Life, 1908-01-02 · page 8 of 44
Life — January 2, 1908 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page celebrates Life magazine's tenth birthday with a commemorative poem by Julian Hawthorne. The cartoon at top shows a domestic scene where a woman sits at breakfast while a man stands nearby, captioned "How can you sleep so late in the morning?" "Just will power, Mother."—a gentle joke about self-discipline and marital dynamics. The central illustration depicts a ship labeled "LIFE," celebrating the publication's ten-year voyage. The accompanying poem humorously reflects on Life's early years, its contributors (the "Captains"), and toasts its continued success with nautical metaphors. The overall content is self-promotional, marking the magazine's anniversary while showcasing its wit and longevity in American satirical publishing.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“HOW CAN YOU SLEEP SO LATE IN THE MORNING?” “JUST WILL POWER, MOTHER.” From Julian Hawthorne HEN Lire was ten years old he celebrated his birthday by giving a dinner in the following stanzas, and in the appended example of his skill as a marine and portrait artist. They have never br!” speared in print, and the present seems an appropriate occasion on which ~ them the immortality to which they are at which were present, among others, the artists and writers who had been associated with his career up to that time. Mr. Julian Hawthorne, always a good friend, as well as onc of our most distinguished guests, offered his congratulations 10 LIVE ON ITS TENTH BIRTHDAY I used to wonder why the tribe Of seers and poets of old In such conflicting terms describe Your virtues manifold. They call you long, and short, and cheap, And dear, and low, and high, A Thing to laugh at, and to weep, Despise, prize, welcome, fly. EAR Lire, if you're but ten years old, O say, how may it be ‘That six-and-forty past have rolled Since first I came to Thee? Ere you existed, how could I Adorn this earthly Sphere? He without Lire to live who'd try Must be still-born, ’tis clear. But if in truth you're only ten, And I’m alive, ’twould seem I'm but a little Boy again, And Age is all a dream; And all the World with us is young, And that fair Age of Gold Is here, whereof the poets sung— If we're but ten years old. I'd like to think that this is so; Yet, if ’tis so, I think ’Twere wrong to let Delmonico Provide our food and drink. Ah! never little ten-year Boys Should birds and bottles swallow— - To Ginger-Pop restrict our Joys, With Bread-and-Milk to follow. But now the Mystery is solved: ‘Those men of olden days From inner consciousness evolved Their notions of your ways. They never could have really known What qualities you hold, Since they long since were dead and gone, Ere Lire was ten years old. Then let us sing, Long Live the King Of all the Witty Papers! Each blessed Thursday may he bring His Quips, Conceits, and Capers; i Indeed, why should he ever end | His royal reign of Laughter? j I doubt not ProvpeNce will send Immortal Lire hereafter! And Hail! unto the Captains bold Who man Lire’s jolly bark; May they the utmost Joys behold Of this Terrestrial Lark! Up Anchor! Hoist the Sails! Away! Grip fast the trusty Tiller! Good Voyage, good Grog, and plenteous Pay To MitcHELt, METCALFE, MILLER!