Life, 1907-10-10 · page 11 of 24
Life — October 10, 1907 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The main illustration depicts a Puritan-era figure in period dress confronting another figure in darkness—likely representing early American Puritan values meeting modern challenges. The accompanying text discusses the Puritan fathers' intent to "forge a New England conscience" that would serve as a moral model ("sacula saeculorum, world without end"). The satire critiques how this idealistic moral mission became diluted or compromised over time. Below are sections on "Diagnosis" (medical advice) and "Morality," with a small illustration labeled "The Missing Link" at the bottom—likely a visual pun suggesting evolutionary or philosophical connections. The page satirizes the gap between Puritan aspirations and actual American social/moral outcomes, questioning whether that founding moral project succeeded or failed.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“DON'T GAG MY WIFE, SIR. “YEP, Diagnosis DIAGNOSIS is all that a physician suspects about a patient. When there is a consultation, then each ician diagnoses what he thinks he knows, and the one who is the best guesser wins. The only one who loses is the patient. ‘The base of all diagnoses is the symp- tom. With a large and varied assort- ment of symptoms, almost any kind of a diagnosis can be obtained from an obli- ging and lucrative patient. Symptoms are many and diverse. REMEMBER, SHE DAT'S DE. WERRY TING I'M GAGGIN' A WOMAN. HER FER! SEE?’ They can be obtained in almost any locality where there are people and roofs. They hide in dark corners and lurk in throngs. Any one who desires to be diag- nosed, therefore, should first go out and collect as many fatal symptoms as pos- sible. After he has bunched them to gether into an incoherent mass, he may send for a doctor, or if he has money enough, for a physician, or if he is a mil- lionaire, for a specialist. The difference between a doctor and a physician is about $10,000 a year; between a physician and a specialist, all you have. When the doctor has arrived, take all 423 the symptoms you have concealed about your person and show them to him freely and frankly and with no false pride. After he has put them back in their places he will then proceed to make a diagnosis. Do not disturb him, Oftentimes a diagnosis is spoiled by interference from the patient. Some patients, indeed, while the doctor was in the very act of making the diagnosis, have gone and got well, much to his annoyance. It is better to let him take the diagnosis quietly home with him. If itis fatal, you may never know the difference. If not, you ought to be ashamed of it, anyway. ‘Any doctor who fails to make a fatal diagnosis when he has every encourage- ment doesn’t deserve to collect his bill. In case of a consultation, have each doctor put his diagnosis with the others, then shuffle them up and deal them out Only remember that diamonds are trumps, but that in the long run spades will win The Finishing Touch 'HE Puritan fathers were steadfast Infirmity of purpose they knew not, nor the meaning thereof. “Since it is appointed us,” they re- marked with grim determination, “‘to forge a New England conscience, we'll do the business right. We'll forge a Ni England conscience that will cause the world to sit up d take notice, secula s@culorum, world without end.” The difficulty, as it presently devel oped, lay in making the affair elastic enough, without being too flabby, “We don’t propose to have it puncture the first time it goes up against high finance, or polite society, or municipal politics,” quoth they, and they were as good as their word. They went out and stole the Indian’s land, and when he showed his spunk, they didn’t do a thing to him, and behold, as soon as they had wrought these works, the New England conscience was complete. ORALITY is often only that which is left over after our desires are satisfied THE “MISSING LINK" comicbooks.com