Judge, 1915-06-19 · page 7 of 24
Judge — June 19, 1915 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains several short humorous pieces satirizing early 20th-century American life: **"What the Farmer Did"** mocks the competitive one-upmanship between city and country dwellers. A city man brags about motoring, golfing, and dancing; a country cousin counters with rural activities. A farmer tops both by comically converting everyday farm work into leisure activities—"muled," "gee-hawed," "bedsteaded," "piped"—creating absurd verbs from mundane tasks. The joke: rural folk must dignify simple labor as entertainment to compete with city sophistication. **"An Enlightened Farmer"** presents another rural character claiming country people are smarter, but his "evidence" is merely consulting an almanac—suggesting farmers conflate any printed material with genuine intelligence. **"In Love's Disport"** satirizes a married man's self-justifying poem about lavishly treating his wife, missing that such expenses should be normal marital behavior, not remarkable. These pieces reflect early 20th-century urban-rural class tensions and gentle mockery of provincial attitudes.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Reggie Softhead—Why do you hope I'll come here on the Fourth of July, Bertie? Bertie—'Cause I'm goin’ to have a lot of firecrackers, and sister says you're punk. In Love's Disport HE AT whose shrine so long I've knelt Is always such a radiant sight, It is no wonder that I felt So glad to take her out last night. Item: the costly flowers I sent; Item: two tickets for the show, To which in best of style we went— That is, a taxi to and fro. Item: the lobster palace where I, willing, saw my dollars go; But it was only for my fair, Whose laughing eyes bewitch me so. Romance? Oh, no! I'm past my youth, But there is naught to wonder at. Why shouldn't a married man, in sooth, Be glad to treat his wife like that? —Nathan M. Levy. What the Farmer Did CITY man recently visited with his “country cousin.’ The man from the city, wishing to explain the joys of metropolitan life, said, ‘‘ We have certainly been having fun for the last few days. Thursday we autoed to the country club and golfed until dark, then trollied back to town and danced until morning."’ The country cousin, not to be outdone in the least, began telling some of the pleas- ures of the ‘‘simple life’’: ‘*‘We have had pretty good times here, too. One day we buggied out to Uncle Ned's and went out to the back lot, where we baseballed all that afternoon. And in the evening we sneaked up to the attic and pokered until morning.’” A sturdy old farmer, who was listening and who was not to be stumped in the least, took up the conversation at this point and said, ‘‘I was having some fun about this time myself. I muled to the cornfield and gee-hawed until sundown. Then I suppered until dark and piped until nine o'clock, after which I bedsteaded until the clock fived, after which I breakfasted until it was time to go muling again.”” Alive, Anyway ‘‘From a physical point of view,"’ re- marked the parlor’ philosopher, ‘‘we are much inferior to prehistoric man."” “Well, for my part, I would rather be inferior than prehistoric,"’ replied the mere man. An Enlightened Farmer “*On what do you base your assertion that country people are brighter and more intelligent than city people, Hy?’’ asked the summer boarder. “Why, right here in my almanac,"’ re- Wise one (explaining) —It’s golluf, Bill. The Bud Letters By BURGES JOHNSON Biw Ha: shat Liv ow Wnvstot rel) we tide w r0700 te fay aAsoy ret and ter Aer tt wAcumd Hao forge Proved 7reepete uerasidens ‘ amd the wthev ond ave tides te Levtovr $00 Hopper plannud At alg thew we fenocheed 11 sha) tride Ar open OU ded-y Bi pr ner Pp man ine ACL OWL ATL age Pumginy thy thy aor crack 9 Fema You Bud William ther Feré plied Farmer Hyperbole Medders, ‘‘it says in the cities the population is a lot denser than in the rural districts.’* I's jest like polo, on’y ye don’t use cards.