Life, 1888-07-26 · page 10 of 14
Life — July 26, 1888 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis This page from *Life* magazine presents a satirical composite novel titled "The Quick Will; Or, The Dead Mr. Meeson?" — a parody subtitle referencing popular Victorian novels by H. Rider Haggard and other prolific authors of the era. The text mocks melodramatic Victorian fiction through exaggerated plot elements: a dying woman, dramatic deathbed scenes, romantic declarations, and legal complications over a will. The repeated exclamations "Kiss me!" and references to tattoos, sailor adventures, and poison are overwrought tropes typical of sensationalist literature. The accompanying sketches on the right appear to depict comic scenes of physical farce — possibly showing characters in awkward or comedic situations — complementing the satirical text's mockery of overwrought romantic and mystery plots prevalent in late 19th-century popular literature.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
> LIFE ® THE QUICK WILL; OR, THE DEAD MR. MEESON? A COMPOSITE NOVEL, (After too much of Miss Rives and Mr. Haggard.) 1, I OSEMARY was a typical old English home. As Barbara Smithers loped through the soft blue haze which surrounded it, her copper-brown hair fell below her withy waist. A brace of tame authors bounded along at her side—authors whom Mr. Meeson had reduced to subjection by a long course of weak tea and bread and butter. Barbara had arrayed them in dark brown suits, with silver buttons and brilliant sashes. The authors had a bad habit of rolling in the dust and dirtying their sashes. Barbara was wont to correct them with a strong cowhide which accompanied her in all her walks. All of a sudden she began to draw jagged, uneven breaths. Ye was near, as she instinctively knew from the warm blood which mantled to her ears—blood which never before had mantled for any one but Val. “You dear thing!" “You are so good,” she replied, and a little shudder tobogganed down her spine. “And yet, do you know, I would love infinitely and be loved.” He mentioned the name of a rodent after which a popular suicidal poison has been named, in earnest tones. This was all, but in the grave look—in the diapason of his voice—there was something so—so like Val. And then she woke up in her own little room, with Rameses bathing her beating temples with fragrant hair-oil. Il, “Mr. Meeson. Kiss me!” “Yes,” said Mr. Meeson, “let the will be tattooed on Jock Dering. He'd be some use that way.” “Mr, Meeson! Kiss me!" “The sailor will tattoo you while you wait—" Mr, Meeson! Kiss me!” “ An’ you an’ my nephew can get the profits from publishing ‘Amélie’s Mistake,’ an’—" “Kiss me! Kiss me!” “ An’ you an’ the lad can spend the money-moon in the Hutches—” “I will be tattooed more than anything I ever dreamed of—more than anything in earth or heaven—more than Captain Constantinus—more than anything alive or dead—or dead’ You understand? Now kiss me!" Ill. As Barbara and Lady Holmhurst entered the Registrar's office, they found that official, with his wig on wrong side before, admiring himself in the mirror. He turned, and instinctively knew that the will stood before him. It was the day of the trial. There was a good house, and when Barbara entered the witness-box, she fell upon the floor and writhed and sobbed until the boards vibrated beneath her agonized movements. At last the Short brothers rose as one man and began their summing up. They were twins, and found this a useful precaution, as they had faulty memories, and were likely to forget their lines, é At the proper moment, James Short winked at Barbara. The lace shawl fell from her shoulders. It was enough. The Court immediately gave a verdict for the will, and with exemplary costs. “And now I must go,” she said, with a little break in her voice, “I am so weary! It seems as though there was not rest enough in the whole world to make me what I was, But I will put Sevigné Balm on my shoulders, and perhaps the marks will go away. Farewell—good-bye, Jock! It was all for the best.” Metcalfe. FANTASIA ON A HOSE. comicbooks.com