Judge, 1926-02-06 · page 5 of 36
Judge — February 6, 1926 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of "Verses by a Child Poetess" Page This page presents humorous children's poetry with accompanying illustrations. The content satirizes precocious child writers—a recurring cultural phenomenon of the era. The poems mock childish observations presented as profound wisdom: a granddaughter noting her elderly grandfather's appearance, a child's "scientific" observation that dogs scratch but cats don't, and a drunk man's predictable behavior. The illustrations show domestic scenes: children at a batik station, and a village nut store. The section "Ex Ore Infantium" (Latin: "From the Mouths of Infants") continues the satire, presenting juvenile musings on writing novels and self-expression as though they were philosophical insights. The humor relies on the contrast between children's simplistic observations and their presentation as serious literary output—likely parodying the period's fashion for publishing child prodigies' works.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Verses by a Child Poetess My Granpa M y Granppa is really ° A wonderful guy, He's seen eighty summers— And all with one eye! Observation This here is something I've found to be true: Dogs scratch themselves But a cat scratches you! Al Wet If every dry agent Will follow his nose, Why, he will find liquor Wherever he goes. Georgia March Sherman (Editor's Note: ‘The poetess was only eight years old when her old man wrote these verses.) R.C. O'Brien Epilaugh Out of a Greenwich garret, into the starlit night, Soared the Village bootlegger in a parabolic flight. An artist was he at distilling, but the best of stills must part— So here lies another Villager, who died for the sake of his art! Casey at the Batik. Ex Ore Infantium Ke chattering, mad throng, keep chattering, Discuss your numerous nonentities; Pass feeble jests and let y ali ‘ass feeble jests and let your laughs take wing Across the ether. Sprawl about at ease. Let gossip reek from out each narrow brain, Let fathers shout and frowsy mothers croon .. . I gather notes and chant me this refrain: I'll write my realistic novel soon. Simonetta ts Harold says that all he wants is a chance to express himself. Fine! Where to? comicbooks.com