Judge, 1913-10-25 · page 8 of 24
Judge — October 25, 1913 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two pieces of content: **"Something to Read" by Walt Mason** (left): A humorous poem complaining about over-earnest literature. The speaker is tired of "problem yarns," moralistic books, and "uplift" fiction—he wants entertaining adventure stories like Conan Doyle's works instead. The satire targets contemporary literary pretension and didactic fiction that prioritized moral lessons over entertainment. The final cartoon shows an amateur theater performer asking how to know if the audience wants an encore; the response jokes that catcalls (boos) serve as the signal. **"To Whom Honor Is Due" by George Bingham** (right): A satirical piece praising house flies for surviving the summer despite public persecution—they've been swatted, attacked by scientists who've tried to prejudice people against them, and barred from kitchens. The satire appears to mock sensationalist newspaper coverage that takes "sides" with underdogs, here comically applied to common household pests. The accompanying illustration shows someone reassuring an uncle not to worry about property damage.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Something to ead By Walt Wlasonm Manito. BAonONE AO. — O# BRING me a book to read, when the long, long day is o’er—a tale of heroic deed, with plenty of bright red gore; a tale for the inglenook, a yarn that will rest the mind, a rippety, snorting book of the Rex-E-Beachy kind! I'm tired of the problem yarns, and really I wouldn’t give a couple of misfit darns for all of such books that live. For problems have I to burn—they’re making my fat head gray; the volume for which I yearn will chivy such things away. We fellows who sweat and bleed and totter beneath our yokes don’t suffer a bit to read the problems of other folks. We read in the hope of rest, we read to be entertained, and don’t give a tinker’s jest for people whose souls are strained. So bring me a rattling tome, a novel by Conan Doyle! Ill read till the cows come home, and punish the midnight oil! Oh, bring me a book, my dear, and if you are truly wise yeu won't come a-toddling here with sermon in thin disguise! I'm tired of the helpful books, with morals in them concealed, which dig in the dismal nooks and roam in the slums afield. I'm tired of the books that teach old lessons all trite and stale; I'm tired of the books that preach; I’m tired of the books that wail. I kick off my toilworn shoes and sigh for a book to read —a story that will amuse, a novel as good as ‘‘Queed.’". And hither you come and bring a book of the uplift sort! It’s easy to see, by jing! that you are a ten-cent sport! I'm tired of the yarns of sex, which no one regards as nice, by authors who'll break their necks cavorting on risky ice. I'm tired of the rancid tales composed in the method French, disclosing a group of males revolving about a wench. I'm tired of the books that drew their’ plots from the Greeks or Kurds; I’m tired of the highbrow crew, who bury a yarn in words. So bring me a volume, Jane, that’s strenuous, strong and good—a volume wherein the slain are piled up in cords like wood; a tale of the primal man who slays like an angered bull, for I’m tired of this modern plan of living in cotton wool. Up to Scratch “How shall I know if they want me to give an encore?” asked Mrs. Nuglory demurely at the amateur theatricals. “That will be quite easy,’’ explained Mrs. Korstic. ‘You will hear the catcalls.”” . To Whom Honor Is Due By GEORGE BINGHAM THE PUBLIC should rise up in admiration and give the Chau- tauqua salute or some signal of congratulation to the numerous house flies that have survived the summer that is just now passed. They have had much to put up with that the flies of other generations could not or would not have tolerated. They have been attacked from the front, the rear, and right and left. Generally there are some newspapers that take sides with the things their competitors are fighting, but no editor at- tempted to assist the fly in his fight for liberty and freedom. Scientists have tried in every conceivable and non-understand- able term to prejudice the public against this victim. With all this opposition, many other insects, or whatever a fly is, would have given up the struggle and surrendered to the higher civili- zation; still the fly has remained on his job of trying to make a decent living by assisting the cook. Many a fly has been barred from communication with the person who operated the kitchén and has waited for days outside the door, only to get into a fight, once he or she did gain entrance, with persons who defended themselves with wire swatters. But now the fly is facing a season of rest, far from the madding swattists. A few, of course, are still hanging around on the ceiling and on the picture frames; but a majority have already retired for the winter and will come back early next spring, filled with renewed energy and bright hopes for a prosperous summer. The quality of hash always relates to the cost of living. HE SHOULD WORRY “There, there, uncle! don't worry about the property. Just leave it to me * comicbooks.com