Life, 1895-12-26 · page 39 of 51
Life — December 26, 1895 — page 39: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**Top Cartoon:** A burglar confronts a homeowner on a rooftop, demanding surrender. The robber explains he was "left out last year" and won't risk missing again—a satirical commentary on crime patterns, suggesting thieves target homes systematically and repeat their victims if unsuccessful. **"Stuck on His Shape"** (lower left): A small illustration, likely a visual pun about romantic entanglement, though details are unclear. **"Fide et Amore" (main poem):** A man's cynical lament about his lady's contradictions—she flirts while claiming prudishness, reads scandalous novels while appearing proper, craves emotional excitement daily, yet costs him dearly in gifts. Despite his disillusionment with love itself ("skimmed milk, not whipped cream"), a kiss from her restores his hope. **The satire targets** the artificiality and emotional volatility of society women of the era, and men's exasperation with their inconsistency—a common theme in period humor about courtship and marriage dynamics.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“STUCK ON HIS SHA! “DROP THAT PACK, AND THROW UP YOUR HANDS! SORRY TO TROUBLE YOU, BUT I GOT LEFT OUT LAST YEAR, AND I AIN'T TAKING ANY CHANCES THIS ONE,” FIDE ET AMORE. Y lady's very fond of me ‘When seated by her side, And yet she flirts at every tea With men she can’t abide. At home to all the bores that call, She sets her cap for beaux, And whether I her heart enthrall I'm sure she never knows, She poses somewhat as a prude, But late at night doth pore, With mind alert, in changeful mood, O'er novels, by the score, By Loti, Bourget and Belot, While those who know her say It is her habit to forego All things the least risgué. Such subtleties her mind conceals— Her head turned with the notion That life’s a void, unless one feels Each day a new emotion ! I would not have her prim, ’tis true, But her provoking ways Do pique me so the cost T rue Of bonbons and bouquets. I feel that life’s a sad affair And love's a foolish dream ; The joys I taste one might compare To skimmed milk, not whipped cream, And yet, grown cynical with years, It brims my cup with bliss When all my smoldering doubts and fears Are smothered with a kiss !