Judge, 1921-03-12 · page 16 of 32
Judge — March 12, 1921 — page 16: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This Judge magazine page combines whimsical poetry with social satire. The left side features "Dear Heart—and Things," a humorous poem addressing bodily organs (heart, thyroid gland, spleen, nose, tongue, lung, brain) as if writing fan letters. It's lighthearted medical anthropomorphization popular in early 20th-century humor. The cartoon "The Novice and the Tip-Up Seats" (bottom) shows a practical joke: a nearsighted person sits on the floor unaware, while others occupy elevated seats. The humor relies on physical comedy and the victim's obliviousness. "Ask Ouija" (right) satirizes Depression-era consumer behavior: when prices drop, shoppers still won't buy, suggesting economic pessimism overshadows bargains. The final piece mocks columnist clichés—puns, forced rhymes, slapstick humor—admitting these tired devices persist because their predictability ensures continued use. The overall tone reflects 1920s-30s mass-market humor: gentle, domestic, and self-aware about its own formulaic nature.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Dear Heart—and Things! Dear He The focal The poct long has sung your praix In metered word, in love-lorm lays; Thy rhythmic beat sustains my breath we be rent apart Dear Heart! Dear Thyroid G mn you are planned pressed to vibrant throat For subtk With car ch To catch the faintest ange Was ever pr In softer cell, warm The potion which i To brew within th Doth give my lady power to find, and understand ny master mind, Gland! oner confine velvet lined? is thy skill arksome still ly see To cle: The wis¢ Dear Thyr Dear Spleen Before thee ene Were't not for thee I fain would hope find through Wisdom’s ies careen; Success to dope; With thee I fear the world no whit Nor man of overbearing mien; Thou givest me sarcastic wit, Dear Spleen! a eS <> Saanes dence os a ee eee Near-righted One—Wuy 18 YOUR CHAIR SO MUCH HIGHER THAN MINE? Because YOU ARE SITTING ON THE FLOOR!—Flicgende Bla Dear Nose Detector of the skunk or rose Though battle-scarred or fractured be Iam to thee thy devotee; With finest fabrics of the loom Most gently I thy surface groom; And when fatigue has bade me rest, And on my couch I seek repose My lullaby you sing with zest, Dear Nose Dear Tongue Thy virtues never can be sung! thy ¢ zence, thy ta attainments ere embraced Thy speec Wer In one small creature? Singer! Preacher 1 resound Thy voice! The forums st With argume In tr An athlete To catch Oh Tongue! sand wo profound; hast eternal youth, » the highest rung, ce takes a brilliant sleuth, Dear Lung: In rhyme the singu Though damp your cavern, drear, Your cnergy keeps freshness here. The synchrony of lungs and heart Is proof you're faithful to your part; \ smithy’s bellows built to last While life’s warm fires need their blast When high the spirit, great the joy And cheer meets cheer from ev'ry tongue You make me feel again a boy, Dear Lung! ris sung) dark and The Novice and the Tip-Up Seats ter (Munich) 16 Ask Ouija 2 \ Mer Irs recurrent srite © ME REDUC IN PRICES, THE CONSUMED IMPLY WILL NOT BUY Shopper—Wuat voyou expect? Wes YOU HAVE SQUEFZED THE LEMON TO THE nine.—ly Rire (Par Dear Brain! Without you I would be i oO angled thought O snarl that I myself have wrought! Why did I not in time refrain Before your conscience had been slain! You started me with noble aim, I've prostituted you for gain You're right, I have myself to blame— Poor Brain! thought with mess of Dear Organs All O orchestra divine If left alone you keep at From day to day, from moon to moon, From gasp of birth till gasp of death, Polyphonous with every breath; Each man must learn from sad take, That when he tampers with your strings d to break— Things—Dear Heart ne mis- The orchestra is b Dear Heart and and Things —Journal of the Americ ciation r Medi ul Asso- The Liturgy of a Columnist I have punned the puns I ought not to pun; I have run the rimes I ought not to run. I have sworn each night (And repented daily) To hang up my slapstick And ukulele I'm a contrary cuss, Who grinds his grist, Just because he’s sure It would never be missed. Chicago Tribune