Life — January 2, 1908 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LIFE” 13 “Well, you haven't lost much.” “What is it?” ) “Lure is its name. Short Lire would have expressed it better, perhaps,” and the conversation drifted into more interesting fields. ‘Those were the days when Fate, with a heavy club, seemed wait- ing for us behind convenient corners. But Lire had no intention of giving up the struggle. } During this period it was alarming to reflect upon the number of intelligent Americans who got along comfortably without pur- chasing our paper. Miller threw himself into his work with an energy and per- severance that had much to do with the final victory. Of the three conspirators, he was the only one, at that time, who possessed, | from his own experience, any practical knowledge of the business, and this knowledge he brought to bear with such resolution and activity that the wavering advertiser yielded in spite of himself, and the cautious news dealer ordered copies which otherwise would never have seen the light. The dollar that was due to Lire a came forth from his hiding place when he felt that Miller’s eye was on him. In May and June there came a microscopic gain. And this gain, instead of diminishing through the summer months, as we had anticipated, seemed to increase. By August the increase was an unmistakable reality. In September the happy discovery was made that Lrre was holding its own. There were no profits in sight, but there was no loss. After this we struck a level road to prosperity. With every num- ber the sales increased, not fitfully and with variations, but with big, even strides, Lire has ever since behaved like a model boy. He has thriven and waxed apace, and there is every prospect of his living to a green old age and getting in some painful punches upon the ribs of Melancholy and Humbug. He lays no claim to perfection, but he means to continue the good fight for Justice, Cheerfulness and Charity. J. A, Mitchell. Some Birthday Gossip Pore years since the preceding lines were written. And Lire is twenty-five years old! Well, during those years he has not retired from the good fight and he has done his little possible—as we say in French— for Justice, Cheerfulness and Charity. On the persons of Melancholy and Humbug he has inflicted punishment. Of course, the world is not perfect yet. But give us time. Astronomically this globule we inhabit is a small thing. So is Lire, astronomically, and it would hardly be fair to expect him, in his first quarter of a century, to exterminate all Melan- choly even from his own planet. . It may appear that Lire is doing some boasting N in this number and is patting himself rather freely on the back. And why not? What could be more to his glory than his host of friends? And such friends! To live twenty-five years is not, humanly, a re- markable feat. Norisit customary at that age to congratulate oneself in public and assume the laurel or sing songs of triumph. But we claim, for this jubilation, extenuating circumstances. While the customary individual deserves no special honor for surviving a century, we hold that a surviving y i oN baby shows remarkable vitality who, at birth, was plunged at once into a kettle of hot water, with swift alternations of the ice-chest, the feather-bed and the battlefield, and was weaned on overdoses of taffy and abuse. What- ever his other failings he, at least, was not evanes- cent. And when we recall other babies—and some big ones, too—who have succumbed since Lire began, we cannot resist a suspicion that we are quite a superior brand of infant. And, for an infant, twenty-five years is quite a period. There are bugs up on the Nile, we are told, who acquire their education, marry, start families, grow old and die, all in an hour. Those bugs beat Lire, of course, in celerity of action—at least in some departments. But, relatively, we are not so far behind, and in our brief span we have done equally amazing things. This boy, by the way, who has been personating Lire all these years, was never formally christened. He is somewhat in the nature of an impostor. He came uninvited. Beiore the paper was many months old we felt the need of some pictorial personification, as with Punch, Puck and other contemporaries. We found, however, that deciding upon a figure to represent the shect was no casy matter. The best ones seemed already in use. We thought of many things, but to cach there was some objection. And while we were taking our time—for there were far more important things to lie awake over at that period—it happened that others had decided the question. The little chap on the cover—he who is dancing with his girl—had been accepted by the general public as the personal representative of the sheet. In drawing the cover I had no such thought. While intended for young life in general, for youth and jollity, he was not designed as a personal portrait of this especial publication—this individual Lirr. But with all our readers and contributors he had been so accepted. And as such he has been dancing around the world ever since. Being one of the few papers in existence neither owned or controlled by sect or class, school syndicate or individual millionaire; owing allegiance to no political, financial, religious or social body, he has had his share of fun. He has always comicbooks.com