Life, 1898-02-03 · page 13 of 20
Life — February 3, 1898 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Life* magazine contains literary criticism disguised as humorous letters. Two prolific writers—Andrew Lang and John Kendrick Bangs—are gently mocked for publishing too frequently. The first section complains that Lang produces books so rapidly that readers cannot keep up; a busy man cannot read everything published. The second criticizes Bangs for writing with such gloom and speed that his output exceeds anyone's ability to read it. The illustration shows a woman in an interior, with the caption about marriage prospects. A gossipy observer suggests the woman will marry for money rather than intellect, prompting the reply that people "must have *something* to talk about"—implying shallow gossip fills social conversation. The overall satirical point: contemporary readers were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of literary production from popular authors, while society distracted itself with trivial scandal.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Cobwebs from a Library Corner. I. AN Oven Letter. DREW L. : I beg of you To a rest a week or two, fishing in some Scottish burn, Or at your golfing take a turn; Please sleep a little every day, And do not work so hard, I pray. I, dear Lang, have liked you much— You have a very master’s touch— But, ob, you print so often that I hardly know where you are at. Your books flow in so fast that I Cannot keep up, howe'er I try. My shelves o’ertlow, sir, with your wit, And I'd be loath to part with i But many a page I cannot scan, Because Tam a busy man And cannot read your wondrous art. I've time to cut your leaves apart, And nothing more—don't look askance, But give a busy man a chance! io off and rest a week or two, ar Andrew Lang, I beg of you. IL. ‘Tue Groomster, So much of gloom flows from your pen, I cannot help but think Your veins hold naught of blood; I ken They're merely filled with ink, John Kendrick Bangs in The Chap Book, Cobwebs from Another Library Corner. ~ I Tis Has No Seat. OUN KENDRICK BANGS: I beg of you Go take a rest a year or two. Go hunt a mayorship, get out A thousand miles, where you can flout Your tiny banners to the waste Of some Sahara, where no paste May clog the tide of sense and time— Go choose a tree and quickly climb, You write so fast, none stops to read Half what you do; ‘tis truth, indeed page I turn but what I find Your name tagged on some verse behit ff and sleep a year or more: H yes, you can sleep a score. i Tue Peysten (2). So much of wit is yours, I ken, I cannot help bat think, You're not a human fountain f But just a well, that oozes gs HLS, Keller. se y the Rey. Dr. Primrose's congregation has“ = —— fallen off so much of late. We “THEY SAY 1 AM GOING TO MARRY yoR MIs MONEY Sc Somcone started the report that he TOLMARRE, EIMATOR SIBSMOREY (AHP MOE ‘i bathe WIS INTELLECT. ved in the Bible. “WELL, THEY MUST HAVE something TO TALK ABOUT.”