Life, 1909-12-02 · page 26 of 80
Life — December 2, 1909 — page 26: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a satirical poem by Owen Seaman (editor of *Punch*) mocking a British aristocrat's condescending courtship of a wealthy American woman. The "Earl" lectures his Chicago fiancée on why she should be grateful to marry him despite her social inferiority. The satire targets class pretension: the Earl boasts of his "blood and race," historic nose, and ancient castle (needing repairs), while dismissing her wealth as mere "greenbacks" unable to purchase true nobility. He condescends about her "ultra-local" upbringing, outdated notions being a mark of superiority, and his "British accent" being unchangeable—yet expects her to "talk enough for two." The cartoon illustrates the absurd power dynamics: a portly, aging nobleman facing a wealthy American woman across a scale. The final caption asks why Santa shouldn't get a new tailor and "be up to date"—suggesting the Earl himself is as outdated as old Saint Nick. This reflects early-20th-century American anxieties about wealthy heiresses marrying impoverished European titles.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
~atét @ LIFE wt fh An International Match (A British Earl to His Chicago Love) BY OWEN SEAMAN, EDITOR OF PUNCH Y dear, I gather, not without regret, That in the favored land which gave you birth There is a certain ultra-local set That casts a doubt on my peculiar worth— Strange folk who somehow cannot see Why you should want to marry me. To you, of course, the thing is clear as day; For love, in your case, far from being blind, Perceived by intuition’s searching The salient merits of the undesigned ; To prove your taste might well be worse, Those merits I will here rehearse. And, when I throw my virtues off my chest, If 1 should touch too lightly on your own Pardon your fond Adolphus, nor protest ‘At my apparent tactlessness of tone; You are my chosen: that's enough; Your virtues need no other puff. First, as to features: there your claims are strong; You have a beauty passing fresh and ripe; Yet, frankly speaking, you do not belong To any recognized, historic type: You miss the rare and nameless grace Which We derive from Blood and Race. + Again, although—as I've remarked before— I love you solely for your simple self, I grant your Parent has a pleasing store (We'll waive its origin) of worldly pelf; But even dollars often fail To purchase things that aren't for sale. Antiquity, dear child, is one of those; Greenbacks can never buy an ancient line, Nor gilt-edge bonds a true patrician nose, A nose (in perfect modesty) like mine; These gifts, for which our fathers fought, Cannot be crudely sold and bought. Yet such, I'd have your fractious friends to note— Such are the benefits My Wife will share, Together with a Castle and a Moat, Needing, I rather fear, some slight repair; (There is about the real antique A latent tendency to leak.) Next, if in this absurdly hustling age You find my notions somewhat out of date, That is the strawberry-mark of heritage (Noblesse oblige), the stamp of high ate; Never forget, my dearest girl, That after all I am an Earl. As for my “ British accent,”” I admit That, like the leopard’s spots, I'm hard to move, Nor could I modify my native wit To match your methods, which I don't approve; But yet in both I'll yield to you, Letting you talk enough for two cht with ease extend the list tractjons, if I cared to boast, But it would show unseemly to insist On merits which are patent as a post; Suffice it to have proved their folly Who underrate Your precious Douw.y A LON WHY SHOULD NOT SANTA CLAUS GET A NEW TAILOR, AND RE UP TO DATE? comicbooks.com