Life, 1911-04-20 · page 17 of 52
Life — April 20, 1911 — page 17: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two distinct pieces of social commentary: **"The Friend"** is a sentimental poem (credited to Meribah Abbott) accompanying an illustration of a dog comforting a disabled man. The poem celebrates a dog's unconditional loyalty and emotional intelligence, contrasting the dog's pure companionship with human failings. The artwork shows the dog as the emotional anchor for its master. **"Reverends"** is a brief satirical essay mocking clergy who accept the title "Reverend." The author argues that in modern civilization, any man claiming to be inherently better than others and demanding reverence is absurd—whether a young college administrator or an elderly clergyman. He ridicules both those arrogant enough to claim superiority and congregations foolish enough to grant it. The piece advocates for dignity without hierarchical honorifics. The page concludes with small tailpiece illustrations of dogs.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
[* I was sad, then he had grief, as well— Seeking my hands with soft, insistent paw, Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw More than my halting, human speech could tell; Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compas- sionate,— Dear, loyal One, that knew not wrong nor hate, Reverends NY man who will allow himself to be addressed as rev- erend ought to be ashamed, unless he is a college se: or some other youthful potentate who is not old enough to Think of the absurdity of a man’s coming for- ward at this stage of civilization and saying: “I am better And then think of the con- know better. than thou. Me ye shall revere.” ONLY A DOG The Friend If I made merry—then how he woul. strive To show his joy; “Good Master, let's to play, The world is ours,” that gladsome bark would “Just yours and mine—t'is fun to be alive!"" Our World four walls above the city's din, My crutch the bar that ever held us in. I comitant absurdity of our answering: “So be it, Reverend Sir.” Whate'er my mood—the fretful word, or sweet, swift undertone, His faith was fixed, his love was m alone, His Heaven was here, at my slow, crip- pled feet: Oh, Friend, thrice-lost; oh, fond Heart, unassailed, Ye taught me Trust logic failed. The command, the wheedling when man’s dull Meribah Abbott. TAILPIECES, comicbooks.com