Judge, 1904-12-17 · page 27 of 48
Judge — December 17, 1904 — page 27: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three satirical pieces: **"Rev. Si Slop's Christmas Proverbs"** (left): A racist dialect piece mocking African American speech, presenting pseudo-biblical wisdom about Christmas charity. The satire targets both the hypocrisy of those who don't give generously and stereotypes the Black community. **"Unhappy Santa Claus"** (center/right): Two related cartoons about Santa's impossible task. The first shows a young woman requesting an eternally cheerful, reliable cook—an impossible gift that makes Santa realize his "exploded myth" status. The second depicts Santa complaining to his wife about open-work stockings where gifts fall through. The satire comments on impossible domestic expectations and the absurdity of certain Christmas wishes. **"He Who Hesitates Is Lost"** (bottom): Shows a Black reverend reluctant to ride a horse gifted by a deacon, apparently concerned about his dignity or appearance. The satire likely mocks either clerical pretension or racial social anxieties of the era. The overall page reflects Judge's typical late-19th/early-20th-century editorial voice: satirizing social hypocrisy, gender relations, and class anxiety, relying heavily on racial stereotyping.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
DEARLY indebted, on dis season ob socks an’ ‘scripshuns Than’ out ter yo" dese hyar proverbs fo’ yo'r silent meditashuns: De ‘possum play dead in de dahkness ; he waste away in de daytime when put on de platter. Solemum say dat wine make de haht glad. Solemum wuz a wise man, but he didn’ know much er- bout de lokashun ob de haht. Paul wuz on ter de spot whar de licker do de mos’ good. In Solemum’s day dey hang deir hawps on de willers, In dese hyah times ob p'os- perity de whole brass ban’ play all de time —spechually Crismus time. Solemum tell de slugger ter go ter his aunt. We all liable erbout Crismus time ter shake ovah aunt an’ go ter ouah uncle. Stolen watahs, says Solemum, am sweet. Some ob yo" niggahs t'ink dat wa- tah roos' on de fence an’ in de hen-house. A merry haht make a cheerful coun- tenance, say ole Sole- mum, Ef I wuz a bettin’ man I'd lay a dollah-bill dat I could hit a lot ob mah congrega- shun wid a hymn-book dat dey ain't hed no merry hahts dis Crismus. De man dat hev knowledge, say Solemum, spa’ his words. I reckon ef dat am so, dat f'um de rumpus yo' maik when axed ter sen’ in Crismus gif’s ter de pasture an’ de po’r, yo’ am de bigges’ bunch ob idjiots in dese pahts. Ef de Lawd lub a cheerful gibber, sum folks dat I could name won't git hugged in dis life. Crismus checks will now be past up, wid indorsements dat will fetch de long green. IN THE TREACHEROUS SOUTH SEAS. ‘Why so many ships are wrecked. UNHAPPY SANTA CLAUS, [T 1S. just midnight, Santa Claus has slipped into the house by way of the fire- escape and is looking over the array of ho- siery on the mantel- piece. Little notes attached to the stock- ings inform him what the owners most de- sire. With a jolly smile he puts a toy- horse into one tiny stocking, a doll into another, places a sled below another, and then looks at the last and longest. Pinned to it is this note: “Dear Santa—I am now twenty years old, and have almost outgrown my belief in you. But lam to be married next week, and what I most de- sire is a cook who will never grumble and who will never give notice. Helene.” «Poor girl !" sighs Santa, peering into his pack. «4f I had dealt in such gifts as that then I should never have become an exploded myth.” HIS ENDLESS TASK, SANTA CLAUS ar- rives home un- usually late Christmas morning. “ My dear,” says his wife, cautiously trying to get a whiff of his breath, “you certainly owe me an explanation for staying out so much longer than usual.” “ Well, it was enough to drive me to drink,” crossly replies Santa, dumping his overcoat and empty sack on a chair. “What was ?” “Why, I struck some of these open-work stockings and tried to fill them, and as fast as I put the things in at the top they fell out through the holes.” “HE WHO HESITATES IS LOST.” Boy—" Here's de horse Deacon Mugs sent up ter yer fer a Chris'mus gift.” Revereno THeocritus Jinxs—" Can | afford to be seen riding that beast? Really, now, can 1?"