Life, 1921-07-21 · page 5 of 34
Life — July 21, 1921 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three separate pieces of content: **"The Young Naturalist"** (top): A humorous cartoon showing a schoolboy pointing out something in nature to his teacher. The joke relies on a child's literal misinterpretation—the boy calls a bird a "bold" when the teacher corrects him that it's not a "bold" but makes noise "like a boid." This appears to be simple wordplay humor about a child's mispronunciation or misunderstanding of natural terminology. **"The Night Moths"** (bottom left): A poem by Edwin Markham about moths emerging at night, using them metaphorically to explore themes of mystery and natural beauty. **"Breaking the News"** (bottom right): A short story by John H. McNulty about a man struggling with how to tell his wife difficult news, depicting his internal conflict and anxiety about the conversation. The page represents typical *Life* magazine content: mix of visual humor, poetry, and fiction for middle-class readers.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The, Young Naturalist City Boy (at school outing): O-oh! Look at the pretty boid. Teacher: It isn’t a boid, Harry. It’s a bird. “Well, anyway, it makes a noise like a boid.” The Night Moths Breaking the News UT of the night to my mountain porch they came, ITH regular and unwavering step he walked from one A thousand moths. Did He who made the toad end of the room to the other—his hands clenched be- Make these and give them to the starry road? hind his back in an effort to control his overwrought feelings. Ardent, unstill, they circled round the flame— Ever and anon he would stop and kick exasperatedly at an These wonder-shapes that man can never tame— upturned edge of the Turkish rug. Whirled like the first flakes of the winter snows; He must tell her. There was no escape. It would not do to Tinted with amber, violet and rose, keep her in suspense any longer. Nothing was to be gained Markt with hieroglyphs that have no name. by postponement. He speculated whether he should inform her by degrees or whether he should speak out in a straight- forward, simple manner. It was obvious that circumlocution Out of the summer dark they poured in flight, would only prolong the agony. He pondered upon the choice To vanish down the secret roads they keep: of words. | Unseen they go on their mysterious sweep. ‘Then suddenly he braced himself and putting on a bold front Who called them to this rush of mad delight? walked upstairs to his wife’s boudoir. With superhuman self- Do they go lost and aimless to the deep? control he stifled a tremor in his voice as he exclaimed: Why this rich beauty wandering the night? “Martha, I cannot withhold it any longer. I bought a pair Edwin Markham. of spats this afternoon.” John H. McNeely. comicbooks.com