Life, 1887-06-09 · page 5 of 16
Life — June 9, 1887 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis This page contains a short story titled "At the Gates" by Elliott Flower, not a political cartoon. The narrative depicts St. Peter at heaven's gates interviewing an applicant—Mabel Sweet—who admits to various moral failings: eloping with a Chicago drummer, carelessly killing her husband, and negligently dropping her two children from a window. The accompanying illustration shows St. Peter in his gatehouse with the applicant below. The satire is moral/religious rather than political: it mocks the applicant's casual attitude toward serious sins and St. Peter's bemused response. The humor derives from the contrast between the gravity of her transgressions and her flippant tone—a commentary on contemporary moral laxness and hypocrisy.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
- LIFE: 319 | AT THE GATES. | T. PETER was dozing, his keys hanging idly at his side. 1 He had had so little to do of late that he was actually getting lazy, and it was with many expressions of disgust ‘| that he rose to answer a timid knock at the gates. “Whose there?” he asked as he fumbled over his keys in | an endeavor to find the right key. “It is I—Mabel Sweet,” came the reply. I want to come in.” St. Peter chuckled softly. “Of course you do,” he said. “So does every one; but | they don’t all get in, nevertheless.” He swung the gates open, and took his station in the middle of the open space, thus effectually barring all passage. “Give an account of yourself,” he commanded. “What have you been doing upon earth?” “Please St. Peter,” she responded timidly, “1 haven't been very good.” “I suppose not,” he said tersely. “But tell me what you have done.” “One day I eloped with a Chicago drummer.”” “Did, eh?” queried St. Peter witha pitying glance. “That's bad—very bad; but I don’t knaw but that it carried its punishment with it.” “Oh, it did!” she exclaimed with emotion. “Well then, what next?” “I was very thoughtless, St. Peter,” she exclaimed apolo- getically—very thoughtless indeed. Why, do you know, I carelessly split his head open with an axe when I got tired of him.” “That was thoughtless,” commented the saint. “TI really don’t see how I can let you in.” “Please St. Peter, don’t be hard on me,” she pleaded. “Tt was all because of my thoughtless nature. Why, in the same way, I dropped my two children out of the sixth story window when they woke me up with their crying.” “Dear me, I wish you had been a little more thoughtful,” he muttered. “So do I,” she replied. “And, oh! I almost forgot. On another occasion I neglected to return a few thousands of dollars that my sister entrusted to me.” “H’m! Abad case—a bad case!” mused the guardian of the gates. There is really no chance of your getting in. I suppose you wore those décolletés costumes, too.” “Oh, yes.” “Dear me! It is very sad. I would like to let you in, but I can’t. I—oh, stop! Perhaps, you had some one great virtue that would counteract all the evils.” “I don't know, I’m sure,” she pondered, “I can’t think of anything, except—except I always took off my hat at the theatre.” An expression of ecstatic rapture passed over St. Peter’s AN UNSEEMLY HOUR. face. “Come in,” he said, bowing low. “Gabriel, give the lady a front seat, and order her a harp of solid gold studded with diamonds.” Young Sampson, who thinks he can play the cornet, is serenad- ing his girl when the old gentleman interrupts him with: HERE, YOu ! [WE DON'T WANT ANY FISH AT. THIS HOUR OF THE NIGHT!” Elliott Flower. comicbooks.com