In this 1884 Puck cover, artist Bernhard Gillam ridicules political posturing through a would-be statesman styled as a Don Quixote–like wandering knight. Mounted on horseback and draped in banners of empty “issues,” he charges forward on spectacle alone, while his page staggers behind beneath the weight of slogans and props.
The cartoon reduces politics to performance. Substance gives way to display, and ambition is armored with noise rather than ideas. Through exaggerated costume and mock-heroic pose, Puck exposes how Gilded Age politics often rewarded theatrics over responsibility—a joke that still lands.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
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In this 1887 Puck satire by Louis M. Dalrymple, a small political figure is dragged helplessly down the street by a monstrous kettle labeled Notoriety, with the strap of Excommunication snapping behind it. It’s a sharp visual jab at the way public scandal takes on a life of its own, exposing how institutions—especially religious ones—often use moral condemnation to inflate minor controversies into full-blown spectacles.
The cartoon skewers the mechanics of power: the frenzy of notoriety, the theatrics of punishment, and the eagerness of authorities to weaponize shame. More than a century later, the dynamic is as familiar as ever.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
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In this August 10, 1887 Puck cover by Joseph Keppler, a political matron labeled “Ohio” physically pushes John Sherman forward, presenting him less as an independent candidate than as a managed figure. In the background, a bored party official leans from a window marked “Endorsement,” signaling support without effort or conviction.
The cartoon treats politics as theater. Sherman is staged, endorsements are routine, and public life is reduced to performance. Through exaggerated gesture and visible control, Puck suggests that machine politics replaced genuine democratic choice with choreography.
Real ink. Real artists. Real archives. Revived for a democracy worth defending.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
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Published on December 23, 1891, this Puck cover lampoons one of the most dreaded editorial rituals of the era: slogging through the president’s annual message. An exhausted editor battles a never-ending scroll of dry facts, figures, and political boilerplate, scissors in hand, condemned to cut it down for readers who no longer care to read it at all.
The cartoon nails the disconnect between political leaders who produce grand, verbose statements and the people tasked with making sense of them. Bureaucratic drama piles up while the public tunes out, leaving editors, journalists, and ordinary citizens overwhelmed by noise instead of clarity.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
This sweeping two-page Puck illustration captures the full energy and contradiction of American public life in the early 1890s. Joseph Keppler fills the scene with a dense crowd of characters—politicians, immigrants, performers, soldiers, photographers, and everyday strivers—each animated under the shade of two large trees by the water. The composition unfolds as a lively panorama of humor, ambition, and social tension, rendered with Puck’s characteristic blend of mischief and sharp observation.
At first glance, it resembles a festive gathering. Look closer and it becomes a commentary on how national myths are staged, who participates in the civic spectacle, and how easily public enthusiasm spills into disorder. Keppler’s work has a way of exposing the performance of power with clarity and wit.
Drawn from an original issue preserved in the archives, this journal carries forward the color, movement, and crowded storytelling of one of Puck’s most ambitious ensemble scenes. A distinctive companion for notes, ideas, or daily reflections.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
This 1897 Puck cover turns a Fourth of July celebration into a visual complaint. Louis M. Dalrymple’s Uncle Sam struggles to light a rocket labeled “Prosperity,” while dark storm clouds marked “Tariff for Trusts” gather overhead. The scene suggests a holiday weighed down by economic policy rather than lifted by it.
The satire is blunt and symbolic. National optimism sputters as protection and monopoly overshadow public benefit. By staging celebration under threatening skies, Puck frames prosperity as something promised but difficult to launch—especially when burdened by the interests it is meant to restrain.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
Published in Puck during the Spanish–American War, this 1898 cartoon by Louis M. Dalrymple critiques the growing power of yellow journalism to intrude on political decision-making. President William McKinley reviews his war plans as a sensationalist press figure—labeled “Yellow Journalism War Plan”—forces himself through the window, embodying media pressure disguised as public demand.
Rather than celebrating conflict, the image warns how manufactured outrage and spectacle can push a nation toward war. Drawn from the original pages of Puck, it remains a pointed reminder of how easily propaganda can overtake restraint.
Metal spiral binding | Interior document pocket | Ruled | 6x8 in.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon, James G. Blaine appears as a crooked Pied Piper, puffing on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. This edition was printed for Puck’s German-speaking readership, which is why the caption beneath the image is in German—but the cartoon itself retains its original English labels and satire. Nothing has been altered; the artwork is presented exactly as it appeared in 1884. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions.
More than a century later, it still hits home. A restored antique print reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
In this 1897 Puck cover, Louis Dalrymple turns a Fourth of July celebration into a sharp critique of Gilded Age economics. A downcast Uncle Sam struggles to ignite a rocket labeled “Prosperity,” while black clouds marked “Tariff for Trusts” gather overhead. The promise of national well-being is literally sputtering in the rain—undercut not by weather, but by the political choices feeding corporate monopolies.
It’s a classic Puck indictment: when government shields the powerful instead of the public, even national holidays lose their spark. A century later, the warning still holds.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
In this 1883 Puck cartoon, Bernhard Gillam exposes the rot inside America’s political patronage system. A line of would-be Congressmen sits on a bench labeled “Congressional Seats,” waiting to be chosen like customers at a marketplace. Enter James Gordon Bennett of the New York Herald, offering to help “old gentlemen” find their way into office—if the political winds shift in their favor. Gillam paints the whole scene as a cynical transaction: patched clothing, improvised credentials, and men who look more desperate than qualified.
The joke lands because the corruption was real. Political machines traded influence for loyalty, and newspapers wielded outsized power in determining who might get a seat.
