Life, 1905-03-16 · page 7 of 28
Life — March 16, 1905 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page is titled "LIFE" and contains satirical commentary on American urban existence. The main illustration shows a horse-drawn sleigh in a winter landscape, accompanying a poem titled "This Fever Called Living" attributed to Poe. The text critiques rapid industrialization and crowded city life in early 20th-century America—specifically New York, Philadelphia, and Boston. It contrasts peaceful rural or natural existence with chaotic urban conditions: sky-scrapers, trolley cars, crowded streets, and commercial hustle. Two decorative emblems appear left of center: "The Sword of Damocles" and an ornate vessel, likely reinforcing themes of danger and excess in modern life. Additional short pieces ("Worth It," "Perverted Proverb") continue the satirical tone, mocking contemporary American social values and urban materialism.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
FEVOLUTION THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. WHIP BENIND. «This Fever Called Living.’’ “THIS fever called living.” * said Poe, ina vein Descriptive of life’s ever-hastening pain The phrase, though poetic, small knowledge displays Of the symptoms that indicate life nowadays— So lend me your ears while I tell, if you please, ‘The way that our citizens catch the disease, In old Philadelphia, solid and sleek, Where Sabbath prevails seven days in the week, Where nothing is heard but the snores of the ** copper,” And clocks dare not run (because running’s improper), Where citizens yawn while the trolley cars creep, Life isn't a Fever—it's more like a Sleep. In Boston where only the chosen may speak, Where the bartender seasons your cocktail with Greek, Where the maid that you woo sits Minerva-like frowning And crushes your hopes with quotations from Browning, Where the gateway of Heaven is called Beacon Hill, Life isn't a Fever—it's more like a Chill. -poor-quicker, y-scrapers, stilted high over the town, e built ina day—and the next are torn down— Vhere crowds meet and struggle like floods through a chasm, Life isn't a Fever—it's more like a Spasm, Wallace Irwin, Worth It. HAT do you suppose the directors will do to the Vice-President of the Bigbug Bank for allowing himself to get caught ?”” “Oh, probably give him a million and retire him on a pension for shielding them.” Perverted Proverb. ILY to bed and oily to rise Isthe fate of a man when an auto he buys, comicbooks.com