Life, 1910-12-01 · page 33 of 108
Life — December 1, 1910 — page 33: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page depicts a nostalgic Christmas gathering at Pedro's, apparently a modest Spanish restaurant ("pot au feu," "garlic," "onion stew"). The poem and accompanying illustration celebrate a reunion of struggling artists and writers—"homeless scribes," "artists unrequited" from "chill North studios"—excluded from wealthy society's formal Christmas celebrations. The satire contrasts their modest circumstances (no fancy dinner coats, polished silver, or champagne) with their genuine camaraderie and youthful spirit. The cartoon shows bohemian figures celebrating simply: lamb instead of turkey, cheese and salad, cheap beer instead of fine wines. The humor lies in their dignified poverty—living authentically among themselves rather than pretending at "stately boards." The bottom caption involves "Miss Porcupine" making a mistletoe joke, reflecting the lighthearted tone. Overall, it's romantic satire of bohemian life, celebrating artistic outsiders' fellowship over bourgeois respectability.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Christmas at Pedro's BOVE the posters on the wall Hang mistletoe and holly. Observe through smoke wreaths in the hall Mine Host, the Signor jolly; No Yule log glows; no belfries chime To cheer this feast precarious, Served here at happy Christmas time To saints and sinners various. Gathered together, homeless scribes And artists unrequited From chill North studios in tribes, Forgotten, uninvited At stately boards where candles shine On moods and manners proper, The purple smug and linen fine O'er which art comes a cropper. Miss Porcupine: Goopness! 1F THEY (a REUNION) No dinner coats nor orchids here, Nor polished silver glitters; No bubbles gem the mugs of beer— We skip Tokay and bitters; But plunging in the pot au feu, Where garlic flavors dribble, We sip the nectared onion stew And at the olives nibble. Now comes the lamb—last of his herd; Sedate despite the capers. He substitutes the Christmas bird While scant our dinner tapers, Salad and cheese; like kings we dine, No sweets our brains to addle; Come on—let's pick the gowans fine, And in the burn we'll paddle. KEEP ME STANDING IN THIS MISTLETOE BUSINESS APTER ALL, Our heads are gray but memories throng, Again we feel life's glories; Chanting once more the college song And tell the same old stories. For Auld Lang Syne still blooms the rose, Fragrant through pipe and plenty; We've rings and bells on hands and toes, And that—for one and twenty! Fate is a fiddler—tife’s a maze, The measures leap and falter; We live to-night—the music plays, And here at gay youth's altar To comrades that we loved—well met, Across the Darker Ferry: We'll take a cup of kindness yet And keep the Christmas merry! Kate Masterson. MERE MUCM LONGER I'LL BEGIN TO THINK THERE'S NOTHING