Life, 1916-09-14 · page 24 of 38
Life — September 14, 1916 — page 24: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This Life magazine page (page 452) contains three distinct pieces: **"A Dog's Will"** is a humorous essay by Christopher Morley presenting an Irish terrier's last testament—a sentimental, tongue-in-cheek piece where the dog bequeaths his possessions and qualities to various household members and animals. The satire mocks both sentimental pet literature and human wills through gentle animal anthropomorphism. **"Defending Mr. Hughes"** defends presidential candidate Charles Evans Hughes's suffrage advocacy as a psychological outlet—he needed *some* concrete position since he remained vague on major issues. This satirizes Hughes's deliberately ambiguous campaign strategy. The remaining items are brief joke exchanges: a Sunday school student's pragmatic response to Biblical narrative, and a wife's quip that her "fine old stock" husband produces no financial return. These mock bourgeois pretensions and marital dynamics. The page reflects pre-1920 American political and social attitudes through light satire rather than sharp critique.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
o’ My Heart, being an Irish 9 terrier in the prime of life, but mindful of the uncertainty of exist- ence in these days of motor cars, do wish to make appropriate distribution of such properties as I possess. My brown leather collar I leave to Nassau, the neighbor's dog, as he has none. cache of bones behind the woodpile —if he can find it. My blue china plate and my drink- ing bowl I leave to Vachel, the cat. He has always envied them. To my Master I bequeathe respect and obedience, not unmixed with fear —he was always a little stern. But to my Mistress, who’ under- stood me so well, my undying adora- tion, the whole devotion of my being. If her foot should pass over my rest- ing place my tail would wag and my ears prick up—yes, were I as dead as the Roman wolf. My eager joy in life, the morning tingle in my paws, the delight of swimming for sticks and running wild in sheer madness of delight, the mil- lion haunting smells of the world, the thrill of footsteps passing the house at little brown Irish dog and barking at everything, the agony of thrashings and the bliss of being forgiven—all these I leave to my successor, or to anyone who can use them. My old box in the cellar the cook may have for kindling wood. And to Nassau I also leave my night, the everlasting fun of being a Christopher Morley. Defending Mr. Hughes DITORS here and there have been passing excessive strictures upon Candidate Hughes for his ardent es- pousal of the cause of woman suffrage. This is both un- kind and ungenerous. Let us put ourselves in Mr. Hughes’ place for a moment. Here was a real honest-to-goodness presidential candidate who, on all the principal issues of the day, had to be vague, indefinite and obfuscatory. For that very reason he felt it was absolutely necessary to be specific and positive in some direction. He had to show in some way that he possessed human qualities, that there dwelt within his manly bosom a modicum at least of can- didatorial ebulliency. And so he looked over the field very judicially and selected the suffrage question for the relief of his pent-upness. Had he not found this outlet he might have exploded some day when the campaign was at its height. UNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER: And the father of the prodigal son fell on his neck, and wept. Now, why did he weep? Tommy Turexut you fell on your neck. Huh! I guess you'd weep, too, if “SYOUR husband is of fine old stock, isn't he, Mrs. Tinkle?” “Yes—but he never pays any dividends!” Tommy: AW, PA, YOU'RE HAVIN’ ALL TH’ FUN.