Life, 1897-08-12 · page 12 of 20
Life — August 12, 1897 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Life Magazine Page 132 This page contains two distinct sections: **Top cartoons**: Satirize the 1908 Johnson airship exhibition at Neckers Hill. The sketches mock the spectacle of early aviation, showing crowds gawking at a primitive airship. The humor centers on the wonder and danger of experimental flying machines—the second panel jokes about a "narrow escape" from the airship, reflecting public fascination and anxiety about this novel technology. **Bottom section**: "Gems of Poetry" presents a dialogue between two working-class men at what appears to be a pub, discussing drink. The illustration satirizes lower-class speech and behavior through crude caricature, typical of Life's social humor of the era. The quoted phrase from Wordsworth is used ironically to mock the men's vulgar interests. Both segments employ satire of public spectacle and class stereotypes common to early 1900s humor.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
132 ‘LIFE: His Heart. THE WAGES OF SIN—AN EPISODE OF 1908. RAYED round the edges, Worn at the tip, Punctured and battered, With many a rip. |_— = REE fp17v0n Gladly she took it, And said that she knew exn OF What there was of it l A Was perfectly true. i DHNSONS MF UL ' B PION HECKER Gexpay scoot PUNE en HILL PERINTEND- tz SE 20% 1908. ENT (severely): Bobbie, “ea —\e. ~ I didn’t see you in Sun- } day school yesterday. Me | § | Bowele (defiantly): 3 1 dei f No, sir. I was out on my wheel. “How were the roads?" CIERK: You say you willtake this ham- mock, miss? SHE: Yes, but I want two of them. “Very well, madame.” First Tramp: LET'S CAPTURE THAT AIR-SIIP First Tramp; THAT WAS A NARROW ESCAPE, AND SAIL OFF. BUT WE'RE ALL RIGHT, ANYHOW. HE! HE! HE! Second Tramp: CAPITAL IDEA. COME ON. Unpublished Selections by Well-known Authors. LORD TWEEDLEOUM AND HIS ARABELLA. By George Sherrymith. HE who had married Lord Tweedledum's father, and guided through mazes of flower-tessellated miles of fragrant tenor-voiced youth the erratic footsteps of his burnished-headed son, now pointed with a long, patrician, white finger, on which steadily sparkled a great, effulgent, remorseless ruby, at the procession of gauzy-skirted, ivory- skinned heiresses who disported themselves at Newport on that burning August day, under whose sweep of fiery sunlight they spread their smiles and lures like tropical serpents. ‘* See!" said Tweedledum’s mother, mastering an emotion which was intertwined hereditary insular prejudice and maternal regret, and a mother’s great longing to see the Bacchanalian limbs of her son clad in loose, costly garments, for which gold could be thrown into commer- cial coffers by black-browed Hebrews, and ancestral buildings unmort- gaged and the civility of surly merchants exacted. ‘*See—and choose.” Streaking between Tweedledum and the iridescent sea, the virgin procession of expecting, gurgling, many-voiced sirens swept self-con- sciously along. Some were pulling cruel bits in the foaming mouths of bronze-flanked, foam-flecked equines; some under fleecy lace canopies, radiating vivacity; some forming indigo-glistening silhouettes on the sheeny beach. The son of Albion thought of the Lady Arabella, sitting, Lady Shalot-like, in the silver and copper fog of London town, turning and sponging the shiny breadth of her last year’s Queen's drawing-room GEMS OF POETRY. gown, A sigh spent itself upon the plenteous ozone, Then he turned “DRINK, PRETTY CREATURE, DRINK!" over a poor mingling of sparse gold and coarse copper in his trousers —Wordsworth,'* The Pet Lamb.” pocket. He bent forward, regardless of the rich panorama of exotic