Judge, 1893-12-09 · page 8 of 52
Judge — December 9, 1893 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This sentimental poem, illustrated with folksy domestic scenes, makes a social argument about female virtue disguised as rustic humor. The piece critiques the masculine monopoly on saint imagery—every culture depicts Saint Nicholas/Christmas spirits as male, the narrator observes. Yet women, he argues, deserve equal recognition: they perform "saintly" labor daily (cooking, cleaning, spreading cheer) that angels themselves would reject. The satire targets both gender conventions and religious iconography. While mocking formal religion ("passon says"), the author ironizes that women like his wife "Minty Jane"—plain, aged, work-worn—embody genuine Christian virtue more authentically than idealized male saints. Her "humly light o' goodness" surpasses Kris Kringle's theatrical charity. This reflects Progressive-era sentiment: celebrating women's unpaid domestic labor as morally superior while still confining them to the home. The humor masks an unequal bargain—women as unsung moral anchors rather than equal participants.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
"VE heerd ‘em tell about the saints in trailin’ garb o° white ‘Thet kem a-hustlin’ down to earth upun thet old-time night, ‘Their yeller hair a-Ayin’, their wings a-flappin’ round, A hom within their fistis, upun their heads a crownd. An’ passon ‘lows thet ev'y land thet ‘mounts to anything Hev got its special ownest saint whose business is to bring Good.will an’ striped candy an’ peace an’ pop-corn balls To folks thet’s ben a-actin’ squar’. whenever Christmas falls. Some figgers him a youngster—so passon p'inted out— An’ some a growed-up angel, with gilted rings about His furhead ; an’ there’s others thet jedge him old an’ fat, With snow upon his whiskers an’ coon-skins on his hat. But ain't a single nationt, as fur as I kin find, As figgers him of ary sex excep’ the masculind ; An’ ‘pears it’s sortuh funny, becuz mos’ men / know, As fur as saintship goes, ‘ud make a mighty sorry show. Whuras they’s slews 0” women-folks thet unly needs a wing To heft ‘em cl'ar above the ground an’ ev'y earthly thing; An’ seems as if they oughter hev a finger in the pie At handin’ out the sugar-plums when holerdays 's nigh, Fur ain't no Christmas speret thet's got a better right ‘To wear a spangled petticoat an’ gambol through the night ‘Then thet there one thet's lived with me in sunshine an’ in rain— Thet there old woman yender, my old wife, ‘Minty Jane. She ain't the regerlation, so fur as trimmin’s goes ; Her hair is thin an’ grizzly, au’ bones an’ wrinkles shows. She w'ars a cotton gownd; her hands is rough as thet there mat Frum doin’ work thet angels ‘ud turn their nose up at. But when it comes to sheddin’ cheer upun a body's way, A-makin’ life wath livin’ an’ lendin’ ev'y day A streak o' yeller sunbeam thet wahms ye fur an’ wide, Vil pin my faith to ‘Minty Jane an’ let Kriss Kringle slide. A-stuffin’ of the turkey, keeled up all brown an’ rich; A-bakin’ of the corn-bread an’ pumpkin pies an’ sich ; A-flyin’ round the kitchen, a-stirrin’ here an’ there, A humly light o° goodness upun her face an’ bait I says thet ev'y feller thet's got a sight like this ‘To season Christmas frolickin’ to somethin’ right like bliss led oughter lift his voice with me an’ shout an’ shout agen Fur Christmas saints thet never was an’ never will be men, HVA WIEDER MCGLASSON, comicbooks.com