Life, 1897-12-04 · page 8 of 34
Life — December 4, 1897 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This page contains two unrelated pieces: **"On Looking at an Old Portrait"** is a sentimental Christmas poem by a Puritan speaker reflecting on aging and mortality. **"Hunting Caribou with Quo Vadis"** is a humorous hunting narrative. The author describes taking a Winchester rifle to hunt caribou in northern wilderness. The joke appears to be the title's reference to "Quo Vadis" (a popular novel), suggesting the author humorously applied literary contemplation to practical wilderness hunting. The accompanying illustrations show hunters with rifles pursuing caribou across snowy terrain. The piece mocks the contrast between romantic adventure literature and the mundane reality of patient, cold hunting.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
484 -LIFE- On Looking at an Old Portrait. A CHRISTMAS REVERIE. PRISCILLA, Puritan, Looking from thy faded frame, Would I might a century span Backward, heart aflame, HOW FREDOIE SAMPSON HAPPENED TO HAVE BEARS’ MEAT FOR HIS CHRISTMAS DINNER. How the present I'd forego With its wondrous stride. If, o'er old New England's snow, I with thee might ¢ Maiden, is thy hear Now as it was the If so, let me quit Soar and soar ag Till, far in the wide expanse Where the planets roll, I, ethereal, longing, chanee On thy spotless soul. Then (as I am doin With far greater bliss, Let me on thy spirit brow Press a Christmas kiss Hunting Caribou with “Quo Vadis.” sf {LL take a 45-90 Win- said MeKin- nee, the oracle, before I started to hunt caribou in the Tourilli, He knew, for he had killed six and I none—but I ean give him points now. Inmy opinion there is no weapon quite so ne in acaribou hunt a volume of absorbi After I had been in the woods a week and had spent half the time on the fringe of lonely lakes, watching six hours at a stretch for the caribou that never came, I made up my mind that it was poor fun. If you ever hunted with the astute the best guide in the wilderness, you know that when a man atches with him he keeps still attends to business—no a cold bit of potted chicken for lunch, and very litle interchange of ideas. I'm not a Buddhist, and silent contempla- tion palls on me when continued three days at a stretch. On the fourth I determined to add a little variety to the hunt. So that Xavier might have no chance to protest, I started him ahead on the trail to Brulé and then slid “Quo Vadis” into