Judge, 1915-09-04 · page 15 of 27
Judge — September 4, 1915 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains several satirical pieces targeting early 20th-century subjects: **"A Constructive Suggestion"** mocks prolific but sloppy authors writing 109,000 words weekly, suggesting they hire a "literary valet" to fix punctuation, grammar, and style—satire on mass-produced, low-quality popular literature. **"The Prophet"** jokes about a Colonel's absurdly confident prediction that WWI will end by October, with the punchline that he won't specify *which* year—mocking military optimism about the war's duration. **"Wooing the Muse"** is humorous verse about a poet's failed attempts to romantically commune with his muse in nature, repeatedly interrupted by practical annoyances (roots, ants, snakes, bees)—satirizing Romantic poetry's idealism versus reality. **"A Little Child Shall Lead Them"** is a short joke: when asked what's needed for automobiling, children answer "puncture" instead of the expected serious answer—humor based on the newfangled automobile's unreliability. **"Vox Populi"** briefly jokes about a student being "rusty" on the Iron Age—mild wordplay.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE A Constructive Suggestion “oJ AM too busy,” said the popular author, “to spend any time polishing up my literary style. A man who has to write 109,000 words a week, has no time for such JJ~ _ trivialities.” “Then,” said the Critic, “you should employ a literary valet to doit for you; to keep y your punctuation marks in order; to brush off “—" your ideas; to mani- cure your phrases; to press your para- graphs which are inclined to bag at the knees, and to snip off the frayed edges of your grammar.” The Prophet “Yes,” said the Colonel, pompously, “I am quite confident that the war will be over by October.” “What year?” asked Bildad. “Ah,” said the Colonel, “THAT is another question.” Wooing the Muse rd Muse I sought bine dells of yore, EEP in the wood the wayw: Whom Horace wooed, And won; but I grew limping sore, And cursed a root I caught. Then, aching, sat Ion a peaceful clump— To tune my lute as bards had done who wooed The Fair—to be right badly glued Upon a fresh pine stump. At last T sank upon a gentle hill, Nigh perfect for the tryst with her to keep; But I arose with sudden leap, As red ants sought their fill. A spider and a snake came forth, to see A wild-eyed lover—scared, but pleading there; Till, as I breathed my passion’d prayer, I found,—a low-brow bee! Within sequestered walls I'll woo my Sprite— To plead her smiles on me; or by great Rome And all its gods! I'll stop at home, To live, without her, quite! —Charles Elkin, Jr., The crematory, whatever the times, can count on its winnings. A Little Child Shall Lead Them HE word was tire. The teacher of the infant class was endeavoring to impart it to the children by the suggestive method. “What is it that you always must have when you go automobiling?” she asked. “A puncture,” exclaimed the class, in chorus. Vox Populi Why doesn’t somebody put the voice of the people on a few graphophone records? “Now, Willie, can you tell us anything about the iron age?” “Er—er—I'm a bit rusty on the subject, teacher.” comicbooks.com