Life, 1896-12-03 · page 14 of 26
Life — December 3, 1896 — page 14: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes romantic jealousy on the golf course. The poem and accompanying sketches humorously depict a golfer's frustration watching his love interest (a "winsome maid, in a gay Scotch plaid") playing golf with a rival male competitor. The narrator obsesses over their whispered conversations and fears losing both the game and "the lassie" to his better-playing competitor. The satire mocks how golf—a genteel sport—becomes a backdrop for romantic anxiety, with the protagonist cursing various golf clubs in frustration. Below, the editor comments on the American reception of Scottish author "Ian Maclaren" (likely a pseudonym), mocking American "hero worship" of foreign writers. The French comparison suggests skepticism that Paris would fawn similarly over American authors, implying Americans are exceptionally gullible to foreign celebrity.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LOVE ON THE LINKS. SEE her face in the distance, From under her jaunty cap; They're over the run !—they’ve néarly won !— My love, and the other chap. They sit on a stile together, And wait; it is still our ‘li I flourish my club, and the skin [ rub From over the caddy’s eye. Confound that chap who's with her—he will utter The words I've had as yet no chance to speak ; The devil take the driver and the putter! The lofter and the mashy and the cleck ! At last, on the green, we join them, But what does he whisper so low? I very much doubt if it’s ‘you hole out,” Or as to the score, you know! Foursomes are gruesome, I’m thinking, You've pain from the time you start, When a winsome maid, in a gay Scotch plaid, Tees off, and the ball’s your heart ! You've lost the game—you fear you've lost the lassic, Because of tother fellow, and his cheek ; You mutter low—"‘the devil take the bras The lofter and the driver and the cleek !” G. M, Winter, «JAN MACLAREN ™ seems to be having a royal time of it in N York. According to an American paper, Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Co., his publishers, have turned their shop into a veritable temple, and filled the windows with statues, statuettes, bust, medals, and portraits of the famous ** Briar Bush hero. Well, there is no place h like America for hero worship, and if the New Yorkers do aboot taakin’ braw Scotch for awheel, in honour o' the pit bairn that's come ower the watter,” it will certainly be sur- prising.—St. Paul's. Yes, weare silly enough, Heaven knows! And the worst of it is, there seems no chance of improvement. It is interesting to guess at our opinion of the French, for instance, if Paris were thrown into a flutter of excitement at the approach of every American who had written a pretty little story. Ccomicbooks.com