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Life, 1922-11-23 · page 6 of 36

Life — November 23, 1922 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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Life — November 23, 1922 — page 6: Life, 1922-11-23

What you’re looking at

This page contains **Mrs. Pep's Diary**, a humorous personal column featuring diary entries from November 17th-19th describing mundane domestic life—attending football matches, worrying about a husband named Sam, and managing household tasks like ordering a winter coat and planting bulbs. The accompanying illustration shows a woman at a desk with a cherub/cupid figure, typical of Life magazine's decorative style. Separately, the page includes **"Advice to a Lover,"** a poem suggesting that winning an unkind woman's affection is futile, and **"How to Keep the Bank's Vice-Presidents Busy,"** which offers satirical office management tips like watching ceiling spots and inventing new filing systems. The content represents typical early 20th-century Life magazine humor—domestic satire and gentle office comedy aimed at middle-class readers.

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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

November Awake 17th betimes, and having to listen to an- other long dream of Sam’s, I did decide to cure him of this habit before it goes further. So I interpreted his vision for him, pretending to base my statements on the writings of Sigmund Freud. And he grew so perturbed and at such pains not to show it that I could scarce keep my face straight. And when I reflected aloud that I should like a handsome new opera cloak for the winter but felt that we could ill afford it, he did tell me to order one straightway, of the bravest brocade, and any fur I liked. Even so, I doubt if I have any reason to mistrust him, poor wretch. . . . Good news come this day that my favorite scent may now be had in a lotion vegetale, for which praise be to God. . . . In the evening to the playhouse to see a piece called “Seventh Heaven,” and I did weep so thereat that Sam admonished me to cease, else he would be ashamed of me. But I could not, though I kept thinking, “You great zany! What is the matter with you? This is but mum- mery!” I do fear the passing years are making a_ sentimental fool of me, for a player has only to mention God or little children, and my throat begins to tighten. November Came 18th this morning a great package of bulbs from Mr. Evans, the horticulturist, and I did send them on to my cozen Amy in Water- town, having no use for them soever myself. Lord! I can see no point in cherishing an unsightly object for several weeks that it may in the end put forth a feeble spray. . . . To Princeton in a motor car to see the footballe match with the lads from Yale. And the teams did seem to me like little boys, though it is not so long since I looked -upon their like as young gods, and was somewhat in a twitter whenever one of them asked me to dance. The day well-nigh spoiled, too, forasmuch as one of the men with us did break a quart of liquor which we were taking against the cold. November Lay late, ruminating 19th on this and that. Hear- Cord’ Day) ing Samuel humming “Safely Through An- other Week,” methought that these times we have good reason to be glad of living even from day to day. I do give thanks every time I am deposited safe and sound by a taxicab. When I am being driven by a publick chauffeur, I remind myself that his life is probably as dear to him as mine is to me, but Lord! sometimes it seems not at all likely. Bridge all afternoon and evening at Marge Boothby’s, with an excellent cold supper be- tween, which is my idea of a blessed Sabbath, A Mrs. Fulton from Philadelphia there, and when I asked her if she had any pet con- ventions, she did respond that when she bid “One without” her partner could gather that her hand was a little weak, but that when she said “One no trump,” he was sure she had the cards. B.L. Advice to a Lover OVER, is she unkind? LE Would I could cure it! No way you'll ever find But to endure it. Vain your reproaches are, Vain all your pleading; Distant as yonder star, Cold and unheeding, Proud as the moon is she— Better to let her be. Never was any art Found yet by lover To touch that haughty heart, None yet did move her; Many, ah! many a time Have I besought her In broken-hearted rhyme; None yet hath taught her By kindness to be kind, Or cast one look behind. Yea! though her kiss you win, Think not ’tis winning, With her so to begin Ts no beginning, More likely ’tis the end Of your pursuing, Best to betake you, friend, To other wooing ; For she, as like as not, Even while she kissed—forgot. Yea, then, once more I say: Think not about her, There is but one wise way— To do without her. Nor think that when you go, Going shall move her, Others, ’tis said, are so— Not she, poor lover! She’s of herself too fain For Love her heart to gain. R. Le G. How to the Bank's Keep Vice-Presidents Busy OUNT postage stamps. See that the main clock doesn't lose time. Look for spots on the white ceiling. Invent new groupings of names on the bank’s letter-head. Wash dirty dollar bills. Help the president on with his coat. Keep track of the “Next Window” signs. Watch what makes people some- times stumble when they enter the bank. Elect other vice-presidents. BeJ.K. comicbooks.com