Life, 1908-12-03 · page 31 of 68
Life — December 3, 1908 — page 31: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains satirical commentary on early 20th-century American culture: **"A Great Author"** is a parody of the poem "Abou Ben Adhem" by Leigh Hunt. The satire mocks vain authors obsessed with fame and recognition. "Ben Author" refuses to write Christmas sentiment (commercial holiday material) to appear above commercial pressures, then ironically becomes celebrated anyway—suggesting such posturing is transparent and self-defeating. **"Worse Than a Nuisance"** criticizes the Salvation Army for using costumed beggars (dressed as Santa) during Christmas charity drives. The author argues this exploits children's innocence and sentimentality—using Santa's cultural magic for fundraising manipulates families' emotional attachments to childhood traditions. It's presented as corrupting something sacred. **"Peeps at People—The Mesmerist"** contrasts public versus private behavior, showing how the same performer acts differently depending on audience, satirizing social hypocrisy. The page reflects genteel Progressive-era concerns about commercialism, sentimentality, and authentic versus performative morality.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
shot LIFESOR “QUEEN LOUISE’? WOULD HAVE MADE PAINT POPULAR AND RICHTER RICH. Progress HE knitting needle has been superseded by the bridge score card and the chairman's gavel A Great Author BOU BEN AUTHOR (may he keep his health), Awoke one night from a fair dream of wealth; And saw, within his curio furnished room, Sitting right on his best Etruscan tomb, An angel, scribbling on a paper pad. Exceeding fame had made Ben Author bad ; So to the vision he just spoke right out: “Who's Who are you? and what are you about?" The angel answered, with a three-inch smile, “T write the names of those whose work's “Then I'm up,’ said Abou. “No, not that Stammered the angel. “ Pooh!'’ said Abou, But ere you flit, note me as one, I pray, Who won't write Christmas rubbish, anyway! "? The angel soared away from Abou's place Threading the window with a sinuous grace, He floated slowly Heavenward, the while His face let out another inch of smile. And as he wiggle-waggled through’ the mist, He hastily revised his little list, Till (as perhaps, dear reader, you have guessed), Abou Ben Author's name led all the rest! Carolyn Wells. Worse Than a Nuisance HE market for grown up sentiments has been steadily declining for several years, until it is hard to find one which is good for a permanent investment. Most of us, how- ever, who belong to an older generation have felt that the stock of children’s sentiments ought to be kept intact, and indeed, there is a distinct though cabul among all parents to preserve as much as possible the realties of child life, the gossamer winged fairies, the delightful elves, the «gnomes and all the alluring enchantments upon which we look back with ever tender recollection. Even our Santa Claus has survived, as necessary as the best of th all. But of all the snubs and slurs he has received, it has been reserved for the Salvation Army to give him the hardest blow. This organization places upon the corners of our city streets at Christmas time an organized band of beggars, clothed to de- ceive the passerby, and like wolves in a saint's clothing, to prey on all. It is one thing to beg in what (we hope) is a good cause. It is another to prostitute one of our finest sentiments and shock every childish heart. ‘orth while.’* * Scat! silent PEEPS AT PEOPLE—THE MESMERIST IN PUBLIC IN. PRIVATE comicbooks.com