Judge, 1896-12-26 · page 7 of 17
Judge — December 26, 1896 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains nostalgic and humorous content typical of early 20th-century American satire. **"Uncle 'Lias Reflects on Christmas"** is a dialect poem by Albert Bigelow Paine expressing working-class nostalgia for simpler Christmases—stockings hung on mantels rather than elaborate Christmas trees favored by the wealthy. The contrast satirizes class differences and modernization's displacement of traditional customs. **Other brief jokes** mock domestic life ("The Real Game is Different"), naval warfare (a submarine sinks a ship by "pulling out de plug"), and religious hypocrisy (religion only prohibits work on Sundays). **"Judgments from Mr. McGarvey"** features Irish-dialect observations on life, education, and domestic matters—typical of period humor using exaggerated ethnic stereotypes for comic effect. **"An Armored Cruiser"** shows Uncle Rube preparing toughs for street fighting, likely referencing contemporary urban gang culture or military preparedness anxieties. The page uses working-class and immigrant dialect humor throughout, reflecting early 1900s satirical conventions now considered offensive.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
idge UNCLE ’LIAS REFLECTS ON CHRISTMAS. OPE, I don't care much for Christmas-trees an’ festivals an’ sich— Them there highfalutin’ notions that's affected by the rich. Iam partial to old-fashioned sort of Christmases, myself, When the children hung their stockin’s up along the mantel-shelf, There's a diff'rent sort of feelin’ from the way it used to be, When your present 's handed to you from a blazin’ Christmas-tree ; ‘Though of course I know it’s pretty, an’ I reckon it's the thing, But there's never quite the feelin’ that the stockin's used to bring. Why, I call to mind one Christmas eve, some fifty years ago, When our whole blamed kit an’ posse hung their stockin’s in a row, There was pa’s an’ ma’s an’ Tom's an’ mine an’ sister's an’ the rest, An’ there'll be no more sich Christmases as that for me, I guess. Oh, it makes me like a boy again to recollect that night An’ the wide, old-fashioned fire-place with the logs a-burnin’ bright, ‘An’ the mem'ry clings about me with a touch of the sublime, For we ain't been all together since that happy Christmas-ti Nope, I don't care much for Christmas-trees an’ festivals an’ sich, For I never seemed to hanker for the customs of the rich ; ‘Though I think a heap of Christmas an’ old Santa Claus, myself, When’ see the children’s stockin’s hung along the mantel-shelf, ALBENT BIGELOW PAINE, THE REAL GAME IS DIFFERENT. Hewitt—“‘ Do you play whist?” Jewert—" Yes; I play nearly every night with’ my wife and two daughters.” Hawrrt—* That isn’t whist.” IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE TEXAS, HE. great battle was over. One of the iron monsters had gone down into the deep. On the deck of the victor all was jubilation. Strangely enough, the jubilation seemed to be all in one part of the ship. It-centred around one dripping ‘The captain approached ; he addressed the marine. “Tell me, Sanderson; how did you sink her? It was admirable.” “Dat wuz cinchy. I on'y swum in under an’ pulled out de plug.” ; And of such is our impregnable white squadron. TOO CIRCUMSCRIBED. Wandering Willie—* Religion is all right, but it don’t go fur ‘nuff.” ONCE MORE. Weary Wraggles—* How do yer make dat out?” HaroLp—"' Her husband must have turned over a new leaf, Algy.” Wandering Wille—"\t on'y commands man not ter Aucy—" Yes—in his cheque-book,”” work on de seventh day.” JUDGMENTS FROM MR. MCGARVEY. N TH! midst av dith yez be in loife—don’t yez fergit thot. ‘Th’ only thing a cow kin do in th’ Inglish language is t’ give milk. Th’ oyes be th’ windies av th’ sowl an’ th’ mouth av some fellies is th’ sewer. It’s th’ duty av ivery roight- moinded parint t’ inshtruct his kids niver t’ be prisidints av th’ Unoited Shtates. Me daughter thot wint cookin’-school l'arnt t’ make th’ great shtuff, fer divil a bit will it shpoil whither yez ate it or not. Scoiince is th’ great thing. Th’ wither feilies wid their in- shtrumints kin say rain-shtarms thot don’t be visible t’ th’ naked oye. Grogan has all at wanst come into a lot av money, an’, bejakers! he troid:t’ pashte th’ AN ARMORED CRUISER. carpets an th’ walls av his new Urcin—"* Hi, Chimmy' gaze onter de target.” (Bi? UNcLa Rusg—‘ These boys in taown is pretty tuff an’ house, pavio nw tatmapce. bang /) slick, but yer bet yer Uncle Rube hez prepared fer ‘em.””