Life, 1894-07-05 · page 10 of 16
Life — July 5, 1894 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Life Magazine Page 10 This page contains three separate pieces of satirical content: 1. **"A Reverend Wing Shot"**: A brief article mocking Reverend Dr. Rainsford of St. George's Episcopal Church in New York for his apparent contradiction—he preaches gospel mercy but enthusiastically hunts birds for sport. The satire highlights the hypocrisy of a religious figure who advocates compassion yet kills animals recreationally. 2. **"July" Poem**: A sentimental verse about missing an absent beloved, attributed to M.E.W. 3. **"What the Doctor's Boy Accomplished"**: Two cartoon panels showing a boy apparently using a skeleton (possibly from a doctor's office) to frighten or prank people. The humor derives from mischievous youth misusing professional medical equipment. The page exemplifies Life's satirical approach to social hypocrisy and human folly.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
- LIFE: A REVEREND WING SHOT. EV. DR. RAINSFORD, of St. George's Episcopal Church, New York, is an enthusiastic sportsman and would walk ten miles any day to find a good hunting ground. On the subject he is eloquent. The Doctor is one of the finest wing shots in the country.—Philadelphia Record. This is how he obeys the injunction of his Divine Master and preaches the Gospel to every creature. The Gospel reaches the poor birds in the shape of a leaden missile of death !—Ex. This sounds a little hard on the reverend sport, but we are afraid the Ex. is looking at him fromthe right point of view. Those who preach the gospel of mercy for a profession are a trifle inconsistent when they spend too much time in projecting shot into peaceable animals just for the fun of it. WHAT THE DOCTOR’S EOY ACCOMPLISHED. “FALLING IN WITH A FRIEND.” JULY. LOOK across the way and there— Where once she used to lean Coquetting on the window sill— ‘The woodbine’s wandering green Climbs up unheeded and unchid And settling thickly down Upon its leaves the dust lies white— There's nobody in town. But often just at twilight time There comes a little stir Amongst the vines that in my heart Awakes a hope of her. And eagerly I breathe her name, For gossips cannot frown Upon a lover's foolish whims When nobody’s in town, “*Can that be you, sweet Prue?” I call. Alas! ‘Tis all in vain— A mocking echo brings the words Back like a sad refrain. T catch no glimpse of her dear face, No fluttering of her gown ; Tt is the wind that moves the leaves— There's nobody in town ! WELW. APROPOS of the recovery of the ensign of the Kear- sarge, a contemporary ventures to think there is some- thing very queer and very discreditable about the way the whole ship’s company of the Kearsarge went ashore and left all her most indispensable properties behind. It is queer, and no explanation that has been ventured yet explains it, PeAtHer (despondently): 1 am ata loss to know what James will be when he grows up. He is too indolent to learn anything, and simply knows nothing of what is going on around him. OLD FRIEND: Why don’t you make him a professional juryman? comicbooks.com