Judge, 1888 · page 8 of 72
Judge — 1888 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from **Judge** satirizes Irish-American working-class life through exaggerated dialect and domestic scenes. The content uses heavy Irish brogue stereotypes common to late 19th-century American humor. **Main Cartoons:** 1. **"Dream Life"** — A romantic poem paired with an illustration contrasts idealized poetic language with crude reality, likely mocking sentimental literature. 2. **"Why Flannelly Failed to Parade"** — Mr. Flannelly cannot march in a parade (possibly St. Patrick's Day) because his wife needs him to repair a harp or musical instrument, suggesting domestic obligations override civic participation. 3. **"Heavy Load," "Not Altogether Satisfactory," "Head in a Street-Car," "Sunday Morning on the Avenue"** — Brief comic vignettes depicting working-class mishaps: a drunk man, questionable medical remedies, overcrowded transit, and marital embarrassment. The satire targets Irish-American stereotypes: poverty, heavy drinking, marital discord, superstition, and linguistic peculiarities. The humor relies entirely on ethnic caricature rather than political commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
NATURAL GAS FROM JUDGE. DREAM LIFE. Mrs. Flannel “Lave me bite it tegither. Thim lasht tathe yez = won at Quinian’s roffle wud chrush pavin’ shtones (c-r-r-unch)! It'll bother yez no more. Pfwhat's thot aisin’ itsilf doon yure coat? Aha! Johnny, it’s youse thot do have th’ soft feelin’s wid a tear as big as a horsey-chestnut. Shure it ain’t mooch Oi kin do fer z, me bye, but av youse ain’t th’ gim av th’ peeshade Oi'm a —‘*J-Julie, it's youse thot do be always bhreakin’ -rt wid yure k kindness, darlin’. i'll tek a shmack now av Oi die,—s-w-eee-mp-ck ! (and the Connelly’s across on the op- posite rock raised their windows to locate the premature blast). Wid me bhlack doe-shkin coat, me aisy breeches, me byg: thot’s not bet be anny in th’ A Ho Haitch, an’ me batton wid jist enough rid in it t’ show aff th’ grane thot ghrips th’ haythin color, She lies along the sward and dreams— an’ wid me plug—be th’ Saint’s loongs! Julia, Oi fegot me hat. Below the white pond-lily gle: Did yez see it? But whiter than the lily’s gleam Mrs, Flannelly—“ Faith Oi did me man. Phin yez kim in lasht And purer, is her maiden dream. year an th’ mor-rnin’ av’ th’ eighteenth, wid yure hide shtuffed wid The lily’s petals, waxen white, beer-sandwishes, Oi tuk it aff youre arrum, led badk th’ top wid Burtupen to the moming Ye ts Shpaldin’s glue, an’ pit it away in th’ chisht in th’ loft betuxt th’ That dreared alone thie worn quilt me mither’s mither knitted with her own han’s, an’ th’ pic- y th’ pope—(God grant him hivin !)—an’ it’s theyre’s yit, as Ret ercert a iltes on she streany, an’ dacint as a hidghog in his hole.” And skies with azure summer gleam, he fairest sight the eye see Wr. Flanneily—“ Oil go oop th’ laddher an’ bring it doon,an’ in Floats in tiis form of purity, th’ mane time, wan moor shmall fer th’ sake av th’ day thot’s And if along the stream you stray 1 A * * . * * Not flowers below or heaven abo Policeman Driscoll—* Oi doan’ know will she kim out of it, sor, ‘Will snare (he: heart in: webs offlave. widout stimmilants, for sich a clip she got wud shtop a comet.” Ambulance Surgeon—* Was he full when he hit her?” Policeman—“ Sober as a crow, sor.” WHY FLANNELLY FAILED Guy ceon—“ How did he come to doit, then?” * TO PARADE. Poltceman —* Well, sor, from th’ inquires Oi’m afther mekin’ RS. FLANNELLY—*Troth! from the nebburs—fer divil th’ wur-rud Oi kin git from him, him- it comes out well this year, — silf—he wor afther findin’ a litther av t'ree kittins in his Pathrick’s- John.” day hat, an’ begor, sor, wid difference t’ th’ law, sor, yez kin shoot Mr. Flannelly—* \t do, — me av Oi wudn’ done th’ sem |” Julia, it do; but av yez'll pit an yure t'im- ble an’ tek a bit ava shtitch in thot har-rp that do he loose betuxt th’ shamrocks near th” hottom o’ th’ fringe, Oi'll tank yez.” Mrs, Flannelly—" Musha, John! wid youse goin’ behind th’ band, Oi'd sew miles fr yez. Giv’ it me. Well th’ day Oi remimber phin yez foorst aff bought th’ byga’ Dinny Costigan, th’ bloody Orangeman, tould an ice thot it’ud not shpoil; ar him thot sem day! Begor, his ould ’ooman wor borryin’ anarchy an’ lineamints av me fer go'n an t'ree weeks, so she wor Mr. Flannelly— t's youse thot has charity, darlin’, Bad cess t’ this batton! W: ig i afther kimmin’ A HEAVY LOAD. 3osh—hic—12 o'clock. Guess'll g’ome.” MERICA (in the bagh-cround) boss, drop in a nickle and weigh NOT ALTOGETHER SATISFACTORY. “I hear they've been try’ ing the faith cure on Jawkins.” a great thing for rheumatism.” Is he stronger?” “*No—but the rheumatism is. It's got him all twisted up ina hard knot now HEARD IN A STREET-CAR. Foung lady (to friend who has just entered the car)—* What takes you down-town so early this morning?” Second lady—“ Why, you know I’m going over to Jersey to-mor- row to remain a few days, and I thought I'd go down to Liberty street to see just what time the 10.30 train started, so I'd be sure to leave home early enough.” First lady—* A capital idea. I often do that myself” And then they both cast indignant glances at a rude man sitting opposite, because he chuckled audibly. NOTICE FOR HIM WHO RUNS. SUNDAY MORNING ON THE AVENUE. It is estimated that the earth loses an hour in every sixteen Mr. Herricgus— Blamed '{ I see what those Duyckinck girls find so thousand years. Americans will please take notice, and put in an blamed amusing about me! Think I'l h to change ny tailor.” extra hour while there is time. comicbooks.com