Judge, 1892-07-02 · page 5 of 17
Judge — July 2, 1892 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains several satirical pieces typical of early-20th-century American humor: **"The Gerrymandered Man"** mocks congressional redistricting that disrupted rural communities. A farmer laments losing his local political influence—no more envelope-stuffing patronage, election-day tavern gatherings, or kickbacks. The satire targets how gerrymandering eliminated stable political machines that had enriched rural operatives. **"Question of Color"** is a racist dialect piece featuring African American characters debating whether lemon-colored or lilac trousers are socially appropriate. This reflects the magazine's casual, dehumanizing treatment of Black Americans typical of the era. **"The Absent-Minded Professor"** depicts a stereotype: an absent-minded academic so lost in thought he ignores a lit firecracker placed in his hand—a simple slapstick gag. **"Where Did She Hail From?"** and "How Uncle Pilgriff Kills Flies"** are brief comic vignettes with minimal context visible. The page represents Judge's mix of political satire, ethnic humor, and domestic comedy characteristic of American magazines circa 1910s.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Juosé THE GERRYMANDERED MAN. THE, RECENT reapportionment is hard tew un- derstand ; Tt chucks us in weth Spilkinsville an’ kills our local band. ‘Them chaps down on the railroad that used tew call us jays An’ egg us when we went tew town will hev tew change their ways. ‘The old associations, they hey vanished like a dream, Weth fifteen dollars ‘lection-days fer hitchin’ up my team ‘Tew resurrect old moss-backs who fergot the time of. P, Bigosh! the country 's ruined, an’ T cain't restrain this tear. Whar is the deestrict chairman weth his letters by the quire Weth my name on the envelope beside a big "esquire; Weth eel-skins, postage-stamps an’ sich, an’ accidentally A picter of some gineral on a sawbuck or a V? Whar will we hold mass-meetin’s now ; what tavern patronize? ‘ What kind of seegyars will we smoke ; what dink our throats surprise? sD Bigosh! I'm stumped when thinkin’, an’ it grieves me tew the soul > Why, a presidential “lection used tew buy my winter's coal! ee ¢ I'm sad tew see sech doin's—changin’ counties oy round an’ such. We're mixed weth wayback hayseeds, city Irishmen an’ Dutch. ‘The good ole honest days is gone when only states- men'ran Fer. office, an’ I've lost. my grip. mandered man, UNcLE Treeror—"* I've got an achin’ old snag I've been waitin’ six weeks tew git jerked ou Dr. Browneves—"* Will you take gas Uncix Treetorp—'I hain't much used ter gas. Can't ye use kerosene?” QUESTION OF COLOR. Miss Penstock— Lem'| Johnsing, de .‘ca- shun ob de fourf ob July will not habe de pleasuah ob seein’ us togedder.” Lem'l Johnsing—"Whad habe 1 dun gone an’ dun now, Elinder? Miss Penstock—"Yo' taste fo! kullor am not ‘cordin’ ter de edicks ob high-tone sassiety.”” Mr. Johnsing—"Dat’s ter moughty bad. Dar I habe gone’an’ spen’ two dollars an’ forty- fibe cents fo’ dose lemon-kullor trouser- “Duz I heah right? Am yo’ shuah dat de tint am lemon? Mr. Johnsing—" Dat's de trout. Miss Penstock—" Den I take back my ‘ser shuns, I herd dat yo’ habe pick out de lilack pair. We's dun gone be seen togedder, my chile. Dar’s nuffin’ dat spile de ‘fect ob my ‘plexshun like lilack. Yo’ am my comp'ny fo’ de day.” wea watine, WHERE DID SHE HAIL FROM? BAD LITTLE Rocer—"‘ Won't you please move a little, Miss la Salle? Dick and I’want to play our boats are in the dry-dock.” (Referring to her foot- prints.) THE ABSENT-MINDED PROFESSOR. HAVE a strange feeling just now. There is something troubling me, and yet I cannot re- member what it is. Ab, that is it. I know I have forgotten something. Can it be anything that I left behind me in the house? No. I am standing here on the lawn and I have no intention of going away, and yet I have that strange feeling of oppression as if there was sonsething I should do, and yet for the life of me I cannot think what it is. What can it be?. It is strange that I cannot remember. I know it is the fourth of July and I hear noises on every side, and I presume they must confuse me. Some- thing tells me that I should act, and yet what shall Ido? I * (erties iedte se ee ee 6 6 6 © Ah, now! know what it was, That boy put a lighted rocket in my HOW UNCLE PILGRIFF KILLS FLIES. hand. “If th’ ole ear 's got that same ole saap— —I've got him.” comicbooks.com