Life, 1890-01-23 · page 11 of 18
Life — January 23, 1890 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This page contains a satirical cartoon titled "TOO SHORT" depicting a domestic scene where a man lounges on a sofa while a woman kneels before him. The caption suggests he's complaining his pants don't fit properly—a crude visual joke playing on marital dynamics and male entitlement. Below is "Journal of Marie Baskinherself," a humorous diary entry satirizing romantic relationships. The narrator obsesses over her love life across multiple months (February through April), cycling through emotional extremes: despair, hope, jealousy, and reconciliation with her lover "N." The satire mocks women's perceived emotional volatility in romance and the melodrama of Victorian-era courtship. The accompanying illustration shows a woman in various states of romantic distress, reinforcing stereotypes about female emotionalism that Life magazine frequently lampooned.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
TOO SHORT. She :* SEF POOR FIDO GASP—WHAT cam BE THE MATTER! He: MAYBE HIS PANTS DON'T FIT HIM, JOURNAL OF MARIE BASKINHERSELF. Nice. February.—Again this gnawing pain. Why cannot I see him? My love will blight me be- fore 1 am out and my beauty will consume away. How Iam beautiful! If you could see the faint pink of my ears and the contour of my shoulder-blade I know you would do as I do —gaze on my perfections by the hour with the aid of a double mirror. How happy I am! How I sigh and pine for my love! I am wretched. Heaven have mercy on me! March.—Ob, nice Nice! What a home for a budding genius! Bah! I hate you, be- loved city! Why am I so miserable? Is it homesickness? Ay, verily, but I am sick of home, not for it! My torture is inexpressible ! I am going out now to buy a trinket for my chatelaine. April—Am 1 an April fool? 1 hardly know, Do not for a moment fancy me vain, but my new hat is so becoming that the cab- driver told me that I looked like Sally in his alley. Probably she is some winsome maid of No one shall Heaven grant my own age. exist of whom I can remind any one. me grace to kill Sally! May.—See the buds come out!’ I have seen my love again, He did not see me, but he ought to have a general suspicion by this time that Lam going to marry him, I do not believe any longer in Marie~ olatry; it is too personal, Oh, let me die! Let me paint! Oh, table of the table, by with or from a table, let me read! No, let me Ko on the stage! But first let me die—a horribly-grinding death ! Oh, art! Oh, nice Nice! June—\ have given up my love as a bad job, and have been hav- ing my hands kissed all the evening by X., which is more practical. X. isa nice fool. We hit it off well together from the first. He said : “Do you love me ?” “Yes, if Hate is love.” Say not so—tell me you are all mine." “Yes, I am all yours, You are an idiot.” Here I shrugged my shoulders and pushed out my lips as if trying to blow away a feather. “Why 2?” Meat Because you love me." A lover always loves. Have I not spoken ?” ** Dearest, I love you!" “Well, [hate you! Good night 1 will track her down and slay her. She shall die! Do you love me ?” comicbooks.com