Life, 1901-09-12 · page 9 of 20
Life — September 12, 1901 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Life Magazine Page 209 This page contains a satirical poem titled "Song of a Merchant Prince" mocking wealthy industrialists and their social pretensions. The cartoon shows a wealthy couple at what appears to be a park or social gathering, with the caption: "They say Miss Clinker has so much money that she doesn't know what to do with it." "Isn't she charitable?" "No, she refunded me." The satire targets the era's nouveau riche—newly wealthy businessmen who ostentatiously display their money but lack genuine charitable character. The poem criticizes how these merchants "make" money through dubious "trade," then attempt social respectability while remaining fundamentally hollow. The joke suggests that despite her wealth, Miss Clinker's refusal to be charitable reveals her true mercenary nature, mocking the gap between apparent wealth and actual virtue in Gilded Age society.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Afe Prdtishing Co. “THEY SAY MISS CLINKER HAS 80 MUCH MONEY THAT SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT.” “ISN'T SHE CHARITABLE?” “No, sne neruseD ue.” Soxo or A Mercuant Prince. Toosury. With some semblance of urbanity 1 view this hollow vanity, But in truth I'm not so very much inspired. Though they force me to participate, I'm not much on the dissipate, And this social emulation makes me tired. Boxva My money I made Ina ‘trust: But now that I've got it to burn (Though I still want more), This “ push” I deplore, And for simpler things I yearn. But it’s useless absolutely To protest, so I must mutely Just put up the stuff and give the girls their rein, Though this sickly combination Of a brainless aggregation Isa thing that permeates me with a pain. So the strain I stand With my cash in hand, Though it gives mea qualm, 'tis true, And I often blush At the printed slush, But, of course, it’s the thing to do. Cuorvs. Tt makes him blush, Does the printed slush, And he's tired of the hollow vanity. But, nevertheless, He's obliged to confess That he takes it all in with urbanity. (No one pays any attention to him, and he saps tack and lights a cigar with a'coupon. The entire company now joins hands and Here's Hey ! to the social firmament, And we are the stars that turn, And some glow bright in the dim day- light, While others in darkness burn. Here's He: “Cash That sends out its rays afar To the planet gay, in its luminous way, And its little attendant star. ! to the central sun of Here's Hey! to the slush, and the mush, and the gush, and the glare of the glitter- ing gold, And the frippery, fummery, asinine mum- mery grown from the social mould. (CURTALN.) Tom Masson. WHAT HAVE We Got, rete? "WELL, $0 PAR I'VE GOT BABY'S LITTLE RED SHOR, A LOCK OP WILLIR's GOLDEN MAIR, AND a MOUTUPUL op rinst TeeTH.” comicbooks.com