Judge, 1897-04-03 · page 5 of 16
Judge — April 3, 1897 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from Judge magazine contains multiple brief satirical pieces typical of the publication's humor style: **"Would Not Need Her"** mocks a suitor's priorities—he'd only want a woman if he could predict horse-racing winners, suggesting his interest is mercenary rather than romantic. **"Reason Enough"** jokes about a broken engagement over a man signing love letters with a nickname, poking fun at courtship conventions. **"The Likeness"** makes a pun equating the Greek king with the devil through his title "His Hellenic Majesty." **"Why He Was Not Present"** depicts a frontier preacher noting a parishioner's absence, with a cowboy explaining the man fell from a barrel with a rope around his neck—implying suicide or accidental death, presented as dark frontier humor. Other items include hunting boasts, baby-carriage safety jokes, and Irish-dialect humor featuring characters "Mike" and "Bronco Dave" using thick brogue, reflecting period ethnic stereotyping common in American humor magazines. The overall tone is lighthearted domestic and social satire.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE BELLS OF SAN SEBASTIAN. F EVE the orange-groves are just aware, How tenderly the twilight soothes to rest The tinkling mandolin, the song, the jest, And bids all day-time sound its still- ness share— ‘The bells of San Sebastian call to prayer. Through purple- shadowed, poppy- laden air Come vesper chimes of wondrous wooing art ‘That fall like dew of Eden on the heart, ‘The anodyne for pain and deep de- ‘spair— The bells of San Sebastian call to prayer. By palm-set, silver sea—would T were there !— King, echoes, ring! You fill my soul with peace. Swing, memory bells ! swing on and never cease. And, angel of my dreams, oh, waft me where The-bells of San Sebastian cail to prayer. WOULD NOT NEED HER. Otp Mitivuns—"* You want my daughter, do you? Tell me the winner of the Sub- urban race and you may have her.”” Jack PLuNcex—"‘ Hum! If I knew that I wouldn't want her.” REASON ENOUGH. SOYVHY did you break off your engagement with Jim?” asked Nellye of Mae. “He got to signing his love- letters * Jyme,’” replied Mae. VAIN MORTALS. HUNTING, HOU on we're supposed the i" ; A [VE a mania for hunting. I've hunt- dunce's cap YY Jf Bos ; h ed the hare, To leave behind at school, P y 4 = THE LIKENESS, SEYVHY is the king of Greece Ww like the devil?” “Because he is known as ‘his Hellenic majesty.’ " Long as we live, by strange mishap, We wear thy cap, oh, foo! ! HE SANG FOR HIS SUPPER. T've hunted the lion, the tiger, the bear, . The elephant, ostrich, the what-you- may-call, But hunting a house is the hardest She (during the bad quarter // om eae Gch of an hour before dinner) —" Sing i something for me; do.” Mr. Famish—" Certainly; with WHY HE WAS NOT PRESENT, DNA wants a baby-brother. “A pleasure. (Sings.) ‘Oh, I want HyMw-sincinc HANK (pastor of Lone Gulch chapel}—"' 1 fail ter see Red- baby would be so nice to wheel you, mahogany! T want you, want nosed, Mike in this congregation. Did he fall from grace durin’ my absence las’ around ina carriage, mamma, Dolls you, want you! Oh,I want you, “¢tK? BRONCO Dave (volunteering information)—"' No; he got too previous an’ 2%€ always getting broken when the mahogany—yes, I do! fell off'n a bar'l with a rope roun’ his neck.” carriage tips over. THE SAFER KIND, SAFE ENOUGH. Reporter —"The lookout at Fire island reports a big steamer in trouble, but he can’t make out the name.” City editor—"AMl right. Be on the safe je and say ‘Another United States war-ves- sel aground.’ ” A MALAPROP, Miss Windstraw —"What a wheezy, pinched little thing that baby of Mrs. Puffproud temptuously) —“ Yes and to hear her talk you'd think she had a progeny.” SURE, Bobby— Pa, what is an heir-at-law?” Pa—" Usually the lawyer, Bobby.” 1, HIS WAY OUT OF IT. Iris tourtst—"' Fer hivin's sake, hilp! Oi've bin toied up an’ robbed.” Mike (the tood-cutter)—"' Oi've no knoife t’ cut th’ rope, but Oil fix yez wid th’ axe,” 2, HIS WAY OUT OF IT. Mixe—" Shure, now, whin we git t’ th’ sittlemint, about wan moile beyant, Oi'll git a knoife an’ cut yez loose.” comicbooks.com