Judge, 1899-12-23 · page 29 of 46
Judge — December 23, 1899 — page 29: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes the stark inequality of Victorian-era Christmas through contrasting scenes. The top panels mock "up-to-date advertising"—showing genteel figures hawking consumer goods—contrasted with chaos caused by "Count Nocash dropping his cigar-stump," suggesting carelessness of the wealthy creates destruction for others. The main story mocks sentimental Christmas narratives. A rich banker celebrates lavishly in his palace while his own daughter, refused permission to see presents early, dramatically throws herself into a snowbank to "get even." Rather than actual tragedy, the satire shows she's simply thawed out, bathed, and warmed—the melodramatic despair deflated. "The Fawns' Christmas-Tree" illustration appears to depict animals enjoying simpler Christmas pleasures, likely emphasizing natural contentment over artificial luxury. The satire targets both wealthy callousness and overly sentimental Christmas stories that romanticize poverty and suffering while ignoring actual systemic inequality.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Up-to-date advertising — —and the result of Count Nocash dropping his cigar-stump, CHRISTMAS CONTRASTS. HRISTMAS eve, as usual, and this is a story of contrasts—of genial warmth and bitter cold, of thoughtless mirth and poignant despair, of the banker's palace and the bitter streets. The banker's palace was filled with all kinds of light and music, warmth and flowers, perfumes, jewels, mirth and ancestors. ‘The street THE FAWNS' CHRISTMAS-TREE. without was “long ” on ice, snow-banks, cold, stray cats, stray cops, cha- grin and ash-barrels. For this is a story of contrasts. Within the palace stood the banker himself, complacently content, proudly poised, genially gushing all kinds of Christmas sentiment and cheer, Without the palace lay a little girl, sorrowfully sobbing, tearfully terrified, heart-broken, alone. She had thrown herself, in her despair, into a snow-bank and was willingly allowing the bitter cold to waft her to the king of dreamland — Death. And yet, strange as it may appear, this little girl was the daughter of the magnate himself. Not exchanged in her infancy for another—no, Nor kidnapped in maturer years—no. Nor driven from home by a heartless step-mother—no! They had simply refused to let her see her Christmas- presents until the morrow, and she had rushed out and thrown herself into the snow-bank to get even. They let her freeze, and it did her much good; and when she had got enough of that they brought her in and thawed her out and put her in a hot bath and gave her a sweat. For this is a story of contrasts. THERE is one thing worse than noise at Christmas time. No noise, comicbooks.com