Life, 1907-12-19 · page 19 of 28
Life — December 19, 1907 — page 19: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**"Labor-Saving" Editorial Cartoon:** The text satirizes corporations as devices that allow businesses to escape personal responsibility for their actions. The author argues that while individuals must "reap what they sow," corporations exploit a legal loophole—permitting unethical behavior without individual accountability. This appears to critique early 20th-century corporate malfeasance and the ability of companies to cause harm while evading consequences. **"A Ballad of Poverty" Poem:** A romantic satire about a couple forced by economic hardship to abandon their luxurious lifestyle. Once able to afford expensive resorts and hotels, they now cannot find private places to meet without public scrutiny or cost. The poem's final irony: they cannot even afford marriage as a solution. This reflects post-World War I economic strain affecting middle and upper-middle classes, satirizing how poverty intrudes upon romance and forcing couples into undignified compromises.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Labor-Saving OW the wind much as our forefathers did, but when it comes to reaping the whirl- wind, we of this age of deft contrivance have various de- vices for saving labor and trouble. ‘The corporation is one of these. By the original order of creation, a man had to reap precisely as he sowed, but, of course, that would never do if the world was to get forward in a sub- stantial sense. Hence the corporation, which cleverly docs away with the diffi- culty of personal responsibility, the most considerable obstacle, perhaps, in the way of human enterprise in its higher reaches. The corporation permits enormously more wind to be sown than was possible with the crude harvesting methods which formerly prevailed. Ramsey Benson. A Ballad of Poverty (A Lover to His Mistress) REST, you may remember how, last year, We whiled away our time at some resort; Beneath the sun’s warm rays I sought to cheer Your lonely maiden heart with simple sport; And how, my pockets bulging out with cash, We cut together such a fearful dash? Oh, was it not a very pleasant thing Near some expensive caravansari, Discrectly screened from public view, to ring ‘The changes on cach sweet responsive sigh? And surely, neither of us made demur To think the cost cach day was just ten per. In winter, when the air is getting chill It’s always been the thing for us to do; And hand in hand we've wandered south, until ace just mild enough for two. And’hitherto, when I have snatched a kiss, No railroad fare has rufiled this great bliss. But now that we're obliged to stay in town (Compliant with the market's recent drop), To love you ardently in last year’s gown (While we discuss quite publicly—a chop), Would be a penitential thing to do If my own clothes were not quite shiny, too. And I confess it’s rather hard to find Some place beyond the city’s awful roar, Where we can'be alone. I’m quite resigned To being economical. Nay, more, ‘The cold damp air not once has made me wheeze! But where in sccret can I kiss you, please? THE BIGGEST EVENT OF THE SEASON We've tried it riding on a public "bus, But somehow, as I’m sure you'll understand, To sce the people stare and make a fuss Because forgetfully I hold your hand, And nudge each other as they slily wink, Is really disconcerting, don’t you think? We might, of course, stroll off into the park, Sit on the benches while the shadows creep; But somchow love like this has not a spark Of sentiment when it’s so very cheap. Besides, to be quite candid, in the gloom Each bench is full—there’s hardly elbow room. Once it occurred to me that I would save My moncy up, and in a day quite drab, Chilly and damp, I’d loosen up and rave Of love within a taximeter cab— And yet, my love I’m sure would turn quite sour, My dearest girl, at all that cash per hour. ‘The truth is, it’s a puzzle what to do— We can’t afford to leave for parts remote; Our love is now the café kind—though true— Resembling more and more a table d'héte, Where noise and pretense mingle side by And hope and nourishment do not abide. So thus by Fate we're driven both along; To pangs of love and poverty a prey: And thus we snuggle up amid the throng, Our credit lower than our feet of clay. ‘The cure is—to get married—oh, but how? We can’t afford that luxury—just now! Thomas 1. Masson. comicbooks.com