More than a century later, the details have changed—but the critique of access, privilege, and backroom politics feels strikingly contemporary.
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In this 1884 Puck cover, Bernhard Gillam lampoons the era’s loudest political showmen: the self-styled “knights” who thunder into public office armed with nothing but bluster, vanity, and slogans. The cartoon turns a would-be statesman into a Don Quixote figure—riding high on ego while his page trails behind, weighed down by banners of empty “issues,” bloody-shirt theatrics, and partisan noise.
It’s a sharp reminder that political windbags aren’t new. Gilded Age corruption thrived on theatrics over substance—and the cartoon calls it out with surgical clarity. More than a century later, the joke still lands.
A razor-sharp 1884 Puck satire by Bernhard Gillam, showing politicians dressed as Renaissance courtiers fighting over a gigantic pile of “surplus” gold — the product of over-taxation and government mismanagement. Every figure is a type: the self-satisfied king, the grasping ministers, the scheming advisors, and the theatrical fools begging for their share of the public treasury. The cartoon unmasks a political class more eager to divide spoils than serve citizens. This print comes from a German-language edition of Puck, which kept all the original English captions in the artwork.
Originally published to expose elite corruption and mock the pageantry of power, it still resonates today.
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A razor-sharp 1884 Puck satire by Bernhard Gillam, showing politicians dressed as Renaissance courtiers fighting over a gigantic pile of “surplus” gold — the product of over-taxation and government mismanagement. Every figure is a type: the self-satisfied king, the grasping ministers, the scheming advisors, and the theatrical fools begging for their share of the public treasury. The cartoon unmasks a political class more eager to divide spoils than serve citizens. This print comes from a German-language edition of Puck, which kept all the original English captions in the artwork. The German text appears only in the cast list and bottom line — part of the historical publication and preserved here for authenticity. Originally published to expose elite corruption and mock the pageantry of power, it still resonates today. Authoritarians thrive when public wealth becomes private favor, and when government becomes a court of sycophants instead of a service to the people.
This is resistance art with teeth — exposing the kind of corruption that thrives in plain sight.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1884 Puck cover—printed in German but published for American readers—the artist imagines a “Wall Street cleaner” thundering through the financial district, sweeping out gamblers, stock-jobbers, and speculative fraud with a giant “Clearing House” brush. It’s a jab at the era’s reckless over-certification schemes and a reminder that markets crash hardest when greed sets the pace. More than a century later, the message hits just as sharply: unchecked speculation and political cowardice still distort the economy, and the people who cause the damage always try to pretend they’re innocent. Historical satire like this exposes the cycle—grift, crash, denial—that unfettered power repeats again and again.
Authentic 19th-century resistance art, revived for a modern audience. Sip from a deep black canvas that turns your morning ritual into a quiet, mindful moment.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon, a police officer strolls arm in arm with a shady “policy dealer,” united not by duty or principle but— as the caption says — by the almighty dollar. It’s a crisp piece of resistance satire that cuts through the myths of policing and power, showing how public authority and private vice often move in step when profit leads the way.
A sharp reminder that when power and profit align, accountability is the first thing to disappear.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon illustrated by Frederick Burr Opper, a crooked Pied Piper cast as James G. Blaine puffs on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions.
More than a century later, it still hits home. A restored illustration reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
Add two mugs to your cart to receive an automatic bundle discount.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon, James G. Blaine appears as a crooked Pied Piper, puffing on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. This edition was printed for Puck’s German-speaking readership, which is why the caption beneath the image is in German—but the cartoon itself retains its original English labels and satire. Nothing has been altered; the artwork is presented exactly as it appeared in 1884. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions. More than a century later, it still hits home.
A restored antique illustration reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1890s Puck centerfold, “Columbus-Puck” arrives not to discover a continent, but to discover something far stranger — American political humor. The scene is packed with the era’s crooked politicians, frantic partisans, and theatrical public figures, all brawling, posing, and performing for attention while ordinary people stand bewildered at the edges. Printed in German for immigrant readers, the cartoon satirizes nationalism, political vanity, and the chaotic spectacle of American democracy in the Gilded Age. Over a century later, the imagery is hauntingly familiar: leaders obsessed with theatrics, crowds whipped into frenzy, and a culture that turns politics into a circus instead of a public good.
This original vintage illustration is perfect for anyone who loves sharp historical satire and resistance art that still speaks directly to the present.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1892 Puck cover, Louis M. Dalrymple exposes a Republican machine so corrupt it openly tries to purchase votes. A party operative, pockets bulging with cash, slips bribe money into envelopes while carrying a rifle and a smug grin. The printed letter beside him—reproduced from an actual political circular—spells out the strategy: pay Democrats to switch their votes and keep the operation secret. Puck specialized in calling out fraud, bribery, and authoritarian tactics masquerading as “moral ideas.” This cover makes clear that the threat to democracy has never come from ordinary voters — but from political insiders willing to buy power at any cost.
More than a century later, it still resonates: corruption erodes democracy when parties treat elections as something to purchase, not something to earn.
Illustrated by F. M. Howarth, this July 6, 1898 Puck page delivers a tidy lesson in overconfidence. A self-satisfied cyclist plots a petty revenge, certain he controls both the situation and the road ahead. Panel by panel, bravado turns into spectacle as his scheme quite literally flips against him, leaving humiliation where triumph was expected.
The humor is gentle but pointed, exposing how ego and small scheming so often collapse under their own weight.
100% heavy cotton canvas | Flat corners and sewn construction with reinforced stitching
