Judge — March 4, 1882 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

1980. Farner! I noticed thr haired men ‘Standing on one of the piers to-day. Calmly they gazed upon Brooklyn, and then Slowly and sadly they turned away. And [asked a boatman, who sat hard by, If the cause of their acting thus he knew, “They have done that,” he said, with a wink of his eye, “Since eighteen hundred and elghty-two. Not theirs, grim want, with its woe and pain, Nor theira, the sorrow of conscious guilt, Bat they vowed that they'd ne'er cross the river again Until after the Brooklyn bridge was bailt. —rece. The McGinnis Menu. BY TARANTELLE. Mr. AND Mrs. Peter McGrnsis_ became wealthy three year ago; and last spring Peter counted himself a millionaire, They moved into a fine new house on Fifth avenue, and a very showy marble bust of Mr. Peter McGin- nis may easily be seen from the street. For several months Mrs. McGinnis did little or nothing besides looking in awe and admira- tion at the furniture. Last fali they bought pictures—an odd mixture of “ chromeos ” and oil paintings; also a “libecrary," most of the bindings of the books being in red and green. The climax in the lives of the McGinni came, however, last week, when a broker troduced Peter to, several persons of consider- ation, including a brigadier general, a rail- road president, a former minister to Copen hagen, and several men of large capi They were invited to dinner at the McGinnis mansion, and they all accepted. YORK'S LEGISLATIVE COOK. Nearly a week before the dinner, Mrs. Me- anis decided that it must be a swell affair, and she sent for her secretary, Miss Isidor De La Pongee, to aid her in making up a “ pro- gram "—that is, a menu. 4 menuf” exclaimed Mrs. McGinnis, “is avery swill name. But between me an’ you, is it Frinch?” She was informed that it was | French, and that she must begin with huit- res.” “Ts them wheat pancakes?” asked Mrs. McGinnis. “No, madam, that is French for oysters.” ‘*No, no,” exclaimed Mrs. McG., ‘this is not a biled oyster stew dinner. That's too cheap.” “They are fine Blue Points, madam, on the half-shell, and are au citron.” “No, you don't,” shouted Mrs, McGinnis; “who ever heard of oysters and citron sweet- meats?” “But, madam, that means oysters with a piece of lemon. We will begin with that. Next we must have a potage.” “Potash!” screamed Mrs, McG. no have any potash on my table.” “But it is the soup, ma’am.” “Would ye be givin’ ‘em a cheap soup din- ner, with rice, and hunks o potatocs, and things biled up together?” “Certainly not, ma’am; but a fair soup; for instance, potage ala fausse tortue.” “Tow many or two? Why, miss, there'll be a dozen at the dinner,” said the astonished Mrs. McG. “Well, madam, how woulda light julienne do?” “The divil take you!” cricd the bewildered “Yo'll lady. “Not a snootful of any Julia Ann soup ever is eaten in this house, will you mind? I wanta nice Maud or Eva or Ida soup; but no common red-headed ones fur thim ginerals!” “Then, madam, have a consomme.” “Ah, me darlin’, there ye have it! the word. Putit down on yer dairy. Julia Ann, do ye mind?” “The next, madam, should be fish.” ‘Not a bit of fish will we have for that din- ner. Them oily pictures; them little cubebs with wings is not going to be all smelled up with codfish at all—with drawn butter.” “A menu is incomplete without its pois- son.” “ Divil a wan will ye ever poison anybody in this house, Miss De La Pongee.” “Surely, madam, cotelletes de sanmon aur cornichous.” “Not one, miss. No pantellets and curry- combs ever goc3 on my table, or my name's not Bridgettiana De La Mahghenaus.” ‘After much difficulty Miss De La Pongee, the secretary, induced Mrs. McGinnis to con- sent to the introduction of morne aux pom- mes de terre. “And now,” said the secretary, “ris de veau.” “That weather prophet, De Voe, do you mean? No, he’s not coming.” “The safest thing we can have, madam, would be filet de boeuf aux champignons,” “Miss, do you think this is a prize-fightin’ dinner? Not a champion will be there. Put down a nice bit of mate on the program, and some vegetables with it; that’s a nice girl that yeare. And mind you, don't you say that ‘again about rotie. ‘There is no tea about it, buta nice clane dinner, with some dear mates. Not a Dlanquette nade ye talk about as long as the Mahghenauses have a clane table-cloth, though the time was when we had oilcloth. Away wid yer dindes, and farcies, and poule and glaces, and sougtes. It’s anice Irish stew that we'll have, and some pie, and Peter’ll go down to the store wid a pitcher, and bring home some beer. To the divil wid menus,” It would be hard to fancy what would have become of the McGinnis dinner and its guests if Peter had not at that moment entered the dining-room with Albert Edward Louis De Chevreuil, the French chef, and aided that travagant young Swiss in arranging the bill of fare. Said he, “Bridgettiana De La Mahghe- naus, formerly McGinnis, will you listen to a little raison d'etre, which is Frinch for ra‘ sins to ute, and at the same time a clinchin’ argumentatum. Here's a gintleman as is a chef du cousin to the first chef, and dimly related to Sitting Bull. Now, he'll put down the menu in Frinch. I'm surprised at you, Bridgettiana, that you should want it in English, for that would be Greek to you. Prince Albert, here, will serve the dinner in foine fashion, if we have to buy ostriches for chickins, And mind you, Prince Albert, sling the wines around extravagant like—not an ounce of water goes on the table. But in case any wan should like a drop of whisky be- fore dinner, ye might have a bottle of that, and a giraffe of water on the soide-boord.” May is But no comicbooks.com