Life, 1892-02-11 · page 3 of 22
Life — February 11, 1892 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Valentine's Day Issue Analysis This is a **Valentine's Day special issue** (February 14) of Life magazine. The masthead illustration shows cupids and romantic figures celebrating love. The main content consists of **Valentine's poems and verses** rather than political satire. One poem addresses "a lonely bachelor, / Etat twenty-nine" seeking love, invoking Cupid's help. Another verse expresses hope that romantic gestures—"billets-doux, all lace / And rosy wreaths"—might win someone's heart. The decorative elements include **cherub illustrations** typical of Valentine's Day imagery of that era. Rather than political commentary, this page is **entertainment and romantic humor** aimed at the magazine's readers around the Valentine's Day holiday, with light verse about courtship and bachelor longing.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
VOLUME XIX. NUMBER 476. IFE, wishes his readers a happy and successful St. Valentine's Day. By ‘ successful” we mean safe This is leap year, and happy bachelors cannot be too careful. Of course it is every bachelor’s privilege to know that all the girls are after him, and the fewer attractions he possesses mentally and morally, the surer he is of this fact. As for the dear girls, all warnings are wasted. They will continue as heretofore to distribute their smiles and frowns as best pleases them. But yet if any word of truth Lie in the jest that Fate For every mortal on this earth Eitat twenty a ie set ee a be a i Or thereabouts, who longs for bide toes Oem?) Serna te ct love A heart that’s meant for mine, And wants a Valentine? And this shall let the owner know iota ¢ That I'm his Valentine ! O Cupid, in your rounds to-day, MEW If any such you see, - pee ye I wish you could, somehow, contrive To let him hear of me! For of those billets-doux, all lace And rosy wreaths, to trail Across the verses that unfold Love's old delicious tale, Not one has ever come to me,— No swain has fondly sighed In prose or poetry, a hope To win me for his bride. comicbooks.com