Judge, 1894-02-03 · page 4 of 16
Judge — February 3, 1894 — page 4: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains multiple satirical pieces reflecting late 19th-century concerns: **"Judge in Paris?"** satirizes anarchist violence in France. A disheveled visitor approaches the French Interior Minister with "dynamite cigars"—explosive devices disguised as tobacco products—to combat anarchists who had declared war (likely referencing Auguste Vaillant's 1893 bombing). The minister flees in terror when the visitor produces increasingly absurd weapon variations (snuff, cake). The satire mocks both anarchist tactics and the government's incompetence in combating them. **"The Hebrew Clothing District"** jokes about a fire in New York's Jewish immigrant neighborhood (Chatham Street), with the punchline that all "losers" actually profited—a stereotype about Jewish merchants. The remaining sketches are light domestic humor unrelated to politics. The page satirizes genuine period anxieties: European anarchist bombings and American anxiety about immigrant communities.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
AN OBJECT- Is the man sick? No, the man is not sick. Why has he such an expression on his face? Tris because he has just put his hand in his pocket and found a letter which was given him by his wife to mail three days ago. LESSON. A LONG-FELT WANT. WIEN Aunt Jemima came to town In all her Sunday clothes, Upon a fence she saw an ad. Of rubber garden-hose * That's just the thing for me,” she cried. “A pair or two I'll get; For when I weed my posy-bed My ankles get so wet.” ENTIRELY REASSURED. She—"Oh, Jack! I'm so dis- turbed. I have just dreamed that burglars broke in the house and shot you.” He —* You are not superstitious about it, eh?” She—" Ves. My old nurse always said the dreams we have by day come true.” /e—" What stuff! Why, yester- day afternoon I dreamed the butcher presented his bill and I paid him.” JUDGE IN PARIS? SCENE—Private office of the minister of the interior, Enter a visitor. The minister (politely indicating a chair)—* What can I do for you, sir?” “I have called, sir,” replies the visitor, who has a lurid, uncertain ex- pression about the eye and whose hair looks as if it had been trying to fix it- self to resemble some of the figures in the first book of Euclid and got worried and mixed during the process, “ because I think I have discovered a means of serving my country. The anarchists have declared war! They have opened the ball ; they want revenge for Vaillant. We must fight them with their own weapons ! The minister glanced round in time to discover the type-writer_ and secretary gliding through the door. “T don’t quite understand,” he mur- mured soothingly. The Euclid-haired gentleman sud- denly produced a box of cigars, walked to the minister's desk and put them gently thereon. “ You see those cigars ? Look like Havanas, don’t the “ You will excuse me, sir" —— “TOO BIG FOR MIS CLOTHES. Haxk Waynack—" By gum! T don’t see what thet big calf's ma is thinking on not ter put ‘im in long pants.” They are dynamite !" 1¢ minister rose; the minister's capillary adornment also rose. “You will admit that the most idiotic detective could not blunder with these things”— waving his THE HEBREW CLOTHING DISTRICT. Epttor —“* You neglect to say in your story who were the losers by the fire." Sraceryt —‘* I said it was in Chatham street, didn’t 1? were no losers; all winners.” There hand proudly toward the cigars. “The officer spots a suspect, engages him in conversation, offers a cigar. Suspect lights it —crack! The hardest head in Paris is bound to go.” The minister (breathing hard) — teresting, but "—— “ Wait!” and the lurid eyes closed till they only glittered. “1 know your objection. You will say all the anarch- ists do not smoke. I grant it. Some take snuff. I've fixed them too.” (A plunge into a pants-pocket; out comes a snuff-box.) “A pinch of this once in the nose and the skull is there.” The inventor's hand swept majestically to- ward the ceiling. “Twill give myself the pleasure of communicating with you in writing.” “ For those who chew,” continued the gifted visitor with beatific self-com- placency, “look at this,” producing a dark cake from his vest.“ One bite— not a tooth, not a nose, not an ear remains! For the women, a bon- bon "—— But the minister had fled. DIPLOMACY VERSUS FORCE. comicbooks.com