing" and "so to-day, in the game." This satirizes the cynical, casual attitude toward romance prevalent in early 20th-century society—the idea that love is merely a temporary, meaningless game rather than something profound. The "Letters to My Curate" section below contains satirical commentary on parish women, describing them with animal metaphors and warning against physical affection with them. This represents period social satire about class distinctions and propriety in religious communities, mocking both the women described and the sanctimonious advice-giver.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LETTERS TO MY CURATE. Il.—THE WOMEN IN THE PARISH. Y DEAR C.:—Under this head I include the old women in the parish who wear trousers. This is a class of people with all the physical formations of men and all the mental characteristics of spinsters. They have beards, but no serious employments; they have Adam’s-apples in their throats like other men, but no voice when anything of importance is under discussion at home or abroad. You are their natural prey. They live on ministers and prayer-meetings, just as spiders live on insects and cows on soft fodder. There are two subdivisions of these hybrids, the Acidulous and the Saccharine. The one class will punc- ture you with a sting, the other class will gum your faculties with saliva. Flee from them! Next to compliments upon your sermons, they are the most disagreeable things in the parish. As to the real Jona fide women in the parish, there is so much tosay that I can say butlittle. Women cannot beclassified as men and dogs, and horses and other animals ; each woman is a distinct species, and any two women make a distinct genus. The best way is to treat each woman in the parish, each time you meet her, as a surprése, and do the best you can, Avoid one thing, however, under all possible, and under all conceivable circumstances: avoid being affectionate. No woman who is not over one hundred and six years old, or under four months is safe to do more than shake hands with. Very often you will be tempted to express your sympathy or your sorrow for one of them by patting her gently on the back, or by holding one of her hands in both yours. Beware of even this skeleton of a shadow of demonstrative affection. In a word, dear C.,1 do not believe in that heavenly I T was her first set. ‘‘I like it,” she said, “But the meaning of ‘ love’ I can’t get through my head.” “Not get through your head? Why, it’s nothing,” he cried. “Tt always isthat, without question,” she sighed. ‘The cynic all vanished. ‘‘I meant then to say, It sometimes is nothing, and is so to-day, In the game.” Clinton Peters. vision of the family doctor known as “our dear pastor,” who kisses all the children and is intimate with all the women. Do not make the mistake of many of your brethren and forget that you are working for the Kingdom of God, and not for your own personal popularity. Foy in this mistake is included still another. Even when the women and children like ou, they may not love righteousness. Ponder over that last sen- tence. You see this is a difficult topic, but if you do not mis- take yourself for the object of “praise and adoration,” and refrain from the “holy kiss” business of the Pauline the- ology you may succeed. THE FIRST SYMPTOM OF THE SECOND TERM. HE President has been having his ships burned. When he first came to Albany to be Governor, desiring to keep a refuge from political storms, he left his bachelor belongings. in his Buffalo quarters. Last week Mrs. Cleveland and her mother went to Buffalo, and since their visit a carload of Cleveland property, mainly boot-jacks, has gone to Washing- ton. “* Give my little shoes to Johnny, T'll not need them any more,” is what the band played as the train moved slowly out. UNFORTUNATELY NAMED. “ OUR first name is Wallkill, isn’t it, Mr. Featherly ?” asked Bobby. “Yes, Wallkill,” complacently replied that young man. “It’s too bad.” “Why, Bobby ?” “Because sister Clara told Ethel Robinson that you would be a nice young man to call a dog after if it wasn’t for your name.” _comicbooks.com