Life, 1891-12-31 · page 44 of 53
Life — December 31, 1891 — page 44: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two satirical pieces from Life magazine. **"A Real Provocation"** is a humorous poem about mistletoe etiquette. A man hesitates to kiss a woman under mistletoe, but she dismisses his concern, noting the tradition grants only one kiss—no hug. He curses the "low-born British churl" who invented the custom, reflecting that an American girl from New York would expect more generous terms than the restrained English tradition allows. The joke plays on transatlantic cultural differences in courtship customs. **"A Christmas Ghost"** is a comedic supernatural story where the narrator encounters a polite but insistent ghost in his attic on Christmas Eve. The ghost, seated on a Japanese screen, cryptically accuses the narrator of killing him. When pressed for details, the ghost answers "with him"—implying the narrator killed the ghost while staying at the narrator's apartment. The humor derives from the ghost's bureaucratic politeness and absurd logic. Both pieces satirize social conventions through exaggeration and wordplay.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A REAL PROVOCATION. FELT like a boy who holds a peach, And hesitates where to bite ; Such dimples, curves and blushes! And cach Would soften an anchorite. I poised a moment above her lips, But her cheek was soft and red ; Her neck was white as the snow that slips To earth at the squirrel’s tread. “Otake it, [tis easily done!” She said with a little shrug ; “The mistletoe gives you only onc, And—it doesn't include a hug!" I cursed the inventor of such stuff, For a low-born British churl. Perhaps onc English kiss is enough ; But she was a New York girl. Harry Romaine. A CHRISTMAS GHOST. T is Christmas Eve, and—- “Ahem!” I start—I look about me into every corner of my attic room. Nothing—absolutely nothing is to be seen. “Ahem! Very discreetly, very politely, yet unmistakably intentional is its enunciation, I turn and see a shadowy form, seated complacently, just above a gold dragon on my huge Japanese screen. It is a strange thing to be doing, but ghosts must be ghosts. “Why do you sit there?” I ask. “ Because you occupy the only chair.” “ True,” | murmur. s there anything I can do for you?” “Yes. Tell me why you killed me.” And tears trickle out of his empty eye-sockets while his bones rattle softly—or perhaps it is the hail. “kill you! / commit a murder!” I exclaim. This ghost has apparently escaped from some asylum devoted to lunatic ghosts. I must humor him. Come to think of it—so I did. But where are you stopping “ With Az" he answers laconically. “ And your apartment——” comicbooks.com