Judge, 1895-01-26 · page 4 of 16
Judge — January 26, 1895 — page 4: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Judge Magazine Page This page contains multiple satirical pieces typical of late-19th century Judge magazine: **"Like His Dad"** mocks racial stereotypes, with a parson asking Mrs. Jackson about her son's progress, only to learn he's "married to a low-down brack wench"—the joke implying inevitable moral degeneracy. **"Lost"** and **"Showing Progress"** are sentimental/humorous verses about romance and language learning. **"A Lesson in Meteorology"** satirizes a man who made a ten-dollar bet about sub-zero temperatures but found conflicting thermometer readings—poking fun at both gambling and scientific unreliability. **"A Revised Version"** is a genteel anecdote about a child mishearing "incense" as "insect-powder." **"Rev. Moakley McKoon on Collections"** uses heavy dialect humor to mock African American religious practices, describing an elaborate church collection box with escalating noise-makers. **"The Blood-Curdling Yell"** and other pieces satirize women's suffrage advocates and contemporary social issues. The page reflects Judge's typical late-Victorian satirical style: mixing sentiment with crude ethnic/racial mockery now considered offensive.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LIKE HIS DAD. Parson Jounson Mrs. JAckso: had at de same age.” PARSON JOHNSON —"' W-wot's he be'n doin’?” “* How's yo! son gittin’ of de city, Mrs. Jackson tT *Misabul! misabul! He hai Mrs, JACKSON (soith magnificent disdain)—"* He's be'n gittin’ married to a low-down brack wench.” LOST. KNOW that I have lost it— To search for it is vain— I nevermore shall find it In sunshine or in rain! It was my only treasure, And constant comrade too— T never would have lost it If it hadn't been for you! You said that “*love undying Is more than wealth or art; I looked into your truthful eyes And then I lost—my heart ! I cannot now reclai Yet none the less ‘tis true I never would have lost it If it hadn't been for you! SHOWING PROGRESS. $s ]S GEORGIE getting on well with his French ?” “Yes, indeed. Why, he can translate the most difficult parts of *Trilby.'" THE should rise in Ul bayonet ?” 't got no mo’ sense dan his fader BLOOD-CURDLING YELL. Mus, StRoncaiNp — ‘* What would the men say’if one million of women righteous wrath and demand the ballot at the point of the Mr. STRONGMIND (adstractedly)—"* Oh, rats, I suppose.” | | | | | 5 ALARM. Boy (seornfully) —* What yer skeered uv? Don't yer see I'm er holdin’ ‘im? A LESSON IN METEOROLOGY, oe HAT ails the man in the w picture, pa?” yp “Hes very angry, my son,and “7 is just cracking open to have some . one ask, ‘Is this cold enough for you ?’ and then he will kill him.” “ Why is he angry, pa?’ “ Because, my son, he made a ““ ten-dollar bet that it was twenty below zero, and when he started out to prove it he found one thermome- ter six below and one twenty-four below and all different, and the only two in town that agreed were two “ that had blown down off the nail and were smashed. He is now going to back out from his bet. It is awful, my son; let us turn over the leaf.” r —s__ A REVISED VERSION. A LADY who has a Sunday-school infant class in Lee tells an amusing story about her flock. Some time ago she had occasion to explain the meaning of the word incense to her class, and told them it was a sweet-scented powder. A short time afterward she referred to this sweet-smelling powder again and asked the children the name of it. One little boy raised his hand. “Well, Willy, what is it ?” asked his teacher. “ Insects !" he cried triumphantly. The teacher shook her head. “ Not quite,” she said. “ Who knows ?” “I do!" cried a little girl. “Willy says insects, but it ain't. It’s insect-powder.” FLORENCE &. PRATT. REV. MOAKLEY MCKOON ON COLLECTIONS. ++] HAB found it necessary on account ob de astringency ob de hard times an’ de gineral de- ficiency ob de circulatin’ mejum in connection wid dis chu'ch, t’ inter- duce ma new ottermatic collecshun- box. It is so arranged dat a half- dollah or quartah falls onared-plush cushion widout noise. A nickel will ring a small bell distinctually heard by de congregashun, an’ a suspen- dah-button, ma fellow-mawtels, will fiah off a pistol; so yo’ will govern yo'selves accordin'ly. Let de col- CONTRARIWISE. LOVE goes where itis sent, they say, But many a lover knows It sometimes turns another way And is not sent where it goes. AN ANNUAL FUNCTION. Mother whale —" Where have you been, dearie ?” Little whale — Oh, 1 just met Chauncey Depew and escorted him up to quarantine.” lecshun now p'oceed, wile I takes off ma hat an’ lines a hime.” comicbooks.com