Life, 1914-10-22 · page 10 of 44
Life — October 22, 1914 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**Top Left - "A War Song":** This poem by Charles Campbell Jones depicts the brutal realities of World War I, contrasting romantic notions of war (bugles, glory) with the actual horrors (mangled corpses, graves, orphaned children, ash). It's anti-war satire criticizing the gap between propaganda and reality. **Top Right - "Automatically Speaking":** Two chauffeurs discuss a car breakdown. The joke satirizes the over-reliance on new automotive technology—the driver assumes complex machinery will require buying a new car rather than simple repair. It's social commentary on consumer culture and mechanical dependency. **Bottom - "Color Harmony":** A cartoon showing three formally-dressed men in formal wear, likely satirizing high society or diplomatic gatherings, though the specific reference is unclear without additional context.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
‘WHY NOT? WHEN TALK IS BETTER THAN BULLETS A War Song HERE'S a mangled corpse by the moaning spring And the water is fouled and red, While, with grim beaks whetted and lazy wing, Come the birds to a crop of dead; And the weakest die by the grateful score With. the thirst and hunger that plagues them sore; But the slavering, howling beast of war, He is given his drink and fed. There's a bugle’s blare on the shining hills, And the music is sweet and wild; But the guns roar answer and death's tread kills Where his feet are with blood defiled. There is glory’s word, and a yell keen-high ; But the best’s soon over, and by and by, In the dark is a woman's piercing cry And the sob of an orphaned child. There's a hearth bare-white to the smoking dawn— Like a stone where the grave roads wind; And the camp-fires cheery are strangely gone From the field where the sheaves none bind. O, it’s bleak and chill when the morn breaks gray Where the ghosts flit dismally, seeking they For the things ruined to burn a way For the ashes that rain behind. Charles Campbell Jones. ESTY OLD WOMAN: There now! I guess you won't go around poking your nose into other people's business after the raking I just gave you. Rerortek: Well, don’t get proud about it, madam; you didn't hurt my feelings much. I've been insulted by experts, TYPOGRAPHICALLY SPEAKING TELESCOPIC GOTHIC AND FULI. FACE Automatically, Speaking 'HE two chauffeurs were talking about the trouble in Europe. “Everything was running along smoothly,” said the first chauffeur, “when suddenly there was a blow-out; the steering apparatus then gave out, the spark-plugs missed, the mixture went wrong, the muffler got red hot, the chassis blew up and the passengers were left in the road.” “Will the car ever be any good again?” asked the second chauffeur, “Never! They'll have to build a new one on Amer- ican lines.” COLOR HARMONY comichooks