Judge, 1904-06-04 · page 6 of 16
Judge — June 4, 1904 — page 6: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three satirical pieces typical of early 20th-century American humor: **"A Horrible Torture"** depicts criminals debating torture methods—the "joke" being that Wagner piano music is worse than violence, reflecting contemporary mockery of classical music as unbearably tedious. **"The Mountaineer's Grievance"** is a dialect story about a poor Appalachian man (Jeff Thompson) hunting Jim Boggs, who attempted to seduce Thompson's wife. Though Boggs failed and fled, Thompson seeks lethal revenge anyway—the satire highlighting rural "honor culture" as absurdly disproportionate and the mountaineer's stubborn irrationality. **"Nothing New There"** features "Alkali Ike," a Western character who dismissively tells an Easterner that single-rail railroads aren't new—implying the West has long used them to remove "undesirable people," a dark joke about frontier justice. **"An Art Critic"** mocks an uncultured person who literally eats a poster while criticizing its artistic merit, satirizing philistinism and fake aesthetic judgment. All reflect Judge's urbane East Coast perspective mocking rural Americans, foreigners, and the uncultured.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A HORRIBLE TORTURE. First surctar—" We had ter torture de old gent ter make him give up his dough.” Secono surctar—'' Burn him . First surctar—"‘No: me partner played Wagner on de pianner."* THE MOUNTAINEER’S GRIEVANCE. HE long range of the Cumberlands piled red and purple against the “smoky sky as I rode down through the gap into the little valley that marked the course of a small stream putting into the Poor Fork a few miles away. The air was still, and the heavy odors of thick woods had settled down along the road as if seeking the open for draught to the cleared world beyond. Just at the foot of the mountain a sallow- skinned, browbeaten, lank and lounging mountaineer came out from the thicket about a hundred yards ahead of me and walked slowly on without, as far as I could see, having discovered me. He had a gun across the bend of his elbow, and I thought had probably been hunt- ing, as there were numerous signs of squirrels about. “Good-morning,” I said as I pulled up alongside to ask him the usual question of distance to the next place. “Good- morning,” he responded, looking up at me, his eyes taking in my horse on the way. “ How far is it to Tharp’s ford?” I asked. "Bout a mile and a half, I reckon.” “Thanks. What have you been hunting — squirrels?” I inquired in a friendly way. “No.” “There's plenty of signs of them around,” I ventured in response to his curt negative. “So I noticed ; but I ain't huntin’ squirrels.” “What else is there to hunt?" I asked in surprise; for other game is scarce in the mountains at this season, or at any other for that matter. “Jim Boggs,” he answered with a grow! “Oh!” T exclaimed ; for really that was about all I could say to this unex- pected statement. “ That's what,” he went on. «I'm swering that description,” I replied; and by this time I had recovered my balance. ‘ What has he been doing 2” “ Nothin’.” “Then what are you hunting him for?" “To put some cold lead into his system—that's what.” “But you wouldn't shoot a man for doing noth- ing, would you ?” I asked in a palliative mood. “Well, I reckon I would,” he said doggedly. «Jim, he tried to run away with my wife.” “Oh!"T said, for I had heard of the trouble, “ you are Jeff Thompson, are you?” “ That's me, mister; an’ I've seed you afore.” « But Jim didn’t get her, and surely you wouldn't shoot "—— I began, when he held up his hand. “Hold on, thar, mister!" he said. “Did you ever live seven ye’rs with a ripsnortin’ cattymount 2” “Never to my knowledge,” I answered truth- fully, though rather perplexed by the question. “Then this yer ain't your time to jedge,” he said peremptorily. “Ef Jim hed got her I'd ‘a’ never riz a hand; but he didn't, mister, and I've got a grievance thet nothin’ short uv shootin’ kin cure— that's what. Good-bye!" And before I could argue further he dropped out of sight through a great thicket of rhododendrons, pink and white and beau- tiful. WILLIAM J. LAMPTON. NOTHING NEW THERE. Easterner—“ Yes, the lastest thing in transpor- tation is the single-rail railroad. It is brand new, you know.” Alkali Ike—* Huh! Mebbe it is in your coun- try, stranger, but it's been a pop'lar method uv transportin’ undesirable people outer Red Dog fer a good many years.” AN ART CRITIC. 66\JJHAT! call that picture art? he snecred, “Those greens give me the blues. I know what's good, and, by this beard! What I dislike I chews." Then sections of that poster rolled With gusto down his throat, This Ruskin of the summer wold— His majesty the goat. EUGENE GEARY, huntin’ Jim Boggs. Seen anything back the’ way you come uv a lantern-jawed, slab-sided dude wearin’ a paper collar an’ a blue neckti Par—" “No; I haven't seen anybody an- to Norau—" Y-yis THE USUAL TIME. ould ye accept me If Ol should propose, Norah?" ut Ol should want at least two weeks to consider th’ matther."" comicbooks.com