Judge, 1912-02-10 · page 7 of 24
Judge — February 10, 1912 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three distinct pieces of early 20th-century satire: **"The Exception"** is a humorous poem listing all the things that become obsolete or worthless from year to year—ending with the joke that "last year's girls" remain eternally enjoyable. It's a playful commentary on disposable culture and aging. **"Dancing"** mocks newly fashionable modern dances like the "grizzly bear," "bunny hug," and "turkey trot"—animal-named dances that shocked conservative society. The satirist sarcastically suggests dancers should go further with absurd names like "mousey snoop" or "hog roll," ridiculing both the dances themselves and the pretentiousness of dismissing them. **"He Lived to a Good Old Age"** presents a farmer rejecting his son's comfortable heated city house as unhealthy, insisting on returning to his drafty farmhouse—a comedic clash between old-fashioned rural values and modern urban comfort. The page also includes brief quips about rising snail prices in Paris and faster aviation speeds. These reflect typical Judge content: light social and cultural commentary aimed at middle-class readers.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
| Nurse—"' The doctor says you can have a few visitors to-day."” Convalescent—"* Good ! The Exception. By HORACE DODD GASTIT. «s"THERE are no birds in last year’s nests.”’ There is no bread in last year’s doughs. There is no food in last year’s guests. There are no swells in last year’s vests, There are no laughs in last year’s jests. There are no styles in last year’s clo’es. There are no aches in last year’s head. There are no pies on last year’s plates. There are no naps on last year’s bed. There is no taste in last year’s bread. There is no wood in last year’s shed. There are no slips on last year’s skates. There are no heads in last year’s hats. There’s naught that’s new in last year’s news. There are no miows in last year’s cats. There are no folks 1n last year’s flats. There is no talk in last year’s chats. There are no feet in last year’s shoes. There is no'life in last year’s plays. There are no fish in last year’s streams. There are no cups on last year’s trays. There are no chips on last year’s baize. There are no songs in last year’s jays. There are no pipes in last year’s dreams. There is no coin in last year’s till. There is no wind in last year’s breeze. There is no cold in last year’s chill. There is no cash in last year’s bill. There is no noise in last year’s trill. There is no snuff in last year’s sneeze. No oysters lie in last year’s shells. There's no more hair in last year’s curls. There are no sweets in last year’s jells. There is no sound in last year’s knells; But when it comes to last year’s belles, There’s lots of fun in last year’s girls. THAT APPETITE. ‘See that they 're well done on boil Dancing. Shades of our minuetting ancestors! What is this ‘‘grizzly bear’’ and this “bunny hug?’’ And why should it con- cern us if certain hollow-headed mem- bers of our “‘elite’’ attempt to improve their manners by borrowing from their superiors in the animal kingdom? The only trouble is, they do not go far enough. The lack of inventiveness of our fashionable dancing masters fills us with patriotic shame. True, there is also the ‘‘turkey trot’’; but why not the “mousey snoop,’’ the ‘‘toady hop,’’ or the “hog roll’? Imagination does not yet fail us, but our respect for our ani- mal friends bids us stop, with apologies to those respectaole and well-intentioned animals already mentioned. A LA MILITAIRE. “* Lieutenant !'" “ My captain?” “* Detrain |" sides, will you?” He Lived to a Good Old Age An aged New York farmer and his wife turned the key in the farmhouse, gave the hired man a free rein with the work, and went down to the city to spend the winter with their married son. Now, this.son had a very comfortable house of ample size, well heated and furnished with every comfort of the city; but after a few days the father announced that he was going back home. “Why, father,’’ exclaimed the son, “TI thought you would enjoy spending the winter with me! We have plenty of room and the house is warm and’’ “That’s just it!’’ snorted the father. “Your house’s heated, all right; but I want to tell you right now, sonny, that such heatin’ is mighty unhealthy. Why, it’s so hot in this house I have to open my windows nights so I can sleep, an’ I ain’t takin’ any such chances with my health—no, siree!’’ Going Some! [Price of snails rises in Paris from $5 to $8 a a thousand, indicating that. while their borizontal progress is #1 their upward speed entitles them to recognition. — News item.) Den. Cameron Shafer AVIATORS, The times they are changed, As they said long ago. + I could say it in Latin, But Latin is slow; While the French are so fast That, without any lying, The papers report That the snails are a-flying! = Charles Irvin Juntin, Spiritualistic. Too many spooks spoil the truth. comicbooks.com