Judge, 1923-09-22 · page 9 of 36
Judge — September 22, 1923 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Stage Tragedy Page Analysis This page from *Judge* magazine contains satirical commentary on early 20th-century American life. The main poem "Stage Tragedy" by Edmund Vance Cooke mocks romantic theater conventions—specifically the melodramatic "stage lover" who falls passionately for different women (Marguerite, Dorcas, Maud, Helen) but whose affections end when "the season closed." It's satire of overwrought theatrical romance and male inconstancy. The "News Reel" section offers brief humorous social commentary: radio enthusiasts improvising aerials from household items; jokes about ancestry-obsessed Americans; newlyweds marrying for money; and college football players dancing so poorly they "make me sick." The golf cartoon shows a sick golfer telling his caddy to fetch a doctor, satirizing golf's appeal even when one feels unwell. These items collectively mock contemporary fads (radio, genealogy-consciousness), courtship rituals, and American social pretensions through light humor typical of *Judge's* satirical approach.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Stage Tragedy by Edmund Vance Cook Tow there was Marguerite the saint, a Who liv beatific bliss, Whose utmost passion was a plaint. Whose finger-tips he dared not kiss; Exalted she and pure to see, as might be supposed, And when she condescended, he, He loved her—but the season closed! Then Dorcas of the deep, sound mind, Who no odds of any Fates, Whose voice was firm but not unkind, Who laughed at love and. scoffed at “dates.” Self-poised was she, or seemed to be, For poised is sometimes written “posed,” And when she dimpled on him, he, He loved her—but the season closed! And Maud, who bubbled to the brim, Who dared the daylight or the dark, And round of face and round of limb Was ever ready for a lark. Yet close-lipped she as though a key Had locked her lips where trust reposed; A tantalizing trial, and he, He loved her—but the season closed! And Helen, she whose smile or sigh Has lured men since the world was young; A touch of angel in her eye, A touch of devil in her tongue; Well-groomed was she, @ cap @ pie, Divinely gowned, superbly hosed: All comely were her curves and he, He loved her—but the season closed! L'envoi (in chorus) O maidens. ye who heard our plea! Life is not always wined and ro: We fain would love you still, but ( How can we, when the season’s closed? “Hey, caddy! “To find a doctor. OUR NEWS REEL Llewellegellellyn, Wales—Total wreck of American talking-machine while attempting to play an old Welsh love song. Jinks—Why do they call that ordinary looking chap, “the ‘distinguished Mr. Cabot"? Binks—Because, he’s the only one who doesn’t claim descent from some one on the passenger list of the Mayflower. First Radio Nut—I listened in to the concert last night, using an umbrella rib for an aerial. Second Radio Nut—I use a bed spring. I've thrown away the bed—don’t need it any more, for I sit up all night at the radio. eet Rad red—Did you tell your parents that you married me for my money? Newlywed (in self-defense)—Well, I had to give them some excuse. College football players are to be trained by dancing, but that is nothing new. For the last few ye been dancing as if they were playing football. Ts boys Have MAM Where are you going?” You folks make me sick!” RBFULLER Mj Ny