Life, 1915-01-14 · page 12 of 44
Life — January 14, 1915 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two separate pieces: **"A Three-Winged Race"** (illustration, top left): A fantastical creature with three wings appears to be racing or in motion. The specific satirical target is unclear from the image alone—it may reference a contemporary invention, scientific claim, or technological competition, but without additional context, I cannot identify what "three-winged race" specifically mocks. **"Ambition"** (story, left column): A fable about a cricket who sings despite a mouse's warning. The mouse predicts the cricket will lose his life to his "pains," but the cricket continues, eventually attempting ventriloquism. The tale satirizes artistic ambition and self-deception—the cricket believes his technique masks his true location, but the house cat easily catches him anyway, revealing that ambition and perfectionism can be dangerously delusional.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Chance F I were but a peasant lass and you my love and mate, How gaily would I tread the world, how unafraid of Fate; With overhead the sky of blue, below the blowing grass— Oh, little aching heart of me!—were I a peasant lass!” “Tf I were now a royal king and you my glowing bride, How would I stamp on all the earth the symbol of my pride! Just as your careless fancy chose, what tribute would I bring, Oh, bitter, stifled soul of me, if I were now a king!” Pause and attend, ye tragic twain, if thus our lives could change To give the ever-restless heart its lib- erty of range, How weak and wan would Romance grow the moment it was free, As having lost its greatest lure, the Anbiti things that may not be! mbition Leolyn Louise Everett. 'HERE was once a cricket who insisted upon singing on the hearth, One night a mouse, who was somewhat philosophically inclined, happened along and said: “Why do you sing? “Ttis my nature,” said the cricket. “I have practiced so long at it that my technique is perfect, and when*you have a perfect technique it is a joy to be a real artist. That is one of the reasons why I sing. The other reason is that it gives me enough exercise to keep me in trim.” “Well,” sneered the mouse (who had his unphilosophical moments), “if you keep it up you will lose your life for your pains. The inhabitants of this place have exceedingly sharp ears.” This made the cricket smile. “That's where you deceive yourself, my dear fellow,” he said, “ You sec, I have developed such a perfect technique that my singing is exceedingly deceptive. Everyone thinks I am where I am really not. They never can locate me by the sound. That's the art of it.” The mouse had nothing to say, but he thought a great deal. Then, ‘fired with ambition and determination not to be outdone by a mere cricket, he hastened off to the nearest rook, obeying an uncontrollable impulse and stand- ing on his hind legs in a dark corner of the fireplace, he A THREE-WINGED RACE began to squeak to himseli aS, faybe I can be a ventriloquist, too,” he said. x “Maybe you can,” mused the house cat, as she grabbed him by the neck, “only this happens, my dear friend, to be amateur evening.” The Hunter: wow! i've caucut a Mouse!