Life, 1907-04-04 · page 31 of 48
Life — April 4, 1907 — page 31: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is the opening of a short story, not a political cartoon. "The Bishop's Good Counsel" by Theodore J. Grayson depicts a humorous domestic scene at an exclusive clerical club ("The Cassock and Cowl"). The satire targets clerical hypocrisy and vanity. A bishop, portrayed as proud despite claiming humility, falls asleep during the day while supposedly preparing an important speech. His fellow clergy pass by, barely concealing their amusement and disdain—suggested by barely-suppressed sneers. The story mocks the gap between ecclesiastical dignity and human weakness: the bishop wakes irritably, stares aggressively at an innocent bystander to reassert authority, attempting to cover his embarrassment. The illustration shows the dimly-lit club interior with the sleeping bishop and observing clergymen, emphasizing the comic awkwardness of the scene. The narrative continues on page 394.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
+ *~LIFE: 491 THE STILL ALARM The Bishop’s Good Counsel By Theodore J. Grayson IE sunlight sifted gently through the windows of “The Cassock and Cowl”; it crowned the Bishop’s hand- some head with a golden halo formed of innumerable glimmering particles of errant dust. If the Bishop could have seen the halo, which obviously he couldn't, he would have been distressed; he was a humble man. Just at this moment the reverend gentleman was not seeing anything; he was asleep. Worn out by a hard morning’s work, he had sought refuge shortly before noon in this select clerical club. He had not intended to sleep; he had meant to cogitate with regard to his approaching address before the Women’s Auxiliary; but the curtains were drawn just a trifle too far, the soft breath of spring was inherently somnolent, the great leathern armchairs seemed to beckon him in the dim light, and, with a soft, yielding sigh, he sank into the largest and most inviting, and soon a series of gentle yet unmistakable snores followed one another in solemn procession from the Episcopal nose. How long he slépt the record doth not show. Groups of his spiritual brethren passed through the room; some were shovel-hatted and gloved, outward bound; others, those who had just made port, so to speak, were mostly smoking fat black cigars and scanning the columns of the daily papers with unusual interest, for a missionary chapel had been opened the day before, somewhere in the suburbs, although the account thereof was provokingly obscured in most of the papers by the narrative of a social scandal and the tale of an appalling crime. As they passed the good Bishop, these gentlemen occasionally glanced down at his recumbent and somewhat portly form, and smiled indulgently, and even—but surely it must have been the shadows playing over their faces which twisted one or two lips into the faintest suggestion of a sneer! At length, as though aware of this silent scrutiny, the Bishop stirred uneasily, and finally, by slow degrees, returned to a state of semiconsciousness. Witha dignity born of his position, he stretched his shapely black-gaitered legs to their full length, raised his still muscular arms high above his head and then, patting his clean-shaven face with a white hand to stifle an incipient yawn, he sat up, stared hard at an unoffending near-by curate, as though to challenge him to prove that he had This story is continucd 0 page 394 comicbooks.com