Life — October 18, 1883 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

—_4— | ' \ ‘ | when a fellow mortal is already upon the rack, should gall and hyssop be forced to her lips? Poor, dear Mrs. De Pucssy! I know her very well. Except to tradespeople, who somehow al- ways bear the brunt of fashionable sins, there is not a more inof- fensive person living. Her “little Mondays,” as'she calls them, are very enjoyable in a certain way, and the sangaree which she dispenses at precisely eleven o'clock on those luxurious occasions, is a miraculous exhibition of how far one bottle of claret can be made to go. You will meet, at all the little Mondays, the Rev. Mr. Broapview, whose campaigns against Satan are so polite that the most sensitive of sinners listening could not feel himself per- sonally aggrieved ; you can hear the exquisite rippling French of Monsieur Pettipois, the eminent professor of Continental language, to whom a would-be girl pupil must be formally intro- duced by a person of acknowledged social standing, before she can be admitted to his class; you can enjoy Herr Donner- BRETZEL’S latest improvisation, which bears so close a semblance to something by Lizst that for the life of you you cannot tell why Lizst is so honored and DoNNERBRETZEL so unsung; you can chat with a real Baron (German) who is a virtuoso on the violin, and breathe the same air which is breathed by Mr. MARJORIBANKS CHOLMONDELY F1Tz-Sippon, who, it is whispered, is the fourth son of the Hon. Grorrrey Fitz-Sippon, M. P., whoever he is, from Griggsbury, wherever that is—and, in short, be on affable terms with quite a number of great and delightful people. Later in the evening, when the spoonful of sangaree apiece has fired the ambition of all hands round, the real spirit of the little Mondays begins to assert itself, Then it is that Miss AGNES De Pucspy’s latest French poem, written after only nine lessons from Mons. Pettipois, will be read by the learned professor himself ; Miss Ethel will be persuaded, after much difficulty, to bring down from her studio on the fourth floor, the unfinished pastelle portrait of Lady AUREA BEAUCHAMP, the latest London success, which everybody present, never having seen Lady AUREA, pronounces to be a speaking likeness ; the Baron will recite his favorite passage from Heine, which fortunately his hearers cannot understand ; Mr. CHOLMONDELY Fitz-S1ppon will relate again, by unanimous request, his excruciatingly funny story of how the young EARL of CLAWHAMMER snubbed Mr. Tomkins, the rich American, at the Savage Club, last season; and, as a grand Saale, Mrs. De Pucssy herself, after a half hour of wild pleading, expostulation and argument, will consent to send cold chills up and down everybody's spine by warbling in a voice as thin and sharp as was the precious sangaree, a little song she once com- posed in French, taught her by Mons. PetTiPots, and set to music by no less a maestro than the great DoNNERBRETZEL himself. The preparations for this enormous event are fittingly impressive. ‘The piano stool is screwed up by Miss Erne. Dz Pucspy and then down by Mr. CHOLMONDELY Fitz-Sippon, who rushes to assist her, and who is said to be—but that is gossip ; the Baron, aided by Miss Dk Pucspy—and, dear me, how long it takes them !—combs over the music rack to find the song ; Herr Don- NERBRETZEL seats himself and hammers out a preliminary agony; Mons. Petrirots twists his moustache and falls into his favorite pose, and Mr. BRoapview adds a last entreaty to those already brought to bear upon the shrinking lady, and himself escorts Mrs, De Pucssy to the piano, Then the Baron evolves his violin from its case, causes it to emit one or two dozen of those delightful little squeals without which no violin can be scienti- fically tuned ; a polite hush falls upon the company, and then, * LIFE: HOME INFLUENCE. Mama (aghast): MARY, YOU DON’T MEAN TO SAY YOU REFUSED HIM ! Miss Mary: CERTAINLY; HE SAID HE HAD ONLY TEN THOUSAND A YEAR, Mama: Goopness GRACIOUS! TEN THOUSAND! WHEN WE UNDERSTOOD HE WAS RICH! AND NOW, TO THINK OF THE DINNERS AND TIME AND POLITENESS WE 'VE WASTED ON THE CREATURE ! with a simultaneous whoop, scrape, rattle and bang of all three performers together, the triumph of the evening begins. Of course it must be admitted, that between the tremendous delirium of the thumped piano and the frenzied yelps of the rasped violin, Mrs. DE Pucspy’s voice has but little chance, but it is heard once or twice above the tumult, especially towards the bitter end, and of course, provoked a whirlwind of enthusiasm and an encore, And so the little Monday ends, very delightfully indeed. Now why should Mrs. De Puassy be ‘touched up,” by Lire or by anybody? She does nobody harm, I have yet to hear her make one malicious remark concerning the bitterest enemy, while her charity for her neighbor's short-comings covers many a flagrant sin, Her’s is a bitter lot—a cruel cross to bear ; the meanest artisan from his tenement hell would not change places with her, did he know her as I do, Why then add a straw to the burden ? It may be said that Mrs, Dz Pucssy isa deceiver; that she lives in a state not properly hers ; that she starves to shine, and shines to no purpose. Well? God help us, we are liars all, one way or another; and poor, dear, little Mrs, Dz Pucssy with her Fifth Ave- comicbooks.com