Life, 1897-10-21 · page 5 of 20
Life — October 21, 1897 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Life Magazine Page 327 The top cartoon shows a master confronting a servant about scattered papers—a visual gag about domestic chaos. The servant's response ("I'm about—hic—full") suggests drunkenness, explaining the mess. Below, "A Grief" is a poem by Philander Johnson lamenting a woman named Mag who had an attractive face until getting a "bicycle face"—a real period concern (1890s-1900s) that cycling supposedly caused facial sagging and strain. The circular "door-knob portrait" caricature on the right depicts a thin man with exaggerated features, though the specific identity is unclear from the image alone. The final quote about judging others reflects on human bias and self-deception—a common satirical theme in Life's editorial commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Master entering): WHAT ARE YOU ANOUT THERE ? Servant: WIC—I'M ABOUT—HIC—FULL, A Grief, ROSPECTIVE TENANT: I don't know about going into that building of yours. It doesn't look strong. LANDLORD: Take rooms on the top floor. Then if it falls you'll be on top. H, where is de goil dat inspired me to song? She's a daisy; a peach—I don't t'ink. I was tickled ter deat’, oncet, ter take ‘er along Ter de ball, er ter skate on de rink. As a looker, I backed ‘er to take every prize, An’ now she’s clean out’n de race; I sits down an’ cries till I've used up me eyes, Since Mag got de bicycle face. When I sces how her sky-fringe ig\twisted an’ blown By de winds, till she looks like a fright— Den I t'inks how de moonbeams at Coney oncet shone On ‘er hair dat was frizzed out o' sight. Fur freckles, she had such a cute, winnin’ way, But de sunburn has give ‘em de chase; I'm half-crazy by night-an’ I'm foolish by day Since Mag got de bicycle face. It's hard, when ye've saved up yer money ter splice Ter call de match off, ’an to quit; Ter say dat yer love letters don’t cut no ice; Ter end de hull romance wid ‘‘nit.” But trut’ must come out. Dere’s no show ter conceal De horrible facts in de case; I'd as soon ask de joss down in Mott Street ter spiel, As Mag, wid ‘er bicycle face. Philander Johnson. E usually judge other people by what we know best ourselves, which most always leaves a comfortable discrepancy‘in our own favor, A “DOOR-KNOB” PORTRAIT OF A thin MAN, comicbooks.com